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Tenth Day of the Tenth Moon 90AC

one week prior to Rhaenys’ wedding

Rhaenys I

the princess’ chambers, Maegor’s Holdfast

The morning light began to pour into Rhaenys’ main apartment. The Myrish lace curtains adoring the tall arched windows danced in the light summer breeze.

The two maidservants did not talk amongst themselves, moving about the royal apartment in silence, their attention focused on their morning duties. Neither acknowledging the princess’ chief lady as she entered the apartment nor the nervous kitchen boy that followed behind her balancing a silver tray laden with cheeses, breads, and fruits in his hands. The older woman gestured for the boy to place the tray upon the sitting room table before dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

The woman began setting the table for her mistress when there was a knock on the chamber door. She crossed the apartment in a few strides and opened the door. A royal page bowed at the waist before handing her a scroll. The woman scanned the scroll after she shut the door, her thin lips pressing together before scoffing in annoyance.

After tucking the scroll into her pocket, she returned to her previous task but rather than continuing to set the table, she began packing the selected items into a leather pouch.

Once she finished packing, the woman grabbed the pouch in her arms and moved to the princess’ bedchamber, where she placed it upon the vanity before stopping at the foot of the great bed.

“My princess, your breakfast has arrived.”

Rhaenys didn’t look up from the book she was flipping through. “Thank you Cecilia. I will call for you when I am ready to dress for the day.”

When her lady made no move to immediately withdraw, Rhaenys paused from her reading to look up at her senior lady, tilting her head to the side an eyebrow raised in a silent question.

Lady Cecilia Buckler was a stern looking woman. She had dark eyes and her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun, which only succeeded in making her look older than her six and twenty years. She dressed simply, in darker hues one would consider fashionable, eschewing the garish colors that had become popular; the only jewelry she wore was a single necklace of three brass buckles - the sigil of her house. 

Rhaenys had been relieved when her mother informed her that her old governess had been transferred to Gael and Aemma’s household and that Lady Cecilia had been appointed to replace her. She had become a crutch Rhaenys hadn’t known she needed.

“Is there more?”

“Yes, princess.” Cecilia said. “Her Grace, your lady mother, and Her Majesty, your lady grandmother will be joining you this morning.”

Rhaenys sat up, her shoulders tense. “Did they say why?”

“It is regarding your upcoming nuptials, my princess.”

Rhaenys inhaled sharply, closing her eyes and rubbed her temples. As soon as the words left her lady’s mouth Rhaenys wanted to scream. Cecilia pulled out the scroll and offered it to the princess. She resisted the urge to tear it into pieces and scanned its contents.

Dearest,

Word has reached me that rather than greeting your guests within the queen’s ballroom yesterday, you spent that time atop your dragon.

While I understand that you may wish to rest considering your wedding is fast approaching, it is imperative - now more than ever - that you do not become lax in your social graces.

Remember your courtesies, child.

Your mother and I will be joining you this morning. There are other important matters to discuss.

Queen Alysanne

Rhaneys swore before crumpling the letter and tossing it across the room towards the hearth.

“I swear to the Seven if she mentions that damn shopkeeper.” Rhaenys muttered as she rose from her great feathered bed, the book she had been reading forgotten.

At sixteen, Rhaenys was a stunning young lady - tall, slender and eyes the same pale lilac as her father’s. Yet it was her hair that truly made her stand out - thick, voluminous and falling to her mid back, her hair was black as night instead of the silver-golden hair that was the norm amongst her family.

When she was younger she hated her hair, her cousin Daemon had teased her relentlessly over it, often asking his parents if she really was Valyrian. But now, she saw her unique feature as a blessing from her Baratheon ancestors, her Andal heritage. Her black hair singled her out showing that she was different from her family, more special. For she was Andal and Valyrian both, the heir the realm needed as her father liked to say.

Rhaenys washed her face with warm water over the porcelain basin left by the maidservants, patting her face and neck dry before seating herself in front of the looking glass on her vanity. Rhaenys closed her eyes as her lady began to comb the night's tangles from her waist length hair.

What other important matters did grandmother mean? As if wedding planning comprises the same duties of ruling an entire kingdom!

Wedding planning had only been good for giving her headaches. After receiving her grandfather’s approval to marry Lord Velaryon, she was forced to endure a constant procession of chefs, jewelers, florists, bakers, tailors, mummers and mind numbing discussions regarding flowers, gowns, and seating arrangements.

Is she trying to vex me? My wedding is a week away!

Her grandmother and mother had been completely unbearable throughout the entire process, fretting over something or another. They needlessly complained about everything - “That’s the wrong shade of red. Those are not the right flowers. That dress’ neckline is too low. The maesters predict it may rain that day.”

At her wits end, Rhaenys made a desperate appeal to her father, Prince Aemon. But the Prince of Dragonstone had only laughed, telling Rhaenys that she was her mother’s only child and to indulge her as this was the only time Lady Jocelyn would celebrate this event.

Besides, he went on to say, she was heir to the Iron Throne, her wedding is a matter of state, subjected to all the pomp and ceremony that comes with being royalty.

Unable to retort her father’s statement, Rhaenys was sullen for the rest of that day but she remembered her father’s words when she was forced to endure the queen and crown princess’ fretting that afternoon. So she plastered a frozen smile upon her face and silently seethed.

“I should be attending Small Council meetings! Not fretting about which color ribbon matches best with the bloody silverware!” she had raged to Cecilia once back in the privacy of her chambers.

She had no desire to indulge their nonsense today nor even the patience to entertain it. Rhaenys’ eyes snapped open, her decision made.

“Fetch my riding leathers and the black tunic. The one with red and gold embroidery on the sleeves,” she said after Cecilia had finished styling her hair.

Cecilia dipped her head and did as she was bid, retreating into the princess’s dressing room and emerging moments later with the requested items. She laid them out on the princess' bed before coming to stand behind her mistress.

“Please inform my lady mother and grandmother that I am indisposed this morning and cannot attend to them,” Rhaenys said curtly.

Cecilia nodded. “Of course, my princess. I am sure they will be most distressed upon hearing the news.”

Rhaenys made eye contact with her lady through her looking glass, and while Cecilia’s stoic body language and flat tone appeared disinterested, her lady’s eyes danced with concealed mirth and a ghost of a smile tugged on her lips, no doubt she was picturing the looks on the queen and crown princess’ faces once told.

Rhaenys gave a small grin in reply then noticed the leather pouch resting on her vanity. She gave her lady a questioning look.

Cecilia shrugged. “I did tell you your breakfast arrived, my princess.”

Rhaenys tipped her head back and laughed. She stood up to embrace her lady in a quick hug. “What would I do without you?”

Cecilia gently took Rhaenys hands in hers. “You would shine my princess.”

Rhaenys smiled nodding in agreement before stepping back from her lady. “After informing them please do take the day for yourself. I’m sure your kin has arrived from the Stormlands by now.”

Cecilia graciously bowed her head. “Thank you my princess.” She gestured to the clothing on her bed. “Now get moving, I’m sure you don’t have long,” she said teasingly before withdrawing from the bedchamber.

Once alone Rhaenys hastily dressed, her lady was right. She didn’t know how long she had until her grandmother and mother arrived at her apartment door. They’ll be here any moment. She couldn’t leave through her apartment door either. She’d risk running into them and even if she didn’t, the castle’s corridors were so full with wedding guests, word of her whereabouts would reach the queen before she even left the Red Keep’s courtyard.

Meagor’s tunnels then.

After lacing up her riding boots, she grabbed the leather pouch off her vanity and throws it over her shoulder. She paused for a moment by her bedchamber door, listening for any commotion from her adjacent sitting area. So far so good. Rhaenys strode across her large bedchamber to the distant wall, tracing her fingers across the stones in an intricate pattern and waited. The stone wall groaned as it pulled back in on itself, revealing a hidden side passage. Wasting no time, Rhaenys slid through the passageway opening, not bothering to look back as the stone wall slid back in place behind her.

Baelon I

the Master of Coins’ study, the Red Keep

On a normal day, one would consider the Red Keep lively, bustling with the activities associated with a royal household. But now, with his niece’s wedding a week away, the corridors of the royal palace have become unbearable to navigate.

While any royal wedding was cause for mass celebration, this particular royal wedding was for the apparent future queen of the Seven Kingdoms and it seems not a single soul wished to miss out on the celebrations. Each day brought more members of the nobility to the capitol, but there was hardly enough room to house them. The Red Keep’s courtier apartments were occupied with the Lord’s Paramount, other major lords, their families and their households.  They at least had the good sense to arrive a fortnight ago!  These new arrivals would not be so lucky. According to the latest report from the last Small Council meeting, all of the inns along Aegon’s High Hill claimed full occupancy. Baelon had serious doubts that these arriving lords would be pleased to hear they would have to reside within an inn along Fishmonger Square - or gods forbid in Fleabottom!

Baelon let out a deep slow breath hoping the stress he felt would leave his body as the air left his lungs. I will rest easier once Rhaenys is wed. A foolish hope, for the expenses for the wedding had yet been averaged. As Master of Coin, Baelon knew he’d be going over these expenses for the rest of the year. He glanced down at the latest ledger on his desk, an invoice from another shopkeep off the Street of Looms. It would seem the gowns Queen Alysanne had ordered earlier this month had not been to her liking. His eyes trail down to the total sum and he inhaled sharply.

This cannot stand, queen she may be but spending this extravagantly is unacceptable!

“Your Highness.”

Baelon’s gaze snapped up from his desk to the young servant who suddenly appeared in his study. His indigo eyes narrowed, studying the youth before him. He looks familiar. The boy was young - maybe older than his eldest - with golden brown hair and light brown eyes. He was wearing a simple black doublet, an emblem of a hand embroidered in his lapel. Ah. One of Barth’s underlings.

“Your presence is requested in the Small Council Chamber. A meeting of the Small Council has been called.”

Baelon nodded curtly to the youth and waved his hand in dismissal, the boy bowed at the waist and withdrew from the room as silently as he came. Baelon gently rubbed his temples in an attempt to clear his mind of all the figures and sums running through it. He was nearly successful until he caught sight of the shopkeeper’s invoice. Gritting his teeth, Baelon gathered all the documents atop his desk before walking out of his chambers into the busy, noisy hall, his mood foul. The throng of people parted quickly to make a path for the prince, bowing and curtsying deeply, some offering a greeting or blessing to his family, Baelon ignored all of them as he made his way to the council chamber, his Kingsguard knight following three paces behind.

It seemed everywhere he looked there were lordlings loitering about hoping for a royal audience to petition his father regarding some nonsense, merchants of all trades working diligently on whatever wedding preparations his mother and good-sister commissioned, and servants scuttling around, looking just as disheveled as he felt. The constant noise was akin to a gnat buzzing around one’s ear. He hated it. Later he’d fly Vhagar, the gods knew he needed the peace.

“Baelon!”

His brother’s clear voice cut through the chatter easily and Baelon paused, turning around to see his elder brother Aemon jogging down the corridor to meet him. He, too, was holding various papers in his hand. Pardons most likely.  Aemon wore a doublet of crimson, embroidered with entwined black and gold stitching throughout. His pale white gold hair flowed around his shoulders while the Valyrian steel circlet of the crown prince sat across his brow. 

“Why so glum?”

Baelon rolled his eyes at his brother’s question before glancing down at the papers in both their hands. Aemon only laughed in response, his pale lilac eyes dancing with mirth as he clapped his hand on his brother’s back. They continue their way through the corridors before arriving at their destination. The kingsguard stationed in front of the Council Chamber look comically small next to the black marble Valyrian sphinxes flanking the chamber’s bronze door; their eyes of polished garnet watching those who passed through the door.  He nodded in silent greeting to the man as he and his brother pass through the doorway. The Small Council chamber was richly furnished, Myrish carpets upon the floor and magnificent tapestries from Norvos, Qohor and Lys hung on the stone walls.

King Jaehaerys was sitting at the head of the long table, conversing with Queen Alysanne and Septon Barth. Grand Maester Elysar was hunched over in his usual chair, fidgeting with two dozen heavy chains woven together into a ponderous metal necklace. While Corlys Velaryon had taken his place at the other head of the table. Baelon raised an eyebrow and glanced at Aemon, trying to decipher what he thought of his future good son’s daring. As usual, Aemon was unreadable. Baelon had never been particularly fond of Lord Velaryon. His arrogance was well known. As the head of the richest house in Westeros the man was hard enough to deal with, but now as the future king consort Baelon was finding it difficult not to throttle the smug smile off the man’s face. He would never understand why his niece chose this man for her husband; a man older than her own father!

It shouldn’t have happened like this. Baelon thought, not for the first time. It was supposed to be Viserys.

Once it became clear Rhaenys would remain her father’s only child there was an unspoken agreement that she and Viserys would wed once they came of age, uniting Aemon and Baelon’s lines. Yet as the children grew older, they became distant, their personalities clashed, and their values were far too different for them to ever find the common ground they needed to rule together. And the more the children were pushed together the fiercer Rhaenys pushed back against the match. Until finally, within days of claiming the she-dragon Meleys, the young princess declared that no one would force her hand. So, Aemon relented and Rhaenys chose her betrothed herself. 

“It seems our Master of Coin and Master of Law have finally decided to join us.” Jaehaerys' stern voice broke Baelon from his thoughts.

He shifted his gaze to his father. Jaehaerys' dark violet eyes were gentle as he assessed his sons and the Council Chamber had fallen silent. Jaehaerys gestured them over, the rings adorning his pale hand glinting in the sunlight.

“Come my sons, sit, we have matters of state to discuss.”

Baelon and Aemon took their respective seats along the table. Jaehaerys nodded before motioning to Grand Maester Elysar to begin the Council session.

“We have received word from White Harbor that Lord Manderly has again fallen ill and has been placed on bedrest.” The maester crooked out, his hands shaking as he held the raven scroll while he delivered the news.

Alysanne scoffed. “Yes, yes, and just as before within a few days hence we will receive yet another raven about the lord’s recovery.”

Baelon turned to stare at his mother, he often thought his mother’s constant dismissal of Lord Manderly’s health was shortsighted. Especially considering what it would mean if the man were to die.

“We’ve received half a dozen ravens about the man’s health in as many moons,” he stated flatly.

Is she truly that blind? The man is clearly on his deathbed.

Alysanne laughed airily. “Baelon, please we have much more important matters to discuss.”

Like spending 300 gold dragons on a damn dress!?

Baelon kept the thought to himself as he dipped his head to his mother in dutiful respect.

Jaehaerys smiled at his queen. “Quite right my love,” he said, placing a gentle kiss atop her hand, “what else Grand Maester?”

The old man wheezed as he shuffled through the papers in front of him. “Ah, here it is. A marriage proposal from the Vale. Lord Yorbert Royce has written. His only child, Rhae, has recently celebrated her twelfth name day and he has offered her hand in marriage to either Prince Viserys or Prince Daemon.”

Baelon raised both eyebrows. “But not to Valerion?”

His youngest brother was born the same year as Daemon. Why would the lord not offer his daughter’s hand to all three?

“Gael is for Valerion,” Alysanne responded matter of factly, ending the discussion.

Then officially betrothal them already.

Aemon drummed his fingers against the ash wood table, looking thoughtful. “Daemon and her are close in age.”

Baelon gapped at his brother. “Daemon is a child.”

“So is the girl,” said the gruff voice of Corlys Velaryon from the other end of the table, “younger than the prince even.”

Baelon glared at the Master of Ships, clenching his fists under the table. Corlys simply held his gaze.

I abhor this man.

Septon Barth broke the tense silence. “It is true that the Vale has been isolated from the rest of the kingdoms. A royal match would be wise, my king.”

“The Vale had their royal match,” Alysanne cut in coolly.

Daella.

Baelon had fond memories of his timid little sister who adored flowers and kittens. She had been a shy child, often tongue tied and nervous around strangers but she possessed a gentle, caring heart. Her death occurred not long after Alyssa’s death and Saera’s banishment; losing three daughters in just as many years had nearly broken the queen.

“Aye, then that princess died and her daughter has been kept here in the Red Keep as a royal ward ever since.”

Alysanne’s face flushed red in anger at the callous statement and she glared at Lord Velaryon.

“You’d best watch how you speak to your queen, my lord.”

His mother spat out the title, making it clear that while he may be betrothed to the heir-princess, that did not in any way make him royalty, much less her equal. The man just dipped his head in feigned repentance while Baelon struggled to suppress a small smile at his mother's venomous rebuke.

Nice to know that I am not the only one who cannot stand him.

Septon Barth cleared his throat before continuing. “House Royce does currently hold the Gates of the Moon and Lady Rhae will become Mistress of Runestone in time. It would be a good match for a second son.”

Jaehaerys stroked his beard. “That is true…yet I dislike the idea of a younger son being betrothed before the elder.”

Baelon leapt at the opening.

“Your majesty has the right of it. Aemon was betrothed before me.” He gestured a hand to his elder brother across the table, “let Viserys be betrothed before we speak of Daemon.”

“Then betroth Prince Viserys to this Royce girl and be done with it.”

Baelon felt a sudden rage rise in his chest. His fists enclosed around themselves again and his eyes narrowed as he turned to glare at the Master of Ships.

I really abhor this man.

“He is my first born. He deserves better than some minor lord’s daughter and an isolated keep.” Baelon tried to keep the venom from his voice. He failed.

This man usurps my son’s place as future king and now wants him married into a minor house!?

Baelon’s eyes were ablaze with barely concealed rage at this man’s audacity.

Corlys snorted before staring back at him unblinkingly, unbothered by the prince’s anger.

“And who would you suggest for Prince Viserys then? Only Lord Tyrell has daughters and they are far younger than this Royce girl.”

Baelon clenched his jaw.

I really really abhor this man.

He had seen the Tyrell girls amongst the courtiers. They had curly brown hair and brown eyes, often wearing matching green dresses embroidered with golden roses. And the eldest was only eight.

Jaehaerys spoke up, “Lord Corlys is right, my son. There are no suitable matches for Viserys nor Daemon amongst the Lord’s Paramount. Lord Royce’s proposal is a good one for either boy.”

Seven Hells.

Baelon closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to imagine Viserys or Daemon in Runestone, not even lord of their own keep. He couldn’t.

Alysanne’s laugh sounded around the room. Baelon looked up towards his parents. Alysanne had placed her hand on the king’s forearm, her smile gentle, almost teasing.

“My love, don't be silly. I am certain there are other lords with daughters of an acceptable age, some maybe older than Lady Rhae. With the nobility gathered here for Rhaenys’ wedding we will simply make note of those who would be acceptable. The king cannot be seen to outright accept the first proposal offered.”

Baelon sighed softly in relief when his father nodded in agreement and the other council members following the king’s decision. 

“Speaking of our bride to be,” Alysanne said, turning to look at Aemon, her blue eyes narrow, “I was unable to find her this morning.”

Aemon smiled sheepishly, “You know how she is.”

Their mother hummed in response.

Grand Maester Elysar spoke up, “I will begin the tally of respectable options for the princes, my queen. It will be delivered to you by the wedding feast.”

Baelon could only pray to the Seven that there would be more than one suitable candidate on the list.

Gael I

the royal nursery apartment, Maegor’s Holdfast 

“Do you think your mother will allow us to attend the wedding feast?”

Gael didn’t look up from her lesson, or what should’ve been her lesson. She had given up trying to translate the High Valyrian prayer a while ago and started doodling instead. It was much more fun.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

Nor did she want to. She didn’t really care for court events. They were crowded and loud and - since she had not yet mastered the social graces to perform court duties well - full of strangers who stared at her. The recent weeks had been torturous as her home became occupied by thousands of strangers. And worse she was expected to mingle with them.

The luncheon yesterday in the Queen’s Ballroom had been agonizing. As soon as her mother granted her permission to leave she dashed towards the exit. She wasn’t even looking forward to attending the wedding ceremony in the Grand Sept, which would have more attendees. The Great Hall could only seat around a thousand guests, while the Grand Sept could seat tens of thousands. Gael stuck her tongue out slightly as she attempted to focus on her drawing when she heard a dramatic sigh.

“We never get to do anything fun,” her companion huffed.

Gael looked up across the table to her niece. Lady Aemma Arryn was pouting, slumping in her chair with her arms crossed against her chest. Her sandy blonde curls held back off her face by the crown of lilies atop her head. Her gray-blue eyes glaring at her completed lesson laying in front of her. Aemma was the only child of her older sister Daella, and Gael’s closest friend. Gael was sure the last few years would’ve been much lonelier if Aemma had stayed in the Vale after her mother’s death. Gael would be forever grateful her mother insisted that Aemma be raised at court. Since they were so close in age - less than four and twenty months between them - her mother combined their households and Gael was (finally!) moved out of her mother’s apartment and into the one she had selected for the girls to share.

“We did get new gowns ,” Gael mentioned, “so who knows. Maybe we will be allowed to attend.”

Weeks ago, shopkeepers from the Street of Looms had turned the girls' apartment into a makeshift studio; their sitting area covered with bolts of all kinds of fabrics in a rainbow of colors, dozens of different ribbons, and trims of exquisite lace. Aemma had been overjoyed and took to designing her gown with intense focus, yet she had changed her mind nearly a dozen times. First, she couldn’t decide what color she wanted - blue or lavender - next she was torn between which fabric - silk or chiffon. She finally settled on a light rose taffeta. Then came the “momentous” choice between a square or round neckline, cupped sleeves or long sleeves. Gael didn’t really care as much as her niece had, just as long as her gown was blue. It was her favorite color. The gowns had just arrived a few days past, delivered in beautiful ivory boxes. The girls had been ecstatic upon returning from their lessons that day to discover their gifted gowns in their apartments. It was a miracle their governess had been able to prevent them from putting on their gowns right then and there.

Aemma perked up a bit at the mention of the new gowns the queen ordered for them, but remembered why the gowns were ordered in the first place.

“Those are for the wedding ceremony at the sept Gael!” Aemma threw her hands up in the air in exasperation.

Gael shrugged and returned to her drawing. “You know we aren’t permitted to attend court events without being formally presented first.”

“It’s just not fair! Everyone else is going. Even that beastly Aleria Tyrell.” Aemma slumped in her chair again and resumed pouting.

Gael snickered. They had been introduced to the girl yesterday during the ladies luncheon in the queen’s ballroom. Aleria Tyrell had been in a foul mood indeed. Even dressed up in all that finery couldn’t hide the girl’s deplorable manners nor the barely concealed sneer on her face. She was younger than them, with frizzy curls and big brown eyes. She had been dolled up in a monstrous dress with so many gold roses embroidered into the fabric it barely moved. It probably was really itchy too. Gael had the misfortune of wearing a gown like that once. Within an hour, her skin had broken out in horrendous red blotches. The maester ordered her to bathe in cold milk to calm the intense itching. Maybe that’s why she was in a foul mood. Gael thought as she began to add details to the castle she had drawn on her lesson.

“Valerion isn’t going.” she added after a brief moment.

Aemma snorted. “That’s because he’s choosing not to attend.”

Gael hummed in response. Her brother Valerion had indeed chosen to be absent during the wedding feast. But he never was present at any court event anyways, preferring to spend the time hidden away in his apartments or in the royal library. Even when there weren’t court events he kept to himself. She was the only one of their family members he often bothered to see. They would spend an afternoon together in the godswood, often in a comfortable silence as he read and she drew. Her older brother never made her feel silly or stupid. She liked that about him.

“What if we go anyways?”

Gael’s head snapped up and she stared at her niece. “How would we do that? You know muña* would send us straight back to our chambers.”

Aemma looked around quickly to ensure their governess was not in their sitting room before leaning forward across the table, smiling wickedly. “Not if she doesn’t see us.” she whispered.

Gael tilted her head to the side in an unspoken question as she waits for Aemma to continue.

“We watch from a gallery!”

Gael blinked. “A gallery?” she repeated slowly.

Like the queen’s ballroom, the Great Hall boosted multiple upper galleries often used by court musicians. Aemma jumped out of her chair and started to pace in their sitting room.

“Yes!”

Gael wasn’t convinced and her face must’ve said such because Aemma continued. 

“Listen! Listen! We simply wait in our chambers until the feast has started, then we just sneak out onto an unused gallery!”

Aemma’s eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed with excitement at the thought. The crown of lilies fell askew over Aemma’s forehead when she turned to face her aunt. She fixed her crown before continuing.

“It’s perfect! We can be there without having to actually be there!”

“Think about it, we'll see everything! No one is going to be looking up; they’ll be looking at the future queen! We won’t have to talk to anyone or curtsy, it’ll just be us!”

A smile slowly began to spread across Gael’s face before she nodded. Aemma squealed in delight before running to her aunt causing the girls to tumble onto the Myrish carpet, giggling madly.

 Seventeenth Day of the Tenth Moon 90AC

the day of the Rhaenys’ wedding

Viserra I

the Fair Maiden’s top deck

The large double masted galley glided through the water with ease, its oars rising and falling in perfect rhythm increasing the ship’s speed. The strong winds and calm seas had shortened the typical length of the voyage, especially once they had rounded the Fingers and made headway into the Gullet. She stood at the bow of the ship for the majority of the journey desperate to see her home appear. And now King’s Landing was on the horizon. I’ve been away far too long. Viserra lifts her hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun. The pale red brick of the Red Keep shone with an almost ethereal glow in the mid morning light. The seven huge drum towers and massive curtain walls loomed overhead as the vessel skimmed closer towards the castle.

It had been nearly three years since she saw her home; the last time when the galley carrying her to White Harbor departed from the docks. She had stood as still as a statue, gripping the galley’s wooden railing until her knuckles turned white. Silent tears pooled in her eyes yet she refused to let them fall - not in public anyway - as the only home she’d ever known faded from her view.

She had begged her father on bended knees, tears falling openly on her cheeks as she pleaded with him to intervene, to prevent the match her mother had orchestrated.

”I know I must marry, but please Kepa choose someone else! Someone close in age with myself! Someone closer to my home! A lord from the Crownlands or the Stormlands! Please, I beg you! Don’t send me away!”

Jaehaerys had been unmoved by her pleas, coolly telling her that marriages were the queen’s domain before dismissing her from his audience chamber. She spent the rest of the afternoon in her apartment staring listlessly out her window, wallowing in self pity and drowning her sorrows in a flagon of wine.

Later that evening - either out of desperation or drink, most likely both - she snuck into her elder brother’s apartment hoping to convince him to save her from her fate by giving consent for her to marry one of his sons. But when she arrived he was not there, then without warning all that drink suddenly went to her head and she ended up sick. That’s how Baelon found her - vomit covered and barely conscious in his bed. Once word of what happened reached their mother, there was no going back or even getting a chance to explain her intentions, the marriage contract to Lord Manderly had been signed the very next day.

So with nothing left to lose, Viserra insisted on having one more night of fun before she went to freeze in the dreary North. So she swapped robes with her maidservant and disappeared into the streets of King’s Landing with a few trusted companions. The midnight revelry included stops in multiple ale houses and gambling dens in Fleabottom. They danced on tables in a tavern off Eel Alley and raced their horses through the cobblestone streets. By the end of the night they were so loaded with drink they had been unable to mount their horses so the group slowly made their way up King’s Way by foot, shrieking and laughing loudly. Once discovered returning to the castle at daybreak (they didn’t bother to sneak back in), she was confined to new chambers in the Red Keep, her maidservants replaced with septas. Her parents had guards stationed at her door around the clock and she had been housed in an apartment with no access to Meagor’s tunnels underneath the castle.

They certainly learned from their mistakes after dealing with Saera.

Viserra felt bitter resentment rise in her chest at the thought of that wretched girl. Out of all her sisters, Saera had been the most detested. She was cruel, hiding it under the guise of humor. Viserra lost count of all the hideous pranks she played on her siblings over the years. Putting bees in Daella’s bedchamber knowing how terrified she was of them was high on the list. But her cruelest joke had been sealing Viserra’s fate - a marriage to Lord Theomore Manderly of White Harbor, a man thrice her age and twice widowed. It would’ve never happened if Saera had not disgraced herself so completely. The last Viserra had heard of Saera was that she resided in Volantis, performing disgusting acts for coins in a pleasure house with a bastard child already.

Stupid whore.

Viserra shook off thoughts of her sister and gazed up at Red Keep. Her time in the North had not exactly been as dreadful as she first expected. Her new husband was thoughtful and kind towards her. His adult sons were always courteous and respectful but their wives and daughters were a different story. Upon first being introduced to the Manderly ladies, Viserra had been horrified to discover they all dyed their hair green. It had been so unexpected her courtly courtesies deserted her and she openly stared at the five of them, her disgust evident in her facial expression. They never forgot the slight to their pride at that first meeting and they maintained as much distance from her as polite society (and her lord husband) would allow.

Not that Viserra minded, she hadn’t much preferred the company of ladies, even as a child. Men and boys were easier.

Easier to sway and influence.

Her husband hadn't taken much effort to win over. The old man had desired a companion in his advancing age rather than a wife for heirs. So she gave him sweet smiles and kind words, and never denied him his marital rights the rare times the mood had struck him. In return, he granted her freedoms she never was allowed to enjoy before in the Red Keep. He permitted her to hunt, hawk and even learn archery. The activities had become a lifeline for her and she would forever be grateful to him for allowing her those liberties.

When she first saw him that day during that pitiful so-called wedding ceremony at the royal sept, Viserra never thought she would grow somewhat fond of the man. That she would actually feel somewhat saddened upon the realization he would not recover this time. Her husband had been at the Stranger’s door for many moons now, managing to hold on to life only due to the concoctions the maester gave him. Viserra had been at the man’s bedside, watching the maester force vile remedies down her husband’s throat. She had pitied him in the end, being forced to live like that. Once the maester’s stores ran low, she knew it was only a matter of time before he passed so she began publicly ordering preparations for the burial and privately packing her belongings. Only a few hours later, he died and Viserra had immediately disembarked for King’s Landing leaving instructions with the maester to send the raven only after her lord husband’s burial.

I will have arrived before the raven surely given the favorable weather.

She was confident the maester wouldn’t disobey her command as there was no one of higher authority within the keep when she departed. Her lord husband’s adult sons and their families had left for the capitol a fortnight ago for the girl’s wedding. Aemon’s daughter. She knew little about her eldest niece even though they spent two years together in the royal nursery. Yet following her niece’s second nameday, her parents had the girl’s education placed under their direct supervision. After that she hardly saw her brother’s only child, let alone conversed with her. Only things she knew for certain was that Rhaenys bonded to Alyssa’s dragon and she chose her intended.

Her wedding is today if I remember correctly.

Suddenly a roar echoed across the bay. Viserra whipped her head towards the sound then laughed wildly when she saw a red dragon shoot up to the sky coming from what could only be the Dragonpit.

She smiled gleefully as she watched the beast bank to the left and fly over the city. She took in the magnificence of the scene stretched out before her.

I will never leave my home again.

She was a Targaryen, the blood of the dragon, she belonged in the castle her ancestors built, and woe to those who believed differently.

Alysanne I

the queen’s apartment, Maegor’s Holdfast

Alysanne hummed under her breath as one of her ladies began to brush out her long hair to restyle for the wedding feast. Alysanne smiled as she thought back on the day’s events. The wedding ceremony had been absolutely magnificent, truly the grandest event the realm had seen in decades. Her wedding to Jaehaerys in 50AC had been a rather small ceremony. Well, her public wedding. Her and Jaehaerys were first married in secret on Dragonstone roughly a 12 moons prior, once she had discovered her mother’s plans to wed her to Ser Orryn Baratheon!  So Alysanne’s wedding had indeed been sparse in comparison to this spectacular affair.

Her granddaughter was breathtaking in her wedding gown, wearing Alysanne’s golden diadem. She looked regal as she gracefully descended from the back of Meleys and made her way down the Grand Sept aisle towards her intended. The maiden cloak draped upon her granddaughter’s shoulders had been used by Daella, Alyssa and Alysanne herself in their marriage ceremonies. She was every inch a queen today. She spoke her vows confidently pledging to take Lord Corlys Valeryon as her lord and husband after he placed his own family’s cloak around her, taking her under his protection. A chaste kiss followed their vows and the High Septon announced the pair as one flesh, one heart, one soul now and forever.

And if the cheering of the crowds within the sept had been loud once the couple were announced man and wife, the roar that erupted from the people as the couple emerged on the Grand Sept stairs had been deafening. Her poor sensitive Gael had clamped her hands over her ears at the noise. Alysanne had discreetly motioned to the governess to have her and Aemma escorted back to the Red Keep earlier than anticipated. Aemma normally would've been indignant at the request but she had gone without much fuss.

That was rather out of character for her, Alysanne thought looking back. She had been looking forward to taking the royal procession back through the city.

Thousands had lined the streets as the royal procession made its way down King’s Way to the Red Keep. Men, women and children cheered wildly as the royal wheelhouses passed. Alysanne smiled at the memory. She had not been the slightest annoyed when the crowd delayed their return to the Red Keep by a couple hours.

“Your majesty, the princesses have arrived to bid goodnight.”

Alysanne’s smile widened further at the news, waving away the lady doing her hair. She rose from her vanity, her arms outstretched to the girls who dash into her waiting arms, causing her to stumble slightly.

“Oh! My loves, be careful! I’m not as young as I once was.” Alysanne laughed before taking a step back. She looked down at the girls standing before her.

Both girls were in their silken nightgowns, nightcaps on their heads ; Aemma’s looked like she had attempted to embroider flowers along its edges. Just like Daella did. While Aemma had an uncanny likeness to her mother in both appearance and interests, her outgoing personality was in stark contrast to her mother’s timid one. Alysanne slowly and carefully kneeled down in front of the girls before giving them each a kiss on their foreheads.

“We’ve come to say goodnight grandmother!” Aemma chirped happily.

Alysanne raised an eyebrow. Aemma had been begging and pleading to attend the wedding feast for weeks. But today not a peep about attending, even now, nor any fuss about leaving the ceremony early. The shift was curious to say the least but before Alysanne had a chance to ask, her daughter spoke up.

“Will you be able to read us a story tonight?”

Alysanne turned to her youngest, her Winter Child. She reaches out and cupped  her daughter’s cheek.

“I’m afraid not, little dragon.” she said softly. “But on the morrow when we break our fast, I will tell you all about the feast. How does that sound? Hmm.”

Alysanne tapped her finger on Gael’s nose. Gael giggled and nodded in response. She pulled the girls into her arms once more, hugging them fiercely.

“Rest well my darlings.” Alysanne whispered against their heads. “I love you both very much.”

The girls reply with a kiss upon her cheeks. They then step back and curtsy, almost in unison, before departing with their governess.

Alysanne slowly got up from her kneeling position, waving off offers of help from her ladies. “My body is not yet feeble. Go about your business.” she snapped. Their coddling is really getting ridiculous. She returned to her vanity and allowed her lady to resume her hair styling while another applied rouge to her cheeks and lips.

“My queen, Grand Maester Elysar has sent this for your approval.”

Alysanne thanked her lady as she was handed the scroll. She opened the parchment and began reviewing the names written. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise when she saw just how many maidens were listed. Her eyes dart down the list, there were over a dozen minor houses with eligible daughters. Even with the Vale and Northern houses unaccounted for, it was a great start. Old the man may be but the efficiency in which he completed his tasks was something the younger members of this court could learn to emulate. Alysanne placed the parchment on her vanity, grabs a quill and drew a line through House Farman. Jaehaerys would never allow it, not after the whole debacle with Elissa Farman and the dragon eggs she stole. Those eggs were somewhere across the Narrow Sea now. Thankfully, there had been no whispering of hatchlings from the far east.

She continued to thoughtfully review the list before striking out Houses Bracken and Blackwood. The enmity between them would never allow one to be raised higher than the other. And I cannot raise both for I will not have my granddaughters by law at each other's throats. After giving the list a look through one more time, Alysanne then crossed out all the girls younger than thirteen namedays. She smiled when she saw the amount remaining, truly a sign her decision was the right choice. Seven. Alysanne handed the list to her lady.

“Please send a summons to the following families. I will require their daughters as new ladies in the new year.”

Alysanne's ladies quickly dress herself in the gown she had specially made for tonight’s festivities - a deep blue with hundreds of tiny iridescent pearls sewn into the fabric of the dress’ overlay. The gown was a modest style, one befitting a mature queen. The neckline stopping just below her collarbones and the sleeves at her wrists. The gown flared out naturally at her waistline - after giving birth to thirteen children she found the cut the most flattering for her figure. Her long hair, white with age, had been braided and twisted behind her head in an updo, pinned back in a bejeweled hair net and large pearls dangled from her ears. Giving one last look in her looking glass to confirm her appearance was perfect, she strode through the corridors of the Red Keep to the Great Hall.

Even though the start of the feast had been delayed, the revelry was not. By the time Alysanne reached her seat upon the dais for the royal family, she had noticed several young people who had clearly consumed too much drink.

King Jaehaerys stood and the Hall fell silent. “My lords and ladies, I welcome you to this most joyous occasion! My family and I are humbled by your presence here this evening. Today we celebrate the marriage of my eldest grandchild, Princess Rhaenys.”

Jaehaerys raised his goblet in the bride’s direction. “May the light of the Seven smile down upon your marriage.”

Alysanne drank to her husband’s toast happily. Smiling more widely when the cheering of their guests echoing his sentiment through the hall. Music began to play from the galleries above and Alysanne caught movement from one of the unoccupied ones out of the corner of her eye. She glanced up just in time to see two figures with blonde hair dart out of sight. So that’s why they gave me no fuss today. Alysanne shook her head and smiled again. I shall let them have their fun.

Couples began to mingle on the dance floor and Alysanne slipped into an easy conversation with Prince Aemon and his wife, Jocelyn Baratheon. Laughter and merriment was evident everywhere in the Great Hall. Alysanne beamed with pride as she watched Rhaenys and Corlys make their way to the center of the hall for their first dance. Guests quickly clear the way to give the royal couple their space.

When they had finish, Alysanne clapped gleefully, beaming with happiness for them, for the glorious future she saw for the realm when she looked at her beloved granddaughter. She still remembered that day the girl was placed in her arms for the first time - “our future queen” she proclaimed to the child’s beaming parents.

Slowly, Alysanne noticed the Great Hall had grown eerily silent. She tore her eyes from the married couple and looked over to her husband, to see if he had risen to make another toast. He had not. She glanced around the royal dais for the source of the sudden shift - Aemon appeared mildly surprised, Baelon uneasy, Jocelyn mildly infuriated, Viserys was staring open mouthed and Daemon was smirking. She noticed that the majority of the attendees had turned back to look at the Great Hall’s entrance. Alysanne followed their gaze and nearly dropped her goblet in shock at who stood there, before the entire nobility of the realm, before her. Her shock turned to a rage that overwhelmed her so completely she knew without a doubt her displeasure was written on her face, for standing at the top of the great hall’s steps, dressed in a dramatic black gown, was Princess Viserra Targaryen.

Chapter Text

Eighteenth Day of the Tenth Moon 90AC

Jaehaerys I

the king’s chambers, Maegor’s Holdfast

The bright morning light made him wince as it pooled through the windows once the servant drew back the curtains. He moved to the edge of the bed and placed his feet on the cool stone floor. Groaning, he held his head in his hands, rubbing his temples. The Arbor gold flowed too freely during last night’s festivities and he indulged beyond his body’s limits. Especially once Alysanne began her furious muttering which continued well after they retired from the Great Hall. However, when they crossed the threshold into his private apartments, her muttering became screeching - how the perfect night had been ruined, a blight on the royal family, an ungrateful attention seeking child, ruined our granddaughter’s day. He ended up dismissing her from his chambers within only a few minutes of them arriving. Alysanne had been indignant upon leaving, they had shared his chambers since Gael was moved into an apartment with Aemma, so she exited in a huff.

Normally, he didn’t mind her ramblings but he needed respite from it for the evening and no doubt she would’ve continued into the early morning had he not told her to retire to her own chambers. He needed time to think, to process what occurred in the Great Hall that evening and the dynastic consequences that would surely follow.  I didn’t account for her coming home so quickly. Jaehaerys thought tiredly, stretching his arms over his head. As he rubbed the back of his neck, he began chuckling under his breath at his arrogance; his assumption the gods would bend to his plans. While he always knew Viserra’s marriage to Lord Manderly would be a short one considering the lord’s advanced age, he didn’t expect it to be less than a thousand days either. Alysanne first proposed the match within a year of Saera being sent to the Silent Sisters. Viserra was the only daughter who had yet to be formally betrothed and after the scandal Saera caused it seemed best to get her married quickly lest she followed her sister’s example.

“Lady Mara has written. She was first a companion of mine while we resided on Dragonstone if you recall before becoming one of my senior ladies.”

Jaehaerys hummed in recollection. “And what, dear wife, has prompted this correspondence?”

“Well, apparently her brother is looking for a new wife and since House Manderly has been a loyal vessel since Aegon’s Conquest, she implies a royal match would be advantageous.”

”You want to give him Viserra’s hand? He’s older than myself, Aly. He is hardly a worthy match for a fifteen year old maiden.”

”It will cease his grumbling about a royal match and in the meantime we can arrange marriages for Baelon’s boys. I don’t expect it to be a long marriage, my love. Lord Manderly is old. Princes Viserys and Daemon will be wed by the time she returns.”

While confused at his queen’s sudden urgency to betroth Viserra, he understood her reasoning and thus consented for Alysanne to begin the negotiations. Once Viserra learned of the betrothal she had barged into his audience chamber unannounced, throwing herself at his feet. She was completely distraught, breathing rapidly, her braids disheveled, her eyes wide with fear, tears falling openly onto her cheeks. He had been so taken back by her uncharacteristic lack of decorum he harshly dismissed her from his presence. Once Viserra was caught in Baelon’s chambers in a state of undress, the marriage contract was signed immediately.

Following her marriage he had no direct contact with his daughter. She had only been mentioned briefly in letters. And as Viserra’s silence stretched into years, Jaehaerys was surprised to discover how much he missed her company. While he loved all his thirteen children he would not deny that some he favored over others, Viserra being one of them.

Viserra had been born in the Spring of 71AC - their tenth child and sixth daughter. She was the most beautiful infant, with large expressive eyes and wisps of silver gold hair who blossomed into a charming, precocious child. She excelled in the womanly arts expected of a princess - sewing, dancing, embroidery, singing. She mastered the harpsichord by her eighth nameday and the lute by her tenth. She took to her courtly etiquette lessons like breathing, possessing an inherent grace uncanny in one so young. Her personality and nature, the most refreshing contrast to her elder sisters.

Alyssa’s boyishness had always concerned him. She had preferred to train with a sword rather than a sewing needle. Her candor with members of the court often resulted in complaints to Jaehaerys regarding her “unprincess” like behavior. Her death in childbirth may perhaps have been a blessing.

Maegelle’s religious piety and adherence to the Faith of the Seven had been quite infuriating to Jaehaerys regardless of how easy a child she had been. When he had been crowned king he understood that the Faith was simply a means to an end. He had seen firsthand during his father’s reign how much trouble religious uprisings could cause and he did not wish a reprisal during his own. So, he ensured the royal family was seen honoring the Faith of the Seven publicly, adhering to religious customs and holy days. He had not expected a daughter of his to become so engrossed in this Andal religion that she’d forfeit her royal status!

Daella’s timidness and lack of intellect left him indifferent to the little girl who constantly clung to her mother’s skirts. However, once she reached maidenhood his indifference grew into abject frustration. He was positive if he hadn't given Alysanne the ultimatum of Daella being wed or joining the Silent Sisters they never would’ve been rid of her.

Seara, she had been the biggest disappointment of all. Her scandal had left a blight on the royal family, even more so once she began to spread her legs for coins in Volantis. And then there was Gael…

Jaehaerys groaned and ran his had over his face at the thought of his youngest child. 

He had been looking forward to seeing Viserra again for Rhaenys wedding, that is until the Small Council received Lord Manderly's response to the marriage summons, expressly stating that himself and his wife would not be making the journey due to his ill health. Thus, when his daughter appeared at the Great Hall in the midst of the revelry he was genuinely surprised - both by her unannounced arrival and how much she had grown. The sulking child who left King’s Landing three years ago had clearly benefited from her short time in the North, for standing before the court was now an assertive and refined young woman. From what he could surmise, the Manderlys treated her with the utmost respect and courtesy that a royal princess was due.

Undaunted by a thousand pairs of eyes on her, Viserra gracefully descended the steps and walked towards the royal dias, her head held high. Once in front of the royal dias before the Iron Throne, she fell into a deep curtsy, her head bowed low, waiting for his permission to rise. Jaehaerys rose from his chair and walked around the dias to her. He reached out his hand which she accepted and rose to her full height. He smiled softly as he took in her appearance. She had grown much taller. Her silver-gold hair - styled in an intricate braid - now reached past her waist. There was a healthy fullness to her face that had been absent when she resided in the Red Keep. Her complexion still rosy despite the black damask dress she wore.

“We were not expecting you, my jewel.” He tenderly kissed her cheek. Viserra smiled softly in return yet her amethyst eyes glistened with unshed tears when she met his gaze.

”Nor I,” she murmured, “I come bearing ill tidings, my king, and it is apparent I have arrived before the raven.”

Viserra gripped his hand tighter and took a shaky breath before continuing. “My lord husband was called by the Stranger just a week past. I did not expect to arrive so quickly but the weather was much obliging despite the melancholy reason for my journey.”

After informing Wyman Manderly of his ascension to his father’s lordship, the festivities continued but with a clear shift in the night’s mood. Mostly coming from his enraged wife, seething in the chair beside him, her narrowed eyes watching Viserra’s every move, and noting who she conversed with.

“Your majesty, the queen has arrived.”

Jaehaerys lifted his head from his hands and glanced over to his butler.

“The hour?”

“The hour of the rooster.”

Fourteen Flames, spare me. Jaehaerys sat up and ran his hand over his face. How is she awake this god awful early?

“She ensured that the morning meal arrived prior to your awakening.”

That’s welcome news at least.

He nodded, rising from his bed. He put his velvet dressing robe on over his night shift then walked into his main apartment. Alysanne was already seated at the table, dishes were spread out in the formal and ostentatious manner normally reserved for court events. Jaehaerys suppresses a groan of annoyance at his wife’s frivolity. God's woman, it’s simply a morning meal. Jaehaerys placed a quick kiss upon the top of his wife’s head before taking a seat across from her. He gave her a small smile. “Did you sleep well, my dear?”

Alysanne did not speak, just nodded stiffly, a pinched expression on her face.

“You’re not to break your fast with the girls this morning?” he asked.

There was no response. He clenched his jaw before he gestured to a servant to begin serving the meal. The silence was tense as their servants placed portions of each dish on their plates. After serving the royal couple, the servants retreated into the background giving the pair some semblance of privacy. His wife was still annoyed about last evening’s events, the tightness around her mouth gave it away, so she would resolve to say nothing at all. A childhood trait she (unfortunately) never outgrew, whenever angry she opted for silence, refusing to speak to whomever earned her ire, instead she defaulted to bare courtesies, one word answers and stiff gestures. It was most tiresome.

And most unbecoming of a queen consort.

“The new Lord Manderly seemed to have taken the news of his father’s death in stride.” he said lightly, attempting to engage her in a conversation.

Alysanne scowled at the mention of the new Lord Manderly and aggressively stabbed at the egg and cheese stuffed peppers on her plate.

“Yes.” Alysanne finally responded.

“I believe I spied Gael and Aemma hiding in a music gallery last night.” Jaehaerys grabbed his apple tart off his plate.

“I wonder how they eluded their governess,” he said, chuckling.

Alysanne didn’t reply. Jaehaerys paused before taking a bite, usually conversation of the girls elicited a response from her. He sighed.

I’m not playing this game so early in the morn.

“Speak your piece Alysanne,” he stated bluntly.

Alysanne froze. Her eyes flickered up to meet his gaze. He gestured his hand in a forward motion to prompt her to speak.

Alysanne set down her silverware daintily before dabbing a silk napkin gently to her lips. She folded her hands onto her lap before calmly meeting his gaze.

“It was done on purpose.”

“To what are you referring?”

Alysanne bristled at his nonchalant response, squaring back her shoulders as her blue eyes narrow dangerously.

“Viserra walking in like that when the feast already started! Ever since she was a child, she always needed the spotlight. But this!? Eclipsing the wedding of her future queen-“

Not this future queen nonsense.

“The favorable weather explained the speed of her arrival. What was she to do, stay sequestered in her apartments until you determine otherwise?” he quipped, deflecting from her misuse of Rhaenys’ title.

Alysanne’s nostrils flared. “That doesn’t allow her to just waltz in uninvited!”

Jaehaerys tilted his head to the side, taken back by his wife’s statement. He took a bite of his apple tart. Is this a jest? he thought unhumorously as he finished eating.

“She was invited. The summons had been issued to Lord Manderly and his household,” he said slowly, as if explaining something to a small child for the first time, “that includes his wife.”

Alysanne's scowl deepened at his tone. Her eyes were hard as she glared at him. She slammed her hands on the table suddenly causing the delicate china and glassware to clatter.

“Why did she stay behind in White Harbor then?! Why didn’t she arrive with the rest of the Manderly party?!”

Her voice was shrill now, the high pitched sound nearly making him wince as his head throbbed in pain. Jaehaerys began to trace his fingers along his forehead, trying to resist the temptation to snap at his wife. He needed to pacify the situation quickly and not allow his own anger to over take him. He studied his wife carefully for a moment. Her blue eyes were wide, her pupils dilated, her breathing had become slightly ragged, and she was clenching her fists so tightly, her knuckles were beginning to turn white. This cannot continue. He took a deep breath to calm himself further, then reached across the table to tenderly take her hand in his.

“Aly.” He said her childhood nickname gently, attempting to subdue the fire that was brewing within her. Alysanne sniffled softly, gripping his hand in return and slowing down her ragged breathing.

There we go. Jaehaerys thought as he felt the tension leave his wife’s body. He brought her hand to his lips to kiss softly.

“My darling,” he murmured against her skin, “if she did join them you would’ve found fault in that too.”

He looked up and held her gaze. She opened her mouth to speak. He squeezed her hand in warning.

“Do not deny it.” His voice was firm.

“I jus-,” Alysanne broke off and looked down, avoiding his gaze. “I didn’t think she’d return.” Alysanne finally muttered.

Jaehaerys furrowed his brow in confusion. “You aren’t fool enough to believe that old man would outlive her? She was always going to come home Aly. You said so yourself when you proposed the match.”

Alysanne said nothing, refusing to look him in the eye. A flush began to form across her face and her breathing hitched.

Suddenly, what she meant dawns on him. He let go of her hand and sat back. “You thought she’d flee,” he said accusingly, his voice hard.

Alysanne finally met his gaze unflinchingly, not denying his accusation.

Jaehaerys scoffed in disbelief and look away from his wife. Viserra had not been a difficult child nor was she an easy one. She was high spirited and got into her fair share of trouble however - and most importantly - she knew her duty as a princess. Truthfully, he didn’t quite understand how or when this horrendous opinion of Viserra manifested in his wife’s mind. Alysanne doted on their other daughters and granddaughters. And while he was aware that she favored the company of some over others, like himself, he didn't realize just how bad his wife’s opinion of Viserra truly had become.

“She is not Saera.” He said after a moment.

“You have always been blind to her true character!” snapped Alysanne. “Her and Saera were constant companions in their girlhood. They went around terrorizing everyone! Look at what they did to the Kingsguard.”

Jaehaerys resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Dying their white cloaks pink* to celebrate the birth of their baby sister is not nefarious.”

He had actually found it rather amusing when the two girls were brought before him after their deed was discovered, their hands bowed, their dresses and hands stained by the pink dye they used.

“We just wanted our little sister to have a Kingsguard with a pink cloak, but since we didn’t know who would be assigned to her so we simply had no choice but to dye them all.”

Alysanne reddened but presses further. “Viserra nearly had several boys killed** or have you forgotten that?” she hissed.

Viserra had only been ten namedays when the incident occurred, far younger than the noble boys who allowed themselves to be duped into a life threatening stunt by a mere girl.

“Ha!” Jaehaerys let out a barking laugh, “if those fools had actually awakened Balerion, our heirs would’ve been better for it. They would provide a fool’s counsel, best be rid of them.”

Alysanne stared at him in utter shock, her mouth agape. “You cannot believe that callously!”

“I can.”

“Jae-“

“Enough.” He firmly brought his fist down on the table. “You’d honestly rather have another daughter abscond to some remote part of the world than reside within this keep?”

After all their losses, Jaehaerys was shocked and somewhat infuriated that Alysanne was not rejoicing over Viserra’s return. Over the long years of their marriage they had been blessed with thirteen children, however five had been given to the flames. Maegelle and Vaegon have been absent from their lives for decades as both resided in Oldtown. And they had nearly lost Valerion in his infancy. When Valerion first became ill, Jaehaerys feared the gods had come to claim yet another son. Him and Alysanne refused to be separated from him and slept by the babe’s sickbed for weeks. The maester said it was a miracle Valerion had managed to survive at all when in truth it was their sacrifice of his hatchling that ensured the boy would live. He wondered if Alysanne would still hold this venomous view if Viserra had not safely returned to the Red Keep three years ago. She was a royal princess galavanting around the worst parts of the capitol city at night without an escort or any kingsguard protection. Anything could’ve happened to her.

“She’s too ambitious for her own good.” Alysanne’s voice now had a hysterical edge to it.

Jaehaerys raised an eyebrow at her statement. He was silent for a moment before reaching for his goblet.

“So ambitious she’d run away. Hmph. It must be exhausting believing such contradictions simultaneously.”

He waved his other hand in her direction dismissively. He was over his wife’s complaints, the contradictions in her reasonings. Plus his head was beginning to throb rather painfully behind his eyes.

“She wants to be queen! She said so herself after Alyssa died!” Alysanne hissed, her lips curled into a snarl.

Jaehaerys nearly choked on his drink at his wife’s accusation. He gapped at her, “You cannot be serious.”

Alysanne met his gaze unflinchingly, daring him to say differently. Jaehaerys muttered profanity under his breath and ran a hand through his beard in frustration.

He could not deny that after Alyssa died in childbirth, Viserra was overheard telling her companion Beatrice Butterwell that if Baelon married one sister surely he could marry another***. But her scheming aloud to become queen? That was never reported to him. He downed the rest of his drink and placed his goblet back on the table. Jaehaerys leaned back against the ornate chair, placing his arms atop the cushioned armrests, refusing to look at his wife.

“She was thirteen,” he finally replied through clenched teeth.

Alysanne snorted at his half hearted response and crossed her arms over her chest, a tight lipped smile on her face. She knew she had him.

“When she was fifteen she snuck into Baelon’s chambers to seduce him. He may have rejected her but his sons remain unwed. She will use it to her advantage and weasel her way into the line of succession! She’s always played games with the boys in court. What makes you think our grandsons will be exempt?”

Blessed Flames spare me. Jaehaerys began to rub his forehead again.

Alysanne remained stubborn to the point of folly once committed to an idea; it seems their daughter had become a problem the moment what the girl said reached Alysanne’s ears all those years ago. His queen sighed and leaned forward in her chair, her right hand resting atop the table.

“Jae.” Her voice was softer now. His eyes flicked up to met hers.

“You have always preached to me that a Targaryen king must first and foremost be the protector of the realm. Tell me husband, truly, do you think the realm would be protected if Viserra ever became queen consort?”

Jaehaerys scoffed - the possibility of Viserra becoming queen, ha! - placing his hand over his mouth. He studied Alysanne for a long while, from what he could tell she was earnest in her belief. How Viserra would even succeed in becoming queen he knew not but it was too early for this conversation and the throbbing in his head was becoming worse the longer this conversation went on. He sighed deeply, placing his hand back on the cushioned armrest.

“What would you have me do then? Hmm?”

“Remarry her to some minor lord before she causes strife.”

Jaeharyes gritted his teeth in annoyance. For one so hellbent on ensuring courtly etiquette was followed, his wife was sure to ignore them whenever convenient to whatever games she was concocting.

“The customary mourning period for a widow is two years,” he said flatly.

“As soon as it is appropriate then, please.”

Jaehaerys just nodded his head in unspoken agreement. Alsyanne smiled in response, before tilting her head down in gratitude. The couple fell into a tense silence as they finished their morning meal. After the servants cleared the table and retreated from the chambers Alysanne cleared her throat awkwardly. She had began fidgeting with the delicate chain upon her neck, a sign she was not confident of his reaction to whatever she was about to say.

“In the new year, I would like Aemma to make her formal presentation along with the ladies intended for the princes.”

He pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes in anger. Alysanne did not look up at him as she declared her intention for their granddaughter.

She took a sip from her goblet before continuing, “The court needs to be reminded that there is another unwed royal maiden.”

Jaehaerys clenched his fist tightly around his silk napkin. Aemma was only eight, a child still under the care of a governess. She was too young for a formal presentation or to be courted by noblemen; too young to be wedded and bedded.

She’ll endanger a granddaughter just to spite a daughter. Jaehaerys thought furiously as his wife continued to ignore his icy gaze. He threw his napkin upon the table.

“So be it.”

Chapter Text

Eighteenth Day of the Tenth Moon 90AC

Aemon I

the crown princes’ apartment, Meagor’s Holdfast

“My featherbed is deep and soft,
and there I'll lay you down.
I'll dress you all in yellow silk,
and on your head a crown.”

Soft raspy singing slowly pulled him from his slumber. He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the morning light streaming into the apartment. He stretched his arms over his head, a groan escaping from his lips as he did so. He pulled himself up into a seated position, the ivory bed sheets slipping down his bare chest and pooling at his waist. He brushed his pale gold hair out of his eyes as he looked at the source of the singing. His wife, in only a chiffon chemise, was seated in front of her large vanity, gently brushing the night’s tangles from her dark hair. She was singing under her breath, her eyes closed.

“For you shall be my lady love,
and I shall be your lord.
I'll always keep you warm and safe,
and guard you with my sword.”

Aemon leaned his head against the headboard, closing his eyes, listening to his wife’s sweet voice fill their apartment, enjoying their peaceful domesticity. Private moments like these had become quite rare for the couple over their two decade long marriage so he was determined to enjoy every second when such sweet moments occurred.

”And how she smiled and how she laughed,
the maiden of the tree.
She spun away and said to him,
no featherbed for me.”

Aemon’s smile widened as she sang his favorite verse, opening his eyes to admire her. Lady Jocelyn Baratheon was a great beauty indeed, with a fair rosy complexion offset by her long dark hair and eyes yet she was so much more. She was quick witted yet soft spoken, possessing a keen intelligence with a good mind for politics. Her shy, stoic personality meshing with Aemon’s reserved one remarkably well. He had been in love with her since he was a small boy, ever since he first saw her that day in 61AC. She had been brought to court by her father, Lord Roger Baratheon, who requested that the king and queen - as his daughter’s half siblings - raise her alongside their own children. He would forever be grateful to his mother for arranging them to be seated side by side at the feast celebrating his anointment as Prince of Dragonstone. He never would’ve found the courage to approach her otherwise - not for many years later at least.

He quietly rose from their great feather bed and ambled over to her. Her chemise was loose enough that its neckline had slipped down her arms slightly, exposing her fair skin. He traced his fingertips along his wife’s shoulders, smiling to himself as her singing hitched at his touch. Jocelyn leaned into his caresses without hesitation, a coy smile forming along her lips while her left hand reached up to entwine with his.

”I'll wear a gown of golden leaves,
and bind my hair with grass,
But you can be my forest love,
and me your forest lass.”

As she finished singing the last verse, she opened her dark eyes and met his gaze in her large oval looking glass. Aemon brushed her black hair over her right shoulder before leaning forward to place tender kisses along her left shoulder up to the base of her neck.

“Good morning, my love.” he whispered once his kisses reached her ear before playfully nipping at her earlobe.

Jocelyn giggled at her husband’s antics then turned upon her ottoman to face her husband better, her smile easy and her eyes filled with adoration. “Good morning, my dear.”

Aemon leaned forward and kissed her deeply. He cupped her face, tracing his thumb along her cheek. He broke the kiss a few moments later, placing his forehead against hers.

“Why are you out of bed so early hmm?” he murmured.

Jocelyn pulled back from him, tilting her head up to study his face before a small sigh escaped her lips. She pressed a quick peck on his cheek then turned to her vanity once more. Aemon furrowed his brow at her reaction before standing to his full height once more, his hands clasped behind his back. He tilted his head to the side, an eyebrow slightly raised in the unspoken question as his wife returned to her morning routine. Jocelyn was dabbing a small amount of her favorite perfumes upon each wrists when she caught sight of his reflection in her looking glass. She laughed airily at his confused expression as she rubbed her wrists together to combine the scents.

“Rhaenys, Corlys and the Velaryon party leave for Driftmark. The royal procession is scheduled to depart within a couple hours,” she explained as she opened her jewelry casket, her eyes scanning over her extensive collection.

Aemon’s eyebrows shot up in recollection before groaning loudly and running a hand down his face.

“Seven fucking hells,” he muttered to himself before he turned heel to their dressing room. Quickly donning a black dressing robe and selecting his attire for the occasion before returning to their bedchamber. He placed his clothes upon their bed and went to retrieve his boots, still muttering curses under his breath. Jocelyn hummed in agreement with his sentiments, nodding absentmindedly. Her attention was more focused on what jewelry she should adorn for the royal occasion rather than his curses. She had chosen a delicate necklace of pearls already, having set the item aside on her vanity. Now she was currently holding up two different earrings, one to each ear, contemplating the merits of each.

“What was the reasoning for this god awful early send off?” Aemon asked incredulously, taking a seat upon their bed.

Jocelyn didn’t respond immediately as she put the unchosen pieces back in her jewelry casket. She rose from her vanity and kissed him.

“You know how our daughter is,” she replied cheekily, a smirk upon her lips before disappearing into their dressing room.

Aemon snorted at the truth of the statement. Rhaenys had been a force from the moment she came howling into the world that morning on the seventh day of the seventh moon in 74AC.

Aemon had originally resolved to stay at Jocelyn’s side during her labors. But once it became clear this was no false alarm and the babe was truly on the way, Aemon was unceremoniously forced from the chambers. He had begun to pace the corridor, anxiously fidgeting with his wedding band.

Baelon and Alyssa joined him short time afterwards. They were panting heavily, having sprinted from the training yard as soon as the news of Jocelyn’s labor reached them. They remained by his side, keeping vigil outside their good sister’s chambers throughout the night and into the next morning

’It’s been hours.’ Aemon thought grimly, as he sat couched on the stone floor, gripping his head in his hands.

A long shriek of agonizing pain pierced through the hall. Aemon gripped his head tighter at the sound, his fingers further entangling around his pale hair.

“At least you know she’s ok.”

Aemon whipped to his left to glare at his younger sister. Alyssa was seated on the floor next to him with her legs stretched out in front of her. Her dark blonde hair had no trace of silver and was pulled back off her face in a mess of tangles. She was still wearing her training clothes from the day before.

Her mis-matched eyes widened at the volatile glare he shot her way. Alyssa raised her hands in mock surrender. “Calm yourself, brother. I just mean that her still screaming is a good thing. It’s silence we should fear.”

Aemon gritted his teeth, turning away from his sister to gaze intently at the chamber door across the corridor. Alyssa was right of course, but it didn’t make hearing his beloved wife scream like that any easier.

’I will never put her through this again,’ he swore to himself.

Another scream tore through the air - louder, more primal than those before - and Aemon jumped to his feet at the unusual sound. Baelon stood up beside him and placed his hand on his brother's shoulder in silent support. Aemon shifted his weight from one foot to another, his anxiety rising even further as Jocelyn continued to scream in the same manner.

Baelon squeezed his shoulder, mostly to prevent him from bolting into the birthing chamber. Aemon covered his face with his hands, not wanting his siblings to see the tears that were beginning to fall from his eyes.

A few more minutes passed and a new sound was heard - a most welcome one. Aemon’s head snapped up as the babe’s continued howling could be heard. Baelon clapped him on the back in congratulations before pulling him into a fierce hug. Alyssa jumped up from the floor with a cheer and hugged him as well.

The apartment door opened a short time later to reveal the grand maester who was carefully holding the newest member of the royal family.

Aemon dashed forward, closing the gap between them, “My Jocelyn, is she-“ he began to ask, his eyes darting past the maester’s shoulder to the open chamber door

Elysar nodded. “She’s safe, my prince. The princess is a strong lass, she shall recover.”

Aemon let out a shaky breath in relief, nodding earnestly before glancing down at the tiny bundle in the maester’s arms.

“A healthy girl, my prince,” announced maester Elysar. “Would you like to hold her?”

Aemon nodded mutely before the newborn was carefully placed into his arms. He stared transfixed, studying his daughter’s face, her little nose, her lips, the wisps of dark hair atop her head and suddenly love for her overcame him. Tears of happiness and relief blurred his vision but this time he let them fall, no longer caring about being seen weeping.

“She’s so tiny!” gushed Alyssa, coming to stand at his right, “what’s to be her name?”

Aemon didn’t respond at once, he and Jocelyn had originally agreed on Daenerys should the babe be a girl - in honor of his elder sister - but as he studied the babe’s face once more he just knew that wasn’t her name.

The babe began to coo, scrunching up her small face before opening her eyes, revealing their beautiful pale lilac color. Aemon smiled widely.

“Rhaenys.”

While the birth of the new princess may have greatly disappointed King Jaehaerys - who had foolishly announced to the court that his first grandchild would be a boy - Aemon delighted in his firstborn. She had flowered into a beautiful young woman with fair skin and dark hair like her mother and the lilac eyes of Old Valyria like himself. And like her mother, Rhaenys was so much more than just her beauty. She possessed an inherent sense of justice and knew her heart and mind with rare clarity. She never hesitated to voice her opinions and make herself heard, even as an infant she would babble, coo, and lead adults by the hand in order to be understood. She was innately clever and once she began speaking in earnest - just shy of her second nameday - her intelligence became apparent to anyone who held a conversation with the toddling princess. The governess at the time tasked with educating the young royals within the nursery - Viserra, Rhaenys and Viserys - soon reported to them that there was nothing left she could teach the young princess. It had been expected for Rhaenys to outpace her younger cousin, but she also quickly surpassed her aunt, becoming bored of what the princess now called “baby” lessons.

Wishing to foster their daughter’s intelligence, he and Jocelyn spared no expense when it came to their daughter’s education. They ensured only the best and brightest minds from the Citadel taught their heir and Rhaenys had thrived. She mastered basic arithmetic and geometry by her eighth nameday before moving onto complex mathematical theories that even Aemon couldn’t comprehend. He honestly didn’t understand why she requested the lessons; she already had a firm grasp on the basic arithmetic a monarch needed to ensure a prosperous treasury. She was well versed in the histories of the Westerosi kingdoms, their regions, economies, culture and climate and had memorized the house words and sigils of all the Lord Paramounts and major houses, even Dorne.

Although she had a firm grasp on current events and legal theory, Jaehaerys still refused to allow Rhaenys to attend Small Council meetings in any capacity. As such, Aemon had been discussing state matters with his daughter in the privacy of his personal study for years.

She had been educated in warcraft and had a basic knowledge of siege and battle tactics. Following her eleventh nameday, Aemon procured a master at arms to instruct her in sword fighting and archery. Once assured she would become the next Lady of Driftmak, she wasted no time in requesting additional lessons in sea navigation, ship building and even astronomy.

Jaehaerys, rather than being impressed with his granddaughter’s tenacity and intellect, complained about “serious gaps” in Rhaenys’ education. However as the years passed and no siblings followed - not even another pregnancy - Jaehaerys was forced to begrudgingly accept that Rhaenys would be Aemon’s heir in perpetuity. So an education in only courtly etiquette and womanly arts would’ve be insufficient indeed.

Now that she was married and - gods willing - would soon have an heir of her own, it was almost time to set the final piece upon the board. He simply needed to find an opportunity to present to his father what he’d been working on for a near decade. His proposal would codify the succession laws concerning the Iron Throne under the bases of absolute primogeniture. As it stood now the laws and traditions concerning the rights of succession were blurred. Since Aegon’s Conquest there had been four ruling kings but only once did the crown pass smoothly from former king to their named heir.

Upon King Aenys death, his brother Maegor claimed the throne, usurping his nephew, Aegon the Uncrowned, slewing him on the battlefield. Maegor eventually named his nephew’s eldest child, Aerea, his heir when none of his six wives bore living children. Once Maegor had been discovered dead, the Iron Throne by all rights should’ve passed to Aerea Targaryen. Not only because Maegor had named her his heir but because by Andal law a daughter comes before an uncle. Yet his own father had usurped her rightful place, being crowned King Jaehaerys First of His Name in her stead.

Aemon did not intend for his daughter to share a similar fate, to be cast aside in favor of her uncle or younger male cousin and denied her birthright simply on the account of her sex. He was determined - as the Prince of Dragonstone and the Master of Law - to do everything in his power to ensure it would not happen to his Rhaenys. Even if that meant undermining his brother’s plans.

Although Jaehaerys may have been forced to accept Rhaenys status as his only child, his father still expected that she would marry Baelon’s eldest son Prince Viserys. They had been born a year apart; the eldest children of the king’s eldest sons. As the king’s eldest grandson, Viserys had a legitimately stronger claim to the Iron Throne than his daughter. Marriage to him would’ve been Rhaenys’ easiest path to ascend the Iron Throne but it would’ve been disastrous in the long term.

His nephew was known as a good natured lad who got along well with everyone but that’s exactly what made the boy weak. His intense need to avoid conflict prevented him from committing to any position, he simply agreed with whomever he was speaking at the time. It was baffling how willfully blind Baelon was to his son’s true character. Aemon shuddered to think what kind of king consort his nephew would’ve been if he had not gently guided Rhaenys away from the de-facto arranged match. He cautioned her very early in her childhood to bide her time, to wait for the right moment to inform the king of her rejection of his eldest grandson.

He couldn’t have been prouder that day three years ago in 87AC when she revealed she always understood the true meaning of the advice he gave her. That day, when his daughter informed the king and queen with resolute conviction that she would never wed Viserys, she was not simply a princess, she was a dragonrider. Unfortunately, he did not anticipate his daughter would bond with Alyssa’s dragon barely eighteen moons after her death. And while not expressly forbidden, it was considered extremely taboo for one to claim a relative’s dragon so soon after their death. Especially if no royal commission to claim one had been given.

Rhaenys defended herself adamantly against the accusation that she intended to claim Meleys that day. She had only gone to the Dragonpit to see the hatchlings, hoping the dragonkeepers would allow her to assist feeding them, bonding with Meleys was purely happenstance. Her explanation did little to calm the fury in his brother’s youngest son, Daemon. The ten year old had raged at what he considered the “theft” of his mother’s dragon, cursing at his cousin until he had to be physically removed from the king’s audience chamber by a member of the Kingsguard. But his nephew’s angry outburst did not sting as much as Baelon’s cold fury had. Baelon was stone faced as Rhaenys presented her case, his lips pressed together in a thin line, his eyes narrowed dangerously as he glared at Aemon. Rhaenys rejection of Viserys as her husband compound with her bonding of Meleys had left Baelon wrath with him for months. And while Baelon’s temper eventually cooled, the incident had fundamentally altered their relationship forever.

But my Rhaenys is worth it.

Once she had a dragon to back her, Rhaenys was able to choose a king consort herself; and what a splendid choice she made in Lord Corlys Velaryon. Her consort needed to be someone who could ensure she ascended to the Iron Throne as the realm’s first reigning queen and hold it.

Now, after a decade long campaign behind the scenes, all the pieces were in place, the board set in his daughter’s favor to make that dream a reality. He just had to convince his father to sign the succession law. And if his father refused, he would simply sign the damn thing himself once crowned King Aemon the First of His Name.

My Rhaenys will be queen after me I swear it by the old gods and new gods

“Do you believe your sister will join the procession this morning?” Jocelyn asked, reappearing from their dressing chamber wearing a deep red satin gown over her chemise, the light weight fabric of her underdress visible through the openings in the sleeves and at the neckline.

Aemon blinked, taken off guard by her sudden reappearance and question. “Viserra?”

Jocelyn shot him an incredulous look as she walked past where he was seated to her vanity. “Yes, Viserra.”

Aemon leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, his hands clasped together. “I’m not entirely sure.”

Viserra returning to King’s Landing a widow the day of the wedding had not been accounted for when discussing their daughter’s nuptials. In hindsight, they should’ve planned for something like this to occur considering her lord husband’s age. Why his sister was even married to such an old man in the first place had puzzled him ever since first learning of the match. He had even gone to his mother attempting to intervene.

“What possible advantages does this marriage have?”

“The North is much too isolated from the rest of Westeros and House Manderly is a wealthy and loyal vessel. I would not expect you to understand the subtle intricacies of marriage and allianc-“

”Cut the shit. He’s old enough to be her grandfather and she'd be his third wife. The man has three adult sons, her children will inherit nothing! So tell me the truth of it, why are you pushing so hard for this match?”

Alysanne never answered his question, only gave him a cold stare and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. The relentless way she went about securing such a horrid match for Viserra stunned him. Especially since previously his sisters had been betrothed to their brothers. Daenerys had originally been meant to be his bride before the Shivers took her. Alyssa was always intended for Baelon; Gael the same for Valerion. Only Vaegon’s outright refusal of Daella, Saera and Viserra caused their parents to look elsewhere. And while Daella had been married off to Lord Rodrik Arryn rather quickly in 80AC, there had never been talk of betrothals for the other two girls. Once Baelon’s mourning period was over, Aemon assumed he would wed one of their remaining sisters following the ancient Valyrian custom. He even told Viserra as such when she questioned him about Baelon remarrying.

“If a second wife is required, the most obvious choice would be for our brother to wed another sister.”

Jocelyn quickly ran a brush through her dark hair once more, “Well, she may not attend considering her majesty did not seem particularly thrilled by her arrival last evening,” arranging her dark hair in a low bun at the base of her neck, pinning it in place with a golden hair net embellished with small rubies.

Aemon laughed. “That’s an understatement and just as much of a reason to expect Viserra to attend,” he ended pointedly.

His mother had been absolutely furious when Viserra appeared in the Great Hall. Her shift in mood was apparent to everyone seated at the high table when his sister demurely allowed their father to lead her up to a place hastily set for her at the royal dias by an unseen servant.

She had kept a careful eye on Viserra the entire night, surely mentally notating with whom she conversed and danced. Not that Viserra seemed to notice and if she had, she concealed it masterfully.

“You did not look too pleased either, my love.” he replied with a smirk, giving her a look.

“Being upset that she didn’t wait until Rhaenys and Corlys cleared the dance floor is entirely different.” She shot back quickly as she dabbed a bit of rouge on her cheekbones.

Aemon hummed. “I thought my mother’s reaction rather amusing considering there were multiple ravens alluding to the lord’s failing health. Baelon told her not a week passed that the man was on his deathbed.”

“And yet he looked like an Other just walked in.”

Aemon smirked. “Indeed he did.”

While he had been somewhat amused by his sister’s entrance, Baelon had been far less enthusiastic. He tensed at once, color draining from his face, his hand tightening around his goblet until his knuckles turned white. He emptied his goblet in a single gulp before calling over a serving boy for more wine.  Baelon remained seated at the royal dias for the remainder of the evening, barely participating in the celebrations. Just casting worried glances down the table to their mother whenever he spotted Viserra near Viserys or Daemon.

“Why did they react to her in such a way?” Jocelyn inquired softly, “Her majesty doted on Viserra when she was a child. I witnessed it myself while the girls were still within the nursery together. And Baelon…” Jocelyn trailed off as she put on the pearl necklace and dangling earrings she chose earlier.

“What kind of grown man needs protection from his fifteen year old sister?” she finally finished, meeting Aemon’s gaze in the looking glass.

He scoffed at his wife’s question but then fell silent as he considered his wife’s words. He and Baelon were young men - out of the nursery nearly a decade - by the time Viserra had been born. In truth, she was more his daughter’s peer than his having been born only three years before Rhaenys. Given the large age gap of the royal children, neither himself nor Baelon spent much time with Viserra; she was in the schoolroom while they attended small council meetings. Yet they got along well enough, she was an enchanting child, charming and witty, always courteous and graceful.

After Saera's debauched behavior came to light there was no chance of her becoming Baelon’s bride, leaving Viserra as the only option. Another year passed without much incident yet there was no mention of a second wife for Baelon nor a match for Viserra. Everything changed when word reached their parents of Saera’s whereabouts and current occupation. Suddenly negotiations to wed Viserra to Lord Manderly were being discussed in Small Council meetings. Unable to change the queen’s mind and feeling pity towards his little sister, he confided these plans to her. He never expected her to attempt to seduce Baelon in order to avoid the match. After that night, Baelon refused to be in the same room as Viserra, steadfastly avoiding her until she left for White Harbor.

Aemon sighed. “I don’t know. Let’s just pray to the Seven that if Viserra does attend everyone behaves with the decorum expected of their royal rank.”

Jocelyn snorted. “Best dress yourself then lest you disgrace us all with that horrid dressing robe.”

Aemon howled with laughter before he grabbed his clothing from their bed to ready himself for what was certainly going to be a very tense family affair.

Chapter Text

Eighteenth Day of the Tenth Moon 90AC

Aemma I

the nursery apartment, Meagor’s Holdfast

The Great Hall was decorated with thousands of flickering candles. The room looked ethereal, inviting and yet an uneasiness twisted in the pit of her stomach. She bit her bottom lip and wrung her hands together tightly. Something isn’t right.

Although no one could be seen, she could feel the intensity of hundreds of eyes upon her. She shifted her gaze around the hall, a lump forming in her throat. As if sensing her hesitation, a gentle breeze picked up from behind her and into the Great Hall, her white dress billowed gently around her feet.

A disembodied voice whispered, the sound reverberating off the stone walls. “You must rise.”

Swallowing her fear, she took a deep breath before she began to cautiously proceed down the red carpet at the Great Hall’s center. She surveyed the room.

On the left, there was a long table overflowing with various dishes - a roasted swan stuffed with mushrooms and oysters, salmons baked in clay, a golden horns of plenty fruits and vegetables spilling onto the table, a boar skin seared crisp with an apple in its mouth, a peacock roasted whole and stuffed with dates its plumage on full display, baked apples fragrant with cinnamon, and a rack-of-lamb baked in garlic and herbs, garnished with mint. At the table’s center, a massive crusted pie, dripping with honey, iced blueberries and sweet cream.

She advanced closer to the Iron Throne, a hideous mass of barbs and twisted steel, but once she reached its base, the jagged swords that made up the Conqueror’s seat began to twist and wither as if alive. Aemma watched in disbelief as the melted metal untangled then gasped in horror as the Iron Throne collapsed upon itself.

Aemma stared wide eyed in disbelief at the pile of twisted swords for a few moments, unsure of what happened. Suddenly, the twisted steel began slithering towards her like hundreds of gleaming snakes. Aemma screamed and attempted to flee but in her haste she tripped and tumbled on to the red carpet. Before she could rise to her feet the twisted metal completely surrounds her, some lunging forward to attack. They slashed and cut at her white gown, stripping pieces of fabric from her dress.

She's fully panicking now. Her breathing became desperate gasps, her eyes darting frantically as she searched for a safe route out of the Great Hall but there was nowhere to run. She tightly wraps her arms around herself and shut her eyes; her labored breathing and pounding heartbeat the only things she could hear.

The last thing she felt was the cold bite of sharp metal as the Iron Throne devoured her*.

“Wake up, my lady.”

Aemma bolted upright in her bed. Lady Vaella Velaryon** gave a startled cry and jumped back. Their governess recovered a moment later, chuckling softly, a pale hand still on her chest.

“Well, that is certainly one way to rise, my lady,” she said bemused. Aemma just nods absentmindedly; she hadn’t fully understood what her governess said.

“Now, we must prepare for the day Lady Aemma. Princess Rhaenys and the Velaryon party depart for Driftmark within a few hours.”

Aemma stared blankly at her governess’s face, still trying to process what she was saying as the terrifying details of her dream began to fade. Sleep - or the lack of it - seems to have affected her senses rather significantly.

Lady Vaella’s gray-green eyes shone with concern at Aemma’s continued silence and blank expression. “My lady? Are you well?”

Coming to her senses Aemma nodded, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “Just sleepy.”

Lady Vaella’s smile returned and she caressed Aemma’s cheek, “I know, my lady. But it’s time to break our fast.”

Aemma gave a small grin in response and pushed the quilted bedcovers aside to climb out of bed. Happy that her charge was fully awake, Lady Vaella walked around to the opposite bedside to awaken Gael. Aemma yawned as she took off her silken cap and unpinned her sandy blonde curls.

I should’ve returned to bed long before the hour of the wolf.

A content smile spread across her face as she thought back on the previous evening.

But it was worth the lack of sleep.

Once Gael rose, their governess hurried the girls from their bedchamber and into their apartment sitting area. The draperies were pulled back to allow the morning light to fill the apartment. By the largest window, a maid was finishing setting the plates and flatware on the round ash wood table while several kitchen boys stood to the side holding plates of burnt bacon, soft boiled eggs, pastries and a bowl containing some fruit.

“Come along girls, we mustn’t dawdle,” Lady Vaella chirpped happily in that annoying falsetto of hers. Gael snickered and gently nudged Aemma in the side. The girls share a knowing glance; they were half convinced that the singsong voice wasn’t her true one.

Lady Vaella placed her hands gently, but firmly, on the girls’ shoulders and leads them to their seats. She led the girls in their morning prayer; afterwards the kitchen boys began to serve them individually when one of the queen’s ladies interrupted with the queen’s regrets that she would not join them as promised.

Gael began to tearfully pout upon receiving the news, her lower lip trembling but it did not sting Aemma like it used too. Only a year ago, the thought of her grandmother choosing to forgo her company left her distressed for hours. She wondered why it was different now. Aemma lazily picked up the blueberry tart on her plate.

I’m nearly nine. I’m much too grown to be upset when told that the queen has a more urgent appointment. I mean, she’s the queen! Of course she’ll be busy.

Mid-bite Aemma’s eyes went wide as she realized her poor posture. She quickly shifts in her chair, straightening her spine and putting her shoulders back, mimicking the mannerisms she’d seen the highborn ladies display over the past week.

I am Lady Aemma Arryan, daughter of Princess Daella Targaryen and Lord Rodrik Arryn and I will be a true lady.

Lady Vaella smiled widely and nodsded her head in approval. Aemma smiled sheepishly in response to the silent praise before taking a small sip from her goblet.

She doesn’t suspect a thing.

Aemma was gleeful upon the realization. Their plan had been a success! After telling Gael of her scheme, the girls were careful not to raise suspicions. Aemma did not want to take any chances. Seven forbid they were found out and disbarred from the wedding ceremony! The ceremony at the Grand Sept was the first court event Aemma had ever been granted permission to attend. She had been counting down the days since her cousin’s engagement to Lord Corlys Valeryon had been announced. She would’ve been wroth if she had been forced to miss it.

Thankfully, keeping their secret was much easier than anticipated. With all the nobility of Westeros gathered in the Red Keep, the queen - and their governess - were preoccupied with various tasks right until the very day of Rhaenys’ wedding.

“What a splendid wedding it was! Don’t you agree, girls?” Lady Vaella’s shrill voice cut through Aemma’s musing. She cut into her soft boiled eggs as she looked back and forth between the girls expectedly.

“Yes!” Aemma exclaimed excitedly, clapping her hands together. “I can’t believe Princess Rhaenys arrived on dragonback!”

Aemma had nearly jumped out of her seat when the dragon’s roar pierced through the air, halting the mindless chatter within the Grand Sept. Once everyone’s attention was turned to the main entrance, the large copper doors opened to reveal Princess Rhaenys atop her formidable red she-dragon.

Lady Vaella‘s lips curves upwards in amusement. “Yes, that was certainly unexpected. And you, Gael?”

Being asked a direct question, Gael had no choice but to participate in the conversation but she was silent for a few moments longer than what would be considered polite. “I thought she looked very pretty.”

Aemma nodded vigorously as she ate her bacon. Her cousin truly was a breathtaking vision in her ivory satin gown, the Targaryen maiden cloak clasped around her shoulders, and Queen Alysanne’s golden diadem woven into her raven hair.

“And I thought my brother looked very distinguished.” Gael added softly, when she realizes Lady Vaella expected more of a response.

Aemma hummed in agreement as she cut into her soft boiled eggs. Prince Aemon had worn a black velvet doublet, with three headed dragons richly embroidered on the chest in red and gold braided threads. He walked his daughter down the aisle towards her intended, who was standing with the High Septon between the altars of the Mother and the Father. When the time came to remove the Targaryen maiden cloak from his daughter’s shoulders, Aemma could see tears forming in her uncle’s eyes. She wondered if her father would weep on her wedding day, when he unclasped the Arryn maiden cloak from her shoulders.

Lady Vaella gave Gael a reassuring smile, pleased Gael had not withdrawn into herself despite her low spirits. “He certainly did, my princess.”

“Lord Corlys also looked very distinguished.” Aemma chorused. Lady Vaella’s eyes lit up and her smile stretched across her face at the mention of her nephew, the eldest child of her eldest brother. Corlys had been appointed de-facto Lord of the Tides a few moons past when his grandfather, Daemon, stepped down citing ill health. He was the current Master of Ships on the king’s Small Council and years older than her.

“He did indeed, my lady!” she exclaimed proudly, pressing her hands on the table as she leaned forward slightly, mirth dancing in her gray-green eyes.

“My nephew certainly embodies the words of our house - The Old, The True, The Brave. His extraordinary feats have made him renowned throughout not only in the Seven Kingdoms, but across the Narrow Sea to the Free Cities to Asshai. Truly, he was the only choice if the princess wishes to hold the realm together when she ascends her queenship.”

Lady Vaella reached for her goblet and took a generous sip, in a silent toast to her nephew. Aemma furrowed her brow at her governess’s remark. What did she mean - only choice to hold the realm together? She glanced at Gael to see if she caught what their governess said but alas she was still pouting, her eyes downcast. Aemma inwardly groaned at her aunt’s inattentiveness and began to peel the skin from her orange.

‘Twas true, marriage to the heir of Driftmark would bring Rhaenys many advantages. Aemma was young but she wasn’t a lackwit. A girl being named heir to a holdfast was rarely upheld and Rhaenys was in line to inherit the Iron Throne. She needed a powerful husband at her side. House Velaryon was the wealthiest in the Seven Kingdoms - richer than even the Lannisters! - backed by its own powerful navy. And as one of the only three Valyrian families remaining, its members had been intermarrying with Targaryens for centuries to keep their blood pure. She thought back on her history lessons. The Conqueror's mother had been Lady Valaena Velaryon; his heir Aenys Targaryen married Lady Alyssa Velaryon, the mother to the current reigning monarchs.

She was Aunt Jocelyn’s mother too. Aemma remembered abruptly.

So if a marriage pact with House Velaryon was the only thing Rhaenys needed to become queen there were others closer to her age she could’ve married like Corlys' nephews.

Yet Rhaenys chose Corlys because she loves him. Aemma saw the tenderness and devotion when Rhaenys gazed upon him and heard the sincerity in her voice as Rhaenys pledged her vows to the man.

Rhaenys certainly adores him, just like mother adored father.

When the couple was announced as man and wife, Aemma jumped from her seat and applauded with the rest of the attendees. She was in the presence of true love and she would’ve cheered until her voice went hoarse. But did Rhaenys really not love Corlys? Did she only marry him for a title? For the Iron Throne?

Aemma must’ve been making a face because Lady Vaella cleared her throat. “Nevermind all that, dear.” She lightly tapped her silverware on Aemma’s unfinished plate. “Eat then go dress.”

Aemma gave her a closed lip smile before she began eating her orange. She would think on her governess’ words later, after confiding in Gael of course. She quickly glanced across the table to her aunt again. She was still pouting, her pale blue eyes shining with unshed tears as she dejectedly picked at the soft boiled egg on her plate. Aemma nearly sighed aloud.

I hope we are not made to leave early today.

Yesterday, Gael had made a fuss after the ceremony ended. The loud cheering within the Grand Sept made her wince and she tightly covered her ears. Valerion had tried to calm his little sister, wrapping an arm around her protectively but to no avail; Gael just became more flushed and agitated as the cheering continued. And once the common people outside the Grand Sept added their voices to those within, her meltdown was inevitable.

Soon after, the queen had recalled Lady Vaella from her seat with her family and requested she return the girls to the Red Keep immediately. At first, Aemma had been dismayed upon being forced to leave so suddenly and it was on the tip of her tongue to reply that she did not have Gael’s fragile constitution.

Thankfully, she kept her mouth shut. It would’ve been very unladylike to speak so cruelly. So, she unhappily complied with her grandmother’s demand, silently consoling herself that at least she rode in the royal procession to the wedding ceremony.

If I had made a fuss at that moment our secret plans may have been discovered.

Arriving back to the Red Keep so much earlier than anticipated had elevated Lady Vaella’s mood considerably, she was just as excited as her charges for the evening celebrations. Upon returning to the girls' apartment, she ordered a meal from the kitchens, requested hot water for their baths and to be notified the moment the queen arrived back to her apartments. She had been securing the silken cap under Gael’s chin when a servant brought word that the queen was ready to receive them and bid them goodnight.

Afterwards, the girls crawled into the great canopy bed they shared and their governess read a section from the Seven Pointed Star aloud. Once finished she bade them goodnight and departed to attend the wedding feast with the rest of her Velaryon relatives.

Their governess had only been gone a few minutes before Aemma jumped up from their bed and went to fetch a small Myrish hourglass. The girls impatiently waited for the sand to expire before quietly sneaking out of their apartments and into the torch lit corridors.

Their nervousness of getting caught coupled with their excitement of watching the feast in secret bubbled up in a rush of giggles. They attempted to stifle their breathless laughter as best they could as they rushed through the corridors hand in hand.

By the time they had reached an unused music gallery, the feast was in full swing. Aemma noticed several young men who clearly drank more wine than acceptable. She wrinkled her nose, her lips downturned as she watched one young man grab at a young lady’s backside rather indiscreetly. Aemma tore her gaze from the unseemly interaction occurring in the back of the Great Hall and towards the other end where her family was seated.

A massive banner of the Targaryen sigil hung from the rafters as the backdrop to the elevated royal table. The king and queen were seated at the center of the royal dias. Uncle Aemon, Aunt Jocelyn and Daemon were seated to Alysanne’s left. Rhaenys, her husband, Uncle Baelon and Viserys were seated on Jaehaerys’ right.

Without warning the queen glanced up towards the music gallery. Aemma jumped back from the ledge, pulling Gael down with her, a finger to her lips signaling to her aunt to stay silent. They stayed hidden for a few minutes, fearing they had been caught but when no servant came to escort them back to bed, the girls discreetly returned to the ledge.

There, high above the revelry, Aemma and Gael gaped, gawked and giggled completely unnoticed, mesmerized by the pageantry of the court. The girls watched with wide eyes as the assembled nobility pranced about the Great Hall in their most extravagant finery, the precious gems that adorned their persons glinting like colored stars in the candlelight.

Gael noticed first; Aemma had been too engrossed in the genteel exchanges between the lords and ladies, the measured steps of the dances and the flirty glances behind a gloved hand or a fan to have seen anything amiss.

“There’s someone standing by the doorway.” Gael’s soft voice broke Aemma from her trance and she looked to where Gael was pointing.

Aemma raised her eyebrows when she spotted an unknown person lingering just out of view of the Great Hall’s doorway. No one within the Great Hall seemed to have noticed the person yet, too focused on Princess Rhaenys dance with Lord Corlys.

Aemma and Gael turned to look at each other, confusion written on their young faces, both of them wondering the same thing - ‘Who is that?’

The sudden silence quickly brought the girls’ attention back to the Great Hall below. The unknown person had made themselves known to the entirety of the hall, interrupting the feast in an instant. Aemma was taken back by just how stunning the newcomer was.

Her silver gold hair shone brightly in the candlelight and was pulled back into a single yet intricate braid. The color and style of her gown told Aemma this woman was recently widowed. She simply watched transfixed as the young lady paused at the doorway a moment longer before ambling towards the royal dias and curtsying gracefully before the royal family.

“Who is that?” she asked Gael as she watched the king escort the woman to a seat at the royal table. When Gael didn’t reply, Aemma turned to face her and was surprised to see that Gael’s face had drained of its color, her jaw clenched as she stared wide eyed at the newcomer.

She gently placed a hand on her aunt’s arm, “Gael?”

“That’s my sister, Viserra.” she finally replied, her voice barely a whisper, her face devoid of the mirth that was there just moments before. Aemma’s brow furrowed in confusion at her aunt’s tone before returning her gaze to the newcomer.

Gael’s mood didn’t recover and it wasn’t long before her aunt quietly requested they return to bed, blaming weariness. Aemma, while annoyed, agreed. Their walk back through the corridors was quiet compared to their merriment earlier.

Once Gael began to snore, Aemma snuck back onto the music gallery. She wanted to watch the festivities and she’d be damned if she missed it on account of one of her aunt’s moods. Plus she was extremely curious by the sudden arrival of this other aunt. Aemma had never met her before. She had been married and settled at White Harbor as the third Lady Manderly not long before Aemma arrived at the Red Keep. No one talked about her so Aemma didn’t understand Gael's reaction and that piqued her curiosity tenfold.

How horrible is she that Gael would react that way?

So Aemma spent the evening watching Viserra, trying to catch a glimpse of this uncouth, mean or undignified person her aunt was so frightened of. She had heard horrid stories about another aunt and expected Viserra to be similar.

Only there was…nothing.

The newcomer easily commanded the attention of the nobility. The princess mingled about the Great Hall, a gentle smile on her face, conversing with everyone who approached her with an honest expression of interest. By the time Aemma snuck back to bed she was firmly in the opinion that Gael’s reaction to her elder sister’s arrival was nothing more than dramatic.

You’d think she’d be excited that she finally has a sister returning home.

Upon finishing her meal, Aemma retreated to the dressing room. The garments she selected the previous day had already been laid out in preparation. A maid assisted her into a new shift and a fresh pair of stockings. Aemma stepped into her silk slippers before allowing her maid to slip the chosen gown over Aemma’s head and lace up the back.

The taffeta gown was a beautiful sky blue with a square neckline and flowing sleeves. Silver thread was embroidered throughout the fabric in delicate swirling patterns. The skirt flared out at her natural waist and ended just above her ankles. It was one of her favorites, mostly because of what the color represented.

House Arryn. My house. Aemma thought proudly as she stares at her reflection in the looking glass. Once I’m out, this gown will be let down first.

She twirled in place a few times, giggling as her dress swirled out around her, the silver thread shimmering prettily in the morning light. Aemma stilled and gazed into the looking glass once more. She brushed her fingers through her long hair, pulling the curls forward over her shoulders and twirling the ends around her fingers. She paused and tilted her head in thought before a wide smile stretches across her face. Aemma turned to her maid.

“I’d like to wear my hair differently today.”

Once her hair was styled and a crown of forget-me-nots secured upon her head, Aemma returned to the apartment sitting area. Seeing that she was ready while Gael was not, Lady Vaella granted Aemma permission to head to the outer courtyard so long as her maid attended her. Aemma quickly agreed, grabbing an apple from the table and leaving the apartment, her maid following a few paces behind.

Thank the Seven Lady Vaella allows me more freedom than Gael. Aemma thought and not for the first time. Although Gael was older by almost two years, she was constantly babied. The queen fretted over her youngest incessantly and in turn so did Lady Vaella. She was not even permitted to walk the serpentine stairs without holding Lady Vaella’s hand!*** Aemma didn’t mind the extra attention Gael received though, it simply allowed herself extra freedom about the castle. And it made her proud to know that even though she was the younger of the two, the queen didn’t baby her.

She has faith that I will become a true lady.

The hallways of Meagor’s Holdfast were the least crowded she had seen in weeks. With the wedding celebrations continuing well into the early morning hours, it seemed most of the nobility had chosen to forgo the farewell procession entirely.

To nurse their bottle weary heads no doubt.

Aemma favored the empty corridors as it meant no judgmental eyes upon her. She happily skipped through the hallways, smiling to the servants who cross her path. With no nobility lingering about to muddle her route, she quickly exited Meagor’s Holdfast and entered the lower bailey. She crossed the area quickly to reach the serpentine steps, the narrow, steep staircase leading down to the middle bailey. She hopped from one stone step to another as her maid pleaded with her to be careful lest she fall and hurt herself. Aemma ignored her entirely, jumping down off the last step and darting across the middle bailey to the open portcullis leading to the outer courtyard, weaving around the servants and guards going about their morning duties.

Upon arriving in the outer courtyard, she’s elated to discover she was the first of her family to arrive. Multiple ornate carriages were being made ready for the day’s procession. Stable boys were attaching the chosen horses - beautiful blue roan palfreys - to each carriage, too preoccupied on their tasks of readying the horses to notice her approach.

Aemma strolled closer to the already prepared carriage, the large palfreys look up in her direction, their ears flickering back and forth.

“Hello pretties,” Aemma said calmly, not wishing to startle the large animals as she came to stand beside them.

She smiled when the horse brought its face close to hers, sharing the air together. Aemma held her hand out flat to offer the apple to the horse. Aemma giggled when the mare gently took the fruit from her hands and ate the treat. The horse nudged its large head against Aemma’s body, nickering as if asking for more treats.

Aemma caressed the horse’s nose gently, “I’m sorry but I only brought one. I don’t have any more.”

The horse leaned its head closer to hers and Aemma smiled as the mare nuzzled its large head against hers before her maid steps forward and whispered in her ear.

“Pardon m’lady but the princess has arrived.”

Aemma quickly spun around to properly greet the princess when her mouth fell open in shock and she gasped. Her maid was not speaking of Gael, Rhaenys or even Jocelyn.

Viserra Targaryen stood a few feet away, her hands clasped behind her back and a curious expression on her face. She was wearing a black mourning gown with a high neckline and flowing sleeves, a dainty silver belt of moonstones around her waist. Aemma flushed as she realized not only were their gowns of a similar fashion but their hair had been styled in the same intricate braid - the only difference was Aemma’s crown of flowers.

Remembering her courtesy, Aemma closed her mouth and dipped into a rushed curtsy. “Your Royal Highness, I am Lady Aemma Arryn.”

Viserra beamed, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Aemma. I am—.”

“You’re Viserra.” Aemma interjected.

Viserra looked taken back, her mouth parting slightly before pressing her lips together. At Aemma’s continued silence, she raised an eyebrow expectantly. Aemma blushed furiously at her rudeness and averted her gaze embarrassed, she nuzzled her face against the mare’s in an attempt to hide.

“My apologies your highness. That was rude.” she muttered.

“Yes, it was.” her aunt responded matter of factly.

Aemma warily looked up at her aunt to find the older princess scrutinizing her with those large expressive purple eyes. A few moments passed before she smiled, almost sadly.

“She would wear flowers in her hair as well.” Viserra said softly.

Aemma’s eyes widened, conversations about her mother were not commonplace ever since she moved to the Red Keep three years ago. She stammerd, “M-my mother?”

Viserra nodded, walking forward to close the gap between them. “Although your mother would never willingly get this close to a horse.” Viserra replied with slight humor in her voice giving Aemma a lopsided grin.

Aemma gasped. “Really? She didn’t like horses?”

Viserra‘s mouth fell open at her question, her brows furrow together as she gaped at the younger girl wide eyed. “You honestly didn’t know?”

When Aemma simply shook her head, Viserra looked away thoughtfully, a finger upon her chin. “I suppose the Eryie would have no use for horses, given the castle’s location.”

Aemma shook her head again. “No, there are stables at the Eyrie. But mother and I never went there.”

She smiled brightly, thinking back to the afternoons she and her mother spent together and began speaking excitedly.

“We spent most of our time in the Eyrie’s gardens. We would have picnics underneath the elm trees near the bellflower shrubs and we’d play come-into-my-castle and hopfrog. We spent every day in the gardens bef —.”

Aemma trailed off, her bottom lip trembling as grief for her mother came rushing to the surface. Her vision blurred with unshed tears and she wrapped her arms herself, took a deep breath before whispering, “before she — got sick.”

Viserra’s eyes softened at her statement. “Daella was happiest when surrounded by flowers. She would pick all different kinds from the godswoods - dragon’s breath, roses, lilacs. She made the most beautiful flower arrangements…”

Viserra trailed off as she gently stroked the horse’s neck. She looked off in the distance, lost in a memory.

“Ca-can…you tell me about her?” Aemma whispered, her eyes downcast, unable to meet her aunt’s eyes as she felt the tears beginning to fall down her cheeks. There was a slight pause before Aemma heard her aunt’s gentle reply.

“Of course, Lady Aemma”

Chapter Text

Eighteenth Day of the Tenth Moon 90AC

Daemon I

the prince's apartments, Meagor’s Holdfast

His apartment door slammed against the stone wall with a resounding bang.  He felt his heart begin to flutter faster against his chest when he hears heavy footfalls nearing his bedchamber door. He pulled the bedcovers up over his head and muttered unintelligibly into his featherdown pillow. 

“Daemon!” His father thundered, pounding his fist on the wooden door. Daemon didn’t respond praying his father would go away but the gods ignored his prayer.  After a few more moments of silence, his father threw the wooden door open and strode across his private bedchamber to his bedside. 

“What the hell are you playing at?” Baelon hissed angrily through clenched teeth. Daemon lazily pulled the covers off his head to peer up at his father’s face, schooling his expression into one of innocent confusion. 

“I awoke feeling unwell, father.”

A lie.

He was hardly feeling ill, but after weeks of exhausting events he had no desire to spend the majority of his day cooped up inside a jostling carriage just to watch his cousin and her entourage board a damn ship.  So upon awakening he dispatched a message to his father stating he would, unfortunately, stay abed. 

“Did my valet not relay my message to you?” He asked in feigned surprise. He had no doubt his father received it, he just truly had not expected his father to come barging into his apartment. 

Baelon’s dark indigo eyes narrowed as he momentarily scrutinized Daemon’s face for any obvious signs of sickness before he scoffed. “I don’t want to hear your falsehoods today Daemon. If you are feeling unwell it is due to your copious drinking last evening. The procession departs in less than an hour. Get up!” 

His father pointed to his bedchamber door but Daemon remained lying where he was. Baelon’s face turned hard at his son’s silent refusal and Daemon could see his father’s neck begin to flush red with restrained anger.

Baelon crossed his arms over his broad chest and bore into his son’s eyes, holding his gaze intently but saying no more. Daemon nearly shifts upon his bed at his father’s relentless stare but he forced himself to remain still.

I am the blood of the dragon.

He returned his father’s gaze unflinchingly as he answered the unspoken question.  

“I told you, I feel unwell.” Daemon repeated stubbornly, refusing to back down. “Besides, I’m sure my cousin and her new husband would not fault me for missing such a trivial event.” 

To drive his point home, Daemon flipped around to put his back to his father and pulled the bedcovers back over his head. Rhaenys and him had never been particularly close. We began fighting while still in the nursery if grandmother speaks true. His absence would hardly be noticed, let alone missed.

Besides, celebrations had been ongoing for nearly a fortnight before the wedding ceremony in the Grand Sept even took place and he had been forced to attend every tourney, luncheon, afternoon tea and mass that were held in honor of his wretched cousin - even when she herself didn’t attend them! 

Like that damn ladies luncheon grandmother hosted last week. 

The luncheon had been torturous. He was not given permission to leave early like the queen’s youngest, so he was forced to mingle with all the sycophants and their girl spawns damn near the entire afternoon.  The worst one had been this snooty little Reach girl with frizzy brown hair. After being introduced, she had spent the afternoon foolishly trailing after him like a lost puppy attempting to draw him into a conversation. She looked ridiculous attempting to batter her eyelashes at him and giggling whenever he spoke. 

So he “accidentally” spilt his goblet of watered wine down the front of that rose embroidered monstrosity of a gown. The girl had screeched loudly, the piercing sound halting the conversations and music as all eyes turned towards them and the disturbance he caused.

His grandmother had him quickly ushered out by a guard and escorted to his father’s solar to confess his wrongdoing. His little rebellion had cost him; his father increased his lessons with the master-at-arms but since he did not have to return to the luncheon, it had been worth it.

“This trivial event is necessary to show the realm that House Targaryen and House Velaryon are firmly united.” 

Daemon snorted, his drawl tone dripping in sarcasm. “I thought my cousin's marriage accomplished that.” 

He heard his father inhale sharply at his comment. Although nearly three years had passed, his father had not made peace with Rhaenys’ choice of consort, still bitter that his eldest son was spurned in such a public way and Daemon wouldn’t hesitate trying to use it to his advantage to absent himself today. He smirked to himself when his father’s silence continued.

That certainly hit a nerve, hopefully he’ll leave me be now.

“Besides, I have spent more than enough time with my Velaryon cousins these past few weeks wouldn’t you agree father? Now, if you don’t mind, I wish to rest.”

Baelon never responded to him, only began to curse under his breath, muttering something about foolish, unreasonable sons. Daemon sniggered as he heard his father’s footsteps retreating from his bedchamber. Satisfied he had won the argument and wouldn’t be obligated to attend, Daemon sighed contently and burrowed himself further under his covers.

Daemon had endured the company of his Velaryon kin all his life and avoided them as best he could whatever the circumstances that brought them to King’ Landing. As extended members of the royal family, House Velaryon had been a consistent presence within the royal court since the earliest days of Aegon’s Conquest. 

When the wedding celebrations began, much of the Westerosi nobility were surprised to see gaunt Lord Daemon Velaryon* in attendance; it was well known he had not left that dreary island holdfast since stepping down as Lord of the Tides. He - the older brother to the long dead dowager queen Alyssa Velaryon - became Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark in 45AC. The man was unbelievably patronizing and haughty, especially to the non-Valyrian houses whom he regarded with the utmost contempt. To this day, he refers to himself as the head of the “second house” of the realm.

It’s honestly shocking the arrogant bastard never demanded to be ennobled as a ‘royal highness’.  

The hoary lord was stubborn as a mule, refusing even to succumb to the Stranger’s calls, having celebrated his eighty seventh nameday a few moons ago. He survived the tumultuous reign of  Meagor the Cruel - despite serving on the usurper's council - and became Hand of the King during Jaehaerys’ regency just to outlive but one of his seven children. The Shivers had claimed the lives of all but two - his heir, Corwyn** and his youngest. However, Corwyn had been slain in the Third Dornish War so the man’s first born son, Corlys, became heir to Driftmark at a young age. Lord Velaryon’s only remaining child was a grown woman, currently residing permanently at the royal court as governess for Gael and Aemma.

Corlys’ brother, Jacaerys*** was rigid beyond belief. Following the death of his beloved wife in 71AC to childbed fever, Jacaerys’ stern personality became even more inflexible, even outright refusing his king’s demand to take a second wife. The man’s dour temperament had rubbed off on his only child Vaemond; Daemon doubted neither man knew how to smile, scowls seemingly etched permanently onto their faces. While Corlys’ youngest brother Valaerys*** had a more outgoing personality, his brood of five sons**** were rowdy and annoying. They were closer in age with Daemon so he had the misfortune of being grouped with them every time they visited the Red Keep. Thankfully the youngest three had been left behind on Driftmark with their Massey***** mother this time.  

Suddenly, the bedcovers were ripped off him. Daemon hollered in protest and quickly whipped around, ready to tell off whomever disturbed him when the words died in his throat. His father was again towering over him but this time holding Daemon’s attire for the procession. He unceremoniously tossed the clothing onto his son’s bed.

“If you are not properly dressed within the next ten minutes Daemon, I swear to the Seven I will double your lessons with the septa and you will be mucking out the stables for a month.”

Daemon opened his mouth to argue but before he could utter a word his father’s hand shot forward and connected with the backside of his head. Daemon yelped and he felt tears swell in the corners of his eyes but he would not let them fall. He looked up and glared at his father. 

I will not show weakness. I am the blood of the dragon, the same as him.

A tense silence followed as the two locked eyes then his father leaned down to his eye level, his face was red and his jaw tightly clenched.

“Get. Up. Now.” 

His voice was barely a whisper yet the finality in his tone was something Daemon had grown familiar with since he was a small child. Continuing to push his father further right now would not be in his best interest so he hung his head down in defeat and nodded.

Baelon surveyed his youngest for a moment longer before returning to his full height and clasping his hands behind his back. He nodded curtly before giving his son a tight smile. “Good. I expect you down in the courtyard shortly.” 

“Very well, father.” Daemon muttered, gathering his attire in his arms before he climbed out on the other side of his bed. Once satisfied Daemon would follow his instructions Baelon turned heel to leave the room, calling over his shoulder. “If you make haste, you might even have time to break your fast.”  

Daemon glowered at his father’s retreating back as he exited the bedchamber before closing the wooden door with a snap. He groaned loudly and ran his hand through his silvery gold hair.

Seven Fucking Hells. I should’ve hidden in the tunnels when I had the chance. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. 

It’s too late for that now. He thought grimly as he stared down at his clothing - a high neck crimson velvet doublet, sewn to look like scales, and black satin breeches - his father expected him to don for the occasion.

After dressing, Daemon stomped out of his bedchamber, muttering under his breath at the unfairness of being forced to attend. His stomach rumbled loudly when he strides past the table that had been set for him in his sitting area. The smell of ham steaks, sweet biscuits and hard boiled eggs wafting through the air made his mouth water slightly. He rushed towards the oak table, immediately popping a hard boiled egg into his mouth. Then he hurriedly sliced some sweet biscuits in half and placed ham steaks between them. Daemon folded the makeshift sandwiches into a napkin before exiting his apartment. 

Daemon sauntered through the halls eating one of his hastily made breakfast treats with growing dismay as he noticed just how empty the corridors were, only crossing paths with an occasional guard or servant. Daemon scowled. He was counting on it being as crowded as it has been over the past moon.

There goes that excuse for being further delayed.

He reached the drawbridge of Maegor’s Holdfast within a short time. The drawbridge was raised, a kingsguard in pale armor and white cloak dutifully standing guard. The knight smirked when he spotted the young prince. 

“Running late again, my prince?” The knight quipped as he lowered the drawbridge for Daemon to cross over the spiked moat below. It was well known throughout the castle that Daemon frequently tried to avoid official royal events, often pleading some illness or simply disappearing altogether. Daemon just responded with a rude hand gesture that caused the knight to bellow with laughter the prince could still hear once the drawbridge snapped close again.

Sulking, he made his way across the lower bailey and to the serpentine steps. Daemon paused at the top, eyeing the long winding pathway of more than a hundred steps before smiling wickedly to himself. 

If I take one step at a time, I might be delayed enough to miss the send off. 

He had only descended the first ten when he spotted his elder brother trotting up the stairs to him, panting slightly. At fifteen, Viserys was a comely young man with silver-gold hair he kept cut short above his ears and dark indigo eyes set in a rounded face.

Although tall for his age with broad shoulders, Viserys tended to fall on the plumper side despite their father’s efforts on ensuring his son exercised daily whether it be hawking, riding or sword drills with the master at arms. But Viserys wasn’t much fond of those activities and his fondness for sweets made him a frequent visitor to the castle’s kitchen. 

“Father sent you.” Daemon stated matter of factly, as his brother reached him near the top of the serpentine steps, red faced and sweating.

He was wearing a black doublet with onyx studs sewn into the fabric, its long sleeves slashed to show red satin underneath and black satin breeches. A ruby earring dangling from his right ear. Viserys cheeks flushed pink.

At least he has the decency to be embarrassed.  

He dabbed a silk handkerchief against his brow, chuckling uncomfortably before covering his mouth with a hand to awkwardly clear his throat. 

“Ah…well - yes, and with good reason it seems.”

His brother eyed him knowingly, his indigo eyes sparkling with unabashed humor. Viserys then gestured towards the descending stone steps with a dramatic flourish.

“After you, brother.” 

Daemon sighed in defeat and began descending the stone stairs at a more realistic pace, Viserys falling in step with him.  They walk down a flight in easy silence before Viserys nonchalantly remarks.

“There will be an additional rider in our carriage today.” 

Daemon whipped his head to face his brother. “Please tell me it’s not that liver spotted old man.” 

Hard of hearing and blind in one eye, Lord Velaryon would wave around his wrinkled hands, rambling on and on about political intrigue and men long dead. It was incessantly tiresome. Daemon had lost count of how many times he was told he had been named in the man’s honor******. The thought of having to share a carriage with that old man was more than Daemon could bear.

The Others can take me if it is him. I’d much rather the extra lessons and horse dung.

Viserys repressed a snort with some difficulty but regained his composure rather quickly, turning to face his younger brother. His expression was similar to their father’s when he scolded them. “You should not speak of Lord Velaryon in such a manner, Daemon. He is family.” 

Daemon scoffed and rolls his eyes. “I’ll speak of whomever I want however I wish.”

Viserys knocked him in the shoulder, the unexpected shove causing Daemon to stumble and nearly lose his balance.

“Oy! What’s that for?” 

“You are a prince, when you speak everyone hears.” 

Viserys’ face was stern when he spoke and before Daemon could respond Viserys simply strode past him descending the rest of the serpentine steps to the middle bailey.

Daemon narrowed his purple eyes at his brother’s retreating back. Over the recent moons, Viserys had become increasingly preoccupied - more like obsessed - with royal etiquette and upholding a “princely” air.  It was odd, considering just a year ago the brothers would sneak away and hide in Meagor’s tunnels to avoid their lessons.  Now, not only did Viserys attend all his lessons, he had petitioned their father for even more.

Ever since his fifteenth nameday he’s become a real twat. 

Daemon quickly ran down the remaining steps to catch up with Viserys, reaching him halfway across the middle bailey.

“Father expects you to apologize to our grandparents for your tardiness this morning.” 

Daemon snorted. 

“He’s serious, Daemon.” 

“Fine.”

“You must apologize before we depart.”

“I said fine.” 

Viserys eyed him before nodding and the princes set off again. They walk in silence; Daemon sneaking glances at his brother ever so often, hoping Viserys would reveal the identity of this additional rider. He did not. 

“So is it the old lord or not?” Daemon finally asked.

When he didn’t receive an answer he gave his brother another sideways glance. Viserys' stern expression had completely disappeared, replaced with a dreamy look and a wistful smile on his face as he shook his head.

Daemon narrowed his eyes at his brother’s lack of explanation but he kept silent. He unwrapped his last sandwich, waiting for Viserys to say something else but he did not. Daemon took a bite. His brother still had a stupid smile upon his face.

Is he humming to himself?

Daemon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand once he had finished chewing. 

“What in the bloody hell did I miss?!” He demanded. Viserys just threw his head back, howling with laughter.

“That’s what you get for…what was it this time....” Viserys trailed off, tapping a finger against his chin for a moment before he snaps his fingers in recollection.

“Ah! That's right. For feeling unwell.” Viserys clapped his hand against his brother’s back, laughing heartily. 

Before Deamon could respond Viserys had made his way through the open portcullis and out of sight. Daemon groans once his brother disappeared. He stood rooted at the spot for a moment, finishing his sandwich and debating the merits on whether or not to return to his apartments.

Father would be absolutely furious he made that quite clear but if I stay I’ll be forced to associate with these people further.

Daemon gazed through the open portcullis, he could see the royal carriages were already to disembark, the coachmen standing ready but no member of his family in sight. He glanced back over his shoulder to the stables and then again towards the open portcullis.

Do I really want to muck out the stables on top of more lessons?

Daemon finished his sandwich, still mulling on his choices, when he saw his grandmother walk into view. Before Daemon could turn heel and escape unseen she spotted him. He froze when they locked eyes yet her eyes brightened at the sight of him and she smiles, calling out to him sweetly.

“Daemon, my darling. Come.” 

Daemon gave her a tight lipped smile, silently cursing his ill luck as made his way through the open portcullis towards the queen in the outer courtyard. He spots Valerion, Gael and Aemma lingering near his grandmother. He briefly wonders if it was Gael or Aemma who had been reassigned to their carriage before quickly disregarding it.

Viserys would be indignant over the mere suggestion.  

At four and fifty, Alysanne was still petite despite bearing thirteen children but her face reflected a long life well lived; her wide smile further accenting her numerous crows feet and laugh lines.

A circlet of amethysts and opals adorned her head, her snowy white hair was pulled back into a bun at the base of her neck. She wore a gown of flowing purple silk trimmed with Myrish lace.

She reached out a thin hand to grasp his once he reached her, the rings on her fingers flashing in the sunlight. She kissed both his cheeks in greeting, the overpowering scent of lemons tingling his nose.

I’ll be taller than her soon.

He stepped back once the queen released his hand and he bowed his head in a simple greeting. “Good morrow, Your Majesty, Your Highnesses, Lady Aemma. How do you fare?”

Valerion did not answer his question, just stared up at him, his face devoid of emotions. As usual. His uncle was often mute, refusing to speak unless forced and even then when one would be lucky enough to receive a reply, it was in High Valyrian. Daemon was certain his uncle was fluent in the Common Tongue; the little shit just played the fool. He wore a doublet of dark blue silk edged with silver satin.

I wonder why grandmother is having him attend.

Normally, his uncle was kept out of sight when the royal family did any official public appearances citing his “delicate” health. He had even been absent for all of Rhaenys’ pre-wedding celebrations, only attending the ceremony in the Grand Sept.

If only I was given the same deference as him!

Daemon tried his best not to let his displeasure of this blatant favoritism show but it was becoming more difficult as the boys grew older. Him and his uncle were born in 77AC, only a few moons apart, but Valerion appeared far younger.

He had the misfortune of inheriting his mother’s small slight frame and was nearly an entire head shorter than Daemon. His skin so pale it was nearly translucent; and while his fair complexion gave the boy a sickly appearance it also made the dark violet of his eyes that more striking. The boy could’ve been considered handsome if it weren’t for the look of his eyes.

Gallows’s eyes. Daemon gave Valerion a strained smile but Valerion only stared back. Touched by the Stranger that one.

He nodded curtly - as it was apparent there would be no further interaction between them - before shifting his gaze to his youngest aunt. 

If one didn’t know better the pair could easily be assumed to be twins  - both similar in height and sharing the honey gold hair of their mother’s youth - although Gael had pale blue eyes rather than violet and she was three years her brother’s junior.

Also due to the fact their mother dresses them in coordinating attire like a child would their dolls. Today being no different. He thought as he took in Gael’s dark blue gown, a sash of cloth-of-silver tied around her waist.

She dipped into a quick curtsy before shifting her gaze to the ground nervously and leaning into her brother. “I am well, uncle.” 

Daemon smiled encouragingly at her quiet response. His aunt was painfully shy even around her family. A dragon she is not. “I am pleased to hear.” 

Finally, he turned his attention to the youngest member of the royal family, standing on the queen’s opposite side; the queen was firmly holding the little girl’s hand. Lady Aemma Arryn was a sprite of a girl, with dark blonde hair and large gray-blue eyes. She was wearing the colors of House Arryn and a crown of flowers upon her head. He raised an eyebrow in surprise when he notices her hair.

A braid? Now that’s certainly a change. 

“My dear cousin, you look as fearsome as our ancestor Visenya.” He teased, fully expecting Aemma to reply with some witty retort of hers. But when she didn’t respond nor barely even cracked a smile he furrowed his brow in concern.

That’s not usual.

Daemon studied the young girl’s face, noticing her red blotchy skin and puffy eyes.

She’s been crying.

Daemon glanced over to his grandmother for an explanation. Queen Alysanne didn’t answer immediately, only sighed before tracing her free hand across her forehead. 

“I’m not sure what occurred, I'm afraid. Upon arriving this morning, I saw her and Viserra speaking by the bridled horses of our carriage. When I made myself known to them Viserra had excused herself and poor Aemma was already in tears.” 

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. He turned to survey the outer courtyard. Close by his father was speaking to his brother, a few yards further were his uncle and his half-Andal wife.

God, what is she wearing?

They were speaking with their daughter and her husband, the Seasnake. All of them were grinning like fools. Rhaenys was wearing a leather doublet and riding pants. Daemon resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Of course she is. 

He continued scanning the courtyard and spotted Viserra not far off.  She was arm and arm with Ser Valaerys Velaryon, conversing with the Velaryon party while two children -  Malentine* and Rhogar* - ran rampant around them, howling and shouting. 

Her hair was styled in the same braid last evening.

Daemon’s eyes widen slightly in realization and he glanced back at Aemma, this time taking note of her gown’s style as well as her hairstyle before returning his gaze to Viserra.

They’re dressed the same. But how would she have known what hairstyle Viserra had worn at the wedding feast?

He smirked and eyed his young cousin with a newfound interest. 

She must have snuck into the Great Hall last night. 

“Grandmother I told you already, my lady aunt was very kind to me!” Aemma whined hotly, yanking her hand from her grandmother and crossing her arms over her chest.

Alysanne scoffed under her breath, muttering to herself before turning to Aemma. 

“Remember your courtesies. I am conversing with Prince Daemon. Now hush, child.” 

Once Alysanne finished chiding her youngest grandchild she turned her attention back to him. “I had not expected Viserra to synchronize with the royal household so quickly.” 

She stared at her elder daughter with an unreadable expression before pressing her lips together in a thin line that made them nearly dissolve from her face before she sighs again. “As such, the princess will be riding within your carriage in the procession.” 

Daemon nearly chuckled aloud.  I should’ve known. No wonder Viserys is so over the moon. He’s been vying to get close to her since last evening.

Daemon had found Viserra’s sudden appearance in the Great Hall - in the middle of the newlyweds first dance no less! - amusing to no end. Her mere presence caused a stunned silence to ripple out across the Great Hall and only once all the eyes of the nobility and royal family were upon her did Viserra begin to walk through the Great Hall’s center. 

From where Daemon sat across the royal table, he could see that his brother was completely enthralled, blatantly ogling the young woman. The reactions of his grandmother and father had nearly caused him to choke on his wine, yet it was the seething glare Rhaenys sent in her aunt’s direction when she passed her that caused him to lose all sense of propriety. He had chortled loudly into his wine goblet, nearly snorting his drink up his nose. He smirked at the memory.

The arrogant chit deserved it.

Rhaenys had been an unbearable know it all since as far back as he could recall and it had only gotten worse once she claimed a dragon a couple years ago. 

Meleys should’ve been mine yet she was stolen before I got the chance to claim her.

It had been beyond satisfying to see his insufferable cousin get knocked down a peg, overshadowed on her own wedding day by a supremely more beautiful Targaryen princess.  

At the queen’s statement, Valerion went rigid and what little color he had drained from his face. Daemon snickered when the boy began to tug on his mother’s swirling skirts repeatedly in order to get her attention. The queen laughed airily at his childish antics before bending down somewhat so he could whisper in her ear. Once her youngest boy steps back, Queen Alysanne smiled sweetly, brushing his hair off his face before cupping his chin. “Kesan epagon se dārys, ñuha beri zaldrīzes.” (I will ask the king, my lucky dragon)*

Before his grandmother could rise, Daemon held out his hand to assist her, knowing she’d rebuke his offer he gave her a sly smile, uttering softly, “Remember your courtesies.” 

Alysanne laughed as she accepted. “You’re just as cheeky as your mother was.” 

Daemon just shrugged before tenderly tucking his grandmother’s bony hand into the crook of his right elbow.

“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing his head towards where all attendees had now concentrated together. Queen Alysanne nodded and allowed him to lead her forward, the children trailing behind them.

“I apologize for my tardiness this morning, my lady grandmother.” Daemon began sheepishly as they slowly went to join the others. “I overindulged during last night’s celebration and was bottle weary upon awakening.” 

He gave his grandmother his most dazzling smile. The queen hummed in response, giving him a coy half smile in return but says nothing. Daemon continued. “I’d like to apologize to His Majesty as well, where can I find him?”  

His grandmother was slow to answer and Daemon noticed the slight hitch in her breathing and the way the corners of her lips twitched downward. She reached down her free hand to delicately adjust her flowing skirts before she rested her hand along her throat, as if reaching to fiddle with a necklace she didn’t have on.

I wonder what they disagreed about now.

Daemon was disillusioned enough to know that being married as long as his grandparents didn’t happen without disagreements and rows. Besides they were hardly discreet; he was positive that by the time they returned from the docks, Maegor’s Holdfast would be abuzz with stories of their latest strife. 

“He’ll be arriving soon. Septon Barth had urgent business for His Majesty that could not be delayed.”  She finally stated, her tone leaving no room for further questioning so Daemon nodded.

They reached the group and Queen Alysanne released his arm and greeted her eldest grandchild with a beaming smile. Aemma skipped over to their governess pulling Gael behind her while Aemon waved Valerion over to him. Daemon moved to stand besides his father and Viserys. His father nodded approvingly and gave him a small smile in appreciation. 

Daemon clasped his hands behind his back and began silently observing his family’s interactions. On the surface, it was the perfect picture of courtly etiquette and courtesy the smallfolk sang about - gorgeous people adorned in beautiful clothes with their proper boring superficial conversations but Daemon could see what those fools were blind to - a tilt of the head, a raised eyebrow, a flared nostril, a downturned smile and the occasional underhanded remark.

But today, the pettiness was so clearly palpable only a blind man could miss it. Rhaenys visibly scowled at Viserra when she congratulated the new bride. I wonder how long she’ll hold that grudge. His grandmother barely greeted her elder daughter and the governess followed the queen’s example. Yet that didn’t stop Viserra from attempting to converse with both senior ladies. Still gracious as ever. Gael and Valerion also stayed clear of their sister only to get caught up in Malentine and Rhogar’s antics.

Ha. Sheltered brat deserves it, he thought, as he watches Rhogar shove Valerion into the dirt.

Meanwhile, his father pursed his lips together like he had sucked on a lemon whenever Lord Corlys spoke about his new bride and joyous tidings their union would surely bring. Jacaerys and his oaf son stood off to the side, just far away enough to discourage proper conversation. Besides Lord Velaryon and Ser Valaerys, only Aemon, Jocelyn and occasionally Aemma made any effort to really converse with Viserra. 

It wasn’t long before King Jaehaerys appeared and made his way across the courtyard. His golden crown glinting in the sunlight.

He looks weary.

Once royal courtesies had been acknowledged, the king ordered the procession to be on its way. Queen Alysanne whispered to her husband their son’s request which he clearly denied based on the dismissive wave of his hand and the dismayed look on Valerion’s face.

They climb into their assigned carriages. Daemon shifted impatiently on the plush seat cushion as he waited for the procession to begin. He glanced around at the other occupants before cursing the gods for ensuring his attendance. He felt the carriage lurch forward as it began to slowly roll forward and out of the courtyard. Daemon sighed deeply as the carriage crossed through the Barbican. 

I should’ve chosen the damn lessons and horse dung.

Two Hours Later 

along the Muddy Way, King’s Landing

It was hot. The lack of cloud cover ensured the mid-afternoon sun ruthlessly beamed down onto King’s Landing with him trapped in this wretched glass carriage. A footman lowered the glass windows halfway in a pitiful attempt to provide some relief from the sweltering heat but to no avail. Not even a cross breeze could be felt. 

Grandmother should have not ordered those cloth canopies removed so quickly. He thought bitterly as beads of sweat began to form on his brow again. 

Queen Alysanne had originally commissioned the cloth canopies in preparation for the bad weather the maesters’ predicted would occur during his cousin’s wedding.  Yet when the day finally came, the old woman’s faith in those decrepit gray rats proved false; the only thing the canopies accomplished was preventing wedding guests from enjoying the cloudless blue sky. He dabbed a silk handkerchief against his forehead to rid his skin of the dampness accumulating there. The excess shade would have provided much needed respite indeed. 

It would be in her nature to order them taken down without any thought to what the weather would be like on the morrow. 

His head jostled uncomfortably against the buttoned upholstered cushion of the seat as the carriageslowly continued its way down the cobblestone street of Muddy Way. The procession had begun hours ago, departing along King’s Way from the Red Keep. The route had been roped off in advance to ensure a quick trip yet thousands of smallfolk had swarmed the narrow streets hoping to catch a glimpse of the dragon riding monarchs that ruled them. 

The city watch had not anticipated such a large crowd and once the procession reached the city’s main square they were unable to keep them back. The excited crowd had overwhelmed the city watch and swarmed onto the square causing the procession to grind to a halt.  Cheers for “The Conciliator” and “Good Queen Alysanne” were numerous, occasionally shouts for “Prince Dragonstone” and “the Spring Prince” were heard. It had taken nearly an hour for the city watch just to clear the peasants from the square in order for the procession to turn down Muddy Way. Daemon was truly flabbergasted by this choice of route. It would’ve been easier to take the Hook to Muddy Way or to go straight down River Row. 

It would’ve been easier if I just accepted the extra lessons and horse dung. 

He scowled. His legs were beginning to cramp painfully at the lack of movement, and he lost feeling in his lower back before even reaching the main square. Daemon tugged at the high neckline of his doublet, the frilly collar of his undershirt had begun irritating his skin. The fine garments were beginning to stick to him most uncomfortably. Daemon nearly giggled at the absurdity of him feeling more uncomfortable adorned in these fine clothes than the peasants did in their grimy rags. In truth, the heat could’ve been tolerable if the ambiance within the carriage wasn’t so damn insufferable. 

Originally, the procession consisted of multiple carriages, each prepared to carry four persons of either the royal family or their Velaryon cousins to the King's Landing's docks. This one would’ve been able to contain his father, his older brother, his youngest uncle and himself quite comfortably. Yet the three princes were made to sit together - with him stuck in the middle - because she decided to attend. 

Daemon peered at the young lady in question, seated on the cushion opposite to him. His aunt had hardly spoken or even moved since the royal procession departed the Red Keep and began its way down Aegon’s High Hill towards King’s Way. She kept her shoulders back and her head high, her posture perfect. Her hands daintily folded in her lap, only raising to occasionally wave at the peasants who gathered along the procession’s route.  

Baelon was seated next to her, and while he too waved to the crowds that had gathered along their route, Daemon knew it was all for show. His father’s jaw was clenched and his smile was strained, the corners of his mouth turned downwards. Daemon glanced sideways to his uncle seated on his right. Valerion was clearly put out that his request - either to ride in a different carriage or stay behind at the Red Keep - was denied by his father. He did not engage with any of them, refusing to even wave at the smallfolk that were cheering their family’s praises. Only his elder brother Viserys seemed oblivious to the tension.

By choice or folly I could not say.

He was seated on Daemon’s left, staring out the open window smiling stupidly at the cheering mob alongside their carriage. Viserys had always enjoyed the pomp and ceremony his status of prince afforded him. He gleefully attended the banquets, feasts and balls thrown by the queen; his pleasant personality and open handedness made him well liked among the courtiers and servants of the Red Keep.

Daemon scowled slightly and crossed his arms over his chest. I didn’t even want to go through with this farce to begin with. 

He glanced at his father and aunt again. Although seated upon the same cushioned seat, they had made sure there was as much space between them as possible. A feat in itself considering how they had been packed inside the carriage. Viserra had even sat at an angle, to better face the open window and to keep her back to her older brother.  

Daemon scoffed at the hypocrisy of it all. United indeed. 

“Looks like we’ve arrived!” Viserys chirpped happily as the carriage crossed through the River Gate and towards the docks. He turned from the window for the first time since departing the Red Keep, only then did Viserys seem to notice the tension in the air. He blinked owlishly a few times before clearing his throat awkwardly and placing his hands on his legs. “Well, uh, right then, it’s best we get moving.” 

A royal page opened the carriage door, and they were to exit in order of precedence - Baelon, Viserys, himself, Valerion, and finally Viserra.

Upon exiting, Daemon shielded his eyes from the sun’s glare with his hand and descended from the carriage. He stood beside Viserys, placing his hands behind his back and surveyed his surroundings. 

A large section of the docks had been roped off for the occasion in order to keep a good distance from the rabble. However that didn’t prevent the crowds from swarming the area anyway hoping to catch a glimpse of the royal family. 

The other members of the royal family had already exited their respective carriages. His father had gone to greet his brother, Prince Aemon, who was standing besides his wife, Rhaenys and the Velaryon governess. King Jaehaerys was speaking with the Velaryon men while Queen Alysanne had taken Gael and Aemma by the hand to greet the peasants with the High Septon. 

Good Queen Alysanne must always be seen being charitable, he thought as he watched his grandmother place alms into the rambles’ outstretched filthy hands. “The poor are our burden” she would often say when she forced him to accompany her on her false charity tours of the city. 

Valerion quickly hurried past him and Viserys to the queen, Gael and Aemma. Gael spotted him first, smiling widely and waving her older brother over excitedly. Alysanne smiled warmly at her youngest son and took hold of his hand. 

Daemon turned to speak to Viserys only to discover his brother was no longer standing beside him. Apparently as soon as Viserra had come into view of the carriage door, Viserys rushed forward to offer her his hand so she could descend the wooden steps. Daemon watched the exchange curiously. Viserys hadn’t been able to get close to her the previous evening, their father keeping him close by the entire night after she arrived. 

Viserra hesitated. Her expressive purple eyes widening at Viserys' intention then darting towards their family before she timidly places her hand in his brother’s. Viserys beamed at her acceptance. Viserra smiled sweetly in return, allowing him to lead her down the wooden steps before dipping into a shallow curtsy, bowing her head in thanks. Viserys blushed and seemed to have muttered something Daemon couldn’t quite make out but it was apparently clever as Viserra let out a sweet bell-like giggle. 

“Viserys!”

Baelon’s voice was sharp as he called out to his firstborn and all three of their heads snap towards the sound. Their father waved him over brusquely. “You are wanted. Come.” 

Viserys smiled sheepishly to his aunt in apology, bowing his head at the neck before walking away. As Viserys turned his back to her, Daemon watched Viserra’s soft expression contort into an ugly scowl, her beautiful eyes narrowing in her elder brother’s direction but then it was gone. Daemon raised an eyebrow.

That’s interesting. 

He kept his eyes upon her as she walked past him, not to join the others, but greet the peasants. He watched as she withdrew a coin purse and began distributing alms to various members of the crowd - mostly to women with young children.

What is she playing at?

Viserra had never cared about charity in the years he had known her. Had three years in the North changed her that much?

When she returned, Daemon dramatically bowed at the waist, his arms out to the side in mock respect before rising.

“How very charitable of you, your highness.” 

Viserra tilted her head to the side, studying him momentarily, her expression unreadable before she laughed, dipping into a curtsy with her beautiful purple eyes locked onto his.  

“Nephew.” she purrs, her voice like honey, as she rose.

“Aunt.” he replied with gusto, puffing out his chest slightly. He offered her his arm. She smiled prettily and slipped her arm through his, allowing him to lead her down the docks. Daemon nearly laughed aloud when he saw his father and grandmother’s expressions when they spot him arm and arm with Viserra. He waved.

He leaned his head in closer to his aunt, whispering softly. “They look positively vexed.”

Viserra delicately covered her mouth with a hand as she giggles. “Yes, I suppose they do.” she said sweetly, shooting him a flirty glance. 

Daemon hummed. “They had not expected you to adjust this quickly to the royal household.” 

“That makes them fools.” 

While her tone was sickeningly sweet, Daemon could hear an edge in his aunt’s voice. It was similar to his father's cadence and it didn't sound right coming from her. 

He cleared his throat. “Were you the first to arrive at the courtyard?” He was curious about what occurred with Aemma and wanted the tale from someone other than the queen. 

“No, Lady Aemma was already there.” 

“Grandmother believes you made her dear Aemma cry.” He said teasingly, hoping to egg his aunt into giving him more information. 

Viserra scoffed softly. “I spoke to the child of her mother. Someone ought to. The poor girl knows nothing of Daella.”

The hardness and underlying anger in Viserra's voice was something Daemon did not expect. He glanced sideways at his aunt, there was a tightness around the corner of her mouth and her nostrils were flared just so. He just nods and drops the conversation. They leisurely walk towards the rest of their family in a comfortable silence. 

Daemon noticed the king was standing off to the side, still speaking hurriedly to Jacearys Velaryon - the man’s son lingering close by intently listening to the hushed conversation. Daemon narrowed his eyes at the agitation clearly evident on the men’s faces. 

What are they jostling about now?

Whatever his grandfather had said clearly made the Velaryon men unhappy. They curtly bowed to their sovereign before walking away, again standing just away from the group to discourage conversation. 

Jaehaerys noticed the pair and cheerfully called out for them to hurry and join the rest of the family. As they close the distance, Viserys smiled and waved to Viserra, a flush creeping across his face when the princess smiled kindly and waved in response. Daemon noticed their father placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder and squeezed. Baelon curtly waved him over as well so he reluctantly released Viserra’s arm and stood beside his father. Viserra greeted her own father demurely before stepping back to stand in her proper place within the royal family.

The High Septon then came forward.  He began singing prayers to the Seven to bless the vessel, the voyage and the people aboard, swinging a thurible back and forth, gray smoke rising from the slits. Finally the Velaryon party began boarding with the exception of the governess.  The woman had cried bitterly as she hugged her father goodbye. Malentine and Rhogar sprinted up the ship's ramp loudly arguing over which cabin they would have, their father following behind with Jacaerys and Vaemond. Jocelyn tightly hugged her daughter while Aemon shook Lord Corlys’ hand. 

After what seemed like an eternity, the goodbyes finally concluded. They watched the Velaryon ship disembark before they were finally permitted to return to their carriages. Daemon noticed Aemma pestering the queen, she was agitated, her face slightly red and her lips pressed in a hard line. Whatever Aemma was asking vexed her considerably; however before she could answer her, King Jaehaerys did. And his answer was certainly what she wished to hear as Aemma squealed and clapped in delight. She curtsied to her grandfather then dashed across the docks. 

Daemon watched his grandmother flush red as the king overruled her, she opened her mouth to retort when Jaehaerys interrupted, “You wish for her to be presented, do you not?” 

Presented? Aemma?

Daemon glanced back to find where Aemma had gone. She was holding hands with Viserra, making their way towards the royal carriages. He looked back at his grandparents. 

They were still staring each other down, locked in a silent battle Daemon couldn’t understand. Alysanne’s blue eyes were hard as she stared at her husband’s passive face. Finally, the queen bowed her head in deference and allowed her husband to escort her to their carriage.

Daemon tilted his head to the side, confused. He glanced at Viserys standing next to him who simply shrugged before throwing his arm around Daemon’s shoulder.

“I’m just as clueless as you brother. I wouldn’t worry about it though. They didn’t mention us, right?” 

Viserys laughed and the brothers made their way over to their carriage.

Viserys is right. Whatever they were eluding too…it’s not going to affect my life.

They climbed into the carriage and were surprised to see that rather than Valerion and Baelon sitting across from them, it was just little Aemma Arryn and Viserra instead. 

“What are you doing here?” he demanded incredulously.

Aemma beamed. “Grandfather says I can ride in your carriage!”

The boys groaned at her statement. Neither excited at the prospect of spending time with a girl child. Aemma put her hands on her hips and glared at them. “You two ought to remember your courtesies!” 

Viserys flushed pink and mumbled an apology to their cousin. Aemma turnd to face Daemon. Her gray-blue eyes were narrowed as she eyed him up and down.

“And you ought to remember that Visenya isn’t our ancestor!”

Viserys threw his head back and howled while Viserra snickered behind her hand. Daemon flushed, embarrassed before crossing his arms over his chest.

“You know what I meant.” He muttered halfheartedly. 

As the carriage jostled forward, the four of them fell into easy conversations with Viserra sharing stories of her time at White Harbor. Along King’s Way, Viserys withdrew a pack of playing cards from the glove compartment concealed in their carriage door’s linings. The ride back from the docks was much more enjoyable. It wasn’t long before Daemon spotted the red brick walls of the Red Keep looming overhead, weirdly happy that he chose to attend the day’s farce. 

Chapter Text

Twenty Third Day of the Twelfth Moon 90AC

Alysanne II

the Queen’s apartments, Maegor’s Holdfast

Peaceful sleep had been eluding her ever since her granddaughter’s wedding. Regardless of how early she retired, her sleep was disturbed either by that dream or racing thoughts on how to prevent said dream. It was most cumbersome how limited her options had been in the immediate aftermath of Viserra’s arrival. Most nights were spent staring up at the canopy of her great bed contemplating ways to tactfully keep her grandsons occupied until her new ladies arrived in the capitol. 

As a result, her normally fair complexion had taken on an unhealthy pallor and an unsightly cast of purple shadows had formed beneath her eyes. Her mood had been quite affected too. She would often go from being irritable, snapping at the most minor inconvenience to a withdrawn melancholy. It was greatly worrying her ladies. She could feel them sneaking quick glances in her direction as they went about their duties; it had gotten more frequent as the weeks went on.

The ladies Celitgars were most tiresome indeed this morning, having grated on Alysanne’s nerves from the moment she arose. She curtly dismissed them from her presence under the guise of collecting her daughter Gael and her newest ladies from their apartments and escorting them to her private solar for tea. Part of her was happy that the Celtigar sisters had finally chosen to retire from court life; Lord Rogar Baratheon was right when he said the two possess no chins and no sense.

Alysanne did her best to ignore the concerned looks her the rest of her ladies were giving her as she studies her reflection in her oval looking glass.

The face staring back seems like a stranger’s.

Her youthful beauty faded as the years and her losses mounted replaced with hollowed cheeks, crow’s feet, and deep frown lines along her forehead.

This will not do.  

Alysanne selected a round glass jar off her vanity. She twisted off the top to reveal a thick cream. Using her fingers to scoop out a generous amount, she dabbed some along her forehead, cheeks, and neck before gently rubbing the cream into her aging skin. Alysanne massaged the skin under her eyes and up towards her hairline just above her ears. Once finished, she rubbed her hands together to absorb any excess cream. She sighed. 

A lack of sleep at her age was detrimental according to her ladies and the Grand Maester. They have been fawning over her incessantly ever since Rhaenys’ wedding, acting as though she were some feeble old woman prone to sudden fainting spells. Her ladies' unbearable smothering had Alysanne pining for the company of Lady Mara Manderly. She had been the queen’s most steadfast companion for decades but alas, she had retired from court life and returned to White Harbor once the wedding celebrations concluded. 

Since then her remaining ladies - Ella Broome, Alarra Stark and the Celtigar twins - constantly pestered her with remedies they stated could help, even going as far to suggest they call the maester for some sweetsleep in a cup of milk. She always declined that offer, while a pinch could lull a person into a dreamless sleep adding two more would ensure a person would sleep forever. Goosebumps form along her arms at the thought. 

“Shall I fetch a shawl for you, your majesty?” 

Alysanne immediately shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. Come, arrange my hair in the way His Majesty prefers.” 

Lady Ella Broome obediently curtsied before picking up the ivory comb from the queen’s vanity.  As her lady began to detangle her long white hair, Alysanne closed her eyes enjoying the sensation of Lady Ella’s deft fingers as they section her silken tresses with great care in order to arrange it in an elaborate up-do.

It was not the first time dreams like this plagued her.  They had came as brutal warnings of what was to transpire, the great dangers to her loved ones and their house, ever since she was a small girl. She had many throughout her life, some recurring, others shown to her only once. The first one had terrified her, she was such a small thing and didn’t know what it meant.

She was barely five as she wandered into her parent’s bedchamber at the hour of the wolf crying uncontrollably, still able to feel the fire’s heat against her skin and hear the screams echoing in her ears. Her father and mother were dismayed to see how distraught their daughter was as she babbled about her nightmare and allowed her to remain with them. Alysanne dozed off resting her head upon her mother’s chest as she gently rocked the child back and forth, offering soothing words that it was a dream, nothing more.

But that illusion was shattered when barely a year later Maegor had burned the Warrior’s Sons alive within the Sept of Remembrance. After being told what her evil uncle had done, Alysanne - though young as she was - realized she was a dreamer, like her ancestor Daenys before her. Alysanne sighed again. 

A gift I never wanted nor asked for.

Another vision followed a few days after Maegor’s atrocity, recurring every night for a moon's turn before her father’s death - two small dragons being struck down by a larger more ferocious beast. By this time, Alysanne’s mother had also inferred her youngest child had the gift of prophetic dreams, though Alysanne never outright told her. So when Meagor usurped the Iron Throne and killed her eldest son and his dragon above the God’s Eye, Alyssa Velaryon had not shed a tear. Their mother steeled herself again when Meagor summoned Viserys to King’s Landing under the guise of being his squire, knowing he was already lost. Yet Alysanne wept bitterly upon their farewell, desperately clinging to him while he gently tried to persuade her they would see each other again soon. He was dead before year’s end, murdered by their usurping uncle and his black hearted witch once her mother and remaining children absconded from Dragonstone with the Targaryen ancestral sword Dark Sister. 

While hiding from Meagor’s wrath in Storm’s End under Lord Rogar Baratheon’s protection another vision came; that same ferocious beast wrapping its large leathery wings around three weeping women obscured in shadows. After there was word of Maegor’s black brides - their eldest sister Rhaena among the unfortunate women chosen to wed the monster. 

Since my gift manifested as a child I was doomed to prevent the atrocities committed against my elder siblings. 

The thought made her unbelievably sad, the love in her heart for her parents and siblings was now nothing more than an aching unending emptiness in their absence. Alysanne sniffled. 

It’s just Jae and myself now. 

Lady Ella finished styling her hair and stepped back to allow the queen to review her handiwork. Satisfied, Alysanne motioned for her lady to continue getting her ready. Lady Ella painstakingly blended cosmetics under the queen’s eyes to hide the purplish tint lingering there before applying rouge onto the queen’s high cheekbones and lips. Once her lady finished, Alysanne surveyed her reflection moving her head side to side before she smiled in approval, meeting her lady’s eyes in the looking glass.

“You are most appreciated, my lady. Please fetch the seafoam green gown, the one trimmed with satin and the pearl embroidery.” 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Lady Ella curtsied and retreated into the queen’s adjoining dressing room while she instructed Lady Alarra to gather a few options from her vast jewelry collection. Alysanne took a deep steadying breath once her ladies withdrew and rubbed her temples, attempting to will away the oncoming headache. 

Be calm. The day is finally upon us. My grandsons will soon be settled and I shall rest easier once this vision is averted. 

Catching herself slouching in her looking glass, Alysanne straightened her posture, rotating her shoulders back and raising her chin. She reached for her favorite perfume and placed a drop on the inside of her wrists and the hollows of her collarbones. Alysanne brought the jar to her nose, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply; the strong scent of lemon always calmed her. The corner of her lips curve upwards as she felt her body relax before she opened her eyes and placed the perfume back on her vanity. 

She caught sudden movement out of the corner of her eye and quickly turned to gaze out the arched windows of her apartment. There was nothing.

Rest is certainly something my mind needs and quickly. 

In the last few weeks she meticulously combed over any details she could remember about the other visions she had. After Jaehaerys ascended to the Iron Throne, they had stalled and she foolishly hoped they ceased because for a glorious moment the realm was at peace. But then the visions returned not even half a decade later. 

The fourth had been recurring for years - a fair haired maiden fading on a bed of blood. When laboring with her ill-fated first born, she feared it was her own death she had foreseen. In her delirium she cursed those she felt were responsible for her precarious plight yet she and her son survived their ordeal and she named him Aegon after the Conqueror, but the babe died three days later. Born too early, the midwives said. Yet the same vision continued to invade her sleep and she would awake in a cold sweat, always during the hour of the wolf. To this day Alysanne was unsure if that vision had depicted the death of her mother, her daughter or both. 

It doesn’t matter now. 

As a child she had no power to have been able to prevent the fates she foresaw for her elder brothers and sister but it was different now - she was the queen. She will not sit idly by and allow another vision to come to fruition. Nor would she foolishly disregard the warning the gods sent like she had decades prior in 73AC. 

That dream came only once, a swaddled babe dead in the royal cradle but she ignored it. She had similar thoughts during her previous pregnancies; that aching fear of possibly losing the babe one spends nine moons carrying, normal for every woman who’s bringing new life into the world. Yet her eleventh child had been born limp and blue, his life cord wrapped tightly around his neck. He died less than three moons later. 

“My queen.”

Jonquil Darke’s raspy voice brought Alysanne abruptly back to the present. She looked away from the windows and glanced up across her vanity to meet the other woman’s gaze. Bastard daughter of the previous Lord Darklyn of Duskendale, she was appointed Alysanne’s sworn protector following a failed assassination attempt in 51AC. The woman had been the queen’s most loyal companion; the courtiers had dubbed her the Scarlet Shadow due to how closely she guarded her queen. 

Jonquil’s dark eyes assessed her queen with a furrowed brow before she motioned her head for Alysanne to look behind her. She turned to see Lady Ella and Lady Alarra standing there, their tasks complete. She felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment as she realized how unhinged she must’ve seemed moments ago - staring out the window in a daze, deaf and dumb to the ongoings around her. 

I’m giving them reasons to continue their protective nonsense. 

Alysanne cleared her throat then gave her ladies a small smile, before rising from her ottoman. Her ladies curtsy deeply as she passed. Once behind her Myrish privacy screen, Lady Ella and Lady Alarra assist her into fresh stockings and a new chemise. Alysanne fidgets with the undergarment’s neckline while her ladies meticulously laid out her attire for the day. 

She raised up her arms so her ladies could lift the farthingale over her head then lace it securely around her waist and button the sides. Once done, they repeated the process with the queen’s chosen kirtle, carefully lifting the gown over the queen’s head to prevent the fabric from creasing while Alysanne slipped her arms into the hanging sleeves.

As her ladies began lacing closed the back and sides of her gown, Alysanne genuinely smiled at her reflection in the floor length looking glass. The damask gown was a beautiful seafoam green with its bodice richly embroidered with hundreds of tiny pearls. Although House Targaryen colors were red and black, Alysanne favored the colors of her mother’s house. They complimented her fairness the best, brightening her skin tone and enhancing the color of her eyes. Besides seafoam green represents new beginnings, a revival, a newfound sense of hope and security. 

Today is that new beginning. 

The gown really was the perfect choice for the occasion this morning. Now that all those chosen to be her ladies had finally returned to the capitol - the last having arrived just a few days prior - Alysanne was intent on throwing off her melancholy in the most literal sense. 

Plus she thought it best to meet the young ladies in a more informal setting prior to their court presentation in the coming weeks. She knew how daunting it could be for a young lady to suddenly find themselves thrust into the royal household without knowing a single soul. She had no intention for her new ladies to wilt underneath the pressures her royal court would demand of them. Best to greet them prior to all the fuss and in a gown that best showcased Alysanne’s renewed outlook. It would be the ideal opportunity to get a better understanding of who these young ladies were and what advantages they’d bring to the crown. Alysanne was hopeful one of them would catch the princes’ eyes before Viserra’s two year mourning period ended and if not, so be it; the arrangement being a love match was of little consequence to her. 

There is time. She sternly reminded herself. 

While unsure of when this vision took place, Alysanne had to have faith it was the far distant future. Otherwise she’d be even more anxious than she was now. Her visions were not of some predestined path, simply warnings if Alysanne chose to do nothing. She needed to be proactive if she wanted to stop them. 

As I was with Valerion. 

She awoke screaming, demanding her son be brought to her immediately. Only once he had been placed in her arms did she begin to calm, weeping joyously that her son was alive, whole and breathing. She had his cradle moved into her bedchambers that evening and began tending to the princeling herself. She refused to even attend small council meetings terrified Valerion would die. Yet he got sick anyway. 

He’s with us still. She told herself firmly. It had taken a great sacrifice yet her boy was still here. What mattered was that she prevented his death, proving to herself her dreams could be averted, changed but only if she acted. 

I prevented Valerion’s death. I will prevent this dream.

The particular dream came years ago, a few moons before Rhaenys was born. It had been vague the first time it came to her - a tall crowned figure upon the Dragonstone garrison, overlooking the bay towards King’s Landing at twilight. It came and went over the years with no more details forthcoming until Alyssa died. That night the dream altered slightly - the rising sun had begun to slowly come up over the horizon, subduing the fog and surrounding the figure’s silhouette and Alysanne saw her husband’s golden crown on the figure’s head glinting in the bright morning light. 

At first she was elated, grateful to the old gods and the new for blessing her with such a vision - My Rhaenys crowned Queen. The sun continued to rise, bathing the figure in sunlight. But Alysanne’s breath caught in her throat when she noticed the figure’s long braid of silver-gold hair. It came again and again as the year progressed. Alysanne never was able to catch a glimpse of the lady’s face yet she had no doubt who it was. 

Her tenth born had always been a vain girl; after a squire called her a goddess she simply agreed with the fool and henceforth demanded to be addressed as such by all the young lords vying for her attention. She was sly and delighted in pitting the boys against each other by sending them on “contests” to win her favor.  Yet Alysanne never worried Viserra would disgrace herself the way her elder sister Saera had; Viserra was too tenacious to impulsively indulge in the selfish whims of the heart and body. She aimed higher. Alysanne knew her daughter wished to become the queen and if the opportunity arose, she would grasp it no matter the costs to others. 

With Aemon and Baelon both happily married, neither Jaehaerys nor herself felt it necessary to formally betroth Viserra although their majesties received hundreds of offers from all across the realm. But then Alyssa died. Her daughter’s death had devastated Alysanne since Alyssa had survived the initial labor and delivery of her third son. She was recovering well, excitedly stating she would give her husband twenty sons if he wished until an infection set in. Alysanne could do nothing but watch her lively boisterous fierce girl fade away, succumbing to childbed sickness in a matter of days. 

Alysanne observed how Viserra would preen and prance whenever around Baelon, batting her eyelashes and smiling too sweetly to be innocuous. She tried to think the best of her daughter, truly she did. Although her tenth child, Alysanne delighted in beautiful babe with expressive purple eyes. Her Viserra was the most beautiful and accomplished of all her girls, excelling in the womanly arts and court etiquette. She was highly intelligent though prone to laziness. Even after she realized the identity of the young woman in her vision years prior, Alysanne frequented the Royal sept, beseeching the Maiden to alter her daughter's path of her own free will, not due to her interference. Plus she was Jaehaerys’ favorite daughter, his precious jewel. How was I to tell him the truth?*

But once her ladies brought her whispers of Viserra’s callous comments about becoming Baelon’s second wife, Alysanne had no choice. The lack of hesitation Viserra displayed to try and manipulate a family tragedy to facilitate her own rise was the final death knell for Alysanne. Her daughter’s actions and complete disregard for the lost life of her sister - Baelon’s wife! - infuriated her and although she loved the girl dearly, the future of their house was more important than Viserra’s ambitions. She quickly convinced Jaehaerys to wed her to Lord Manderly after Lady Mara confided in her that her brother was in want of a new wife. 

Baelon would never remarry and she hoped to get Viserys and Daemon wed or at least betrothed with her daughter absent from the royal court but she had delayed much too long in finding brides for her grandsons. Jaehaerys was not wrong when he accused her of hoping their daughter would flee to Essos. She and Saera were thick as thieves in their girlhood and she wrongly assumed Viserra would seek out her sister for refuge in Volantis but alas, Viserra returned to King’s Landing. 

“Have you finished?” Alysanne quizzed her ladies. She was getting rather inpatient with how tedious the whole process was becoming and was anxious to get to her solar. When her ladies confirm the final touches were complete Alysanne withdrew from behind her privacy screen and returned to her vanity. 

Lady Alarra had assembled a fantastic selection of necklaces and rings for the queen to choose from. Her eyes scan her options before deciding on a dazzling necklace of diamonds and pearls. Alysanne took one last look at her reflection in her looking glass to ensure perfection before withdrawing from her bedchamber with her senior ladies and sworn shield in tow.

They maneuver through Maegor’s Holdfast with ease - the massive crowds for Rhaenys’ wedding having dispersed quickly following the wedding's conclusion the previous moons. Despite her exhaustion, Alysanne was optimistic about meeting her newest ladies.  It had been years since she opened the positions, having found loyal handmaidens relatively early in her reign and she was keen to determine these ladies' worthiness to be a prince’s bride.

The previous two matches had been made to the Vale and the North in order to strengthen the crown's ties with their more isolated kingdoms Therefore her new ladies were selected from the other Westerosi regions. Yet, Alysanne heavily favored that her future granddaughter by law herald from either the westerlands or the Reach. The westerlands was the wealthiest in the realm due to its vast underground network of gold and silver mines. The Reach had the most fertile land on the continent, having been dubbed by the small folk as the kingdom’s “breadbasket”.

A match with either would be extremely advantageous for the crown so she ensured two ladies from each region were invited to better those odds. She smiled at her ingenuity and a childish giggle escaped her lips. 

“Your mood seems much improved, my queen.”

Alysanne gave her Scarlet Shadow a playful glance before looping her arm with the other woman’s to draw her closer. Alysanne motioned for her other ladies to fall back a few paces to allow her and her protector some semblance of privacy as she and Jonquil continued down the hallway, falling in step with each other.

“With good reason. I am to meet my future granddaughter by law this morning, mayhaps two.” Alysanne smiled widely at the thought.

Jonquil hummed. “Is there anyone in particular my queen has designs upon?” 

Alysanne shook her head. “I only have names to go by at the moment. I must confess that due to how busy Rhaenys’ wedding kept me, I only had time to make delicate inquiries about the various ladies after making my final selections. I much prefer a match with the westernlands.”

I have for years. 

When Jaehaerys gave Alysanne the ultimatum that Daella find a husband or join the Silent Sisters, she hoped that her daughter would choose Ser Tymond Lannister. The boy was heir to Casterly Rock, the richest among the possible suitors and closest in the princess’ age. But alas, Daella became Lady of the Vale instead, put off by Ser Tymond's flamboyant personality. 

It was for the best. Alysanne firmly remains herself. The man’s fondness for women was well known and he had several acknowledged bastards already despite his youth. Jaehaerys wanted Daella married, not dishonored. 

A decade later, there were still no daughters of marriageable age amongst the Lord’s Paramount so Alysanne had looked amongst their bannermen. While disappointed in her limited options, she would make due. She always had. 

Jonquil nodded. “Will Lady Aemma Arryn be joining us today?”

Alysanne’s smile faltered. “No. She is otherwise occupied.”

Her youngest grandchild had taken quite a shine to her aunt ever since they were first introduced before the Velaryon farewell procession two moons ago. It had taken Alysanne by surprise seeing as the child left their first encounter in tears. Even more surprising was Viserra’s reaction to suddenly having a shadow everywhere she went - she doted on Aemma, encouraging the girl to focus more diligently on her embroidery or music lessons. Her granddaughter seems to listen to her aunt’s instructions as the tutors Alysanne employed had nothing but glowing praise for Aemma’s impressive improvement. 

They soon reach the oak and bronze entry door of her private solar. The room was moderately large, big enough for her to entertain roughly thirty persons comfortably. On the south wall, were three arched windows, their thick velvet drapes had been tied back allowing a fantastic view of the bay. The paneled walls were of richly carved wood and her favorite Valyrian tapestry hung on the east wall. A small musician gallery covered with sweet smelling rushes was positioned on the wall above the entry door. 

She was pleased to see the room had been arranged to her exact specifications. Her solar’s main sitting area had multiple cushioned tabourets** and a trestle table beautifully decorated with simple yet savory dishes. A basket for needlework and embroidery projects had been set out as well. Alysanne clasps her hands together, smiling as she nodded appreciatively towards her senior lady who oversaw the project. Lady Alarra graciously curtsied upon the queen's recognition. 

Alysanne gracefully took her seat before gesturing for her ladies to take their places among her. Lady Alarra took her place beside the harpsichord and began playing a soft lively tune and Lady Ella opened the Seven Pointed Star to read while Jonquil went to stand by the hearth. 

Sighing, she resumed working on her latest embroidery project, a cream satin christening gown for Rhaenys’ future child. She knew it was premature yet she was hopeful that that announcement from Driftmark would be forthcoming and had begun working on the garment shortly after Rhaenys departed for Driftmark. 

Once Rhaenys has a son and heir, her ascension is all but assured. 

Her fingers delicately tracing the beaded seahorse and dragon that adorned the center crest of the garment. The queen was no fool, she knew Jaehaerys did not believe in a woman's right to inherit the Iron Throne. He displaced their niece Aerea following Meagor’s death and then their own daughter when her younger brother was born. Alysanne smirked at the irony of that same boy being the only thing preventing the king from disinheriting their granddaughter all these years later.

For a while she attempted to focus on the task at hand yet found herself distracted, glancing at her solar door every few minutes and had ended up pricking her fingers with her needle more than usual. She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent swearing aloud when it happened again before tossing the project aside in frustration. 

Alysanne closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to focus on the beautiful melody Lady Alarra was playing but it was no use. 

"What is taking them so long to arrive? They left my chambers to collect these ladies more than an hour ago." 

None of her ladies respond immediately though Alarra and Ella shared a knowing sideways glance and Jonquil chortled. 

“If punctuality was what you desired, sending the Celigar ladies was a mistake, ma’am.”

Alysanne glared at her sworn protector but said nothing. She huffed in annoyance before returning to her needlework. 

Absolutely no sense, the both of them. 

Just then her solar door opened. Alysanne looked up, hopeful her newest ladies had arrived but before the royal page could announce the newcomers her youngest child dashes towards her. 

“Muña!” Gael shouted happily. 

“Hello my dear!”  Alysanne hugged her youngest tightly before letting go. “You’re late for your lesson.” She chided gently. 

Gael looked down embarrassed. “I know. It’s just…Valerion invited me to spend time in the godswood with him.” 

Lady Vaela stepped forward. “I felt it necessary to remind the young princess that she already had arrangements with your majesty this morning.”

Alysanne nodded in appreciation. “Thank you Lady Vaella for remaining the princess of her courtesies. Well my dear, if you do well on your translations I’ll release you early.”

“Deal!” 

“That’s my winter rose.” Alysanne tapped Gael on the nose playfully. “Now what are you studying?”

Before Gael could reply, the solar door opened once more revealing the Celtigar sisters and the queen’s seven new ladies. Alysanne quickly motioned for Lady Vaella to collect Gael and they both stepped aside. 

Lady Prunella Celtigar stepped forward, looking flustered and quickly curtsied. "My deepest apologies regarding our tardiness my queen." Lady Prunella clasped her hands together in front of her. "The Lady Stokeworth wished to visit the sept and give thanks to the Seven. I did not feel it appropriate to thwart the young lady's intention." 

Alysanne nodded in understanding, her eyes scanning over the seven ladies standing before her trying to determine which young maid was the lady in question. 

A pious Andalos wife would please Oldtown and the Faith. 

In order to continue the practice of incestuous marriages while avoiding the religious uprisings that plagued their father and uncle's reigns, Jaehaerys worked with Septon Oswyck and Septon Barth to craft the Doctrine of Exceptionalism. The basic tenet was simple - the laws of the Seven were holy texts all men must adhere but since the Targaryens rode dragons, they were not beholden to the religious laws of other men. 

The princes’ match with a devotee of the Seven would be ideal since both our heir and spare wed within our house, even if the girl is from the crownlands.

"Come forward Lady Stokeworth." 

Alysanne's smile nearly faltered when a short pudgy young lady stepped forward and fell into a clumsy curtsy. She was wearing a very conservative gown with a high collar neckline and sleeves that ended at her wrists; a large Seven Pointed Star necklace the only jewelry she wore. Alysanne quickly regained her friendly expression and smiled widely as she commanded the young lady to rise. The young lady faltered slightly as she rose and a flush crept across the girl's cheeks.  

A beauty this one is not. 

While the girl had rather slim bone structure, her nose was far too large for her face and her protruding eyes gave her a look of constant astonishment. Her hair was completely hidden underneath a veil so Alysanne was unable to determine the lady's hair color but her eyes were a bright shade of blue. 

"What is your name, child?" 

"Beth, if it pleases your majesty." The girl's voice was barely a whisper.

"And what did you pray for Lady Beth?" Alysanne asked teasingly. 

The girl hesitated before responding, her blue eyes widening then darting to the floor. She took a deep breath before stammering. 

"To worship the Seven regardless of the path my life may take." 

Alysanne raised an eyebrow. "You think being elevated to a royal bride will keep you from the sept?" 

The young girl paled and begun stumbling over her words attempting to respond. Alysanne's lip curved upwards a tad at the young lady's obvious inexperience conducting herself within social situations. Before Alysanne could respond, quiet snickering was heard she darted her eyes up and glared. The lady in question at least had the decency to be embarrassed and flushed a deep red. 

Alysanne returned her attention to the young lady standing before her.

"Calm yourself, twas a jest Lady Beth. I find your devotion to your faith a necessary quality for a potential bride for my grandsons, please tell me more about yourself."

Lady Beth's mouth simply opened and closed, like a puffer fish from the Summer Isles before finally managing to quietly rasp out. "I-I read the Seven Pointed Star daily, my queen.”

Alysanne smiled kindly. "As did my own daughter Princess Maegelle. She was able to recite the holy words from memory." She leaned forward in her chair.  "Tell me Lady Beth, can you do the same?" 

"N-No, my queen." 

Alysanne leaned back and hummed quietly. How disappointing.  The queen smiled regardless. "No matter, I'm sure there are other talents you possess." She paused in order to give the girl time to reply. There was none forthcoming, instead the girl began to nervously pick at her fingernails. Alysanne furrowed her brow. 

Is she simple? How was this not reported to me?

As the girl's silence grew, so did Alysanne's impatience. "Oh come now child, the question is not a difficult one. Do you ride? Sing? Play an instrument?"  

She suppressed a deep sigh as Lady Beth shook her head. Alsyanne smiled tightly. "Thank you, please step back.”

Lady Beth dipped into a hurried curtsy before returning to her place in the line of ladies. 

"Lady Prudence, if you would please introduce the remaining ladies."   

"I would be delighted, my queen." Lady Prudence motioned to the lady on her immediate right. "Lady Megga Fossoway of Cider Hall." 

A rather pretty girl with dark brown hair and brown eyes came forward and fell into a dramatic curtsy. She was wearing a deep red satin gown with hanging sleeves, its square neckline trimmed with gold pearls.  "I most humbly thank her majesty for the invitation to serve among your ladies." 

Alysanne nodded her permission for the girl to rise. "Tell me about yourself Lady Megga? What are your talents?" 

The young lady smiled brightly, her wide grin exposing the small dimple on her left cheek and she began talking excitedly. 

"I have a good understanding of sums, my queen. My dear great aunt ensured it.” 

Alysanne fondly remembered Lady Florence Fossoway, the lady was able and intelligent. Her husband had been appointed Master of Coin following the murder of Rego Draz but it was common knowledge that it was his lady wife that kept the court's funds in order; the apple counter the courtiers called her. 

“I also enjoy falconry. I was given a merlin for my seventh nameday and that was that." Lady Megga giggled before continuing. "I'm quite skilled with a needle as well as my queen, more so than most.”

Alysanne tilted her head to the side, skeptical at the young lady's unabashed confidence. "I have had many ladies skilled in needlework over the years, dear. What makes your talent so different?"

Lady Megga's smile grew wider. "I am able to craft lace, your majesty, both by needle and bobbin. I have been told my work rivals that of the great makers in Myr."

Alysanne's eyebrows shot up. Now that is certainly a pleasant surprise.  She returned Lady Megga's smile then allowed her to step back.

"Lady Genna Serrett of Silverhall."

The rude one from earlier. 

A stoic young lady with light brown eyes and a hooked nose stepped forward, the girl's dark blonde hair held back in a hairnet. She was wearing a cream satin gown with short puff sleeves, its bodice richly embroidered with threads of green, blue and purple in the design of peacock feathers. The young lady kept her eyes averted from Alysanne's gaze as she quickly curtsied. 

"My queen."

Alysanne raised an eyebrow at the young lady’s questionable etiquette. “Lady Genna, I Have No Rival is your house motto is that correct?" At the girl's stiff nod, Alysanne continued. "I hope you live up to those words then."

She dismissed Lady Genna with a wave of her hand. 

"Lady Lucinda Crakehall of Crakehall." 

Alysanne smiled when the lady gracefully curtsies before her, her form and posture perfect. She was the most comely lady by far, possessing a pleasant face, fair blonde hair and green eyes. 

"Your Majesty."  

“Lady Lucinda. Welcome. I trust your journey to the Red Keep was pleasant.”

“It was indeed, my queen.” Lucinda smiled prettily. “The roads constructed by your majesties have made traveling from the west much easier. Your loyal subjects in Crakehall are most thankful.”

Alysanne nodded her head approvingly. “Tell me dear, what are your special gifts?”

“I play the lute and harp, my queen.” 

“And do you sing?”

“Yes, your majesty.” 

Alysanne nodded. “Good.” Lady Lucinda curtsied again and took her place back in line.

“And the remaining ladies?”

Lady Prudence gestured to the last three ladies on her left. 

"Lady Elinor Merryweather of Longtable. Lady Alys of Mooton Of Maidenpool and Lady Joanna Swann of Stonehelm.”

The three ladies stepped forward and curtsied in unison; Lady Elinor had fallen into the same dramatic curtsy as Lady Megga had. Alysanne tilted her head to the side slightly.

It must be a Reach thing. 

She smiled warmly at the seven ladies. “Welcome to my court. I have selected you all from a long list of eligible candidates, I pray you all realize the opportunity I am offering by inviting you here.” 

Her eyes scanned them. “As one of my ladies-in-waiting, you will all be honorable, discreet, just and thrifty in your conduct. You shall set the standard for everyone else. Your formal presentation will be in the new year after which you all shall be introduced to Prince Viserys and Prince Daemon.” 

A few of the ladies began to titter excitedly at the prospect of meeting a royal prince. Alysanne smiled before raising her hand to halt to young women’s babbling. 

“Now, my dears, let us get to know each other.”

Chapter Text

Twenty Third Day of the Twelfth Moon 90AC

Gael II

an hour later, the Queen’s private solar, Maegor’s Holdfast

Gael rested her chin in her palm while absentmindedly twirling a golden curl around her finger. She had completed translating the latest set of High Valyrian glyphs a while ago but her mother had yet to come and review her work. Her new ladies were introduced mere moments after she greeted muña and she had spent her time conversing with them rather than focusing on Gael’s lesson. The young princess sighed before chewing on her bottom lip. 

Why did Lady Vaella have me come today if muña wasn’t going to have time? 

Gael glanced to where her mother sat on the raised dais. She was lounging effortlessly upon a cushioned armchair, her favorite Valyrian tapestry depicting a scandalous scene between humans and dragons on the wall behind her.  

How is she so at ease around strangers? Gael thought watching her mother interact with her ladies who sat on the various tabourets that had been placed around the solar.

I do not envy those few the gods call to reign.

Gael found the idea of having to entertain so many ladies daunting. She disliked being the center of attention with all eyes upon her waiting to see what she would do or say next. Her nervousness prevented her from excelling in womanly arts or courtly etiquette. Kepa made no attempt to hide his exasperation with her failings, often muttering why the gods saw fit to give him so many worthless daughters.

And it’s only gotten worse now that Viserra returned. 

It was an open secret within the halls of the Red Keep that Viserra was the king’s favorite daughter. Ever since she returned, Kepa had not sought out the company of his youngest children, preferring to shower Viserra with affection, praise, and expensive gifts. She would often see them walking together about the castle grounds. Aemma, too, seemed to favor the company of this other aunt over Gael now. She felt the tears building and hurriedly brushed them away and drifted her gaze over to her mother’s ladies seated on her left. 

Lady Genna Serret had the misfortune of sitting between the Celtigar sisters. Gael felt a twinge of sympathy for her. Prudence and Prunella were just as annoying as their names suggested, with shrill voices and a nasty habit of gossiping. Judging by the look on Genna’s face and the aggressive way she was stabbing her needle through the fabric, she shared the same opinion as the young princess. 

Thankfully, they are retiring to Claw Isle in the new year. 

Lady Beth Stokeworth was seated to Prudence’s left. Or Prunella’s. Gael had never been able to tell the twins apart. She was furthest away from the queen, choosing the seat by the middle window overlooking the bay. She kept her eyes down diligently focusing on her stitches.  She must be trying to avoid looking at the tapestry. The lady’s face drained of what little color it possessed when she first saw its scandalous imagery and had tightly gripped the seven point star pendant around her neck. Poor lamb. Daemon is going to absolutely terrorize her. The pious lady from the crownlands hadn’t spoken much since her awkward first conversation with the queen, only responding when asked a direct question. 

Lady Ella Broome, Lady Alys Mooton and Lady Megga Fossoway sat to her mother’s right, their backs facing her while Lady Joanna Swann declined a seat entirely. Instead she chose to acquaint herself with Jonquil Drake, muña’s sworn shield.

The two stood by the hearth, closest to the trestle table she and her governess were sitting at. The young lady, fascinated by the older woman dressed in boiled leather with a sword tied to her hip, was asking questions that Gael knew were not proper topics of conversation for a lady. 

Yet nothing about Joanna is ladylike, Gael thought as the unconventional lady from the Dornish marches snorted in response to her mother’s question of whether she embroiders. She was the tallest of her mother’s ladies by far - possibly even taller than Viserys - with a boisterous personality and loud speaking voice. 

Her gown was the most ladylike thing about her. The fashion was similar to what her good sister Jocelyn often wore - a white satin gown with gold lace detailing with a black linen chemise visible along the sleeves. The style must be favored in the stormlands. While Joanna had a friendly face with delicate bone structure and piercing dark blue eyes, her black hair was cropped short like a boy! 

Kepa will never approve of her. Gael gave a sideways glance back in her mother’s direction. What is muña thinking? 

A crisp timbre melody and dulcet singing from the other side of the solar drew Gael’s attention.  Lady Lucinda sat with Lady Alarra at the queen’s invitation given the new lady’s musical talents and the two were now playing a duet on the harpsichord. Lady Elinor who was sitting closest to the harpsichord was singing a hymn while working on her embroidery. She had not been shy about showing off her angelic singing voice much to the queen’s delight. 

Only her governess, Lady Vaella, was seated with her at the trestle table but she too was preoccupied, diligently embroidering a garment as a gift for her father’s upcoming nameday in the new year. 

Gael sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear before resting her hands in her lap to pick at her nail beds unseen. I should already be in the godswoods. More than an hour had passed if Gael was to trust the sundial in the corner of muña’s solar. She eyed the royal page standing by the solar door. 

I need to get a message to Val.

A chorus of laughter made Gael’s eyes dart back over to her mother and her ladies. Whatever Lady Megga said must’ve been very clever for her mother’s bell-like laughter to ring out and even Lady Genna’s sour look was replaced with a sly smile.

“You are always welcome to join them, princess.”

Gael tensed before shaking her head at her governess’ suggestion. She didn’t much care to join in their conversation, she didn’t know these ladies nor did she care to know them. They were strangers to her regardless if muña thought one or two of them would wed into their family in the near future. 

She replied quietly, “I simply wish to focus on my lesson and then spend time with my brother in the godswoods.” 

Lady Vaella gave her charge a small smile. “Of course, princess. Shall I speak to her majesty about reviewing your lesson?” 

Gael nodded timidly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lip. Lady Vaella set her embroidery project on the table and rose from her seat to walk towards the queen’s side, bending down and whispering Gael’s request in her ear. Her mother’s gaze met her own and she gave her mother a lopsided grin. 

Alysanne rose gracefully and strode to where Gael sat smiling fondly at her youngest child. “Iksa tetan ñuha sõnar riña- You are finished my winter child?”

“Issa - Yes.” Gael nodded excitedly, handing over the parchment for review. Gael began to tap her feet against the stone floor in anticipation of being excused shortly but as the silence continued nervousness sets in. She watched muña’s face carefully as her smile faded and her eyebrows shot upwards in barely concealed dismay. Alysanne sighed deeply and traced her fingers across her forehead before her gaze drifted over to find Gael’s. 

Gael gave her mother her most innocent smile, ignoring the disappointed look she was receiving. “May I go now muña? Val has been waiting in the godswoods for so long already. It would be discourteous of me to continue to keep him waiting.”

Usually mention of keeping their royal courtesies swayed her but this time her mother said nothing, gazing back and forth between the parchment in her hand and her youngest daughter, her mouth agape. Gael’s smile falterd slightly. 

She’s gonna say no if I don’t think of something quickly! 

“It would be such a shame for your new ladies to be deprived of your full attention muña. I promise to study my High Valyrian glyphs with Val. He knows them so well and is always inclined to assist me whenever I request it. Kostilus? - Please”

Alysanne and Lady Vaella shared a look Gael didn’t quite understand before she set the parchment down on the table. “Olvie sȳrī. Ao kostagon jikagon. - Very well then. You may go.” 

“Kirimvose - Thank you!” Gael jumped up from her chair and quickly curtsied to her mother but before she can take another step her mother continued speaking.

“Yn lanta hen issa ābri jāhor gūrogon ao - Two of my ladies will take you.” Alysanne turned to address her ladies. “Lady Alys, Lady Elinor, you both are required to escort the young princess to the godswoods.” 

The two ladies rose from their seats and curtsied deeply, their heads bowed as they said in unison. “Yes, your majesty.” 

Gael closed her eyes tightly and resisted the urge to scream aloud. 

the lower bailey, the Red Keep

The walk to the godswoods should not be taking this long. Gael thought as she continued to anxiously pick at her nail beds. She and Lady Alys had been standing idly by the serpentine steps for a while now as Lady Elinor conversed with the castle guards and knights a few paces away.

“You should stop doing that.” 

Gael jumped at the sudden comment and turned to face Lady Alys. The lady from the riverlands was easily one of the prettiest of her mother’s new ladies with dark auburn hair, light blue eyes and a fair complexion. Yet the unpleasant scowl she currently wore coupled with her closed off body language made Gael uncomfortable around her. 

Alys raised an eyebrow as Gael continued to look at her in silence. She motioned towards the princess’s hands. “You’re picking your nail beds again.”

“Oh?” Gael glanced down at her hands as if suddenly realizing what she was doing and hurriedly claspped her hands together behind her back. “Thank you.”

Alys nodded but neither said nothing further, their gaze drifting back to Lady Elinor who seemed to be laughing entirely too much. 

These men can’t be that humorous. Gael thought. Alys must have been thinking along the same lines as she huffed in annoyance. 

“Is she going to parade herself in front of every man that crosses her path?”

Gael did not respond to Alys’ question, only shrugging and kicking a small rock that was by her foot. If I had been allowed to go alone I would be in the godswoods by now. 

Thankfully Lady Elinor’s flirtations with the castle guards did not last much longer and the lady walked over to the two of them giggling madly. 

“In case you have forgotten, her majesty has tasked us with escorting the princess to the godswoods to meet with Prince Valerion, not shameful flirt with every castle guard we cross paths with.” Alys said, not bothering to hide the rudeness in her tone.

“My lady princess cannot begrudge me for wanting to get to know those I am to reside with.”  Elinor cheekily replied, giving Alys a forced smile while Alys glared back. 

Ignoring the sour mood of their companion, Elinor turned to speak directly to Gael. The youngest child of Lord Merryweather was pretty in that common way. She had the same coloring that most people hailing the Reach possess - wavy brown hair, big brown eyes and a pert button nose. 

“Shall we continue to the godswoods, your highness?”

Gael nodded mutely. Elinor offered to link arms with hers before descending the serpentine steps. Before Gael accepted, Alys chortled softly under her breath causing both girls to turn and face her. 

“My apologies, my princess. It's just that I found Lady Elinor’s statement, well, rather amusing.”  Alys tilted her head and stared at Elinor who simply glared back. 

What is going on now? Gael thought confused as she looked between the two ladies. “Explain your meaning.”

Alys bowed her head at Gael’s command. “She is already acquainted with the Lady Fossoway. After arriving at the capitol, Lady Merryweather requested to room and board with her.”

Although Alys reply was quiet, the bitterness in the lady’s tone was palpable. Elinor bristled at the remark, her cheeks flushing red before responding hotly. 

“Yes, Megga and I are acquainted with each other due to our lord fathers but she is just one person in a very large castle. Besides, the alternative was rooming with you. Everyone knows the mess Lord Jonah Mooton* created within the royal family. I will not sully my good name and chances for a royal match by associating with such a scandal.” 

She’s referring to Saera’s scandal. Gael’s eyes widened at the realization. She had only been seven when her elder sister's depravity was discovered; that she and two of her ladies were having improper relations with multiple men! After escaping from the Mother House and becoming a bedfellow in Volantis, Kepa had banned all talk of Saera and now two of her mother’s new ladies were bluntly discussing the subject, out in the open and loudly. 

Gael noticed a few of the castle guards closest to them had halted their training exercises to begin eavesdropping. Alys and Elinor did not.

Alys scoffed, clasping her hands behind her back. “Whatever my uncle did or did not do has not to do with me. Clearly their majesties hold no ill will towards my house since I received a royal summons. Besides seeing how you prance and preen in front of every man you see, I’m sure you’ll be making a scandal of your own.”

Elinor flushed an even deeper red and her pretty face twisted into a scowl. Gael looked back and forth between the two ladies and the group of guards that began to gather. I don’t have time for this. She took a small step away from the arguing pair. She took a deep breath to calm herself - I am the blood of the dragon -  before loudly exclaiming, “I must humbly thank you ladies for taking the time to escort me thus far but I shall be continuing the rest of the way alone.” 

The two ladies, shocked at her sudden explanation, gape at her, their argument forgotten. Lady Alys recovered first, wringing her hands together nervously. “But my princess, the queen has tasked us with seeing you safely escorted to his highness.”

“And I shall be going the rest of the way alone. The queen will be in need of your services seeing how long you’ve both been gone already.”

Knowing they were being dismissed, Alys and Elinor deeply curtsied to the princess before turning to walk across the lower bailey back to the entrance of Meagor’s Holdfast. Gael sighed in relief once they rounded the corner out of sight before she took off running down the serpentine steps. The sound of her doe skin slippers slapping against the stone echoing loudly as she weave her way through the chaos of the middle bailey and to the godswood’s entrance. 

Valerion had sent word that he wished to spend his mid-morning meal with her hours ago! She would have left immediately upon receiving his invitation but Lady Vaella had reminded her of her High Valyrian lesson with her mother and she had begrudgingly complied not knowing her mother’s new ladies were to be present. 

The extra fuss of seven additional ladies in attendance had caused her lesson to drag on unbearably since her mother’s attention was diverted. By the end, Gael had stopped making any effort in translating the Valyrian glyphs. She’s funny when she’s speechless. Gael thought, remembering how red her mother’s face became as she reviewed her daughter’s work. 

When she finally reached the entrance to the godswood she paused against the stone archway to catch her breath before making her way into the extensive royal gardens. Gael found her brother in their usual meeting spot and she felt her heart begin to flutter faster in her chest. He was sitting against the base of the heart tree, head leaning against its colossal trunk. His legs were stretched out before him, a book laid open on his lap. His golden curly hair shone in the afternoon sun, the soft breeze gently rustling through it. His eyes were closed and one could have assumed he’d fallen asleep. 

He’s so handsome.

Although courtiers agreed that all the king’s offspring inherited an ethereal beauty and charm, many thought her brother’s appearance and personality very strange, granted he gave them leave to think in such a way. When she was younger she once asked him why he behaved so, her brother simply shrugged. 

“People are idiots. They only see what they wish to see. Even our parents have blinded themselves to truly seeing me. They underestimate me, that is their folly.”

Gael would never have that kind of confidence. Her social graces were what needed the most improvement by far and she wouldn’t dream of just blankly staring at those trying to converse with her. They had a good laugh about it in his apartments when they returned to the Red Keep after their niece’s departure to Driftmark. Valerion always found vexing their nephew Daemon most satisfying. 

“I can feel your eyes upon me hāedar - little sister”

Her brother’s soft voice broke through her thoughts and Gael blushed when she realized she had been caught staring. Her brother seemed to have this ability to sense when others were looking at him. Gael walked forward and sat down in front of him on the silken blanket laid outstretched on the ground, sitting carefully to avoid creasing her damask gown too much. Her brother’s dark violet eyes assessed her, silently asking the reason for her tardiness. 

“I forgot about my High Valyrian glyphs lesson with muña,” she mumbled embarrassed. 

Valerion hummed in response. “Istia jollōragon tolī - you must study more.”

Gael playfully whacked him on the arm. “Brat.”

He chuckled softly. “But in all seriousness you really should be more diligent in your lessons.”

“I’m trying! But it makes no sense to me. The written and spoken language are so different, they get jumbled all up in my head.” 

Gael poked him teasingly on his chest.

“You only study it so you can read those ancient scrolls in the library but no one actually speaks High Valyarin in Westeros. Besides, it's not like I have a dragon I need to command.”

Gael couldn’t disguise the bitterness in her voice regarding her dragonless state. Although all of Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s children had a dragon egg placed in their cradles, their hatchlings were taken to the Dragonpit to be raised under the watchful eyes of the dragonkeepers. Only Aemon, Baelon and Alyssa had been granted royal permission to claim a dragon of their own once they came of age.

Still a cradle egg didn’t guarantee a healthy hatchling, they could die or sometimes the egg wouldn’t hatch at all. Maegelle and Vaegon’s eggs didn’t hatch; they had grown cold, eventually turning to stone. Gael had a suspicion that was the real reason they had been sent to the Faith and the Citadel. 

They were not true dragons. How could they truly be the blood of the dragon when their eggs remained dormant? 

Gael’s cradle egg hatched - Valerion’s too although his hatchling suddenly died before the prince’s first nameday - yet Gael was never permitted the opportunity to bond with her hatchling. Once her parents were assured by the maester the infant's robust health will continue, Gael’s dragon was taken from the royal nursery to the Dragonpit. Sometimes when she closed her eyes, she swore she could remember her tiny yellow hatchling. Truthfully, she didn’t think she’d be able to identify her hatchling even if she ever dared venture into the Dragonpit, not after so long, especially considering her tiny hatchling would no longer be the size of a small cat.

My hatchling would be big enough to mount by now.

Gael still often daydreamed of what it was like to soar on the back of a dragon within the clouds flying so high above King’s Landing the people below looked like ants. It was her fifth nameday. She had been pleading for weeks and Aemon had finally acquiesced to his baby sister’s request to take her flying atop Caraxes. It had been glorious, terrifying yes, but oh so glorious. They had flown around the Red Keep three times before Aemon bade Caraxes to return to the Dragonpit. Queen Alysanne had been furious when she discovered their flight, enraged that her youngest child had been put in harm’s way. She had threatened to box Aemon’s ears if he were to ever attempt that stunt again. Alas, he never did. 

She always hoped that she would one day be reunited with her hatchling, that the King would allow them to bond considering she was to marry back into their house. She understood it most likely wouldn’t be until she was wed, but she could be patient she often told herself. So every nameday celebration, she made her request known - to one day be reunited with her hatchling. Her request was always met with a soft laugh and instead she was given a palfrey, or a kitten, or a colorful bird from the Summer Isles. 

Her tenth nameday celebration a fortnight ago finally disillusioned her of her childish hope of being reunited with her hatchling, to be allowed to soar high above on the back of her own dragon. 

Her father had not been amused by her request this time. His expression lost all its merriment upon her question, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her and the conversation around the table slowly ceased. 

“This childish nonsense must cease, Gael. A dragon is not some pet you can request as a nameday or bride gift.”

Gael felt her whole body tense at the harshness of her father’s words. Her bottom lip began trembling as she held her father’s unrelenting gaze. Hot tears began to blur her vision and she looked down at her hands, her honey hair falling like a curtain around her face, to hide the tears pooling down her cheeks. Gael heard King Jaehaerys sigh then the sounds of a chair scraping against the stone floor. 

“Daughter.” Her father’s voice was tender as he kneeled down beside her seat and took hold of her hands. Gael sniffled but did not look up. Jaehaerys placed a finger under her chin to raise her head. Gael expected him to be angry with her; everyone knew how he reacted when Saera attempted to claim a dragon. Instead her father’s purple eyes were tender, he looked almost...sad. 

“I do not say this with malice, daughter. I say this with your best interests at heart. We do not control the dragons, that is an illusion. Dragons are living gods; the last remnants of the Valyrian golden age. They are ancient beasts, ferocious and dangerous when provoked. Dragons chose their riders. You are much too tender-hearted for them, my darling. No dragon - not even your hatchling - would ever accept you. Do you understand?”

If his words had meant to be comforting, the king had failed miserably and she remained subdued for the remainder of her nameday meal. It wasn’t until she and Valerion were alone in his apartments did Gael finally let her frustration out.

“It’s not fair! They see me as nothing more than this silly little girl but I am a dragon, I swear it! I can be fearsome too! Just like Aemon and Baelon! Just like Alyssa was!” she muttered angrily as she paced his apartment solar after the meal concluded.

Valerion said nothing, only reaching out to wrap his arms around his sister and pull her back against his chest. Gael completely relaxed in his arms, closing her eyes and enjoying the silent unwavering comfort he offered her. He was the only one that knew of Gael’s sadness over the whole situation since he was the only one she felt comfortable enough with to discuss her heart freely. She nuzzled her head closer to his chest; he smelt of spearmint and sandalwood. He smelt like home. 

They were the youngest royal children, only three years between them. After Gaemon died in the cradle in 74AC, their mother insisted that she was meant to be a grandmother yet Valerion was born in 77AC and Gael followed him less than three years later. They had been intended for each other since her birth, before either of them knew what being betrothed meant. As young children they were paired together in very much the same way Rhaenys and Viserys had yet it yielded much better results. Valerion and Gael simply adored each other, the comfortability and ease between them ensured their marriage would be a love match just as Baelon and Alyssa’s was. Gael knew that as soon as she flowered they’d be married. She couldn’t wait for that day. 

“Valerion? Gael?”  

Gael quickly sat up and glanced back at her brother. “Why is she looking for us again?” she muttered to him. 

His face had tightened, clearly irritated by the interruption but did not reply.

Since Rhaenys’ wedding, their elder sister Viserra had been annoyingly persistent in trying to insert herself in their daily lives. Whenever they would cross paths in the castle corridors, she would attempt to start a conversation asking about this or that. It was irksome. Before her marriage, they hardly saw their sister. Even though she was the closest sibling to their age, she was nearly six and nine years their senior. She was out of the nursery by the time they were born. Now it seems like a day hadn’t gone by without her appearing. 

Why does she even care? She never had before. 

Valerion gave no response to Gael’s question, simply pulled her back onto his chest as their elder sister appeared in the clearing. 

Gael would be lying through her teeth if she tried to say that Viserra was plain. Truth is, she was breathtakingly gorgeous - long silver-gold curls, heart shaped face, high cheekbones, large purple eyes, full pink lips. Even in full mourning dress there was no denying it. 

No wonder she thinks of herself as some goddess. 

Their mother had often warned her about the dangers of vanity. How the Seven frowned on such narcissistic thinking; how maidens were expected to be comely and virtuous. 

“Ah, there you two are!” Viserra smiled warmly when she spotted them sitting underneath the giant elm tree. She moved gracefully, stopping just at the edge of the blanket they were sitting on. She clasped her hands in front of her, waiting for an invitation to sit and join them. 

None came. 

Viserra brushed her hand absentmindedly against her black velvet gown, as if unbothered by their rudeness. “It is such a beautiful day.” 

She tilted her head slightly, her expressive purple eyes bright as she glanced between the two, offering either of them the opportunity to respond. Neither said anything.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “I am wondering if either of you would like to accompany me on a ride in the kingswoods this afternoon.” she said casually.

Valerion’s violet eyes narrowed but still he said nothing, simply fixing their elder sister with a cold gaze and tightening his hold on Gael. Gael did not resist and pushed herself as far back into Valerion’s chest as physically possible.  Viserra’s smile wavered and a flush grew on her cheeks. She began to fidget with a ring around her finger, clearly becoming uncomfortable with their continued silence. She tucked a loose curl behind her ear.

“W-we have never been able to spend much time together...even before my marriage so I thought we cou-“

“Doar* - No.”

Viserra’s smile disappeared entirely. Her lips pressed together in a thin line and her eyes narrowed, clearly annoyed by Valerion’s callous interruption. The two siblings continued to glare at each other for a moment longer before Viserra turned her attention towards her sister. Her expressive purple eyes - much softer than before - found Gael’s icy blue ones and she raised her eyebrow in a silent question. 

Does he speak for you little sister? She seemed to ask. 

Gael quickly looked away and began picking at her fingernails, nervous at the growing tension between the three of them. Go away, she thought, looking everywhere but her sister. Viserra continued to look at her, her brows furrowed together as if she was trying to decide if she should press further before she let out a small dejected sigh. 

“Well, I do hope you both enjoy the pleasant day.” she said, her voice tight with an emotion Gael could not place. Then she was gone. 

“What do you think that was all about?” she whispered to Valerion.

“Nothing good.”

Viserra’s unannounced return two moons ago had caused an uproar within the royal family. Their mother had been furious for days afterwards, refusing to call on her privately and ignoring her publicly as much as she could. As far as Gael could tell their mother was still in a mood about it. Baelon seemed to be walking on eggshells around her, hardly able to stay in Viserra’s presence for long, excusing himself at the earliest possible opportunity whenever they crossed paths.

Only Viserys and Aemma appeared truly interested in the newest family arrival. Viserys openly stared at her, blushing and muttering the few times she spoke with him and Aemma seemed to want to emulate her. That had only gotten worse now that the queen decided that it was time for Aemma to make her formal introduction to the court; she was to join her majesty’s new ladies formal presentation in a few weeks. 

Gael sighed, all these sudden changes in the last two moons left her feeling uneasy. She laid down on the silken blanket beside her brother. “So...what book have you brought to read to us?”

Valerion chuckled before retrieving the book lying beside him. 

Chapter Text

Twenty Third Day of the Twelfth Moon 90AC 

Viserra II

the godswoods, the Red Keep

She strode away from her youngest siblings briskly, taking great care to hide her clenched hands in the folds of her velvet gown. Her breathing became more shallow and rapid with each step, the whale bone corset she wore digging painfully into her ribs. She bit her bottom lip to prevent herself from clenching her jaw, her eyes narrowed. 

How dare they! Viserra seethed as she turned around the corner and out of sight, Etiquette demands they decline with the courteous manners one expects from royalty! 

She scoffed as she continued along the dirt pathway lined with dozens of dragon’s breaths. She was an absolute fool to believe these children would remember their courtesies when they didn’t even bother to properly greet her nor invite her to sit with them!

Mother certainly has gotten lax in her old age. Allowing those two to behave in such a flippant manner. 

Coddled and pampered since their birth, Valerion and Gael had not been subjected to the rigorous royal upbringing that their elder siblings endured and it clearly showed in their behavior and speech. Rather than correct the pair’s behavior the queen simply kept her youngest children close to her. 

Viserra muttered to herself, “And the more they remain tucked away in the Red Keep, the more tongues will wag.”

Whispers regarding the two youngest royal children being blind, deaf or dumb have been commonplace for years. When she ventured into that tavern along Eel Alley, she heard even more nefarious whispers - that the pair were born with dragon features like scales, leathery wings or a tail. 

Stupid peasant nonsense. 

Viserra dug her nails into her palms to refocus her energy on relaxing her expression, closing her eyes and taking a slow steady breath. However furious she may be, she knew better than to reveal her true feelings; she knew the necessity of needing to keep one’s expression neutral as possible. 

I will not let these children vex me. 

Viserra unclenched her fists, flexing her fingers momentarily before relaxing her hands at her sides. She surveyed her surroundings, the path ahead split two different ways, one leading back towards the Red Keep courtyard. Still wishing to be alone, she chose the path furthest to the left, cast in the shadow of Maegor’s Holdfast towering overhead. Tucking a lock of loose hair behind her ear, she placed her hands behind her back as she leisurely sauntered into the small hedge maze her grandmother insisted be installed within the royal godswoods. 

At first, she planned to keep her distance from her youngest siblings - for what could these children offer her as allies? - and focus her attention on the family members closer to her own age.  Yet much to Viserra’s surprise - after observing her little brother’s behavior during the Velaryon farewell procession and after - Valerion seems to lean into those rumors. He limited his interactions with the courtiers and common people alike, often opting out of attending royal events. 

Ridiculous that the child is even given that choice! Viserra thought, thinking back on how often she was forced to attend, dressed up like a doll and paraded in front of the royal court like some prized palfrey. The boy only spoke High Valyrian when addressed yet he clearly knew the common tongue, Viserra having overheard his conversations with Gael over the past weeks. 

The boy wants to be underestimated, to go unseen, unnoticed. But why? 

Viserra was not some green girl when it came to understanding court politics; being underestimated was the best asset one could have. 

Does he just not care? He’s only three and ten. What is his intention? 

Her inability to come up with a logical answer was originally why she had begun to seek them out more following her return. She would attempt to initiate conversations with the pair whenever they crossed paths within Meagor’s Hold but had no success. She was at her wits ends as even her missives inviting them each to tea were being ignored! 

This is maddening, Viserra thought. It should not be this difficult to win over a pair of children. 

This afternoon she sought out the two, hoping a ride together in the kingswoods would give them the opportunity to bond. 

And loosen tongues. 

But alas she was met with outright rejection, again. She let out a frustrated sigh as her hands fell to her sides. 

While she did not expect a jubilant welcome upon arriving home, she did not anticipate this fridge reception to continue for two moons! After returning she painstakingly ensured she acted with the decorum her royal rank demanded despite the obvious discomfort her presence caused, only to receive sullen looks and accusing eyes in return, from her mother and Baelon in particular. 

Getting into Kepa’s good graces had taken no effort; her elder sisters did Viserra a momentous favor by being so unremarkable. 

At least in his eyes. 

Her youngest niece, Aemma, was easy to win over as well; a few stories about her mother and the girl latched onto Viserra as a substitute immediately.  She was a sweet child and certainly was not as dimwitted as Daella had been yet her naivety still worried Viserra greatly. 

The young girl believes life is like those pretty songs. 

Baelon followed their mother’s example, avoiding Viserra as best as he could via council duties, in the training yard, dragon riding, or patrolling with the city watch. 

Her nephews had been more difficult to get close to as Baelon kept them busy either with their maester or in the training yard. The few encounters they had were brief, often having randomly come upon each other in a Red Keep corridor. Viserys still stammered and turned red in her presence like all the other pathetic fools who found themselves enamored by her. 

That boy wasn’t wrong when he called her a goddess all those years ago. For truly what else could she be? As a descendant of ancient Valyria, she inherited silvery-gold hair, purple eyes, and alabaster skin. Yet her ethereal beauty outshone all the women in her family by far and everyone knew it. 

As for her other nephew, Daemon, he was brash, outspoken and keenly observant. His abrasive personality and cavalier attitude often caused clashes within the family - mostly with his father and grandmother. Over the weeks, Viserra lost count of how often she’d hear her brother or mother scolding Daemon and took notice of how often the castle staff  would whisper about his latest misdeeds. Yet, Viserra found his attitude refreshing compared to the restrained personalities the rest of their family put on. Daemon continued to be his unapologetic self. And she wasn’t too proud to admit she was jealous of his unrestrained nature while she was forced into a role only to then be shunned for it.

Viserra smirked. If only I had been born with a cock. Her smirk quickly turned into a look of disgust at the realization that had she been born male she would have probably been married to her eldest niece. What the girl had against her, Viserra did not know yet the girl’s reaction towards her left no doubt in Viserra’s mind to what her niece thought of her. 

All those extra lessons yet she still doesn’t know a damn thing about playing the game. 

Thankfully, Aemon and his wife did not share their daughter’s rudeness.  Aemon always took the time to speak with her when their paths crossed and Jocelyn invited her to afternoon tea (only once it became glaringly apparent no invitation would be forthcoming from the queen). Her good sister had even gone as far as to gift Viserra black gowns better suited for King’s Landing's warmer climate as her gowns of wool and fur were only suited for the harsh northern weather. But the couple had left less than a week ago upon Caraxes, taking the short flight to Driftmark to spend the coming new year celebrations with their only child. 

After her eldest brother and good sister’s departure, Viserra found herself uncomfortably isolated within the Red Keep. Her mother still refused to call on her publicly and privately and that lack of invitation from the queen left Viserra completely friendless within the court - no one wishing to associate with someone so clearly out of the queen’s favor, even if she was a princess. She was exhausted from constantly playing this demure, subversive role her mother - and Kepa - expected. Even her ladies-in-waiting were her mother’s creatures, appointed to ensure everything Viserra said and did was reported back to the queen. 

She acts as though I am cursed. 

The thought felt like a sudden punch to her gut and the ground begun to sway underneath her feet. She reached out her right hand to stabilize herself against the maze’s hedge while her other hand gently rested against the hollow of her throat as an intense tightness enveloped her chest. Viserra’s lips began trembling and her breathing became ragged as that deep aching pain overwhelmed her again. She blinked rapidly to fight back the onslaught of sudden tears.

Why did mother begin to hate me so? 

As far as Viserra knew she had done everything she was supposed to, excelling in music, dancing, embroidery and all womanly arts required of a royal princess. Her mother doted on her for years, showering her with affection and praise but that stopped after her fourteen nameday.  Since then her mother looked at her as though she was the Stranger himself and if her father picked up on the change in his wife’s behavior he never commented on it. 

Granted she wasn’t the easiest child, having partnered up with Saera in early childhood; they ran amuck around the Red Keep, terrorizing the maids and kitchen staff with silly pranks. However Viserra separated herself and limited association with Saera after Gael’s first nameday, as her sister’s cruelty became more glaringly apparent. 

Even though it took Mother and Kepa another two years to figure it out. So blinded by the thought of their legacy, they had no actual notion of what their child was actually doing until too late.

Remembering their faces when Saera's debauchery came to light, a crazed giggle escaped her lips before she could stifle it, her bell like laughter ringing in her ears. She covered her mouth with her hand before softly leaning back against the maze’s tall hedge. Viserra inhaled through her nose.

It would be foolish to be discovered in such a hysterical state.  While it may appear that she was alone within this section of the godswoods, there was always the risk of eyes or ears lurking somewhere nearby. She scanned the dirt pathway behind and ahead of her, her ears listening intently for the sound of footsteps or hushed conversations. 

Nothing. 

Sighing, Viserra recovered her senses and continued her walk. Whatever the reason her mother had conjured in her mind and heart to reject her most accomplished daughter so easily did not change who she was - Princess Viserra Targaryen, the blood of the dragon, descended from Old Valyria and she will continue to thrive in the face of her mother’s spite. 

It doesn’t matter now. Courtesy is my armor and Grace is my shield. 

Viserra completed the hedge maze within a few minutes but has no desire to return to her apartments just to be spied upon by her own servants.

I must find some way to be rid of them or I shall go mad. 

She continued aimlessly walking along the dirt path, humming to herself. She gasped when she suddenly realizes where her feet took her.

Daella’s garden. 

While her elder sister was too terrified to step foot in a garden herself, that didn’t stop her from running the poor gardeners ragged with demands for flowers to be planted and brought to her apartment. She wasn’t lying to Aemma when she told her Daella made the most beautiful floral arrangements. A ghost of a smile appeared upon her face as Viserra remembered the gorgeous bouquet Daella gifted her when she was recovering from a childhood sickness. 

Snapping back to the present, her purple eyes swept over the small area, now overgrown and wild from a near decade of neglect. 

As if they're trying to erase every trace of her. 

She pressed her lips together and felt her nostrils flare as she, again, thought of how little Aemma knew about her mother. Viserra stood there in silence for a moment longer before slipping away.

Chapter Text

Twenty Third Day of the Twelfth Moon 90AC

Jaehaerys II

somewhere above the Blackwater Bay

The sound of Vermithor’s large leathery wings and the rush of wind in his face was a balm for his mind and soul. Jaehaerys took a slow steady breath, as Vermithor continued to effortlessly bank through the skies high above Blackwater Bay.

Blessed Flames I needed this. He thought, gazing at his surroundings.

The bright blue sky was littered with dozens of large clouds, with sunlight beaming through the gaps. Ahead of him he could somewhat make out the shoreline of Massey’s Hook and to the right, the edge of kingswoods. He had been on dragonback for a couple hours judging from the sun’s position in the sky. He did not plan on riding when he set out from his apartments this morning, originally intending to meet with Septon Barth to discuss the pirate infestation in the Stepstones. Yet he decided to forgo the private session with his Hand this morning and took to the skies instead following another tense breakfast with Alysanne.

Always at the damn hour of the rooster. 

The tradition began during their self imposed exile on Dragonstone following their secret marriage, a pact made by two children - to always break their fast together when residing within the same holdfast. But while she broke her fast with him, she had not shared his bedchamber since the night prior to their eldest grandchild’s wedding. 

Jaehaerys grimaced. Stubborn, prideful woman. 

Their conversations, once lively, energetic, full of laughter and support were now curt, tense and heavy with words left unspoken. Neither willing to speak truly nor back down to the other regarding their proposed future paths for Viserra and their granddaughters. Jaehaerys gritted his teeth, still mildly annoyed at his sister-wife’s random declaration to formally present their youngest grandchild to the royal court as Lady Aemma Arryn. 

“If I had commanded you to ready her mother for her formal introduction at the same age you would have vehemently protested.” 

“Aemma is not Daella.” Alysanne murmured angrily. But said nothing else in her defense, her gaze remaining fixated on her morning meal. 

And the truth on the surface. Jaehaerys remembered Daella at eight namedays - a small mousy thing that clung to her mother, unable to speak without a stutter - and always felt a twinge of surprise whenever he saw Daella’s boisterous little girl. Although Aemma inherited Daella’s delicate looks - the same face shape, eye color, small features and stature - they were as different as winter and summer. The child seemed to have inherited her father’s intelligence, or so he’s been told by others. Jaehaerys stopped bothering to review the children’s progress reports once Aemon came of age. And now that she has latched onto Viserra upon the elder’s return, he was hopeful Aemma would begin to mimic his favorite daughter’s grace and courtesies. 

“Aemma will make an excellent wife, my dear.” Jaehaerys picked up his goblet and took a sip. “Once she has flowered.” He added pointedly, ignoring the scowl contorting Alysanne’s face as he reset his goblet on the table. “Eight is still eight. Are we truly to send a child spruced up in finery to do a woman’s job?”

Alysanne didn’t answer nor even look at him. 

His grip tightened on the reins as his frustration with Alysanne rises to the surface. It’s unlikely to be resolved in the near future too, as their interactions are now limited to just their morning meals, Small Council sessions and formal court events. And now since her new ladies have arrived, his queen’s attention would be further diverted. 

Should I thank the Fourteen Flames or curse them? 

It was unlike the royal couple to become so at odds with each other. Jaehaerys always adored his younger sister. He couldn’t even remember a time before Alysanne. Yet every day he felt more and more like he was looking across the table at a stranger.

It is an uncomfortable feeling, being so disconnected from my other half. 

Jaehaerys heard a loud rumbling underneath him. “I’m glad you agree,” he chuckled, patting the bronze dragon’s thick scales in affection, earning another low grumble in return. He returned to the proper riding position before tightening the straps and ensuring the safety hooks were in place. 

“Ilagon Vermithor.” 

The Bronze Fury let out a high pitched screech in response before diving. The intense rush of wind roared in the king’s ears as Vermithor tore through the clouds at a breathtaking speed. Jaehaerys let out a hearty gaff, momentarily relieved of the worries that drove him to the skies in the first place.

When the dragon leveled out a few hundred meters above the sea, however, his worries and concerns regarding his marriage quickly return to the forefront of his mind. Long lasting disagreements were uncommon between the couple and hardly concerning the female members of the family. A falsehood, a voice whispered. Over the decades there has been one disagreement that continued to rear its ugly head. 

She wished for Daenerys to be the Queen, not simply Aemon’s consort. 

Yet, their eldest daughter’s sudden death from the Shivers thirty years ago had put an end to the topic, or so he thought. 

Now she wishes the same for Rhaenys.

Jaehaerys instinctively shook his head. My dear wife is a fool. A woman upon the Iron Throne? It will never happen. It would’ve been easier to displace the girl if Aemon and Jocelyn had just done their duty and produced a son and heir! But unfortunately the boy inherited his mother’s impractical wishfulness. He scoffed.  

The fate of the world cannot be based on the short sighted hopes and wishes of others. When absolute darkness comes, we must be ready. A prince must be at the helm to unite the kingdoms when that time comes. 

He had often thought many times to tell Aemon the truth of Aegon’s Conquest, the reason why the Conqueror set his sights westward rather than across the Narrow Sea like generations before him, hoping the weight of the knowledge would spur his eldest to action. Yet Aemon never cared for the Valyrian traditions which he referred to as “the old ways”. 

“We’re not in Valyria anymore. Sometimes a dream is just a dream.”

Once the boy uttered such nonsense, Jaehaerys knew he could not be trusted with Aegon’s Dream. For how could he leave behind such an heir? If the darkness comes under his rule, will he believe in dreams then? It was too much of a risk. And his own heir - girl of sixteen - will the lords accept her if she succeeds following Aemon’s death? 

The girl chose to become Lady Velaryon following her marriage, bending to the Seasnake's will and ambitions. Anger swelled in his chest at the foolish choice his headstrong and obstinate granddaughter had made. Her education has made her dangerously self opinionated. Now the Taragreyn line will be replaced with the Velaryons - a dragonless family will then rule Westeros. How can one defend themselves from the descent of absolute darkness without dragons? Only hope he clings to is that Rhaenys’ first born is a son. Jaehaerys will officially declare the boy a Taragreyn upon his birth and begin setting up mechanisms to ensure he will inherit upon Aemon’s death, not his mother. 

And if she were to have a daughter instead?

The king sighed and ran his gloved hand across his brow. One queen on the Iron Throne was radical enough, but two in succession? No. The lords of Westeros won’t stand for it. Jaehaerys already could hear the grievances they’d bring to him - “Women aren’t fit to rule! Must my daughters now inherit over my sons? If I refuse and my daughter’s husband raises his banners against mine, shall the crown intervene to protect my son’s rights?” 

Jaehaerys let out a frustrated growl. 

Aemon should’ve been more forceful about getting the girl to marry Viserys! He thought angrily, and not for the first time. 

There also has been no respite from the tension Viserra’s return home caused more than two moons ago. Only Aemon and his wife had the good sense to welcome Viserra back into the fold yet his heir departed to Driftmark a fortnight ago. While he expected this behavior towards Viserra from his sister-wife, her opinion soured on the girl years ago for committing whatever crimes Alysanne’s mind created. 

The best of our daughters, and she’s least treasured. Jaehaerys scowled at the thought. 

Yet he didn’t think Baelon, Valerion and Gael would follow their mother’s lead; all three avoiding Viserra as if she were diseased.  Now it seems the queen’s refusal to summon their daughter as customary had emboldened even some senior courtiers to treat Viserra without the respect she was due as a blood royal princess. 

“Disrespect to one, is disrespect to all of us.” He told his sister-wife bluntly when they broke their fast. “I will not have it continue, Alysanne. You will call on her to attend to you.”

When Alysanne tried to interrupt him, Jaehaerys slammed his fist on the table, causing the porcelain plates to rattle. “That is an order from your king.” He commanded icily. Alysanne retired to her own apartment not long afterward citing the need to ready herself before her new ladies were introduced. 

Jaehaerys felt the sting of regret. He shouldn’t have been so harsh with her, it was unseemly, unkingly even. But she refused to open her eyes logically to the situation, refused to see how weak the crown appears when she so callously disfavors one of their own. Divisions within the family could be exploited. Jaehaerys had not toiled for a peaceful realm all these years just for his wife to plant the seeds of discord! 

The Bronze Fury ascended higher. Jaehaerys gripped the reins tighter as Vermithor swiftly carried them higher and higher before leveling out once again. Jaehaerys sat back in the saddle and surveyed the area around him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. 

I feel at peace on dragonback. 

This peace did not last however. After flying for hours, his aging joints could no longer tolerate the activity. Pain began in his lower back and his hips. Jaehaerys winced and readjusted his position in the saddle. 

It won’t be long until I am too feeble to fly. The thought saddened him tremendously. For who are the Targaryens without our dragons?

Like everyone else. 

The thought startled him as well as the sudden realization how few members of his family were dragon riders. Thirteen children, four grandchildren and only three* dragonriders outside Alysanne and myself. 

It had been intended that way. He knew the histories of Valyria, dragon riding families fighting for dominance, and did not wish for Westeros to become a new Valyria. So he always kept a tight rein on the dragons, yet if absolute darkness comes, will five* be enough? 

No. More will be needed. But who?

Jaehaerys thought back on Gael’s nameday celebration last moon. She continued to ask if she could be reunited with her hatchling and he didn’t have the heart to tell her her hatchling died years ago yet he wasn’t lying when he told her no dragon would accept her. Valerion never showed any interest, Daemon still much too young and quick to anger. Viserys might be ready; he has grown much in the last year. Then there’s Viserra…

He readjusted in the saddle again then pulled back on the dragon’s reign. 

“Vermithor, to King’s Landing”

The large dragon grumbled at the command, having been enjoying the flight as much as his rider but did as he was bid. Vermithor gracefully banked to the left, turning back to the capitol.

As the seven drum towers of the Red Keep came into view, Jaehaerys could hear a watchman blowing the horn to alert the castle a dragon was returning. Vermithor circled around the castle twice to allow those within the inner courtyard to vacate the area before descending, his powerful wings causing clouds of dirt to mushroom up high off the ground, nearly obscuring both king and dragon from view. 

The aged dragon lands nimbly near where Silverwing had made her nest. The silver she-dragon cooed softly at her mate upon his return, but remained where she lay. Jaehaerys descended from the dragon’s saddle effortlessly although not without pain, wincing as his knees groaned in protest.

I’m getting too old for this. He thought, tucking his riding gloves into his waist belt.

As the dragonkeepers came forward, Jaehaerys affectionately ran his hand along the length of Vermithor’s scaled neck up to the winged beast’s large head. The king gently laid his forehead against the dragon’s snout.

“You miss flying as much as I, don’t you?” 

His dragon trilled in response before nudging his rider, nearly knocking him off his feet. Jaehaerys laughed heartily before turning his attention to the head dragonkeeper. 

“Make sure he has his fill.”

After receiving confirmation his will would be done, the king strode out of the designated area for Vermithor and Silverwing to greet his kingsguard. 

“Has there been any news from the Hand?”

“No, your majesty.”

Jaehaerys nodded but doesn’t reply, his eyes still scanning the inner courtyard for any of Barth’s servants. Moons ago, a group of pirates claimed the Stepstones, placing a stranglehold on Westerosi shipping lanes. Jacaerys Velaryon and his spawn had even heckled him about it the day after Rhaenys’ wedding! Yet within the last fortnight, the pirates had abandoned their strongholds. The reasoning why evaded him and his Hand. Since then there had not been any news of pirate attacks yet he didn’t find the lack of news to be a blessing, in fact, it made him more unsettled. Something nefarious is coming. He could feel it in his bones. But what? The king stroked his beard absentmindedly, his free hand clutching the Conqueror’s dagger fastened onto his waist belt. 

“Shall we return to Meagor’s Holdfast, sire?”

His kingsguard’s question interrupted his musings and he turned his attention to the knight. Jaehaerys nodded.

“Yes, yes. Let us be going.” 

The pair begin walking towards Maegor's holdfast when Viserra appeared at the top of the serpentine step. Jaehaerys smiled at the sight of her and called out. 

“My lovely jewel.”

Viserra paused, a smile brightening her face as she walked towards him. Once she was close he bowed dramatically in greeting, Viserra giggled at his exaggerated greeting then dipped into a deep curtsy.

“My kingly father.”

Jaehaerys looked down on his daughter tenderly, before offering her his hand to help her rise. He kissed her cheeks in greeting. Viserra blushed prettily.

“How do you fare?”

“I am well, Kepa.”

“Hmm. Did you enjoy your walk in the godswoods?”

“Always. The weather here is much fairer than in White Harbour. Did you enjoy your flight?” Viserra said playfully, gesturing across the yard where Verminthor and the dragonkeepers were.

Jaehaerys gave her a tight smile - the flight was full of his doubts and worries but he would not disclose that. He placed his hands behind his back and gave a small tilt of his head. 

“Of course. ‘‘Tis the only place I can truly be alone, can think encumbered, uninterrupted, to be….”

“At peace.” The pair finished together.

Jaehaerys eyed his daughter carefully, curiosity in his gaze before he chuckled and gave Viserra a lopsided smile. “Yes. But I do not recall you ever voicing an interest in flying.”

Viserra blushed and coyly looked away. “I did not. Yet three years away from home has given me clarity.”

She stared off towards where Vermithor and Silverwing lay. Jaehaerys said nothing, just followed his daughter’s gaze. He remembered Viserra’s cradle egg - purple with swirls of silver - and the beautiful hatchling that came forth. Unlike Gael, Viserra never asked to be reunited with her hatchling, who still resided in the Dragon Pit with the other drakes. 

“And what is that my jewel?”

She didn’t turn to face him, her gaze remained locked on the two dragons nestling across the bailey. 

“The importance of our birthright, without them we’re just like everyone else.” 

Jaehaerys studied his daughter, pride swelling in his chest as his jewel repeated the same realization he had made on his morning flight. He nodded in approval. “You have grown much in the North.”

Viserra smiled, the corners of her lips curving upwards. “I had my lord husband to thank for that. He was kind to me. It is well known that dragons do not fare well in the North”

Jaehaerys remained silent, pondering his daughter’s words and wondered how much she knew of her parents' progress to Winterfell and beyond. He still remembered the dread that overcame him when he received Alysanne’s letter from her time along the Wall, how Silverwing refused to cross, disobeying her rider’s command thrice. Jaehaerys continued to eye Viserra curiously, thoughts of Aegon’s prophecy swirling in his mind.

“I don’t not recall you ever being properly introduced to the Bronze Fury.”

“I have not, my king.”

“That must be corrected immediately. Come, my jewel.” Jaehaerys held out his hand to his daughter, she paused for a moment before smiling widely. They begin to leisurely walk arm in arm towards where Vermithor lay across the yard.

“He’s massive.” Viserra whispered and looked up wide eyed as they get closer. 

Jaehaerys laughed. “And growing still.”

Viserra turned to her father wide-eyed asking curiously, “Do dragons ever stop growing?” 

“No, so long as they have the resources they need to thrive. Yet there was once a time where he was small enough to perch on my shoulder like a bird.” 

Viserra looked at him skeptically, although a slight smile tugged at her lips. “You surely jest.” 

“I am the king, I never jest.” Jaehaerys said with complete seriousness, straightening his posture, jutting his chin forward and looking straight ahead. When there’s no response to his statement, he glanced at his daughter. The pair burst out laughing once they made eye contact. 

“Come now, it’s time you two have met” 

The king offered his left hand to Viserra, noticing her slight hesitance before accepting. Jaehaerys smile widened when their hands met; only Alyssa showed an interest in the dragons, and it gladdened him to see his favorite daughter had the Targaryen fire in her veins. They strode closer to the bronze beast, Jaehaerys a slight step ahead of his daughter.

Vermithor shifted, turning his head to look at his rider and this newcomer before rumbling softly yet made no attempt to engage. The beast simply stared at them. Jaehaerys gestured for Viserra to step out from behind him, to better stand beside him. 

“Closer my jewel. Slow and steady, good. He must see you."

He admired the determined expression and look of concentration on Viserra’s face as they made their way towards the dragon. Once less than five feet from the winged beast, Vermithor huffed, the dry heat of his breath brought tears to her eyes and she blinked rapidly unable to stop them from shedding. Eyes red and watering, she locked eyes with him and nodded.

Jaehaerys raised his right hand.

“Dohaeris Vermithor.”

The great beast raised it's massive head, bringing it to rest on the king's outstretched hand.

“I want to introduce someone to you.”

Vermithor’s gaze shifted to focus on the newcomer standing to his left. Jaehaerys chuckled, bemused at the dragon's intellect. 

 “Yes, her. She is Viserra, my daughter, the blood of the dragon.”

Vermithor bowed his head in acceptance and the king smiled widely before removing his hand from Vermithor’s head. He turned back to Viserra. She was gripping his left hand rather painfully now but no fear showed on her face.

“Ready?”

Viserra said nothing, just nodded, her expressive purple eyes locked onto Vermithor’s molten gaze. He nodded in approval, placing his hand on the small of her back as she took a tentative step forward to stand ahead of him.

 “Flatten out your hand.”

She raised her left hand and he placed his hand over hers. Jaehaerys brought their hands down to gently trace the dragon’s snout. Viserra gasped and looked up at her father, her purple eyes full of wonder. "His scales are hot."  

“Dragons are fire made flesh, my jewel." Jaehaerys nodded, smiling then leaned forward to whisper in her ear, "and fire is power.” 

A lesson all his children should have learned, Jaehaerys thought in hindsight as he eyed Viserra once more. His daughter wore a mask of wonder and astonishment and her amethyst eyes shone. With a hunger to prove herself. The corners of his lips curved upwards then slowly he removed his hand from his daughters and stepped back. Vermithor leaned his massive head further into Viserra's touch. Pride swelled in his chest watching Viserra traced her hand up along the dragon’s snout to the top of its head. Vermithor playfully nudged her and Viserra giggled.

Silverwing stirred at the noise and raised her head, curious to see who this newcomer was before roaring loudly. Viserra froze as she locked eyes with her mother’s dragon. Silverwing began to rise, smoke coming from its nostrils, and attempted to snap at Viserra. Vermithor roared in protest, rising to his full height and hissed back at his mate. Jaehaerys gripped Viserra’s upper arm and yanked her behind him as the dragonkeepers rush forward shouting. 

“Be calm Silverwing! Be calm Vermithor! Dohaeris!”

Jaehaerys rushed Viserra from the area. She was pale and trembling in his arms, lightly clutching her chest as she attempted to control her breathing. A few minutes pass in silence. 

“Well, Silverwing is indeed my mother’s dragon.” Viserra said with a chuckle.

Jaehaerys was taken back by the lack of fear his daughter was showing after being on the receiving end of a dragon’s ire - most don’t live to tell the tale of it. Instead she just laughed it off. He smiled tightly but says nothing. 

It bodes ill when the most docile dragon becomes aggressive towards one of our own. 

He offered Viserra his arm which she accepted with a small smile and they begin to walk towards Maegor’s Holdfast in a comfortable silence. 

“Has the queen yet called on you?” 

Viserra shook her head and his expression hardened and he nodded curtly, his lips pressing together in a thin line. Viserra gasped at his reaction, her hand rising to cover her mouth, her eyes widened earnestly. 

“Oh please don’t blame mother for the oversight Kepa. She is the queen, with sacred duties of her own to attend to. And now that her new ladies have arrived….” Viserra trailed off.

Jaehaerys patted her hand tenderly and gave her a tight smile. “Of course my jewel. And your new ladies, have they settled in?”

Viserra’s nostrils flared at the mention of her ladies yet she smiled prettily and nodded. 

“Your ladies-in-waiting were chosen by the queen?” Jaehaerys prodded, curious as to what caused his jewel to react in such an unbecoming manner. She simply nodded again.

“All of them?”

Viserra doesn’t answer but shot him an exasperated expression. Again, his frustration with Alysanne rose and he pressed his lips together in a thin line but before he could respond, Viserra spoke up. 

 “As is her right.”

Jaehaerys eyed her incredulously. “Yes. However you are young and should be attended to by ladies closer to your own age.”

His daughter stopped walking and turned to face him. She tilted her head to the side as if studying him then smiled prettily, her amethyst eyes bright. 

“Mother chose my ladies with great care. I would never dream of dismissing them without her majesty’s permission.”

He hummed at her answer but said nothing further, thinking to himself that the short time spent in the North had done Viserra good, tampering her raging fire and childish willfulness. They continued walking towards the drawbridge. 

“I must apologize for how little I have seen you since your return home. It is not my intention, my jewel.”

Viserra looked up at him in mild confusion. She blinked several times. “Kepa, you are the king of Seven Kingdoms. Responsible for the welfare of hundreds of thousands of people. I could never begrudge you regarding your sacred duty. Besides, not a day has passed since I returned where I did not receive a message or gift from you.” 

She giggled. “Why, just the other day I received a bolt of gorgeous purple damask.” She eyed her father playfully, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Aemma was in a tizzy over the color. She was adamant that a gown be made for her if there is enough fabric.” 

“You and Aemma seem to have grown quite attached to each other.”

Viserra’s smile widened and her eyes shine with pride as she began to gush about her niece. “Oh yes! She is such a charming child. I’ve never known a child to be so proficient in needlework. And I have been teaching her the harpsichord. She's progressing very well. Oh Kepa! You must invite her to play for you.” 

Jaehaerys chuckled wryly, remembering all the music recitals he had the displeasure of sitting though over the years. “If you insist, my jewel. And how are her practices going with Lady Buckler?”

“Divine. She speaks with clarity and strength for one her age. She will do well.”

Jaehaerys nodded before muttering under his breath. “Unlike her mother.”

Viserra halted. He turned to her confused, his brow furrowed. 

 “My jewel? 

Her gaze was focused on the ground, she closed her eyes briefly as her fingers delicately touched her forehead, tracing her fingers along her brow before opening her eyes and giving him an enchanting smile.

“Forgive me Kepa. Just a dizzy spell. After three years in the North I have yet to acclimate back to King’s Landing’s warmer weather, even if I do prefer it.” 

Jaehaerys nodded, and the pair crossed the drawbridge into Meagor’s Holdfast together in silence. Viserra kissed her father’s cheek before curtsying deeply. 

“My kingly father.” 

Jaehaerys bowed dramatically in return. “My lovely jewel.” He gave his daughter another smile before nodding his head in permission for her to depart. She rose from her curtsy gracefully before turning down the corridor and walking out of sight. 

Jaehaerys continued down the corridor in the opposite direction, his kingsguard three paces behind him. He turned left and nearly collided with his eldest grandson. 

“My boy! Where are you off to?”

“Your majesty!” Viserys exclaimed in surprise before bowing quickly. “I w- I was..uh..” 

Jaehaerys held back a groan of annoyance, stuttering always makes him think of Daella. “Come now, answer your king.”

“Ye-yes.” Viserys bowed again. “I wa- I was heading to my chambers, grandfather, I have to get ready for training with the master at arms.”

Jaehaerys hummed in response, keeping his thoughts on Baelon’s parenting to himself. But before he could respond a young boy with golden hair and light brown eyes urgently made his way to the royal pair bowing in haste. He was wearing a simple black doublet, an emblem of a hand embroidered in his lapel.

“Otto? What is it?”

Jaehaerys raised an eyebrow, curious how Viserys knew one of Barth's underlings on a first name basis. 

Something I shall ponder on later. There are more urgent matters at hand judging from the nervous look in the young man’s eyes. 

“I apologize my prince, I am under the Hand’s orders to seek out his majesty.” The youth bowed again before turning to the king. 

“Yes? What news from my Hand?”

The young man didn't answer, instead he was pale faced and shaking. Jaehaerys furrowed his brow before snapping his fingers in the lad's face at his continued silence. “Out with it boy.”

“The tigers have overrun Volantis. They have taken control of the city by force and declared themselves rulers for all eternity.”

Jaehaerys was stunned into silence. The elephants had been ruling the city peacefully for the past three centuries. This coup would send shockwaves throughout the known world, from the Wall to Asshai. 

“Please come with me, my king. The Hand has called an emergency meeting of the Small Council.”

Jaehaerys nodded, stunned into silence, and began to follow the young man before he paused and turned back to his eldest grandson. He waved him over. 

“Come Viserys. I am in need of a new cupbearer.”

Chapter Text

Fifth Day of the Second Moon 91AC

Aemma II

the nursery apartments, Maegor’s Holdfast

Today was the final rehearsal for her court presentation, and a full dress rehearsal at that. She and the other seven ladies making their debut were to gather in the queen’s ballroom for the last time within the hour. 

Her grey-blue eyes swept over her reflection in her looking glass. The court dress designed for the occasion was a stark white with puffy cap sleeves and elbow length gloves. The gown was embroidered with hundreds of tiny blue falcons along the hem. The Arryn Falcon. It had taken Lady Vaella a few minutes to lace her into the intricate design. It was gorgeous for sure, but the fabric was stiff and seemed to swallow her. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back off her face in a chignon yet no crown of flowers adorned her head, instead two white plums took its place. Her shoes were new too, slippers made from soft grey doeskin. She reached up to fidget with the silver flower charm on her necklace and sighed.

I wish mama was here. 

“Oh sweet Aemma. You look stunning.” 

Aemma flushed pink at the sudden comment and turned around to discover her aunt standing in the doorway. Viserra’s smile was blinding even with her hands delicately clasped together over her mouth. Her expressive purple eyes shone with approval.  Aemma dipped into a perfect curtsy. 

“My lady aunt.” 

Her aunt continued to smile as she walked over to stand in front of Aemma. 

“You truly are a vision darling.” 

Aemma blushed furiously at the praise, she didn’t feel like a stunning vision. If Aemma were completely honest, she’d say she felt more like a puff pastry yet time with her aunt had taught her some things are better left unsaid. 

“Thank you.”

Viserra nodded in encouragement before bending forward and kissing Aemma on both cheeks. 

“You will do marvelous, sweet Aemma. Besides, if you get nervous just remember that it’s only a rehearsal.”

“I know.” Aemma began to nervously pick at her nail beds. A nasty habit she picked up from Gael Viserra often said. Viserra’s smile faltered and she gently took Aemma’s hand in hers and entwined their fingers. 

“None of that now.” She whispered. “Remember what I’ve told you, hmm?”

Aemma nodded vigorously. 

“Good.” Viserra straightened to her full height. “Now, have your maid gather your train. She shall follow us while I escort you to the queen’s ballroom.” 

A short while later the trio left Aemma’s apartments, Aemma’s maid dutifully carrying her charge’s train a few paces behind the royal pair. Making their way through Meagor’s Holdfast, Aemma and her aunt walked hand in hand. Mostly so she didn’t resume picking at her nail beds. She took a deep breath through her nose and exhaled hoping to calm the unsettling feeling growing in her chest.

Viserra paused and turned to her young niece. “Sweet Aemma are you feeling alright?”

“Yes.” Aemma answered much too quickly, her voice too high pitched and Viserra simply raised a perfectly arch eyebrow in response. Aemma sighed. “No, not really.”

“Oh sweetness.” Viserra said softly, taking Aemma’s hands in hers. “It’s just another rehearsal. You’ve practiced this over and over again this past moon. With both myself and Lady Buckler. You are ready, I swear.” 

Aemma gave her aunt a small thankful smile. “I very much appreciate the support and kindness you’ve shown me since returning to the capitol.” Aemma’s voice faltered and she looked away in the distance over Viserra’s shoulder.  Her vision began to blur the more she stared off down the corridor. 

“You miss your mother.” Viserra said gently. 

It took everything in Aemma not to break down sobbing. She blinked rapidly attempting to rid herself of the tears yet still a half hearted sob passed her lips as she nodded furiously. Viserra knelt down in front of her. 

“Oh sweet Aemma.” 

She cupped the young girl’s face with her hands, her fingers gently brushing away the tears that had escaped. Aemma sniffled. 

“I miss her so much,” she whispered, “whe-when we spent time together she always spoke of this day. Now…now that day is upon us and sh-she’s gone.”

Her voice cracked and she sniffed again. “It just...it’s just since moving here no one ever told me about her. The things she liked as a child, her favorite stories, songs, all of that, just was never mentioned. Until…until you came back.”

Aemma finally met Viserra’s tender gaze. Her aunt’s expressive eyes shone with unshed tears. “I am honored to be the one to share those stories with you, Aemma. In fact, there is much, much more I plan to share with you." 

She offered the young girl a small smile which Aemma returned, remembering just a fortnight ago when Viserra showed her the garden her mother had kept in her youth. Viserra caressed her niece’s cheek tenderly before returning to her full height and offering her hand for Aemma to hold. Aemma’s smile grew, the corners of her lips curving fully upwards, before she reached out to accept her aunt’s outstretched hand. The pair continued their way to the queen’s ballroom in a peaceful silence.

The quiet did not last for as soon as the trio made their way up the next staircase, a loud shout of surprise could be heard followed by a string of curses. Viserra and Aemma only had time to glance at each other in bewilderment before Daemon came sprinting down the  hall. He turned sharply to avoid the pair, his leather boots skidding across the stone floor. 

“You didn’t see me!” He managed to get out between bouts of laughter as he streaked past them, down the stairs and out of sight. Aemma saw the corners of her aunt’s lips twitch upwards and she herself had trouble suppressing an outright laugh at her cousin’s antics. 

“I wonder who was on the receiving end of Daemon’s latest prank.” Viserra said mischievously, giving Aemma a knowing glance. 

Aemma giggled in response. “His older brother. It often is.” 

As if summoned, a furious Viserys came bounding around the far corner of the corridor, dripping wet and holding what looked to be…lambskin pieces? 

What in the world is that? 

Upon seeing the two standing before him, Viserys froze, his cheeks flushed a bright red and he awkwardly cleared his throat before tugging at his velvet doublet in a feeble attempt to right his ruined clothing.

“Ah, Princess Viserra, Lady Aemma.” He bowed stiffly at the neck. “Can either of you ladies tell me the whereabouts of the menace that is my younger brother?” While his tone was chipper, his indigo eyes blazed with unspoken fury. 

Viserra motioned her head to the staircase behind them and then said with a coy smile. “What has your mischievous little brother done now, hmm?”

Viserys huffed in annoyance. “The impertinent rogue dropped a wine filled lambskin upon me from a staircase above.” 

Aemma laughed aloud at the thought of a rogue prince running rampant around the Red Keep, bringing Viserys full attention to her. His indigo eyes widening in surprise to see her in full formal court dress. He blustered momentarily before finally addressing her. 

“Why cousin Aemma! How lovely to see you, my dear. Is that a new dress?”

Is he daft? 

Aemma could’ve rolled her eyes at her cousin’s conversational skills. Or lack there of. Instead she schooled her expression and smiled prettily. “It is, cousin! Do you like it?” She twirled in place, a difficult task given the stiff fabric, but she accomplished it all the same. 

“Very much so. I nearly forgot you were to make your debut this year. You’re on your way to become a lady as gracious as our lovely aunt.”

Viserra tittered playfully. “Oh you hush Viserys.” Her aunt spoke his name like honey and Aemma’s eyebrows knitted together confused at the princess’ candor. She continued. “Sweet Aemma will shine regardless of me.”

Aemma felt her face grow hot as a flush bloomed across her cheeks yet she nodded in agreement all the same. 

“Now, tell me Aemma, ha-have you seen much of these new ladies? Spoken to them prephas?”

He hasn’t? They’ve been here for nearly two moons!

Thankfully she kept that comment to herself. And in truth was a tad jealous her cousin had not yet been subject to the company of their grandmother’s new ladies. Luckily, Aemma had been absent the day all seven ladies met the queen - she had harpsichord lessons with Viserra - so Gael provided her all the details later that night. 

Aemma made a face. “They sound like twats.”

“Aemma!” Gael shrieked in laughing disbelief. Aemma simply shrugged. “Well they do. One flirted with nearly every man in her path.”

“Elinor.”

“Yes, yes, her. And then she and the other one -“

“Alys”

“-began arguing with each other about our private family matters.” Aemma shuddered. “Thank goodness you have the good sense to leave the frightful situation.” 

Gael eyed Aemma curiously. 

‘She’s been doing that a lot lately.’

“And that other one, who laughed at someone else during their introduction to grandmother?”

Gael’s eyes widened. “Genna Serrett. Muña doesn’t like her much. And Kepa will never approve of the lady from the Dornish Marshes.”

“The one with the hair cropped short like a boys?”

“Yes, her. Her name’s Joanna Swann. She’ll never be a true contender for my nephews.”

“Are any of them?” Aemma asked pointedly. Gael could only shrug in response. 

Viserra seemed to have similar sentiments regarding Viserys’ lack of introduction to the new ladies but spoke them aloud in a much kinder manner. Viserys only stammered in response, awkwardly rubbing his hands together. 

“Well, no. Not that I have been avoiding the situation, mind you. I have just been busy with small council matters, you see. The coup in Volantis has caused quite a disruption.” Viserys trailed off and eyed the two ladies before clearing his throat. “Not that you two need to worry your pretty heads about such things.” He gave them a rather unconvincing smile. 

Aemma gave her cousin a tight lipped smile in return and said nothing. She thought it strange that Viserys had been appointed to the Small Council while Rhaenys had not. Being the king’s cupbearer was a high honor and her grandfather king decided to choose his second son’s heir rather than the crown prince’s. A slight to Aemon maybe? The crown prince’s fury at the discovery was apparent to everyone within the Red Keep. His expression hardened when speaking to his father and younger brother, his lilac eyes cold and unforgiving. 

“Ah, yes. Your new appointment. I don’t believe I have congratulated you on your rise.” Viserra said in that honeyed tone again. 

“You have not, my lady aunt. Yet I shall forgive you all the same.” 

With exaggerated flare, Viserys took her hand in his and placed a gentle kiss across her gloved knuckles before bowing. Viserra laughed - a sweet bell-like sound that echoed throughout the corridor. 

“So chivalrous! My nephew is a true gentleman indeed.” She smiled sweetly once again before leaning closer to him. “I pray that you never forget that.” 

Viserys puffed out his chest at the praise, looking rather foolish with wine still dripping from his doublet. Is he really so easily won over? Aemma side-eyed her aunt, wondering what Viserra was up to. Becoming Viserra’s little shadow the past moons had allowed her to get to know her aunt all the better and she never did anything without reason. Aemma thought back on how furious Viserra had been when she discovered the queen appointed her ladies-in-waiting - all of them were of the queen’s generation - and how she was desperate to be rid of what her aunt called “aging spies” in their private conversations.  And in the end she got her way. Not even a week ago the king sent word for Viserra to invite two or three ladies to attend her to replace those his wife chose.  

What is she doing now? 

“Well, we ought to get going. Sweet Aemma has her presentation rehearsal to get to.”

“Ah yes! How exciting for you. I must be off as well, there’s a nuisance I must find. Best of luck.”

The trio part ways, Viserys continuing through the corridor Daemon disappeared down while Viserra and Aemma turned left to the queen’s ballroom. 

The other seven ladies were lingering in front of the open double doors, chatting amongst themselves. The chattering stopped when they noticed the royal pair at the end of the hall.

“This is where I leave you now, sweet Aemma.” 

Aemma gripped her aunt’s hand tighter. She was nervous, more so than she cared to admit. She had been granted special permission to practice for her debut in solitude with only her aunt and Lady Buckler. Now she was to perform in front of these seven much older strangers. 

Viserra eyed her niece tenderly and squeezed her hand in comfort. Aemma looked up to meet her aunt’s expressive eyes. “You hold your head high and remember who you are. You are Lady Aemma Arryn, the only child of Lord Rodrik Arryn and Princess Daella Targaryen.” 

Aemma felt her nerves melt away at her aunt’s encouraging words and rewarded her aunt with a blinding smile before jumping forward and hugging her. Viserra laughed as her niece nearly threw her off balance and returned the little girl’s hug fiercely.

“You will shine.” Viserra whispered against her niece’s forehead before she playfully tapped Aemma on the nose as they bid each other goodbye. 

With her aunt gone, Aemma took a deep breath, straightened her back and walked towards the double doors with her head held high attempting to ignore the blatant stares from some of the other ladies. 

The group parted for Aemma as she passed through the double doors and into the queen’s ballroom. It was sparsely decorated with only seven tabourets and a long red rug in the center.  Aemma confidently -  at least she hoped - took her seat. Her maid came to stand a few feet behind her, still delicately holding her train. She folded her hands carefully in her lap and tucked her right ankle under her left, just like Viserra had taught her. At her nod, Aemma’s maid painstakingly pinned the train to her ensemble. Aemma eyed the entrance curiously.

What are they waiting for?

The other ladies began to filter in, now that Aemma had gone and sat down. And none had bothered to greet her. Aemma huffed quietly. 

It doesn’t matter. Courtesy will be my shield just like Vi taught me. 

Besides, she wasn’t about to let these random ladies dampen her enthusiasm. Like when she learned the queen had held off on all preparations until after her new ladies returned to the capitol and got settled into their apartments. 

And Seven Above did it take them forever to arrive back. 

Aemma thought it was very foolish for the ladies to return to their homes following Rhaenys’ wedding with the knowledge they had been chosen as the queen’s ladies come the new year.

Rude as well.  

Lady Beth Stokeworth was the first to arrive back to court a month later, given the proximity of her father’s keep to the capitol, clutching a copy of the Seven Pointed Star to her chest. She was comely enough if one could look past her protruding blue eyes and large nose. She dressed very conservatively, hiding her frizzy auburn hair under a hood and veil. Aemma thought her a tad odd upon first meeting her; she barely spoke above a whisper and seemed only to talk of the Seven. 

Aemma glanced over to the young lady in question, sitting silently in a corner of the room, head down with her hands folded in her lap. 

She would not woo the princes that’s for certain, she mused. Viserys would be kind to her, Daemon would definitely not.  

She briefly wondered what the poor lamb’s reaction would be to a wine filled lambskin being dropped upon her head. Aemma bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing aloud at the picture her mind created. 

She glanced around the room at the other six ladies in attendance. Lady Lucinda Crakehall and Lady Joanna Swann had taken seats closest to her. They had arrived only a few days after the Stokeworth girl. Joanna was a high spirited lady with a sharp wit and an odd haircut who enjoyed hawking and riding while Lucinda was prim and proper to a fault who loved to sing and embroider.

And likely the only one that would manage to secure a royal match. 

After only two moons it had become apparent that Lady Lucinda was the queen’s little favorite or dōna riñnykeā (sweet lady) as the queen affectionately called the young girl. Anyone with eyes for the game could see the queen wished for the Westerlands girl to become her granddaughter-by-law.

But wed to which prince I wonder? 

A shriek of laughter brought Aemma’s attention to two girls on the other end of the room, huddled together, whispering and giggling among themselves. Aemma frowned. 

Elinor Merryweather and Megga Fossoway were without a doubt the most vapid, shallow ladies she had ever met. They had also taken the longest to return to the capitol having arrived just a fortnight before the new year. Which given their personalities, not entirely surprising. The two had been thick as thieves since arriving, having known each other since their nursery days. Neither had made any effort to converse with her during these weeks leading up to their formal presentation. Megga acted as though she was better than everyone (except Elinor) just because she could count well and make lace. Aemma didn’t think it was all that impressive and why would she? She had been raised with enough wealth that she could request the master of the household to purchase a bolt of the finest Myrish lace. Why would she waste her time making the stuff? 

The remaining two ladies -  Genna Serrett and Alys Mooton - were seated furthest away and seemed to be the least liked of the queen’s new ladies, often being singled out for the more menial tasks that accompany the queen’s household. As such, Aemma figured the pair were most likely to be the first one’s sent home. 

“Excuse me, Lady Aemma, may I speak with you?”

Aemma nearly jumped out of her seat at suddenly being addressed and she turned her head to face the person who’d spoken to her. Lady Lucinda Crakehall - with her long ash blonde hair, green eyes and fair complexion - was easily the most beautiful of the seven ladies. 

And the most Valyrian passing.

Aemma nodded.

“The young woman who escorted you here today, was that Princess Viserra?”

Aemma’s eyes narrowed. Why does she want to know? She says nothing, only nodded again. 

Lucinda smiled. “You are very fortunate to have such an accomplished lady as your mentor. My mother was one of the queen’s ladies before she married my father. She often said that the princess was the epitome of grace and class.”

Aemma simply stared at the other young lady, unsure of how to respond.

 “I-I shall let my aunt know that you hold her in high esteem.” She finally managed to get out. Lucinda bowed her head in deference. 

“I must say for someone making their debut so young, you are remarkably calm, my lady.”

Aemma studied the young lady’s face momentarily, wondering for a split second if the older girl was poking fun at her. “Thank you. My aunt often tells me calmness is a lady’s strength.”

A boisterous laugh came from Lady Joanna sitting close by and listening to their conversation. “Of course it is my lady. The moment we women express ourselves in any other way, we are branded hysterical.”

Aemma’s mouth dropped open slightly at the older girl’s candor. It’s rather shocking that my grandfather king has dismissed this one yet. 

Joanna had the decency to look embarrassed when she saw the way both Lucinda and Aemma looked at her. Her cheeks flushed red and she mumbled an apology.

Lucinda cleared her throat prettily. How one even managed such a feat Aemma wasn’t sure. “Well, in any case my lady, your calmness is astounding. To be so young and already making your debut on the marriage market.”

Aemma’s brow furrowed as she inquisitively looked back and forth from Joanna to Lucinda. “What do you mean? I am only making my debut because my grandmother believes me ready to become a member of the court. I am not for either prince.”

Joanna and Lucinda share a knowing look but said nothing in response. Aemma was about to press them further when Lady Cecilia Buckler's steel voice cut through the room like a knife. 

“Ladies. It is time to begin.”

Lady Cecilia instructed the girls to quickly line up before her. She stood at the back of the line impatiently shuffling from one foot to another. As the youngest of the ladies chosen to be presented she, naturally, was also the shortest. 

I can’t see anything! 

She was desperate to know what was going on and kept trying to peek her head out to either side, only to be sharply reprimanded by the girl in front of her, Lady Elinor Merryweather. Aemma huffed in annoyance and stopped herself from crossing her arms over her chest. This constant waiting left her irate; she’s been waiting long enough! Even though she had resided in the Red Keep since she was five, she was not permitted to attend court events due to her age; her cousin’s wedding being a one time exception.

She had been anticipating her formal presentation for weeks, ever since she learned that she would be joining the other noble ladies in the new year. 

Upon first receiving her grandmother’s summons for a private meal in her apartments not long after Rhaenys’ wedding, she feared she was in trouble for sneaking out to watch the wedding feast upon the gallery.

She had steeled herself for a reprimand, her back straight, chin up, determined to accept whatever punishment her grandmother issued with as much grace she could manage at eight namedays.

Yet there was no mention of her and Gael’s outing as the queen discussed something else over that afternoon meal. Her grandmother cheerily told her that she would enter society come the new year. 

Aemma remembered how her heart swelled in delight at the news. She had been gleeful at the prospect of finally being part of the court, to be permitted to finally lengthen her dresses and wear her hair up. To be a proper lady. 

“You’re Daella’s darling,” Alysanne spoke happily, her smile wide as she cupped Aemma’s face gently, “and while you are an Arryn by birth, you are a Targaryen princess by blood.” 

Her grandmother had a bunch of new gowns ordered for her, the hems let down to the floor like a true lady. When they were finally delivered to her apartment a fortnight ago, it made her slightly sad to see no Arryn blue among her new wardrobe. All were Taragreyn black and red. She had smiled tightly in thanks when her grandmother began gushing over how beautiful she looked. 

“Lady Aemma Arryn.”

At the sound of her name, Aemma was brought back to the present. She was the only one left in line. The other ladies were standing together at the other end of the room, watching her expectantly. She stared wide eyed at Lady Cecilia who simply raised an eyebrow at her sudden lapse.

Aemma blinked rapidly, looking away from Lady Cecilia and to the red carpet upon the ground. Her breath caught in her chest, her eyes widened further and a sudden roaring filled her ears. This is familiar, like a memory from a dream. She shook her head to rid herself of such thoughts and took a deep breath through her nose to refocus. The presentation, that's why she was here, to become a step closer to becoming a lady. She opened her eyes with renewed confidence, straightened her shoulders and took a step forward. 

Only for her shoe to trip on the hem of her gown. 

She cried out as she fell onto her hands and knees. Eyeing the red carpet beneath her fingers, an overwhelming sense of dread overcame her. Goosebumps developed along her skin. This has happened before…I have fallen before…Her breathing became desperate gasps and her eyes frantically darted across the queen’s ballroom looking for…something. What she was searching for so desperately she didn’t know and a part of her didn’t think she wanted to know judging by how hard her heart was pounding. She let out a shaky breath and slowly rose to her feet. Snickering could be heard. 

“Enough of that now!” Lady Buckler’s voice was curt as she disciplined the ladies who had found joy in Aemma’s embarrassment. “Must I inform the queen of your rudeness towards her granddaughter?”

The silence that followed was deafening. 

“That’s what I thought.” Lady Buckler turned to face her, the older woman’s face gentle. “Lady Aemma, please try again.” 

I am Aemma Arryn, only child of Lord Rodrik Arryn and Princess Daella Taragreyn. And I can do this. 

After a deep breath, Aemma straightened her back, raised her chin and took a small tentative step forward, then another and then another. Soon, she was gracefully moving down the red carpet just like Viserra had taught her. Reaching the end, Aemma dipped into a low curtsy, expertly holding the position while she counted to ten slowly in her head, then just as gracefully, she rose. 

“Excellent Lady Aemma. Perfectly executed. Now ladies back in line, we are to practice until perfection is achieved.”

Chapter Text

Eleventh Day of the Second Moon 91AC

Aemon II 

the Small Council Chambers, the Red Keep

The six weeks away from the capitol had been a much needed reprieve yet he stayed away for too long. Upon returning to King’s Landing, the joy for his child’s nuptials turned to ash when he discovered what transpired in his absence; how vipers at court poured honey into his father’s ear. He gritted his teeth as he watched his nephew flit around the small council chamber with a flagon of wine. He still remembered his surprise upon discovering Viserys in the small council chamber that first time.

He had hoped to be the first to arrive, a bustle of paperwork under his arm including his proposal for absolute primogeniture but once the chamber doors were opened for him, he stopped short at the sight of his nephew.

“What are you doing here?” Aemon inquired, slightly confused. 

Viserys simply froze at the sudden question before turning to look at his uncle. He blinked foolishly, his lips parting as if to say something yet he didn’t reply, just stood there. 

Aemon walked over to the ash wood table and put down his papers. He pressed again, more forceful this time. “What are you doing here? This is the small council chamber.”

The tone of his voice seemed to snap the young boy back to attention as he promptly bowed at the neck.

“Oh, I’m grandfather’s cupbearer now, sir.”

Fury further enveloped him when he discovered Viserys had been sitting in on council meetings since before the new year, while his daughter had been continuously barred from attending despite her higher standing in the succession. To see Viserys - a green boy with people pleasing tendencies - serving on the king's council was salt in a very deep wound. 

Is this payback for my Rhaenys claiming Meleys? For spurring Viserys?

Aemon glanced across the table to Baelon, who ignored his gaze. Coward. They had not spoken since his return to King’s Landing, his younger brother going out of his way to avoid him. Like he avoids Viserra. He drummed his fingers against the table in agitation as he listened to the council debate upon the merits of transporting some refugees to the surrounding crownlands to ease the pressures straining the city. Kinglanders had not taken too kindly to their city being “overrun” by refugees and tensions between the groups were worsening.

“Have those who are able bodied plow the fields or fish the rivers; they can carve out a new life for themselves in Westeros,” suggested Baelon. 

“I doubt the Volanti ruling class would be amenable to that suggestion.” Aemon retorted quickly.

“They are no longer the ruling class. They best swallow their pride and realize that. They’d be much happier for it,” snapped Jaehaerys as he rubbed his temples in frustration.

Septon Barth cleared his throat. “There has been a marked increase in violence throughout the city. Last night, the city watch reported multiple stabbings in Fleabottom, a tavern brawl off Eel Alley, and a drunken horse race down King’s Way which ended in the death of a young girl.”

“Oh sweet Seven!” Alysanne gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. “How old was the girl?”

“Fifteen.”

“Mother Above.”

“The city watch falls under the Master of Law’s jurisdiction,” declared Baelon pointedly, gesturing his hand across the table to his elder brother.

Aemon scowled, “Yet during my absence from the capitol, you took command of the city watch.” 

The brothers stared hard at each other, their gazes locked in a silent game of wills. Aemon felt his nostrils flare and he clenched his jaw, jutting his chin forward slightly. Baelon's gaze shifted down to his hands and Aemon felt the corners of his lips twitch upwards.

“And it seems Fishmonger’s Square has been dubbed ‘fishbottom’ by kinglanders due to its rapid deterioration as well, your majesty.” added the Grand Maester.

Jaehaerys ran his hand across his forehead in exasperation. “We need to expand the temporary housing outside the city walls. The tourney grounds north of the city will have to do, outside the Dragon Gate.”

The king looked around the chamber before waving over his grandson. “Viserys. You and Hightower can oversee the project.”

Viserys flushed pink before squeaking out a “yes sire” and bowing at the neck. Aemon clenched his jaw as he watched Baelon give his son a small smile of encouragement. He had often over the years requested his father grant Rhaenys some royal commission, to prepare her for the bureaucracy of ruling, only to be harshly dismissed. 

“I am afraid, your majesty, more will need to be done. The crown must be seen making economies. Luxury goods from Myr and Lys have tripled since the Essoi wars began in earnest. Imports from Dorne have increased in price as well since sea trade has been greatly reduced.” 

“The solution is an easy one, Grand Maester,” Alysanne decreed, in a rather flippant tone, “the palace will simply reduce our luxury expenses.”

Baelon snorted loudly, though he quickly covered it with a cough when their mother's piercing blue eyes narrowed dangerously at him, her lips pressed together in a thin line. 

“A splendid suggestion, your majesty.” croaked Septon Barth “May I also suggest an increase in alms?” 

Alysanne nods in agreement. “Yes, my ladies and I will begin in earnest.” She glanced around the room until she locked eyes with her grandson. “Viserys, you are welcome to join us.”

The boy flushed pink and mumbled something about having to begin the king’s commission. 

“Oh come now boy!” chuckled Jaehaerys, “you can spare the afternoon for your grandmother. Besides, the queen tells me you have yet to be introduced to these new ladies.”

The king reached for the queen's hand to hold but Alysanne hurriedly placed both hands on her lap. Aemon saw his father’s eye twitch at his wife’s subtle rejection.

“Oh, yes darling, you must come be introduced to my ladies. The ladies Crakehall and Fossoway are certainly the most genteel and accomplished of my new ladies. Lady Merryweather has the most angelic singing voice. Lady Mooton has a good head on her shoulders. Lady Swann-“

“Is not fit to marry either of my grandsons.” interrupted Jaehaerys, “You may keep her as one of your ladies or send her back to the Marshes, I don’t care which, but I will not see her wed into this family.”

Alysanne’s lips pressed together in a thin lip but she did not contradict her husband instead she simply gave him a curt nod. Aemon wasn’t sure what transpired between his parents in his absence, he could only surmise, yet he - and anyone else with eyes - could see the tension between the couple. It was a stark contrast to the image the royal couple presented at his daughter’s wedding only a few moons prior.

Alysanne cleared her throat then continued, “Lady Stokeworth is a very pious young lady and Lady Serrett....well, she’s a pretty thing.”

Viserys was completely red faced by this point, his eyes locked on the stone floor of the council chamber. “Yes, your majesty, I will be honored to make their acquaintance. 

“Good, I expect you to attend our afternoon tea today.” Alysanne concurred.

Viserys nodded hesitantly before turning away, walking towards the small serving table on the side of the chamber to refill the flagon of wine.

The Grand Maester cleared his throat. “I have received a raven from Driftmark, the Stranger finally came for Lord Daemon, who died peacefully in his sleep a few days ago.”

“Oh!” Alysanne gasped softly, delicately covering her mouth with a pale hand, “Our dear poor uncle.”

Jaehaerys hummed in agreement and reached out his hand to hold Alysanne’s free one before she could remove it from the table. Aemon was sure he wasn’t the only one that noticed how his mother stiffened at the king’s touch. He eyed his parents warily. 

What in the Seven Hells is going on with them? 

“Lord Corlys writes,” the Grand Maester continued, “that he and his wife must delay their return to King’s Landing in order to put his dear grandfather to rest according to Velaryon customs.” 

Aemon saw his father’s face contorted into a grimace at the mention of Lord Corlys. He hasn’t made peace with Rhaenys decision. To be honest, neither had he. He was dismayed to learn upon arriving at Driftmark that his daughter acquiesced to her lord his husband’s demand to become Lady Velaryon. He thought back on the conversation he had with his daughter in the privacy of her study. 

“Dearest, I really must protest. You are my heir, in line to the throne. You must remain a Taragreyn in name.”

Rhaenys lips pressed together in a thin line, her expression hard. “You wish for my husband to be ridiculed across the realm?” she questioned, her voice like steel. 

Aemon sighed. “You must see reason. Having Velaryon become the name of the royal house, having your first born son as the first Velaryon king — It…it would ruin everything Rhaenys.”

Rhaenys just narrowed her eyes, and her nostrils flared slightly.

“I am a woman and a wife, married to a man whose pride and strength were in part what attracted me to him. I want to be in a successful marriage, like you and mama. I am his wife, it is law I take his name.”

“It is customary, not law.” Jocylen gently interjected from Aemon’s side.

“It’s so universally practiced it might as well be law!” Rhaenys responded tensely, her fists clenched at her sides. “Is he to be the only man in Westeros whose wife and children don’t share his name? Am I to subject my husband to that embarrassment?”

“Rhaenys, it must remain Taragreyn. For stability”

Rhaenys scoffed, walking away from her parents to the bay window and crossing her arms. She kept her back to them, staring out at the rough sea.

“Thank you for your council but it is my decision to make and I've made it.”

Aemon clenched his jaw at the memory. He couldn’t have imagined a worse decision. Just then Viserys appeared on his left.

“More wine uncle?” the boy said cheerily, that foolish smile on his face.

Aemon stared at his nephew, eyeing him up and down, as if trying to get the measure of the boy in front of him. The boy who stole what should rightfully have been his daughter’s role. He clenched his jaw tighter, before waving the boy off without so much of a word.

later that afternoon

Viserys I 

Meagor’s Holdfast, the Red Keep

Viserys was relieved when the small council meeting concluded. He didn’t know how much more he could take listening to his grandmother prattle on about the merits of her new ladies. Much less endure the stinging glare of his royal uncle. Viserys sighed and ran his hand through his silver-gold hair. It’s not my fault grandfather appointed me to the position. Seven hells I didn’t even ask for the position! He strode up the serpentine steps in a foul mood indeed, not looking forward to the afternoon tea he’d been strong armed into attending.  I’d much rather serve the realm. He swiftly made his way through the middle bailey and across the spiked moat into Meagor’s Holdfast. 

Hopefully I’ll run across my rogue brother, he thought to himself as he strode through the marble corridors of the keep towards the royal apartments. But alas, the gods did not hear him. He prevent a groan from escaping his lips. Viserys didn’t understand the sudden urge to get him betrothed. He was only five and ten. He wasn’t ready to be a husband or a father. Seven Hells he hadn’t even won his first tourney nor been knighted nor even claimed a dragon yet! Why now? Why so sudden?  He rounded the corner, heading to his apartments when he heard the sound of music, slow and hauntingly beautiful. Intrigued, he followed the sound to an older music room, long abandoned once there was no longer any use for a royal nursery. 

The door was slightly ajar and Viserys peered through the crack but was unable to see who was in the room. Slowly, carefully, he opened the wood door and snuck in. His indigo eyes scanned the immediate sitting area. No one. Only white cloth covered furniture and dust. He fully stepped into the room and gently closed the wooden door. The melody was coming from the enclave on the far side of the room. He carefully stepped forward to cross the sitting area to get a better vantage point. Viserys' mouth dropped open when he saw her.

Viserra was playing the old harpsichord beside the bay window, her eyes closed, fully absorbed in the music her fingers were creating. He stood there transfixed, mouth slightly agape as he watched her in awe. Even her mourning dress couldn’t distract from his aunt's stunning beauty. Her silvery hair swept back upon her head, curls falling free about her delicate shoulders. He watched her slim fingers dance across the instrument, her head nodding gently to the melody she was effortlessly creating.

She is magnificent, he thought, his indigo eyes drinking in the sight, longingly gazing at the Valyrian beauty before him. Why must I marry an Andal when I can marry her? It’s not fair!

Ever since his aunt’s return to the capitol he had become besotted with the young lady. Her beauty and charm knew no equal within the royal court. He continued to watch her play for several minutes and was taken back when he realized she was crying. With tears beginning to stream down her cheeks, the melody picked up and became harsher, more erratic. He was surprised to see her openly weeping, when he had seen her she was always courteous, and a kind smile upon her face.

Feeling dreadfully embarrassed on having intruded on what was clearly a private moment, Viserys hastily backed up attempting to get away unnoticed when he knocked over a glass vase. The resounding crash alerted Viserra to his presence. Her eyes widened at the sight of him and she quickly turned her back to him, hurriedly pulling a handkerchief from her dress pocket and dabbing her cheeks.

“What are you doing here?” she questioned ruefully, her voice tight with an emotion he could not place but reminded him very much of his uncle Aemon.

He flushed pink. “I-I heard the music. You are very good.”

Viserra smiled tightly. “Thank you.”

The pair fall into silence. 

“Why were you crying?”

Viserra’s eyebrows knit together somewhat and she slowly turned her gaze towards her nephew, her eyes narrowing slightly, studying him. He felt his breath hitch under her gaze when she smiled. “Oh, just womanly things. You are kind for asking but you needn’t worry yourself over such trivial matters.”

“Is it about the queen?” Viserys questioned before he realized he spoken. His voice sounding strange to his ears. Viserra’s exquisite eyes widened slightly at his bluntness. He wrung his hands together before covering his mouth with a closed fist and clearing his throat.

“I-It’s just…I have heard rumors, not like I listen to court gossip mind you but-“, he paused abruptly to collect his thoughts lest his words run away from him. Viserys took a deep breath before continuing, it was unnerving to be under the gaze of one so beautiful; to be the sole receiver of the princess attention. “I am aware that she still refuses to call on you, which is beyond the pale if I must say so myself. You are her daughter, a royal blood princess, and should be treated with the dignity our rank affords us.”

By the end of his statement he was speaking quite rapidly and Viserys swore he saw a pink tinge to her cheeks that wasn’t there before. She is like the Maiden come to life. He truly could not understand his grandmother’s ire towards the lady. She was too beautiful to hate, her hair shone as bright as silver, eyes the color reserved for royalty. She rose from her seat, crossing the room in a few graceful paces. Smiling and accepting his kiss upon her hand, so beautiful and gracious.

“You are a sweet boy.” she murmured, as she gently leaned forward to kiss his cheek. She pulled back and smiled widely, tilting her head to the side just so. Viserys could feel the heat on his face and knew without a doubt he was as crimson as a Lannister banner. “Thank you, my lady.”

Viserra hummed. “Would you like to join me for a walk in the godswoods?”

Viserys struggled to find his voice to respond. He knew the gentlemanly thing to do was to politely decline, to inform his aunt that he had another engagement to prepare for and yet a small part of him knew he could not say “no” to the goddess standing in front of him.

later that evening

Baelon II

Prince Baelon’s private study, Meagor’s Holdfast 

Baelon had spent the hour of the bat hunched over his large desk shuffling through papers and calculating various expenses. The large candle resting besides him was now half gone while the fire still crackled loudly in the hearth across the study.

He groaned weakly and rubbed the back of his neck trying to relieve some of the tension there. He glanced at the untouched weekly accounts from the Keepers of the Keys, the King’s Counter and the King’s Scales across his ash wood desk then sighed deeply, and rubbed his temples to fight the oncoming headache. 

I’ll be counting coppers forever. 

It wasn't that long ago when he finished calculating expenses for his niece’s wedding - nearly five moons after the blasted ceremony! And now….he surveyed the piles of paperwork that surrounded him and let out a deep breath. He rose from his chair and strode across his study to the liquor cart, opened a crystal decanter, and poured himself a drink. He drank the dark liquid quickly. He gasped softly as the liquid burned his throat. “Ahh that’s good,” he said before he poured himself another. 

Baelon crossed his study to stand in front of the hearth, closer to the open flame than most would dare get yet the heat felt glorious against his skin. His indigo eyes stared into the flames, watching intently as the fire danced and flickered. The wood crackled as the flames darted along the wood, a rising heat puffing at his face. Not that he minded, the heat made him feel clean. 

Pure. 

Baelon watched the flames swirl and writh like women dancing, whirling and spinning in their yellow, orange and crimson veils. He narrowed his eyes as he thought back on the previous moons. The new year celebrations two moons ago were hardly as joyful as one expected. The Tiger’s coup of Volantis had been shocking indeed. He had been in the training yard with Daemon waiting on Viserys when one of Barth’s underlings came running with an urgent summons of the Small Council members. 

When Baelon entered the council chamber, the Hand and Grand Maester were already present, clearly panicky and agitated. The old grand maester was sitting down in his usual seat, pale and sweating, fidgeting with his hands. The Hand was pale as well, tightly clutching a raven scroll.

“The Tigers now control the wealthiest of the Free Cities.” 

Septon Barth’s tone was flat as he informed Baelon. A simple sentence that radically changed everything. The Elephants had been ruling over Volantis for nearly three centuries, having successfully wrestled power from the tigers following the Century of Blood. Baelon vaguely remembered his lessons on the subject. The Volantian aristocracy (the Tigers) favored war and conquest while the merchant class (the Elephants) favored expansion through trade. Eventually the aristocracy was forced from power following decades of civil war. That was the sum of what he remembered. Aside from envisioning literal elephants and tigers fighting upon cobblestone street; he and Aemon had a raucous laugh over that image. 

‘Now it doesn’t seem as funny.’ He thought grimly.

The effects of this coup would ripple across the known world, disrupting everything from trade routes to diplomatic relations. It will cause a panic not only across the Narrow Sea but within Westeros as well. And people were stupid when they panicked. He drummed his fingers against the table, trying to rid himself of the nervous energy that was coursing through him.

“What is taking Hightower so long to fetch his majesty?” Septon Barth muttered under his breath as the minutes passed. 

Baelon was about to suggest sending an additional page to fetch his father when the small council chamber doors opened to reveal the pageboy with the king .…and Viserys?

Baelon stood up quickly in shock. “Viserys, what are you doing here?” 

Jaehaerys waved off his question. “I have a need for a new cupbearer.”

Baelon just stared dumbfoundedly at his father and eldest son as they walked past him to the head of the table, Viserys gave him a sheepish grin. Jaehaerys gestured to a small side table, “The Arbor Gold, my boy.”

‘How in the world…? Aemon is going to be furious.’ Baelon thought, as he sat back down, curiously eyeing his father as his eldest son fetched the council their wine. The king had refused Aemon’s request that his heir become involved in the small council for nearly half a decade. 

‘Why change his mind now? Why Viserys?’

“Now, tell me what has happened?!” Jaehaerys nearly shouted, slamming his hands against the table. Baelon saw Viserys jump slightly at the king’s ferocious tone, nearly dropping the flagon of wine he just picked up from the side serving table.

“The details are still unclear,” croaked the grand maester, “only that the Tigers have taken full control of Volantis, declaring themselves rulers for eternity.”

Jaehaerys swore under his breath as Viserys filled the king’s goblet before moving to serve the other council member attendees. 

“It stands to assume that the ruling faction will now attempt to resume their conquest of the Disputed Lands,” acknowledged Septon Barth. 

“How did they overpower the entire city overnight?” Baelon pondered, covering his goblet with his hand as Viserys came over to his side of the table. 

“That doesn’t matter at this point, son. Given the histories, Barth is right - the Tigers will begin anew their conquest and wars are likely to follow. We must get ahead of the innumerable consequences - trade from Essos will be greatly reduced if not halted altogether, the cost of goods will rise, not to mention the hundreds that will be fleeing for their lives.”

“We could increase imports from the Reach and begin preparations for an influx of travelers.”

Four sets of eyes snapped to Viserys, who flushed at the sudden attention. He coughed awkwardly into his free hand. “Uh, wha-what I mean to say is if a shortfall in trade is expected we must make up for it where we can. The Reach had a bountiful harvest, your majesty. And the tourney grounds outside the city walls, temporary housing can be set up there as well to preven- to prevent overcrowding in the city.”

Jaehaerys eyed his eldest grandson for a moment before a smile stretched across his face. He nodded in approval. “Your boy has the right of it, Baelon. Viserys, you will take charge of this, Hightower shall assist you.”

Viserys' mouth dropped open slightly at suddenly being given a council commission by his grandfather. “Y-yes, of course sire,” he managed to get out before bowing.

The meeting had concluded a short while later, the king dismissing everyone save his Hand; that night Baelon received word from his father to take control of the city watch in Aemon’s absence. It didn’t take long for the first refugees to come swarming in through Blackwater Bay, many believing Westeros to be the safest option to flee. The Tigers wouldn’t dare attack Westeros, not while dragons flew above the city. 

As more arrived over the following weeks, details began to emerge about the savage attack. Somehow, the Tigers’ procured the allegiance of the pirates who had prowled through the Stepstones as well as numerous sellsword companies. They struck at night, in a coordinated attack, and under the cover of darkness, every senior Elephant leader had been assassinated, their families dragged from their beds, their sons hanged, their wives and daughters raped. When the sun rose the next morning, the Tigers’ declared themselves rulers for all eternity. 

Baelon shuddered despite the heat of the fire. Nearly two moons later, the Tigers have declared war on Myr, Lys and Tyrosh. Vicious fighting in the Disputed Lands was now common and often spilt over into sea battles. The fighting had disrupted Westerosi shipping lanes and the price of goods had indeed skyrocketed like his father predicted and the frequency of crime with it. He had lost count of the nights he spent patrolling with the city watch, trying to keep the king’s peace in the midst of what could only be described as civil unrest. 

Ever since the coup, there had been a massive influx of refugees in the capitol. They would’ve easily overflowed the already crowded city to the brim if not for Viserys' idea to convert the tourney grounds into housing. 

But it was still not enough. 

Viserys and Hightower didn’t account for how quickly so many people would arrive. Although the housing along the tourney grounds were completed in the first fortnight for the new year, Fishmonger Square had already become akin to Flea Bottom, with refugee tents stretching from the River Gate down to the King’s Gate. Baelon even doubted the additional housing along the northern side of the city would suffice since now there were reports of refugees running amuck in the kingswoods. 

Baelon ran his hand through his hair. He heard the door of his study creak open and he turned slightly, eyeing the page boy that appeared with little interest, an eyebrow raised slightly.

“Your royal highness.”  

The boy falls into a flourish of a bow. Baelon restrained from rolling his eyes. Damn Reachmen and their theatrics. Two of his mother’s new ladies also had the same annoying habit.

“His royal highness Prince Viserys, bids entry.”

Baelon nodded his head and waved his hand dismissively at the page who turned from the study and returned moments later with Viserys who wore a simple black and red doublet. Viserys bowed and Baelon smiled softly at his first born. 

Viserys would be as tall as me one day, he thought with pride. His eldest favored him in appearance, with indigo eyes and silver-gold hair yet he caught glimpses of his dear Alyssa. The boy had her smile and her laugh, and his growing mustache favored his mother’s coloring with not a trace of silver could be found. He would be six and ten this coming nameday; Viserys was nearly a man grown by societal standards. 

“Sir. I have the notes from today’s small council session.”

“Good,” Baelon said before taking a sip of his drink, “place it with the rest of them,” gesturing to scattered papers on the ash wood desk. Viserys quickly does as he’s bid before coming to stand next to his father by the open hearth.

“The suggestions you’ve made in the Small Council meeting you've attended have been a stroke of brilliance. If not for your ideas, the city would be in the midst of much more serious unrest. I hope you know that.” 

Viserys blushed at the praise, his eyes downcast. “Thank you, sir.” Viserys then cleared his throat, “His majesty has just informed me that he is to make my position permanent.”

Baelon hummed. “I suspected as much. You have done well.”

Viserys puffed out his chest at the praise. “What I do, I do for the realm.” 

Baelon smiled and nodded in approval before turning to stare into the dancing flames. 

“Sir. May I request your permission to speak freely?”

Baelon raised an eyebrow. “Speak freely? About what?”

Viserys took a deep breath. “My royal uncle.”

Baelon nearly choked on his drink. He recovered quickly however. “He has only just returned from Driftmark in the past fortnight.”

Viserys fidgeted with his hands. “Yes, and he does not seem very pleased with my appointment. I fear I may have offended him in some wa-“

“Viserys.” Baelon interrupted, “It is not you who has my brother’s ire but myself and the king.” He placed his hand upon his son’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “He has requested Rhaenys to attend the small council for years only for the king to refuse him.”

Viserys nodded in understanding before staring into the fire. “Why doesn’t grandfather just allow us both to serve on the Small Council? She will be queen one day.”

Baelon grimaced and traced his forehead with his hand. “I do not know and it is not for us to question the king’s judgement. Now has Daemon resumed his roguish behavior?” Baelon asked, changing the subject. “I am hopeful that time patrolling with the city watch will have taught him some discipline and restraint.”

Viserys shook his head. “Not since the wine incident a week ago. It’s vexing, having him act out in such a way. And his treatment towards Otto-“

“Hightower?”

“Yes.”

“One of Septon Barth’s pages?”

“Yes.”

“I did not realize you were on a first name basis with Master Hightower.”

Viserys flushed. “We are well acquainted, sir. It was he who assisted me in securing the increased influx of goods from the Reach.”

“Yes I’m aware.” 

“We were introduced last year shortly after my fifteenth nameday. He has become a sage companion over the past moons.”

Baelon vaguely remembered how suddenly Viserys seemed to change following the boy’s nameday celebrations. Prior one could easily find Viserys mingling about the Red Keep with Daemon causing mischief, afterwards one could find him in the library with a group of noble boys. 

It seems this Hightower was always among them, Baelon mused.

“You mentioned Daemon’s treatment towards Master Hightower?”

Viserys' eyes narrowed. “Is unbecoming of a prince of the realm. Otto is my friend, sir, as well as a member of the Hand’s household, Daemon should speak less harshly when dealing with the courtiers.”

Baelon absentmindedly nods in agreement. Good luck getting that through to Alyssa’s boy. “Did you attend afternoon tea with my mother and her new ladies?”

Viserys looked down at his feet then shook his head. Baelon bit back a sigh of frustration and took a sip of his drink. “Well, once they’re out in court I’m sure my mother will waste no time introducing them to you.”

Viserys turned red. 

Baelon eyed him curiously. “Or has someone already caught your eye? The Lady Crakehall perhaps?”

Viserys blushed and muttered a half hearted response. Baelon smiled slightly. He must like this westernlands girl. Thank the Seven for that. Lucinda Crakehall was by far the most deserving to become a royal bride. In the few times he has crossed paths with her she had been the epitome of grace. 

But before he could press his son further, Viserys quickly changed the subject. “We have received a raven that my royal cousin and her husband will depart from Driftmark within a week.”

Baelon groaned softly, His absence has been a much needed reprieve. He was not looking forward to dealing with the fury that abhorrent man would unleash upon the council once he discovers Viserys, and not his wife, was appointed the king’s cupbearer. Baelon still felt Aemon’s fury too keenly.  

“Father will certainly be overjoyed upon receipt of that particular piece of news.” he muttered before finishing his drink. 

Viserys chuckled, his royal grandfather did not hide his disdain for the Master of Ships following the raven that brought the news his cousin had taken the Velaryon surname. 

“The master-at-arms tells me you’ve improved tremendously in the past weeks.” Baelon quipped, eyeing Viserys, “is there any reason for the increase of practices?” 

Viserys blanched and muttered something under his breath Baelon couldn’t quite make out. 

“What was that?”

Viserys flushed a deeper red. “I was hoping to inquire about the possibility of claiming a dragon for my upcoming nameday.”

Baelon's eyes widened but before he could respond Viserys began to ramble. 

“I will be six and ten soon, the same age you were when you claimed Vhagar. And with my recent appointment to the Small Council made permanent and a betrothal imminent I was hoping to be granted a royal commis-“

“Viserys.” Baelon interrupted swiftly, placing his hands on his son’s shoulders. Viserys immediately froze and glanced up at his father with hopeful eyes. 

“I will bring it up to the king, although I cannot promise the answer is one that will please you.”

Viserys simply smiled brightly. “All I wish is for the request to be made.” 

Baelon nodded in agreement before placing his hands behind his back and turning to face the heath. “I will bring it up to his majesty in time.” 

“Thank you sir.” Viserys bowed at the neck.

A comfortable silence followed as father and son stared into the flames as they flickered and crackled, dancing along the wood logs.

“Fire is such a strange power.” Viserys suddenly said.

Baelon raised an eyebrow and glanced at his eldest. “How so?”

“It’s duality, sir. Without it we would all freeze come winter and yet it could easily consume everything in its path, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.”

Baelon nodded. “Fire is power. It was a lesson I learned as a toddling babe upon my father’s knees.”

“A frightful power indeed.”

Baelon hummed in agreement. “Let me escort you to your chambers, there’s more we should discuss.”

The pair leave Baelon’s study, the door to the room shutting with a snap, the draft causing numerous papers on the desk to flutter. 

Returning to his study a short while later, Baelon noticed the door slightly ajar. I swore I shut that. Baelon entered his study, quickly glancing around the room to check if a servant or maid had come through, only to find nothing out of place. 

He sighs. “I’m becoming as paranoid as my mother.” 

He returned to his desk, reaching for the papers left by his eldest when he paused, noticing a rather crude letter sealed with wax he did not recognize. His head snapped to the corner of his study where one of Meagor’s tunnel entrance resided, again, only to find nothing out of place. 

“What in the Seven Hells,” he muttered to himself as he opened the sealed letter. His eyes immediately grew wide upon recognizing the flowy handwriting and wider still as he continued reading. By the time he reached the end of the letter his fist was clenched at his side. He crumpled the letter in his hands and threw it into the hearth. His eyes were hard as he watched the letter blacken and wither under the intensity of the flames. Once the letter was consumed completely, Baelon ran a hand down his face at the thought of now having to navigate this situation on top of everything else. 

I am cursed with too many siblings. 

Saera was on the way to King’s Landing. 

Chapter Text

Thirteenth Day of the Second Moon 91AC

Beth I

the Royal Sept, the Red Keep

She could not recall how long she had been kneeling before the pale marble altar, quietly beseeching the holy Mother to guide her away from this path, however it was long enough for the midday crowd in the royal sept to dissipate somewhat. She didn’t mind though. She preferred to pray in solitude, she always had. So she remained where she was, kneeling before the first worshipper’s bench, her copy of the Maiden’s Book lay open beside her. Beth kept her head bowed in obedient deference, dutifully ignoring the pain in her knees and the chill in the marble sept. 

Her father had been overjoyed when the queen’s request for her to be a lady-in-waiting was received, having swept up his daughter in a tight hug.

“My girl! You have the chance to wed a prince! Isn’t that grand?”

Meanwhile, she had nearly vomited, a tiny voice in her head whispering “no” over and over again. She did not want to get married, much less marry into such a queer family; the princes in question were the product of two generations of sibling marriages. 

The Seven preach against incest, she thought, yet how am I to accept that…that breach of nature as my lord and husband?!

Beth carefully lit another large candle upon the Mother’s altar, muttering under her breath, “Mother Above, please do not forsake me.”  

Adjusting to court life had been difficult for her and she longed for her quiet, peaceful days in Stokeworth. There was too much noise, too much gossip, too many rules in the capitol and she’d grown even further disenchanted of the prospect of becoming a royal bride as her time in King’s Landing continued. Beth sighed. 

I best get back to her majesty with her meal, I have been gone longer than expected. And she’s been in a mood ever since her grandson never showed up for yesterday’s afternoon tea. 

Although far from the queen’s dōna riñnykeā, her majesty still expected the ladies who attended her to have a certain decorum and being continually late was not among the virtues she held in high esteem. Her majesty was even less inclined to forgive a lapse of courteous manners now that their formal presentation is a day away. She rose from her kneeling position, her knees nearly buckling from the sudden extension, causing her to almost lose her balance. 

“Oh!” Beth exclaimed as she hurriedly regained her balance before she tumbled onto the stone floor. “That would’ve been dreadfully embarrassing,” she mumbled to herself and thanking the Seven none of her fellow ladies witnessed her gracelessness. Megga and Elinor especially. The last thing Beth wanted was for them to treat her like Aemma Arryn, remembering how the two poked fun at the poor girl for losing her footing after last week’s rehearsal.

The ladies from the Reach were her least favorite amongst her companions. They were gossipy, vain, and dubious; traits the Seven preached against having, especially for a young lady. Thank the Seven I don’t share an apartment with them. The pair had become more unbearable the closer their formal presentation came, confident they had the queen’s favor to make a grand match at least, if neither could secure a royal one. She often seen them arm and arm about the Red Keep, flirting with the castle guards. 

Thankfully, she shared an apartment with Lucinda Crakehall and Joanna Swann, although she kept her distance from the unusual lady from the Dornish Marshes. She avoided Alys Mooton and Genna Serret as well, lest their bad reception with the queen run off onto her. While she did not want to marry into the royal family, she knew better than to intentionally spurn the queen by befriending ladies she clearly disfavored. 

Thankfully I am neither favored or disfavored, thought Beth as she turned away from the Mother’s altar, tucking the Maiden’s Book into her gown pocket. 

As a nonfavored lady, Beth’s tasks did not include hairdressing, makeup and dressing, nor entertaining as she was unable to sing well or play an instrument and as the least educated of the ladies nor was she chosen for secretarial duties.  Granted, she should be grateful she wasn’t given those menial and tedious tasks Genna and sometimes Alys were subjected too, like cleaning the privy pot, the linens or polishing the royal jewels. Instead she had been placed in charge of the queen’s meals, a rather dull task but one that allowed her more free time than the other ladies. Tis a blessing truly. She adjusted her hood, ensuring none of her unkempt red hair had come loose before she continued down the marble hall towards the center of the royal sept. The great crystal chandelier hung from the center, catching the sunlight and casting iridescent rainbows upon the pale marble. But the closer she got the stronger the scent of incense became, making her nose twitch. She quickly fumbled for her lace handkerchief to cover her nose and mouth. They use too much incense here.  Beth exited the royal sept and stepped into the chaotic middle bailey, cautiously making her way towards the open portcullis into the outer yard. She scurried across the yard - a chaos of mud, horseflesh and shouting men - and down some stairs, past the granary and finally into the kitchens. 

“It’s about time you lumbered in here, we’ve been waiting for you Miss.” said the head kitchen wench with a disgruntled expression on her face. 

Beth mumbled a half hearted apology and kept her eyes down. The woman just snorted in response and returned to prepping vegetables for some dish. “My girls will follow you up to the queen’s solar.” 

Beth nodded yet remained where she stood. The kitchen woman stopped cutting the onions in exasperation and placed her hand on her hip. “Don’t dawdle! We don’t have all day! Her majesty’s food shall grow cold!” snapped the older woman. 

Beth flushed. “Sorry. This way please,” she muttered to the several kitchen servants standing about holding in their hands what could only be the queen’s afternoon meal. She exited the kitchen with the kitchen maids dutifully following and navigated back through the Red Keep to the queen’s private solar.  The castle guard nodded at the neck as he saw them approach and opened the large oak and bronze door for Beth and the retinue behind her. She could already make out Elinor’s voice singing prettily. 

“Oh, I’m a maid, and I’m pure and fair!

I’ll never dance with a hairy bear.

I called a knight, but you’re a bear

All black and brown and covered in hair.”

Upon crossing the threshold, Beth awkwardly gestured towards the trestle table yet the kitchen staff had already moved forward, setting down the array of dishes so she hurriedly got out of their way. She glanced around the queen’s solar to find her majesty still gracefully lounging upon a chaise. Those hideous Valyrian tapestries hanging behind her upon the eastern wall.

“He lifted her high in the air.

He sniffed and roared and smelled her there!

She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair

When he licked the honey from her hair.”

Beth blushed and quickly averted her daze, glancing anywhere else around the room. Jonquil Drake and Joanna Swann stood by the hearth on the queen’s right discussing Seven knows what. Alarra Stark and Lucinda Crakehall were playing the harpsichord and lute respectively while Elinor Merryweather sang off to the pair’s side.

“From there to here. From here. To there.

All black and brown and covered with hair. 

He smelled that girl on the summer air!

The bear! The bear!

The maiden fair!”

Ella Broome was seated by a wood desk going over her majesty’s secretarial duties. What those were, no one bothered to explain to her. The remaining ladies were busy with the various embroidery projects the queen declared they begin as “alms for our poor” which made little sense to Beth. The people of the city needed bread, not embroidered cloth handkerchiefs. 

“She sighed and she squealed and she kicked the air.

Then she sang: My bear! My bear so fair!

And off they went into the summer air.

The bear! The bear! 

The maiden fair!

Elinor finished the song to the enthusiastic clapping of her majesty. “Bravo little one,” the queen raved with a small smile. Elinor beamed at the praise, curtsying in a dramatic flourish. “Thank you ma’am.” 

At the queen’s subtle nod, Elinor returned to her tabouret between Genna Serret and Alys Mooton. For whatever reason Elinor seemed to take pity on the two other ladies - though Beth had a suspicion it was for self serving purposes - and had taken to assisting the pair to improve their standing with the queen. It seemed to be working for Lady Alys, whose new duties include hairdressing now that the queen discovered the witty personality hidden beneath the aloof facade. Lady Genna, however, could do little to win the queen’s favor; her outburst during the ladies first introduction to her majesty doomed her to failure before she was even settled into her apartment. Beth often wondered why the queen had not dismissed the lady. 

Beth clumsily curtsied to the queen, “Your Majesty, your afternoon meal has arrived.” 

The queen smiled in thanks, but Beth can see the disappointment in the queen’s blue eyes. She averted her gaze before making her way towards the tabouret closest to the bay window, so she can admire the view overlooking the bay rather than those revolting tapestries the queen favored, depicting odious scenes no true follower of the Faith should own. Beth reached for her unfinished embroidery project. Her fingers brush across the crooked stitches that made up what should’ve been a lamb, and sighed quietly. The queen will not accept this. Beth scrunched her nose, grabbed a pair of sewing scissors and began cutting the poorly done stitches. She was halfway done when the bronze and oak door opened revealing a page boy who presented a piece of parchment to the lady closest to him. Megga Fossoway quietly thanked the young boy who simply bowed and left.

“Your Majesty, a missive from the king has arrived.”

Megga Fossoway curtsied in a flourish and presented the letter to her majesty on an ostentatious gold tray.  The queen’s eyes lit up and she gave Megga a shaky smile as she reached for the message. Gracefully she cut underneath the dark blue wax of the king’s seal and opened the parchment. Beth saw the queen’s eye twitch and her nostrils flare as she read the message from her husband. 

Brother. 

Abomination.

Beth began wringing her hands together as if the queen could somehow read her thoughts. Trying to quell her racing thoughts Beth reached for the Seven Point Star charm on her necklace holding it close to her chest. May the Seven protect me, she thought, keeping her head low yet her gaze kept darting towards the queen. By the time the queen finished reading the missive, she was flushed an unbecoming shade of red and her downturned expression only heightened the frown lines upon her majesty’s face. Beth watched the queen reach up to fiddle with the diamond and pearl amulet adoring her neck, the rings on her slim fingers glinting in the sunlight. 

The city is on the brink of starving and its queen wears precious gems while her ladies simply embroider and sing around her.

“Lady Broome,” said Alysanne curtly, “go and fetch the Princess Viserra. It seems I have dallied much too long in requesting her to attend me.”

Ella Broome’s eyebrows shot up but she rose and curtsied before leaving the solar to fetch the princess. Meanwhile the remaining ladies continue their duties and chat amongst themselves. Beth remained silent, sitting by the bay window, picking apart her embroidery.  She was setting down the pair of stitching scissors having finally finished removing her poorly done attempts when the queen’s solar bronze and oak door opened again and Ella Broome announced in a clear voice.

“Your majesty, her royal highness Princess Viserra.”

All eyes turned towards the announced newcomer. The princess wore a high neck black damask gown and little jewelry as was customary for a widow in mourning, her silver-gold hair pulled back in an intricate plaited braid. 

Woven with flowers? Beth tilted her head at the sight. Doesn’t the queen’s granddaughter also wear flowers in her hair?

While it was well known that the Taragreyn royal family possessed an otherworldly beauty as the last descendants of Old Valyria, the king and queen’s tenth born had a special beauty in a league all of her own and the princess inherent grace that set her further apart. Beth watched as the princess gracefully swept into a deep curtsy, though she kept her head held high, her gaze fixated upon the queen. Beth felt an uncomfortable feeling settle in the pit of her stomach as she threaded a green thread through her sewing needle. 

“Your Majesty, it is such an honor to finally be called to serve you,” the princess purred, her voice like honey, the corner of her lips threatening to curl upwards just so. 

“Hmm. Is it?” Alysanne replied coolly, eyeing her daughter up and down before raising her slim hand for her daughter to kiss. Beth watched the princess as her smile faded and she pressed her lips together in a thin line. The princess and the queen stared at each other for a few moments and as the silence stretched so did the tension in the room. Finally, the princess placed a quick kiss upon her mother’s hand and rose to her full height. 

“Of course, Mother,” quipped Viserra. The princess clasped her hands behind her back. “I returned home so long ago, I thought you had forgotten all about me.” The princess tilted her head to the side, cooing innocently. 

“One cannot forget you darling, your father would never allow it”, Alysanne chuckled, giving her daughter a tight lipped smile,“I have been told,” she continued in a dry tone, gazing about the room, Beth ducked her head down to avoid any direct eye contact. “You have new ladies as well?” 

Viserra nodded in confirmation. “Yes, his majesty is most generous in allowing me to invite my dear friends to the capitol as my ladies. I was most distraught at the thought of never seeing them again.”

Alysanne hummed.  Viserra’s eyes went wide and she delicately covered her mouth, a pink flush forming across her cheeks. “Oh mother! I hope you take no offense to the dismissal of the ladies you chose, I know how much care and effort went into each choice. You mustn’t be wroth with me. I had no idea Kepa would dismiss the ladies you chose in favor of my friends.”

Alysanne tilted her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. She studied her daughter for a moment before responding with a disinterested wave of her fingers. 

“The king is the king. It matters very little to me who attends to you my darling.” The queen lazily gestured to one of the free tabourets about the solar. “Please sit with us. Regale us with stories from your time in the North.”

But the princess did not sit, instead she took a turn about the solar, gracefully pacing towards the bay window where Beth sat. Beth began chewing on her bottom lip as the princess delicately traced the stone ledge of the bay window, staring out over the Blackwater Bay for a moment. Viserra’s voice was light as she gazed out the bay window.

 “The North is a dreary place mother, full of grumpkins and snarks and things that come in the night, I doubt my stories would interest you.” 

“I didn’t invite you here to scare my ladies with peasant ghost stories,” warned Alysanne.

“You didn’t invite me at all, mother.” The princess' tone was curt and her expression unfriendly and Beth softly inhaled but just as quickly the expression was gone, replaced with bright eyes and a pleasant smile as the princess turned to face her mother and her ladies again, her damask gown twirling around her.

“But no hard feelings, I understand your majesty has many important duties to attend to, plus you’ve been so preoccupied with your new gaggle of ladies and dear Aemma’s debut you simply forgot your courtesies.”  

The queen scowled slightly before giving her daughter another tight lipped smile.

“As gracious as ever I see.” 

“As you raised me to be.”

The two royal women smiled at each other and Beth wondered if any of the other ladies could see through the false niceties to the warped mother-daughter relationship that lay beneath the veneer. She glanced around the queen’s solar and caught Joanna’s gaze, who gave her a wide eyed look. Beth just bit her bottom lip and shook her head before fixing her gaze back on the embroidery in her hands. She stabbed the needle through the linen fabric and pricked her finger. 

Lady Alarra cleared her throat. “I’m not surprised you would consider the North a dreary place, princess. The North possesses such harsh astute beauty many southerners find it so,” the senior lady chided.

Viserra tightly smiled but before she could respond, the queen did.

“Indeed. Though one well traveled would hardly label White Harbour as dreary.” Alysanne chuckled, “Darling you resided within the richest city of the North, during a three year summer, you must have had some interesting stories to share.”

Viserra smiled and finally took a seat upon the tabouret along the bay window, closest to Beth, who froze when she noticed the princess beside her and the queen’s gaze upon her. Why must she sit besides me? Beth continued to lament silently as Viserra began telling stories of her time at New Castle and within the Merman’s Court.

She poked her embroidery needle through the fabric with little care, uncomfortable to be sitting so close to…to that abomination regardless how beautiful she was. Beth focused on the task in her hands, tuning out the drool conversation happening around her. However, it was not long before the conversation shifted.

 “Are any of you ladies from the North?” speculated Viserra, glancing around the room.

“No, your highness, I hail from the Dornish Marshes, about as far south one can get.”

Beth’s head snapped up when she heard Joanna’s brasque reply. Viserra gazed at Joanna, her brow furrowed slightly. She raised an eyebrow in response. “And you are…?”

Joanna flushed red and mumbled out a half-hearted introduction. Viserra hummed in response.

“Please forgive my friend’s rudeness, princess,” chimed Lucinda quickly, “She means well.”

Viserra’s eyes dart from Lucinda to Joanna and Beth swore she heard the princess snicker as Lucinda continued.

“I reside in the westerlands, princess. I am Lucinda Crakehall.”

“Oh yes, I have heard about you.” Viserra's voice is light yet she glanced Lucinda up and down. “You’ve already made quite the impression. I must thank you for the most gracious compliment you gave my sweet Aemma.”

Lucinda blushed. “I meant it most sincerely. She shall be a great lady.”

Beth saw Elinor and Megga give each other a quick glance, slight smirks upon their faces. A look that did not go unnoticed by the queen who snapped,  “Of course she will be. She has been dutifully practicing for tomorrow’s presentation for weeks now.”

Viserra inquired, “Where is dear Aemma?”

“She is with Gael and Valerion I believe, something about researching Valyrian glyphs in the library.” replied Alysanne flippantly before she rapidly introduced the remaining ladies.

“Tell me ladies, have they met my dear nephews yet?” Viserra glanced around the solar, making eye contact with each lady, her expression one of genuine curiosity. 

“We have not had the pleasure to make their acquaintances yet, your royal highness,” said Elinor. “Although we have occasionally seen the young princes’ about the Red Keep.” 

 “We were to have tea with his highness Prince Viserys the other day however…” Megga trailed off, does not want to speak ill of a prince, she eyed the queen timidly.

“The boy did not show up.” Alysanne said through gritted teeth.

Viserra gasped. “When was this?”

“Just the other day,” the queen elaborated curtly.

Viserra flushed and shifted uncomfortably in her seat before she cleared her throat, “Oh.”

Beth saw the queen’s gaze narrow suspiciously at the princess who quickly recovered with a pleasant smile and tilt of her head.

“What a shame, I hope that you ladies aren't made to wait until the wedding day. Makes for a terribly awkward time.” Viserra teased with a cheeky grin. A few of the other ladies giggled. 

“Viserra.” warned the queen, her voice low and guttural. 

Viserra let out a bell-like laugh, “Mother, you cannot expect them to remain strangers until their wedding day.”

Alysanne glared at her daughter, why Beth could not understand. 

Why would such a comment anger the queen? 

“I expect them to know and do their duty to the crown and the realm. Just as you will once your mourning period is over.” 

Beth saw the color drain from the princess’s face, her eyes widening and lips parting slightly at her mother’s comment. Alysanne lips twitched upwards in a smug expression. 

“Mother, you cannot be serious.” The princess’s voice was low, almost pleading. 

The queen scoffed. “You are a royal princess, your duty is to marry whomever is chosen for you.”

“I am not a broodmare.” croaked Viserra in a low tone, through gritted teeth.

“You are my daughter. I am your queen. If I say you are to marry again you shall. Now, the reason I have called you here is to attend to me, not chit chat about diplomatic affairs. Lady Serrett, please show the princess to the jewelry closet, I need them polished before the formal presentation tomorrow.” 

Genna Serret slowly rose from her tabouret, her eyes darting back and forth between the princess and the queen. There was no denying it; the two loathed each other. Why Beth could not even begin to contemplate, when the two resembled each other so closely. Both women were charming, graceful and petite, they spoke and held themselves in an identical manner, from their posture and stance to even the tilt of their head. 

I’d rather serve the Seven than navigate this family. Beth thought begrudgingly, threading her needle though the fabric as she watched Genna escort the princess away then she froze, and she sat up a little straighter. 

That’s my answer. 

She reached up and grabbed hold of the Seven Pointed Star pendant around her neck. 

I will join the Faith. 

Chapter Text

Sixteenth Day of the Second Moon 91AC

Viserra III

the Queen's private solar, Maegor's Holdfast

She had waited nearly six moons to be called on by her mother and spent those moons completely dumbfounded, agonizing over what she did wrong since her return to the capitol to earn her mother’s ire. Not entirely true. She fought back a laugh. I did interrupt precious Rhaenys’ big moment.  Her mother had a known soft stop for her eldest grandchild just as large as Kepa had a known soft spot for herself.

Regardless she found many ways to pass the time while waiting for her mother’s summons - walks in the godswoods, riding, time spent with Kepa, gifting alms to the downtrodden, music and etiquette lessons with sweet Aemma, and of course acquainting herself with various players. She observed very quickly that Reachmen were far too numerous among the servants of the Lord Hand. Barth must hail from the Reach. Viserra snorted. So much for leaving past loyalties behind. But it was that younger Hightower boy specifically who Viserra found the most grating. The Reachman was far too high in his instep, mostly due to how friendly Viserys was with him. Too common really, and nodding along to the older boy’s every word. Reachmen also made up a bulk of the courtiers amongst the master of the coin’s household while mostly crownlands and stormlands nobles served under the master of law. 

Following the Tiger’s coup in Volantis, Baelon was given control of the City Watch due to Aemon’s absence and he did not waste time appointing new captains. Again from the Reach. But the Lord Commander of the City Watch Baelon installed had not lasted two moons, being swiftly replaced by Aemon once he returned to the capitol. A short while later, Baelon sacked Lord Massey and recalled Lord Lyman Beesbury from Honeyholt to replace the man as the King’s Counter. Another Reachman. Viserra furrowed her brow. Why is Baelon so entangled with that region? It was odd and something she still pondered on. 

Yet even with all that distraction, she longed for her mother’s acknowledgement. A childish want - need - that never completely vanished following her mother's abrupt rejection when she was a young teen. 

But now, three days of cleaning her mother’s jewelry has left her soft hands, red and raw and her mood black. She longed for the days prior, when all she was faced with was her mother’s stony silence. Viserra glanced at her surroundings. The princess sat upon a Myrish carpet within her mother’s closet, legs tucked underneath her, her black damask gown flared around her doing menial labor like a common scullery maid. The only illumination in the dark closet came from the dozens of flickering candles on the room’s chandeliers causing the decorative panelling grain of the woodwork to shimmer. All around her were royal jewelry caskets, which held hundreds of pendants, bracelets, earrings, necklaces, tiaras made of precious metals and gemstones from around the known world. And she had been charged with polishing them all. She sighed quietly, tilting her head back and closing her eyes.

Kepa should’ve just left it alone.

Since the disastrous first encounter with her mother, everyday has been the same, she received a summons to attend the queen in her solar and then she spent her days shut up in the closet cleaning the wretched woman’s jewelry. She had even missed sweet Aemma’s presentation! It was quite irritating. And purposefully isolating. She sighed, her shoulders slumping somewhat, she opened her eyes and gazed upon the ceiling. Staring down upon her were the likenesses of siblings long dead depicted as gods and goddesses upon a picturesque landscape. Viserra restrained from sucking her teeth and looked away quickly, returning her attention to the open casket of jewels before her. She rummaged through the drawer and withdrew a palm sized brooch. Viserra stared down at the sapphire and diamond cluster brooch in her left hand. This one looked more familiar than the other dozens she had polished prior. A memory came rushing forward. 

“This one muña, this one!”

She was young, possibly not even six namedays, sitting upon her mother’s lap as the pair excitedly discussed which jewels her mother should wear for some court affair. 

Alysanne chuckled softly, hugging her daughter around the middle and kissing the top of her head, “are you sure, my precious jewel?”

Viserra nodded vigorously. “Yes. The blue stones match your eyes.” 

Viserra’s grip on the item tightened and her vision began to blur. She inhaled sharply before glancing upwards, blinking rapidly to stop the tears from flowing. The princess gently dabbed her finger under her eyes before she started to angrily scrub the pendant with a rag. I am a royal princess, For mother to humiliate me like this. She shook her head and sighed. She must know I was with Viserys. But how? The question was a silly one to ask; a queen can buy as many eyes as she pleased. Viserra muttered a curse under her breath. There goes my peaceful solitude in the godswoods.  In truth, any concept of peace had fled her mind the moment her mother revealed the intention to marry her off as soon as proper etiquette allowed. I don’t have much time. She always could go to her father but she instinctively shook her head. No. I must solve this on my own. I must. Suddenly her nephew’s earnest indigo eyes came to the forefront of her mind . She looked down at the glinting gemstone in her hand. I will. Impulsively she pocketed the pendant, quickly tucking the jewelry into the pocket of her damask gown.

“Your highness?”

Shit. 

Viserra stiffened at the sound of Genna Serrett’s voice. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip as she felt the heat grow on her cheeks. Blessed Flames do not let her have seen that. The last thing she needed was a sniveling lady snitching to her mother in an attempt to gain favor. Viserra turned her head to the right slightly, the lady in question standing just outside her peripheral vision. 

“Yes?” 

Viserra heard the soft sound of the lady’s footsteps stopping just beside her. The lady knelt down, sitting down next to the princess before silently holding out a white silk handkerchief. Viserra stared at the offering momentarily before shakily accepting, bringing the handkerchief to her face to dry her tears. 

“I’ve had a few cries in this closet myself.” Genna said kindly, her tone light and nonchalant. Viserra let out a gasping chuckle of relief before she could censure herself. Shock at her lack of decorum she delicately placed her hand over her lips. She tilted her head and looked at the young lady from the westernlands. The young teen had dark blonde hair - nearly the same shade her elder sister Alyssa had  - that was held back off her face with a pearl hairnet. The lady’s large light brown eyes shone with an earnest expression. Viserra was struck with the sudden realization that Lady Genna may be the only lady who could possibly understand how she feels; the lady having been scorned the moment she was introduced to the queen.

Should be easy to earn her loyalty. To gain my own pair of eyes. 

“Thank you.” she said demurely. “You are very kind.”

Genna bowed her head in deference. “Of course, my princess.” 

Viserra handed back the silk handkerchief before tilting her head to the side. She studied the young lady before her. Genna was quite attractive despite her unfortunate hooked nose and the court seemed to agree. Having made their formal presentation a few days ago and now officially out in society, the queen’s new ladies had become the newest obsession of the court with gentlemen visiting the queen’s solar every mid-morning.

“Have you had many callers since your presentation?”

Genna blushed. Her voice was low and a small smile graced her features.  “A fair few.” 

Viserra smiled slyly before leaning in closer to the other girl. “Make them work for it.” she whispered devilishly. 

Genna’s mouth dropped open in shock at the princess candor, her eyes wide for a moment before the corners of her lips twitch upward and she returned the princess’s devilish grin. 

“As you command, your highness.” 

Viserra nodded. “Good, no need to throw your virtue to the first gentleman to call.”

“Like Joanna Swann.” Genna said with a laugh. Viserra chuckled slightly. ‘Twas true the lady from the Dornish Marshes was the first to be betrothed; a shocking twist to those attending the queen. Fools. Clearly Kepa wanted her gone. The only thing shocking about Lady Joanna Swann was that she even made it to the formal presentation. In a non shocking turn of events, that mousey girl from the crownlands rejected worldly ambitions and decided to become a septa. ‘Twas surprising she even lasted to the formal presentation. Meanwhile her mother continued to deny courtiers that call on Lucinda, making tongues wag that these she would likely be chosen as a royal bride. 

“Lady Joanna will certainly be much happier as Lady Dondarrion than had she been married to either of my nephews.”

Genna hummed in response. The pair fall into a comfortable silence soon after, dutifully polishing the array of rubies, diamonds, and emeralds pieces. 

“The queen says we’re to have tea with the princes this afternoon. Lady Aemma is supposed to join us as well.”

Viserra’s eyebrows shot upward in surprise and she could not hold back the slightest smile at the news. She had not seen her nephews and niece for over a fortnight.

“I am glad to hear that. I was most distraught when I missed dear Aemma’s debut. It will be good to spend time with her again.” 

And I can get close to Viserys.  

“You are dismissed.” 

The tone was final. Viserra felt heat on her cheeks at her mother’s curt dismissal and clenched her jaw before schooling her expression, smiling brightly and curtseying deeply. She left her mother’s solar with her head held high. She strode through the corridors of the Red Keep, a pleasant smile plastered on her face, as she nodded in greeting to those courtiers who cross her path. She wandered through Meagor’s Holdfast listlessly, aimlessly, her mind and heart racing.

Why? Why does mother resent me so? I did everything right yet I am scorned for it. Viserra felt her nostrils flare. I’m barely widowed and she plans to sell me off again. Viserra gracefully turned to descend down the marble staircase, her black damask gown swooshing around her.

I can’t be forced to leave again, I cannot bear it. I belong in the castle my ancestors built! It is my birthright. I am the blood of the dragon, not a broodmare. And for mother to wish to pollute our Valyrian bloodline. Viserra scoffed under her breath. We were to wed our brothers, to keep the bloodline pure, Aemon himself told me so after Alyssa died. And yet mother wants to wed my poor nephews to…impure Andals.

Viserra continued to wander through Meagor’s Holdfast, her thoughts her only company. And horrid company they were. Her return should’ve been met with rejoicing, the voices in her head whispered to her. Now there is an eligible Valyrian bride residing in the Red Keep; one who is of age to marry, not some silly half Andal child! Yet it was little Aemma being paraded about the court as the eligible royal while she stayed sequestered within the queen’s apartment cleaning her jewels.

Viserra’s breathing sped up, her corset pushing against her ribs painfully with each breath. I do not deserve this injustice. She clenched her hands together bracing them on her beaded stomacher as she walked. I am the best of their daughters. The perfect princess. Am I to be tossed aside? To be relegated to the footnotes of history?  Viserra’s eyes narrowed. No. Yet it seemed her mother had already decided her fate for her. I must get the upper hand. I cannot go to Kepa, if the queen is already looking for a new husband for me that could only mean Kepa has granted his approval. She sighed then bit her bottom lip. Should I appeal to Aemon? Beseech him to listen to his sister’s concerns?  Viserra shook her head, No, the last time I went to a brother my marriage was set in stone. Viserra paused mid step. Baelon. Baelon did this. Baelon is the cause of her current predicament. And he will be my solution. She gathered up her skirts and twirled around, determined to locate her elder brother. 

Viserra closed the heavy bronze and oak door with a snap before leaning against the frame. It had taken the better part of two hours to finally locate him and her patience had worn down considerably. He will be my salvation so help him. She stared hard at elder her brother, whose head remained glued to the parchments littering his ash wood desk. 

“Yes, what is it?” asked Baelon in a disinterested tone, his eyes not leaving the various papers scattered around him. 

Viserra does not respond, she gritted her teeth and breathed sharply out her nose. He won’t even look up. Her chest rose and fell rapidly while she clenched her fists into the folds of her gown, her nails cutting into her palms painfully. 

Her lack of response seemed to annoy him and she heard him groan before snapping. “Whatever it is, I do not have the tim– Viserra!”

She smirked as he jumped out of his chair in surprise having finally looked to see who had entered his private study. “Wha-what are you doing here?” His eyes darted down to the documents on his desk in a panic before meeting hers again.

Viserra’s eyes narrowed but she said nothing. She tilted her head to the right and continued to glare at her elder brother. The silence stretched between them and Baelon began to fidget, clearly uncomfortable under her glare. 

“Wha– why? What are you doing in my private study?”

Did he really think he could avoid me forever?  Viserra glanced her elder brother up and down, her nostrils flared. She unclenched her hands then flexed her fingers before pacing forward, towards his desk. Baelon’s gaze dart back down to the papers on his desk, clearly nervous about her approach, covering them with his hands and shuffling them around.

Viserra would laughed aloud at her brother’s transparency if she hadn’t been so wroth. What does he not want me to see?  She made a point to glance at his desk, her gaze lingering on the various letters and parchments littered about the desk before she met his eye again. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. 

 “Why?” She growled out the question, her voice gruff.

 “Wha-what?!” 

“Why did you lie to Mother?”

Baelon stared at her dumbfounded, blinking rapidly. Viserra crossed her arms.  

“l am not accustomed to having to repeat myself, brother.” 

Baelon clenched his teeth before he hastily grabbed a handful of loose missives, tucking them underneath the others. Her eyes narrow further at his suspicions behavior yet reminded silent. Baelon strode around the desk to face her, towering over his younger sister. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Viserra scoffed, not intimidated by her elder brother. Instead she leaned forward and continued glaring, her voice is hard unlike her normal cadence.  “You lied to Mother when you said I attempted to seduce you.” 

Baelon’s mouth dropped open as he stared at Viserra in complete shock, his indigo eyes growing wide before he ran his hand through his short silver hair and growled out through clenched teeth. 

“That’s what this is about? What you are acousting me for? Some bullshit when I found you drunk and half naked in my apartments three years ago?!” 

“I was drunk because I had resigned myself to marrying a man old enough to be my grandsire! I was fifteen wallowing in self pity, drunk on Arbor Gold when I went to your apartment in the hopes you would save me! But you condemned me instead!”

Baelon’s eyes soften, and his sneer disappeared as he processed Viserra’s statement. She continued. 

“I needed you Baelon, not as my husband but as my big brother. I needed your protection and you threw me to the wolves instead!” 

Tears prick Viserra’s eyes and she tried to blink them away furiously. I will not cry. I swore to myself I would not. She quickly turned her back to her brother. I will not allow him to see me cry. She dabbed underneath her eyes to prevent tears from falling. 

“I didn’t know.” Baelon said ruefully.

“You didn’t want to know!” Viserra snapped, her head whipping around to glare at her elder brother again. Angry unshed tears welled in her eyes as her brother began to retort.

”Do not deny it!” she growled. 

Baelon’s mouth snapped closed. He sighed. “Fine. I didn’t want to know. But Seven Hells Viserra what the fuck was I supposed to think when I found you?”

Viserra would've laughed at her brother's statement if the situation wasn't so serious.

“Not that I came to seduce you! You’re old enough to be my sire. Not to mention I was covered in my own sickness!" 

Bealon sighed in defeat before walking over to the hearth, turning his back to her. He placed his hands behind his back, “I’m sorry for acting rashly, truly I am. But there’s nothing I can do about this now -" 

Baelon continued to drawl on but Viserra was not listening. Making sure her brother’s back was completely turned, she quietly began snooping through the paperwork on her brother’s desk, looking for whatever he had tucked away earlier. What are you hiding dear brother?  She shuffled through the loose papers. There must be more here than just expense reports and invoices!  She moved her attention to another stack of parchments, flipping through quickly. She nearly gasped aloud when she discovered a scroll with very familiar loopy handwriting. It cannot be. Her eyes were wide as she skimmed the content of the missive and a feral smile stretched across her face. She folded her finding in her hands before turning to face her clueless brother. He was still drawling on, back to her. The fool. 

" -our husband is dead. You are home."

Viserra snorted at her elder brother naivety. “And yet Mother has already made it clear I am to adorn white as soon as I discard my mourning clothes.” 

She heard Baelon sigh deeply, and she watched as his shoulders and head slumped downwards, his gaze still on the roaring fire in the hearth. “I truly am sorry Vis.”

Vis. She hadn’t been called that in a long time. She stared at her brother’s back.

“Then help me Baelon.” Viserra pleaded. 

Baelon turned around to stare at Viserra in confusion, his brow furrowed with the unspoken question. How?

“Betroth me to Viserys.” she whispered.

Baelon balked and his mouth dropped open in shock. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am. I will not leave my home again and marrying back into the family is my only play. Please Baelon.”

Baelon scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why should I do that? To have Mother’s ire directed at me ? What is stopping me from telling Mother about this very conversation?”

Viserra grinned wickedly. “Because if you do tell Mother, I will tell Kepa you're communicating with Saera.”

Baelon paled, his lips parted and his eyes widen. “Ho–how do you know?”

Viserra smile only widened. "You just confirmed it."

Baelon glared at his younger sister while Viserra pocketed the scroll from their sibling before he could even register what she was holding.

“I’ll be keeping this, for insurance purposes of course. Now you keep my secret and I’ll keep yours, agreed?” 

Her brother was silent for a moment, his face turning an unbecoming shade of red, his jaw clenched. Viserra simply lifted an eyebrow expectedly. 

“Agreed.”

Chapter Text

Twenty First Day of the Second Moon 91AC

Rhaenys II

aboard the Sea Snake  

Six moons. She had been absent from King’s Landing for half a year, the longest she had ever been gone from her home, and that time away from the capitol had clarified many things for the young Targaryen princess. Mostly how much she’s been kept from the duties of governing. Due to her elevation to the Lady of Driftmark following the passing of her grandfather by law Daemon Velaryon, she now exercised more authority than she ever had as her father’s heir. For the past several weeks she spent her time assisting her lord husband in the bureaucracy of ruling Driftmark, occasionally even sitting upon the Driftwood throne herself.  And now that she’s set to return she’s determined to take a more active role within the Small Council. 

Since both her father and lord husband sat upon the Small Council as Master of Law and Master of Ships respectively, Rhaenys was gleeful, confident she’ll be able to leverage enough support to request - demand - duties as befitted her place in the royal succession. Not to mention if her grandmother is in attendance, she’ll have another vocal advocate.

“You are heiress to the Iron Throne, my love, and should be treated as such.” 

Her lord husband was correct of course; she deserved to learn how to rule at her grandfather’s and father’s side and was ready for the responsibility. She was six and ten, a woman grown, married to the most powerful of her grandfather’s vassals. Yet the urge to prove herself to her grandfather was palpable, teeming just underneath her skin. I will finally win his approval. While she knew her grandmother adored her, viewing the young princess as ‘queen in waiting’, the king never publicly upheld Rhaenys’ claim. 

I must prove myself. I will prove myself. 

Lady Rhaenys Velaryon stood upon the bow of the ship, eagerly waiting for the familiar seven drum towers and the massive curtain wall of the Red Keep to come into view. The voyage had been a pleasant one and the double masted galley made the trip from Driftmark to the capitol in good time. Her lord husband had briefly been concerned with the threat of pirates due to the outbreak of war across the Narrow Sea but naturally Rhaenys quipped that Meleys would make certain they would arrive safe and unharmed. 

“What better deterrent than a dragon?” she said with a cheeky grin. Her husband had only smirked in reply.

The princess stood confidently, the gentle sea breeze blowing through her loose dark hair. The ocean stretched out before her, a seemingly internal expanse of azure blue that merged with the sky on the distant horizon. A roar is heard and Rhaenys turned. She smiled as her dark red she-dragon glided overhead, diving through the sky. Meleys is just as excited as I am to be home. She chuckled softly before returning her attention to the calm seas ahead and her smile widened further as the Red Keep finally comes into view along the horizon.  

I am ready to rule. I will show grandfather I swear it. 

She was the blood of the dragon, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms and woe to those who believe differently.

the princess’ apartments, Maegor’s Holdfast

“Get out.”  

The maidservants preparing her apartment froze, sharing a quick glance before eyeing the royal princess curiously. Rhaenys stood by her apartment door, hands clenched at her sides, her breathing rapid and her face an unbecoming shade of red. She pressed her lips together in a thin line when the maidservants hesitated to obey her. My own maidservants now have the gall to disrespect me?! Rhaenys eyes narrowed and her lips curled back into a scowl. 

“Get out! I command you!” 

The maidservants hurriedly curtsy before making their way to the apartment door, closing the oak door behind them with a snap. Once alone, Rhaenys took a deep breath, exhaling out her nose as she began to pace her apartment sitting room. 

Her return to the capitol lacked the pomp and ceremony of their departure six moons ago and the carriage ride back to the Red Keep had not been the welcomed one she envisioned. Only her father met her and her lord husband at the docks, a grim look on his face. For a heart stopping moment Rhaenys feared something had befallen her beloved mother only to be told a different sort of calamitous news. 

It seemed her long absence from the capitol proved to be a grave error indeed as her father informed her that Viserys - goddamn foolish Viserys - was appointed the king’s cupbearer, permitted to partake in politicking of the realm, having already been granted a royal commission - a successful one at that. 

Her and her husband sat side by side in stony silence as the Prince of Dragonstone explained what had occurred during their absence, her mood blackening with every word her father uttered. When her father concluded, Corlys sat back against the upholstered cushion of the carriage with an unbearable expression on his face though Rhaenys could clearly detect the unspoken fury concealed in his steel blue gaze. 

Following their arrival to Meagor’s Holdfast, her father and lord husband had been called to a small council meeting and she was left to navigate to her apartments alone. 

How dare he, she thought angrily, For grandfather to scorn me like this. She unclenched her fits as she continued pacing and begun to twirl her long dark hair about her fingers. She knew her grandfather had tendencies to dismiss or diminish the progress she made in her lessons as a young child but she had foolishly hoped he’d reconcile his displeasure with her education now that she was a married woman, set to bear legitimate heirs of her own blood and body.

Does he still think me a child? A foolish child whose life he can dictate?!

Rhaenys passed by the tall arched windows of her sitting area and paused, eyes narrowing at the gift her grandfather had presented her for her sixteenth nameday. Rage enveloped her and impulsively she grabbed the Myrish spyglass and threw it against the stonewall. She grimaced as it shattered, the glass flying in multiple directions. 

She stared at the broken glass littered about the stone floor unsatisfied. Then, with the blood of the dragon coursing through her veins, Rhaneys let out a frustrated shriek. She turned and ripped down the Myrish lace curtains hanging upon the arched windows before tearing the fabric in two. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she eyed the ruined lace upon her floor, furious that she had been sidelined by her own blood. 

I am the only dragonrider amongst his grandchildren, the eldest, in line to be the queen. 

She spun around and marched across her sitting room, her hands clenching into fists at her sides again, her nails digging into her palms painfully. She kicked over the decorative ash wood table, uncaring it was set with expensive china. Her vision began to blur rapidly as she eyed the broken pieces upon the stone floor. She sucked in a shaky breath and quickly looked away, towards her extensive collection of books. Her lilac eyes narrowed at the sight. 

I studied obsessively. I excelled in every subject a ruler requires. 

Rage enveloping her once again she strutted over to her bookcase. 

And for what purpose? To be sideline in favor of Viserys?! 

Her hand shot forward, aggressively pulling down a leather bound book before throwing it across the room.

Replaced by a dimwitted green boy! 

Others followed until the bookshelves laid empty. Tears prick the corner of her eyes and Rhaenys rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand before letting out a choking sob. 

I did everything right! 

Her heart began to beat faster, blood rushing to her cheeks; she felt as if the world beneath her feet began to sway. She rested her hands against the bookcase in an attempt to stabilize herself. 

I did everything right! 

She closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the cool ash wood and attempted to regain control of her breathing. 

I did everything right!

Except you're a girl. 

Her thoughts speak her worst fear and she lets out a strangled cry. It didn’t matter how much she studied, or how hard she works to learn the ins and outs of ruling. It never mattered. King Jaehaerys never intended for his eldest grandchild to ascend the steps of the Iron Throne the moment her sex was announced. The reality of the situation brings a tightness to her chest she could not shake and Rhaenys crouched down with her head in her hands.  

I'm just a stupid girl. 

As her thoughts begin to spiral, the royal princess wrapped her arms around herself. Tears continued pouring down her cheeks as Rhaenys sat amongst the destruction about her bedchamber and sobbed. 

Chapter Text

Twenty First Day of the Second Moon 91AC

Corlys I

the Small Council Chamber, the Red Keep

Corlys eyed the boy discreetly from across the Small Council chamber. He was tall for his age, having inherited his father’s broad shoulders and yet leaned towards a plumpness that was uncommon among Targaryens. He possessed the fair complexion, silver-gold hair and indigo eyes of Old Valyria yet there was nothing truly remarkable or noteworthy about the young prince. Just a foolish boy with a rounded face.   It was well known that the prince did not possess the extreme intellect his wife had. And while the prince was well liked amongst the courtiers, his personality lacked the necessary ruthlessness for politicking.

His gaze flickered to the boy’s father. Prince Baelon sat rigidly in his chair, his brow furrowed and jaw clenched as his mother went on and on about one of her ladies. Is he making a play?  Corlys was under no illusion that the Spring Prince despised him, barely able to remember his courtesies in the Master of Ship’s presence, especially once his betrothal to the heiress-presumptive was announced. 

But why now? Was it truly just dumb luck that got Viserys appointed over my wife? 

Corlys covered his wine goblet with his hand as the prince walked by with a jug of Dornish red. He needed his mind unclouded if he is going to be successful in turning this disaster into a boon for his family.  He listened intently as the other members of the Small Council discuss the potential brides for the princes. Apparently a lot had occurred during his absence from the capitol as the eligible ladies have dwindled from seven to five - one lady being married off at the earliest opportunity, and the other swearing religious affinity.  However it seems only this Lady Crakhall would secure a royal match given how the queen continued to sing the young lady’s praises. Corlys noticed Baelon clenching his fists as the discussion of his eldest’s son’s upcoming betrothal continued. He nearly raised his eyebrow at that observation. 

Septon Barth cleared his throat. “While the subject of the princes’ marriages is pressing, there are other important matters we need to discuss, your majesty.” 

Alysanne pressed lips together in a thin line, annoyed about being interrupted. She inclined her head just so to signal to the Hand that he may go on speaking. 

Septon Barth continued. “The city is packed with people and more are flooding in everyday, fleeing the war in Essos. And although Viserys assisted in organizing temporary housing, we have run out of room. There are now beggars loitering in the streets and bandits running amuck in the kingswoods.”

Baelon nodded in agreement. “The city was not built to house this many, the best course of action is to navigate the new arrivals to the riverlands, it will relieve some of the tension in the city. Last night we had a drowning, a rape, three stabbing and a tavern riot on the street of silver.” 

Alysanne covered her mouth with a pale hand, her rings glinting in the sunlight shining through the arched windows of the Small Council chamber. “Oh my word.”

Maester Elysar croaked out. “The city watch is responsible for keeping the king’s peace!”

Aemon quipped, “which needs more funding.”

Baleon gaffed in disbelief. “The City Watch gets a stipend of over 2000 gold dragons monthly.” 

Aemon simply shruged. “And yet the West and East Barracks have fallen into disrepair. The men are ill-equipped and have not received any increase in compensation. How are they expected to keep the king’s peace, hmm? Seven Hells, the city watch was unable to ensure the proper flow of Rhaenys’ farewell procession!” 

Jaeharyes sighed tiredly. “Baelon will see it paid for.”

Baelon blinked in surprise, “I will?”

Jaehaerys scoffed in response. “You found the money for the queen’s wardrobe, you will find additional funding for the city watch.”

Alysanne stiffened next to her husband, her shoulders tensing and pressed her lips together in a thin line once again. Corlys watched the interaction carefully, a far cry from the happy united front the royal couple had when he and his bride departed King’s Landing six moons ago. Curious. He wondered what had transpired between the king and queen while he and his wife were away on Driftmark.  Has the return of one princess caused that much strife? Something to ponder on. 

He drummed his fingers against the ash wood table and spoke for the first time since entering the chamber. “And what of funding to protect the shipping lanes?”

All turned to face the Sea Snake. 

Corlys lazily explained himself. “The fighting within the city is occurring due to a lack of resources, so we must protect the shipping lanes, ensure the flow of goods and the tension should relieve itself.” 

His suggestion was met with silence.

 “Are you suggesting the crown pay the Velaryon fleet to protect the trade routes?” Alysanne questioned slowly.

Corlys stroked his chin thoughtfully. “We could conscribe a portion of my houses' navy to protect the shipping lanes, yet it is not my wish to laden the crown with additional debt in such a time. However there is another option to your majesties disposal; one that will not increase the crown's expenses. ” *

Jaehaerys growled. “Out with it then.”

“You have dragons sire.” 

Jaehaerys scowled at the suggestion and waves his hand dismissively. “My sons are needed here, in the capitol.” 

“There are other members of your family that have claimed dragons.” 

His statement was met with stunned silence.  The old king blinked before he narrowed his eyes at the Sea Snake’s meaning.  “You allude to your wife, Lady Velaryon.” 

Corlys said nothing, simply met his majesty’s gaze unflinchingly. 

Aemon spoke up softly, “You want my Rhaenys to fly to war?”

“Westeros is not at war, my prince. Not yet anyway and it’s a wise sailor that prepares for the storm rather than awaiting its coming.”

Jaehaerys gritted his teeth, outraged at the Master of Ship’s daring. “You’d willingly put your young wife in harm’s way?”

At the suggestion of Rhaeny’s being harmed, Alysanne gasped softly. “I agree with my king.  Rhaenys is too young, too inexperienced to fly unaccompanied about the Narrow Sea as an escort. She is Aemon’s only heir. I will not have her put in harm's way.”           

Corlys nearly rolled his eyes at the queen’s words. “Rhaenys is a woman grown. Rider of the swiftest dragon alive. I have confidence in my wife, my queen. Why don’t you?”     

The Council fell silent. Baelon spoke first, slowly and thoughtfully, “The lord’s plan does have some merit. The Volanti pirates will certainly hesitate to attack if Westerosi ships have a dragon escort.”

Corlys hid his surprise when Baelon agreed and smiled widely, repeating his wife’s words from earlier in the day. “Aye. What better deterrent than a dragon?”

One.

Baelon nodded in agreement and tapped his fingers against the ash wood table. “The princess is not the only option, father. Viserys has expressed an interest in claiming a dragon. And since he’s nearing his sixteenth nameday, I thoug-“

Corlys narrowed his eyes. “His majesty already has an available dragonrider. One who already has years of experience fly-.”

Jaehaerys scowled at the statement. “A dragon is not a sword to be welded lightly! Lady Velaryon is young, untested —“

Aemon interrupted, “I can assure you she’s quite capable.”

Two. 

Corlys felt the corner of his lips nearly twitch upwards. With both princes on board, the argument was half-won. Aemon and Jaehaerys glared at each other and a tense silence fell amongst the Small Council members as the king and his heir shared looks of pure venom.

Septon Barth cleared throat, “While the princess may be capable, my prince, we cannot allow your only heir to fly off about the Narrow Sea unattended.”

Aemon's nostrils flared at the Hand’s statement and he pressed his lips together in a thin line. Corlys focused his steel gaze to the aging Hand. 

“Then have the princess patrol the Gullet.”

Septon Barth ran his hand through his beard thoughtfully. “Hmm. Lord Corlys suggestion does have merit. ‘Tis still close enough to the mainland and both Driftmark and Dragonstone are close by.”

Three.

Maester Elysar nodded, “Yes, it’s a most respectable compromise, your majesty.”

Four. 

Corlys nearly smirked as both the Hand and Grand Maester fell in line with his plans.

Aemon spoke up again, his voice hard. “The princess long ought to have been granted a royal commission, it’s past time your majesty grants her one.” 

Jaehaerys' gaze focused on his eldest son, his dark violet eyes narrow, his nostrils flared in anger but Aemon continued. 

“Meleys is the swiftest, most agile of your majesty’s dragons. She and Rhaenys will serve you well.” 

Jaehaerys scowled, leaning back in his chair tracing his forehead with his fingers. He was silent for a moment, his gaze drifting to each member of his Small Council.

Corlys fought back a feral grin as the king realized he was outmaneuvered. 

 “So be it.” 

Chapter Text

Fourteenth Day of the Fourth Moon 91 AC

Viserys II

the prince’s apartments, Meagor’s Holdfast

He stared blankly at the missive in his right hand, resisting the strong urge to tear it in two. Seven Hells.  Over the last couple moons, his grandmother had continuously requested he attend her and her new ladies for afternoon tea. This was the sixth such invitation this year; they had started arriving once the queen’s new ladies had officially settled into court.  While his grandmother never ignored him per se - she had been a frequent visitor to the royal nursery when he was a young boy - she had never formally requested him for afternoon tea either.

Rather he spent his days amongst his tutors, the master-at-arms as well as the minor lords and courtiers like Otto and she with her senior ladies. But now with several new ladies-in-waiting - all within the age of her two unwed grandsons - she rather suddenly began bemoaning of how little she saw of them. Her desire to spend more time with her two grandsons were cited as the reason behind the summons. But the courtiers - and himself - immediately knew it was a lie.  

She is not as subtle as she seems to think she is. Viserys mused as his eyes scan the queen's summons yet again. Especially since she considers herself some kind of matchmaker. 

With good reason he supposed, since over the course of her husband's reign, the queen had happily arranged hundreds of marriages between the numerous courtiers that resided within the Red Keep and beyond. All of them "for the betterment of the realm" she would say. Viserys knew it was only a matter of time before his grandmother would eventually turn her attention to himself but the speed in which she was trying to wed him off made his head spin. I thought I'd be a dragonrider first, or at least a knight!  It was too much, too soon. He hardly knew the ladies that his grandmother was trying to showcase in front of him, constantly singing the praise of whichever girl her dōna riñnykeā was during Small Council sessions whenever she was able.  He didn't care to know these ladies but that was beside the point, with his sixteenth nameday fast approaching he knew it was only a matter of time he would be wed so he had come to terms with it. What he couldn't comprehend was the reason for the queen's urgency to wed his young brother. Seven Hells, Daemon is only three and ten! He's definitely not mature enough for marriage.  Viserys grimaced thinking back on his brother's behavior, his playing pranks and causing a ruckus wherever he goes. It was unseemly, unprincely and the only reason they were dismissed that first afternoon tea. 

When first summoned over two moons ago, the serving girls filled his tub with steaming hot water and scrubbed him head to toe until he glowed pink. His nails were trimmed and his hair brushed until his curls shone like liquid gold. Then he was dressed in one of his finest doublets, one of black velvet and golden scrollwork, a chain of rubies and dragon's head adorning his neck. Once dressed he and his brother were escorted to the queen's private solar and forced to attend the most awkward afternoon tea he ever experienced. Viserys shook his head at the memory. 

"Viserys! Daemon!" Alysanne chirped happily when the princes were announced. She waved them over to where she was seated amongst her ladies, who all wore a blue satin gown with a square neckline and tight sleeves; the typical uniform for the queen's ladies-in-waiting. "Come, come, no reason to be shy, you're just in the presence of your future bride."  The queen chuckled airily at her own joke and her ladies add to her laughter.  Viserys closed his eyes and bit back a groan.

'It going to be a long afternoon.'

But rather than let his annoyance show in his expression - he knew better than to display personal feelings in the presence of commoners - Viserys plastered a smile on his face as his grandmother introduced her new ladies-in-waiting with a flourish, announcing them individually while the lady in question rose from her tabouret and curtsied.  When she finally finished his cheeks ached from the effort to appear congenial, chivalrous, princely.  He bowed in a flourish. 

“Good day, ladies. It is most wonderful to finally be acquainted.” 

The two ladies hailing from the Reach were seated closest to where he was standing and kept shooting him flirty glances, fluttering their eyelashes. They were pretty in that common way with brown hair and brown eyes. And even though he kept his distance from all of the young ladies since their arrival, he had often seen the pair about the halls of the Red Keep, arm in arm often flirting with some castle guards. Viserys briefly glanced at his grandmother, wondering if she was aware of the ladies' flirtatious nature. Meanwhile, the remaining three ladies just demurely nodded their heads. 

An undignified snort comes from his left. Viserys' gaze flickered to his younger brother then back to their grandmother. He bit back a groan of frustration as he recognized the look upon the queen’s face, her eyes narrowing at the younger prince. He jabbed his elbow into his brother’s side. Fighting back a groan, Daemon shot him a withering glare before he mumbled a more adequate greeting. The queen smiled, her expression softening and gestured for them to come forward and embrace her.  Viserys obediently bented forward and placed a chaste kiss upon his grandmother’s cheek, the strong scent of lemons tingling his nose. 

“My lady grandmother, how do you fare on this fine day?” 

“I fare better now that you have finally graced us with your presence.”

The queen eyed him knowingly, with a slight tinge of annoyance etched upon her delicate features. Viserys just flushed and stammered in response. His grandmother clearly still irritated with him for skipping out on her invitation earlier in the year, before her ladies had even made their formal presentation, back when there was still seven. He placed his hands behind his back and nervously shifted his weight from one foot to another. 

'Has she finally discovered the reason for my absence? Does she know about our walk in the godswoods?'  Viserys wondered warily. 

He simply smiled and stepped back to allow Daemon to greet their grandmother. His gaze flickered around the queen’s solar searching for a familiar face and his heart sank. It was well known throughout the court that the king had strong-armed the queen into accepting the princess as her lady but she was nowhere to be seen.  Viserys furrowed his brow. 

'Maybe she was sent on some errand?'

Disappointed Viserys turned back to his grandmother. It was on the tip of his tongue to inquire about the whereabouts of the lady in question when the queen’s solar door swung opened again and his cousin Aemma Arryn was announced. It was still so strange to see such a little girl adorned in an official court dress, her dress hem let down, her sandy blonde hair swept up off her face. She carried herself with poise, shoulders back, head held high just like her mentor had taught her, even though the child was only eight namedays she carried herself as well as could be expected for someone as young as she. The queen greeted her youngest grandchild with a beaming smile, kissing both of the young girls' cheeks. She gently tapped Aemma’s nose before elegantly rising from her cushioned armchair and addressing those in her solar with a pleasant smile and hopeful voice. 

“Excellent, Now that we have all arrived, let us get to know each other. Hmm?” 

The rest of the afternoon was an uncomfortable affair. The ladies from the Reach were not coy with their flirtations, while his grandmother continually forced him into conversation with a lady from the westerlands. For what felt like hours, he and his brother were subjected to the ladies charms. Performances. He was relieved when Daemon made such an indecent remark to Lady Genna Serret that their grandmother had no choice but to promptly dismiss them. She had been absolutely seething as they left her presence, her blue eyes hard with rage, glaring at them both, her voice laced with venom. Viserys had a nagging feeling that she was behind the intense training their Master at Arms put them through later that week. Both boys sported bruises from the blunted swords for days afterward. Yet despite the unprincely behavior his rouge brother cause, the summons kept arriving week after week so he began “regrettably” declining due to some indisposition or a conflicting prior engagement with the Small Council. He had been hopeful that his grandmother had finally gotten the message since he hadn’t received a summons in over three weeks, until today. 

He glanced down at the second missive in his hand; the one he received from the Spring Prince left no room to plead some kind of absence this time. 

Viserys, 

Your presence is mandatory for today’s afternoon tea by order of her majesty.

No excuses. Remember your courtesies.

Baelon

She must be really fed up since she’s getting father involved now. 

Viserys sighed. He had no interest in these noble ladies, for another had caught his eye moons ago, the night at his cousin’s wedding feast. She was elegant, graceful, hauntingly beautiful, her long hair shining like molten silver-gold, her eyes glinting like amethysts, and the way she danced about the Great Hall had left him completely enraptured. Over the next few weeks, he agonized over trying to remember the lady’s favorite color, flower, or gemstone in order to gift her tokens of his affection.  They had grown up together after all, he should know these things. They saw each other sparingly following the weeks of her arrival, after that shared carriage ride back to the Red Keep when his cousin departed to Driftmark, only randomly crossing paths in the corridors.  And yet I somehow saw more of her before she became grandmother's lady.  Viserys scoffed and strode across his apartment to the large the bay window, placing his hands on the cool red stones. His apartment overlooked the Red Keep godswoods, an acre of elm and alder and black cottonwood, and Viserys smiled blissfully as he remembered that magical afternoon, the day she captured his heart. It was a glorious day, a magical day; the air warm and heavy with the scent of flowers.

The only problem? The lady in question is a widow - forbidden from courting until the mourning period lapsed. And the absolute worst part? She’s his father’s sister. 

It had previously crossed his mind to ask permission to court her once her mourning period had ended. If he had to marry, why should it not be one of their own? However after seeing his grandmother’s continued icy reception and his father’s near total avoidance of her but he decided against it. How do they justify their unseemly behavior towards her, he angrily wondered. Viserys sighed again and he placed his father’s missive into his doublet pocket. He doubted very much that she would be present for this afternoon tea. He had hardly seen her since their walk together in the gardens. He cursed under his breath and ran a hand through his short hair. A large part of him willing to risk the wrath of his father and not attend when he caught sight of his slouched reflection in the looking glass. He heard his grandmother's chiding voice echoing in his head. 

Remember your courtesies. 

Viserys let out a groan of annoyance, before slumping his shoulders further. As a prince his duty was to the betterment of the realm, a lesson drilled into him since before he could speak. It didn't matter that he wished to absent himself today. Just like it didn't matter that he wished to wed the Princess Viserra. He would be forced to marry whomever was chosen amongst his mother's new ladies. 

Royalty bear a heavy burden, forced to place duty over personal satisfaction. But at least I wasn't married to my cousin. 

He suppressed a shudder and not for the first time thanks the Seven for allowing their quasi-betrothal to fall through. Being a prince of the realm is already too heavy of a burden, it would've been unbearable as king consort.  Viserys did not wish for kingship regardless of how hard his father pushed for it. Besides his cousin has become more unbearable to be around ever since she was granted a royal commission from the king. She already has a queen's ego. Thankfully that same royal commission took her away from the Red Keep for hours at a time.

Taking one last look at his reflection, Viserys straightened and adjusted his red satin doublet. He gave himself an encouraging smile which promptly faded.  He let out a deep breath and clenched his fists, hearing his knuckles crack as a result. Opening his eyes, and giving himself one last look over in the looking glass, Viserys turned towards his apartment door, crossing the sitting area in a few paces. He paused at the closed door and took a deep shaky breath before plastering a dazzling smile on his face.  

Let's get this over with.

As he strolled through Meagor's Holdfast a knot began to form in the pit of his stomach, becoming worse the closer he grew to his grandmother's solar. Closer to my fate. His feet felt like stone weights, dragging him towards a life he did not want for himself. Yet he remembered his courtesies and dutifully smiled and nodded at those who pass him by in the corridors.  Finally reaching the queen's private solar, Viserys took another deep breath before signaling to the castle guard to open the bronze and oak door.  As he was announced a hush fell over the occupants with all eyes focusing on him. He swallowed nervously before smiling widely. 

"Grandmother, ladies! Enchanted to join you again."

His grandmother simply eyed him up and down. "You're late." she chided. 

Viserys flushed in embarrassment. "Please accept my deepest condolences, my lady grandmother." 

Alysanne hummed in response. She gracefully gestured towards the open seat beside her, next to the same lady from the westernlands. Viserys bit back a groan, while the lady was beautiful, with a powdering a freckles across the bridge of her nose, but she was dreadfully boring. Her education consisting of only singing, dancing and playing the lute did not make one a good conversationalist. He bowed in a flourish and kissed the top of the lady's hand as etiquette dictated before taking his seat beside the lady, who smiled demurely and averted her gaze. He gave her a tight lipped smile in response then glanced around the solar. His assumption that Viserra would be absent this afternoon was correct and he did his best to hide the disappointment from showing in his expression.  His quick overview of the attendees also revealed the absence of a particular prince. 

'That roguish son of a bi-'

Chapter Text

Fourteenth Day of the Fourth Moon 91 AC

Daemon II

 the prince’s apartments, Maegor’s Holdfast 

He quickened his pace as he neared the entrance to his apartment. He knew exactly how he wanted to spend the remainder of his afternoon following another tedious lesson with his maester. I will change and be on my way, he thought as he strode into his apartment

“My prince?”

He paused midstep when a page addressed him, closed his eyes and sighed before turning slightly to face the other boy. An eyebrow raised in a silent question. 

“These came for you my prince,” said the boy holding out two missives for the prince to take. He scanned the summons, the upper corner of his lips forming into a sneer. He resisted the urge to crumple the summons in his hands. Instead, Daemon groaned aloud and ran his hand through his hair.

“You’re dismissed.”

Although clearly put out by the prince’s harshness, the boy bowed at the neck and withdrew from the prince's apartments. 

Once alone, Daemon strode across the room, the missives still clutched in his hand. I do not want to deal with this today. His scowl deepened as he reread them. It seems his grandmother wished for him to attend her and her gaggle of ladies for afternoon tea for the umpteenth time. You would think she would want to avoid a repeat of our last encounter. Yet unfortunately the invites kept arriving, luckily he was able to escape attending (mostly) due to his lessons - with either the maester or master-at-arms. Other times he offered flimsy excuses due to some indisposition or another yet even after all his refusals these past weeks she still has not gotten the message. 

Daemon scoffed and muttered under his breath. Grandmother is becoming lackwit if she believes I would wed any of those common chits. The first invitation he received had been quite the surprise; his grandmother never requested him for afternoon tea. But he quickly realized her true intentions when he crossed the threshold into her private solar.  

He smirked at the memory, the extra training sessions with the master-at-arms had been worth the scene he caused. He shook his head in amusement, when would his father learn that these punishments only made him stronger, better, faster. 

Speaking of his father, Daemon glanced at the second missive, this one from the Spring Prince, demanding that he attend his grandmother this afternoon or else. Daemon snorted. Like I would bend to such an idle threat. He held the missives over a lit candle and the corners of his lips twitched upwards when the papers caught fire. Those ladies are not deserving of a dragon.  He tossed the burning parchment into the heath, watching them blacken and wither into ashes. 

Besides, he wanted to go hunting in the kingswood this afternoon and as prince of the realm he will do as he wished. Whatever punishments his grandmother and father could devise would never equate to spending the whole afternoon with people he deemed beneath him. 

He dressed in a hurry, into clothing more suitable for riding rather than leisure. He was about to stride out his apartment door when he stopped short. If I'm seen, the guards will escort me to my grandmother surely. He sucked his teeth as he turned heel and walked across his apartment back to his bedchamber. He bolted the door before making his way towards the corner of the room. Daemon deftly traced his hand across the stone wall and stepped back. The stone wall began to groan as it was forced back revealing a vertical shaft in the floor. He smiled wickedly to himself and thanked the Fourteen Flames - not for the first time - that Meagor had been such a paranoid cunt before jumping into the pitch blackness of the earthen tunnel below.

The hidden pathway let out in the middle bailey, near the back corner by the kennels. He waited for the stone wall to slip back into place before making his way towards the stables. He walked with a purpose knowing that if he hurried along like a rat he was bound to get noticed. The smell of hay and horse flesh filled his nostrils as he strode into the large stables, a massive covered structure with dozens upon dozens of stalls. He made his way towards the stall that housed his stallion. The beast had been a gift from his mother on his eight nameday; the last gift he received from her.  

“Are you ready for another adventure today?” Daemon quipped, stroking the animal’s snout. He smiled when the animal knickerd in response, its large head moving up and down, like it was nodding in agreement. 

“Alright, let’s get you saddled then.”

He turned around to gain the attention of the servants scurrying about the stables. They ignored him at first, diligently focused on their tasks either mucking and cleaning the stables, or carrying bags of oats. The longer he was ignored the more impatient he became, beginning to fidget with the handle of the hunting dagger hanging from his belt. He grumbled under his breath before drawing the attention of a stable hand sweeping the barn aisle.

“You! Boy, fetch my riding saddle.”

The pudgy boy paled, his mouth agape at being directly addressed by the prince before he bowed and he ran off to grab the prince's riding saddle, almost tripping over himself in his haste to fulfill the prince’s request. Daemon leaned against the stall door and crossed his arms, impatiently waiting for the servant to return and his horse to be readied. 

 “Shouldn’t you be attending my mother for afternoon tea?”

Daemon turned his head in the direction the question came from, his eyebrows rose in surprise when he saw his aunt walking into the stables. He has seen very little of her in the past moons, since she formally began her role as a lady-in-waiting to the queen.  

For half a heartbeat, the prince feared she had been sent to collect him and that he was to be dragged to his grandmother's solar until he noticed her choice of attire. Rather than the square neckline, tight sleeved dress all the queen's ladies wore, his aunt wore an absurd gown; the skirt split at the waist showing off the black tightly fitted breeches underneath and a pouch tied to her waist belt. Her long silver-gold hair had been intricately braided and pinned up off her face like a crown. It was odd seeing her dressed in leather. 

He snorted at her question. “Shouldn’t you? Aren’t you one of her ladies now?"  

His aunt bristled, her jaw tightening before coolly replying, “It would appear my lady mother had no need for my services this afternoon. What pray tell is the excuse for your absence?”

 “I have better things to do than mingle with sheep.”

 Viserra’s lips twitched upwards and she hummed in response. “Is that so?”

Daemon didn’t answer, he simply watched his aunt as she strode past him, further into the stables. A beautiful light brown mare began chittering as the princess got closer. Daemon furrowed his brow, wondering when Viserra familiarized herself with the beast. Since when does she ride? Viserra smiled sweetly when she approached the stall and began speaking to the mare in hushed whispers. She drew her pale hand forward and rested it against the mare's snout before bringing her forehead to the animal's for a brief moment. Then she pulled an apple from her pouch and offered it to the mare.

 "Are you planning on riding out today nephew?" 

 Daemon nodded. "And seeing as you are already dressed for a romp in the woods, care to join me? Although I’d understand if you’d choose to decline given your ladylike sensibilities.”

 Viserra met his gaze, something flashing in her eyes then it was gone, what Daemon did not know. She smiled, almost daringly, before responding, her voice like honey.  "I do hope you can keep up.” 

somewhere in the kingswoods

Daemon's crimson cloak billowed out behind him, rippling and snapping in the wind. He must be well ahead of her now. He smirked and urged his horse faster as the large dead oak, the designated end of the race, appeared just on the horizon. He glanced back over his right shoulder and laughed aloud when he saw Viserra was nowhere to be seen. 

 "On your left!"

 Startled, Daemon whipped his head around. His aunt was beside him. She smirked at him before urging her horse faster, passing the young prince, her young filly galloping ahead with ease. He could hear her bell-like laughter ring out as she whizzed pass the withered oak tree. Daemon flushed red at the loss, his cheeks burning in embarrassment. How did she beat me so easily?   Before her marriage to that northern oaf his aunt was not known for her riding abilities, but rather her dancing and needlepoint. 

Seven hells, he could not even recall a time he ever saw Viserra ahorse which was why he was surprised to see her in the stables. Yet here she was winning horse races deep within the kingswoods. This makes no damn sense . Daemon slowed his horse to a trot and circled back to where his aunt had stopped. She was fully leaning against the crest of her beast, praising the animal and patting the sides of its large neck. 

 "Had I known of your abilities I wouldn't have gone so easy on you." He remarked sullenly, trying to save face. 

 His aunt looked up and met his gaze, her purple eyes bright with adrenalin, a few strands of silver-gold hair had come loose from her braided crown and her cheeks were flushed pink from the excitement. Her smile and expression so shockingly at ease that Daemon is suddenly struck with the realization those perfect courteous smiles she wore about the court were as real as summer snows in Dorne. She seems different out here in the forest, more relaxed than she was normally. This was not the aunt he had known in the years prior to her marriage. Looking at her now, Daemon felt a sharp stab of something. 

 Viserra laughed heartily. "I am in your debt then!" she replied cheekily, bowing her head in a mocking gesture. Daemon said nothing in response, just adjusted himself in his saddle as he felt heat rushing to his cheeks.  "Oh do not be like that, nephew. It is unbecoming for a prince to pout.”

 She shot him a lopsided grin and Daemon felt that stab of something again. He covered his mouth with his fist to clear his throat. 

 "Should we wait for our escorts? I fear they were not able to keep up with our race." Viserra remarked, bringing a gloved hand up to her face to shield her eyes from the sun. She narrowed her eyes searching the horizon behind him.

Daemon turned to look back on the path he and the princess had come down. He scoffed. "You would think the guards assigned to protect us would be able to keep up." He led his stallion across the clearing and towards one of the lesser used hunting paths. "Let us continue our ride. They will catch up."

Viserra hummed in agreement and followed. The pair ride side by side in a comfortable silence. It was nice under the trees, out in the forest, away from his grandmother and her harem of empty headed ladies. He took a deep breath allowing the smell of the forest to fill his nostrils - the fresh tang of pine needles, earthy odor of wet rotting leaves and that tinge of animal musk. This was the freedom his status afforded him - the freedom to do whatever whenever he liked. He was a prince, chosen by the gods, born for battle and glory not to be married off to the first simpering lady his grandmother chose for him. He gritted his teeth as his anger at the situation came raging forward and he gripped the reign tighter.

"You're too tense."

 He turned his head to eye his riding companion. His aunt sat upon her mare as if she had been born on a saddle. He huffed. She won one race and now thinks she can correct my riding? He nearly scoffed before he realized she was right; his legs and heels were in the improper positions. Seven Hells. He took a deep breath and relaxed his posture within the saddle and loosened his grip on the reins.  

"I do not recall my lady aunt being so well versed in horseback riding." He retorted, not trying to hide the bite of annoyance in his tone. "Does your mother know you ride astride?"

A low blow. Everyone in the keep knew the relationship between mother and daughter was strained regardless of the shiny veneer they attempted to conceal their distaste for each other behind. 

"Mother does not know I ride at all; she had forbidden it when I was a child."  Her response was curt and he did not think she would expand on the subject when she continued, her voice soft and far away. "My lord husband approved of my learning."

Daemon's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the revelation. His gaze travelled to the ash wood bow and quiver of arrows his aunt had brought along with her and wondered if her fat oaf of a husband granted her permission to learn archery too but Viserra continued before he could comment on it. 

 "He had been rather horrified to discover that I did not ride and immediately procured a master-of-horse to teach me." She chuckled softly. "Although old enough to be my grandsire, he allowed me freedoms I never was granted during my time here in King's Landing prior to my marriage." 

Freedoms? He glanced at the quiver of arrows again. “He allowed you to learn archery?" He was unable to keep the surprise from his voice. 

 Viserra nodded. "Yes. Lord Theomore was an avid rider and enjoyed hunting. He often said it was the only place where he could be free from the politicking and responsibility of ruling White Harbor. He wished to share that freedom with me. Once I became proficient, my lord husband and I would often ride out together after breaking our fast. It became our routine."

 Daemon let out a low whistle. “He must've been madly in love with you to have indulged you in such a way."

Viserra smiled ruefully. "Mhm. Men who think they're in love are often more amiable; most wedded ladies aren't so lucky."

 Daemon hummed in response, nodding his head in understanding. "You made the best of your situation, used his love to your advantage. Very clever, aunt.”

 Viserra turned to gaze at him, her amethyst eyes glinting before nodding. "Yes, I pray that you do the same. It is much easier to attract flies with honey."

 Daemon wrinkled his nose and pursed his lips. "Explain yourself." He demanded. 

 "With your own betrothal forthcoming you better learn to make the best of your situation rather than conduct yourself in the way which you have so far."

 Daemon's mouth dropped open at his aunt's candor before flushing red and retorting hotly. "But those ladies aren't worthy to marry into our family! Have you spent time with them? Empty headed vapid creatures, not to mention they're hideously common. We are descended from the ancient dragonlords of Old Valyria, we deserve better than Andals."

Viserra laughed, her bell-like giggle ringing out, as if taunting him and his foolishness. “And who would you suggest then sweet nephew? There are no suitable Valyrian ladies from Houses Velaryon and Celtigar. My sister is promised to our brother. Only sweet Aemma remains unattached and she won’t be for much longer should my mother have her way. Besides, the new ladies are not all that terrible. Having spent more time with them than you, I can assure you of that. Lady Genna especially."  She turned to eye him knowingly and Daemon snorted.

 "You're just parroting the courtesies all you ladies must speak. Remember your courtesies."  He said in a high pitched voice, wagging his finger in the air, in a mocking gesture of the queen. Viserra smirked at his impression before replying.

 "Am I?" She cocked her head to the side and eyeed him amusingly, giving him another lopsided grin, before gesturing to the forest around them, "I can speak freely out here." 

She then turned slightly to search for the armed escorts that accompanied the royal pair; but they were still nowhere in sight; their race having left them very far behind indeed. She giggled, before turning back to face him. "And it is not like they are going to run off with tales. Besides, did it ever occur to you that these ladies do not want to marry you? I heard about what you did during that first tea."

Daemon huffed in annoyance and rolled his eyes. "If I wanted a lecture I would've attended my grandmother this afternoon. And I could care less what those Andals think of me. I am a prince and they are nothing to me."

Viserra hummed disapprovingly. "You're so young. You still have much to learn, nephew."

“Alas I don’t have much time for tedious lessons.” He quipped, annoyance pulsed through his veins. He urged his horse to a cantor, hoping to grow the distance between them to no avail. His aunt stayed in step, trotting beside him. 

“I apologize, sweet nephew, if I have given offense. You and I are royal, yes – but it’s best to see a situation such as ours clearly if one is to benefit.”

Daemon rolled his eyes and replied in a sarcastic tone “Aye, and what situation is that pray tell?” 

“That we do not have the luxury of free will when it comes to marriage. We are just mere pawns in the game of thrones. You will be married, most likely to that very Andal girl you so callously treated.”

“I will not!”  retorted Daemon hotly, “I am the blood of the drago-”

“You are a boy of three and ten.”

“Oh? And you’re so wise? Wedded and bedded you may be now sweet aunt, but I remember a time not long ago when you still needed help with your sums.”

Viserra scoffed and muttered something under her breath he couldn’t quite make out. He continued before she could reply. 

“Besides, my father would never allow it. My brother was to be the king consort. You think he’d be satisfied to have his sons married to minor ladies instead?”

Viserra did not turn to face him, keeping her gaze straight ahead. “Your father will do as he’s bid.”

The tension that followed her statement was thick. Daemon scowled but stayed silent. She was right. Indignant his father may still be regarding the spurning of his eldest, he was nothing but dutiful and loyal to the crown. 

Viserra sighed softly.  “Nephew, I understand your rage, truly I do. We are the blood of Old Valyria being forced to defile our ancestry on the altar of matrimony while others are granted a reprieve from such a fate. It’s not fair, it’s not ideal yet it is the hand we have been dealt and we must play the cards how they land.” 

She turned to look Daemon in the eye. “Acting rashly will only make things worse, so stay silent and play their game. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

Daemon clenched his jaw and sucked his teeth before nodding curtly. 

Viserra smiled faintly, her expression softening. “Good.”

The pair continued in silence for some time, the faint sound of rushing water growing louder until they came across a small glenn near a shallow stream. 

"We should wait here for our guards. Break our fast and let our horses rest." 

Daemon mutely nodded as Viserra dismounted. He followed, tucking his riding gloves into his belt as Viserra rummaged through the cantle bag on her horse’s saddle, pulling out a silken blanket and a leather pouch. She laid the silken blanket upon the ground before sitting down. 

She turned to face him, patting the area next to her. “Come nephew, sit.” She pulled an apple from the leather pouch and tossed it to him. “Eat.”

Daemon plopped down beside her and took a generous bite of the apple she offered him. The pair ate in silence, watching their horses graze. What Viserra had said to him earlier was at the forefront of his mind, she was right, though he did not want to admit, at least not outloud, and definitely not to her. 

His grandparents, his parents and his uncle all married within their family. And now his aunt, brother, cousin and himself were subjected to inferior treatment. Their marriages clearly were the price the previous generation refused to pay. 

It made him want to scream at the unfairness of it all. Part of him wondered if he would have been betrothed to Gael had Valerion not recovered from his illness. It's pointless to think about that now.

I’m going to be married. He suppressed a shudder at the thought. His father will do what the king and queen bid, regardless of his wishes. He briefly wondered what his mother would’ve done. 

“My-my mother….” his voice cracked somewhat, the loss of his mother still a fresh wound. He cleared his throat, “would she have agreed? To me marrying an Andal.”

He turned to face his aunt who hummed and looked away thoughtfully. “I am not sure. Alyssa was much older than myself. She was nearly a woman by the time I was weaned. But I would think she would want her sons to be happy.”

Daemon stared down at his hands, his voice deadpan. “Father doesn’t talk about her anymore.”

He heard his aunt sigh sadly before she placed her arm around him and pulled him close.  “Your father…,” she paused, clearly struggling to find the right words. “Your father loved your mother very much. Grief is a strange thing. What it can do to people, how it can change them .”

Daemon nodded. His father was much changed following the death of his beloved wife, locking himself away in his chambers leaving the nursemaids to tend to his three young sons, one just a newborn. When Baelon finally reappeared in court months later - unshaven and gaunt - he was greeted with the news that his third son, Aegon, had died. The losses had a profound effect on the Spring Prince and since then his father vehemently resisted any plans for him to remarry. 

“It’s not fair! Why must I get married when Father remains unattached?!”

Viserra shrugged. “We are not privy to the thoughts of kings and their ministers. Besides, preferable treatment has always been given to my brothers.” 

The scathing undertone of his aunt’s statement was not lost on him. He glanced at his aunt with narrowed eyes. One could not deny the truth in the princess’ statement, her brothers were knighted, bonded to dragons, and allowed to marry for love while the king’s daughters were expected to be regulated to the sidelines, married off below their station, shut away in a religious order or banished if they refused the paths before them. 

“Is that why you and my father tussle the way you do?”

Viserra blinked, her brow furrowing at his question. Her lips parted as if to say something before her mouth snapped shut. She just shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know what you are referring to. Your father and I hardly speak.”

Daemon let out a barking laugh. "I have seen the two of you frantically whispering together in the halls. What is it that you have to discuss with my father with such fervor?"

He noticed her stiffening at his question, pressing her lips together in a thin line. Her expression darkened the longer her silence continued. Daemon eyed his aunt warily. 

 "Sometimes when a debt is owed, one must be reminded to pay it."

 Daemon blinked owlishly in confusion. A debt? Like a gambling debt? Since when does father gamble?  

Before he could press further his aunt's expression softened and she turned to smile brightly at him. "Let us discuss other topics dear nephew. I wish not to be vexed while out here.” She rose and reached out her gloved hand to him. “Come, let me see how well you can shoot.” 

The pair began to practice, an old oak tree standing in as a makeshift target. They took turns trying to out shoot each other, their friendly game quickly becoming a competition as witty barbs and scathing comments were exchanged. Yet as time continued to pass, their escorts still did not appear. 

“Do you think they got lost?” 

Daemon snorted. “Probably.”

Viserra hummed, her eyes surveying the surrounding area. “Let me see if they’re close, you stay here.”

 "Viserra--"

 "Stay here." she said curtly then she was gone before he could utter another word. He sucked his teeth and mumbled under his breath before returning to sit down on the silken blanket. He picked at the vegetation around him as he watched the horses graze about the glenn.  Sighing, he leaned back against a tree trunk and closed his eyes. 

Suddenly, the horses began whickering wildly, Daemon cracked open his eyes to check his surroundings, thinking Viserra may have already returned but noticed nothing amiss. Shrugging, he leaned over to rummage into the leather pouch his aunt had brought. 

Something whizzed past his ear, startling him. He hurried to his feet and stared wide-eyed at the knife embedded into the tree trunk where his head was moments before. 

Oh fuck. 

Daemon whipped around, back against the tree trunk, his hand on the pommel of his hunting knife, his eyes narrow as he scanned the surrounding area. His heart thumping hard against his chest. 

A branch cracked underfoot and two men in boiled leather and mismatched armor stepped into the clearing. A short, squat bald man with a crooked nose smiled widely revealing a mouth full of broken teeth. The second man, tall and lean with a hard face, leaned on a broken spear of black oak, tipped in rusted steel. 

Daemon was suddenly conscious of how richly he was dressed having chosen a black silken doublet embroidered with gold thread, a crimson riding cloak, black riding pants and high leather boots with steel shin guards. He gripped the pommel of his dagger harder, narrowing his eyes as the brigands stepped further into the glenn. 

The squat man leered at him, the man’s gaze lingering on the golden dragon chain about his neck. He gave the prince a sickening smile. 

 “All alone, are yer? Lost in the woods, the poor lad.”

 “I am not lost.” he snapped immediately. 

 “But yer alone” quipped the second man.

Daemon gulped. He knew the guards assigned to protect the royal pair were long off, their race in the woods ensured that. And Viserra was off gods knows where. I should’ve just gone to fucking tea.  

 “What’s a royal brat doing so far outside their high walls?”

 “Ah, so you know to whom you speak, good. For a second I was worried I had come upon a pair of stupid churls*.” 

 The men glared at him, their dark eyes clouded with hatred. They stepped further into the clearing. Daemon adjusted his footing, turning his body slightly sidewise. Create a smaller target,  his master-at-arms gruff voice echoed in his thoughts. Assess your opponents. Daemon eyed the two brigands quickly, noticing that the taller man was walking with a limp, leaning against his spear like it was a walking stick.

 “Mouthly little cunt, aren’t yer.” said the squat man.

He cleared his throat and attempted to speak with authority. “You are trespassing on royal grounds, be gone before you are punished for your transgression.” 

The men began to laugh heartily, a sickening sound that made his stomach turn, before they spoke to each other rapidly in a language Daemon did not quite understand. His heart thumped hard against his chest. The squat man strode towards him menacingly, closing the distance between them within a few steps. He reached out to grab the golden chain when Daemon lashed at the man’s face, his knife cutting forward, blade flashing in the sunlight. The man howled in pain before backhanding Daemon across the face, knocking the prince to the ground. Daemon tasted blood, felt wetness leaking from his nose, and saw his blood dripping onto the forest ground.

I am the blood of the dragon. I must not show weakness.

Enraged, Daemon lunged at the man, dagger in hand. They went tumbling into the dirt, rolling around in the forest floor each attempting to pin the other to the ground, the dagger getting lost in the scuffle. Yet the man was bigger, and overpowered the young prince, pinning him to the ground. The man roughly grabbed the front of the prince’s doublet and slammed him into the forest dirt, the back of his head landing so hard bursts of light blur his vision. Before Daemon’s vision came back into focus, two hands were squeezing the prince's throat. 

 "You'll pay for that you little twat!" snarled the man, his foul breath hot against the prince's skin. Blood from the man’s ruined face dripped onto him. No, this is not my ending. I am the blood of the dragon! Daemon reached out and dug his fingers into the injury on the man's cheek. The man howled in pain, his grip slacking. Yet that was all Daemon needed. He grabbed the man's wrists and drove his knee upwards into the man's groin. The man doubled over in pain. Daemon pushed him off and scrambled away backwards. 

“What yer standin there fore?!” the squat man whizzed angrily at his companion, “get him!” 

The second man gripped the spear with both hands and came hobbling forward yelling in that strange language. Daemon reached beside him, fingers grasping at the earth beneath then twisting forward to hurl the fist full of dirt directly into the man’s face. The man yelped and covered his eyes, his spear dropping to the ground forgotten. Daemon quickly kicked the man’s injured knee, hearing a sickening crunch accompanied by a high pitched scream. Unperturbed by the shrieking man, Daemon rose to his feet and picked up the spear. His blood was raging, his heart racing. They dare to harm him? Him, the blood of the dragon, prince of the realm! They should be punished. His blood sang out for vengeance and he would oblige it. He strode over to the crying man slowly and began circling him like a predator stalking their prey. Daemon stared down at the man stonefaced as the weasel began to plead for mercy. Pathetic. His lip curled upwards in disgust before raising the spear to strike the killing blow. 

But the cloak around his neck pulled him back, knocking him off his feet. Fuck. In his rage he had forgotten about the other man. Daemon didn’t have time to regain his balance when the man was upon him again, causing him to tumble to the ground once again. The man kicked him in the stomach and Daemon gasped in pain. He struggled to get to his feet but one after another the blows landed.

Suddenly an arrow came whizzing through the trees, firmly embedding itself through man’s shoulder. The man howled in pain and began cursing in that strange language.  Another arrow came flying seconds later, narrowly missing the squat man’s head. Daemon frantically turned to the direction the arrows came from, relieved that those foolish guards had finally caught up. He was about to say as much when his aunt appeared, disheveled with another arrow notched and aimed directly at the man’s chest. Sick and disoriented Daemon could only form one thought - Viserra just saved my life. 

She doesn’t take her eyes off the man as she glided further into the glenn. Daemon struggled to his feet, panting heavily, he wiped the blood trickling down his chin and went to stand besides his aunt. 

The squat man glared daggers at the pair, his eyes darting back and forth between the prince and princess as if trying to decide if it was worth attacking them again. The man instead took off running, disappearing into the kingswoods. Yet, Viserra remained still, nostrils flared, lips curled in disgust and posed to release another arrow at the slightest hint of his return. Her eyes dart toward him before returning their gaze to the forest.  

“Are you hurt?” 

Daemon shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

His aunt breathed a deep sigh of relief, her expression relaxing somewhat. “Good, good.”

She paused and took a shaky breath before relaxing her bow arm, "let's go find our horses and those useless guards." 

“What about him?" Daemon asked, gesturing towards the second man laying on the forest floor.  

His shrieks of pain had dwindled to pathetic whimpering. Viserra turned and focused her gaze on the injured man. Her expression unreadable, her eyes hard. 

 "Let the Others take him." 

Chapter Text

Fourteenth Day of the Fourth Moon 91AC

Alysanne III

the Small Council Chamber, Red Keep

The men around her had droned on about the rising tension between the refugees and city dwellers for some time now but Alysanne was not listening. She had not been for a while, more occupied with the worried thoughts swirling in her mind for her loved ones’ and their safety.

The commission Rhaenys received - however overdue it was - had placed the princess in more danger than the queen would’ve preferred. Near daily now, the princess would set out to the Dragonpit, mount her red she-dragon and spend the remainder of the day scouting the Gullet often not returning until dusk, soot covered and weary. However, the war across the Narrow Sea has yet to affect Westerosi shipping lanes as drastically as expected. Whether due to the presence of a dragon I cannot say. And yet, the increased foreign presence in the city had resulted in scarcity of goods regardless.

She reached up and began fiddling with the bejeweled locket that hung from her neck. Worry for another princess also plagued her thoughts - for her wayward daughter across the sea.  When it was first reported that she had slid into a life of depravity, Alysanne had wept bitter tears, distraught of what had become of her sweet girl. She had been tempted to fly Silverwing to Volantis and rescue her daughter from that life yet her lord husband had always rebuked her.

"What will the Volanti do, if you try to take one of their whores? At best they demand a ransom for her. At worst they may decide to keep you too. What will you do then, shout for Silverwing and burn their city down?*

So she made due with writing letters (that were never answered) and relying on her network of little birds to keep her well informed of the former princess' movements ever since she reappeared in that pleasure house still dressed as a novice of the Faith. Last update she received was in the previous year - an Elephant leader so beguiled by her daughter that he had raised her up to the status of main concubine despite her having already mothered a bastard child.  But since the Tiger's coup, there was only silence.  Alysanne took a shallow breath as fear gripped her heart as she thought of what could have become of Saera. Word spread quickly of how the Tiger's had raped and killed the wives of the elephant leaders and although Saera was only a concubine, she was still a Targaryen princess. A potential hostage if kept alive. For weeks she debated the merits of disobeying her lord husband's orders and flying Silverwing to Volantis yet his cold warning of years prior always crumbled her resolve. 

"Do you imagine she will fall into your arms and beg forgiveness? She is more likely to slap you. You want her, yes, you need her, yes I hear you but she does not need you. She is dead. Bury her."**

She shakily exhaled and reached for her goblet, taking a generous sip in an attempt to calm her wrecked nerves. It wasn’t just fear for the girls that occupied her thoughts, additionally Daemon did not appear earlier this afternoon for tea and a quick search revealed he was not in the castle. She immediately notified Baelon of his son's disappearing act. Baelon was furious that his youngest had absconded from the keep, ordering that Daemon be brought to him first thing once he reappeared, wherever he appeared. The boy is too rambunctious for his own good, the queen thought and not for the first time. Daemon had been a wild one since he was toddling and he was fierce so much like his mother, that it was expected that he would rebuke her ladies with such force. But disappearing from the castle? During such unrest?  Her gaze flickered to Baelon seated opposite to her and while her Spring Prince gave the appearance of listening intently, his gaze would often wander towards the chamber doors. He's just as worried as I am.  

Viserys refilled her goblet as soon as she placed it back upon the ash wood table and she gave her grandson a small smile as he passed by which he returned. Alysanne began fidgeting with the opal ring upon her middle finger, twisting it around again and again as the chatter surrounding her went on. She caught snippets of the conversation around her, the voices sounding far away as she stared off into the middle distance, worry for her daughter, granddaughter and grandson at the forefront of her mind. 

"Aly? My darling, are you well?"

Her musing was interrupted by her husband, who reached forward to hold her hand halting her fidgeting. She flinched, startled by the unexpected contact. Her eyes met her husband’s, his face was etched with worry. The queen cleared her throat and withdrew her hand from the king's touch. "Of course, my king. The toll of the war is taxing."

Jaehaerys’ lips pressed together in a thin line at her formality but he did not protest, only nodded. "Perhaps we should move onto discussing more lighthearted matters than my queen." 

The men at the table nodded along. Septon Barth spoke up first. "Quite right my king, might I suggest finalizing the prince's betrothal to the Lady Crakehall? We still have yet to send terms to the girl's father.”

Alysanne cracked a small smile before nodding. “An excellent suggestion, my lord Hand.” 

“Then I shall begin to draft the letter to Lord Crakehall, my queen, informing him of the crown’s decision,” proposed the grand maester. 

Baelon shifted in his seat before leaning forward. “I believe it’s still a little early to formally betroth the pair. Negotiations should wait.”

Alysanne turned to her Spring Prince in surprise, eyebrows raised. “Whatever can you mean? The Lady Lucinda is an ideal match for Viserys.”

Baelon balked, averting his eyes from her gaze. There was a slight pause before he responded. “I just believe it would be more advantageous for the pair to develop a companionship first.” He gestured to his parents. “As you and father have shown, it is the best foundation for a lasting marriage.” 

Alysanne hummed, pressing her lips together. The relief that flooded Viserys’ face when his father interjected did not pass her notice either. He wishes to delay this match. She eyed her fourth born with slight suspicion. Why? 

“A thoughtful suggestion my boy.” said Jaehaerys, reaching for Alysanne’s hand and placing a kiss upon her knuckles. Alysanne gave her husband a tight lipped smile but he took no notice of it. The king continued. “Of the remaining ladies, has there been a decision on the potential bride for Prince Daemon?"

"The Lady Merryweather perhaps?" suggested Aemon. “Greater ties to the Reach would be beneficial.”

"Unlikely. Tongues wag about that Reach girl already." countered Corlys Velaryon in his typical rough manner. 

Alysanne grimaced at the Master of Ship's candor but twas true the Lady Elinor was...generous with her affections yet the queen had no legitimate reason to dismiss her. Hindsight had the queen wishing she had been more diligent in the inquiries about these young ladies she had chosen.  Over the last few months the majority of the group have shown little to be desired in a royal bride. Alysanne had been hopeful that the Lady Alys would make a good match with Daemon; she was cool headed and strong willed, an excellent match to temper her grandson’s more impulsive nature. Yet the foolish girl had gone and fallen in love with some page from Septon's Barth household. Her lady had come to her a fortnight ago on bended knee pleading for understanding and permission to marry the boy. She had yet to grant it, however, insisting on keeping the girl close as the remaining two options had dwindled to Lady Fossoway or Lady Serrett. And Daemon had made his dislike for the latter quite clear during that first afternoon tea while the former - nearly three years the prince’s senior - had shown no interest in her younger grandson.

Before she could form a reply, the Small Council chamber doors barged open, a retinue of soldiers strode in. Her brow furrowed at their sudden appearance. The captain stepped forward and bowed at the neck. “Beg your pardon Sire for interrupting but we were under strict orders from Prince Baelon to escort the young prince to his father as soon as the boy was located. Him and the Princess Viserra were spotted riding through the Muddy Gate with their guards not too long ago. I escorted the young royals straight here as commanded." 

Him and the Princess Viserra. The statement floored Alysanne and she blinked a few times as she processed the words. While she dismissed her daughter earlier in the day for the remainder of the afternoon, she had thought her daughter had remained within Meagor’s Holdfast. She turned to Baelon to gauge his reaction to this development but only relief flooded his face. She too had felt the weight of worry lift from her shoulders at the news - almost outweighing the suspicion that knotted in her stomach at the thought of Viserra and Daemon together, alone. It was on the tip of her tongue to reprimand the pair for fleeing their duties and the castle when the soldiers stepped aside and the prince and princess came into view. She jumped up from her seat as soon as she took in her grandson's unkept appearance and bloodied face.

“My word, what has happened?!” she gasped in horror as she rushed around the ash wood table towards her grandson. Her pale hands reached out to cup his face. Her eyes welling up with tears as she took in the bruise on his cheek. “Sweet heavens your face!" she shrieked. "Elysar! Quickly!”

A chair screeched across the stone floor and the old man shuffled forward, his maester's chains clanging together. 

Daemon tried to shrug off his grandmother's fussing, twisting away from her grasp. “Grandmother I’m fine," he groaned, his face tinged a slight red in embarrassment as she continued to fuss over him. 

Aemon stepped forward and placed his hand on her shoulder, his voice calm and direct. “Mother enough, let Elysar see to the boy.” 

Alysanne frowned but pulled back before looking around the chamber. Baelon had come to stand beside her, concern for his youngest evident upon his face so she stepped aside to allow her son to see to his. She noticed that Septon Barth, the Sea Snake, and Viserys had lingered back by the ash wood table with varying expressions of curiosity, annoyance and worry. Meanwhile Viserra was standing with the king, conversing in soft whispers. Alysanne watched him cup their daughter's face, wiping away tears before pulling her close. The king's face contorted in anger, snapping his steel gaze at the guards, his voice low. "Who had the watch?"

The guards tensed, shifting from one foot to another, glancing at each other nervously when a loud rumbling was heard. Vermithor. The captain motioned for two soldiers to step forward. They were young, fresh faced with a hint of peach fuzz along their chins. And from their expressions were absolutely terrified of facing the king’s wrath. The king's eyes narrowed as he glanced the pair up and down with a cold expression.

“Explain. Now.”

“W-we-we do not know sire, the prince and princess took off into the kingswoods shortly after we passed through the city’s gates.”

“That doesn’t explain how they got in such a state!” Alysanne shrieked, her voice shrill. The fear for her loved one’s safety manifesting right under her nose. 

"No, it doesn't," interjected Jaehaerys, his voice low and controlled yet Alysanne could see the tension in her husband’s neck as his anger rose. 

There was no response from either guard, choosing silence and keeping their eyes downcast. Lord Velaryon sucked his teeth. "You heard their majesties," exclaimed Corlys, his voice gruff, "Speak, now!"

The young guards flinched before one spoke up, his voice tight with fear. “We- we do not know your majesty, their highnesses were in such a state when we found the-”

“Oi! We found you!” snapped Daemon, whipping around the maester to glare at the guards, "after you left us to be set upon by churls***!"

“Hush son! Let Elysar do his work.” Baelon’s tone left no room for debate and Daemon huffed in annoyance, crossing his arms. Baelon turned toward the guards, his voice quiet. "Is this true? Were you so negligent in your duties that a pair of children were left to fend for themselves?"

There was no response from the pair. Alysanne noticed Jaehaerys' grip on Viserra tighten and Vermithor raged louder from the middle bailey.

“Get out.” snapped the king in a low growl.

The guards bowed in haste and removed themselves from the chamber as fast as they could, their captain following a few steps behind. Once the Small Council chamber doors were closed, Jaehaerys looked back at his daughter and cupped her face, his thumb tracing her cheek.

"What happened my jewel?"

Viserra took a shaky breath, her lower lip trembling. Her eyes welled up with tears as she began to recount their outing. “We were set upon by bandits. They-they came from the brush demanding money and jewels.” She paused, biting her lip to hold back a sob.  “Oh Kepa! I was so scared!” she cried before burying her face into her father's chest and openly began to weep. Jaehaerys attempted to sooth her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. “Shh, hush my jewel, you’re safe now. Shh." The king's voice was low as he repeated the mantra.

Alysanne felt her chest constrict at the sight of her child in such distress and she strode across the chamber towards the pair, tears in her eyes. "Oh my darling," Alysanne muttered as she wrapped her arms around the princess as well. The three of them stood together for a few minutes until Viserra's cries began to slow and her breathing became more even.  Viserra lifted her head from the king's chest and turned her gaze towards her mother, her amethyst eyes bloodshot. 

"Muña," the princess mumbled weakly before collapsing into the queen's embrace. Alsaynne held her daughter close, cradling her head in her hands, thankful that the gods had not seen fit to strip her of another child. Her heart ached at just the thought. "Praise the Seven you both did not come to harm." she murmured into her daughter’s silver-gold hair. 

“Indeed,” said Elysar from across the chamber, “You are a lucky lad my prince; there are no lasting injuries. The bruising shall fade over time. I will produce a salve to speed along the healing process.” He stepped away from where Daemon was seated. 

“Oh thank the Seven.” exclaimed Alysanne.

"Ho-how did you get away?” asked Viserys, his voice trembling. He had come forward during their embrace. His face pale and his indigo eyes filled with worry as he looked at Viserra. Alysanne’s chest tightened as she noticed the tenderness in her grandson’s gaze. His worry goes beyond that of a nephew. Her eyes darted towards Baelon. Does he know of this? Is this why he delays Viserys betrothal? Yet he was too preoccupied with tending to his youngest to notice her inquiring gaze. 

Viserra lifted her head from her mother’s chest to meet her nephew’s gaze then whispered. "Daemon. He fought them off. He-he protected me." 

Alysanne’s eyebrows shot upwards at the revelation and she took a small step backwards, entangling herself from Viserra’s embrace, to turn her gaze to the young prince. With all eyes on him Daemon flushed and averted his gaze.  

Aemon let out a low whistle before addressing the young prince. "All that training with the master-at-arms is paying off huh?”

Daemon raised his gaze to stare at his aunt for a moment before acknowledging his uncle’s statement with a nod. “It would seem so, uncle.” 

Aemon nodded back in approval and clapped the young prince on the shoulder. “Good lad. A true knight in the making.” 

“Indeed,” said Jaehaerys, his indigo eyes filled with pride as he walked across the chamber to his grandson. “A knighthood is in your future my boy.”

Baelon stepped forward, hand resting upon Daemon’s shoulder. “Father I must express apprehension at the suggestion, Daemon is still a child and his nature-”

“Is exactly what House Targareyn needs,” interrupted Jaehaerys. “Someone bold. Someone ruthless.” 

Baelon pressed his lips into a thin line, unable to retort his father while in the presence of the Small Council. He turned his gaze towards his mother, shooting her a pleading look. Alysanne bit her bottom lip and shook her head. 

“He is to be rewarded?” gaffed Viserys, his face flushing red, fist clenched at his sides. “He skirts his dutie-”

“Viserys,” warned Baelon, his tone sharp with disapproval. Viserys' face scrunched in anger at his father’s warning. 

“Jealousy is unbecoming of a prince, brother,” taunted Daemon. 

“Daemon!” exclaimed Alysanne, her hand covering her mouth in shock at the prince's jest. 

“That’s enough!” snapped Baelon, who gripped Daemon's shoulder in a silent command to stop instigating. He turned towards his father, his tone exasperated . “I believe it best if I escort the young princes to their chambers.” 

Jaehaerys gave Baelon a stiff nod of approval and stepped to the side to allow the pair to pass. Viserys sucked his teeth and opened his mouth to retort but whatever he had to say died on his lips when Viserra laced her hand into his. His indigo eyes widened at the sudden contact, turning to face his aunt with a bewildered look.

“Come nephew, I will walk with you,” cajoled Viserra, her voice like honey as she began to lead the prince away from the group and towards the chamber doors. Viserys dutifully followed. 

Alysanne's eyes widened at just how much sway her daughter had over Viserys and she began to fidget with the opal ring on her finger once again, twisting it around and around. Is this why Baelon wishes to delay? Viserra and Viserys? Is he plotting with her, for her? Alysanne bit her bottom lip as she watched the four leave through the Small Council chamber doors. So lost in thought, the queen did not notice that Jaehaerys had made his way over to her. He clasped her hands and brought them to his lips, kissing them gently. 

“It’s okay Aly, they’re safe.” 

His voice was firm and soothing but Alysanne could only give him a tight smile in return.

Chapter Text

Fourteenth Day of the Fourth Moon 91AC

Baelon III

the Red Keep 

Baelon strode out the Small Council chamber with his hand still resting on Daemon’s shoulder, preventing the boy from running off. They walked in step through the middle bailey to the serpentine steps, no words passing between them. He was irritated at the latest development although most of his ire was directed towards his father. 

Daemon becoming a knight before Viserys is granted a dragon. He scoffed and ran his hand through his short hair. Seven Hells. Viserra and Daemon’s story left him skeptical the more he thought about it. However well trained the young prince might be, he doubted that Daemon could fight off two grown men on his own. Yet there was nothing that could prove the pair were lying. What could they have to gain with such a falsehood? He sighed before turning his attention to the pair walking arm in arm a few paces ahead of them. His nostrils flared as he eyed his younger sister flirting shamelessly with Viserys. He sucked his teeth before glancing down at his younger son through gritted teeth.

Daemon’s rash nature had always concerned him, now getting praised for the behavior will likely only increase it. Baelon found himself wishing - not for the first time - that his dear wife was still with him. His chest tightened at the thought of Alyssa. She would know how to temper his fire. His eyes softened as his gaze lingered on Daemon. He is your spitting image. 

“You deliberately disobeyed me,” he finally said halfway up the serpentine steps. 

The boy had the decency to look embarrassed as he fidgeted under his father’s harsh gaze. He continued, “You refused a call from your queen, snuck out of the castle and apparently placed Viserra and yourself in great danger.” 

“I know, father. I deeply regret the choices made today that led to such a folly. I have acted rashly, selfishly." Daemon replied, not missing a beat. 

Baelon blinked. He was not expecting this. Daemon had always been a willful child. Any type of correction was met with a harsh reaction. He cleared his throat and nodded, trying to collect himself. 

"Yes." replied Baelon unsure of what to make of his son's sudden change of tune. "And how will you make amends for failing to show up this afternoon?" He inquired.

 "It is my intention to call on my grandmother's ladies in the coming days."

 Baelon raised an eyebrow in a silent command to continue.

"It seems I owe Lady Serret an apology.” Daemon mumbled. 

Baelon’s jaw fell slack at his son’s statement. He stared at his youngest blankly, confused at this sudden turn around. Viserra’s laughter brought his attention back to the pair ahead of them. He narrowed his eyes as he studied his sister, and knew she had something to do with Daemon’s sudden change of tune. He watched the pair walking arm in arm, conversing in hushed whispers and he again gritted his teeth in frustration. 

Since Viserra had discovered his correspondence with Saera two moons ago, he had not rested easy, paranoid that Viserra would betray his trust at any moment yet he was still no closer to confirming the match between his son and sister. Seven Hells he hadn't even brought up the suggestion to the council even! Not that he ever planned it. Originally when he agreed to Viserra’s foolish proposal he believed Saera’s stay would be brief. That hope vanished upon their first meeting; his sister was several moons with child and informed him she would be staying until after she’s churched*. If she had already been gone from the city I could maneuver out of this folly. 

But now? With Saera staying for moons, he knew Viserra would make good on her threat in time. He clenched his jaw and ran his hand through his hair before noticing Daemon glaring daggers at his older brother who was enjoying Viserra’s full attention. A knot formed in his stomach. She’s playing them both. He realized. Baelon wanted to kick himself for his stupidity. In dragging his feet in arranging a match between her and Viserys of course she’d pivot her attention to the younger brother. She did say her only play was marrying back into the family. It doesn’t matter who played the role of bridegroom. Baelon found himself wishing he had been more focused on the pair during his questioning in the Small Council chamber.

No matter I will discover the truth from her regardless. 

He motioned for the guards behind them to step forward. “Escort the princes to their chambers.” He said loud enough for Viserys and Viserra to overhear and both looked at him with varying degrees of annoyance. He ignored their glares and strode forward towards the pair. 

 “Sister, there is much I need to discuss with you.”

Viserra studied him, her amethyst eyes glinting as she tilted her head and a smile slowly stretched across her face. “Indeed there is, brother.”

He felt an uneasiness settle in his stomach yet at her verbal acceptance he forcibly linked their arms, placing her small hand into the crook of his elbow. He knew his sister wouldn’t dare pull away, not with some many eyes upon them. Viserra's smile stayed fixed upon her face as she turned her head to look at Viserys. His son was indignant upon his dismissal, his lips pressed together in a thin line as he glared at his father. Baelon stared back unblinkingly. 

“Call upon me, my prince?” she said sweetly, breaking the silent contest of wills between father and son. Viserys blushed red and began stammering. Viserra just smiled and offered her hand for him to kiss. Viserys dutifully took her hand, brushing his lips against her knuckles before he muttered. “As you wish.”

Viserra’s smile only widened at his reply. She then turned to acknowledge Daemon, “We shall ride out again soon nephew.” Once Daemon responded with a curt nod Viserra turned to face Baelon. “Shall we?”

Baelon gave a sharp nod and led her over the drawbridge into Meagor’s Holdfast. The pair briskly make their way through the corridors to his private study. Once inside, Viserra pulled away from him as if burned, her skirts twirling out around her. They glared at each other. The tension thick as the silence stretched.

“What are you playing at?”

“I hardly know to what you are referring,” replied Viserra with a small shrug.  Her expression one that showed she knew exactly what he was talking about. 

 “Don’t!” he snapped loudly, rage pulsing through him. He took a deep breath before continuing. His voice low and gruff. “Do not play the fool with me Vis. I am not blind to your games. Why were you with Daemon today?”

 “We went riding.” 

He pressed further. “What happened? Out in the kingswoods?” 

Viserra raised an eyebrow. “I told the truth in the Small Council chamber.”

Baelon gritted his teeth. “Daemon is not skilled enough to take on two grown adults.”

Viserra shrugged and took a turn about the study, arms clasped behind her back. “You lack faith in him. He is exactly what the king said. He will make an excellent knight.” She turned to face him. “Is this what you wish to discuss with me?”

Baelon clenched his fists. “Your dalliance with Viserys is at an end.”

Viserra chuckled softly and crossed her arm. “Or what?” she whispered playfully. “The boy is half in love with me already, Baelon. And Daemon -”

Her callous disregard was the last straw and Baelon lost his temper, beginning to shout. “This isn't a game Viserra! They are my children, my boys! They know nothi-“

“You hardly know them!” Viserra interrupted viciously. “Seven hells, mother practically raised them! They’re nearly grown men now. Stop your needless coddling!” 

Baelon stared at his sister in shock as he processed what he heard. 

“Coddling?” He said in disbelief. “I am coddling them? Because I don’t want them in bed with you?” Baelon barked out a laugh and shook his head. “So be it then.” He muttered before turning to face his sister. “To hell with whatever agreement you think we made. Stay away from my sons.”

He watched her smug smile disappear with satisfaction and her arms fell to her sides. Viserra studied her older brother for a moment, before clicking her tongue and turning away from him. She ambled over to the liquor cart and poured two drinks. She raised one in a silent offering to him, which he refused.  

 “Suit yourself.” said Viserra, placing down the offered glass before waltzing over to the cushioned armchair in front of the hearth. She collapsed onto the chair in an undignified manner, sitting slouched backwards against the chair’s back, her legs stretched out in front of her. He raised an eyebrow at her lack of decorum watching as she twirled the brown liquid around the glass before taking a sip. 

“I had not expected it to come to this brother. After all you are a man of your word, are you not?” 

Baelon gritted his teeth but stayed silent. Viserra continued, her voice light. 

“Of course you are. It's how we were raised. That's why I haven't told Kepa about your communications with that whore.” She took a small sip, gaze locked on the raging fire in the hearth. “Yet I find my patience wearing increasingly thin. How many moons has it been hmm that I have steadfastly upheld my end of our little bargain with nothing to show for it? And now you’re demanding I step aside?” She scoffed and shook her head in disbelief before turning her gaze to him. 

He clenched his fists, snarling, “You think you can scare me with father? I am not a teenager Vis. I do not care if father knows Saera wrote me a letter.” He laughed mockingly. 

“Kepa will approve my marriage to Viserys. You need only ask him.” she insisted. 

“You know nothing of the intricacies of matrimonial diplomacy!”

Viserra barked out a laugh. “Matrimonial diplomacy” she repeated, mocking him before laughing again. “Please Baelon, you sound like our mother.” She leaned forward.  “Just tell Kepa you wish for Viserys to marry within our house.”

“It’s not that simple.” Baelon shot back, fists still clenched by his sides. 

"It really is.” countered Viserra, taking another sip. “Either you betroth us or,” she met his gaze, “I’ll tell Kepa you're housing that whore within his city.” 

Her statement knocked the breath from his lungs and his eyes widen. How does she know? He snapped his jaw closed and clenched his teeth, glaring daggers at his sister who just stared back bemused. 

Viserra sighed dramatically. “Oh come brother, did you expect me to simply sit back and wait for you to betrothal us with no reassurance you’ll actually follow through?” She pressed her lips together and slowly shook her head before taking another sip. “Mhmm. That's really good. Is it from the Arbor?”

He didn't reply still trying to process how she discovered his secret dealings. She shot him a loop sided grin then stood. ““For your sake. I would hate for Kepa to discover your dishonesty.” she said walking to the liquor cart. She set down the glass and turned to face him, hands clasped in front of her, she smiled devilishly. “Diverting funds from the royal treasury, to put up a royal whore and her whelp?” She tsked. “Whatever would he say?”

Enraged, Baelon closed the distance between them, snarling and jabbed his finger at her. “You wouldn’t dare!”   

“Get your finger out of my face,” she said calmly. Baelon growled angrily and turned away from her. He wanted to scream in frustration, placed hands on his hips, and bowed his head.  Fucking meddlesome sisters. He stared into the raging fire, watching the flames dance desperately trying to think of a way out of the situation he found himself in. He couldn’t find one. 

"Now I do hope we have come to a better understanding, brother.” said his sister in a honeyed tone as she walked past him towards the door of his study. She paused at the door. “Also I will accompany you the next time you visit her. There are things I wish to say to dear Seara.” 

 He spun around, eyes wide in astonishment at his sister’s request. She continued before he uttered a word. “Please hurry along with our betrothal or I will tell Kepa about your treasonous activity.” She smiled again, before gathering up her skirt and leaving his study.

Baelon reached for the glass Viserra poured him and threw it across the room. The glass shattered against the door, its brown liquid dripping down the door and pooling onto the floor.