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Chapter Text

A boy. A literal child was here to ask for her hand. Willem Blackwood might’ve been slight of stature, but he'd seemed all too eager to spill blood as he drew his sword against Jerrel Bracken. She wouldn't have minded seeing the boy put the man in his place; Jerrel was far too smug about his chances for her taste. Still, her guards broke up the fight quickly when the Blackwood drew first blood. The white cloaks dragged the two away even as they threw spiteful comments back and forth.

She sighed, sending Criston a long-suffering look. He barely suppressed a laugh. Just as she was about to stand and call an end to this farce, the next man stepped forward and caught her attention.

He was not bad looking, indeed. With dark hair that fell to his shoulders and barely a dusting of dark stubble over his chin, his grey eyes seemed far too serious for an event such as this. He even looked to be her age, surprisingly enough, and her eyes caught on the large greatsword strapped to his hip.

Valyrian steel. He had to be at least somewhat important, then.

"Lord Rickon Stark," The squire at the door announced, "Son of Lord Benjen Stark of Winterfell, the Warden of the North."

The entire room went silent and even Rhaenyra found herself at a loss for words momentarily. The Starks...did not partake in politics, nor did they care for matters of the court, and to see one in Storm's End this far away from the North was a shock. By the look on Rickon Stark's face, he'd rather be anywhere but here. That shouldn't intrigue her, but it did.

"I presume you do not need me to inform you of House Stark, princess." Lord Baratheon murmured at her side, eyes wide and locked on the young man with several Northerners at his back.

"No." She said quietly, before speaking up, "Lord Stark. A pleasure to meet you. I'm afraid it's a shock to see you so far from Winterfell."

"This...tour, I suppose it could be called," He looked around the room rather disdainfully, "Would not reach the North so close to winter. My lady mother believed it would be a good idea to send a representative. We were going to meet you in the Riverlands, but the weather permitted us to arrive early and cut through the Crownlands to be here today."

"And it was your lady mother's idea?" Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, mouth quirking up into a smile, "Not that of an ambitious father?"

"My father does as my mother wishes." He gave her a wry smile, "Alas, either way, I'm standing here."

"But you do not wish to be." Rhaenyra surmised, leaning back in her seat, "Tell me, Rickon Stark, why should I take you to husband when you would rather not be present?"

"Because the princess certainly wishes to be present today." He said dryly.

She only barely bit back a laugh.

"Princess, I assure you Lord Stark wouldn't make a fine husband." Some Lannister snickered off to the side, she believed it to be Ser Jason's younger brother Ser Tyland, "Say, Stark, have you even got a cock under there anymore, or has it frozen off by now?"

"Ser Tyland," Rickon turned to him, "I must say I never understood second-son syndrome until now. My own younger brother does not suffer from it, you see, so thank you for being an example."

The Lannister sneered, taking a step forward, and the Stark merely watched him with cold eyes as he placed a hand on the Valyrian steel sword that Rhaenyra now recognized as Ice, the ancestral greatsword of House Stark. The Lannister's steps faltered under the unbroken gaze and the blond man's jaw tightened as he stepped back into the line of observers. She had already declined the Lannister's multiple proposals, yet they still hounded her steps no matter where she went.

This was...more than gratifying to see. She also realized her mistake now. Lord Rickon was not boring, nor was he placid. Where her anger boiled, raged, was made of fire...his was ice. Cold, tempered, a slow death.

The prophecy came to mind unbidden. 

From my blood come the prince that was promised, and his will be the song of ice and fire.

Those grey eyes swept back over to Rhaenyra, "Princess, my Lord father Benjen and Lady mother Lysa Stark of Winterfell offer the terms as follows. Our first child would sit on the Iron Throne and take the name Targaryen. Our second would inherit Winterfell under the name Stark and become the Warden of the North."

"Child, not son." She says carefully, "You would have a daughter inherit?"

"Are you not a daughter?" He said rhetorically, "Lady Lynara Stark, daughter of Torrhen Stark, was set to inherit a Queenship before Aegon the Conqueror came to these lands. As it stands, she became the Lady of Winterfell, but my point remains the same. The flowery rules of the south hold no weight in the North. What matters is strength, and I'd say you have more than enough of that, as any daughters or sons of ours would."

She looks at him closely for a moment. He's pleasing to look at, it's true. Nearly the polar opposite of her uncle, Daemon, truly. His character was tempered with steel, not quick to anger but she can tell it would certainly be a thing to behold. Standing, she walks down the steps to stand before him face-to-face. The chattering grows louder all around them, but she pays it no mind.

Looking over his shoulder, she sees the Northerners are not all men like she'd originally thought.

"And your party?" She asks, "Who are they?"

"My good sister's father Lord Elric Karstark, Lady Gillane Glover, and Lord Jorel Mormont." He nods to each of them in turn, "All trusted vassals of House Stark."

"I see. Have you ever ridden a dragon, Lord Stark?" She takes another step closer, clasping her hands behind her back.

"No, my princess." His lips quirk up.

My princess. By the seven, she liked the sound of that. She liked the sound of all of it, really, and the benefits far outweighed any objections she might have. The North was loyal, honor and duty ran thick in their blood. If she were to marry a Stark and endear herself to the Northmen, her claim on the Iron Throne was practically guaranteed. Even Otto Hightower, as much as the man was a conniving ass, didn't want to go toe to toe with the largest realm in Westeros.

Turning to Criston, he stood at attention as soon as her eyes found him, "Ser Criston, kindly take Lord Stark's party back on the boat with you. He will be riding Syrax with me back to King's Landing."

The muttering noises in the background turned to clamor as soon as the words left her mouth. The lords behind Rickon vying for her attention, the observers who'd already been seen begging her to reconsider; she paid them no mind, offering the Stark her arm. He accepted it readily, looking down at her with curious grey eyes.

"I'm in your hands, my princess." He said simply, waving a hand for her to lead the way.

White cloaks fell into formation around them as she led him outside Storm's End to where Syrax lounged on the rocks by the shoreline. The great dragon rose as Rhaenyra approached, Rickon right beside her. She gave credit where it was due, he did not so much as flinch when warm breath showered over the both of them. Rhaenyra stroked the bronze scales for a moment before releasing Rickon's arm and gesturing to the saddle.

"You'll ride behind me, arms at my waist. This is no time for propriety; if you let go, you'll fall to your death. I'd hate to have Lord Benjen and Lady Lysa think I was plotting to kill their heir."

"Nevermind propriety," The look on his face was nearly rakish and she particularly liked it, "I couldn't possibly allow my brother to be the only son. He'd drive our mother up the wall."

He filled the space behind her nicely, her back pressed against his firm chest and his strong arms circling her waist. Just for a moment, she longed to feel more; some in the south called the Northmen savages. She wondered, despite never having known a man's touch in bed, if it would be an accurate descriptor.

"Naejot, Syrax. Naejot se mele lua." The High Valyrian fell from her tongue and Syrax was off like a shot.

She heard a rough breath tear itself from Rickon's chest as the wind whipped in their faces and she was momentarily disappointed. Was he, perhaps, afraid of the height or the speed? She turned to look at him and found nothing but the thrill of adrenaline in his eyes, his smile like a wolf bearing its teeth.

Mayhaps, she thought as she turned her eyes back to the sky, she could get used to having the Stark around.

They landed in the Dragonpit without ceremony, only for Rhaenyra to spot Caraxes in a space that had been vacated since Daemon had begun a war with the Velaryons against the invaders taking root in the Stepstones. 

"Is that one important?" Rickon eyed Caraxes up and down, taking in his size compared to Syrax as they dismounted.

"My uncle's dragon, Caraxes." She said, slightly distracted, "He hasn't been home in some time."

"Fighting a war in the Stepstones, yes?" Rickon asked, taking note of her surprised glance, "We do still get ravens in the North, my princess."

Ignoring the fluttering in her lower stomach, she instead nodded, "You are correct. I just wonder what has brought him back to court."

Have the Stepstones been taken in favor of her father? Or has her uncle done something that would potentially get him re-exiled? It wouldn't be shocking at this point, certainly, especially after that stunt he'd pulled with the dragon egg. Despite that, she had business to attend to and refused to let her focus be swayed.

She noticed Rickon kept a distance of two steps behind her as they walked; the distance just enough to be deferential. Acknowledging her title as Crown Princess, where men like Jason Lannister tried to push themselves up by her side. As they approached the throne room, she saw the surprised looks on the faces of the white cloaks that guarded the entrance. They opened the door at once, nevertheless, and all she heard was the sound of applause.

Not for her, however. Her father and uncle stood before the throne, hugging. She supposed he'd managed to find himself forgiven yet again.

"Crown Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen of Dragonstone," The knight announced before he glanced behind her with a raised eyebrow.

"Lord Rickon Stark." Rhaenyra supplied quickly.

"And Lord Rickon Stark of Winterfell."

The room was quiet, similar to Storm's End upon his announcement, and Rhaenyra began the long walk to the throne without even a glance to see if Rickon was following. She knew he would be; so far her little wolf had been fearless, and she expected no less here. As they approached, her father looked at her in confusion while Daemon only raised a playful eyebrow.

"And where did you find a Stark, dear niece?" Daemon eyed the younger man up and down, "I was under the impression that they were reclusive."

"Of course not, Prince Daemon." Rickon smiled derisively, "We simply aren't fond of the heat in the south. It can be...unbearable."

Daemon and Rhaenyra both knew he wasn't talking about the heat, and her uncle outright laughed. Her father, meanwhile, was only looking at Rhaenyra with concerned eyes.

"You have two months yet on your tour. Why have you returned so early?" The king's eyes wandered to Rickon, "Unless..."

"Yes, father. I do intend to put forth Lord Rickon Stark for your approval. House Stark has offered a marriage contract in which my first heir will take the throne as a Targaryen, and my second will inherit Winterfell as a Stark. It seemed amendable." She said, "And strengthening our ties with the North couldn't hurt."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Otto Hightower watching the two of them critically.

"My King," The Lord Hand began, "Surely we should give this more thought. There could be a more suitable match somewhere-"

He knew Rhaenyra could not be touched should she birth heirs under the Targaryen and Stark banners. He knew, the conniving ass, and from the look in her uncle's eyes, he was thinking the same thing she was. Daemon was many things, it was true, but he was right all the times he called Otto Hightower a cunt.

Rickon shifted behind her. She couldn't see him, but she could see Daemon's grin widen and Otto's face pale.

"Otto." Viserys interrupted, eyes wide as he shot a glance at Rickon, "My daughter has chosen well. I can think of nothing better than further allying ourselves with the Starks of the North. It will be a joining of two great houses which has never been seen before. Lord Rickon, I accept my daughter's selection and invite you to send word to your Lord father to come to King's Landing at once so we may draft an official contract."

She finally turned to see him bow, "I will at once, your grace." 

He cut a sharp look at Otto once more before giving Rhaenyra a slight smile and allowing a servant to show him to his temporary quarters. A smattering of applause broke out as the assembled crowd realized the princess was now as good as engaged, which turned into a roar of cheering very quickly.

Viserys reached out, patting his daughter on the cheek as he spoke lowly, "I'm proud of you, my girl."

She couldn't help the grin that enveloped her face as she bowed her head, "Thank you, father."

Chapter Text

The gathering in the garden ended up being a joint welcome home for both her and Daemon, but her recent engagement meant that most of the attention fell to her. Rickon, to her displeasure, was nowhere to be found. That wasn't exactly shocking; he knew nothing of the Red Keep and would likely get lost should he step foot outside his new chambers. Still, she would have liked him to be here.

She finally managed to escape the prying glances and questions from the ladies of the court, plucking a candied lemon off one of the cakes as she hid by the snack table. Perhaps she might be able to avoid everyone if she were to just stay put here.

"Rhaenyra?"

Or perhaps not.

Forcing back a sigh, she turned to where Alicent was approaching. She had given birth to her third child while Rhaenyra was away, a second son whom her father had named Aemond. Another brother she'd gained but never met, similar to her sister Helaena who she'd only seen in passing.

Pursing her lips, she nodded her head in Alicent's direction, "Your Grace."

Then she turned on her heel and headed for the bench that had recently become one of her favorite spots to read, shaded as it was from the trees around. She had quite a few of those, now; it was a necessity when she spent so much of her time avoiding her father and his new wife and children.

"Rhaenyra, wait." She heard the pleading in Alicent's voice, "Please."

The princess sat, and so did the queen. Biting back a scathing remark, Rhaenyra looked resolutely ahead and ignored the way she saw the other girl's shoulders slump in her peripheral vision. Nudging at a rock with her foot, she wondered how long she would have to endure this.

"So," Alicent's voice was quiet, "I surmise the tour went well?"

Rhaenyra scoffed, "I was seconds from ending the circus myself. Had Lord Stark not appeared when he did, I would have returned without any man."

"To have every knight and lord in the seven kingdoms fawning over you...what misery." Her voice was joking, but Rhaenyra could hear the bitter twinge to Alicent's words, "It is rare for girls in this realm to get a choice between two suitors, let alone two scores of them."

"Those men and boys did not fawn over me. They only want my Valyrian blood for their offspring." Rhaenyra grimaced, "I might have chosen Lord Stark, but it does not mean he wasn't there for the same purpose. The only difference was I can bear him, whereas the others I could not."

Alicent smiled slightly, scooting closer, "I think it's rather romantic. The stoic lord saving the exhausted princess from her legion of admirers."

Rhaenyra sorely wished she had wine right about now, but pushed forward sober nonetheless, "So, tell me. Is my father finally appeased?"

"The king went through great effort to arrange your tour. He's pleased it was fruitful, and to a high lord such as the Stark heir no less." Alicent looked away, dropping her gaze to her lap, "And I am...glad you are home, as well. I find that I have few friends lately."

Her eyes dragged up to watch the ladies gathered, gossiping amongst themselves as they laughed and whispered.

"I like to believe I am still the Lady Alicent," She continued quietly, "Yet all anyone sees when they look at me now is the queen."

She was vulnerable, at that moment. Alicent had always been quick to sadden while Rhaenyra had been quick to anger. Logically the princess knew this was not her old friend's fault; Otto Hightower was a piece of work in and of himself, and Rhaenyra had no doubt as to who truly arranged that particular marriage. Still, the sting of betrayal bit at her. 

Even still, she allowed herself a moment of weakness. Reaching down to grasp Alicent's hand, she looked up to see the queen's eyes growing wet with tears.

"I missed you, too." She whispered.

"I...am glad." Alicent's voice was hoarse.

The queen opened her mouth to say something else, but her words were interrupted. The sound of boots on the stone pathways caught their attention and Rhaenyra brightened when she saw who was approaching.

"Lord Stark," She stood, fighting the urge to run her hands down her dress to rid it of wrinkles, "I'm surprised you found your way out of the keep."

"Its halls are winding," He agreed, "I merely asked some members of the court to point me in your direction."

Alicent stood as well, her eyes trailing over the Northman curiously, "You must be Rhaenyra's betrothed."

Rickon gave a half bow as he noticed her, "Nothing so set in stone, your grace, but hopefully soon."

"Of course." Alicent nodded, looking at Rhaenyra with astonished eyes as the Stark looked out into the courtyard to observe the party.

Rhaenyra knew what that look meant. She'd likely had the same one when she first saw Rickon if she were honest with herself. He was unquestionably easy on the eyes, and there was a certain charm to a Northerner's dry wit.

"Well," Rickon began, looking at Rhaenyra, "I was going to come and rescue you from a droll affair, but obviously that's not necessary with an event as lively as this."

Rhaenyra stepped forward, close enough to smack him playfully on the arm, "Please, do all the rescuing you'd like."

"A tour of the grounds, then?" He asked, offering his arm for her to link her own with, "If I'm to spend so much of my time here, I should know how to reach the dining hall without getting lost."

"Of course." She said before hesitating, sending a glance back at Alicent.

"Please, go." Alicent waved her hands with a smile, "Do not stay on account of me."

"Well, then." Rickon said as she intertwined their arms, "After you, my princess."

She's almost positive he knew what that endearment did to her stomach and how it sent butterflies flying, damn him.

The Red Keep was large, but as they reached the throne room after doing a full circle she found herself not wanting the impromptu tour to end. Rickon was the sort of person who was quietly funny; well-placed quips and dry remarks which entertained her to no end. It was even funnier watching people who didn't understand try and figure out if he was insulting them or not. She understood why the Starks didn't come to court if they were all similar to Rickon, and yet she knew the proceedings would be even more entertaining if they were present.

Well, she supposed she'd see the rest of his family in action soon.

"I wrote to my father," He said as they approached the Iron Throne, "You should know he won't come alone, though. Mother will certainly travel with him, and I know my brother would worm his way here if they'd allow him."

"And why should he not be allowed?" Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, "I assure you, we have more than enough food to host one more."

He shook his head slightly, "It's not that. There simply must always be a Stark in Winterfell."

"Truly?" She did not laugh, taking in his serious countenance, "Is this simply a family tradition or is it more on the superstitious side of things?"

"Not sure." He shrugged slightly, "Every Stark that came before me has been insistent, though, and I see no reason to change it. Things north of the wall are much different than anyone knows, my princess, and if the Wall were to fall then our people would take refuge in Winterfell. The Brothers have been saying something is stirring, but they know not what it may be."

"Stirring north of the wall?" Her eyebrows rose, "You mean wildlings, then? How could they possibly break through the wall? I mean, isn't that the entire job of the Night's Watch to worry about?"

"One blast heralds the arrival of brothers at the wall," He held up a single finger before holding up a second, "Two means there has been an attack."

She decided to play along, "And three?"

He smiled slightly, holding up a third finger, "It is a warning that the Others are approaching."

She knew not what the Others were, yet his tone sent gooseflesh up and down her arms.

"What are they?" She asked, "Different than Wildlings, I'm assuming?"

"The Others, cold gods, white walkers, whatever you would call them." He shrugged slightly, "I'm sure our folktales don't reach so far south, but during the Age of Heros the first men of the Night's Watch fought with the children of the forest to end the Long Night."

"Long Night?" Rhaenyra asked, her gaze fluttering between Rickon's face and the throne.

"Cold and darkness that lasted a generation. The Others came from the utmost north and raised dead men to fight the living. This was far before the Andals and the Rhyonar came to Westeros, understand. It's been eight thousand years, mind you, but the superstitious lot back home believe they'll come again and bring about the night that never ends."

It is to begin with a terrible winter, her father had said, gusting out of the distant north. Aegon saw absolute darkness riding on those winds, and whatever dwells within will destroy the land of the living.

She swallowed thickly, staring into the iron that had been fused together centuries ago by dragonfire. 

If the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne.

The prophecy had been a distant thought, before. A mere coincidence as she planned to marry a Stark to secure her position. Now, though...

A hand brushed her arm, but she did not jump. She met concerned grey eyes, Rickon tilting his head down slightly to better catch her attention.

"I'm sorry, my princess." He murmured, "Please, don't fret over our fairy tales. They are used to scare children these days, nothing more."

She forced a smile, "Northmen might be superstitious, but so are Targaryens."

He hummed, "Is that so?"

"We do have dragons, my lord." She said, pulling her gaze away from the throne once and for all, "It pays to take note of magic, fairy tale or not."

"You'll fit right in." He chuckles lowly, "Truly, though, you needn't worry. Winters are hard, but the Starks will endure, as will the North. We always have."

That may be, but what will happen when Aegon's dream becomes a reality? Who will be the prince that was promised, and who will defeat the Others and end the long night once more?

"Of course." Was what she said instead before sweeping an arm towards the door, "I find myself not wanting the tour to end. Would you be amenable to seeing the dragon pit? Usually, none but the Targaryens and the dragonkeepers enjoy it, but it's a sight nonetheless."

His face brightened ever so slightly, "I would. Please, lead the way."

"What of House Stark's sigil?" She asked as they walked, "Did you play with direwolf pups as a boy?"

"Hardly," He shook his head with a faint smile, "They're growing scarcer north of the wall these days, and hardly any have been spotted past the Riverlands."

"A shame." She bumped her shoulder with his as they approached the entrance of the Dragonpit, "You'd have looked very fearsome with a giant wolf at your side."

He countered, "Not as fearsome as you riding your Syrax."

She wondered if he were a natural-born manipulator, or simply gifted with some unfathomable knowledge of her weak spots. Instead of spending too much time on the thought, she watched the Dragonkeepers snap to attention as she walked forward.

"Princess Rhaenyra," One bowed his head, the dragon scales lining his black helm glinting in the torchlight.

She returned the nod, "I'm here to show Lord Rickon the Dragonpit, and to see Syrax."

The two stationed silently opened the heavy wooden doors, allowing them entrance. Instantly the noises associated with dragons washed over them like a wave; chirping and growling, hissing and warbled sounds of communication. The open dome above them allowed sunlight to wash in, casting a beautiful glow on Syrax's scales as they approached the dragon. She was curled up on her favorite large rock, with no others near her as she was quite territorial.

"Syrax, valzȳrys." She said, grabbing ahold of the collar around Syrax's neck to press her face into the dragon's snout, "Valzȳrys."

She repeated the High Valyrian word for husband a few more times before waving Rickon forward. It wasn't exactly true, but there were no words in their shared language that Rhaenyra could use to get Syrax to understand the concept of an arranged engagement and courtship. So she settled for what would get results the fastest, and she appeared successful from the way Syrax leaned her great head forward to nuzzle Rickon's hair.

The dragon blew out a warm breath as she pulled away, blasting Rickon right in the face and giving him a rather windswept look. Rhaenyra couldn't suppress her laughter as the Stark unflinchingly fixed his cloak.

"If she's fond of doing that, I might have to stop wearing furs." He said, "It's quite warm."

"Quite." Rhaenyra agreed, reaching up and fixing a stray hair, "You aren't scared of much, hm? Are the rumors true and you're actually made of ice?"

"Well, my princess, I didn't melt when I rode south of the Neck." His eyes followed her hand back to her side, "And I knew what I was getting myself into, what with proposing to a dragon."

"I'm glad." She said, and it was true.

She knocked gently on her father's door that night. Rickon had long since retired to his rooms and she'd seen neither hide nor hair of Alicent, yet she found herself too restless to sleep. When the call from inside said to come in, she did just that. There her father sat, carefully looking at a piece of his model he'd dubbed New Valyria.

In truth, Rhaenyra was merely happy Alicent wasn't here. That had been her biggest dread when she knocked upon his door. Logically, she knew what had to have happened for her younger siblings to be born. The thought of seeing or hearing it for herself, however, made her want to throw herself into the sea.

Viserys glanced up dismissively before realizing who had entered his chambers and sat the model piece down, turning his full attention to Rhaenyra.

"Father." She said, "Is now alright?"

"Of course, my girl. Please, sit." He gestured to a chair across from him, "What troubles you so late?"

"And how do you know something troubles me?" She asked, resisting the urge to wring her hands.

Her father's face softened, "You look like Aemma when you're worried. If you have concerns, please speak them."

"You're right." She said, her throat closing up at the mention of her mother, "The Northerners..."

"I know they seem like a hard people, Rhaenyra." He began impatiently, "But I'm certain they will be welcoming to you when the time comes, and since we've already invited Lord Stark to King's Landing-"

"That's not it." She interrupted, ignoring his furrowed brows, "Lord Rickon and I get along well, and his people are not what I worry over."

"Then what is it?" He asked, worry beginning to seep into his expression, "Rhaenyra-"

"Lord Rickon told me the Night's Watch has grown uneasy." She hastily explained, "He said they believe something is stirring, but they are unsure as to what it might be."

"So they need more men?" Viserys asked, "If they only ask, we can send some north from the dungeons of the Red Keep. Wilding attacks growing more frequent is certainly something to be concerned about, and I understand their apprehension."

"Do you know of the North's Long Night?" She asked, feeling quite silly as if she were a girl running to her father with a nightmare, "Their tale from the Age of Heroes?"

"I'm afraid not." He said, "Northmen are notoriously tight-lipped, after all."

She nodded, "And Lord Rickon said they are superstitious as well. Their legends speak of the Others. White walkers who could raise the dead and bring a winter so cold and dark it lasted generations. They believe it will happen again."

She saw the moment the pieces clicked together in his mind and his eyes widened ever so slightly.

"Father," She continued, "Could this have to do with Aegon's dream? The prophecy?"

"It...might." He allowed, "But the song could be far away still."

"The song." She repeated, "The song of ice and fire. From my blood come the prince that was promised, and his will be the song of ice and fire."

The speaking of the prophecy did not sound like some casual reading this time. It sounded like a decree.

Viserys seemed to think so too, for he stood and knelt at her side, taking her hand in his own that trembled, "Rhaenyra...If anything is to happen in your lifetime, as my heir I know you are capable of handling it. If, God's willing, I am still around then, I will do all I can for you as well. Please, don't be frightened, my girl. I cannot bear it."

"I am not frightened. The dark cannot scare a dragon." She gave him a small smile, "I just wanted to...inform you. That's all."

"Of course." He said, shoulders relaxing as he stood once more, "I'm glad to see you take your responsibilities to the realm so seriously. I meant to bring this up tomorrow but I believe it's time for you to take your seat on the Small Council as my heir. You've been our cupbearer long enough."

Her heart hammered as she nodded, "I'm honored."

"You are my daughter, Aemma's daughter." He said, "It is your birthright. Now, go get some sleep, child."

Sleep she did. In her bed she lay staring at the ceiling in the dark, too many thoughts swirling in her head to shut them out. So she dove into them, her eyes slipping shut, senses dulling as the tide of her own unconsciousness pulled her under. And when she dreamed, she dreamed of a babe with hair of moonlight and a babe with hair as dark as the night, both bathed in dragonfire before she opened her eyes.

Chapter Text

When Rhaenyra arrived early with her father in the chambers of the Small Council nearly a month following their nighttime discussion of prophecies and responsibilities, he urged her into Otto's usual seat at his right. It was the first council meeting since, and her first introduction to them as a member.

"He is Hand of the King, though." She said, though she celebrated the victory inwards regardless of her words.

"And you are my heir." He responded plainly, "No matter how important the Hand is, the heir is above all but the ruling monarch, which is myself. You will sit on my right, and he can sit next to you."

The words were firm, so she sat. Lord Beesbury filed in next, the oldest council member next to Grand Maester Mellos, and gave her what seemed to be a genuine smile.

"The Princess of Dragonstone taking her rightful seat." He said, giving her a deep bow, "It pleases me to see it, Your Highness."

She gave him a nod, "Thank you, my lord."

"Yes, Lyman." Viserys looked approving as the Master of Coin took his seat, "I must agree."

Lord Corlys Velaryon entered next, though he did so more quietly than in the past. He had spoken few words since he arrived back from Driftmark after the war he waged with her uncle in the Stepstones. Though the Lord of Ships raised a brow at seeing Rhaenyra sitting adjacent to her father, he only offered her and the king a bow before he took his seat. Mellos shuffled in not long after, not noticing her as he made his way slowly into the room and bowed before the king before taking his seat.

Viserys coughed sharply.

Mellos looked up, startled, and finally noticed Rhaenyra. He stood quicker than she believed the old man capable and gave her a deep bow.

"Ah, my apologies, Your Highness. I did not look and believed you to be Otto."

She wasn't sure if she should be offended by that or not, but ultimately figured that his age was causing his eyesight to take its leave.

The moment she had been waiting for since she'd sat down finally came when Otto Hightower himself walked through the door. He noticed her immediately. With eyes narrowed the faintest amount, he strode forward and glanced toward the king.

"Your Grace, might I inquire as to why-?"

"You may, and the answer is that my heir is moving beyond the duties of a cupbearer and into a position befitting her station." Viserys said swiftly, "Any further inquiries?"

"Surely she is much too young to acquire a seat on the small council. She can still learn as a cupbearer without interference."

"Interfering, you mean." Her father's eyes narrowed, "Young lords across Westeros begin their education to succeed their fathers at a much younger age than Rhaenyra's. Aside from this, Otto, the simple fact is that I need not justify my actions. You may take your seat next to Rhaenyra."

Lord Lyman hid a laugh with a cough, which made the vein in the Hand's neck pulse. With his jaw clenched, he sat, his entire body was stiffer than before. He notably showed no sign of respect to her or the king, which her father clearly noticed by the sight of his frown.

The Master of Laws, Lyonel Strong, came through the door next to quite a tense atmosphere. To his credit, he neither paused nor gaped when he saw Otto taking the second seat next to Rhaenyra, and merely took his usual spot across from her after a series of brief bows. Rhaenyra caught his eye from across the table, and she thought for a moment she could see amusement past the calm facade. 

When everyone was seated, the servant who was acting as the temporary cupbearer filled the goblets on the table. Rhaenyra covered hers with her hand, as she had seen Corlys do many a time. He'd always said, as far back into her childhood as she could remember, that more level heads amongst powerful men would do Westeros a world of good. She thought she saw him hide a smile as she mirrored his motions, but she wasn't sure.

"The first thing that is to be discussed, despite the knowledge being public, will be Princess Rhaenyra's betrothal to the Stark heir." Viserys said, smiling at his daughter as he spoke, "An auspicious match, to say the least."

"While I might've preferred a match with Laenor," Lord Velaryon sighed, "I will say she has chosen well."

"It's true." Lord Strong said, begrudging respect in his voice, "The Northerners partake in Southern matters very little, and are hesitant to even call their banners on behalf of the Iron Throne, so to take the future Warden of the North as husband will be a boon."

"And of course, the Princess will keep the name Targaryen?" Mellos asked, "Unless, that is, we will have the first Stark on the Iron Throne?"

"Rhaenyra will keep the name Targaryen." Viserys said firmly, "And no matter who seats the throne of Rhaenyra's children, should the unthinkable happen and her firstborn not survive, they will also take the name Targaryen as well."

"More will be discussed when the Starks arrive, I should presume." Otto drawled, "For now, we should discuss food stores for the coming winter."

Rhaenyra contemplated the wisdom of her actions before she decided to speak, "That is another matter, certainly, Lord Hand. In the spirit of preparation for winter, I should mention that Lord Stark had said the Night's Watch is lacking in men and supplies. I have spoken to my father about this prior to today's meeting, but I propose the Crown bolster their donation of bodies, food goods, and weaponry."

"The Night's Watch?" Otto scoffed, "It's where the murderers and heathens go to freeze. What should they do with the excess when their only duty is to stop the raids of Wildlings?"

"There will be no excess." She snipped back, "They lack supplies as it is and even Northern support of them is flagging as they struggle to keep up with the assault on the Wall. Even with Good Queen Alysanne's New Gift, the people whose taxes should be assisting them have fled south into Umber lands to escape the pillaging done by the Wildings."

"And young Lord Stark has informed you of this?" Otto raised an eyebrow, "We aren't even getting the information straight from the Warden. If it was so important, Lord Benjen would seek aid himself."

Rickon had been the one to inform her, of course. The past month had been spent trading knowledge of Northern and Southern houses, each other's preference of food, and even japes about their respective childhoods. They were conversations she enjoyed, and even looked forward to. 

"In the spirit of fairness, the Warden would not make requests on behalf of the Night's Watch." Lord Strong spoke up, "The Lord Commander would, and has. Dorrick Stout has petitioned the crown thrice since his appointment following Lothor Burley's death six years ago."

"Then we would be remiss not to offer aid." Viserys spoke, quieting any disagreements, "Lord Beesbury, I'd like a report of our current donations and what you think might be added. Lord Strong, please have a look at the dungeons of the Red Keep and see who might be fit to take the black. Send ravens out to the lords in the South, as well, and encourage them to do the same."

After receiving nods from both, Otto cleared his throat once more, "And the food stores, Your Grace?"

Viserys turned his attention to the Hightower, "Yes, of course. How was the harvest this past season in the Reach?"

Rhaenyra figured this was where it got boring, but she forced herself to remain bright eyes and attentive. She would give Otto Hightower no reasons to cast doubts on her performance as heir. None at all, or else it may cost her the throne.

Rickon had been waiting for her outside when she exited the small council chambers. Perched on one of the benches, he had what looked to be quite an old book he'd likely snuck from the library when the masters weren't looking spread open in his lap.

He glanced up when she approached, a small smile finding its way onto his face as he stood and tucked the book beneath his arm "My princess. I'm sure the council meeting was suitably riveting?"

"Hardly." She whispered, so as not to be overheard by the lords exiting behind her, "I was nearly bored to tears."

She felt her father's gaze on them, and nearly snicked when Rickon noticed and practically bent himself in half to bow, "Your Grace."

"Lord Stark." Viserys nodded, placing a hand on Rhaenyra's shoulder, "Your lord father should be here just short of two months, correct?"

"Yes, Your Grace." He nodded as he stood, "He wrote that my mother was traveling with him along with his ward, Lord Bolton's son Kaegan, and several of our vassals. My brother will be staying in Winterfell with his wife and my nephew."

"We look forward to their arrival." Viserys gave him a small smile, "In the meantime, you might begin to take supper with us in the royal wing."

Rhaenyra's eyes widened, but she steadfastly avoided looking at her father. She hadn't been to a family supper since Aegon was born, and she knew this was a ploy to bargain for her attendance as soon as the words left his mouth. Rickon glanced at her when her face whitened and frowned slightly, but forced a neutral face for the king.

"I would be honored, Your Grace." He said awkwardly, "I would seek my princess's guidance on such matters, however, so I am not an intrusion to the queen or your children."

Viserys raised an eyebrow at his address of Rhaenyra and how it brushed the border of a term of endearment, "I see. I can tell you are loyal to my daughter's feelings, I suppose, which is admittedly the bare minimum that men can hope for their sons-by-law."

She finally sighed deeply, grabbing Rickon by the arm, "I was to take Lord Stark to visit Syrax, father. I will think on dinner shortly after, if it pleases you."

"It would." He nodded shallowly, "Alicent, too. She has been saddened by your absence all these years, Rhaenyra."

And whose fault is that, she thought venomously for a moment. Alicent had been the one to plant the idea at the behest of Otto Hightower, but the king had made the final decision. He'd known he was marrying Rhaenyra's best friend, taking away the one thing that was truly hers, and had still done it. She was betrayed by Alicent, but also her father, as much as she tried to forget it. With her mother gone, he was all that was left, and yet he had hurt her just as deeply as Alicent.

She turned on her heel, dragging Rickon away. The Stark didn't give a single noise of protest, even as she brushed past the Dragonkeepers at the pit and led him inside. She headed straight for Syrax, finally releasing Rickon as she stroked the backs of her fingers over bronze scales. The she-dragon rustled, and Rhaenyra knew she felt her rider's upset as if it were her own. She glanced back at Rickon, watching the way he looked at Syrax with barely concealed curiosity.

"Thank you," She said quietly, "For earlier. Not many men would deny the king. I can hardly think of another who would do it so brazenly, aside from the king's own brother."

"Thank me not, it was hardly brazen. You are to be my wife, and your honor and feelings should come before all else." Rickon gave her a sideways glance, "That was what my mother and father taught me, at least."

She swallowed and her hand fell to her side, thinking of her own mother and how her father used to profess the same. Would she end up like the tragic Queen Aemma, dead on the same day as her newborn child? All for the sake of a son?

Fingers brushed her own, and she looked up to meet Rickon's gaze.

"You're in your head again." He whispered, hardly heard over the noises of the dragons around them.

"I am." She acquiesced, glancing away after only a moment, "Lord Stark, I know you said to not care for your heir's gender, but what if I'm to give you only daughters? Most men want a son, regardless of what they say."

"I was being truthful, even if I understand it is hard for you to believe. Southern women are often treated as a commodity, and I know the North is sometimes no better. I know your own mother..." He faltered, "I'm sorry if I overstepped."

"You did not." She said tightly, "Finish your thought. I command it."

"I know the rumors of what happened to your own mother and I'm sorry." His face was earnest, "My own mother never struggled in the child bed, but even she wished to stop having children after myself and my brother and began regularly taking moon tea."

"And your father allowed her?" Rhaenyra asked, mildly confused.

Perhaps because they were both sons. An heir and a spare, she supposed.

Rickon's eyes widened, though, and he appeared concerned, "Of course. Had she wished to stop after I was born, it would have been so as well. To not...To force your wife...That is a vile crime, my princess."

He looked at her as if begging her to understand, but she could not. How could she, when she'd been taught before she became heir, before her life turned upside down, that she would always be a man's property?

"If you should give me one daughter to take the Iron Throne, I have a brother with children who bear the name Stark. Should no child come from our coupling, you have siblings that bear the name Targaryen." He sighed, taking her hand fully, "It is no shame to make them your heir if your life is in danger. Men name siblings their heirs all the time. There is only one of you, Rhaenyra, and there will only ever be one."

The way her little wolf said her name in that Northern accent vibrated through her. She wasn't quite sure how to respond, which was likely for the best as she'd end up saying something appropriately foolish and embarrass herself in front of her betrothed.

"So you want not for the Valyrian blood I can give to your sons?" She finally asked hoarsely, "Like all the other men who arrived at that tour for my hand? You claim to be different from them?"

"My mother told me two days before I left that I would be joining that parade of Southern noblemen for your hand. She and my father decided months after we learned of the tour. Going in I never imagined I'd even catch your eye." He raised an eyebrow, amusement clear on his face, "Still not sure how I managed that one if I'm to be honest."

"What, do the ladies at home not call you handsome?" She asked, a teasing lilt finding its way into her voice once more.

He was comely enough to draw any Southern lady into his bed, and yet he doubts himself in way of appearance. Truly perplexing.

He scoffed, "They do, for a Northerner. Southern men are prettier than we are by and large. Besides that, what lady wouldn't tell the heir of Winterfell he's handsome?"

"You think they complimented you for your station." Rhaenyra surmised and found herself twinging in sympathy.

She could relate.

"Of course." His mouth twisted to the side in wry amusement, "By no means am I ugly, and I do not claim to be, but Northmen are called savages in the south for a reason."

"Well, firstly, your stubble is adorable. Secondly, you're very tall, and I like that." She grinned, "Taller than nearly every man in the castle, even Lord Strong's heir."

"Wait until you meet my father." He said dryly, "He has a few inches on me yet."

"Not to mention you're strong." She laughed slightly, feeling brazen as she reaches up and squeezes his bicep, "Solid, my lord. More so than most men in the South, even the knights. Hard labor, I'd assume, from equally hard winters. You are handsome and strong and kind."

She hadn't known him for little more than a fortnight and yet she wanted him to know that. She needed him to know that. He blinked, as if stupefied, and it was the first time she's seen true vulnerability in his eyes. His grip on her hand tightened.

"And you can believe me, Lord Stark. My station is higher than yours, after all, so I have no need to lie." She gave him a cheeky grin, watching his ears and nose flush the faintest pink.

He swallowed, so thickly she could see the bob of his throat, "Of course, my princess."

Syrax growled then, lowering her head before Rhaenyra and Rickon like a puppy who wanted attention. The princess laughed and tugged Rickon forward by still joined hands, making to mount her.

"Might you fancy another ride, my lord?" She asked, lilac eyes glinting in the glow of the torches around them.

He returned the smile, "I might."

Syrax made a warbling sound of pleasure as they took flight, Rhaenyra's blood singing in her veins.

Later that evening, dressed in a red and gold gown while Rickon donned black and grey, Rhaenyra knocked on the door of the royal family's personal dining room. It swung open, revealing a distracted Alicent who was trying to get little Aegon to stop pulling on her dress while she held infant Aemond, who was squalling in her arms. When she looked up and saw who was standing before her, she much resembled a gaping fish.

Then Aegon screamed and yanked on her dress, nearly causing her to topple over. 

"Do you...want me to hold him?" Rhaenyra looked at the little babe in her arms, "So you can attend to Aegon?"

She blinked, mystified, before nodding as if she didn't trust her words. She passed the babe over easily, the swaddled little thing light in Rhaenyra's arms. Her littlest brother was cute, she had to admit, though she'd never say as much out loud. It was nearly instant, in one moment Aemond was screaming his head off and the next he was silent. Rhaenyra passed a hand over his head, trying to ensure he remained soothed as she sat. She occupied the right chair closest to the head of the table, similar to her position in the small council, she watched Alicent sit with Aegon on her lap.

"Might you hold him all the time?" She asked, subdued, "He cries so much. I've never seen him so quiet."

She seemed almost ashamed that she couldn't quiet her own child. Rhaenyra gave her a small smile, almost conspiratory.

"It's not like you don't have a lot on your plate." She said lightly, hoping she didn't worsen the mood.

The Gods decided to grant her a boon and Alicent returned her smile, whole and genuine. Relief burned in the queen's eyes so brightly that Rhaenyra thought her childhood friend might truly start crying.

Little Helaena was in a wooden high chair next to them, only a little over two but much more behaved than her elder brother. Aemond was as well, the infant sleeping in his elder sister's arms without a care in the world. Rickon poured a drink for Rhaenyra and then Alicent, saving his own goblet for last.

"And where's my father?" Rhaenyra asked, "I figured he would be here. He asked for our attendance, after all."

"I believe he had a meeting with Mellos." Alicent said with a quick glance sent to the door, "Something about a sore on his finger. Regardless of that, Lord Stark, how are you enjoying King's Landing?"

Rickon glanced over at Rhaenyra before his eyes darted back to the queen, "Quite well, Your Grace."

Alicent's eyebrows rose as she shot Rhaenyra a look, her eyes both wistful and happy, "Good. I'm glad to hear it."

This was the scene that Viserys walked in on, and you would have thought he'd been granted his heart's deepest wish. Then again, Rhaenyra might very well have. He approached his eldest child holding his youngest with brighter eyes than she'd seen in a long while, using both his hands to cup her face.

"I'm so happy to see you here, dear girl." He said quietly before reaching down and brushing a finger along Aemond's cheek, "I've never seen him so quiet. You have another talent under your belt, no?"

She noticed his pinkie finger was wrapped in gauze. 

Viserys then turned to Rickon, "And you, Lord Stark. Thank you for joining us this evening."

Rickon gave him a measured smile, so different than the ones he'd grown to give Rhaenyra over the past month, "It's my honor, Your Grace."

Viserys took his spot at the head of the table, watching Aegon try and pull his mother's hair in amusement. Rhaenyra was certain her father wouldn't find it so amusing if it was his hair getting pulled, and from the grimace on Rickon's face, it was apparent her little wolf agreed. 

Alicent glanced over at the princess nervously when the food was beginning to get served, servants walking in with steaming plates fresh from the kitchen, "I can take him so you can eat-"

Rhaenyra briefly turned to Rickon, bidding him to hold Aemond for the briefest of moments. She then shrugged her shawl off and wrapped it around her shoulder like a sash. She tied it firmly in place with a double knot, as the septas had shown them in their lessons on motherhood when they were still young. The sturdy material made for a perfect bed that the babe could lie on when she took him back, freeing Rhaenyra's hands so she could use her utensils.

"Nonsense." She said dismissively, "Feed yourself and Aegon. I cannot have my...my younger brother going hungry, can I?"

The queen's eyes widened, and she gave a grin so wide Rhaenyra was certain her cheeks must hurt. Rickon bumped her knee under the table, giving her an approving side glance. Yes, she supposed the Starks were fond of family and a pack mentality, weren't they? She only hoped he was not naive enough to believe Alicent would remain untouched by Otto Hightower's bias, or kind enough to let himself get hurt because of it. Still, mayhaps that was her pride talking. 

Viserys laughed loudly, "My dear girl, that was exactly how my own mother took Daemon and I flying when we were only babes. Caps to protect us from the wind, but you've already got the sling technique down."

Alicent's eyes widened as if she couldn't imagine mounting a dragon with a child so young. Then again, Rhaenyra didn't think she could imagine mounting a dragon at all. Unlike Rickon, who had grown quickly fond of Syrax, Alicent had never expressed the want to ride with Rhaenyra. It was a pity because Rhaenyra really would have run away with her. Best friends living across the sea, in Essos, eating only cake. A child's fantasy, and one that had been quickly destroyed at that.

She caught her old friend's eye over dinner once or twice, the queen seeming less bowed in the shoulders than usual. Rhaenyra refused to feel any guilt; how was she supposed to have reacted, after all? Still, as Aemond made small noises against her chest as he snuggled into her impromptu chest wrap, she decided she might be more generous with her time in regard to her new family members. Mayhaps it might save them all some heartache later.

Chapter Text

Viserys had been certain, back when Aemma was still pregnant, that their son would be born to wear the crown of Aegon the Conqueror. Gods, it hurt to think of her. Beyond hurt, even. A festering wound that would never heal, made flesh by this illness ravaging his body. This was his penitence, his consequence for betraying Aemma so deeply.

He still wore her ring on his finger, along with his own. A reminder of his failure.

Still, he drove himself mad over the dream then as he did now. If Baelon had died with Aemma, if his poor son hadn't breathed past a day, what boy did he see wear the crown of the Targaryen dynasty? He didn't want to betray Rhaenyra with thoughts that it might be young Aegon, borne to Alicent. Even thinking such a thing felt like poison on his tongue. Not only did it disparage his daughter, but dear Aemma as well. Her daughter would sit on the Iron Throne, his Rhaenyra was his one true heir.

And yet he had the dream again. A boy was born, bells tolling in the distance. Then he was older, with hair of spun white-gold and a circlet crown inlaid with rubies sat upon his brow. The crown of Aegon the First, the progenitor of the Targaryen dynasty, was worn by this boy who was a mystery to him.

The face swam just out of reach, and he was unable to grasp the identity. It cannot be his own son, Aegon the Second, he cannot allow it. That would mean something awful had happened to Rhaenyra or he had set her aside, and he couldn't live through losing his second precious girl.

He tortured over the dream for a few quick seconds, wondering why this was happening again until it sharpened. It shifted in focus, and suddenly the face was identifiable. Suddenly Viserys saw it all in merciless clarity. It was not his son, Aegon, with his lilac eyes and nose with the same slope as Alicent's.

No, these eyes were steely grey, easily mistakable for a dark lilac if he weren't paying attention. Most of all, the boy looked undoubtedly like Lord Rickon Stark. The child had Rhaenyra's smile, though, he realized like a stab to the heart. Aemma's smile.

His eyes snapped open to meet his bedroom ceiling and he promptly rolled out of bed and lost his stomach in a wastebasket. Then he sat on the floor, head hung and hands fisted in his night clothes as he wheezed out apologies and tears alike. Apologies to Aemma, apologies to Rhaenyra, apologies to the Valyrian Gods for mistaking their messages. Fuck, they'd sent him so many messages.

The cuts from the throne? Had that been a sign as well? He'd scarcely been sliced by the deadly iron since he'd welcomed Rhaenyra to the small council two months ago.

He heard a small gasp as the door opened, and suddenly Alicent was at his side. She said words that didn't reach his ears as he tried to picture Aemma's smile as she watched her daughter be crowned the first female heir of the Seven Kingdoms. He'd stolen that from her. His dear wife, his brave wife, he'd taken so much from her it made his stomach roll. Prophecy truly was a blade with no hilt.

Rhaenyra was his true heir and her son was the prince he'd been dreaming of, not his own.

Though, he thought as he dressed for the day with a concerned Alicent hovering behind him, he wouldn't tell her any of this. He could not transfer that burden from mother to daughter.

Rhaenyra dressed in a gown of deep red and black, twisting her hair up into a braided crown. She'd begun taking more care in her outfits of late; gold and bright red were well and good, but blood red and black were the colors of House Targaryen. She was to be a dragon queen, the first of her name, and it was time to wear her title.

Besides, today was an important day. Lord Strong had received a raven stating that the Stark party traveled through Harrenhal early yesterday morning, which meant they should arrive at midday. She would be meeting her soon-to-be husband's family in mere hours.

As she began pinning rubies into her hair, there was a knock on the door. She half expected Rickon to be on the other side, but when it swung open Alicent stood there holding young Aegon. The boy was chewing on the head of a cloth doll, his gums likely sore from late teething. The queen gave her a hesitant smile.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion, but I figured you might like some company," Alicent said, clearly off-kilter, "I know the Starks arrive today and I figured I would be a nervous wreck if I were you, so..."

Apparently, she was a nervous wreck regardless of who was coming, Rhaenyra thought as she looked at her old friend's bleeding cuticles. She didn't fuss this time as she stepped aside, allowing mother and son into her private chambers.

"Nyr..." Aegon said as he dropped his doll to the ground, holding his hands out as he made grabbing motions, "Nyr! Nyr!"

"Rhaenyra." The princess said slowly, bending at the waist so as to look him in the eyes, "Come, now, little brother. I believe in you. It's Rhaenyra."

"Nyr!" He paused, seeming to think a moment before he began to clap in childish glee, "Nyra! Nyra!

She sighed, "Better than nothing."

Alicent sat young Aegon on the floor, handing him the doll he'd dropped. She then turned to Rhaenyra's vanity and picked up a pinned ruby.

"Why are you not having the servants do this?" Alicent asked as she admired the clarity of the gem.

"They did my hair, but I decided belatedly on bejeweling it." Rhaenyra said, placing another one into the braid along the crown of her head, "Foolish, mayhaps. The Starks are Northern, they have no need for finery or jewels in Winterfell."

"But you are not Northern." The queen placed her pin before picking up another, "I'm sure they know who they sent their son to marry."

Rhaenyra looked at her reflection closely, "I should hope so."

She sat quietly as Alicent finished placing the pins before putting her hands on Rhaenyra's shoulders and looking at the both of them in the mirror. Both were adorned in red, both Targaryen royalty. It was none of Rhaenyra's hopeful teenage dreams, but she found solace in Alicent's small smile regardless.

"You look beautiful, Rhaenyra." The queen said quietly, before she swallowed thickly, "I must ask though, and I hope you forgive me should the question be unwelcome, but does Lord Stark treat you well?"

Rhaenyra blinked, turning to stare at Alicent, "What?"

"My father, he..." The queen wrung her hands together, "He claimed to be worried, for he did not believe the Stark heir would treat you kindly. He wanted to tell the king. I begged him to allow me to discuss it with you first, but he didn't believe you would tell the truth."

"And why wouldn't I tell the truth?" Rhaenyra hissed, her hatred for Otto Hightower growing by the second, "Rickon is one of the most honorable men I've ever known."

"So you are okay?" Alicent's voice was small, and Rhaenyra reigned in her rage.

Alicent was not Otto, and she asked only out of genuine concern. This was another one of her father's machinations, true, but the lies were not her sin to bear. She should have known he would try some ploy to make her betrothal fall through, and of course, he would choose something that would vastly offend the North as a whole. 

"I am alright." Rhaenyra waited a moment before she made her decision, gathering Alicent's hands into her own like they'd done so often as children when Alicent was scared, "I'll continue to be alright."

The queen's breath seemed to leave her as her lips began to tremble, "I can't...I don't think I can lose you again. I fear I would not survive with sanity intact should I be left completely alone."

"What?" Rhaenyra's brows furrowed, "Alicent..."

She'd tried not to feel guilt for the way she'd treated Alicent in the wake of the marriage, but it was growing harder to do so as their relationship mended. She felt it was justified then, and she still felt it was justified now. Yet seeing Alicent on the verge of tears at the prospect of losing Rhaenyra once more made the princess's chest ache.

"I know Aegon..." Alicent glanced down at the boy, her expression crumbling as a sob tore itself out of her throat, "I wish I'd had all girls, Rhaenyra, I do. Three sweet younger sisters, all like Helaena."

Rhaenyra caught her by the shoulders, "Alicent, please calm down. What is the meaning of this?"

"My father said he's a threat to your inheritance, him and Aemond both." The queen whispered as the tears dripped down her cheeks, "A threat to your claim. I said Aegon would not challenge you, but father claimed his very life is the challenge. That you would have to be rid of him."

"Alicent, your son isn't going to be fostered away to some distant realm." Rhaenyra laughed at the absurdity, "He's a prince, he belongs here in the Red Keep with his mother. If my father even tries, I'll set him to rights and have him find his wits once more."

Teary, doe brown eyes found hers. There was something unfathomably sad lurking in there, and Rhaenyra felt her stomach sink.

"You didn't mean fostering, did you?" The princess asked numbly as she slumped down in her chair, "Do you truly believe me to be such a villain?"

"No!" Alicent burst out, "No, I don't! Rhaenyra, you must believe me, I don't think you are capable of that. My father is insistent, though, and I cannot...I find myself unable to sleep, unable to eat. I fear constantly, and I don't even know what for!"

"I would never hurt Aegon. Or Aemond, or Helaena." Rhaenyra said slowly and clearly, "They are my siblings. They are the blood of the dragon. Beyond that, they are your children, and you are...you are my friend, Alicent, no matter what your father says. And I'm sorry for making you believe otherwise."

There it was. The apology left Alicent a hiccuping, crying mess, and Rhaenyra couldn't find it in herself to ever take it back. Regardless of her own feelings and justifications, her actions had still hurt someone she'd claimed to have called a friend.

By the Gods, she hated Otto Hightower. More so than she'd ever hated anyone in her life. Alicent's bloody cuticles and raw skin along her fingers suddenly made sense; her father knew she was anxious and was stoking that fire on purpose. Standing, Rhaenyra left Alicent perched on the side of a chair while she strode over to her cabinet. She grabbed the salve and returned, taking one of Alicent's hands.

"What is that?" Alicent asked quietly, voice hoarse as her tears finally stemmed.

"Salve." Rhaenyra said, "From Rickon. He packed it on his trip from their maester in Winterfell, whose name is Seldan. He didn't need it, so he gifted it to me after I received a few cuts on my hand from dragon scales."

"It stings," Alicent winced, "Is it supposed to sting?"

"Rickon claims it burns out the infection." Rhaenyra shrugged, "I know my own cuts healed faster, so I believe you'll see improvement as well."

When both the queen's hands were effectively treated, Rhaenyra placed the small jar in Alicent's palm and closed the girl's fingers around it.

Alicent shook her head, "I can't take this, Rhaenyra. It was a gift from your betrothed."

"Who can find me more, later on, I'm certain. For now, your hands need to heal." She stood, and Alicent did as well, "Come, I am to meet my father in the throne room."

When Alicent only stood there, staring at the jar clutched in her hand, Rhaenyra picked up Aegon gently and waved the doll around his head. He laughed in delight, his chubby little arms reaching for his toy as he squirmed in the princess's hold. Alicent's eyes finally found them, and she nodded ever so slightly.

"He will want all the children there to greet the Stark delegation." Rhaenyra said as she closed the door to her chambers behind her, Ser Criston falling into step behind the princess and queen, "We should likely send a servant to fetch Helaena and Aemond."

"True." Alicent nodded before dropping her voice to a whisper, "You should know the king was in a state this morning."

She turned her head sharply to look at the other girl as they kept walking, "What do you mean?"

"He was on the floor, crying. He whispered something, I couldn't hear all of it, but he kept repeating your mother's name." Alicent winced, "I believe he grieves that she won't be here to see you marry."

Rhaenyra felt as if she'd been doused in cold water. Straightening her shoulders, she willed herself not to react outwardly, but her mother's death was like an open wound for her yet. Sometimes she feared it would never heal. Aegon made a small noise, reaching up with wide lilac eyes as if he intended to tug on her earrings. She caught his hand with one of her own before he could, not wanting a repeat of Helaena doing something similar only weeks ago. 

She tapped him on the nose, making him laugh.

"She will see me get married," Rhaenyra said, though she struggled to keep her voice steady, "From wherever she watches over me."

Alicent was quiet for the rest of their walk, and Rhaenyra initiated no more conversation. Only Aegon's small noises of fascination broke the silence as he watched his surroundings with wide eyes. The guards stationed at the throne room bowed their heads as they opened the doors for their entry, and Rhaenyra saw that her father was already present, as well as Daemon and Rickon.

They were seated around the long table placed before the throne, moved into its spot yesterday in preparation for the coming merriment. Smaller tables lined the floor of the throne room as well, and Targaryen flags waved from the walls.

"Come now, surely you Northerners have your own version of the street of silk in Winterfell?" Daemon smirked, either unknowing or uncaring of their new audience, "Have you truly never been to a brothel before?"

Rickon only let out a slow breath, tilting his goblet to drain it in one go.

"Well, then, we'll simply have to take you. A bachelor's outing, so to speak." The prince continued, "What say you, Stark?"

"I say you're as mad as they make you out to be," Rickon spoke dryly.

The king's laughter echoed through the throne room, and the guards at the door finally spoke up to announce their presence.

"Queen Alicent Hightower, Crown Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, and Prince Aegon Targaryen."

Daemon was still snickering to himself as Viserys stood, holding his arms art towards his daughter. He froze for a moment, his eyes flickering over her countenance as they grew wet. Rhaenyra's brows furrowed as she passed Aegon back to Alicent, moving forward to meet the king halfway.

"Father, are you alright?" She asked lowly, "You seem out of sorts."

"I am okay, dear girl." He whispered, a hand raising to fix one of the rubies that had fallen from its place, "You look magnificent."

She smiled before turning her gaze to her uncle, who was still attempting to annoy her betrothed, "Uncle? Kindly do not take my future husband to the street of silk. I might have to feed you to Syrax, and I would hate to cause Caraxes such pain."

"Oh, of course not." Daemon placed a hand over his heart, but his face was entirely playful, "I would climb into her mouth myself should I do such a thing."

Rhaenyra clasped her hands behind her back, "You are not still sore that he brought you low during training, right?"

His face soured for a moment before he rolled his eyes, "I know not what you speak of, niece."

It had been an interesting day when Rickon knocked Daemon on his ass in the middle of the training grounds. With Rhaenyra and Viserys both watching, the prevalent opinion was that the two were fairly evenly matched. Daemon had much experience on his side, but Rickon had been in battles himself as well. Wildlings were ever lurking in their forests and mountains, and the Stark heir had done battle with them more than once.

Since then, Daemon had been needling and antagonizing Rhaenyra's betrothed to his heart's desire. Rickon usually gave him a dead-eyed look and sometimes downed the nearest drink when the prince got particularly cantankerous. Daemon bristled at being treated like a small child, but in the same breath, he did not stop.

Rhaenyra took a seat by Rickon, who spared her a smile despite his tired eyes. He'd been eagerly awaiting his family's arrival, she knew. It wasn't that he felt unsafe in the Red Keep, but he hardly knew anyone aside from his companions he'd traveled with and the princess and her immediate family. It made things difficult for the young heir who was used to knowing everyone in Winterfell's keep and the surrounding Winter Town, down to the servants and peasants.

"Please send for Helaena and Aemond," Alicent asked a nearby servant, "Have them brought from the nursery."

"Yes, very good." Viserys agreed, "We will all be present to meet the Northern party."

Daemon stood then, grabbing his goblet as he made to leave, "That truly sounds riveting, you all have fun with the frozen bastards."

"That includes you, brother." Viserys said before the prince could get far, "Please, sit."

Rickon snickered lowly, not bothering to hide it as he held his goblet out for the cupbearer to refill. Daemon flipped him the finger with a sneer, making Alicent gasp.

The doors opened once more, Otto Hightower moving too briskly for the guards to announce the Hand of the King. He bowed briefly before them all and ignored the face Daemon made at his arrival, turning his gaze to the king.

"Your Grace, I thought to speak with you urgently." Otto's gaze darted to where Rhaenyra and Rickon sat for just a moment, "I'm afraid it cannot wait."

Viserys sat his cup back on the table and raised an eyebrow, "Should we gather the small council, then?"

"It would not concern them." Otto denied, "I just feared this must be brought to your attention."

Viserys paused and took in Alicent's pale face and Rhaenyra's steadily growing anger, "I'll be back momentarily, please wait here-"

"Father." Rhaenyra stood, her jaw tight, "I know what Lord Hand wishes to speak with you about. Alicent has already informed me and it's nonsense."

Otto met her eyes, anger surging in the dark depths for only a second before he furrowed his brows in faux concern, "Princess, please. You should allow us to handle this, it's for your own good in the end."

Rickon's goblet made a hollow nose against the table as he sat it down with force perhaps unnecessary, "Mayhaps, Lord Hand, you should allow the princess agency over her own matters."

"Please, Lord Stark." The older man simpered, "Women can not be trusted in things such as matters of the heart. They are too easily swayed."

Alicent's face twisted then and she glanced away, but Rhaenyra caught the anger in her eyes. Matters of the heart were something Otto Hightower lacked knowledge of, indeed.

"Alright, what in the seven hells is going on here?" Viserys interrupted loudly, his gaze bouncing between his seated family and the Hand of the King standing before them, "Otto, speak your mind here and now. I grow impatient."

Otto cleared his throat, "I would not have it said before everyone."

Viserys regarded him with annoyance, "Well, I would! Get on with it!"

He was caught now, between the King's ire and his own lies unfurling. Rhaenyra tried not to look satisfied as she sat back down in her chair, a smug smile tilting her lips.

"Your Grace, it's just that I have heard troubling rumors surrounding the marriage." Otto began haltingly as if he were regretful to break such news, "Rumors that would call into question the honor of young Lord Stark."

Rickon tensed at her side and Rhaenyra barely kept from baring her teeth. Daemon's eyebrows rose as he leaned forward in his seat, a grin growing on his face.

Viserys turned to look at his daughter and her chosen fiancé, "And what are those rumors, Otto?"

"Only that Lord Stark has made disparaging comments to his Northern companions about the Princess, and that he might be involved with Lady Gillane Glover, who he was betrothed to in the past." Otto cut the young Stark a sharp glance, "I only found out recently, but wanted to make these things known so we might consider this marriage in all its facets."

Rhaenyra stilled for a moment. She had not known of any prior betrothal. Lady Glover had traveled with him all the way from Winterfell, so she had known the two must be close. How close, though, she had never been concerned over.

Should she have been?

Rickon's chair screeched against stone as he stood, his jaw clenched and face cold, "I have never made any disparaging comment about Rhaenyra. My companions will swear to that upon our Old Golds as well as your new."

Viserys had grown unsettlingly still, staring at Otto with a blank expression. He finally turned to look at Rickon directly, his lips pursed.

"And regarding Lady Glover?" The king asked, his eyes dark.

"A betrothal was discussed when we were both young, around ten and one." Rickon's fingers curled into fists from where he leaned on the table, his hands trembling with anger, "Nothing ever came of it. I was never betrothed to Lady Glover, though I will say she is one of my closest friends as she fostered in Winterfell for three years before Kaegan's arrival. It was I who helped make her match to Lord Umber's son, to whom she has now betrothed herself."

Viserys relaxed at those words before he turned a sharp look onto Otto, "Who was the source of the rumors that would disparage my future son-by-law?"

"Merely informants, Your Grace, but the claims should be investigated nonetheless," Otto said, his face calm to mask the anger Rhaenyra knew must lie underneath.

"Claims? You would doubt not only my honor, but also drag Lady Glover's name through the mud and cast doubts on my companion's words." Rickon hissed, stepping around the table to stalk forward, "That I cannot abide by, Hightower."

His hand was clenched on the hilt of Ice, his grip so tight that his knuckles were nearly white. Alicent jumped to her feet, Aegon still in her grasp as her desperate gaze darted between Rickon and her father.

"Please, Lord Stark." She pleaded, "My father, I'm sure he only wants to protect the princess. His informant was surely wrong, as Rhaenyra impressed upon me earlier, but these allegations are only made out of devotion to her safety."

Rickon's steely gaze found hers and his face did not soften, "You speak honeyed words, Your Grace, but we both know that isn't the truth behind his accusations."

"And what is the truth, then, Lord Stark?" Otto asked, lips pursed, "You would doubt my devotion to the royal family of which my daughter is a part?"

He was playing a risky game, Rhaenyra thought. No Southern noble would dare speak the words, but Northerners were a different breed. They did not hold their tongues.

The young Lord sneered, "That's exactly why I, and everyone, should doubt it. You were not a fan of our potential marriage since the matter was brought forth, even before all of this nonsense. You want your own grandson seated on the throne, and you know an alliance with the North would make that impossible. You doubt my honor, besmirch my name, want me to convert to your Gods. The insults never cease and I've grown tired of it."

"You speak nonsense and, on top of it all, heresy. To be married in the Sept-" Otto began, only to be cut off viciously.

"Would spit in the face of every single Stark ancestor that Winterfell holds in its crypts." Rickon snapped, "I think the king should be more concerned about your aspirations for your eldest grandson than that of fabricated rumors."

"I have no aspirations for Aegon beyond a good life." The Hand maintained, "As any grandfather would."

"I tire of this back and forth, this cloak and dagger drivel of the south. The Others take you and your lies." Rickon swore with an air of finality, "I have nothing to defend myself of."

"Your Grace-" Otto began, looking to the king only to be cut off when Viserys raised a hand.

"Enough, Otto." The king shook his head, "I have told you before to drop the subject of the sept, just last week I believe I spoke the words, and yet you keep pressing it. Now, this! We should be lucky Lord Stark still agrees to our terms after this show you've put on, right before his parents arrive no less. Please, be gone. I want reasoning for all this by first light tomorrow or else I may have to rethink your position here in court."

Alicent's eyes widened, "Your Grace-"

"Sit, Alicent." Viserys said sharply, "And go, Otto. I do not want you anywhere near the Northerners when they arrive. Count yourself grateful Lord Rickon has not sought to solve this in the old ways of his people, else you would be facing trial by combat due to the slight on his honor."

Otto bowed stiffly, "Yes, Your Grace."

Rickon tilted his chin up, watching the man go with prideful eyes. Jaw tight, he returned to his seat beside Rhaenyra. Daemon, meanwhile, looked as if he'd just enjoyed a great performance.

The prince clapped slowly, a laugh disbelieving laugh escaping him, "Well, well. Seems the wolf has fangs after all."

It was true. Rhaenyra had never seen her little wolf so angry. It stirred something within her, to see that cold anger on full display. The hardness in his eyes, the sneer on his mouth. It was entrancing. Her hand met his thigh under the table, causing his eyes to snap to hers. Like sunlight breaking through the clouds, his gaze softened, and she found herself satisfied that she could melt the frost.

Viserys pinched the bridge of his nose, "Lord Stark, I must apologize for my Hand. I'm sure he meant no insult, as the queen said-"

Rickon scoffed but said nothing. The king's mouth tensed into a firm line as he looked to Rhaenyra for support, but he found none as she intertwined her hand with her would-be husband's on the tabletop for everyone to see.

The doors swung open once more, a squire panting as he rushed in, "The Starks have been spotted just outside the Gate of the Gods! They should arrive shortly!"

Cursing, Viserys glanced back at his family, who were still in various states of upheaval. Just then two servants entered, footsteps scurrying as they brought Helaena and little Aemond in after the squire. 

"I shall take Aemond," Rhaenyra announced, holding out her arms for the babe.

The servant glanced at the queen who merely nodded, tearful eyes stuck looking down at the table. The one holding Helaena looked to the king, but his ear had already been taken by Daemon who was muttering something to his elder brother. Rickon sighed quietly beside Rhaenyra.

"I'll take the little princess, should that please Her Grace." Rickon glanced at Alicent, his stare hard even as he extended the olive branch.

Alicent finally jolted, glancing up before she decided to take the proffered truce with both hands, "Yes, of course."

Helaena sat in his arms easily, quickly curling up into his neck to continue her nap. Viserys finally turned, letting out a rough breath as he waved an arm at the door.

"Please, let us welcome Lord Rickon's family in good spirits." The king said tightly, giving them all a begging look.

Rhaenyra stood, her skirts swaying as she walked. Rickon fell into step beside her.

"Will you tell your parents what Otto said?" She whispered as they led the Targaryens out of the throne room.

"I will, though I plan to make it clear Hightower has his own plot brewing that we should take care not to fall prey to." Rickon said, taking her free hand into his own, "I would still marry you."

"And I, you." She said, not hesitating as she spoke the next words, "What with Lady Glover?"

He shot her an unamused look, "You needn't ask."

"I do." A playful smile spread across her face, "You'll find that dragons are quite possessive, Lord Stark."

"And wolves aren't?" He countered, something stirring behind dark eyes.

Sunlight broke through the doors as they exited the keep, and Rhaenyra was met with the sight of distant Stark banners and a far larger procession than she had originally imagined. The Northerners Rickon had brought with him met them at the entrance, and Lady Glover was eagerly scanning the individuals as they grew closer. For her own betrothed, perhaps? Either way, it settled Rhaenyra's blood that the lady only nodded at Rickon in respect as a seeming afterthought.

Rickon glanced at her, amused as if he'd known what she was thinking. She only offered a shrug.

Suddenly a lone rider broke from the group, galloping at fast speeds and making a break for the steps of the Red Keep. The King's Guard tensed, but Rickon lit up as she'd never seen before. He turned to Daemon, practically pushing Helaena onto the disgruntled prince as he took off at a run. The rider dismounted in a swift motion, handing his horse off to a servant as he met the Stark halfway, pulling him into a rough hug as he clapped him on the back. 

He had dark brown, nearly black, hair that was just as long as Rickon's but pulled back into a low ponytail. His eyes were unlike any others; a pale blue, lighter than the sky. As if someone had carved out chips from ice and placed them in his irises. He approached the royal family with Rickon, though they both kept arms thrown over each other's shoulders.

"This is Lord Kaegan Bolton, Your Graces." Rickon gestured towards him, "My brother in all but blood."

Daemon made an interested noise behind her before the king could even think to greet the other young man, "Say, Bolton, did your people actually skin their enemies?"

Alicent gasped and Viserys barely held back a groan.

Kaegan gave him a cocky smirk, "Who ever said we stopped?"

Daemon chuckled loudly as the rest of the party approached, two riders in front of all the others. The first looked very similar in coloring to Rickon, with a proud build and clothes of fine dark leather. Beside him was a woman with dark eyes, so brown they were nearly back, and hair the color of tilled soil. She wore a dress of simple grey, the neckline stitched with delicate branches. Her cloak, which draped over one side of her horse, had red Weirwood leaves embroidered into the thick fabric. 

They stopped just shy of the steps, Benjen Stark dismounting first. A servant of the Red Keep rushed to help Lady Lysa, but she waved them off with a firm hand. She swung herself down with ease, her boots kicking up dust as they planted firmly in the ground. They bowed as one to first King Viserys and Queen Alicent, and then to Rhaenyra herself.

"Lord and Lady Stark." Viserys smiled, "I welcome you heartily to King's Landing."

Lord Stark bowed his head, "It is our honor to break bread under your roof, Your Grace. Your hospitality is appreciated."

"And now," Lady Stark smirked, "I would seek a hug from my son whom I haven't seen in nearly half a year."

Rickon released Kaegan with a sigh, "Mother..."

"Not a word, boy." She said firmly, "Get over here."

As he went to his mother's side, Rhaenyra looked at the assembled group behind Lord and Lady Stark. A group of at least fifty Northmen, some carrying direwolf banners as they talked amongst each other and reunited with Rickon's companions. She saw Lady Glover tug a tall, bearded man down into a fierce hug as he laughed and lifted her off her feet. Certainly, the Starks had arrived in King's Landing and the hour of the wolf had begun.

Chapter Text

Daemon was still carrying Helaena as they led the Starks inside the Red Keep. He looked at the child as if she were a rabid dog rather than a small girl, however. Rhaenyra could also see Alicent's stress growing larger by the minute, her glances toward the prince becoming more frequent as they filed into the throne room.

Rhaenyra grabbed her father by the elbow as they made for the main table, "Father, mayhaps you should take Helaena from our uncle? He seems a bit out of his depth with a babe."

Viserys chuckled, glancing over at his brother who had stood the girl up on the table and seemed to be having an intense staring contest with her, "It will do him some good. He has to have children one of these days, maybe he will grow fond of the idea and return to Lady Royce eventually."

Rhaenyra doubted that greatly but nodded nonetheless. She squeezed Alicent's shoulder as she sat beside her father at his right, giving her a sympathetic smile. On her other side, Daemon lost his staring match to a child with her thumb shoved in her mouth. 

Guests began to trickle in to mingle with the Northerners as Lord Benjen and Lady Lysa approached the Targaryens at the front table, Kaegan and Rickon following close behind.

"Please, Lord and Lady Stark." Viserys raised his glass in their direction, "We invite you to sit with us."

"Our pleasure." Lysa grinned, taking one of the two spots beside Alicent, "Come, husband. You too, boys, on the other end."

"Aye, dearest." Benjen sat beside his wife, a small huff of amusement leaving his lip as she grabbed his hand to intertwine their fingers, "Rickon, Kaegan, you heard your mother."

Rickon sat next to Daemon with a heavy sigh, and Kaegan took the last chair with a wide grin.

"Would you take this back already, nephew-to-be?" Daemon dangled Helaena out by her armpits to Rickon, "It's sticky."

"She's a child." Rickon said, deadpan as he watched the child who merely stared at Daemon with unbothered eyes, "You should be familiar, seeing as you are one yourself."

Daemon laughed slightly, "Good one. Now take her."

Right as Rickon reached out to take the poor girl, Helaena reached one small hand forward and grabbed a chunk of Daemon's hair in her fist. Rhaenyra could bet gold on what was about to happen and watched closely for her uncle's impending crash and burn.

The little princess held on as tightly as she could to Daemon's hands, crying as Rickon began to pry her away. Daemon made a strangled noise as his hair was dragged with her, her fist tightening on the white strands as she jerked in her upset.

Rhaenyra tried to hold back her laughter as her soon-to-be husband and the wretched Rogue Prince garnered an audience as they began trying to calm the small girl down. It was a fruitless attempt; she had a death grip on Daemon's hair and was not to be persuaded. Viserys, on the other hand, had no problems laughing at his brother's misfortune. Neither did one Kaegan Bolton, either, as he failed to hide his amusement at the scene before him.

Alicent, however, was caught halfway between sitting and standing, watching the altercation with her daughter carefully. Truly, the word altercation was too strong; instead, it was one grown man being given a premature bald spot by a toddler while another tried and failed to calm the girl.

A loud sigh was heard from the other side of the table, Lady Lysa standing with an exasperated look in her eyes. She quickly slipped to the other end of the table, grabbing a spoon to dangle before Helaena. The glinting silver caught the girl's attention immediately and she released Daemon, making a grabbing motion for the spoon. Lysa swept the girl in her arms, returning to Alicent's side as she carefully held the little princess.

"You must forgive my boy, your grace. And your good brother, it seems." Lysa gave Alicent a small smile, "I could go on about the inadequacies of men for ages, but that would take far too long, don't you think?"

Alicent's eyes widened, a small giggle escaping from her as she bounced a happy Aegon on one knee. Daemon made a vague noise of offense, but the three northern men seated at the table seemed quite used to the treatment. The guests below them lost interest as Helaena had stopped maiming Daemon, and the background chatter and merriment continued on.

"Of course, Lady Stark." Alicent said, "And thank you."

"No need." She said as Helaena began to try and crawl up her shoulder to play with her hair, "You have an inquisitive little one, then?"

"Yes." Alicent nodded, "She's fond of anything that shines. She especially likes pulling on Rhaenyra's earrings, luckily I learned my lesson some time ago and quit wearing them."

Rhaenyra only tsked lightly, "So does Egg, Alicent, don't lie for your eldest."

 At the mention of his nickname, Aegon looked up from the goblet he found so fascinating and reached both arms out for his elder sister, "Nyra!"

"Egg!" She mimicked him, "You like my earrings, hm?"

The little boy nodded vigorously, "They're shiny!"

"I knew it." She sighed, looking down at Aemond, "You won't betray me like that, will you, Aem?"

"Better than Rickon as a babe." Lysa chuckled, "He tried to crawl into the pond in our Godswood all the time. We swore he was trying to drown himself."

Rickon flushed red beside Rhaenyra, but the princess only smiled. She nudged her knee against his, raising a mischievous eyebrow.

"Need I worry about taking you to sea?" She asked, "I should know the dangers of letting my husband wander too close to the shoreline."

"Hush." He whispered, pinching her waist beneath the table.

She laughed unabashedly, in a way she hadn't in a long time, jolting Aemond awake. He did not cry and simply stared up at her with wide lilac eyes. When she glanced over at her father, he was watching her with a soft expression.

"Speaking of the betrothal," Viserys said suddenly, snapping out of his thoughts as he turned his attention to Lord and Lady Stark, "I will call a Small Council meeting on the morrow. If you and your trusted advisors would attend, we might discuss the final details of the contract and wedding."

"Aye, we'll be there. Rickon too, of course." Benjen nodded, "I have no advisors aside from my own lady wife and Lord Karstark present. Nonetheless, Kaegan will also be there."

"Oi, what do you mean nonetheless? I advise." Kaegan called down the table to Lord Stark, "Poorly, but I do advise."

Benjen responded with a straight face, "Swat him, Rickon."

Rickon reached out with no hesitation, smacking Kaegan on the back of the head. Rhaenyra blinked at the swift and merciless motion while Daemon merely watched on in glee.

"So, Bolton," The prince leaned forward on the table, "Do you have some hidden torture chamber at the Dreadfort? Let me guess, its furniture is made from the hide of your enemies?"

"Human leather does tan very well," Kaegan smirked, "Might you like to donate a sample?"

Rhaenyra looked to Kaegan, "Please don't encourage him."

"Yes, try not to." Rickon agreed, "We're attempting to get him to a full year without exile. It'll be a milestone for him."

Daemon only made a rude gesture in response. As the men got drunker and louder below, Alicent finally called the servants to return the children to the nursery. Rhaenyra handed a sleepy Aemond over, and Helaena was too tired to make a fuss when she was collected from Lysa. Only Aegon fretted about leaving his mother, but she calmed him with a kiss on the cheek.

Just when Rhaenyra thought the evening was going well, an inebriated Jason Lannister staggered up to the table with a glass raised toward her and Rickon.

She barely bit back a groan while Rickon only glanced her way in confusion. Even her father sighed deeply as the prideful man below opened his mouth.

"To Princess Rhaenyra on her pending betrothal!" His words were slurred together as he toasted them, "You will make a fine Lady of Winterfell, I'm sure."

The room went silent, the only sound being the clattering of silverware and glasses as all eyes turned toward the Lord of House Lannister. His bitterness was barely hidden beneath a layer of what she identified as mocking respect. Rickon seemed to pick up on it as well, his hand tensing from where he had reached down to hold hers.

"She will make a fine queen, Lord Lannister." The young Stark heir called out, "As fine a queen as her father is king."

A few snickers broke out as Jason's flush grew more intense and not just from the alcohol. It seemed, however, that all it took for the Northmen to speak up was a word of support from their soon-to-be liege lord.

"Aye!" Lady Gillane Glover climbed on top of her chair to gather the attention of those around her, "I'll drink to that! She is strong, but how could she not be? The burden of a first child is a weighty one to bear, and I do speak from experience."

Gillane, with her deep brown eyes and messy hair, seemed to stare right into Rhaenyra's soul as she gave her the smallest of smiles. Rickon had told her about the business with Otto, then. Had likely told her about even more, and Gillane had judged her worthy enough of praise. Mayhaps it was only for Rickon's sake, but she still found comfort in their acceptance.

She wondered, briefly, just how much Rickon had spoken about her to his companions.

"To Princess Rhaenyra!" Gillane shouted, making the call rumble through the Northmen before it spread to the rest of the room, "To our future dragon queen!"

"To Princess Rhaenyra! And her dragon, at that!" A man she identified as Lord Elric Karstark's shouted as his laughter boomed throughout the throne room, "A right pretty one! Never seen a wolf fly, but little Lord Rickon gave it his best shot on the Golden Queen!"

Rhaenyra just barely stopped herself from jolting in surprise. It was reminiscent of the moniker Meleys was given, but it had a ring to it. As the mount of a future monarch, it was certainly suitable. Syrax, the Golden Queen.

Laughter rippled through the room and Rickon grinned and he tipped his glass in Elric's direction, "You don't quite see the appeal of riding a dragon, Lord Karstark, until you get to ride a dragon."

A roar of assent went through the Northmen as they cheered, and Rhaenyra couldn't help but marvel at the depth of their loyalty to House Stark. Obviously, Rickon had spoken well of her, and that was apparently enough for the Northerners to accept her for now. With words of encouragement from Lady Glover, they were already chanting her name.

At her side, her father began clapping as he stood. Jason Lannister, long forgotten in the commotion the Stark bannermen had stirred up, slunk off quietly to the side.

"I couldn't agree more." Viserys smiled as he motioned Rhaenyra to stand, "Soon, your princess and heir will be wed! She is the very best of myself..."

He grew quiet for a moment, tears shining in his eyes as he took her hand while she stood beside him.

"Of myself and her own mother." He said as he squeezed her hand gently, "Now, my lords and ladies present, drink and partake in the merriment of the night! We welcome our Northern brethren to court as we celebrate the union of our two great houses. If we might get some music, the dancing may begin as well!"

As if on cue, the band in the corner began to pluck at their string instruments and beat their drums, ladies eagerly searching for dance partners as lords grabbed hands in return. Rickon stood at her side and offered his arm.

"My princess," He nodded to her, "If it pleases you."

"It does." She accepted his arm gladly.

As they began to walk away, she noticed Kaegan lean in closer to Daemon.

"Say, my prince, would you like to dance?" The Bolton snickered to himself in a clear mockery of what Rickon had called her.

Daemon, well into his cups, snarked back, "Now, wouldn't you feel foolish if I said yes?"

Rickon only shook his head as he led her out to where the others were dancing, "Why did I think it would be alright to introduce them?"

"I think it would've been impossible to delay it." Rhaenyra reasoned, "Like two unstoppable forces clashing."

He delicately twirled her around before taking both her hands and dipping into the dance with ease. The people around them bowed out of their way, giving them plenty of room as Rickon spun her around. Her dress of red and black flared out, the gold detailing of the thread and fabric caught on the light, and the rubies in her hair shone. 

"How'd you learn to dance so well?" She asked as he led her across the floor with all the grace she wouldn't have expected of a northerner.

"My mother." He said, "Her grandmother was a Manderly who married a Tully, so she fostered in Riverrun when she was a girl. Needless to say, her cousins beat the art of dancing into her during her stay."

Rhaenyra allowed herself to be spun once more, "And so she beat it into you?"

"Aye. She tried to Kaegan and Bennard as well, but they're about as graceful as boars."

A loud shattering noise and several gasps drew their attention back to the head table where a very drunk Daemon had tried to spin an equally inebriated Kaegan around as if the Bolton were a maiden.

Instead of achieving anything similar to a dance, Kaegan was on the floor, covered in wine from spilled cups and gasping for air between bouts of laughter. Her uncle was no better, nearly keeling over as he attempted to restrain his cackling. She had assumed her father would be mad, but Viserys only watched the scene fondly. Alicent, on the other hand, was torn between humor and horror.

Meanwhile, Lysa nearly pulled Kaegan from the ground by his ear.

"Off to bed, rascal." She ordered, "I'm sure the prince will be willing to spin you around when you aren't sweating alcohol."

"Why, Lady Stark, surely you wouldn't rob me of my dance partner." Daemon snickered, "Though this maiden has two clubbed feet."

Kaegan made a face in his direction when Lysa's attention was diverted for a moment.

"Gods," Rickon muttered as he turned back to her, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, "Are we certain we should attempt to keep him from exile? Maybe it's simply meant to be."

Rhaenyra spared him a feigned sympathetic look, "I'm afraid he and my father might actually be getting along for once."

"Oh, of course." Rickon rolled his eyes, "I'm certain it's solely so he can stick around and help Kaegan give me migraines."

Feeling bold, she lifted her hand from his shoulder and swiped her thumb across his cheekbone, "Mayhaps I'll endeavor to help soothe them as an apology for my kin."

He froze, doe-eyed as he watched her. Belatedly, he remembered they were in the middle of the dance floor and nearly tripped over his feet to catch up as a slower song began to be plucked out by the musicians. She returned her hand to his shoulder, satisfied, and they were soon swept away in the crowd once more.

Rickon walked her back to her room, Ser Criston trailing behind them dutifully. When they left, Kaegan had talked Lysa into allowing him to stay and had been engaging in a drinking contest with Daemon. They'd both end up horribly intoxicated, she thought, but perhaps it would do Daemon good to have a friend. He hadn't had anyone besides the king for so long, and even that relationship was rocky. His wife despised him, though Rhaenyra had to admit she had good reason and the feeling was certainly mutual.

Perhaps Kaegan could be a sympathetic ear. That or they'd burn King's Landing to the ground. Mayhaps both, if they really got along.

They arrived before her door, Rickon unlinking their arms as he turned to face her, "Arrived safe and sound, though my presence wasn't much of a deciding factor."

Rhaenyra shrugged, "Kingsguard around or not, your presence is a comfort."

"Truly?" Rickon blinked as if surprised she sought his presence after a month of spending nearly every waking second together.

She brought a hand to his cheek, standing upon the tips of her toes to press a kiss there before responding, "Truly."

"I'm not the best at flowery words or romantic oaths like you hear in the stories and songs," He started haltingly, "But I promise I'll always try to be that. A comfort. More than a comfort should you wish it."

"And I shall endeavor to have them hurry this damned wedding along." Rhaenyra practically gritted out between clenched teeth as she forced herself to take a step back.

The cold draft of the hallway was far too prominent without his warmth at her side.

"Why?" He asked before freezing, looking at her with pupils dilated and a captivated look, "Oh."

"Oh." She teased back, her smile practically impish as she opened her door, "I shall see you on the morrow, Lord Rickon."

He nodded her direction, face soft with longing, "And I shall see you as well, my princess."

When she woke, the first thing she registered was the pounding in her head. The second was the pounding on her door. Truly it was more of a soft knock, but she had apparently drunk more wine than she'd thought last night. Slipping out from under the covers, she faced the chill of the stone floor and tossed a dressing gown over her night clothes.

Rubies were scattered all over the floor next to her bed. Apparently, she'd at least had the sense to shake them out before she'd gone to sleep, though her braids were still done. They looked a mess, she was sure, with flyaway hair all over. Her only consolation was that she'd have nice waves in her hair today, so she could wear it down to the small council. It was a popular style in the North, so she was eager to see if Rickon liked it on her or not.

Speaking of Rickon, she looked at the door when the next soft tap came. What if it was him? Or, worse, his mother?

"Who's there?" She called out, hoping it to be merely a chambermaid.

A familiar voice called back, "It's Alicent."

That would work just as well. She opened the door and ushered the queen in, who pushed a steaming cup toward her at the first chance. 

"What is it?" Rhaenyra's brows furrowed as she closed her door behind her, accepting the cup with a small sniff, "Willow bark?"

"I got some from Mellos earlier." Alicent said as she sat on one of the many chairs by Rhaenyra's vanity, "I figured you might have a headache or upset stomach today."

"I do have a headache," Rhaenyra admitted, sipping at the bitter concoction, "I believe I overindulged."

"No more than Daemon," Alicent refuted, "Or that Bolton. The both of them were stumbling down the stairs, last I recalled, and only Lady Glover stopped the Bolton's head from being dashed on the bottom step."

Rhaenyra glanced at her, noting the scathing way she addressed Kaegan, "Unsurprising. And isn't Kaegan heir to the Dreadfort? Do you find an issue with him? Aside from the fact that he gets on well with my uncle."

The other girl pursed her lips, "It isn't polite to gossip about such things, I know, but I've heard he's the natural-born son of Lord Royce Bolton."

"A bastard?" Rhaenyra's eyebrows raised, "One that fostered with House Stark for, Gods, how many years? I believe Rickon said Kaegan was only six when he was put under their shelter. Why would a bastard be given such a high honor as fostering under their liege lord's roof?"

"I know not." Alicent said, "I only know that from, well, my father."

Her voice grew quiet at the end, and Rhaenyra struggled to force her annoyance down.

"That's all well and good," The princess bit out, "But Kaegan is well-loved by the Starks, bastard or not. Both Lord Benjen and Lady Lysa refer to him as their son and Rickon as his brother. It wouldn't do well to make mention of that and have him feel uncomfortable in King's Landing."

Which was likely Otto's goal, given how deadset he is on ruining her marriage. Maybe he planned to do it by offending the Starks so irrevocably that they simply couldn't have Rickon marry Rhaenyra out of the mere principle of the thing. 

"Of course," Alicent agreed readily, wringing her hands, "I had just heard that his mother had poisoned Lord Bolton's wife, which caused her babe to be stillborn, in an effort to keep his bastard as his eldest and only child."

"And you fear he might not be trustworthy on that basis?" Rhaenyra pursed her lips as she sat across from her old friend, the cup of tea warming her hands, "Alicent, you cannot put her sins on his head, even if that is the truth. We do not know what happened or why he was sent away, but the Starks are honorable people, no? They would not cherish someone evil so dearly."

"You're right, I suppose. I only worry." The queen glanced away, "When you're with child, you're at your most vulnerable. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Nothing will." Rhaenyra dismissed, anger still boiling in her veins at Otto Hightower, "I trust them."

"Lord Rickon does seem to be a fine man." Alicent's eyes looked far away as she reached up to touch her cheek and then smoothly turned the motion into tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, "I wanted to apologize on behalf of my father. I did not know he would cause such a scene right before the arrival of the Northern party."

"You need not apologize for him." Rhaenyra watched her closely, seeing how the queen seemed to snap back to reality upon noticing the princess's gaze, "Alicent, did he hurt you?"

"No!" Alicent burst out, "He was angry, or rather he is angry. Of course, he is; he believes I've betrayed him and our family. Betrayed my children. He didn't hurt me, though."

"You've done no such thing." Rhaenyra sat her tea aside half-drank, snatching one of Alicent's hands to grip tightly, "I know who I can trust, Alicent. I count you among those ranks. Can you say the same of me?"

"Trust you?" Alicent seemed to hesitate before she pursed her lips, "Yes. I trust you."

"Then swear to me on the Mother, on the memory of your mother, that your father did not hurt you. That he touched you in no way." Rhaenyra stood, hands shaking as they curled into fists, "That he did not strike you."

"Rhaenyra," Alicent whispered, her eyes growing wet, "Please."

The words were pleading, but Rhaenyra was merciless.

"Tell me Alicent." She spat out, "Tell me before I have him drug before Syrax and burnt."

"No, Rhaenyra!" She stood as well, eyes wide and panicked, "Please, do not hurt him. He believes he is doing what is best for me, for his grandchildren!"

"Then give me reason not to." The princess whispered, deathly serious, "Give me a reason, Alicent. Swear to me."

It was silent for a moment.

The queen collapsed back into her chair, her gaze empty and her words barely heard even in the quiet of the room as tears sluggishly ran down her cheeks, "I cannot."

"Fuck." Rhaenyra cursed, and she collapsed by Alicent's side, "Why not tell me? Tell my father? He's the king! He can protect you!"

Alicent's eyes, wide and bewildered upon seeing Rhaenyra kneel at her side, looked as lost as one could be, "He can't protect me. No one can."

"I can. Please, Alicent." She pleaded, "Let me protect you."

"From who?" The brunette cried, tears now pouring in rivulets, "From my father? From yours?"

Rhaenyra paused, baffled for a moment before the anger reignited, white-hot and furious, "Has he hit you as well?"

"No." Alicent bit out, "Perhaps it'd be easier if he did; if he weren't kind, if he didn't act as if our entire marriage weren't a sham."

"Alicent," She said, baffled for a moment, "What do you mean?"

"I know you think I played the seductress, targeting your father while he was weak." Alicent trembled, her sobs shaking her slight form, "I wanted none of it. None of it, Rhaenyra! I'm sorry I listened to my father, I wish I had never gone to the king's chambers, but I cannot take any of it back and every decision I've ever made haunts me. Even as I hold my own children, I can only think of how this isn't what I wanted. None of it is what I wanted..."

Rhaenyra placed her hands on the other girl's shoulders, tears stinging her own eyes, "Alicent, I never thought you a seductress. I'm not stupid, I know your father was behind it."

"Then why?" She gasped out, "Why did you hate me so? Why torture me? You were all I had! My only friend!"

"I was upset you hadn't told me, at the very least." Rhaenyra snapped back, "How would you feel if I'd been chatting up your father on orders of my own and left you in the dark? Then, surprise, he announced our engagement and you were the last to even know that I had been an option!"

Alicent made a keening noise, her forehead falling forward to hit Rhaenyra's shoulders, her tears staining the princess's dressing gown as she muttered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I am."

Rhaenyra brought her arms fully around her friend, holding her close in a hug as they hadn't done since before Alicent's engagement, "I am too."

All was peaceful for a moment, as tears stemmed on both sides and the shaking stopped.

Rhaenyra placed her chin on Alicent's head, keeping the other girl tucked against her as if she could protect her from the rest of the world, "I'd still like to burn your father. Mayhaps my own, too."

"Please don't." Alicent responded, "Not mine and never yours. For all the faults Viserys has, he is at least kind."

"Still." Rhaenyra sighed, "Otto Hightower struck the queen. More than that, he struck my friend."

She felt Alicent's breath hitch and soon the other girl was pulling back to look at Rhaenyra with a conflicted expression.

"I was so bitter when I had Aegon, I truly believe I hated him at first." She dropped her eyes, her guilt overwhelming, "I shoved him off to a wet nurse and refused to visit the nursery. I'm ashamed to admit that, as a mother, but it's the truth. I fear he might have some attachment issues because of it, that I burdened him with a fear of abandonment."

"He adores you." Rhaenyra shook her head, "Helaena, too. Aemond will, as well, as soon as he can feel anything beyond hunger and tiredness."

"Adore." Alicent's mouth twisted in amusement, "Speaking of adoring, I believe Aegon asks after his Nyra about every five minutes."

"Well, I am the Realm's Delight." Rhaenyra grinned when Alicent giggled.

"And the dragon queen." Alicent recalled, "Don't forget that."

"Future dragon queen." The princess corrected, "Now, tell me once more you don't want your father put to flame. I need to hear it again."

"No, Rhaenyra, I do not want Syrax killing my father," Alicent said, her words droll.

"Very well." Rhaenyra made a show of looking mournful before it melted to seriousness, "Will you be upset should I take action against him as Hand?"

Alicent froze, her face falling, "Of course, I won't be happy should he be sent back to Oldtown, but I understand the necessity. He speaks of Aegon usurping you as heir so frequently that I fear for you and my son both."

Rhaenyra nodded and clasped her hands in front of her, "Now, in the spirit of old times, would you help me dress? I look a mess right now, I'm sure."

"You never look a mess." Alicent rolled her eyes, "And I would be happy to."

The last time they'd done this was the day Rhaenyra had been announced heir to the throne before all the lords of Westeros, and the time before that had been the tourney for her brother's birth. The tourney that had ended up changing their lives in ways Rhaenyra had never seen coming. She forced the thoughts from her head before they could go down a darker path and concentrated on the pull of her hair as Alicent carefully unwound the braids. Her white-blonde hair fell over her shoulders and onto her chest, soft and shining.

"Are you wanting to redo the braids?" Alicent asked, running a brush from her scalp to her ends to be rid of whatever frizz remained.

"I was thinking to wear it loose like this." Rhaenyra said, looking at her reflection carefully, "The style is popular in the North."

"It is." The queen agreed, pulling the front pieces of Rhaenyra's hair back to tie them so they were away from her face and added interest to the style, "Rubies?"

"No." Rhaenyra declined, "I wore them only yesterday and they're still scattered on my floor."

"A headpiece, perhaps." Alicent's eye caught on one in Rhaenyra's jewelry box, and she held it up to watch the jewels glimmer in the low light, "I insist, this one is beautiful and I've yet to see you wear it. I did not know you had it, in fact."

"A gift from my father after I was named heir." Rhaenyra dismissed as she looked at the fine piece of craftsmanship.

It was largely made of golden chains, one going down her scalp to drape delicately over the top of her forehead and the rest down her back. Rubies and amethysts were inlaid and would sparkle all throughout her hair, with the largest of the rubies draped by a chain centered in the front. Two smaller amethysts sat snugly beside it, the same shade of lilac as her eyes.

The headpiece was given under the guise as a sort of crown for her; she was the heir, now, after all. She should wear more finery than she did even as a princess, her father claimed. Rhaenyra, however, had seen it for what it was; a gift and an apology, to try and win back her favor after he had announced he planned to marry Alicent by next spring. 

''He would be pleased to see you wear it, then." Alicent insisted, draping the gold chains and arranging them just so over Rhaenyra's head, "A command if it must be. I am the queen."

She said the words playfully, and Rhaenyra swatted her with no heat. Still, in the end, the princess acquiesced. The gown she wore was ruby red as well, with fine golden embroidery and a neckline low enough that Alicent wrangled her into a ruby necklace and amethyst earrings to match.

"There." Alicent said, "Though I fear you'll always prefer your riding leathers to finery."

"I will." Rhaenyra quipped, "However, my pleas to flee to Essos on Syrax have yet to be acknowledged, so for now I am content to be your doll."

"Good, then. We should head toward the chambers of the small council; the king requested my presence, and yours is a given." Alicent accepted Rhaenyra's arm as they stood, and her lips twitched upward, "I can hardly believe you, of all maidens, are to be married soon."

"The both of us are in agreement, then." Rhaenyra said as they left her chambers, "Though, I must admit I cannot bemoan my chosen."

Ser Erryk was guarding her chambers this morning, sparing her a nod as he fell into step dutifully behind them.

Alicent snickered, "No, you merely want to jump him given the first opportunity."

"No!" Rhaenyra gasped in mock outrage before it quickly fell into a smirk, "Well..."

The walk to the small council's chambers was short, but Rhaenyra had a feeling the day was to be very long. She was, after all, making decisions about her wedding. Oh, and her future heirs, can't forget about those.

Chapter Text

When Rhaenyra and Alicent entered, every head in the room swiveled toward them. The Northerners were not there yet, which was simultaneously a relief and a disappointment. She had made a fine entrance and had longed to see Rickon's eyes light up at the sight of her, but there was also an anxiousness that fluttered in her stomach at the mere thought of him.

She quickly forgot about that, though, when her father stood, his face suspiciously red as if he'd been yelling. Rhaenyra automatically guessed that Daemon would be absent; she'd assumed the only thing to make her father so furious would be the same thing that got her uncle exiled once more. Yet he was still there, sitting by Mellos with a smug smile and a golden cloak draped over one shoulder.

Clearly, she had missed quite a lot in a scarce few hours.

Then she saw the biggest shock of all. Lord Lyonel Strong was wearing the pin that belonged to the Hand of the King.

Alicent must have seen it at the same time, for she froze at Rhaenyra's side. The princess placed a hand over Alicent's where their arms remained linked and slowly moved her towards a chair. The other girl sat, her eyes distant, and she seemed hesitant to release her death grip on Rhaenyra. 

"Father," Rhaenyra looked towards the king, "I believe I need to be updated."

They all watched her closely as she left the queen's side, her steady gaze meeting the king's own. Some of the anger left his eyes as he looked at her, but his knuckles remained white as he clenched the back of his seat.

"Otto's answers we unsatisfactory in regards to his accusations against House Stark," His words were clipped, "When he then made unsavory claims regarding Daemon, going so far as to compare him to Maegor..."

Her father practically spat the name, and Rhaenyra saw Mellos pale from the corner of her eye.

Daemon, of course, chose that moment to crack a joke, "Two guesses as to who's Commander of the City Watch again, dearest niece."

Viserys closed his eyes briefly as if he could feel a headache coming on.

Rhaenyra nodded hesitantly, "I see. And I suppose congratulations are in order for Lord Strong as well?"

Lyonel nodded his head in her direction, "Thank you, princess."

"And is Otto Hightower to be returned to Old Town?" She asked, refusing to look at Alicent.

The king pursed his lips, "He is."

Well, she couldn't complain. His exile certainly made her life much easier, though she knew Alicent would take the loss hard. Still, without that vulture taking roost on her father's throne she might actually be able to get things done on the Small Council. She took her seat at the right of her father, Lord Lyonel now the one seated beside her instead of Otto. The seat across from her was now empty.

"And who might take the seat belonging to the Master of Laws?" She gestured to the empty chair, "We should not leave it unoccupied for long."

"You are right on that front." Viserys sighed, sitting as well and taking a long drink from his cup, "I believe Lord Jasper Wylde was put forth mere moments ago, correct?"

"Ah, yes, Your Grace," Mellos spoke, the old man stroking his beard as he did so, "He is known for his strength of will. The smallfolk of the Rain House call him Ironrod for his strictness."

Daemon snickered, "Yes, that's why they call him Ironrod."

"I would claim he is more well known for his abuse towards his own wives." Rhaenyra couldn't help the outrage in her voice, "Two women so far, both dead, with sixteen children and counting. He drove them to exhaustion despite their appeals for rest, and he's giving his third wife the exact same treatment."

"I understand your view as a woman, princess, though I cannot help but think it is soft-hearted. That is your nature, I suppose." Mellos gave a put-upon sigh, "Lord Wylde-"

"Be careful of your words, Grand Maester." Lord Beesbury interrupted to rebuff the other man, "That is the crown princess you speak to."

Mellos fretted at his tone, but Rhaenyra cut off his ramblings with a sharp hand, "Soft-hearted or not, driving four women to death is mere cruelty. Do we want someone like that as our Master of Laws? How am I to believe he would interpret justice the same way I do?"

"Justice is black and white, princess." Mellos insisted, "There are those who break the law and need punishment and those that do not. There is nothing to interpret."

"You are wrong, Mellos, and I will not waste my time trying to make you see it." She turned to her father instead, "If there were justice, it would be Lord Wylde who was cold in his grave instead of the four young woman he took against their will. Do I not speak the truth, father?"

She saw the way her father wilted under her words. She hated to wield them against him like this, knowing that his thoughts had likely turned to her late mother with haste. Still, it was a necessary evil. She didn't trust any candidate Mellos put forth, not with him having such close ties to the Citadel, and she especially did not trust a craven like Lord Wylde.

Her father contemplated her words for only the briefest of seconds, "Princess Rhaenyra is correct. Lord Wylde does not seem to have the correct temperament for the position. We can continue this discussion at a later date; for now, we have more pressing matters to deal with and guests to our council that we must accommodate."

An uneasy assent passed along the table and only minutes later the doors of the chambers swept open, allowing the Northern delegation entry. Rhaenyra stood, eyes seeking Rickon out of the small group immediately. Violet met gray and it was clear he'd been looking for her as well. He froze from where he stood beside Kaegan, only forcing his feet to move once more when the Bolton elbowed him in the side.

Rhaenyra strode forward, offering him her hand. He took it graciously.

"My princess." He murmured, placing a chaste kiss on her ringed fingers.

"My lord." She said just as softly.

She returned to her seat, an ache alight in her chest as she did so. She didn't quite understand the feeling, though she supposed she didn't understand any of her feelings around Rickon. A deep insatiable hunger one moment, and then butterflies stirring to life the very next. It was emotional whiplash of the highest degree, yet she craved it all the same. 

Her father reached over to place a gentle hand on her shoulder, his eyes void of any prior anger. He then turned to the others as they took their seats, welcoming them to the small council with a smile. Kaegan grinned widely as he took the seat across from Daemon, giving her uncle a wink. Daemon smirked in response to the young man, their eyes locked over his goblet as he took a drink.

She was certain the exchange held some significance, she just couldn't place her finger on what.

Rickon, meanwhile, sat between his mother and father. His eyes occasionally darted up to meet hers, drawn by some unspeakable force. Rhaenyra could not fault him the glances; her own gaze had scarcely left him since he entered the room.

"Now," Viserys began, "We have come here to finalize the contract between Houses Targaryen and Stark for the marriage of our heirs. Lord Benjen, if you would care to state your claims as previously mentioned?"

The Stark lord cleared his throat, "Of course. As my son informed you all on my behalf, the first babe will inherit the throne under the name Targaryen and the second will get Winterfell under the name Stark. Those are our only terms, aside from those discussed prior."

That was quite a way of summarizing the dozens of ravens her father and Benjen had sent back and forth.

"That is all?" Lord Beesbury asked, his voice doubtful.

Corlys finally spoke up, "I find myself similarly skeptical. Your only concession is that the child who inherits Winterfell must be named Stark?"

Benjen only raised an eyebrow and replied blandly, "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. It is our way."

"And you want for nothing else for your house?" Corlys raised an eyebrow, "No honors? No aid for your realm?"

"What need do we have for honors? Aid is, of course, appreciated during the winters, but the North has always prevailed." Lysa dismissed, "The king has agreed upon helping the Watch and fortifying our land." 

"Thank you, Lady Lysa, Lord Benjen." Viserys said, "And the heirs born after the first two? How shall they be named?"

"The Targaryen name, of course." Lord Beesbury said, "Princess Rhaenyra's station is above her betrothed and she will pass on the royal name to her other children."

"Yet it is the husband's name that is passed on by tradition." Mellos pointed out, "Every other example of marriage in Westeros would have the children bear the name Stark."

Beesbury refuted the Grand Maester, "But the princess is not taking her husband's name and this situation is hardly traditional."

"My children will be of my own blood as well as my husband's." Rhaenyra forced down the flush that wanted to overtake her cheeks at the prospect, "House Targaryen and House Stark should have equal claim over them, should they not?"

"And your suggestion, princess?" Lord Strong raised an eyebrow, "Shall we flip a coin whenever a babe is born of your union?"

"Nothing so haphazard." Rickon sighed, "I care not if they carry the name Targaryen. They are my blood just as well either way."

"And I care not if they carry the name Stark." Rhaenyra responded stubbornly, "Perhaps an even split, then, husband-to-be? A Targaryen, then a Stark. To carry on both our lines."

Lord Karstark chuckled, "She's sharp-tongued, isn't she? Just like the Old Thistle back home."

"My mother doesn't appreciate that nickname." Benjen remarked dryly, "But I agree with the sentiment. It would do well to have more than one Stark born to the main family, and I'm sure it's similar for House Targaryen."

Isn't it baffling, that she and her children will become the main branch of House Targaryen? Her little ones with names yet undecided would be written in books for years to come, bearing the titles of prince and princess. It's funny how she never wanted children until she was told she didn't have to pop out heirs like a broodmare.

"Then, if we are in agreement, the naming shall allow for the generational prosperity of both houses." Viserys nodded, "Now, to turn our attention to more immediate issues, we still have the wedding to plan. The details would be left to my daughter and her betrothed, but the bigger decisions should be made here and now."

"I would be wed before the Old Gods beneath a heart tree in a Godswood." Rickon said, stealing a glance at Rhaenyra, "If that is okay with okay with you?"

She nodded, "It is. I would be honored to respect the traditions of the North."

She had little love for the Faith of the Seven regardless. Her earliest memories are of being bounced on the knee of her grandfather before his passing, Prince Baelon telling her tales of the Gods that ruled over Valyria.

Syrax, who held dominion over both love and war, had always been her favorite, so much so that she named her dragon after the goddess. Vhagar was known as the lady of death, cutting a fierce figure as the goddess reaped souls from the battlefields. Balerion, the god who held his authority in the skies and was married to Meraxes, the goddess who was the holder of all wisdom in the world. There were many more that she had forgotten and even more she had likely never learned of.

The pantheon of Old Valyria was as vast as it was powerful. Sometimes, when she was a girl, she sought their guidance over that of the Mother or the Maiden whom her own queenly mother had bid her pray to.

A sept held no significance for her. Her ancestors would not stand in those hallowed halls. The ones that came before her were creatures of fire and blood, forged by the fourteen flames and hardened by the Doom even after. If she could not marry in her own traditional way, which was considered little more than heathenry by the faith of the seven, then it would be better that Rickon was given the courtesy.

"Northern ceremonies are generally rather private affairs." Benjen pointed out, "I would assume there would be a public reception afterward, however."

"I would recommend our own Godswood, but Winterfell will be hard to reach soon with the coming winter." Lysa said, "Having so many on the icy roads would be dangerous. Not to mention our keep isn't exactly built for all the lords of the realm coming together for a royal wedding. Not only would space be an issue, but it would put a strain on our stores to feed so many."

"What about a middle ground?" Rhaenyra asked, eyes darting around, "The Riverlands would be easy for both Southern and Northern lords to reach, would it not?"

"Are there any living heart trees in the Riverlands, princess?" Lord Beesbury asked, "I know of none."

"Harrenhal has one, Your Graces." Lord Strong spoke up, "There remains a Godswood in the castle."

"Harrenhal." Mellos furrowed his brow, "Would that not cast a specter of doom over the marriage?"

"Don't tell me you believe in ghost stories, Grand Maester?" Daemon leaned forward, a wicked grin curling his lips, "Isn't the Citadel above such things?"

"Your offer is generous, Lord Strong." Rhaenyra interrupted with a smile, her mind awhirl, "And on the shores of the God's Eye, too. The Isle of Faces at its center has many heart trees, does it not?"

"Well, yes-" He blinked, eyes widening.

The Isle of Faces. An island where every tree is a weirwood cut with the face of the Old Gods. So many legends surrounded that place already, and perhaps she was cocky but she would like to add one more.

"A place with so much significance to the First Men of whom the North claim their culture will be a show of respect." Rhaenyra barrelled on, "On the day of, it would make for a short procession to get through Harrentown to the shores of the lake, and boats can be taken to get to the island. Afterward, the reception can be hosted in Harrenhal."

"The waters are uneven, princess." Lord Strong seemed uncertain, "The winds typically drive boats away regardless."

"Or flocks of ravens." Mellos uttered the words quietly, "A sign from the Gods to stay away."

"It is no matter, we would be granted entry." Rhaenyra stood, heat pooling beneath her skin as if she could feel the truth of her words to her core, "Northern ceremonies are held at night, correct? And lit by lantern?"

"Yes, princess." Benjen watched her carefully, "The immediate family of both the bride and groom are led through the dark by their own lantern bearers, who will take them to the clearing where they take up their own lights for the ceremony. The groom arrives first with his family and then the bride is led there by her own. The fathers give their children over, who then accept a mutual bond before the eyes of the Old Gods."

"The Isle would be perfect, then. The Gods would have many eyes to view the ceremony with, after all." She gave Rickon a grin, "What say you, husband-to-be?"

"I would agree." Rickon stood as well, "It...feels right."

His eyes seemed far away for a moment, but they soon hardened with certainty.

"Of course, after the reception, there shall be a tourney and festivities." Viserys said, "That is if we might borrow your keep for so long, Lyonel?"

"For however long is wanted, Your Grace." Lord Strong nodded, "Harrentown would enjoy the merriment."

"Very well, then." Viserys nodded with a broad smile, "The matters are settled. Lord Strong, we will begin making arrangements for Harrenhal and the Isle."

"Please, Lord Strong, send for your daughters as well." Rhaenyra clasped her hands in front of her, giving the man a warm smile, "You have given us the honor of your home. Allow me to give them the honor of being my attendants, by my side when my family makes the procession to the shore of the God's Eye."

Lyonel's eyes widened and she knew exactly why. To have his daughters by her side, intermixed with the royal family, would be a statement that none would ignore. The Strongs had the favor of the Targaryens, and the girls would soon be drowning in proposals from lords much wealthier and of nobler blood. This act would endear her to the new Hand immediately.

"You honor me, princess, as well as Shiera and Bethany." Lord Strong stood, bowing deeply before her, "I will send Harwin to fetch them so they might help with the preparations."

She nodded toward him, "Thank you, Lord Strong."

When she glanced away, she saw her uncle eyeing her with pride. She forced down a smirk; if these lords thought her too soft-hearted or lackwit to play this game of theirs, they would find themselves sorely mistaken.

Rickon stood first, nodding towards his family and then bowing to her father, "If the princess and I might be excused? I was hoping for a walk around the gardens."

Viserys smiled as he stood, walking over to grasp both the young man's hands in his own, "Of course, my boy. This is to be your home, too. Second to Winterfell, naturally."

Rickon seemed taken aback but hid it well behind that stoic mask of his, "You honor me, Your Grace."

Her father then turned to her, readjusting one of the golden chains that weaved through her hair carefully, "Enjoy your walk, my dear."

"I will, father." She smiled before accepting Rickon's arm.

When they reached the hallway, Rhaenyra paused. She turned to her personal shield, who'd joined them during the meeting and now trailed after them closely.

"Ser Criston?" She called quietly, gratified when he was by her side in an instant, "If you might watch over the queen in my stead. I fear she will take this news poorly and fear for herself and my sibling. Please make sure Alicent feels safe."

Criston's eyes widened at the request but he accepted the orders dutifully, "Of course, princess."

The white cloak was gone after that and she returned her attention to her betrothed, resisting the urge to fiddle with her rings nervously, "It's official. We're to be married. I fear there's no backing out now should you wish it."

He shot her a dry look, "That is an amusing jest, my princess."

She laughed, her anxieties fading away with each passing second, "So, I must know, what exactly were Kaegan and my uncle making faces at each other? Did Daemon puke on him, perhaps? Or the other way around?"

Rickon groaned, "I would've preferred that. No, instead my dear brother in all but blood had to go and shag a prince of the realm."

She paused in her walking and turned to him with an incredulous expression, "You are joking?"

"I'm not." He confirmed, his eyes hardening, "There will be no issues with Kaegan's proclivities, will there?"

"Hardly. You'll find I'm more cross with my uncle." Rhaenyra scoffed, "Of course, he had to one-up me by tumbling into a northerner's bed before I got the chance myself."

Rickon let out a raucous bout of laughter, startling some maids nearby. He quickly reigned in his amusement, but the twitch of his lips gave him away.

"I fear we've brought together two like-minded disasters." Rickon said conspiratorially, a smile curving his lips ever so slightly, "However will we cope?"

She was about to respond in kind when she heard a commotion behind her. The childish shouts soon made their way to her ears not long after.

"Nyra!" Aegon shrieked, barely heard as if he was some distance away, "Nyra!"

Her heart kicked into overdrive as she ran back through the entrance of the garden and began to sprint down the halls. Rickon was right behind her as they took a sharp left, tumbling down the path that would lead to the royal wing. There he was, running as fast as she'd ever seen the little boy move. She met him halfway right as guards turned the corner with maids fretting after them, taking the toddler into her arms and hiding his crying face in her shoulder. Rickon edged in front of them, drawing the sword he kept at his side.

"What is the meaning of this?" She barked, "Why are you chasing my brother through the halls like a common thief?"

"Your Highness." A maid bowed trembling as the guards immediately took a knee before her and Rickon, "The little prince swept right out of the nursery faster than we could chase him. He kept calling for you and became more upset when you weren't around. We feared he would take a tumble and when the guards found out what had happened, they tried to help us catch him."

"Yes, because chasing a frightened child through the halls of the keep is the perfect way to calm him." She snarled, clutching Aegon closer when he whimpered.

A hand on her elbow as Rickon returned to her side made her take a deep breath. Ice was still clutched loosely in his other hand, the Valyrian steel glinting with the promise of violence despite the blade being pointed at the floor. He kept an eagle-eyed gaze on the guards, watching for any signs of hostility.

"Leave us." She said cooly, "I will attend to my brother personally."

They left with haste, and Rickon still did not sheathe his sword. His cynicism was another thing she'd grown to love about him.

"Aegon," She spoke softly to the crying boy in her arms, "Egg. Can you look at me? Give your sister a big smile?"

"Are they gonna hurt me?" He whispered in a small, wobbly voice, "Nyra will save me. Right? Like a knight?"

"Is who going to hurt you?" She felt as if the air had been knocked out of her, "Who told you such a thing?"

"Grandpa said he had to go home." Aegon rested his head back on her shoulder, "He said Nyra would hurt me, but Nyra protects me."

"I do protect you." She said fiercely, "I would never hurt you, Egg. I'll keep you safe from everyone, do you understand?"

He turned his big lilac eyes to her soon-to-be husband, "Ric will too?"

"Aye." Rickon said kindly, reaching forward to ruffle Aegon's white locks, "We'll keep you safe, Egg."

He nestled further into Rhaenyra's arms and the princess sighed, casting her fiancé an apologetic look, "I'm afraid we need to get him back to Alicent immediately. I'm sure you noticed Otto is no longer hand."

"And without her father, she's grown nervous." Rickon nodded solemnly, "I understand. We'll return the little one to the nursery now."

"Momma?" Aegon asked, perking up.

"Yes, sweetling, we're going to see momma. Helaena and Aemond, too. Would you like that?"

The boy nodded eagerly as they set off, "Yeah! Momma and Laena and Aem!"

Alicent was waiting by the entrance of the nursery as if she'd sensed them coming. Her cuticles were picked bloody and she'd wrung her hands until her fingers were blood red. She nearly crushed Rhaenyra into a hug with Aegon right in the middle, slouching with relief at seeing her eldest. Ser Criston stood behind her, casting worried looks at the queen's back.

"Thank you," The queen said quietly as her son laughed with delight at being squished between his mother and sister, not understanding the somber mood around him, "Both of you."

"Momma!" Aegon cried out, "Nyra is my knight! She said so!"

Alicent pulled away, her brows raising as she looked down at him with amusement lighting her face up, "Did she?"

"Ric too! My own knights to protect me!" The boy reached out for her, and she took him from Rhaenyra immediately, "They'll protect you, too, momma."

The queen's lips trembled, but she smiled through it, "I know, lovely. Here, how about you play with your sister, hm?"

She sat him down beside Helaena, who was staring at a stuffed horse as if it held all the secrets of the world. Alicent turned to Rhaenyra once more as Aegon began gathering toys for his sister's inspection, placing then before the small girl in a row.

"I only found out after it happened." Alicent whispered, "I had no idea where he was until the maids returned with the guards and told me you'd found him. Oh, and that the young Lord Stark drew his blade against them for a perceived slight against the prince. Let's not forget about that."

Rickon balked at the accusation, "The boy was fleeing from them screaming and crying. Was I to politely ask questions?"

Alicent let out a strangled laugh, "That is not what I meant to say, Lord Stark. Only that you acted as I would wish anyone protecting my son to."

"He said Otto told him I would hurt him. He didn't understand the concept of me raising a hand to him in anger, so he thought someone else was going to. The maids ended up frightening him." Rhaenyra explained grimly, "When he fled, he kept running until he found us."

Alicent's entire body shook, be it from sadness or rage Rhaenyra had no clue. The princess gathered her friend's hands in her own, squeezing them gently. Alicent's tears eyes met her own, and Rhaenyra found it hard not to pity her old friend.

"I shouldn't say this," Rhaenyra began, "It is wrong for me to, especially in front of you-"

"You are happy he is gone." Her friend finished the thought grimly, her fingers grasping Rhaenyra's like a lifeline, "I am not happy, yet I am relieved all the same. I know it doesn't make sense."

"It doesn't." The princess agreed, gripping her arms back in a firm grasp, "Feelings don't always have to make sense, though."

"And they certainly don't." Alicent gave a wan laugh, the palor of her face all the more prominent as she finally broke their clasped hands apart to collapse into a chair, "Again, however, I must impress upon you that you both have my gratitude."

"You needn't." Rhaenyra dismissed, "He is my brother as he is your son. Speaking of which, I have something to request of you."

Alicent seemed to sit up at attention, all her focus shifted to Rhaenyra, "What is it?"

"I need a lantern bearer for my ceremony." She explained, "To guide our family down the path to the heart tree I'll be married under. I was wanting it to be Aegon."

"You want it to be Aegon?" All at once, Alicent's face lit up and her smile grew into something more genuine, "Of course! He would love to, I'm sure! You know he so enjoys being the center of attention, especially if the attention is yours."

"Good." Rhaenyra sighed, "And, I have said this before yet I feel the need to reiterate myself because I'm certain your father said something on the contrary before he left, but no harm will befall any of my siblings or you. Everything will be alright, Alicent."

For once, the queen looked as if she believed it.

The days passed quickly after that.

Harrenhal was secured as the location and the Isle of Faces was scouted by Lord Strong himself, who'd returned with his son to gather his daughters. He'd found the largest heart tree in the very center of the island and chose it for the spot of Rhaenyra and Rickon's union, reporting back that the island was remarkably, nigh unnaturally, clear of fog.

Shiera and Bethany, meanwhile, were simply overjoyed to come to King's Landing; Rhaenyra was surprised by how much she enjoyed their presence.

Shiera was the eldest of the sisters, though they were both younger than Harwin and Larys. Two years Rhaenyra's senior, she was taller than her sister and more willowy than any Strong before her. Lyonel claimed she took after her mother, who was a Blackwood and had a similar long-limbed and graceful stature. Bethany was shorter and more rounded than her sister, with fuller hips and a more prominent chest. She had their elder brother, Harwin's, nose. They all shared the Strong coloring, though; dark of hair and eyes, with a splash of freckles across their skin.

Between the two of them catering to her every need, bringing her lemon cakes and wine and juice and a cheese platter or two, Rhaenyra had no doubt they would make excellent wives to some lucky lord. Still, even with their coddling, Rhaenyra found herself growing in a sea of constant decisions. From tablecloths to flowers to food, she was up to her eyeballs into material swatches and taste tests. Not to mention the matter of Rickon's attire and her own.

Another issue was Rickon's brother, Bennard, and if he was to come to the wedding or not. Rickon wanted him there desperately, but it would leave Winterfell unattended for a brief time if he and his wife, Margaret, were to travel to Harrenhal with their son. Lord Benjen only relented when he received a series of letters from his mother, Lady Marna Stark, that assured him she was capable of watching over Winterfell in Bennard's absence.

Apparently, from what she'd heard from Lysa, it had been a rather scathing few letters. Lady Marna, born of House Norrey, was already present in Winterfell and witnessed firsthand how much her grandson wanted to see his family and meet his brother's betrothed.

With everything settled, and Lord Benjen only mildly embarrassed, Bennard and Margaret had set out for King's Landing with their son. Ladies Arella and Theya, Lord Benjen's sisters, were to arrive in King's Landing with their husbands as well for their nephew's wedding. Lysa assured Rhaenyra that they were all kind and much unlike the vipers of the Red Keep. Rhaenyra had laughed outright at her bluntness but appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. 

Speaking of Lysa, the woman was an absolute gift. She was sterner than Rhaenyra's own mother had been, perhaps, but it was amusing to see how a sharp word from her would have even Daemon stepping quickly into line. Her father found it amusing to no end, making a comment at dinner on how perhaps Queen Alysanne should've looked to the North to find a partner for his brother.

Rhaenyra and Rickon very politely did not laugh even when Kaegan choked on his wine, leaving Daemon to leer at him while he ignored his brother's words.

"Princess," Shiera's voice brought her back to the present as she poked her head into Rhaenyra's room with a dazzling smile, "The tailor is here! She's brought samples of different laces as well!"

The royal tailor, a short wisp of an elderly woman with a severe face and a firm hand, entered the room like a tornado. Swatches of fabric were strewn everywhere in a matter of minutes, and Rhaenyra tried not to chuckle at the thought of Rickon having gone through this just yesterday. She was used to it by now, he was assuredly not. 

"Here are a few samples of lace, princess." The woman laid out a few squares, "The grey Lyseni lace with pearls would look stunning with the white and be a tribute to your husband's house, while the Myrish white lace with rubies would be traditionally Targaryen. We have a few more styles of Myrish lace here as well, if you'd prefer white with pearls."

Rickon would be outfitted in silks of black and grey, with a fur-lined cloak that featured blood-red embroidery of dragons and wolves swirling along the bottom and edges. He'd been given a black iron circlet as well by her father to signify his status as prince consort and, eventually, king consort.

She decided to go with the white Myrish lace. The dress was to be an off-the-shoulder piece that fitted her form in the bodice and then flared out into a skirt with a train that would trail behind her during the procession, creating quite a grand image. Her arms were bare save for the same lace that covered the rest of the dress, no fabric beneath it, and rubies would be delicately stitched into the whole thing to glitter under lanternlight.

Her father gifted her a similar crown as he had Rickon, only hers was inlaid with rubies of the same color she would have on her dress whereas his remained unjeweled. On her white cloak, a direwolf was embroidered in red on one shoulder and a dragon on the other.

She sat, running her hand over the swatch of lace that was to make her dress far after the seamstress left. She was only broken from her reverie when a hand gently clasped her shoulder.

"Bethany said you've been staring at that for quite some time." Lysa said as she moved to sit across from Rhaenyra at the table, "Heavy thoughts, dear girl?"

"Nothing heavy, really." Rhaenyra dismissed with a shrug, "I just never imagined I would be so happy."

Lysa's brows furrowed, "Well, I suppose it's good you made it here regardless."

"Yes." The princess agreed, "I fear I must admit I cannot picture my wedding day, or any day thereafter, without your son."

"Aye, and he's just as besotted, believe me." The woman chuckled, "I worried over having a princess as my daughter-by-law, fearing you snobbish or conceited, but you are neither of those things. You treat my boy well, and that's all I can ask for. His brother, Bennard, married for love. I would have Rickon do the same."

"You believe he loves me?" Rhaenyra asked, her heartbeat a rhythm of thunder in her chest.

"I do." Lysa nodded with a small smile, "Though do not tell him I told you so. I think he is trying to be discreet so as to have a grand confession for the night you wed."

She felt warm all over as if she were sitting by the fireplace. She tried to put the thoughts from her head and continue on with her day, but they just seemed to keep circling back around.

He might actually love her. She might actually love him.

The concept still left her reeling, even as she changed into her night clothes. Back and forth, back and forth, the thoughts raced across her mind again and again. He might actually love her. She might actually love him. It shouldn't have been so unbelievable, but it was. She'd grown up thinking she wouldn't be so lucky as her mother, whom her father treasured before a series of fatal mistakes.

Now, she realized, she might be even more cherished. Beyond her capabilities of producing heirs, Rickon held her mind and heart in higher esteem, asking her thoughts on even trivial matters simply because he wanted to know what she had to say. 

Slipping into sleep came easier that night, and she marked one more day off the calendar. Only a month left before she could call Rickon hers once and for all. She closed her eyes to that pleasing thought, satisfaction curling like a contented beast in her chest.

She opened her eyes to find herself standing barefoot in the snow, a great weirwood heart tree growing in the center of this clearing. She was not cold as she moved forward, the air around her feeling thick as if she were wading through syrup. 

Rhaenyra froze as she approached the great tree, seeing a figure leaning back against it, dressed in dark red and black. His hair was on the shorter side, though it still fell around his ears in dark waves. When he looked up she found herself unable to breathe. She couldn't exactly place how she recognized him, but the fact remained that she knew him.

Somehow she knew him like her lungs knew air and her veins knew her blood.

His eyes were reminiscent of the hues of Old Valyria. He shared her own shade of lilac in his left eye as it glinted with mischief, while his right eye was replaced with a shimmering amethyst stone. A scar cut itself down his face, through his eyebrow, and stopped at the top of his cheek. It was clear the same accident that gave him that marking had also taken his eye.

The boy smiled at her and it transformed his face completely. She only realized in the next moment why he looked so familiar.

He looked almost exactly like Rickon.

Startled, she woke up gasping in the middle of the night, the dream ripped right from under her feet.

Chapter Text

Bennard and their aunts arrived as the temperature of King's Landing dropped into one common of winter. The greenery had shriveled and died, the garden had scarcely anything left living.

"I miss it." Rickon had whispered one night when they lounged on Rhaenyra's balcony, which overlooked the once luscious estate, "It reminded me of our glass gardens back home. The winter roses are especially beautiful."

"So I've heard." Rhaenyra said, pressing their shoulders together as she huddled for his warmth, "You will have to give me a tour when the time comes."

"Of course." He grinned, "It would only be repaying your courtesy."

They'd had many nights like that, whispering of the future and making plans for days yet to come. Rhaenyra told him of her dream, of the boy with the amethyst eye, one night as he brushed her hair before dinner. His face had sobered, but he'd told her not to worry. Any challenges that their children faced would be done with their parents firmly behind them. The wedding was fast approaching, and her heart couldn't quite come to terms with the fact that she might have one of those children in her arms in barely a year's time.

A servant opened the doors swiftly one morning as the royal family broke their fast with the Starks, the girl bowing before them all before she announced, "Stark banners have been seen outside the Gate of the Gods. We expect it to be Lord Benjen's second son and his sisters."

It was indeed. Rickon and Kaegan smiled and whispered together, her soon-to-be husband nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement. It'd been almost six moons since he'd last seen his brother, so she understood his elation. Sure enough, multiple riders came down the path to the Red Keep, only multiple banners flew this time. A white sunburst on black and a black lizard on green joined the grey direwolves of House Stark.

"House Reed," Rickon leaned over to whisper to her as they waited on the steps of the keep, gesturing towards the banners emblazoned with the lizard "A bannerman of ours. My aunt, Arella, married Lord Harlen Reed and became Lady of Greywater Watch."

He gestured to the white sunbursts next, "Those are the banners of House Karstark. You've met Lord Elric already, father of my good sister Margaret, but my aunt Theya married his brother Beron. I believe Margaret's elder brother, Edwyn, also travels with them today. He's Lord Elric's heir."

"Do your aunts have any children?" She asked as the banners drew closer yet.

"Aunt Theya has my cousins Robert and Robyn, twin brother and sister. Aunt Arella has Marya, who's set to inherit Greywater after her father." He said, "Robert and Robyn are both incredibly talented with a blade, and Marya is going to be an absolute menace once she becomes the Lady of House Reed and has access to the crannogmen and her bannermen."

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, "A menace? How so?"

"Are we talking about Marya?" Kaegan leaned over to join the conversation with a grin, "Oh, she's terrifying. She looks sweet, but she's as good with a spear as any Dornishman and even better with her bow. The Ironborn raid their lands frequently and Marya has slaughtered nigh as many as her lord father. The Freys have also tried Lord Reed's hand, given their proximity in the Neck, only to find his Lady Butcher does not discriminate."

Rickon agreed with a nod, "She has quite the reputation. Kaegan was the one who started teaching her how to shoot arrows, in fact, when Aunt Arella brought her husband and daughter to Winterfell one summer."

As the riders grew closer, she saw what must be Rickon's little brother in the very front. He had the same dark brown hair, though his was cut shorter than his brother's. His eyes were the same piercing grey, though he favored their lady mother's nose and cheeks where Rickon looked more like his father.

Beside him was a young woman with dirty blonde hair, the wild curls pulled away from her face but still disheveled from riding. She must be Margaret, given how she had a young babe strapped to her chest. She had dark, nearly black, eyes and sported a wide grin as they approached. It was in clear contrast to her husband's serious composure.

She was much different than most Northerners Rhaenyra had seen, with her lighter hair, but Rickon had mentioned that her mother was a Marbrand from the Westerlands. It was curious, how exactly a woman from the Westerlands married a man of the North, but she couldn't rule anything out. They might've even met at a tourney.

"Bennard!" Rickon called, his face lighting up in a grin as he descended the steps to meet his brother, Kaegan following right behind him.

The younger Stark seemed to brighten some as he scrambled to get off his horse, but Rickon grabbed him when he was only halfway down and strongarmed him into a hug. Kaegan grabbed him right after he was released, pulling him in with one arm and rubbing his knuckles fiercely in Bennard's scalp at the same time.

"Get off me, you ass!" Bennard shoved at the older boy, but his expression was fond, "I haven't missed you at all."

Kaegan only laughed, "What a lie! And Margaret, is that my nephew there?"

"Aye, it is." She said as she swung herself off her horse, one hand supporting the babe wrapped to her chest, "Little Ben did well on his first ride."

Rickon's nephew, whom his brother called Benjen after their father, was often called Little Ben to avoid confusion between the current Lord of Winterfell. The babe in question, with dark wisps of hair on the top of his head that matched his father's, didn't rouse as his two uncles began to coo over him.

Lysa and Benjen approached the group with soft looks, Lysa clutching her younger son in a hug and Benjen clapping him on the shoulder. The rest of the Northerners slowly rode in behind them, two women leading the pack. They were identical to Benjen, beautiful with their strong jawlines and long, dark hair that reached well past their chests. The one who rode under Reed banners and must've been Arella leapt from her horse and swept her elder brother into a hug.

"Bennie!" She cried, "And Lysa! It's been forever!"

"It wouldn't be so if you left your beloved swamp every once in a while." Benjen groused but accepted the affection, "I see you managed to corral Harlen here. And there's little Marya, too."

The young woman, who looked to be of a similar age to Rhaenyra herself, practically skipped toward her uncle to accept a hug. She was beautiful in a way Rhaenyra had been told Northern women weren't. Then again, most of the Northern women she'd met had disproved that rumor already. 

Benjen placed a kiss on the top of her head before moving to allow Lysa to do the same. A man who must be Harlen stood behind her, chatting amongst the Starks and other Northmen, and Rhaenyra took note of his small statue. His wife and daughter practically towered over him.

"His mother was of the crannogmen." Kaegan returned to her side when he saw her staring, "Very, very short people who live in the swamps."

"Live in the swamps?" Rhaenyra repeated, "As in, make their homes in the swamps?"

"Aye, a crazy lot down in the Neck." Kaegan snickered.

"There's my brother." Benjen's other sister Theya joined the group, two identical children who were likely just a few years younger than Bennard trailing behind her with two men beside them, "Far too soon to see your ugly mug again."

"Theya." Benjen sighed as his sister hugged Lysa before turning to flick him on the nose, "How grateful we are to have your presence."

"Son!" Lord Elric strode forward to clap Edwyn on the shoulder before turning to his niece and nephew to pull them close to his chest, "Robyn, Robert."

"Good to see you as well, brother." Beron laughed, "Am I invisible?"

"I wish you were," Elric joked back as he whacked his brother on the arm, "How's he doing, Robyn? Taking his medication?"

"Oh, no." The girl replied dutifully, "He hates the tea the maester gives him."

"He also refuses the paste for the wound on his side." The boy, Robert, reported, "He says it smells awful."

"Idiot." Elric clapped his brother over the head, "You'll fester and die that way."

Beron narrowed his eyes at his children playfully, "You're both traitors."

"No, they just care about your stupid self." Theya sighed as she wrapped an arm around her husband's shoulders, "A fondness I unfortunately share."

Robert and Robyn both looked entirely like Starks, clearly inheriting the genes of their mother, while Elric and Beron both sported blue eyes and hair just a shade lighter.

"We're going to be fucking overrun," Daemon muttered from behind her, his words hidden by a sharp cough from her father.

"I am pleased to meet Lord Rickon's family, soon to be our own in a mere week." He said loudly, "I welcome you to the Red Keep for now, though, before we move to Harrenhal for the wedding!"

Another feast began. Only one week before they left King's Landing for the Riverlands.

Only one week.

That week went by startlingly fast. The next thing she knew, the Starks were herded into one carriage and her own family into a separate one.

Of course, that makes things sound very easy. As if that morning wasn't the most chaotic few hours of her life.

"Where in the seven hells is my brother?" Viserys barked out in the throne room, "Someone find him. Now."

"I think I might have spilled wine on my shoes." Bennard said uncertainly over breakfast, squinting down to see which cup he had dropped, "Are these the ones I'm wearing to the ceremony?"

"I'll kill you." Gillane happily informed him when it was confirmed that, yes, he had spilled wine on his shoes, "Right now. On the Old Gods, I will murder you with a dinner knife."

Bennard hastily retreated into his own wife while Osric Umber, Gillane's betrothed, took the knife from her hands with an exasperated smile.

"Kaegan isn't here either." Rickon bent down to whisper into Rhaenyra's ear, his eyes looking at her with enough intensity to convey his meaning.

"I forgot something." She stood suddenly, knocking her chair back and taking her fiancé down with it, "Oh, fuck!"

"Language!" Viserys admonished as he pinched the bridge of his nose, "Rhaenyra, please! You weren't born in Flea Bottom!"

"Maybe Ric will be the one murdered," Gillane said, entirely unhelpful as she laughed at her friend who'd just been bowled over by a chair.

"Are you alright, son?" Benjen called from where he sat, cutting a plate of fruit as if he had no cares in the world.

"Fine." Rickon groaned as Rhaenyra took his hand to help him up, "Fine. I think I'll help Nyra go find whatever she lost."

Everyone stared at the two as if they were jesters. Rickon blinked dumbly back, uncomprehending.

"Now I know he's scrambled his brains," Bennard muttered into his eggs.

"I think it's sweet," Lady Arella admonished her nephew, "My husband never gave me a nickname."

Lord Harlen Reed glanced up, eyes wide at suddenly being pulled into the conversation. Beside him, Marya couldn't stifle her giggles at her father's misfortune.

"We're going," Rhaenyra stressed before she grabbed Rickon by the arm and dragged the embarrassed man from the room.

"Gods," The last thing they heard was Lady Theya muttering, "She walks my nephew as if he were a pup."

Rhaenyra shoved the doors to Daemon's chambers open, praying to whatever Gods that would listen she wouldn't get an eyeful. Rickon followed in after her, hastily shoving the door shut behind them before they walked closer to Daemon's bed. 

There Kaegan was, sleeping next to the Rogue Prince, the both of them naked as the day they were born. As the Gods had decided to be merciful, a blanket was haphazardly thrown across their lower bodies.

"I'll kill them." Rhaenyra swore, "I mean, honestly, today of all days. We are leaving for the Riverlands in hours."

Rickon sighed, picking up Dark Sister from where it was leaning against Daemon's nightstand, "I think there's been enough murder sworn this morning."

He walked over to where a metal shield was strewn across a table and began smacking Dark Sister against it, the Valyrian steel sword thankfully still in its sheath. The noise was still quite the racket, though, which had Daemon rolling out of bed before becoming tangled in the sheets and falling right over. His bare ass was stuck up in the air for a painful moment before he scrambled to right himself, white-blonde hair sticking up in odd directions.

Kaegan, meanwhile, only jerked awake when the blanket was torn from him. He looked up with a glare and, upon realizing who their company was, promptly grabbed Daemon's abandoned pillow to cover his nether regions.

"You're lucky we got here before the servants. We're leaving for the Riverlands within the hour and the king has everyone looking for Daemon specifically." Rickon sighed, his eyes pinched shut, "Get dressed. Please."

Kaegan squinted at Rickon's forehead, "Is that knot on your head? Did you get hit with something and I missed it? What a letdown."

"Be on time or else I will feed the both of you to Syrax." Rhaenyra interjected before Rickon could respond as she took Dark Sister from her betrothed, "Uncle, I'm holding your sword hostage."

"You wouldn't feed us to Syrax, dear niece, your pampered princess will only eat cattle she has brought to her on a silver platter. She has no taste for men." Daemon groused as he pulled a shirt over his head.

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, "Well, what a time to get her accustomed."

She turned on her heel, Rickon following close after.

"Wait, Rhaenyra!" Daemon called after her as the door swung shut, "Are you really taking Dark Sister? Niece, give her back!"

Rhaenyra did not turn around as they returned to the hall. Everything was in such disarray as the carriages arrived outside the Keep that no one even thought to ask her what she'd gone to look for. Lord Benjen and Lady Lysa, however, gave them grateful looks from across the room.

Daemon and Kaegan had arrived in record time, much to everyone's relief.

Later, when all the Targaryens and Alicent were piled into one carriage, Daemon looked at her with critical eyes. The intimidating look he was going for was sort of ruined as he had Helaena balanced precariously on his knee, the young toddler playing with a stuffed dragon.

"Might I see my sword returned?" The prince asked blithely.

"Hm." Rhaenyra tilted her head, considering the question for a brief moment, "No."

Her father looked at the sword she had tucked carefully next to her, "Why do you have Dark Sister, dear girl?"

"She is my hostage." Rhaenyra informed him cheerfully, "To ensure my uncle's best behavior this coming week."

The king's laughter filled the carriage and woke Aemond, who'd been resting peacefully in Rhaenyra's arms. Alicent, holding a now-wailing Aegon, could only try and prepare herself for the future festivities.

After setting off on the King's Road, it took their parade of carriages roughly a week to arrive at Harrenhal. Along the way, they'd had several other parties join them, which made camping quite the difficult affair with finding an area to fit so many tents. And, of course, the dragons following them didn't exactly make it any easier.

Rhaenyra and Rickon had been forced into areas separated by their families, though they'd still snuck out late at night to see one another. Lysa had caught Rhaenyra tip-toeing through the tents once and only gave her a knowing smile.

By the time they passed Hayford, the line following them was miles long. Carriages from the Reach and the Stormlands all joined together, making Rhaenyra wonder exactly how many damned people would be showing up to her wedding.

The answer, she found when they reached Harrenhal, was the entirety of fucking Westeros.

Every realm of her future kingdom was represented. She was almost certain she saw a few Dornishmen parading around the dreary Harrentown. Of course, it couldn't be called dreary anymore. The setting for a tourney had been laid out, complete with stands for guests to sit in. Targaryen and Stark banners were all over the place, grey and red intermixing throughout the decorations.

Their party arrived in the morning, and the moment Rhaenyra stepped from her carriage she was whisked away by Shiera and Bethany. It was like a fever dream as they stuffed her into her lace gown and servants began to carefully roll her hair into hot curlers. Her white locks came out wavy, pulling out the tight curls with their own weight, and Shiera mixed some shimmering powder on her hands and began to run them through the ends of Rhaenyra's hair.

Finally, as the sky grew dark and her jitters finally made her hands begin to shake, Shiera placed the circlet crown of black iron and rubies atop her head and Bethany draped the white cloak around her shoulders.

Each of the Strong sisters, both outfitted in red dresses for the night, took one of her hands. Shiera carefully pulled some of Rhaenyra's hair around the front so the servants could clip a veil of matching lace in place so it would drape from her crown.

"You're beautiful." Bethany smiled, "More than. The most stunning bride the realm has ever seen."

"Truly." Shiera nodded as she adjusted the train of the dress, "Now, shall we make sure every lord in the realm understands who their true heir is?"

She shared a mischievous smile with her sister as they both pulled the doors open, leading her into one of the many hallways of Harrenhal. The servants working outside stopped dead in their tracks as she walked by, Bethany and Shiera carrying the train of her dress behind her. The Realm's Delight in the flesh, they realized as they took a knee before her. When she stepped outside the doors, the cold air blasting her in the face, Syrax let out a warbling cry from her place perched on the roof of the castle.

Seeing as Syrax was the egg she had shared her crib with, the hatchling she'd had since she was a baby, their bond was especially strong. Currently, Rhaenyra was more excited and nervous than she'd ever been, more so than when the lords of Westeros swore their oath to her as heir. Syrax was only responding to her emotions, Rhaenyra knew that.

The smallfolk and nobility there to watch her exit the castle, however, did not. They stood in reverential silence as Rhaenyra walked to the street where her family awaited her. Shiera and Bethany carefully laid her dress on the ground so it might glide along the stone beneath her.

Alicent beamed up at her from where she crouched next to Aegon in a red gown, carefully handing the boy his lantern. She stood, holding Aemond in her arms as she took her place by Daemon, who was once more tasked with holding little Helaena. Viserys, who stood right behind Aegon, offered Rhaenyra his arm with a trembling smile.

"You look so beautiful, my girl." He whispered, patting her forearm as Shiera and Bethany made to stand behind Daemon and Alicent, "Absolutely radiant."

"Thank you, father." She whispered, her voice hoarse as a horn sounded.

House Stark had arrived at the Isle of Faces. It was time for her own family to join them.

As they walked through the masses of awed faces, she found irrational fears gripping her. Of course, the Starks were allowed entry to the Isle, they were of the First Men. Would the mist allow her family through, however? Would hordes of crows stop them in their tracks as the myths claim?

Ser Harwin waited by the boats with Lord Lyonel, giving his sisters a warm smile before offering his hand to Rhaenyra to help her in the boat while Lord Lyonel aided the king, "Up we go, princess."

He took her train in hand, carefully placing it in the boat behind her. He then smacked the side of it, signaling the rowing captain to take off. Alicent and Daemon boarded with the children in the one behind them, and Bethany and Shiera in the one after that. Despite her fears, no supernatural barring took place. There was no fog, the water of the God's Eye remarkably clear as they inched their way toward the Isle.

They hit the shore with a small jolt, and servants rushed over to aid them. Little Aegon was once more placed in front, grinning as he took off into the forest and down the path lit by lanterns hanging in the trees. The servants remained behind them by the boats, leaving only her family and the Strong girls to head for the heart of the island.

The faces of the trees they passed should have been unnerving. They should have frightened her with how the shadows made from the lanterns seemed to highlight each expression. She wasn't fearful, though; somehow, she knew she had nothing to fear from this place.

Beyond the path they were on, things shifted in the forest. When she squinted into the darkness, she saw reflective eyes staring back. An elk, a great beast at least as tall as Daemon, watched them carefully from the treeline. Her father's eyes were wide as he saw the great beast as well, but they pressed on and continued following Aegon.

Soon enough, in the distance, they saw a cluster of lanterns huddled together on the left of the largest tree of all. The heart tree was clearly the oldest there, its face cast in a solemn expression as the Targaryens approached. She recognized Benjen standing next to his son before the tree with a hand clasped on his shoulder, and Lysa stood by Bennard and Margaret, who held Little Ben. Arella and Theya stood with each of their children, their husbands not present.

Of course, Kaegan stood by Margaret. He winked when he caught her eye, giving her a broad grin. He looked quite out of place in his Northern finery, perfectly matching the Starks in grey and black. It was so different from the training leathers she'd grown used to seeing him in whilst he galavanted around at Daemon's side.

Alicent stepped forward to guide Aegon to the right, leading Daemon and the Strong girls to the opposite side from where the Starks stood. Viserys led her carefully to stand face-to-face with her betrothed, while the king faced Lord Stark.

When she met Rickon's eyes, they were glassy with tears.

Benjen raised his lantern from where it had hung loosely at his side, “Who comes before the Old Gods on this night?”

“The Princess of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, comes here to be wed,” Viserys announced as he raised his own lantern in kind, “Trueborn and noble, she has come to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who has come to claim her?”

Rickon steps forward, both his hands empty and trembling the slightest amount, “Rickon of House Stark, Heir to Winterfell. Who gives her?”

"Her father. Viserys of House Targaryen, first of my name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm." Her father releases her arm, squeezing her hand firmly one last time before he lets her go, "Who gives you, Rickon of House Stark?"

"His father." Benjen's face is stoic, but his eyes were shining as he spoke, "Benjen of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

Benjen released his son's shoulder.

The king took a deep breath, "Lord Rickon, do you take this woman without reservation?"

Rickon stepped forward, his lips tugging up to form a desperate and wanting smile, "I take this woman."

Benjen turned to her, his pride for his son carved into the lines of his face, "Princess Rhaenyra, do you take this man without reservation?"

She moved forward as well, her heartbeat like a drum in her ears, "I take this man."

"Then allow your union to be joined under the sight of the Old Gods." Benjen steps aside, leaving Rhaenyra and Rickon alone before the heart tree.

Rickon reached forward and joined their hands, ever gentle and hesitant. Unable to restrain herself, she tugged him forward and dragged him down with a hand pressed against his neck. The first kiss was fire, the months of longing and delayed passion, every ounce of her at peace now that she had him and simultaneously wanting more. He responded in kind, placing a warm hand at her waist and drawing her impossibly closer.

She heard something, just out of earshot, murmurings in the darkness of the forest beyond. She paid it no mind.

Rickon was with her this time on the boat back instead of her father. The king had ridden with Daemon and Alicent this time, valiantly pretending he hadn't shed tears as his daughter shared her first kiss with her husband. Rickon got out first, helping her maneuver her dress of the boat, their hands clasped at all times. Viserys then exited, moving forward with Alicent by his side.

Daemon and the Starks hung back behind both royal couples as the king began to address the crowd. Behind them, the fog slowly rolled in from all sides, curling around the Isle of Faces once more. The people gasped and pointed with wide eyes, watching the phenomenon with amazement.

"Your Crown Princess, Rhaenyra Targaryen!" He shouted, "And your Crown Prince Consort, Rickon Stark!"

The shouts were deafening from nobility and smallfolk alike as Rhaenyra and Rickon walked past the king and queen, moving towards Harrenhal with the masses behind them following. Everyone else was eager for the grand feast, the first of many scheduled for this week, but she had something else on her mind.

She motioned Bethany and Shiera to her side with only a glance.

"Take my cloak," She whispered, "And that of my husband."

It sent a thrill through her to call him her husband. Rickon was clearly of a like mind, as his whole body tensed like a bowstring just waiting to be let loose at her words.

"Of course, princess." Shiera asked, a wicked smile gracing her lips, "Is there anything else we might do to assist?"

"Clear the courtyard in front of the castle." Rhaenyra said, tongue darting out to wet her chapped lips against the cold air, "I need enough room for my dragon."

Rickon squeezed her hand, "Is there something I should know about?"

"I would have you participate in at least one Valyrian ritual tonight, husband." She spoke lowly, "The first flight. It's traditional for dragon riders."

"Is it?" He asked, glancing at her from the corner of his eye with the most heated gaze she'd ever seen from him, "I would be honored, my princess."

The Strong sisters did an exceptional job with such little time, and Rhaenyra strode forward to give a sharp cry, "Syrax, ilagon!"

The dragon rustled to life above, the crowd around them watching with bated breath as she leaped below with a rumble. Rhaneyra strode forward, putting her foot in the first leather rung as she began to climb up to the saddle, her dress be damned. Once she was seated, she extended a hand down toward Rickon.

"Husband," She called out, a smirk curling on her face, "My prince."

He followed behind her, swinging his leg over the saddle and sitting so his chest was flush with her back. Below them, she could hear Daemon and Kaegan both howling with laughter, and she was fairly certain she could see Alicent laughing too. Her father was shaking his head, but he looked to be smiling nonetheless.

"Sōvegon gīda." Rhaenyra whispered, her blood smoking in her veins as Syrax took to the air.

"So, how do the mechanics of this work exactly?" Rickon asked from behind her as Syrax rose so high above they could only see clouds below them, "I mean, I can figure the regular way out, but-"

As her dragon steadied, Rhaenyra felt confident that she was going smooth enough for the princess to twist around in her saddle, releasing the reigns. She inched forward, practically climbing onto Rickon's lap.

His eyes were nearly black as he looked at her, "Oh."

"Yes." She sighed, reaching down to untie his trousers, "A mount fit for a queen, wouldn't you say?"

They both knew she wasn't talking about Syrax. She leaned forward, their lips close enough that their breaths mingled as Rickon's hands came to rest on her hips.

"My queen." He whispered, swallowing her resulting moan with his tongue.

She shifted forward, seeking more friction. Finally, she pulled him free, her husband hissing at the cold night air.

"Shouldn't you be used to colder temperatures than this?" She teased as she passed her thumb over his cock's weeping head.

He grunted, jaw tightening, "Well, you see, I'm not usually whipping it out in the middle of a blizzard. Gods, tell me you've brought oil along."

"Who do you think I am?" She asked as she used his shoulders to steady herself as she rose up, reaching down into her saddlebag below, "This is the height of luxury for dragon rider, you should know."

She hiked her dress up to her thighs as she sat back down with the newly procured vial of oil, using her teeth to twist the cap off and then sending it flying down through the clouds.

"Hope that doesn't hit anyone." He groaned as she procured the vial of oil, drenching him and stroking him once and then twice to make sure his whole member was covered, "Gods, Nyra-"

"Does that please you, my prince?" She hummed as his hand trailed up her thigh and pushed past her undergarments to stroke her.

She threw her head back, leaning into the stiff leather of the saddle front as she rutted against his hand.

"Does it please you?" He asked, voice near breathless.

She gasped instead of answering, "Where the fuck did you learn to do that?"

"Apparently my brother made a mess of his own wedding night. He's lucky Margaret married him for love." Rickon huffed out a laugh, "Either way, my good sister was eager to spare you the same fate. She and Kaegan conspired to give me all the gory details and assigned me several books of reading before tonight."

"Hells," Rhaenyra scoffed, "You learned this in a book?"

"A few books." He shrugged one shoulder, leaning forward until his lips were pressed against the nape of her neck, "Rather salacious ones from Dorne."

He trailed down her chest, looking to her for permission before he slid the sleeves down her arms and pulled the bodice from her chest. She gave her consent eagerly, tearing at his own silken shirt until the buttons were undone and the lightly scarred canvas was unveiled before her. He allowed her wandering hands as he kissed a trail down the center of her chest and she squirmed free of her undergarments once and for all, shoving them in her saddlebag so they weren't blown away with the wind.

"Stop playing," Rhaenyra cried, "I've been waiting for months and I would have you now!"

"Then have me." He leaned back on the other end of the saddle and she fell forward into him, "Take me, my queen."

She tangled her hands in his hair and pulled and she ground her hips down onto him. He whimpered, a low noise in the very back of his throat, as she tugged at his hair once more.

"Do you like it pulled, little wolf?" She panted, "Do you like me on top, taking what is mine?"

"Yes," He groaned, "Gods, yes to it all."

She seated herself fully on him and Syrax rumbled below, matching Rhaenyra's high-pitched whine and Rickon's moan. She rocked her hips slowly at first, getting used to the feeling of him inside her before she slowly lifted up and seated herself once more. Rickon met her with small thrusts until she begged him more and he finally gave it to her.

"Mine," She clenched her hands into the silk fabric on his back, "You are mine, only mine."

"Yours." He agreed, pressing kisses along any skin he could reach, "All of me is yours."

"So give me it all." She gasped out, "All of it."

The thrusts grew more frantic as they both approached their peak when, finally, he hit a spot within her that left her seeing stars. She clenched down, squeezing tight as she came undone in his arms. He followed not long after, spilling inside her as she frantically pressed their lips together once more, relishing the taste of him.

It was quiet for a moment as she lay limp on his chest, his arms curled tight around her, their heartbeats matching.

"Are we going to have to get re-dressed on dragonback?" He whispered into the still night after a moment, "Or could we potentially find a cave of some sort?"

"I fear dragonback is the easiest option here." She pulled back, her grin wide, "Don't worry, husband, I'll help you."

"I shall never tire of hearing you say that." He stroked a thumb across her cheek, swallowing harshly as he looked into lilac eyes.

"Not to ruin your moment, but I do love you." Rhaenyra said, as easy as breathing, "Quite a bit I fear."

His eyes widened, and he opened and closed his mouth silently for a moment. Then he reared forward, capturing her in another passionate, albeit brief, kiss.

"I love you quite a bit, too." He said, his smile bright amidst the backdrop of the night behind him.

"Let us glide for a bit up here." She placed her head back on his shoulder, "I'm loathed to share your presence with everyone else so soon."

"Of course, my princess."

Chapter Text

"When will they return?" Alicent whispered, giving Daemon an unsure look as the prince resisted the urge to slam his head upon the table.

Below the party was in full swing, the band playing at top volume as lords and ladies danced across the floor and guests drank their fill of wine and ale. At his side, Kaegan was on his third cup already. 

"How pent up were they?" Daemon asked dryly, the question wholly rhetorical.

She wilted, clutching Aemond close to her chest while Aegon chattered nonsense to his nursemaid behind them. Helaena was still sitting with him and he lamented that he'd been relegated to babysitting duty for the snot-nosed brat. He watched the queen slump next to his brother's empty seat and realized just how much the little Hightower depended on his eldest niece.

Alicent and Viserys weren't centered as usual; instead, Rhaenyra would be sat center left to Viserys and Rickon would be center right next to his father. Kaegan had broken the seating pattern when he captured the chair at the very end next to Daemon, which rightfully would've been reserved for the prince's so-called lady wife.

He could scoff at the thought; the Bolton had far more of a claim to the spot than his bronze bitch. At least he'd actually fucked Kaegan.

"Dream!" Helaena babbled as she reached for Daemon's plate, making to grab a piece of roasted potato, "I had dream!"

He sighed, batting her hand away gently, "Yes, yes. Behave, monster."

"No!" Helaena insisted, "Dream! Puppies!"

He raised an eyebrow, "If you want a puppy, I'm afraid you'll have to ask my brother."

"I had dream. Puppies." Helaena pouted, "Two puppies."

Strangely specific details for a toddler, but he digressed. His attention was torn away when Kaegan reached for the pitcher of wine again. Daemon grabbed his wrist and pinned it to the table.

"Hypocrite." The Northerner scoffed.

Daemon rolled his eyes, "What has crawled up your ass? I'm not new to getting drunk but even this seems excessive for you."

He wasn't worried. He really wasn't. Only Kaegan never had a furrow between his brows for long, yet the Bolton had been tense since the feast began. The line of his shoulders was tight and his jaw had been clenched for so long that Daemon wondered about the integrity of his teeth.

"As if you'd ever needed a reason to get drunk before." His bedmate huffed, clenching his fists in his lap, "I want to have a good time. I was unaware it was such a crime."

"You needn't worry about a good time, I can provide as much later." Daemon snarked, "I'm currently inquiring about the stick lodged squarely up your ass."

"Why?" Kaegan muttered mulishly, "Do you like being the only thing lodged up my ass?"

Daemon grabbed Kaegan's goblet and tossed it away, watching it bounce off the wall with distant amusement. Kaegan sputtered as Helaena clapped her hands in delight at the display. He heard Alicent sigh something about the guests, but the music was so loud that only the servants noticed.

"Uncalled for." Kaegan snapped.

"Spill it." Daemon ground out.

"There is nothing wrong-!" Kaegan began to bite out, interrupted only by Bennard appearing at the side of the table with wide eyes.

There was only silence for a moment before the younger Stark spoke.

"Margaret has gone to distract him." He rushed out, "Mother said she's not above helping if you wish it."

Kaegan's face went pale so fast that Daemon feared he would pass out. The Bolton gripped the table tightly, his knuckles white.

"Oh, is it a spurned lover perhaps?" The prince smirked, "Is that why you didn't want to tell me?"

He realized he'd made some form of mistake when Kaegan's bottom lip began to tremble. Then, in the span of seconds, he was on his feet and fleeing. Daemon blinked, watching his back disappear into the crowd below. His eyes narrowed, turning to Bennard.

"Kindly inform me as to what the fuck is going on." He snarled.

Bennard only glared back, "It's his father, you asshole."

"His father?" Daemon laughed slightly, "Why the fuck is he so concerned about his father? What, he doesn't want Lord Bolton to see his son cavorting with men?"

"You've seen his back, right?" Bennard spat, anger clouding grey eyes, "If so, you'd know well why he doesn't want to see his father."

Kaegan's back was covered with a myriad of scars, many looking as if they'd healed improperly. Daemon had assumed they were from either training or wildlings, if not a mixture. If those had to do with his father...

Daemon's gaze trailed out into the crowd where he spotted the bright blonde of Margaret's curls. She stood stubbornly with her feet at shoulder width, holding her ground before a towering man with the same pale blue eyes Kaegan had, all with her babe strapped to her chest. The man didn't look outwardly angry or frustrated, more stoic and on the edge of pleading.

Clearly, that was Kaegan's father. Kaegan had been living with the Starks since he was six years old. If he had gotten those scars before that when he still resided at the Dreadfort, before he was legitimized by Viserys on request of Lord Stark himself...

Daemon was quickly piecing a story together and none of it was favorable for Lord Bolton.

He instinctually reached for Dark Sister, only to find his belt barren. Rhaenyra still had the sword in her chambers, wherever the fuck those were in this freakishly giant castle. He repressed a snarl, only checking himself when Helaena let out a distressed noise below.

"He's going to have a hard time." Bennard said before he parted, no longer angry and merely sorrowful, "Try not to be a twat. Now, I have to go take care of this before my wife does."

The courtyard was full of partygoers by the time they circled back to the castle and Harrentown was just as thick with crowds. There was no place for Syrax to land without fear of squashing some errant drunk, so they turned to the thick forest that surrounded Harrentown and the shores of the God's Eye. A large clearing amongst the thick nestle of trees provided the perfect spot and Syrax's landing was smooth as ever as she glided toward the ground.

Spoilt as she was, the golden dragon immediately nestled into the plush grass below, blowing hot air into the chill of the night.

"Ēdrugon," Rhaenyra said with a fond smile.

Syrax had indulged them in their joy ride and had earned her rest well. Rhaenyra then took to climbing off the ladder, lace and silk bunched up in her hands so she didn't trip. Rickon followed after, having a significantly easier time seeing as he was wearing pants.

"Men," She scoffed as she tried to keep the white material off the ground, "They have it so easy."

Rickon took it from her hands, "You are not incorrect. Shall I relieve you of your burden?"

"If you would like to see me naked again, you need only ask." She quipped at the double entendre, "But yes, you may hold my dress up if you so wish."

His cheeks flushed but he did so regardless, gathering the fabric in his hands as they looked at the thin trail worn into the ground by hunters and farmers alike.

"A long forest walk under the moonlight? Sounds like the peak of romance." Rickon chuckled as they set out.

It certainly wasn't unpleasant. They could still hear the sounds of merriment so far out, guiding them in the right direction. The trees grew scarcer as they approached the shore of the God's Eye, the smell of lake water strong in the air. By the time they arrived back in Harrentown and made their way to the courtyard, Alicent was outside and waiting for them.

"By the Seven," The queen said, bringing a hand up to her mouth to hide her smile, "Do you two know how the septons will tut about this?"

"Given that the average wedding in the South involves a ceremony in which the bride and groom are stripped to their undergarments," Rickon said drolly, "I don't think they have much room for tutting."

The queen's lips twitched, the faintest smile brightening her face, "I suppose you are correct. Come, everyone is waiting inside."

"Why were you waiting out here?" Rhaenyra asked, "Where are the children?"

"In the nursery." Alicent smiled tightly, "I sent them to bed after there was a confrontation between Prince Daemon and Rickon's brother that led to Kaegan leaving. The prince wandered off after Kaegan and I've seen neither of them since."

"Gods be good." Rickon sighed, "Let's deal with this mess sooner rather than later."

"I have to agree." Alicent wrung her hands, "Daemon looked ready to kill Lord Bolton."

Rickon froze then, "Royce Bolton? Kaegan's father?"

"I believe so." Her brows furrowed, "Is that a problem?"

His eyes darkened, a storm building behind the grey, "Family matters. Is Lord Bolton still present?"

"He is." Alicent hesitated, "Daemon absconded with Kaegan already, so they aren't near Lord Bolton anymore. The two made up quickly."

The slight scrunch of her nose told Rhaenyra exactly how they made up. Or rather, how loudly they made up.

"They know no discretion, unfortunately." The queen sighed as she led them inside, "I had the guard clear that wing, however."

Rickon blinked, looking at her in surprise, "Thank you."

"Of course." She smiled back, her grin so large it showed off the dimples of her cheeks, "You needn't worry about anything but yourselves on your wedding day. You do, however, have quite the list of guests waiting to congratulate you."

"Lovely," Rhaenyra groaned, taking Rickon's hand as they walked, "I simply cannot wait."

"You could sound more excited." Alicent grinned, "I saw Jason Lannister. He had a great jug of Dornish summerwine he wouldn't shut up about to give the both of you."

"So he does know being inebriated is a requirement to enjoy his company," Rickon said dryly, "Good for him."

"You know, I hear he's to marry." The queen lowered her voice, her eyes lighting up at the gossip.

It reminded Rhaenyra of when they were girls at tourneys, gossiping about the lords and ladies of the realm. Alicent looked her age then, with joy breaking through the wary mask she wore.

"What poor woman has been condemned?" The princess asked in return.

"Johanna Westerling." Alicent's smile grew, "And hear this. Some say she wields a sword of her own and dons man's mail when her father goes to fight the pirates that swarm the sea around the Crag."

"And she's to marry Jason Lannister?" Rhaenyra laughed, incredulous, "I know not who I pity more. Her, for having to deal with his foolishness, or him, for he will surely be dead within a moon's turn."

Alicent's laugh warmed Rhaenyra as her new husband took her hand, intertwining their fingers. The princess realized, distantly, that these were the people who made her happy.

When they turned to enter the main hall, there were so many people dancing and drinking it made the princess's head spin. Any feast she'd ever attended dulled in comparison to this, and she wouldn't lie and say she wasn't a bit smug about that. Her father sat up front at the main table with Rickon's parents and the Strongs, who were given a place of honor as their hosts.

Lord Lyonel's second son was absent, she noted, only Harwin at the left of his father and two empty seats beside him for his sisters. Bethany and Shiera were both on the dance floor, spinning around in their blood-red dresses. They were in high demand, some other lord or lord's son asking for their next dance as soon as the last one ended.

It pleased her to see them so happy, but she also made a note to help them in their endeavors to find a husband. Rhaenyra would ensure them good matches, not only advantageous couplings for their house but also marriages they could find happiness in. Hopefully their continued support, Rhaenyra pondered as she thought about the prospect of ladies-in-waiting. She would take both of them on in a heartbeat.

"Alicent, I see you've tracked down my daughter," Viserys stood with a grin as the music abruptly halted and all eyes were drawn to the approaching queen and newlyweds, "And my son-by-law."

Those on the dancefloor bowed as Rhaenyra took her spot next to her father, Alicent on his other side, and Rickon between Rhaenyra and his family.

"Crown Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Prince Consort Rickon Stark." Lyonel raised his glass in their direction from the end of the table, "You honor House Strong greatly with your presence."

His daughters beamed up at her from below, and even Harwin spared her a wide grin. The music kicked up louder as they all sat, the servants rushing to fill their goblets.

Margaret leaned over her own husband to raise a glass toward Rhaenyra with a bold smirk, and she was quick to return the gesture. When she saw the blood beneath Margaret's fingernails, she had to wonder exactly what all she'd missed. Clearly something if the stress on Bennard's face was an indicator.

"Princess! It is a pleasure to see you once more." A voice drew Rhaenyra's attention to the front of the head table where a woman stood, draped in red velvet and pearls, "I believe congratulations are in order?"

Rhaenyra squinted, taking in the hazel eyes and black hair, "Lady Tarbeck?"

Jesmyn Tarbeck, a girl she knew well in her youth due to her family's frequency in court, was no longer dressed in the blue silks of her house. She smiled, her lips stained with rouge, and gestured behind her. As if he were summoned, a young man appeared at her shoulder and gave Rhaenyra and Rickon a deep bow.

"Your Graces, it is our honor to be the first to congratulate you." He spared them a smile and Rhaenyra swore he looked familiar, with brown hair and eyes and freckled to boot, "House Reyne commends both the princess and the prince on their union and extends our loyalty once more."

House Reyne. Lord Reynard Reyne, then, judging by his age and the lack of grey hair. He was the heir to Castamere and the only child of Lord Alastor Reyne and Lady Elisa Prester.

"I thank you and your house for the support." Rhaenyra looked to Jesmyn, "And congratulations on your own marriage, Lady Reyne."

Her cheeks pinkened and she dropped into a shallow curtsy, one hand supporting her stomach. Lord Reynard fluttered around her like a nervous squire, one hand at her back as she rose. Rhaenyra noticed the small bump through her dress, then, and realized she must be with child.

"Thank you, princess." She smiled before shooing her husband away with her hands, "I'm not ill, Reynard, stop your nonsense."

He winced, "Sorry, Jes."

She patted his cheek before sending Rhaenyra a wink, leaning forward to whisper conspiratorily, "Much better than the Lannister brood." 

Jesmyn Tarbeck had been the object of Jason and Tyland's pursual before Rhaenyra's own hand in marriage was an option. Rumors say they had frequented Tarbeck Hall with gifts and luxuries, but Jesmyn and her mother had rebuked them time after time. Eventually, Jesmyn's father formally denied any and all marriage requests and commanded the Lannister twins to cease their visits.

"How did you decide upon Lord Reyne then?" Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, enjoying the way the woman's eyes glinted.

"When we were introduced, he tripped over a rug staring at me and flew face-first into our pond. Then he gifted me a dagger, of all things, and a veritable fortune in books because he'd heard I liked to read." She whispered, glancing back at her husband who was idly looking at the wedding decor around him.

"Sounds like he sees you as a person." Rhaenyra said drolly.

"Mhm. A rarity in men." Lady Reyne agreed idly, "I made the right decision. You know, if we have a boy, he wants to commission matching tunics for himself and the babe. If it is a girl, he is undecided. He wanted matching tunics initially but then realized he could have dresses made for her that would match mine. He's ridiculous."

"He sounds sweet." Rhaenyra countered.

Jesmyn finally broke, her smile wide as it curled her lips, "He is. I wish the same for you, princess, though I believe I need not have worried about that. It's clear Lord Stark thinks you hung the moon. Or, my apologies, Prince Rickon, now. Is that correct?"

"Both, really." Rhaenyra grinned, enjoying the way she could see Rickon redden out of the corner of her eye, "I have missed your presence in court, Lady Jesmyn. It's been quite some time."

"Yes." She frowned as she straightened back up, a crease forming between her brows, "Unfortunately my elder brother took ill, forcing my mother and I to return to Tarbeck Hall in my youth. We feared being away from him for too long."

"Is he any better, Lady Reyne?" Alicent finally cut in, her eyes sympathetic, "I've heard of his infirmity."

"Unfortunately, Derrick has not improved, but he has plateaued. The maesters do not believe he will grow worse, but he is still bedridden after all these years." Jesmyn pursed her lips, "For now, my brother has named my elder sister his heir. It was actually you, princess, who inspired him to do so. Should the unthinkable happen and we lose both our father and brother, she will retake the name Tarbeck and rule our house with her daughter being her own heir."

Lady Bryna Tarbeck, who married Ser Martyn Marbrand, was well known for her beauty. Lesser known was her subtle wit, but Rhaenyra had seen it more than once when they were both girls in court. It was quite startling to see that Rhaenyra herself was the cataclysm that made Bryna becoming heir possible; it was pleasing, as well, however. Westeros has long needed to acknowledge the value of daughters being equal to that of sons.

"Your sister married my cousin!" Margaret said as she butted into the conversation, "Tell her to tell Martyn I said hello! He needs to visit again, I enjoy making fun of his elder brother with him."

"We all enjoy making fun of Elden. He takes himself far too seriously." Jesmyn tossed her hair over her shoulder, "I will inform him of such, however, Lady Stark. Now, princess, I thank you for your time. We'll be off so as to allow you the pleasure of meeting your other guests."

"Pleasure? I don't believe that's the word I would use." Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, "I thank you as well, though, Lady Reyne. It was nice to speak with you once more."

She nodded, bowing carefully as her husband followed suit, and they were soon gone into the crowd below. Rhaenyra saw Jason Lannister below, about to step forward with a grin, but he was cut off by yet another woman. Rhaenyra spectacularly enjoyed the way his face soured. Then she saw the woman's long blue dress and dark plaited hair and rose from her seat, a smile stretching across the princess's lips.

"Cousin." She said warmly, "I'm so pleased to see you."

"Princess." Jeyne Arryn returned her smile, "I return the sentiment most dearly."

"How are our aunts?" Rhaenyra asked, "Were they able to be here?"

"Of course." Jeyne said, "None in the Vale would miss the wedding of the true heir, princess. You are kin."

She cut a glance at Alicent and Viserys, making the young queen falter and drop her gaze down to her hands. Even the king noticed the tension, shifting under the weight of Lady Arryn's gaze and silent accusations.

"Your support along with that of the Vale is paramount, Jeyne, as it has always been." Rhaenyra said carefully, "You will find the Queen has long been a friend to me, however, and a most ardent supporter of my claim. Please, let there be no bad blood between House Targaryen and House Arryn. It is the last thing my mother would want."

Alicent's head slowly rose, wide eyes finding Rhaenyra's. When the princess gave her a small smile, the queen practically glowed. Jeyne's shoulders slowly lost the tense line they'd been held in since she approached the table, her eyes softening.

"Aunt Elys always said you took after the late Queen." Jeyne responded as she stepped back, "I believe she is right. Please, enjoy your wedding, princess. We have much to discuss at a later time."

Rhaenyra returned to her seat with a sigh as Lord Lannister took the opportunity to approach, holding a large flagon of wine aloft as he did so. A woman followed just behind him, her lips pursed tightly.

"Lord Stark, I would congratulate you on your marriage." He smiled, setting the wine down between the newlyweds, "Dornish summerwine, the finest you can buy."

"Thank you, Lord Lannister." Rickon said, not even attempting a smile, "Your generosity is overwhelming."

"Of course!" Jason clapped his hands together, his grin not dimming as he didn't register Rickon's false niceties, "And, of course, this is Lady Johanna Westerling. She is soon to be my wife."

Lady Westerling, who wore a gown of gold with a fine embroidered bodice featuring the shells of House Westerling, gave them all a dry stare. Rhaenyra could certainly see the direction in which that marriage would go.

"I wish your soon-to-be wife good luck." Rhaenyra tried to keep her smile under control as she heard Margaret barely hiding a chuckle further down the table, "And yourself as well."

She'd need all the luck she could get, that was certain. Rhaenyra tried not to sigh as she saw the line of well-wishers grow longer. Rickon, however, had no qualms about the quiet groan he let out.

"This is my punishment for marrying into royalty." He muttered to her.

She laughed lightly, "Yes, husband, it is. Hopefully, the good parts outweigh the bad."

He rolled his eyes, taking her hand, "Believe me, they do."

For a moment, there was peace. She should know by now that it never lasts long.

Alicent suddenly gasped, "Is that Lady Royce?"

"Fuck." Rhaenyra cursed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

Her father, meanwhile, tipped his glass back and drained the rest of his wine before flagging a servant down for more. It was, in fact, Lady Rhea Royce who moved to cut through the line of well-wishers.

They heard Bennard whisper down the table, "Who's Lady Royce again?"

"Daemon's wife," Margaret answered with an unholy amount of glee.

He laughed slightly, "Oh, shit."

Kaegan shifted in the sheets beside Daemon, his head lolling onto the prince's shoulder as he faded in and out of sleep. Daemon kept an arm clasped firmly around the other man's waist, his curiosity winning out before he could remind himself to broach the topic gently.

"So, what was the deal with what happened earlier?" Daemon asked, his voice a tad bit too sharp.

Kaegan tensed, "I'm, uh, sorry. For being an ass and then running off."

Daemon hummed, "And why did it happen? I've been informed the cause was your father, but I know nothing beyond that."

"It's foolish." Kaegan said quietly, his voice carefully even, "Merely me acting like a child."

Daemon's hand moved quicker than the Bolton could see, grabbing Kaegan by the chin and pulling his face so close their noses nearly brushed. Blue eyes were blown wide, staring into Daemon's own violet like a deer facing down a hunter's arrow.

"I merely wish to hear it from you before I tear the man limb from limb and feed him to Caraxes." Daemon said, voice dangerously quiet, "Did he give you those scars on your back?"

Kaegan trembled beneath his touch, out of character for the Bolton and far more vulnerable than the prince had ever seen the little lordling.

"Surely you know I was born a bastard, it's not exactly a secret." Kaegan whispered back, "I was four when my father married for the first time. She wasn't a kind woman, and she blamed my mother when her child was stillborn. When my mother died-"

His voice hitched, and Daemon's hand moved to cup his jaw instead.

"She was thrown from one of the upper balconies in the Dreadfort." The Northman gritted out, "They found her body frozen in the morning. My father claimed they could never find the murderer, but I knew it was her. Helna Umber. She always tried to claim my mother poisoned her so I would have to be legitimized. When she lost her second child early into the pregnancy, she then turned her suspicions to me. She had me taken to the dungeons and...well, it's ironic that she made a better Bolton than my own father."

"Tell me the cunt is already dead." Daemon hissed.

"She is. She died giving birth to my sister, who lived only a scarce few months." Kaegan swallowed, "That was when I was six. When I found out she'd died, I thought they would hang me. I ran out into the forest during a blizzard, figured if I had to die I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being the one to do it. He could barely look at me when he dragged me back to the Dreadfort and then sent me away to the Starks. He said I was a danger to myself and others if I remained at the Dreadfort."

"I'll kill him." Daemon whispered, "Give you your lordship now, and be done with it."

Kaegan's eyes widened, "Why?"

"Because he let that bitch touch you. Scar you." Daemon sneered, "Wish I could have taken her head myself."

Kaegan was silent for a moment before he tore Daemon's hand from his face, using the momentum to pounce forward and pin the prince to the bed below him. He grabbed Daemon by either side of his face and pulled him in for a bruising kiss, which Daemon happily reciprocated.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra has seen Lady Rhea Royce a scarce few times throughout her life, and none of them were willing on behalf of the Lady of Runestone. Daemon's wife held the Targaryens at an arm's length, and for a good reason. Their marriage had been purely political, and it wasn't something either bride or groom had wanted. If she recalled correctly, her uncle had been dragged to the sept on the day of his wedding when he was only sixteen years of age.

It made her sad, knowing her uncle had never known real love. She sympathized with Rhea, too, in a way. Despite the woman being older than Daemon, she had no real choice in the marriage either. It was her father, Lord Yorbert Royce, and Queen Alysanne who had coupled them for what they believed would be a fine match.

It was a fate Rhaenyra had almost fallen prey to, had she not met Rickon. A fate Alicent had already been condemned to, as much as the thought twisted her stomach that the perpetrator was her own father. In reality, the late Queen Aemma hadn't truly had the choice of marrying Viserys, though Rhaenyra's parents were lucky enough to find love somewhere along the line.

It was almost humorous that even love wasn't enough to save her mother's life. 

Rhaenyra had to face the truth; she was privileged in a way other women in Westeros weren't. If she wanted to change things, she had to be smart. Smarter than the fucking Hightowers, smarter than the men who looked down upon her simply because she was born without a cock, smarter than every lord who thought they could hold male primogeniture over her neck like an axe.

She would be, too. She had meant the words she spoke to Princess Rhaenys; a new order was needed. Rhaenyra would be the building block that every woman to come after her could use as a foundation, that much she would ensure.

"I offer my sincerest congratulations on behalf of House Royce, princess." Lady Royce bowed her head, her posture stiff, "I wish you a prosperous marriage."

Rhea's pinched face said the words left unspoken. More prosperous than my own.

"Thank you, Lady Royce." Rhaenyra spoke, hoping her tension didn't bleed into her tone, "The Vale continues to be loyal to myself and my mother's memory, to my great appreciation."

The older woman pursed her lips. Getting a closer look at her, Rhaenyra had to admit that her uncle was wrong. Rhea Royce wasn't an ugly woman; with dark curls and even darker eyes, high cheekbones, and bronze jewelry that shone beneath torchlight, she cut a rather attractive image.

She had the barest beginnings of crow's feet around her eyes, though, and Rhaenyra wondered if the woman before her lamented that she had no children yet to pass her title onto. Did Lady Royce even want children? Or did she desire them only if they were had with a man she loved?

Rhaenyra could sympathize with the thought, as foolishly romantic as it was. She didn't think she could birth heirs with a man she despised.

"I will not ask after Daemon. It is pointless. I knew my presence was unwanted by him before I was snubbed from your family table." Rhea's voice was low as she looked directly at Rhaenyra, leaning in so no others might hear above the music surrounding the, "We both know our marriage is nothing but a farce. I would merely ask you to give Daemon what he wants, and in turn, do the same for me. It's likely the only thing my so-called husband and I will ever agree on."

A dissolution. She wants her marriage dissolved. Rhaenyra looked at the woman's tired eyes, with the faintest bruises beneath them as if she hasn't slept, and knows the amount of courage it took her to ask for this.

"I will consider your point of view, Lady Royce." The princess responded just as quietly, "And for whatever it's worth to you, I offer my apologies. I know better than anyone that my uncle can be difficult to handle, especially in as undesirable a situation as the one you have found yourselves in."

Those dark eyes widened as if an olive branch from the crown had been the last thing Lady Royce had expected. She brushed it off quickly, however, standing tall once more and shrugging one shoulder.

"I knew well that he was an ass." She spoke, her voice cold as she resumed her normal volume, "His reputation did proceed him, even at sixteen."

Viserys coughed sharply between drinks of wine, face turning red as he tried to eject the liquid from his lungs. Alicent's eyes widened, looking at Rhea with equal amounts of horror and disbelief. Rickon, however, couldn't hold back his bark of laughter.

"It's good to know that time has not changed him in that case." The Stark heir lifted his cup toward the woman as if toasting her, "Condolences, Lady Royce, truly."

The woman's lips pursed as if she couldn't settle on rampant humor or incredulity. Instead of trying to figure it out, she decided to give a stiff bow and take her leave with haste. Watching her retreating back, Rhaenyra glanced over at her father.

"You really ought to consider granting them a dissolution." As the next lords in line approach the table, she muttered, "They are both unhappy, not just my uncle, and Runestone needs an heir."

Her father pursed his lips. Where Rhaenyra would have expected outright dismissal in a belittling tone before, now he only nodded.

"We will discuss it some other time." He confirmed, "Worry about it later, dear girl. Politicking can be put on hold during your celebration."

It couldn't. Not really, Rhaenyra realized as she smiled at Lord Grover Tully and his wife, Lady Elrie. She was in a precarious position enough as it was; with an event so large, and with so many noble houses in attendance, politicking was the only option she could feasibly choose. As the lord of Riverrun exited, a smaller lord froze in his tracks and hastily backed up as the squire next to the royal table announced the names of those approaching.

"Lord Corlys Velaryon and his wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, and their children, Ser Laenor Velaryon and Lady Laena Velaryon."

Viserys smiled as the elder princess approached, "Cousin, it is good to see you."

Rhaenys dipped her head, "You as well. The wedding was quite the spectacle."

"It was brilliant!" Laena, with all the spirit of a sixteen-year-old girl, butted in with a grin, "Syrax is beautiful, Rhaenyra."

She smiled at the younger girl, "Thank you, Laena. I'm sure your dragon will find you soon."

Her dark, violet eyes brightened, "I should hope so. If Laenor can do it, I certainly can, and my mount will be even better!"

"Hey!" Her younger brother protested vehemently, "Seasmoke is beautiful and deadly! You heard what he did in the Stepstones."

She scoffed back, "I heard what Caraxes did in the Stepstones."

If one thing had aged Laenor Velaryon, it had been war. He was no longer the younger cousin she remembered playing with in the halls of the Red Keep; instead, his locs were longer and beaded with golden jewelry reminiscent of his father's. He even had a shadow across his chin that suggested he'd shaved that morning.

He and Laena both had grown up apart from her, having returned to Driftmark far before Queen Aemma's death, but the princess still remembers their shared youth.

Corlys sighed, "That will be enough. Congratulate the princess, both of you."

Rhaenyra knew Laenor had been a potential suitor, for all that House Velaryon was Valyrian and close to the crown, but Corlys didn't seem to be holding a grudge. Surprisingly, that is, as the man was famous for his pride. That had been potentially smoothed over, certainly, when her father had dismissed Ser Tyland Lannister as the interim Master of Ships and reinstated Lord Corlys. That had, of course, been egged on by both Daemon and Rhaenys.

"And where might Daemon be?" Rhaenys raised an eyebrow as she glanced around the table, "Off making a mess?"

Viserys laughed shortly, "Likely not. Rhaenyra has taken his sword hostage and leveraged Dark Sister's return on his good behavior."

The older woman scoffed, "I see. A toast to the princess, then, for managing what not even his mother could do."

"As if our mother tried." Viserys chuckled, "He was always her favorite."

Rhaenys gave him a rare genuine smile, "I recall your father telling me I was his favorite once. Of course, my own father agreed."

"He had a soft spot in his heart for the girls." Her father glanced over, giving Rhaenyra a fond look, "I remember Baelon the Brave wept when he held you the first time, dear girl. It was he who dubbed you the Realm's Delight."

Rhaenyra blinked, not having heard that story before. Her grandparents were not often talked about by her father; their deaths had left a great wound in the King that she's certain was only matched by her mother's death. Still, it was heartening to hear the elusive Spring Prince had loved her so; she had only vague memories of him teaching her about Old Valyria and the dragons, but she held them fondly nonetheless.

"Congratulations once more, princess." Corlys gave a shallow bow, seeing his daughter's attention caught elsewhere as she drifts off, "We will see you at the festivities tomorrow."

"Of course," The King smiled, "Your family is always welcome to sit with ours."

She smiled politely as she greeted the rest of the guests, the familiarity she'd had with the Velaryons long gone. Judging by the chime of the bells, she and Rickon had perhaps another hour left of this before they could flee the great hall and take solace in their chambers.

Rhaenyra, perhaps, had indulged in too much wine. As she began leaning closer and closer to her new husband and her smiles became giddier, he finally stood and offered her his arm. The partygoers below quieted as they made their way through, watching them with wide eyes, and the royal couple left in haste. It certainly had nothing to do with the way Rickon's arm slid down to grip her waist, of course. Rhaenyra was simply...tired.

Tired of waiting, perhaps. She'd had him mere hours ago and she would have him again before the night was through. The burn of his gaze told her he was of a similar mind, at least.

She was grateful once more for her privilege, both in her own house and her husband's, as they retired to their chambers alone. The was to be no heckling or tearing clothes or guests listening at the door; it had been made plain by not only her husband but also her father. Instead of being stripped by brutish men and shoved to her equally naked husband like a ritual sacrifice, she instead opened their door quietly and tugged him in after her.

She sat heavily on the bed, dizzy from alcohol and desire, and Rickon dropped to his knees before her.

His hands grazed the hem of her dress, looking up beneath long lashes, "Would you like to know what else I learned from my studies, dearest wife?"

Dearest wife. He was doing a grand job at making her melt into a drunken puddle, certainly.

She sucks in a shaky breath, "Of course, little wolf. You seem to be an adequate student thus far."

His low laughter had a blush spreading down her neck and chest. Then he gathers her gown and pushes the ocean of lace up to her waist, helping her shimmy out of her undergarments in a way that isn't as graceful as she would like. As she leans back on her arms, his thumbs gently rub circles from her calves up to the delicate skin of her inner thigh.

She hummed curiously, "While I'm not complaining, might I ask your goal here-?"

Then he ducked his head and licked her. That one movement of his tongue had her spiraling into arousal, choking on a gasp. She stared down at him accusatorially, but he pulled back right after that first stroke, resting his chin on her thigh as he gazed up at her innocently.

"Was that alright, my princess?" He asked, tilting his head ever so slightly.

She reached a hand down and dug her fingers into those dark locks, giving them a good tug as she demanded, "Again."

"As you wish," His smile was lazy as he leaned back into her and his mouth found her clit.

She was shaking from the pleasure of it, her legs drawn up around his neck in an attempt to pull him closer. He didn't seem to mind; he groaned as she twisted her hands in his hair, tugging once more, and the vibrations spread deep inside her. She writhed on the bed, the pristine covers ruined as she threw her head back with a cry. He dragged her orgasm out, his tongue lazily circling within her before he finally came up for air, his nose and chin wet with her spend.

"I want you," She muttered, somewhat petulant in her desire, "Now."

"And I want you always," He whispered back, kissing her neck as his pants and fine silk tunic pooled on the floor.

He joined her on the bed, on top this time as a swift thrust had her keening into his neck. The soft skin of it attracted her mouth, as she first kissed the junction between shoulder and neck before sucking. He groaned, a positive response, and so her teeth buried gently into the flesh. This time the noise he made was sharper, louder, and she wanted to hear it again. 

His collarbone was next, Rhaenyra wringing moans from her husband as she left red marks all over. Her thrusts grew jerkier, faster, and she was so close to the edge as well when his hand dropped between her thighs once more. Without missing a beat, he found that spot again, the one that had lightning running up and down her back. He applied the slightest bit of pressure, his fingers steady and gentle despite it all. It was just enough to send her over.

As she spasmed in his arms, he was quick to join her, and they both basked silently in the afterglow.

She stirred after a short while, scooting up onto the bed properly as she tugged at the lace weighing her down, "Help rid me of this monstrosity."

"Happily," He chuckled, "Despite how beautiful you looked in said monstrosity."

When the dress was thrown onto the floor to join Rickon's clothes at their bedside, the newlyweds pulled back the covers and got comfortable. Of course, that meant Rhaenyra laying half on top of him.

"Goodnight, my princess." He said, the night quiet around them.

She responded, hazy, before sleep took her away, "Fair dreams, little wolf."

When Rhaenyra opened her eyes, she was standing before the same great heart tree as before. A lingering fog seemed to cling to the air around her, and it cleared as she approached. The same boy sat beneath the tree; his dark hair, his mismatched violet eyes, his scar. His smile.

A girl was sitting beside him this time, looking to be around his age or slightly younger. She had white-gold hair, the pale stands falling in waves over her shoulders as she spoke to the boy next to her. Her eyes were the same violet as his; she would've been Targaryen through and through if her features didn't look wholly Stark.

A clattering and a splash had her attention snapping away only to see a younger boy's training sword go flying into the pond in front of them. His hair was light, and his eyes were violet, and he had the same smile Rhaenyra did when he squealed with laughter. The same smile her mother had.

Another boy had his back turned to her, looking to be the oldest of them all from height alone, as he carefully dragged the wooden weapon out with his foot. When he turned and she saw his face, it felt like the ground had opened up beneath her. Grey eyes, light hair.

The younger boy jumped up and down in glee, clapping his hands together as he accepted the sword once more, "You're the best, Jace!"

"I thought I was the best just an hour ago when I stole you lemon cakes from the kitchen? How fickle, Ed." A voice said, another older boy nigh identical to the other approaching.

His hair was dark in contrast to the other's light, and his eyes were violet to the other's grey, but they had the same face. The same high cheekbones, the same sloped nose as Rhaenyra, the delicate and simultaneously strong bone structure that was uniquely Targaryen.

"You're both the best!" She heard the younger boy complain beyond the ringing in her ears.

"Ah, ah." The dark-haired elder boy shook a finger at him, "Pick your favorite."

"No, Cree!" He groaned in response, "That's impossible!"

Jace. Cree. She stumbled backward, her hands drifting down to clench at her stomach, and she was drawn to look at the boy against the tree once more. His eyes, one real and one amethyst, are pinned directly on her. While the others hadn't noticed her presence, he saw her.

What she saw, she wasn't certain. Visions flickered across so quickly she couldn't grasp them. Salt, fire, smoke, snow, a dragon bleeding, a dragon bleeding-

It took her breath away in one overwhelming instance. When she opened her eyes...

When she opened her eyes, it was daylight.

She jolted as the curtains were flung open, white light washing the room. At her side, Rickon stirred with a groan. She tried to grasp the dream closer as she squinted through the brightness, but the more she tried the more it slipped away. Only vague images and words lingered in her mind as tried to dive deeper beneath the covers to escape back to sleep.

"Time to wake up!" A familiar voice crowed, Kaegan looking far too pleased with himself as he clapped his hands once and then twice in an effort for their attention, "C'mon, lovebirds, we have matters to discuss."

Rickon threw an arm across his eyes, "Why are you in here?"

"I know you two had a tiring night," The Bolton waggled his eyebrows, "But the sunrise waits for no one and I have matters to discuss."

"Matters," Rickon grumbled as he sat up, "The Others take your matters."

"As you know, there is a tourney to be held today." Kaegan began before pausing, "Oh, princess? Are you awake under there? I can't tell, you're just a mountain of blankets right now."

"Get on with it." She snapped, though her voice was muffled even to her own ears.

"So snappy. You two really are made for each other." The man sighed, "Regardless of your attitudes, I've come to ask for your favor."

Rhaenyra peeked just her head out from the covers to give him a blank look. Rickon was doing the same.

"Me as well?" The Stark asked blandly, "That's not usually how it works."

"Yes, well, you're the consort in this relationship, my dear friend." Kaegan grinned, "So, I've come to ask our future queen and her little wolf for their favors."

Rhaenyra turned bright red, remembering the night before, and Rickon had a similar blush dusting his cheeks. 

Kaegan paused before heaving an over-exaggerated gag, "Oh, Old Gods be good, don't tell me that's a thing! I didn't need to know that!"

"Then mayhaps think before bursting into someone's chambers!" Rickon sputtered, "What could I even give you for a favor? Rhaenyra has a wreath and what have I? Nothing."

"Get another wreath." Kaegan grinned, "Particularly our lady mother's. It is of House Stark's colors already, is it not?

"I am not asking our mother for her favor just so I can give it to you in front of all of Westeros." Rickon deadpanned.

"Please?" Kaegan's eyes grew wider as he begged, "It's all I'll ever ask of you. It would also make me very happy!"

"That's a lie, you ask for something new every week, but..." Rickon sighed.

Rhaenyra's not sure if it's because Kaegan had such a rough time with his father yesterday, or because Rickon simply loved his family far more than the average man, but it took her husband about thirty seconds to fold. Once Rickon nodded, Kaegan threw his hands in the air in an excessive display of celebration.

Rickon reminded him, "Rhaenyra has not yet agreed."

And so the pleading gaze turned in her direction.

"What say you, dragon queen?" Kaegan placed a hand across his heart, "Would you bestow your royal favor upon your lowly servant?"

Rhaenyra couldn't help but snort at the mischief in his eyes, all of her laughter bubbling out at once, "Alright, alright. Tone it down, I'll give you my favor for the tourney."

"Yes!" The man fist pumped, "Now we'll see if Daemon was so successful."

"And who was he asking?" Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow.

"I believe it was Lord and Lady Velaryon." Kaegan said, "He seemed all too pleased at the prospect, so I'm assuming he'll have great fun getting them to agree."

"Lady Velaryon is Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, Daemon's cousin." Rhaenyra deadpanned, "Seeing as they grew up together, I assume they'll have no issue getting Lord Corlys to agree, even begrudgingly."

"Grand!" Kaegan nodded, "Then we've both accomplished our missions. I'll see my dearest patrons shortly at the tourney!"

He blew them both a kiss before he fled the room, Rhaenyra and Rickon both watching him go incredulously.

"He's in a suspiciously good mood after last night." Rickon narrowed his eyes at the now closed door, "I don't know what happened, but it can't be anything good-"

He's cut off by a shriek outside.

"A body!" A woman wails, "There's a body in the courtyard! It fell from the ramparts!"

"Lord Bolton is dead!" A man yelled this time, "Someone wake Lord and Lady Stark!"

Rickon stared at the wall for a long moment. Rhaenyra bit her cheek, feeling entirely inappropriate about grinning.

"Like that?" She asked.

"I hate your uncle," He sighed, "So, so much. But I also want to thank him, because the man was a plague."

"I shall do you a favor and not tell Daemon you said something favorable about him." She finally gave in and laughed, "Shall we go join the celebrations?"

"Aye," Her husband chuckled as he stood, "Let us."

When they dressed in their finery for the day and walked into the hall, it was a cacophony of chaos. When they looked up and locked eyes with Bennard and Margaret, however, they found the couple smiling as well.

Chapter Text

Rickon’s parents turned the corner right as the newly wedded couple did, the elder looking at their younger counterparts with grim understanding.

Finally, Lysa gave a firm nod, “Well, let’s get this over with so we might move along with our day.”

“Agreed, mother.” Rickon smiled, just shy of a smirk.

When the four entered the main hall together, the king and queen were already waiting with Bennard and Margaret. Alicent’s face was pale as a sheet, her grip on Aegon visibly tight. Maids behind her held Helaena and Aemond carefully, keeping keen eyes on their young charges.

Rhaenyra went to her side, resting a bejeweled hand on her shoulder, the rubies of her rings catching the torchlight, “It’s alright. Nothing untoward has happened.”

She gave her a look full of meaning, trying to explain with her expression alone. The queen’s face twitched in understanding as her shoulders relaxed.

“Nyra!” Aegon wiggled in his mother's arms as Rhaenyra drew back, “Nyra!”

“Hello, little brother.” Rhaenyra ruffled his hair before righting the silvery locks once more, “Be good for your mother, Egg.”

He pouted before lurching forward to slip from Alicent’s arms. She gasped, trying to catch him, but he landed on his feet and had his arms wrapped around Rhaenyra’s legs in the same moment.

The princess sighed and reached down to pick her brother up, “Guess you want me to hold you?”

“Yeah!” Aegon grinned enthusiastically, “You’re warm!”

“I’m a dragon!” Rhaenyra made a claw with her other hand to mime attacking him, “Of course I’m warm!”

Viserys cleared his throat, giving his daughter and son a fond smile before sobering and turning to Lord Stark.

“As House Bolton's liege lord, what say you on the death of Lord Royce Bolton?”

He had asked Benjen, but it was Lysa who answered.

"Lord Bolton was...notoriously a sad man. He never married after the death of his first wife and his estrangement from his son was said to have caused him grief." She pursed her lips, but Rhaenyra saw the anger in her eyes, "They found alcohol up on the ramparts. I believe he might have gotten inebriated and, well, either it was an accident or intentional on his part."

Benjen wrapped an arm around his wife, nodding firmly, "Aye, it was known he was unhappy. There was nothing to be done about it, unfortunately. His happiness would've come at too great a cost."

Viserys pursed his lips, "Young Kaegan? He never expressed any desire to return to the Dreadfort?"

"It holds many bad memories for him, Your Grace." Lysa said with lips pulled down as she thought about the boy's childhood, "I believe it will be hard for him, returning even now."

"It is sad, to cause your child so much grief." Rhaenyra's father wore a pinched expression, setting a hand on her shoulder as he ruffled little Aegon's hair, "Let us put this to rest, then. Would you prefer us to honor him with a period of mourning?"

"And disrupt the wedding festivities?" Alicent blurted out, flushing when everyone turned to look at her, "Rhaenyra, she...I mean to say, she deserves what is her right as crown princess. With no disrespect intended, of course."

"I must agree," Benjen sighed, "The Northern lords know well the temperament of Lord Bolton. We will finish the celebrations of our children while his body is returned North to be entombed with the rest of his family. It is what he would've wanted."

"Very well. We will honor him with a moment of silence and continue onward." The king nodded, "Now, let us break our fast. I will inquire as to the whereabouts of my brother, though. And your ward, Kaegan, though I'm sure he's having a hard time with things at present."

Yes, he was certainly having such a hard time as he heckled the newly wedded couple in the wee hours of the morning.

"I believe uncle and Kaegan both woke early for the tourney, father." Rhaenyra finally spoke, "Kaegan requested our favor this morning. It was before the body had been discovered, however, so I know not how he fares currently. I believe Daemon will be a good distraction, however."

Bennard choked on a snort, his wife slapping his back once and then twice in the background of the conversation.

Viserys rolled his eyes, "Yes, if there's one thing my brother is, it's a good distraction. Come, then, we'll leave them to sharpening their swords and readying their horses."

As they moved to sit at the grand table and food was ushered in, Rhaenyra raised a hand to beckon a servant closer, "Please have the sword Dark Sister kept in my rooms delivered to my uncle on the tourney grounds."

"Has he been on good enough behavior?" Viserys raised an eyebrow, amused.

Rhaenyra's smile was sweet, "He's earned it."

Rickon coughed into his fist to hide his smile. Margaret openly laughed, making little Ben on her lap giggle along with his mother. Bennard just pinched the bridge of his nose, looking to the world like a man suffering the insanity of his family.

Lysa and Benjen both disappeared briefly with their younger son and daughter-by-law to discuss the recent events with the Northern lords, leaving Rickon and Rhaenyra with the Targaryens and Velaryons as the setup for the tourney began. Cheers rocked the stands as the people spotted Rhaenyra and Rickon both enter, screaming various well wishes and adorations.

Rhaenyra stepped out of the shade of their roofed seating, placed above all else in an illusion of royal honor, and lifted her hand to wave at them all. The golden chains that draped down her wrists glinted in the sunlight, and her hair fell loose around her shoulders in gentle curls. A new crown sat snugly on her head, golden with dragon glass and rubies shining. A hand on her back was a comforting weight as Rickon joined her side, standing ever so slightly behind her. 

In his hand was a crown of white flowers intermixed with grey fabric to represent House Stark. 

She smiled at him, "Your mother gave it to you?"

"Happily," Rickon said dryly, "She hates tourneys."

Rhaenyra chuckled with a smile and knights and lords began to pour onto the field, galloping around gallantly and smiling at nobility and collecting the favors of fair maidens. They wore no helmets currently; this was just posturing, the men relishing in the cheers they received.

Well, all except one.

A knight in dark armor, carrying a shield emblazoned with a great roaring bear, rode straight for the royal party as other knights curried favor with the typical highborn ladies. Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow as Rickon chuckled at her side.

"You know him?" She asked, "The one with the bear? A Mormont, perhaps?"

"Oh, yes, that knight is certainly a Mormont." Her husband said jokingly, though she wasn't quite sure what the punchline was.

They turned to watch as the knight approached the queen, of all people. Alicent, who was seated beside Viserys with Aegon in her lap, tensed as the knight stretched out his lance toward her.

"I humbly request your favor, Your Grace." The voice was muffled by the helmet, but there was something off about it that Rhaenyra couldn't quite place, "On my house and my honor."

Viserys grinned, clapping as Alicent stood with Aegon in one arm and her favor in the other. She tossed down the little wreath of mixed flowers, green and red to represent both her house by birth and marriage, and the knight caught it easily.

"Use it well," Alicent called down, a small smile curling her lips.

The knight bowed at the waist before galloping away. The next to arrive was none other than Kaegan, a wild grin on his face and the Stark sigil emblazoned on his shield.

"Your Graces," He held his lance out with a smirk, "Might I have the honor of getting the newly wedded couple's favor?"

Rhaenyra chuckled, tossing down her wreath. Black and red with golden laurels weaved throughout it, the man caught it easily on his lance. Rickon sighed deeply, tossing his mother's down as well. The crowd was frenzied, chanting their names and titles as Kaegan rode off with a sharp kick. 

"He enjoyed that too much," Rickon said dryly.

"He enjoys nearly everything too much," Rhaenyra reminded him.

Her sworn shield, Ser Criston, looked rather dejected as he rode past her with a deep bow of respect. He stopped for no favor despite the many maidens below vying for his attention and she felt rather guilty for a moment. It was the way of things, though; Kaegan was her husband's brother in all but blood. Not to mention the fact that he was fucking her uncle and seemed to be a rather good friend all the way around.

He deserved her favor for all the shit he'd gone through in his life. She knew Rickon felt the same, which is why he coddled the older boy so much.

Ser Joffrey Lonmouth stopped briefly and allowed the Velaryon siblings to toss down a silken piece of sea-green fabric to wrap around his lance. He was newly knighted and pledged to House Velaryon, which was impressive for a boy only sixteen years of age. 

Finally, Prince Daemon Targaryen galloped down the field, his black armor molded to resemble a dragon and Dark Sister at his hip. He stopped before Rhaenys and Corlys, his smirk firmly in place. 

"Your favor, dear cousin?" The prince asked, "And I cannot forget my favorite pirate. Lord Corlys, if you would?"

The man glared at him as his wife threw down a wrath of blue and red roses, Daemon catching it easily. He took a strip of fine silk from his pocket and tied it to the offered lance, similar to how his children had Ser Joffrey's. The prince followed after Kaegan, his smile smug.

"A nuisance, the both of them." Rickon sighed, "They're made for each other."

They took their seats as the tourney began, knights of various houses all around Westeros competing in what would later be called the Tourney of the Silver Wedding.

"I'm surprised you are not competing." She said, leaning closer to him as the first match lined up, "Not one for tourneys?"

"Not at all." His nose wrinkled, "I only fight when I have purpose to."

"Like wildlings?" She asked.

"Or the Ironborn." He rolled his eyes, "Those pests on boats are the bane of my existence. If they don't stop attacking Bear Island, I might have to ask you to burn them all to cinders."

"Sounds fun." A smirk curled her lips, "Just say the word, little wolf. Syrax shall be at the ready."

He laughed slightly, "I believe you said she wasn't a war dragon." 

"Only because she's never lived through war." Rhaenyra shrugged, "She also hates the cold. It's one of the many things on her list she'll simply have to get over."

"Or we could build her a covering over the hot springs, similar to Winterfell and the Glass Gardens." Rickon suggested, "I'd hate for her to be out in elements."

"You spoil her even more than I do," Rhaenyra smiled, but inside she was giddy to know Syrax was so loved by her husband, "You know, a dragonpit might have to be built."

"A dragonpit?" He raised an eyebrow, "Do you intend to acquire more than one?"

"No." She scoffed, "A dragon has only one rider and vice versa. I mean for our children."

He froze, staring distantly down at the men bashing each other with lances, before he finally spoke, "I forgot about that."

"About children?" She asked incredulously.

Rickon shook his head, "No, not about the children. Just about the fact that they would have dragons."

Her laugh was loud enough to draw the eye of Alicent and her father, who glanced at them curiously. She bit her lip, trying to smother it.

"Even the ones named Stark will have the blood of Old Valyria in their veins." She said, amused, "Dragons are their birthright."

"Your siblings have none yet," He pointed out, "What if those eggs never hatch?"

"I intend to help them claim their own soon." She dismissed, "Not all cradle eggs hatch. Aegon is almost old enough to visit the dragonpits and put forth an offer to any dragon he pleases. Should they accept, they will become rider and mount. The same will be true for our children should their eggs not provide."

"Ah," He leaned back, grim acceptance settling onto his face, "They're going to be hellions."

"Quite," She agreed gleefully.

Several matched came and went before Rhaenyra saw anyone she recognized. Kaegan rode out, more skilled with a horse than any rider she'd seen thus far, and made to face his opponent. Lord Borros Baratheon, son and heir of Lord Boremund Baratheon of Storm's End. She shifted forward in her seat, eager to see if the Northmen's experience of the Baratheon's brute strength would win out.

It was Kaegan who won. He was merciless, even with a lance. There was no need for a second pass as Borros found himself on his ass in a matter of seconds. The man grunted, ripping his helmet off and drawing his sword, insisting on continuing the match with combat. Kaegan followed suit, laughing all the while.

"The fool doesn't realize he's giving Kaegan exactly what he wants." Rickon whispered, pointing to how the Bolton danced around his larger opponent with ease, "He's well used to fighting Wildlings three times his size. Has Lord Baratheon even seen combat before?"

"Outside the training grounds?" Rhaenyra shook her head, "Doubtful. Maegor is sixty-six years dead and no southerner has seen war since."

By the time she'd finished speaking, Kaegan had swept the feet out from under the Baratheon heir at held his sword to the man's throat. Cheers erupted in the audience as the match was called, and Rhaenyra clapped accordingly.

"Our champion does us proud," She said drolly.

"That, I must say, I never questioned." Rickon said before glancing around, noting the continued absence of his family, "Have you any clue where my parents and wayward brother might be?"

"Last I heard, they were speaking to Northern lords about the state of House Bolton." Rhaenyra grimaced, "Might they have taken his death worse than we thought?"

"Hardly." Rickon denied, "I've known most of these lords since I was a boy and I'm related in some way to over half of them. They would not stir trouble at my wedding, if not out of respect for me then for fear of my mother's wrath."

Daemon was next, facing off against a knight who bore the Tyrell sigil on his shield. The match was over swiftly and was followed by no combat. If Rhaenyra knew her uncle as well as she thought she did, then she was certain he was disappointed by the fact. 

Things picked up speed soon after. Match after match flew by; Kaegan and Daemon steadily dominated their fights, and the mysterious Mormont knight and Ser Criston carried victories away from their matches as well. Still, Rickon's family was absent throughout it all. 

Finally, towards the end, Ser Criston Cole faced off against Ser Joffrey Lonmouth. The Crown Princess's sworn shield versus the Knight of Kisses. They missed each other on the first pass, turning their horses quickly and charging each other once more. Ser Joffrey caught Criston's shoulder, nearly knocking him loose but he managed to catch hold of his reins once more.

The third pass. Criston was still pulling himself back properly into his saddle when he aimed his lance. It struck Joffrey in the junction between his shoulder and neck, sending him flying backward. The horse reared as its rider tried desperately to remain seated, but he was thrown off and collapsed to the ground with a thud.

Criston froze atop his horse, his lance dropped to the dirt as Joffrey twitched slightly before falling still. Blood began to leak from the downed knight's helmet. Alicent gasped, covering Aegon's eyes as the maid did Helaena's.

Laenor stood, stumbling. His scream was haunting, a wretched thing Rhaenyra had never heard the likes of before. Full of pain, full of fear. His sister pulled him away and swiftly began to drag him back to the keep, Princess Rhaenys following her children with wide eyes. That left only a grim Corlys to watch as servants drug the barely breathing knight off to the maesters.

No one spoke amongst the royal family. The crowd roared below them, chanting for Criston even as the knight tore his helmet off and stared at the blood-soaked ground with an expression torn between lost and victorious. He looked up, his eyes finding Rhaenyra's as his face twisted into a grimace. He finally turned away, leaving to make room for the next match.

Rickon glanced over at the seats the Velaryons had vacated, "That...escalated quickly."

"Yes, it did." Rhaenyra watched as the next set of opponents lined up, "And it's about to get worse."

"Why-?" Rickon pursed his lips, seeing the same thing she did, "Shit."

Daemon versus Kaegan. Logically, if they both kept winning, this was bound to happen.

"Who are you putting your bets on?" Rhaenyra whispered, similarly to the rest of the royal box as most had money on Daemon.

Rickon winced, "Honestly? No idea. Kaegan is good, but...your uncle fought a war."

They ended up knocking each other off their horses at the exact same time. Kaegan drew his sword with haste as he met Daemon blow for blow, the two of them so intense that the crowd was nearly howling with anticipation. Finally, Daemon knocked Kaegan to the ground and rolled atop him, the Bolton's helm long forgotten in the dirt beside them.

"Can they not use a tourney as a form of foreplay?" Rickon muttered, pressing his fingers to his temple.

Kaegan's wide eyes turned half-lidded and his grin was nearly evil as he leaned up to whisper to Daemon despite Dark Sister being held firmly to his throat. A small droplet of blood dripped down the Bolton's neck, Daemon's eyes tracking it the whole way as Kaegan spoke. There was a clear stutter to Daemon's breath that had nothing to do with physical exertion.

Then, in all his half-baked wisdom, Kaegan rammed his knee right between Daemon's legs. The prince sputtered, stunned eyes blown wide as Kaegan knocked him sideways just when he was righting himself. Kaegan grabbed an abandoned Dark Sister, as his own sword had been knocked away during their toil, and pressed it as well as himself close to Daemon. 

"Really?" Rickon groaned quietly, "At this point why don't they just fuck before the realm?"

The crowd was loving it, however. Peasantry and nobility alike were on their feet, shouting the name of their favored victor. When Kaegan slowly rose to his knees and then his feet, never taking his eyes off Daemon as he stood above him with Dark Sister still pointed and ready, the shrieks reached a crescendo.

"I cannot believe he won." Rhaenyra breathed out, "Did he really just seduce my uncle into losing?"

"Yes and, unfortunately, that is entirely in character." Rickon reached his goblet out, allowing a servant to refill it before he downed the entire thing in one go, "I'm more surprised Daemon fell for it."

"He's more ruled by his base instincts than most would believe." She said drying, watching her uncle's stiff gait as he walked away from the tourney grounds.

Rickon laughed shortly, "No, that's actually entirely believable."

What was more surprising was when the Mormont knight unseated Criston with relative ease. He did not escalate to combat; Rhaenyra was nearly certain the event with Ser Joffrey earlier had shaken him. The Mormont galloped to the other side of the arena, a victory lap, as Kaegan was drawn out yet again.

The final two contestants were both Northmen. How ironic.

They practically flew at each other, both aiming in a way that seemed entirely personal. The Mormont's lance clipped Kaegan's shoulder, and the Bolton's slammed right into the unknown knight's ribs. It got more violent with each pass.

"Is there bad blood here?" Rhaenyra asked.

"No," Rickon chuckled, "They're simply both bloodthirsty."

"Bear Island," She realized, "The Mormonts are from there. You mentioned that the Ironborn raid them frequently?"

Rickon inclined his head, "Yes. In consequence, every man, woman, and child knows how to wield a weapon."

In the same moment he spoke, Kaegan was sent flying from his horse. He shot at least a few feet back before he hit hard against the dirt. Rickon tensed for the slightest of moments before the Bolton stood, taking his helmet off and gesturing grandly to the last standing rider.

The Mormont had won the tourney and Rhaenyra didn't even know his name.

A servant rushed out, bestowing the knight with a crown of crimson and silver roses. The knight galloped toward where the royal family sat, stopping right before Alicent, and extended to her the crown. She blinked, eyes wide, before glancing over to Rhaenyra. The princess smiled, nodding ever so slightly, and the queen stood to accept the champion's favor.

"I would have your name, Ser, so I might thank you." The queen requested, placing the crown of roses atop her head.

The night reached for his helm, and a long braid of dark brunette hair spilled forth. High cheekbones, tanned skin freckled from the sun, and brown eyes framed with long and dark lashes. 

A woman. The Mormont knight was a woman.

"Lady Jorelyn Mormont, daughter of Lord Jorel Mormont and Lady Elys Mormont, heir of Bear Island." She bowed at the waist, still upon her horse, "It is my honor, your Grace, to bear your favor and crown you in return."

The stands had gone deathly silent, and when Rhaenyra glanced over she found her father frozen in shock. Curiously, the tops of Alicent's cheeks were flushed pink. Aegon, ever curious, reached up to try and fiddle with the roses on his mother's head.

Viserys, meanwhile, glanced between the knight and his daughter, the crown princess. Standing, he began to slowly clap. Rhaenyra and Rickon followed, and slowly the audience began their cheers once again.

"An extraordinary job, Lady Mormont. You are a credit to your parents for your prowess on the field." The king smiled, placing a hand on his wife's shoulder, "Now-"

A commotion from the side interrupted him as a group of nearly twenty Northerners spilled onto the field led by Rickon's parents, brother, and good sister. Kaegan, who'd been standing off to the side, perked up in interest.

"Lord and Lady Stark." Jorelyn bowed toward them as she slid off her horse.

"We apologize for our tardiness," Benjen turned toward the king to speak, "But we found something of the utmost importance."

Viserys looked concerned as he came to stand by Rhaenyra, who had moved to lean over the railing with her husband.

"Mother, father, what is-?"

Rickon's words were halted as Bennard moved forward, carrying a squirming bundle of blankets. He carefully unveiled them, revealing what looked to be two wolf pups. They were larger than what would normally come from a litter, Rhaenyra thought. It was when she heard Rickon gasp sharply that she realized what, exactly, they were.

"Direwolves," Margaret announced loudly.

The Northerners in the stands below began to whisper amongst themselves, staring in open wonder at the near-mythical creatures. One was bigger and pure white with nearly pitch-black eyes while the other's fur was caught between brown and black, with eyes of amber. They began to yip, seemingly chattering amongst themselves.

"We found them on the shores of the God's Eye outside the Northern camp." Benjen spoke, "Two pups, and at a wedding no less. This sign contains multitudes, but it's clear who the Gods sent these for."

Bennard walked up the stairs to reach them, his steps measured as he was conscious of the wolves in his arms. Rhaenyra, frozen still, watched as Rickon reached a hand toward them. The one with amber eyes brushed a snout across the Stark's fingers, prompting Rickon to take the pup carefully from his brother.

"Princess," Bennard looked to her.

"Shouldn't," Her voice failed her for a moment, "Shouldn't you? I'm no Stark."

"The Old Gods welcome you," Margaret said, coming up behind her husband, "It is clear this union has been blessed by them. Cursed be the one who would take your gift."

Bennard held the white pup out toward her, and Rhaenyra accepted it with haste. Holding it close to her chest, she stared into those dark eyes as the direwolf nuzzled closer to her chest.

She doesn't know who started it, but Rhaenyra strongly suspects it was Kaegan. The Northerners began to bang on their shields and slam their fists onto the wooden railing, creating a great clamor as the people of Westeros cheered.

"Dragon queen!" Someone hollered, starting the chant anew, "Dragon queen!"

Rickon stood by Rhaenyra, the both of them facing the masses together. She spotted Gillane, half standing on her seat and using her poor betrothed to balance as she shouted. Osric took it in good humor, supporting her legs as he cheered along. Jorelyn, who'd been partially forgotten in the madness, slammed her lance against her shield with a grin.

Rhaenyra looked over her shoulder, seeing her father watching her with pride. Alicent, adorned in roses and smiling so wide her cheeks must've hurt, approached with a curious Aegon.

Helaena, still held by a maid, grinned, "Puppies!"

"Aye, dearest." Rickon took her from the maid, holding her in one arm and his wolf in the other, "Your sister has a puppy. So do I."

"Can I pet?" Aegon looked at her with wide, pleading eyes, "Please, Nyra?"

She glanced over at the Northerners, "That's not sacrilegious or anything, right?"

A great round of laughter passed between them as Aegon buried his fingers in the soft fur. Helaena did similarly to Rickon's pup, giggling as the direwolf turned to lick at her fingers.

"Remember when you asked if I played with direwolves as a boy?" Rickon murmured to her as the ruckus settled down, "I believe our children might."

"Dragons and direwolves," Rhaenyra mused, "That is...going to be a challenge to parent."

Sudden, rapid footsteps on the staircase caught their attention. Daemon, his helmet forgotten and hair messy from the tourney, moved as if a fire had been lit beneath him. Kaegan followed, expression incredulous as he watched his lover go. The prince swept Helaena from Rickon, lifting her so he could squint into her eyes. Once more, the Rogue Prince was having a staring contest with his younger niece.

"Two puppies," Daemon announced incredulously, "Two puppies?"

Helaena giggled in response, "Two puppies!"

Alicent blinked, her eyes darting between Daemon and her daughter before she leaned closer to Kaegan, "You didn't...cause an affliction in his brain, right?"

Rhaenyra couldn't hold back her laughter, burying her head in her husband's neck as her shoulders shook. Truly, what madness was all of this?

Chapter Text

"Away from the water, little one." Rickon made a come hither motion with his hands, "This way. Yes, good job, look at you!"

He caught Aemond under the armpits as the small boy flopped over into his lap, giggling all the while. Helaena slept soundly at his side, curled up on a blanket under the Heart Tree as she dozed. Aemond reached up to grab at the shiny wolf clasp that closed Rickon's cloak, but the Stark carefully diverted his attention with a discarded toy. On his other side, Magnar stirred with a quirked head as he observed the toddler. 

The direwolf, despite being only two months old, had grown exponentially. He was the size of your typical hunting hound now and getting bigger every day. Then again, when one looked at the direwolves of old, it was no surprise they grew so rapidly. They had many inches to go yet.

His wife had called hers Daria, which was High Valyrian for Queen. Rickon had followed her example, naming his wolf in the Old Tongue of his people. Magnar, which typically translated to Lord or King, had a nice ring to it. Rhaenyra had loved it, at least.

It was almost amusing how lords tripped over their words when speaking to Rhaenyra now. Daria, constantly at his princess’s side and as fiercely protective as Syrax, tended to growl when angered and show off her rather sharp teeth. If anything, Daemon claimed, it made the Small Council sessions far more interesting.

Aemond stirred again, stumbling slightly and falling back into a crawl before he found his feet again. At only ten months, he was leaps and bounds above other children Rickon had seen.

It seemed like not so long ago, the babe was being swaddled to his wife's chest as she shared dinner with her family for the first time in forever. Now, Rickon had witnessed him take his first steps and keep going beyond. The passage of time was a curious thing, and it grew more curious still.

Footsteps on cobblestones had him looking up to see his wife approaching, her smile wide but her shoulders tense. Daria hounded her footsteps, the white beast that belonged to his princess at least a head taller than Magnar already.

He raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the children surrounding him, "Would you like to join us?"

"Are you their minder for the day?" She huffed out a laugh, "I knew Alicent was with Aegon earlier and wondered where these two were."

"Helaena cries when she's watched by the maids anymore and I figured I'd take Aemond as well," Rickon said, "Alicent has enough on her hands trying to keep Aegon in his lessons."

The time had come for Alicent's eldest to begin learning speech formally. While he did very well with the basics, he was to now study with a maester as befitted a prince. The only issue was he would cry hysterically if his mother, elder sister, or Rickon were not with him.

Rhaenyra winced, "Yes, I saw that. He's a rather stubborn child, hm?"

His wife carefully picked up Helaena, cradling the girl in her arms as she sat on the blanket. Rickon knew she would've ruined her dress with grass stains regardless; despite the finery she wore and the duties she had as crown princess, she was no less cavalier. Daria moved to where Magnar slept, curling up beside him and nudging her nose into the other wolf's neck.

"More than," He laughed as Aemond climbed over his lap to reach his sisters, "And I dread the day this one can wield a sword."

"Oh, Aemond?" Rhaenyra grabbed the boy with her free arm, tickling his sides until he squealed, "No, he's my little gem."

The boy babbled something in response and Helaena still did not wake. She shifted only slightly in Rhaenyra's arms, burying her head into the crook of her sister's shoulder to further escape the light.

"And how fares my wife this morning?" He leaned over, kissing the crown of her head, "I woke to a cold bed, alas. The duties of the heir never cease."

Her smile became tight, her posture tensing slightly. He moved to cup her cheek, gently guiding her face until he could look into her eyes, lilac and nervous all at once.

"What has happened?" He asked, "Has Kaegan done something foolish and you don't wish to tell me? Understandable, because I don't wish to know."

She laughed then and he broke his serious facade with a smile.

"No, he's actually doing surprisingly well." The princess said, "He and Daemon give my father only three headaches per session."

"Only three?" Rickon blinked, "Well, clearly they're on their best behavior."

Kaegan had been, against Rickon's better judgment, elected to the Small Council by the king as Master of Laws, of all things. The Bolton had practically begged to not be sent back North, for it did not mean returning to Winterfell for him. Instead, the Dreadfort awaited.

So, Rickon's lovely wife, in all her infinite wisdom and impulsivity, had suggested he be placed on the small council for the time being. It also helped that the Warden of the North spoke on his behalf to the council. It was natural that their parents would support Kaegan in whatever inane venture he found himself in, though the effect was minorly ruined by the Bolton's shit-eating grin the whole time their father spoke.

Kaegan had agreed to the Dreadfort having a regent in the form of his paternal uncle and the rest was history. Rickon had seen the hesitance in the council to accept Kaegan, but ultimately the king's word was law. Well, that and who would openly speak out against the candidate promoted by not only the crown princess and prince consort but also Lord and Lady Stark? A fool, clearly, so no one did.

"Clearly," Rhaenyra agreed before her smile faltered once more, "I did come with news, however. Not related to Kaegan."

"And what news might that be, my princess?" He absentmindedly ran a hand down Magnar's fur as he watched her find the words.

No one had angered her, this much he knew. When she was angry, one might think King's Landing would topple under the force of her rage. So, at the very least, it meant no slight had been made against herself, her husband, her uncle, Kaegan, Alicent, or her siblings.

After Rickon's parents and the rest of the Northern delegation had returned home, aside from his brother's family and Kaegan, some errant nobility thought it might be the time to speak out against the so-called Northern heathens. Rickon had been with Bennard and Kaegan halfway across the city but they'd still heard Syrax's roars from the dragonpit.

So, no. She wasn't angry. All of King's Landing would know if she were angry.

Before he could waste any more time guessing, she spoke.

"I'm with child."

He froze.

"Rickon?" She asked, voice quivering, "Did you hear me? I visited Maester Gerardys this morning and-"

In seconds he was on his feet and gently pulling her up as well, Helaena in her arms and all. The wolves jerked awake at the sudden movement, as did Helaena. The girl began to laugh as Rickon twirled Rhaenyra around before drawing his wife close and kissing her firmly on the lips.

"I figured you would be happy." She whispered with a smile that trembled.

"More than," He brushed her hair behind her ear as Aemond began to play with the pups below, "You will be alright, my heart."

Rhaenyra scoffed, "How is it you know what I fear before I open my mouth?"

"Well, you see, a scarcely known talent of us Northerners is mind reading-" He was cut off as she slapped his shoulder, laughing as he kissed her again.

"Rhaenyra?" A voice called, "Rickon?"

They turned to see Alicent pulling a teary-eyed Aegon into the Godswood, watching husband and wife curiously. Aegon immediately pulled away from his mother, running to Rhaenyra and throwing his arms around her legs. The princess chuckled as Helaena tried to reach down for her brother.

"Egg!" She cried out, "Egg!"

"Yes, it's Egg." Rickon said, scooping the boy up as Alicent walked over with an indulgent smile, "Want to say hello to your brother, sweet girl?"

"What are we celebrating?" The queen asked, one hand pressed to her slightly swollen stomach as she walked.

Alicent had found out about her pregnancy only a few weeks after their wedding, and she'd been struggling since. Her previous three children had come easily and without complications; she'd claimed she hardly even had morning sickness. Now that she was facing her fourth, it was a different story.

Her stomach was just beginning to show, yet she had severe back pain that led to her remaining seated most of the day. It was, in part, why Rickon had offered to watch the children. He had no real duties in the Red Keep, unlike his wife, and Alicent had enough on her plate as it was.

Rhaenyra pulled away from her husband to look at her best friend, "I'm with child."

Alicent's eyes widened, her mouth falling open slightly before she moved forward, faster than Rickon thought her capable of in her condition, and pulled Rhaenyra into her arms. Helaena looked up at her mother, reaching out for her when the queen and princess separated. Alicent gave her daughter a smile before taking her into her arms and holding her close.

The first thing Alicent said was, "You'll be okay."

"Am I that easily read?" Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, "Between the both of you I stand no chance at trying to be alone with my fears."

"We will not allow it," Alicent proclaimed, her grin mischievous.

Rickon mirrored her expression, "Aye, it would be a dishonor upon the both of us."

"You will be perfectly fine and whatever little prince or princess-" Alicent was cut off by her son's sudden gasp.

"No!" Aegon wailed, struggling to get out of Rickon's hold, "No, no, no!"

His mother blinked in shock, reaching forward with a free hand to try and soothe him. It only increased his struggles until Rickon was forced to set him down, and he fled toward Rhaenyra crying. He sobbed until he hiccuped, oblivious to his elder sister kneeling before him and frantically trying to calm him.

"Egg, what is it?" Rhaenyra asked, her brows furrowed, "Please tell me. You know I cannot stand seeing you cry."

"I'm your little prince, Nyra!" Aegon burst out with another wave of tears, "Me! You can't have another one!"

Alicent heaved an exasperated sigh in the background, the worry seeping from her shoulders. Rickon tried not to laugh, but the baffled expression on his wife's face was hilarious.

"Egg, of course, you're my little prince. You always will be." Rhaenyra tried to reason with him, "And I'm trusting you with a very important task, alright? I can only trust you, no one else."

Any despair left in the little boy's expression was gone in an instant, his face serious as he stared up at his sister, "What, Nyra?"

"You have to protect the little one I have." She said, grasping his hand and pressing it to her stomach, "Just like I protect you. Can you do that, Egg? Can you protect them?"

"I can!" He nodded eagerly, "I'll be the...the...the bestest protector ever! Are they in there now? How can I protect them in there?"

Rhaenyra chuckled, "After they're born. They're in me because they're growing right now."

"Oh!" The three-year-old said, looking at his brother and sister, "Like Hel and Aem grew?"

"Just like that." Rhaenyra said, "And you'll have to keep them safe once they're born."

"So I protect Hel and Aem?" Aegon's words were stilted and still held a childish quality, his small brows furrowed, "And mama's baby?"

The princess blinked, "Well, that’s quite a lot-"

"No! I do it!" Aegon insisted, rushing over to his younger brother as fast as his little legs could carry him, "Just watch!"

He tugged at his little brother, pulling the smaller boy upright. Aemond just continued sucking on his fingers as the wolves played near them, oblivious to the world around him.

"Well," Alicent said dryly, "At the very least you've given him purpose. Oh, Aemond, fingers out of your mouth!”

She was to announce her pregnancy just tomorrow.

It was surreal, almost. She feels as if just yesterday she'd been lighting the funeral pyre of her mother and brother with Syrax's flames, yet here she was. She wondered if Dameon would have to light hers. Or perhaps Aegon, if he claimed his dragon by then.

She didn't want that for either of them. The ashes of a loved one were a burden too heavy to carry.

So she sat beside Syrax in the dragonpit, leaning back onto the great beast that curled around her as if to protect her. Syrax's snout was level with her stomach, the dragon making a low clicking noise in her throat as if she recognized that a life was growing within.

"A hatchling," Rhaenyra whispered to her, "Mirrī mēre."

The noise grew louder, almost as if the dragon were cooing at the thought. Rhaenyra laughed, running her hand across warm scales as she basked in her spoiled girl's attention. Usually, it was the other way around, so this was a nice change of pace.

It was calm and quiet until she heard a scuff against the stone floors and Syrax tensed, hackles raising as her eyes darted to the source of the noise. Aegon inched around the corner, eyes wide and mouth dropped open.

Rhaenyra sighed, relaxing, "Aegon, why are you here?"

"Looking for you." The little boy inched closer, "Don't want bed."

"And your maids are likely searching after you, aren't they?" She tried to be stern, but it crumbled when he gave her those pleading eyes, "Oh, alright. Come here."

He seemed fascinated but wary as he grew closer, his hesitance annoying Syrax who huffed. The blast of hot hair hit him directly in the face, frightening him.

"Egg, trust me." Rhaenyra held out a hand, "Syrax likes who I like. She won't hurt you."

"And you like me?" Aegon asked with childish confusion, his eyes darting rapidly between the beast and its rider.

"I love you very much, little brother." She laughed, "So come on, come meet Syrax."

"Syrax," He said the name slowly, inching forward until he stood before her, "Gev...Uh, Gev..."

"Gevie?" Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, "You're learning Valyrian already?"

Aegon blinked, "I heard Uncle Daemon say it. Means pretty."

"Uncle Daemon?" She raised an eyebrow, "And who was Uncle Daemon calling beautiful?"

Her little brother only shrugged, reaching a slow hand out toward the dragon, "Uncle Kaegan."

Well, if that wasn't uncharacteristic and insanely sweet at the same time. She wondered if Kaegan had a single clue what it meant.

"Gevie." Aegon correct his pronunciation to nearly match Rhaenyra's, making Syrax's chest puff out a bit.

"Careful," Rhaenyra warned, "Her ego is big enough."

"Is flying fun?" Aegon asked, running fingers along the thin skin of the dragon's wings, "I heard it is."

Her heart broke a little.

When she was a newborn babe, Balerion had been dead for three long years, leaving her father dragonless. Her mother, who took more after her Arryn heritage despite being the daughter of a Targaryen princess, had never claimed one. That left her uncle, Daemon, who had taken her to the skies upon Caraxes when she was as young as a month old. It was just as Rhaenyra's grandmother, Princess Alyssa, had done for him and her father.

That, Rhaenyra thinks, was what had truly given her wanderlust. It was what had her riding Syrax, the dragon she'd hatched in her cradle and who shared her heart and soul, as young as possible. At seven years old, she'd been the youngest Targaryen to ever take their mount to the skies.

She hadn't given that to Aegon. No one had.

She bit her lip, standing and taking Aegon's hand. His maids were probably looking for him...

They could look a bit longer.

"Would you like to find out, little brother?" She asked, watching his face light up.

"Really?" He asked, "Really really?"

"Really." Rhaenyra nodded, "Come. I have no straps on my saddle, so you'll have to hold on tightly. Promise me not to squirm, alright?"

She instructed Syrax to fly slower and lower than usual, as they had a tiny passenger who wasn't exactly strapped in, but Aegon screamed in delight regardless. When the ride was over, she had to bride him with desserts to get him to stop clinging to the saddle.

"Again?" He begged as she led him into the castle, "Please, Nyra?"

"Of course." She said, running a hand through his hair as she guided him back to the nursery, "Whenever you want."

The Small Council had gathered once again the next morning. It was clear her father suspected something was amiss, as not only was Rickon present but Bennard and Margaret as well. Her good brother seemed confused at his presence, but Margaret looked at her with a smirk.

That woman knew everything, somehow. Rhaenyra didn't have a single clue how she did, but it was somewhat eerie. 

"Lord Bennard," Lord Beesbury glanced between the younger Stark and his wife, "I was not aware we were discussing the matter of Moat Cailin this morning."

"Funny," Bennard gave him a slight smile, "I wasn't either."

Alicent winced as she stood with Rhaenyra, her back aching. She quieted the men in the room simply by clearing her throat. The queen had also been frequenting the Small Council meetings with Rhaenyra, citing it as her duty to safeguard the interests of the people when Mellos had critically questioned her presence. 

"This is not in regards to Moat Cailin," Rhaenyra spoke, glancing at Lord Beesbury, "Though we would request the breakdown of material costs by the next meeting, Lord Beesbury."

Moat Cailin was...another source of contention among the council. Mellos did not think it wise to rebuild the ancient fort, citing that it was already functional enough to protect the North, and if further fortified it might be used against the South. That had incensed not only Bennard, who he'd been debating back and forth with, but also Kaegan, who'd been present at the time.

Mellos learned quickly that the stronghold was being rebuilt whether he liked it or not. The king made that plain, as it had been part of the agreements made between the crown and House Stark when negotiating Rickon and Rhaenyra's marriage.

Bennard was, somehow, still clueless as to why he was overseeing the whole process. He apparently was genuinely unaware that his father planned to grant the keep to him and his children, creating a cadet branch of House Stark. Margaret and Rickon both told her not to inform him, and instead just watch his continual confusion as he tried to puzzle it out.

"Of course, princess." Beesbury bowed his head in her direction, "It will be done."

"The princess has gathered everyone here because she has splendid news." Alicent smiled wide, linking her arm with her Rhaenyra's.

Rhaenyra happily accepted the support, holding the queen close as she took a fortifying breath. She remembered all those times her mother had stood in this very place, announcing pregnancy after failed pregnancy. Was she doomed to the same fate? Would the babe growing inside her simply become another lost child of House Targaryen?

"The queen is correct. I have visited Maester Gerardys and confirmed that I am with child." She swallowed thickly as she saw her father's eyes water, the king sitting down as if he couldn't bear the weight of the announcement, "He believes I am two moons past conception."

"So this is the babe conceived on dragonback then?" Daemon asked, smirking fiercely.

Kaegan laughed loudly as Bennard only pressed his burning face into his hands as if the mention of the act made him faint. Rickon simply rolled his eyes, as they'd both expected that comment or worse from her uncle.

Mellos tutted, "Why, princess, you should have come to me. I would never claim to be too busy for something of such import to the kingdom!"

The truth was, Rhaenyra didn't trust the man. He'd been the one to oversee the butchering of her mother, after all. She and Rickon had already discussed the birthing process and decided to fly the midwife sworn to House Stark to King’s Landing. Though, perhaps midwife was too strong of a word. Tanea was truly a woods witch, though Rhaenyra certainly wouldn't tell her father that.

"Silence!" Her father demanded before giving her a trembling smile, "This is the happiest of news. We will send ravens out at once to all the realms to announce not only the birth of yet another royal prince or princess but my daughter's heir! A tourney, then, or would you prefer a feast?"

Alicent tensed slightly at her side as if expecting her babe would not be included. Rhaenyra recalled that her siblings had never been given tourneys or realm-wide feasts at their birth. Aegon was truly the only one who'd ever been given a grand name day. It's difficult to reconcile that, while she loved her father dearly, he was a poor parent to his other children. An even poorer husband, unfortunately.

"A celebration that might include Alicent's babe, perhaps?" The princess suggested, "I am quite excited for my new sibling to arrive, after all.“

"Oh. Well, of course." Viserys nodded along easily, as he did with any of Rhaenyra's suggestions, "A tourney and a feast, then, for both babes."

It was, at the very least, a chance to show House Targaryen as a united front. Her wedding was focused on her and Rickon, and won them the love of people across Westeros. The odd happenings on the Isle of Faces convinced the superstitious, and the direwolves had cemented their union with the North.

Now she had to prove that the queen and the crown princess of the realm were of the same mind when it came to inheritance.

"And House Hightower will be in attendance?" Mellos questioned, glancing between the king and queen.

"They will," Viserys said, "It would be a slight to not invite them to celebrate the birth of their blood. Alicent's father, as well, will be welcomed on the stipulation that he does nothing to endanger the peace."

Otto's very existence was an endangerment to the peace. From the strained quality Alicent's smile took, it appeared she also recognized that fact despite the grief it brought her.

"And my dear girl, please rest.” Viserys pleaded, "No flying-"

"Out of the question." Rhaenyra interrupted, "It’s perfectly fine for me to continue flying. Women have ridden horses during pregnancies without harm to themselves or the babe, have they not?"

Viserys glanced over at Rickon, "Lord Stark, might you advise my daughter-"

"Your Grace, with all respect intended, I hope you do not believe I can advise my wife to do anything." Rickon’s smile was amused, "Syrax will not allow anything that hurts her, regardless. The great beast is quite protective."

At Rhaenyra’s feet, Daria poked her head over the table with an inquisitive tilt. Mellos tensed at her appearance, having been on the other side of many growls.

”Not you.” Rickon chuckled, “You’re too small yet to be called a great beast.”

"I'll admit I expected as much," The king gave his daughter a fond look, "Still, try to be careful at the very least."

Rhaenyra knew what her father feared. She knew intimately, in fact, because she feared the exact same thing. With that in mind, she reigned in the words she wished to say and instead acquiesced with a nod.

"Splendid." Viserys leaned back in his seat with a pleased smile, though an anxious air now loomed over him like fog clinging to water, "Now, have were received word from the Reach about final grain counts?"

The next five months seemed to run together while simultaneously dragging on. Rhaenyra did not find the pregnancy itself difficult; no, her main issue came in the form of people's reactions. As her stomach swelled and kept growing, the court became more and more concerned for her wellbeing. It's as if they had never seen a woman with child before.

Then again, perhaps her mother lingered in their mind's eye just like she did in Rhaenyra's.

Truly, her refuge came in the form of Alicent and Margaret. Both had been through this before, and Alicent was currently in the same boat as her. They were a comfort, a reminder that it was possible to give birth safely and come out in one piece.

And Rickon. Of course, her little wolf did all he could. He doted on her, in truth. From fetching her lemon cakes at odd hours of the night to rubbing her feet when they ached, he was there for her at every turn.

Alicent had sighed wistfully when she watched them one evening, Rickon massaging out a knot in Rhaenyra's shoulders, "I wish someone would do that for me. My back feels horrid."

Rickon paused and stared, "You mean to say no one has even offered?"

It was Alicent's turn to be confused, "No? I mean, I'm sure one of my brothers would if they were here, but they are not. Viserys is preoccupied. I mean to say that, of course, the king is busy. He has no time for such... trivial matters."

Rhaenyra's brow had furrowed deeply, "Do not refer to yourself as trivial matters. I will not hear it."

Margaret, meanwhile, stood up and wiggled her fingers, "Well, guess it's my time to shine. You know, your queenliness, you're lucky. They say the Karstarks have magic hands."

"Bullshit." Rickon had said with a deadpan look, his fingers still working through the tension in Rhaenyra's own muscles.

"It's true!" The woman objected with a smirk, "Ask Bennard."

There were at least three groans echoing throughout the room at the joke, one coming from Bennard himself. Then the woman began massaging Alicent's shoulders and back, and the queen's eyes almost rolled into the back of her head.

"I think they are magic," Alicent joked afterward, her smile relieved as she stood for the first time in months without pain.

And Daemon...well, her uncle was acting oddly. It was the usual fighting and fucking with Kaegan and annoying the rest of the keep, but in his free time, he could often be found stealing Helaena from the nursery. He carried her around, listening to her babble and responding back as if everything she said made perfect sense. It didn't, of course, but Helaena seemed keen on the conversation so Alicent didn't stop them.

Her sweet sister was the one sibling she did not get to give their first flight to. Daemon took her up on Caraxes, just as he did Rhaenyra, and the girl had come down prattling about dreams and blue fire. Daemon only carried her inside, nodding all the while. They were both peculiar, but perhaps that's why they got along so well.

Aemond, meanwhile, was not as docile as his sister or brother. Ever since he learned to walk, he was constantly trying to slip the care of his maids to seek one of his favored adults. Those being his mother, Rhaenyra, and Rickon.

Rhaenyra had actually been in the dragonpit, of all places, when she'd heard the little pitter-patter of tiny feet and looked up to see him running full speed for her.

She'd caught him before he tripped and fell into Syrax, who luckily seemed more amused than annoyed at the whole thing. The current youngest of her siblings ooh'd and ahh'd over the dragon's shiny scales and big claws, making ineligible baby chatter at the dragon. Syrax merely tilted her head like an inquisitive cat and leaned her head forward until her snout bopped him on the forehead.

Rhaenyra took him into the sky that night as well. Like his brother and sister and nearly every Targaryen before him, he was enamored as soon as his skin grew damp from the clouds.

Since then, he'd been obsessed with dragons. He cried every night if Rhaenyra did not come into the nursery and tell him the story of Visenya riding Vhagar and claiming the Vale of Arryn. That, along with the story of Balerion and Aegon conquering Harrenhal, was his favorite. He did get a rather watered-down version suited for children, of course.

The obsession grew so bad that his first word was actually the name of Rhaenyra's dragon.

Perhaps he had gotten confused and simply associated the name with his sister because it was usually said in her presence. Perhaps he knew full well it was the name of the great golden dragon he love to go see with Rhaenyra. Either way, he was eating lunch with Alicent and his siblings when Rhaenyra entered.

He'd thrown up his chubby little arms into the air and cried out, "Syrax!"

The pronunciation was far from perfect and he stumbled over the High Valyrian vowels. Still, he'd said it, and that was enough to make Alicent cry. Pregnancy hormones were certainly an experience, Rhaenyra thought as she too grew teary-eyed.

Oh, and Aegon claimed his dragon. That was important, of course.

Rhaenyra had finally persuaded Alicent to get on Syrax. Well, Aegon persuaded her, really.

They were to make for Dragonstone so Aegon might meet the many wild hatchlings that made their home on Dragonmont. He hadn't formed a bond with any of the unclaimed dragons in the pit, so this was their next option. He was beyond thrilled to make his first actual journey in the sky, but he desperately wanted his mother to come along.

Daemon was flying over with Helaena, Rickon, and Kaegan on the larger Caraxes, while Rhaenyra had Aemond strapped to her chest with heavy pieces of stitched leather. He was eventually going to get too big for that, but she'd do it for as long as she was able.

Aegon had cried out to Alicent as Rhaenyra situated him in front of her, fastening a strap across his lap that she'd had mended onto her saddle when she first began to take her siblings into the air for rides months ago.

"Mama!" He cried, "Please! I want you to see!"

Alicent, farther along than Rhaenyra but not in quite so much pain since Margaret began administering massages on the regular for her pain, watched with wet eyes, "I'm sorry, my love. It's best I stay on the ground, I think."

"I would keep you safe," Rhaenyra said finally as her brother began to cry in earnest, "You know I would."

The queen's face fell, "Of course, I know that. You know I don't doubt that. I would not let you take my children if I doubted that."

"This is one of the most important moments in a Targaryen's life." Rhaenyra tried to explain, "He'll always remember this should he claim a dragon today. You should be there for him, as his mother."

Alicent protested weakly, "I'm not a Targaryen."

Rhaenyra shot her a wry smile, "No, but you birthed dragons."

Her friend's smile trembled as Aegon's crying grew louder and louder. Finally, she sighed, making her way toward the saddle. Aegon paused, sniffling as he watched his sister hold a hand out to his mother.

"Mama's coming?" He asked, looking back at Alicent with wide eyes.

"Yes, love." Alicent sighed, "Mama's coming."

Rhaenyra smiled brilliantly, "Here, you sit in front and hold Aegon close. If you want, you can tighten the strap flat across your lap for extra stability."

Alicent grunted as she did so, "A tight fit."

"My passengers using that strap are usually one to three years old, not women eight months gone in their pregnancy." Rhaenyra chuckled.

"What, does Rickon just hold on and pray?" Alicent scoffs.

"We usually aren't just flying," Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, "That's not exactly suitable for little ears, however, so just know she does essentially hold on for dear life and pray. Regardless, it still gets the job done, yes?"

"Ugh. I suppose. That was too much information, however." Alicent's back settled against Rhaenyra as the princess reached forward and grab the reins, "Be gentle, please."

"Aren't I always?" She quipped back, before barking the command, "Naejot Zaldrīzesdōron, sōvegon."

Alicent gasped sharply as they took to the air, Caraxes soaring ahead of them. Daemon took more liberties than Rhaenyra, twirling and spinning as Kaegan and Helaena both cried out in delight. She already knew Rickon was shaking his head at being relegated to Daemon for a ride, but Syrax could only fit two adults for now.

Despite the queen getting over her past grievances with Daemon, Rhaenyra knew Alicent would not fly with him. It had to be on Syrax she tasted the sky for the first time, with Rhaenyra at her back. It was the only way it could be done, and Rickon understood that.

When they landed on the mountains of the island, the dragonkeepers were already waiting and rushed to greet them. 

"Crown princess," The leader of the esteemed guards bowed deeply, "We welcome you home."

Home. It was true; this was her home. She was the heir and her ownership of this island was the proof.

When Alicent founds the ground again, she looked decently pale. Aegon held onto her skirts, obviously concerned, but she only brushed a hand over her hair.

"I'm alright, sweetling." She smiled down at him, "It was just a shock."

Rhaenyra put a hand on her shoulder, "Truly? You're okay?"

Her friend gave her a smile, "I've been sicker during this pregnancy on land than I was in they sky. I must say it's...an honor, I suppose, to see what so many never will."

"You can whenever you like." Rhaenyra assured her, "Say the word and we'll go for a flight. Rickon does, after all."

"Your husband has the same restlessness you do, only his comes from the blood of the First Men while yours comes from the dragon's blood." Alicent chuckled quietly, "A match made in perfection. I, however, am not quite so eager."

"I did say I wish to fly beyond the wall eventually." Rhaenyra mused, "See the true north of my kingdom."

"You're only furthering my point." The queen pointed out as they approached the rest of their group.

Rickon's arm rested gently across her shoulders as they watched the dragonkeepers lead Aegon to a group of younger hatchlings sunbathing on the warm volcanic rocks. The boy beelined to the brightest one in the front, golden with pink on the underside of his wings.

It took very little.

Aegon held out a hand, calling out firmly, "Dohaeris!"

The dragon chirped back, curious, before coming closer. The golden hatchling rubbed his snout against Aegon's hand, standing nearly as tall as the young boy.

Thrilled, Aegon turned to look back at his family with a wide smile, "Sunfyre! He'll be named Sunfyre, golden just like Syrax! And the sun!"

When he turned to Rhaenyra for approval, she moved forward to place a hand on his shoulder, "You've done so well. Sunfyre, the Golden. Just like Syrax."

Sunfyre preened as if he could tell they were praising him, and Rhaenyra thought he was mayhaps a bit too much like Syrax. How many vain and spoiled dragons was House Targaryen going to end up with?

"Can I fly back on him?" Aegon asked as they made their way back to Caraxes and Syrax.

"No, nephew." Daemon chuckled, "Unless you want to fall off and d-"

"Uncle," Rhaenyra admonished before turning to her little brother, "No, he's not quite big enough to ride yet. Neither are you, my little prince."

"Oh." He wilted for a second, "But I get to ride Syrax again! With mama!"

And so he was appeased and their party returned to King's Landing with one more dragon in tow.

The following month, Rhaenyra was woken by a sharp knock on the door. She stumbled from her bed, still in her dressing gown and with her hair loose on her shoulders, when she opened the door.

One of Alicent's personal maids stood there, eyes bloodshot, "The queen has entered her labors. She asks for you."

Rickon stirred in bed behind them, asking what was wrong, but Rhaenyra was already fleeing down the hall. She didn't bother to dress, fuss with her hair, or even put shoes on. Even seven months into her own pregnancy, the princess moved fast. Ser Criston, who had been stationed beside her door, was nearly sprinting in full armor to keep up. Daria was hot on her heels, leaving Magnar in the dust with Rickon.

Rhaenyra ran down the stone floor barefoot until she came upon Alicent's quarters, hearing the shaking cries from within. The guards stood aside, and the maid opened the door but bid Criston to stay outside. He did so without question, his face growing pale when he heard the queen scream particularly loudly.

"Alicent!" Rhaenyra cried out when she entered the room, heading straight for her friend's bedside, "Alicent!"

"Nyra-" The other girl grunted, "Rhaenyra, I'm scared-"

Tears flowed down the queen's cheeks as the trembling shook her slight frame. There was so much blood.

Mellos looked at her grimly from where the maesters were supervising the birth below, "I will fetch the king, should we-"

"Get out!" Rhaenyra stood, snarling as she shoved the older man away, "Get the fuck out!"

Snarling and scratching at the door, as Daria had not been allowed in, made Mellos pale. He pursed his lips, leaving with a bow, but Rhaenyra turned to one of the maids.

"Get Gerardys." She snapped, "And do any of you have experience in midwifery?"

"I do, Your Highness." A girl stepped forward, head bowed.

Another said meekly, "I do as well."

"Then get ready to deliver a baby." The princess barked out before she turned to her friend to wipe dampened hair away from her face, "Alicent, I need you to be strong. Can you do that for me? For your children? They need you, Ali."

The queen sobbed, "It was not like this before. It was never like this."

"I know." Rhaenyra soothed, "I know. I need you to push, though. Push, Alicent!"

The babe arrived feet first. Rhaenyra was crying as well when she called out for Alicent to make her final push, the head coming out as the boy took his first breath and began wailing. He was bloody in Rhaenyra's arms, but she had so much all over her already that it hardly mattered. The princess cut the umbilical cord with a dagger and stood on shaky legs right as Gerardys arrived, disheveled and clearly awoken from his sleep.

He immediately took over for the after birth and Rhaenyra practically collapsed at Alicent's side. Her friend was unconscious by that time, but she still placed the babe on Alicent's gently moving chest and steadied him with her arm. It was an awkward half hug around the queen's chest, and Rhaenyra rested her pounding head against Alicent's shoulder, where her sweat-slicked skin dampened her nightgown.

That was the scene Viserys walked in on. His daughter, bloody and exhausted. His wife, unconscious. His newborn son, wailing.

"A boy, father." Rhaenyra announced, her voice rather dull even to her own ears.

"And...Alicent?" Viserys was pale as he asked.

Rhaenyra did not answer, the silence damning him more than any words could.

"Rhaenyra, dear girl, is Alicent alright?" Her father had the gall to ask again, "Mellos said you sent him away."

"I did." She snapped, "Because Mellos is a butcher. Or was killing one queen not enough for the old bastard?"

"Rhaenyra!" Viserys jerked back, appalled, "He is the Grand Maester-"

"He killed my mother." She seethed, "You killed her, father! I will not allow you to do the same to Alicent! I won't!"

Tears gathered in her eyes, streaming down her face as she snarled the words. The king took a step back as if she'd struck him.

"She will bear you no more children." The princess hissed, "You will touch her no more."

"Rhaenyra, she is my wife-" Viseyrs tried, but his daughter was unhearing of excuses.

"Then give her this mercy!" She screamed back, voice hoarse, "She could have died! The babe breeched feet first! Listen to my words well, Your Grace, because I mean them."

It was quiet for a moment, but he eventually bowed his head. The maids were weeping by Alicent's side, huddled next to Rhaenyra as Gerardys worked in silence.

"Very well." Viserys spoke, swallowing thickly, "Shall I give the boy a name-"

"Alicent will name him when she wakes." Rhaenyra gritted her teeth, "That is all for now, father."

Perhaps it might have looked odd, the crown princess dismissing the king so brazenly, but Viserys tucked tail and fled in the face of his daughter's vicious anger. He'd never witnessed it before; not like that. He never wanted to witness it again.

Rhaenyra took the boy in her arms, despite the way they shook, and stood, "I will clean my brother. And myself."

One of the maids who helped deliver her brother, one with auburn hair who looked to be only a little older than Rhaenyra and Alicent themselves, stood with her, "I will help you, Your Grace."

"Your name?" The princess asked.

"Talya." She responded, her voice no longer shaking, "Queen Alicent is dear to us. It would be my honor."

"Very well," Rhaenyra nodded, knocking once on the door.

Daria stayed behind, curled up at the foot of Alicent's bed as she stayed out of Gerardys's way. It was like the direwolf knew where Rhaenyra truly wished to stay, and would protect the queen in her stead.

The guards opened it, and outside waited more people than she expected. Then again, she shouldn't truly be surprised. None of the children were present, but Rickon and Kaegan sat on the floor while Daemon leaned on the wall next to them. Margaret and Bennard also stood nearby, the woman's eyes bloodshot and Bennard looking no better.

Rickon jumped to his feet when he saw his wife, heavily pregnant and covered in blood as she carried a newborn. He took the babe from her arms, uncaring of the blood, and Talya stepped up to steady the princess. She bowed at Rickon, but he had eyes only for his wife.

"Are you alright?" He whispered as he escorted her to the room next to the nursery, where the maids brought fresh water and Talya filled the wash basin, "Is Alicent?"

In the next room, the children were all asleep. Even little Benjen found his place in the royal nursery, the young Stark socializing well with Alicent's children as he grew. He was of a similar age to Aemond, and both boys were fond of hitting things with toy swords. It was as if they were meant to be friends.

"I am fine. Alicent should be as well. Gerardys attends to her now." Rhaenyra shakes as she runs the rag up and down her arms, "Mellos-"

"We heard your screaming." Rickon interrupted, his jaw tight, "That man will be nowhere near you."

"Good." Rhaenyra said, "I'd vastly prefer a midwife. We should send for Tanea soon, and if your mother-"

"My mother will be here, so you might as well send Daemon and Caraxes." Rickon rolled his eyes, "She's insisted in her letters that she be here for the birth."

"I won't lie and say I don't wish she were here," Rhaenyra placed a hand over her stomach, feeling the rapid kicking beneath the palm of her hand, "I...I do miss my own mother. But yours-"

"It's a comfort, not a replacement, my heart." Rickon stroked her face with a free hand, smearing blood upon her cheekbone.

He grimaced when he realized, laying the whimpering babe on the table and grabbing a washcloth. He gently began to clean the babe, pink skin shining through the mess. The maids returned with a change of clothes for Rhaenyra, and when they left she stripped. Once she deemed herself clean enough, Rickon helped her into them and gently but the babe back into her arms.

Talya was waiting outside, "The queen is awake but not quite coherent. Gerardys recommends you rest, princess. The stress will not be good for your own babe."

"But Alicent-" Rhaenyra was quick to protest, "Alicent needs me."

"We'll take the little one until the queen wakes, give him his first meal with his wet nurse." Another maid stepped up, "But you truly do look pale, princess."

She sighed, glancing over at Rickon.

He kissed her temple with a small smile, "I'll stay awake and watch over her. I'll come to get you if anything happens."

"Anything at all," Rhaenyra demanded.

"Anything at all." He swore, "Magnar should still be in bed. Go cuddle up with him and get some rest."

She finally nodded, content that he would be true to his word. If her husband was one thing besides lovely and handsome, it was trustworthy. 

"Alright," She sighed, "I'll go."

She handed the babe over to Talya to be nursed and the other maid escorted her back to her rooms. Ser Criston took up his vigil at her door, like always.

"Might I get you anything, princess?" She asked, concerned, "Lemon cakes? Or a danish? You look faint."

The princess sighed as she sat on the couch in her solar, her bed only a room away, "I suppose some lemon cakes could not hurt. Might you have them add extra sugar to the candied lemons?"

"Of course, Your Grace." The maid bowed before leaving out the door.

Rhaenyra could've sworn the girl winced as she closed it, but she hadn't a clue why.

Chapter Text

Alicent woke slowly, a hazy feeling drowning out the pain that hummed beneath her skin. She cracked open her eyes, feeling a heavy weight on her legs. She tried to struggle, but it was no use. 

"Calm, Alicent. You're alright." She heard a voice soothe, and Rickon entered her field of vision not long after, "Do you need water?"

She nodded weakly, words still too much. He brought the cup to her lips and gave her slow drinks. She finally took a shuddering breath, steeling herself against any and all potential realities. She remembered the blood and Rhaenyra's cries. Oh, how her friend had begged and pleaded for Alicent's strength. Had it been enough?

"The babe?" She whispered, voice hoarse, "Does it live?"

Rickon's face softened and all was right with the world. Her child lived.

"Would you like to see him?" The Stark asked, helping her shift up in the bed.

"Him?" Tears collected in Alicent's eyes, "Another sweet boy. Is he here?"

"He's just returned from the wet nurse," Rickon affirmed, picking the quiet little bundle swaddled in red silk up from the crib, "Healthy and whole, despite deciding he wanted to come into the world feet first."

"A troublemaker already," She traced a finger gently down the boy's sleeping face.

His skin was the same pale shade as her other children, only slightly lighter than Alicent's. His hair was the same tousled white gold, and he had his mother's nose the same as Aegon and Helaena did. It was when his eyes fluttered open, however, that she wanted to weep.

Bright lilac irises, lighter than her other children's eyes. While theirs were of a darker shade of Valyrian purple, her new son shared his exact hue with Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra, who Alicent loved more than all the stars in the sky. Who Alicent loved, perhaps, more deeply than a friend should. Rhaenyra, who she thought was lost to her and then who she found again. Rhaenyra, who was not hers in the way Alicent wanted, but anything would do.

"What has he been named?" She asked, leaning heavily against the headboard.

"Rhaenyra informed her father that he would be named by you when you woke," Rickon said, smiling softly before repeating her question back at her, "So, what has he been named?"

She'd never named a son before. Aegon's name had been chosen by her father, and Aemond's had been selected by Viserys. Only sweet Helaena bared a name of her mother's choosing. Helaena and, now, this little one.

"Daeron," She whispered, bringing the boy as close as her tired arms would allow.

A Targaryen name. For Rhaenyra, who was her anchor. For Daemon, who wasn't nearly as much of a prick as she'd been led to believe. For her own children, whose Valyrian blood ran strong.

"A fine one," Rickon said before he pursed his lips with a heavy pause, "This will be your last child, Alicent. You won't have to bear another."

Her lips trembled, not willing to hope and be let down once again by fate, "But...Viserys-"

"Has been informed by the crown princess that you shall retire alone from now on." His words were firm, "He won't touch you again."

And perhaps it was shameful in the eyes of the Seven to weep tears of relief that she would not bear her husband's hands and gaze again, but she did. Even as she held the fruits of their coupling, she could only think that this was the last time and she was so grateful for the fact.

Looking into her newborn son's eyes, she smiled. She had herself back.

Daria stirred at her feet, whining with her ears pinned back. Not even seconds later there was a commotion in the hall.

"What's happening?" Alicent asked, watching Rickon's eyes go from gentle to cold in a matter of seconds, "Where's Rhaenyra?"

"She retired to our chambers," He said, standing as the door was pushed open.

His hand lingered at his belt, ready to draw steel at any moment. Alicent wasn't afraid; she knew him well enough by now to know he posed her and her children no danger. Not when he held Aegon so gently, braided Helaena's hair, or helped Aemond learn to walk. Not when he had gathered Daeron up and passed the newborn to Alicent carefully as if he was a precious gift to be treasured.

Talya was the one who stumbled through the door. There was still blood all over her, presumably from the delivery, but her eyes were frightened.

"What was the commotion?" Alicent demanded, "Talya?"

"Prince Daemon!" She exclaimed, incredulous and scared all at once, "The little princess woke up screaming in the nursery and he went to her side. She said something, Lord Stark's brother said it regarded crying lemons, I don't know exactly, but Prince Daemon took off running."

"Crying lemons?" Rickon blinked, "Why-?"

"It's just the chatter of babes, I'm sure, but the prince said something about tears-" Talyra cut herself off and made a helpless motion with her hands, "And now they've all gone off after him."

Rickon glanced back at Alicent, his eyes dark, "Tears? Tears and lemons?"

"Lemons…lemon cakes?" Alicent responded, feeling dizzy all of a sudden, "Tears and lemon cakes."

They both came to the same realization at the exact same time. Rickon was out the door in seconds, moving at a speed she'd never seen of any man before. Daria began to whine as Alicent struggled to throw her heavy blankets off. She pushed Daeron into Talya's arms as the maid sputtered and begged her to lay back down.

Alicent knew not how her daughter dreamed this, and Daemon's ability to understand her little girl's babbling was even farther out of her comprehension, but the facts remained. Even if it was just the chatter of babes, Tears of Lys was a threat that had to be taken seriously.

The queen kept pushing herself, throwing an evening gown over her bloodstained dress and marching onward despite the dizzying pain. Tears of Lys, a rare and deadly poison. Rhaenyra couldn't...even if she survived, would her child? She couldn't lose her firstborn, it would crush her heart. Alicent didn't even want to consider the unthinkable, the likely probability of neither mother nor child remaining with them. Daemon would save them both, she insisted in her mind as she struggled down the hallway.

"Your Grace, please." Talya was crying anew as she followed Alicent down the hall with Daeron in her arms, "Please, you need to rest."

No. It was impossible. She had to go, had to know what was happening. She could not lie and wait for unbearable news.

If the stranger wanted Rhaenyra, he’d have to pry her from Alicent’s cold grasp.

Rhaenyra sighed, casting a glance at the door. The maid was taking an awfully long time. Then again, it was so late and not many were awake. She shifted in slight discomfort, leaning further back into the plushness of her chair. Her bed was only a door away, but hunger ate at her stomach after the events of the night.

A soft knock echoed in the room.

"You may enter," Rhaenyra called out.

The same girl as before opened the door with a bow, a tray of lemon cakes in one hand. Rhaenyra could see from where she sat that they'd been made with extra care; the lemons were practically crystallized from all the sugar they'd been doused in. The maid sat them down on the table before her, hands shaking. Rhaenyra's brows furrowed. 

They were both startled as scratching came from beyond Rhaenyra's bedroom door, Magnar stirring with soft growls and whines.

"Princess," She said, voice shaking as she avoided eye contact, "Do you...Would you perhaps be in need of a beverage? Before you eat, that is."

"No, this will be all." Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, eyeing the tremors of the maid's hands but ultimately dismissing it.

This wasn't the first time she'd been attended to by a nervous servant and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

The scratching at the bedroom door grew more insistent. She'd have to attend to Magnar soon or he'd leave marks in the wood. Hopefully, he could stand being alone for a few more minutes before Rhaenyra finally retired.

"Of course, princess." The maid bowed lowly, "I bid you goodnight."

The maid wrung her hands for a moment as if waiting for further commands, before finally turning her heel to exit. Rhaenyra reached for a cake, holding it in her palm and plucking the lemon off the top. The candied lemons had always been the best part; they had been her mother's favorite, as well. Rhaenyra recalled her youth when they would sit in the gardens together on summer days with a tray of lemon cakes and a book of the queen's choosing.

Her mother...how Rhaenyra wished she was here.

She brought the lemon to her lips and several things happened all at once.

The door of her bedroom swung open harshly, the wood around the lock shattering as Magnar came barrelling through. The maid screamed as the door broke and the direwolf lunged, but she was not his target. Instead, the great beast leaped up on his hind legs to Rhaenyra's lap, knocking the cake from her hands and the tray from the table all at once. Then he was on the floor once more, turned toward the girl with his hackles raised.

Rhaenyra's eyes were wide as she looked between the cakes scattered on the floor and the cowering made before her. If the girl made one wrong move, her throat would be torn out by Magnar. It appears they were both already aware of that, the girl flinching as Rhaenyra stood.

The crown princess was a dragon rider, and she believed deeply in the bond between man and beast. Whatever caused Magnar to behave this way...

"Was there anything in the cakes?" Rhaenyra asked, holding both hands over her stomach protectively.

The girl burst into tears, weeping as she sunk to the floor with her hands raised in a simultaneous movement of submission and surrender. Magnar did not calm; he remained a wall of fur and teeth before Rhaenyra, ready to pounce. The door to her solar swung open, as Ser Criston was summoned by the crash. The Kingsguard watched the scene with wide, confused eyes.

"Your Crown Princess asked you a question," Rhaenyra says coldly, losing her patience swiftly, "Was there anything in the cakes?"

"Not the cakes, Your Highness..." The girl wheezed out, "The lemons. They were doused in Tears of Lys."

She felt as if she'd been struck, and she heard Ser Criston gasp sharply in the background. Magnar took a menacing step forward, but the wolf didn't have the chance to do anything else. Footsteps were heard rapidly approaching, and Rickon soon swung in around the corner. He nearly knocked Criston over as he pushed through the doorway, flushed and breathing heavily. His gray eyes were wild as he took in the scene; Daria immediately darted forward around him, coming to brush against Rhaenyra's side.

Rickon took a step forward, and Rhaenyra did as well. It was all he needed to rush around the maid, who still knelt trembling on the ground. He pulled Rhaenyra into his arms, holding her close. His face was buried in her hair and his warm breath tickled her neck, yet she clutched him just as tightly.

Then came the arrival of the rest of her small circle; Daemon burst through with Dark Sister already drawn and a deadly glare marring his face. Kaegan had no formal weapon; instead, he wielded a candelabra with one hand as if it were a sword, holding an arm out as if to protect the younger Stark brother. Bennard, both weaponless and pale as he lingered behind Kaegan, seemed to sag in relief as he saw Rhaenyra being cradled in his brother's arms. Margaret peaked in from behind her husband, her eyes wide and her face pale.

"How," Daemon huffed out, glaring toward Rickon, "Do you run so damned fast? We left before you, and you still beat us!"

Rickon didn't bother responding, and Rhaenyra could feel him trembling as he held her. She pulled away slightly before resting her forehead on his and cupping his cheeks within her palms.

"I am alright," She whispered before moving to grab one of his hands so she could press it to her swollen belly, "We both are, for that matter."

He melted before her eyes, his expression turning gentle as he leaned in to kiss her deeply. She vaguely heard Kaegan gagging somewhere in the background, but she hardly cared. Then Rickon pulled away, a cold look shuttering over his face as he turned toward the maid.

"You conspired to treason," He said, voice stoic as he drew Ice, "You attempted the murder of the Crown Princess and her unborn child."

"T'was not I," The girl whimpered, "They...they wanted..."

"Who?" Daemon practically snarled as he stepped into the room properly, "Who was it? Who gave the order?"

The girl's entire face crumpled and she lunged forward, still on her hands and knees. Rickon pushed Rhaenyra behind him, but the princess was not the girl's target. Instead, she scraped the lemons from the floor as quickly as she could. Kaegan moved forward, understanding her intention and trying to stop her. He grabbed her by the wrists a moment too late as she swallowed the lethal poison, tears dripping down her cheeks as she accepted her death.

"Get a purgative!" Daemon roared, intent on not losing whatever information she had, but they all knew it was useless.

She was dead in under a minute, collapsed cold and blue on the ground.

“You don’t need her. You already know who gave the order,” A tired voice comes from behind the rest.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened as everyone turned in shock to see Alicent standing there, pale as a ghost.

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra said in a stricken voice, “You should be resting after your labors.”

She moved from Rickon’s side, quickly sweeping her weak friend into her arms and guiding her to the couch. The queen sat heavily, her eyes devestated.

“I didn’t know,” She croaked out, grabbing Rhaenyra by the sleeve to keep her from moving away, “I didn’t, I swear I didn’t.”

“I know,” Rhaenyra whispered soothingly, smoothing Alicent’s sweaty hair away from her forehead, “You had nothing to do with this, I know that, Alicent.”

”But my father-“ She objected weakly.

Rhaenyra swallowed hard, “If it was-“

”Then we’ll gut Otto fucking Hightower and have his head on a pike.” Daemon snarls.

Rickon whipped around to glare at him, shooting a pointed look at Alicent. The queen had gone deathly pale, her hands trembling in her lap as she tried to control her breathing. Despite what she’d been told time and time again, she feared she would be incriminated just because of her blood. That her head, in Daemon’s scenario, would be on a pike right beside her father’s.

Rickon knelt at her side, taking one of her shaking hands in his own, “You know I take no pleasure in distressing you.”

”I know what must be done.” Alicent croaked out, “You needn’t baby me.”

Rickon steadily ignored her, “And you know I must do whatever I deem necessary to protect my family.”

”I do.” She whispered, her voice trembling, “Truly.”

”Then, please, Alicent,” He said softly as he took one of her hands in his own, “Bear in mind that you are my family as well.”

Her eyes widened, darting from him to Rhaenyra. The crown princess only placed a supportive hand on her husband’s shoulder, the other resting protectively over the swell of her stomach.

”He speaks the truth.” Rhaenyra said, “Whatever your father’s sins might be, they are not yours. You are ours, Alicent, not his. We protect what is ours.”

The queen’s face crumpled, her brows drawing together as she fought back her tears, “Rickon told me what you did. What you said to your father.”

“I said what needed to be said,” She shrugged slightly, “That is all.”

”You should not have,” Alicent whispered quietly, the words choked, “It puts strain on your relationship with the king.”

”Better that than having you die,” Rhaenyra swore fiercely, “You or my sweet brother, neither were a sacrifice I was willing to make. My father will get over it and heed my words if he is wise.”

”Daeron,” Alicent chuckled weakly at the confused look on Rhaenyra’s face, “I named him Daeron, Nyra.”

“That sounds quite familiar,” Daemon spoke up in the background, sounding entirely too smug.

Rickon rolled his eyes harder than Rhaenyra had ever seen anyone manage.

“it’s beautiful, Ali.” Rhaenyra said softly, ignoring her uncle entirely.

The queen remained quiet a beat too long, staring down at her hands with tearful eyes and a trembling bottom lip.

”Well, corpse in the middle of the room aside, I guess now is better than ever.” Margaret announced.

Bennard blinked, looking at his wife in confusion. Once all eyes had drawn to her, Alicent included, Margaret made her announcement with glee.

”I’m with child.”

Then she happily watched the room descend into chaos.

Bennard ended up fainting. Kaegan and Rickon had to carry him to lie next to Alicent on Rhaenyra’s nice couch until he could be brought to. Daemon and Kaegan had disappeared shortly after; something about having a discussion with her father.

Privately, Rhaenyra did not think it was going to be a pleasant one. Daemon had been pushing for a harsher punishment for Otto’s meddling for some time now, and this would just fuel his fire.

That and…well, Daemon had grown to be quite fond of Helaena and, as a result, Alicent. To think he would grow to be protective of a Hightower was nigh inconceivable. Despite that, the princess had the feeling her uncle would be backing her words on leaving Alicent in her own chambers from now on.

Luckily, Margaret’s announcement had managed to take Alicent’s mind off everything. Even as Ser Criston dragged the corpse off, she cooed over the idea of all their children being so close to each other in age. Daeron would grow up being peers with both Rhaenyra and Margaret’s babes, likely attending the same lessons and sharing many milestones.

If Rhaenyra was honest, she thought the move was rather masterful on Margaret’s part. Alicent was spiraling after the events of the night, and this pulled her right out of it. It saved the queen a breakdown even if it cost Margaret’s husband his consciousness.

Later, after the queen was escorted away to rest by Margaret and a freshly woken but still pale Bennard, Rhaenyra looked to Rickon. Her husband was still pale and tense, wired tight, his jaw twitching with tension.

”Husband,” She sighed quietly, drawing closer to him, “My love.”

”My heart,” He responded, his eyes drawn to her immediately as he reaches for her.

She saw the wolf in his eyes lurking, waiting to rip any threat apart. She could tell in the way his hand twitched to his belt, as if reaching for Ice despite having since taken his sword off. Magnar was a mirror of his owner; prowling, growling, doing anything but lay by Daria who remained at Rhaenyra’s feet.

His hands settle on her hips as he folds her into his embrace, as if to shield her from any threat.

”I am alright,” She reassured him again, taking his face between her palms, “Our little one is alright.”

His hands ran up and down the expanse of her back as he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

”I want my mother here soon,” He finally spoke after a long moment, “As well as a Northern guard. For you, but also Alicent. The children might be safe as they are central to whatever plot Hightower has cooked up, but I don’t doubt Alicent is disposable to him. Should she step out of line-“

”And she will. I know should he call on her, she would rebuff him.” Rhaenyra closed her eyes at the thought, remembering how slick Alicent’s blood was on her hands, “He cannot touch her.”

”He won’t,” He swore fiercely, “I’ll rip his heart out myself if he touches any of you.”

Her fingers curl into his tunic as she looks up into those cool eyes, “Who did you have in mind?”

“Gillane and her husband to be, for starters. She is like family to me; she would protect you as I would.” He said, “And perhaps Lady Mormont for the queen?”

Rhaenyra’s lips quirked up into a smile at the thought, “She did seem rather taken with Alicent, didn’t she?”

”Jorelyn is similar to Kaegan in that way,” He chuckled slightly, “Nevertheless, she is dedicated and a skilled warrior. If she is given a task, she will see it through.”

”I do think a guard retinue is prudent, though.” She agreed quietly, “For both Alicent and myself.”

”We might seek Marya’s expertise as well.” He suggests, “Perhaps Robert and Robyn, too.”

”You’d drag all your cousins south again?” Rhaenyra chuckled.

”I would,” He said, entirely serious, “And they would answer the call without question. What was done is tantamount to a declaration of war and the Reach should feel lucky we have no solid proof or I would be calling upon our banners already.”

Her smile faded as she thought it over, “It’s not a bad idea. They are loyal to the Starks above all.”

”And you,” He reminded her, bumping their noses together, “Their Dragon Queen.”

He kissed her then, warm lips enveloping hers as he sat on the fine velvet lounge. He gently pulled her onto his lap, careful of her stomach as he gripped her thighs in strong hands. She forced back a gasp as he brought his mouth to the pulse point on her neck. From there, he dragged his lips up to her jaw and trailed a line of kisses to her mouth.

“I don’t want a war,” He mummered against her lips, “But I’ll give them one if they’re looking for it. For you. For my queen, my wife. For our children and our family. Your enemies are mine.”

”As yours are mine, husband.” Rhaenyra smiled, running a hand through his long, dark hair, “Until the end of our days.”

”Hightower will not step a foot into this keep,” He said, “I care not if your father wishes it. Until we can prove who was behind this treason, he is my first suspect.”

”Rightfully so, most likely. I believe my uncle is taking care of that, at least.” She gave him a wry smile, “If he can manage it without getting exiled in the process.”

”To be perfectly honest, it’s likely in the man’s best interest to not attempt a visit.” Rickon said, “Not that I wouldn’t love to see him get run through by multiple blades at once, but he’d be dead before the first night was over. I believe even my brother would pick up a sword for that.”

”Margaret certainly would,” Rhaenyra quipped.

”I don’t doubt it,” Rickon scoffed, “Especially with the pregnancy hormones. The woman is a terror to anyone standing in her way.”

“Now, husband,” She began softly, “Will you rest? I’ve grown tired myself. We can gather our guards and families tomorrow, but for now I wish to sleep.”

”I suppose that can be arranged,” He grinned, scooping her into his arms as he stood.

He carried her bridal style to their bed, his eyes soft as he laid her down gently. Despite their best efforts, not much sleeping was done that night.

Chapter Text

Kaegan was more than happy to support Daemon on his warpath. His lover began turning the Red Keep upside down the second they left Rickon and Rhaenyra’s chambers, intent to snuff out any further harm to his family. No servant, lord, or lady was spared the inquisition he began; the Rogue Prince was as ruthless as he was efficient.

It was kind of hot, if Kaegan was honest with himself. Having those thoughts after his sister-by-law was nearly poisoned was certainly improper, but he couldn’t help it. Seeing Daemon like this, fierce and full of righteous anger, made him hot under the collar.

The questioning went on well into the morning, neither of the men sleeping. They found out very little about the traitorous servant; only that she was from the Reach and rather new to King’s Landing. She hailed not from Old Town, as they would have suspected, but Highgarden. It was only when they discovered her name, however, that Daemon finally had a target to hone in on.

Brynna Flowers, the bastard daughter of Lord Matthos Tyrell. The Warden of the South’s blood implicated in an attempted assassination. She was purportedly sent to work in King’s Landing by the lord’s lady wife in an attempt to hide Lord Tyrell’s affair.

Daemon smelled a cover up. Kaegan didn’t disagree.

Of course, the king was unaware of all this happening. He didn’t even know his eldest daughter was almost poisoned. When Rhaenyra barred him from Alicent’s birthing chamber, he had run off with his tail between his legs. When he finally emerged from his sulking, it was toward the end of Daemon’s tirade.

The brothers had…well, to say they had words was putting it rather nicely.

The king was distraught to learn how close to death his daughter, and by extension his unborn grandchild, had been. He was even more so when Daemon laid the blame for it all square at his feet. Viserys tried to argue, but Daemon was vicious and unrelenting. The second son had been sharpening his tongue like a sword all night, ready for this confrontation.

He cut Viserys to ribbons.

Kaegan briefly worried that Daemon truly would get himself exiled, but the king only bowed his head and suffered his brother’s words. Perhaps it was the shock of all the news, or perhaps he knew the criticisms weren’t unfounded.

”You try so hard to be peaceable that you bring violence directly to the doorstep of those you claim to love.” Daemon hissed, “You are the king. You are not naïve, brother. Quit acting like it. Rhaenyra is your heir. Lord Tyrell’s bastard made an attempt on her life with conspirators of unknown identity. What will you do about it?”

Viserys had whitened, pursing his lips, “You have your suspicions.”

”Of course I have my fucking suspicions,” The prince spat, “You’d have to be blind and deaf not to. Otto Hightower wants his grandson’s ass on that throne no matter the means.”

”We cannot make unfounded accusations,” Viserys said weakly, “If we have no proof-“

”Then we find proof and move against him in the meantime.” Daemon sneered, “Get Lord Tyrell here with haste. His blood was involved directly and accusations can certainly be made against him. I want a satisfactory defense. In the absence of one, I will mount Caraxes and burn Highgarden to ash.”

The king nodded, stilted and hesitant but accepting, “I will send the raven.”

”You will,” Daemon agreed.

Viserys glanced between him and Kaegan, his eyes full of sorrow, “You are right, brother. I am sorry I did not realize it sooner.”

Daemon did not console him, only saying, “Then right it now. Protect your heir.”

”It is not just Rhaenyra I owe an apology to,” Viserys met his brother’s gaze, “I have long dismissed you, yet it appears you have been this family’s staunchest defender these past few months. Yet, despite your loyalty, I have not afforded you the only request you’ve made of me.”

Daemon stilled, raising an eyebrow. Kaegan could tell from the tense line of his shoulders that the prince did not fully know what to expect. Kaegan only hoped it was not another blow; his lover could only suffer so many from his brother before he broke.

”You marriage to Lady Royce,” Viserys announced, “It will be dissolved. Rhaenyra pointed out to me the foolishness of keeping you both in such a hostile matrimony; she was correct. It is high time I fixed our grandmother’s mistake.”

Daemon stared at his brother with wide eyes, his shock clear. Kaegan nudged him slightly, nodding toward the king.

The prince jolted slightly, giving Viserys a stiff nod, “Thank you…brother.”

”And thank you, Lord Bolton,” The king looked at Kaegan suddenly, “For being a friend to my brother. Your companionship brings out the best in him, I must say.”

Both men froze, staring at Viserys blankly. Kaegan gave him a tepid smile, trying to muster a response, but before he could even get a word out Daemon was already howling in laughter.

Shiera and Bethany were beside themselves at the news of what had happened the night prior. The Strong girls served Rhaenyra and the Queen breakfast, fretting over both women after the harrowing night they’d had.

”Just awful,” Shiera mourned, “He’s a beautiful babe, your grace, but I’m so sorry for the pain it caused you.”

Alicent blinked, as if someone apologizing for the pain she’d been caused was a foreign concept. Rhaenyra, who bounced Aemond on her knee, reached across the table with he free hand to squeeze Alicent’s.

”She was brave,” The crown princess said, “And gave me another dear brother.”

”My brother!” Aegon announced suddenly from the floor, where he’d been previously occupied playing with Helaena, “Dae is my brother!”

”Yes, Egg, he is.” Rhaenyra smiled down at the boy affectionately.

”Sat by him,” Aegon puffed his little chest out with pride, “And Hel and Aem. Ben, too!”

”Good, sweet boy.” Alicent finally spoke, looking at her eldest, “Ben will have a sibling soon, too.”

”Another one?” Aegon’s eyes widened as he glanced around, as if mentally tallying up all the children in the royal nursery, “That’s…a lot.”

Rhaenyra raised a brow in amusement, “You don’t have to personally guard them all, Egg.”

”No!” Aegon insisted, balling his little hands up into fists, “I do it!”

”I will do it,” Alicent idly corrected him.

”Yeah!” Aegon nodded, “That!”

”Aww,” Bethany cooed over the little prince, “He reminds me of Harwin.”

”He does,” Shiera agreed, “Our big brother would knock skulls for any of us. Especially Larys, what with his foot and all.”

”Our little dragons are fierce,” Rhaenyra chuckled, “And our little wolf. Ben has become quite adept at toddling around with Aemond.

”Ben gives Hel ants,” Aegon mutters, “Gross, but she likes them. Dunno why.”

”Pretty,” Little Helaena whispered.

Alicent’s brow furrowed in concern as she looked down at her daughter. The little girl’s odd words made sense when Rhaenyra made the connection to Daenys the Dreamer. Daemon had corroborated it before he left, leaving Alicent wondering where to go from there.

She knew raising children wouldn’t be easy, but what did one do when their toddler was a prophet?

These so-called dragon dreams had saved Rhaenyra’s life, though. For that alone, Alicent was grateful.

She looked down at Daeron, the babe sleeping soundly in her arms. This was her first child who did not squall when she held them; chest tightening, she though she was perhaps finally getting ahold of this motherhood thing.

The door of Rhaenyra’s solar swung open, Rickon walking in from the hallway. Aegon immediately stood, dashing forward on little legs to throw his arms around Rickon. The Stark caught him, tossing him up into the air as Aegon squealed in delight.

Aemond stirred in Rhaenyra’s arms, blinking tired violet eyes up at Rickon as he pouted at being woken. He settled soon, though, and held out a chubby little hand for the Stark heir.

”Papa,” He called out, his eyes locked on Magnar who followed behind Rickon, “Playtime?”

Rickon froze, a squirming and confused Aegon in his arms. He looked as if he’d been hit, all the wind knocked from him as he stared at Aemond with wide eyes. Alicent’s lips trembled as she pressed a hand over her mouth, and suddenly Rhaenyra was there. With Aemond still clutched in one arm, the princess knelt by the queen.

”It’s okay,” She said softly.

Rickon finally moved, setting Aegon carefully back down. Alicent’s eldest watched the interaction closely as Rickon drew close to his wife and the younger prince.

”Want to play with Magnar, Aem?” He asked softly as he took Aemond gently from Rhaenyra’s arms.

Alicent’s eyes slipped closed, tears falling, and Rhaenyra stood to wrap an arm around her. She drew Alicent and Daeron into her embrace, stroking the queen’s back in gentle motions.

Aegon, meanwhile, came over to tug at Rickon’s tunic incessantly, “We call you that?”

Rickon looked unfathomably sad, “If you want to, Egg.”

The little boy seemed to think about it for a moment before nodding determinedly, “Papa.”

”Papa?” Helaena echoed, looking up at Rickon with big eyes, “Papa! Papa!”

She waved a doll in his direction and he chuckled, joining her on the floor. He sat Aemond down beside Magnar and accepted the doll from Helaena. Aegon immediately flopped over in his lap, babbling something about Sunfyre to which Rickon listened dutifully.

”Thank you,” Alicent whispered into Rhaenyra’s shoulders.

”I am sorry my father is not present,” Rhaenyra said in return.

The queen pulls away just far enough to give her friend a smile, “Good men are few in this world. Thank you for bringing my children one.”

Rhaenyra’s due date loomed closer and closer. Rickon had already sent letters to those he intended to bring south, and received only confirmations in response. It wasn’t exactly a surprise to Rhaenyra; she knew they were loyal to a fault, after all. Still, to receive that kind of blind devotion with not even a little push back was on another level.

Daemon was the one tasked with bringing them to King’s Landing. As Caraxes was larger than Syrax, it was determined that Daemon would fly between the Red Keep and the various holdfasts in the North over the span of about a week. He whined a bit, of course, but there was never any question of if he would do it. He had volunteered, after all.

The day he left, they all bid him safe travels from the Dragonpit. Even Viserys had turned up that morning to see his brother go, a proud gleam in his eye from where he stood by Rhaenyra. Alicent held Helaena tightly beside Rickon, who held Aemond. The little girl kept trying desperately to squirm from her mother’s grasp to reach her departing uncle.

”I’ll be back soon, little dreamer.” Daemon chuckled, patting Helaena on the head.

”Eight, like a spider’s legs.” Helaena mumbled.

”Ah,” Daemon nodded, procuring a small book and piece of charcoal from his bag, muttering as he wrote, “Eight…like spider’s legs…”

The king’s gaze darted between his younger daughter and brother, confusion plain on his face.

”Helaena has dragon dreams, father.” Rhaenyra supplied, “She was the one who told Daemon that Tears of Lys would be administered through lemon cakes.”

”Crying lemons,” Helaena chimed in, ominously on cue.

Viserys looked bewildered, swallowing hard as he nodded, “I…I see…”

”Well,” Daemon snapped the book shut and passed it off to Rickon, “I’ll be off. Write whatever ominous phrases she spouts off in here.”

Rickon accepted the book with a wry smile, “Of course.”

Kaegan huffed, crossing his arms, “Be safe.”

He was sour Viserys had showed up; the rest of them knew that quite well. With the king present, Kaegan knew not to bid Daemon farewell as he would have liked to. With obnoxious displays of affection, that is.

Daemon’s eyes narrowed at his lover as he took in the slight pout on the Bolton’s lips. He stepped forward and Rhaenyra began mentally counting down the second to chaos. A quick glance at her husband and Margaret told her that they were doing the same thing.

Daemon grabbed Kaegan by the waist, reeling him in and pressing their lips together. Kaegan gasped into the kiss, clutching at Daemon’s shoulders as the prince pressed their bodies flush. 

There it is. Right on time, she thought.

Bennard gasped, clearly not having expected that in front of the king, but Margaret shamelessly whistled and cheered. Alicent only sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, while Rickon just rolled his eyes. Viserys, however, was in a state of complete and utter shock.

He was only jolted from his stunned state when Kaegan moaned in the background, making the king turn sharply around.

”I…see I have missed out on a great many things.” The king swallowed, “A…great many, indeed.”

Daemon finally broke the kiss, bowing toward the rest of his family with a smirk while keeping an arm wrapped around Kaegan’s waist, “I will return shortly with dear Lady Lysa and the woods witch. Don’t miss me too fiercely.”

Kaegan staggered away as Daemon released him, flushed as he attempted to hide behind Margaret. The woman only snickered at him.

”Do not torment my mother when she’s stuck on the back of a dragon with you.” Rickon said, his face deadpan.

”Did he say woods witch?” Viserys muttered in a horrified tone.

”A midwife,” Rhaenyra corrected quickly, shooting Daemon a glare, “He meant midwife, father.”

”Worry not about your lady mother and more about me, nephew by law.” Daemon feigned offense, “I fear she might toss me off of my beloved Caraxes and claim him for her own.”

”Mother is scary enough,” Bennard mused, “If she could claim a dragon, I’d fear for the realm.”

Without any further banter, the Rogue Prince took to the sky. Viserys kept shooting wide eyed glances between Rickon and Kaegan, as if he didn’t know which ordeal to address first.

Kaegan, face still blood red, began to speak, “My apologies, your grace-“

”Don’t apologize,” Rhaenyra commanded, “You have nothing to apologize for. Right, father?”

Viserys looked cautiously at his daughter before nodding, “Yes, Lord Bolton, I can only thank you. My brother does not find companionship easily; it’s heartening to see him happy.”

Rhaenyra gave him a wide smile. He seemed pleased at that, eager to be back in his daughter’s good graces after the debacle with Daeron’s birth.

Kaegan only sagged in relief as Bennard clapped him on the shoulder.

Helaena then looked up at the now-empty sky with excellent timing and said, “Cold. Too cold for flowers.”

Viserys blinked, remaining quiet for a moment before announcing, “And with that, I do believe I shall retire back to my chambers now.”

”Have a good day, father,” Rhaenyra called out to his quickly retreating back.

Rickon, meanwhile, pulled out the book Daemon had given him, “Too cold…for flowers…”

Bennard only glanced at the rest of them inquisitively, “Did we just frighten the king?”

”I believe so, yes.” Margaret smirked, “Serves him right for not giving Alicent a massage or two while she was carrying Daeron. He didn’t even rub her feet!”

”I preferred you to do it,” Alicent informed her quickly, “I can assure you of that.”

”Aww,” Margaret reached out to pat her cheek, “Thanks, Ali. Well, everyone, at least we know how to distract the king now. We can just have Kaegan and Daemon fuck at a feast or something if we need to take his attention off one of us; maybe he’d even faint. Actually, perhaps a tourney would be preferable; they got pretty close last time.“

Kaegan elbowed Margaret sharply, “Stop it. That was so fucking humiliating.”

”You moaned,” Rickon pointed out dryly.

”I mean…well, yeah.” Kaegan shrugged, “Can you blame me?”

Rickon’s nose wrinkled, “Disgusting. Just because it’s Daemon, not anything else, of course.”

Rhaenyra chuckled as Rickon took her arm in his. Aemond, meanwhile, had made his way over to Margaret, who held little Benjen, and the young boys babbled back and forth until Bennard finally picked the prince up so they were eye level with each other.

Aegon trotted back outside beside Rhaenyra, all the while fretting about Daeron being left behind in the nursery.

”He’s too little, Egg.” Rhaenyra tried to explain as they climbed back down from the Dragonpit, “He can’t make trips like this.”

”Papa takes him to the garden with us!” Aegon accused.

Alicent reached down to ruffle her son’s hair with her free hand, “That’s a much smaller trip. He’s more likely to get hurt coming all the way up here.”

Aegon frowned, his little brows furrowing, “Oh…Don’t want Dae getting hurt.”

”We can sit in the garden for a bit with Daeron when we return to the castle, if you’d like.” Rickon offered.

”Yeah!” Aegon instantly brightened, wrapping his arms around Rickon’s legs and damn near tripping him.

As the mixed family exited, they couldn’t see the Dragonkeepers shaking their heads in astonishment behind them.

That evening, Caraxes flew overhead as Daemon returned with his first passengers. The Rogue Prince landed right in the courtyard, much to the fretting of the other court nobility present, and assisted the two women off the great Blood Wyrm.

”Mother,” Rickon sighed in relief, moving forward to sink into her already open arms.

”My son,” She wrapped him in a tight embrace, “I’m so sorry.”

She squeezed him tightly before turning to Rhaenyra, cupping her face in her hands and pressing a kiss to the princess’s forehead.

”And you.” Lady Lysa frowned, her eyes dark and full of anger at their unknown foe, “Whoever was responsible, we will find them and we will kill them all. My lord husband has already begun discussions with our banners; you need worry about but nothing but the babe in your belly.”

Rhaenyra believed her wholeheartedly.

Aegon, the only one of the children old enough to still be awake so late, peeked around Alicent’s legs to stare up at Lysa.

”Hello, little one.” Her face warmed into something kinder as she smiled down at him.

”Papa’s mama?” Aegon looked over at Rickon curiously.

Lysa only raised an eyebrow. Rickon’s cheeks darkened.

”Their father isn’t always around,” He began to explain quietly.

His mother held up a hand as if to shush him, shooting a look over at Kaegan, “I know all about adopting troublemakers. You needn’t explain the situation to me.”

”Hey!” Kaegan crossed his arms, “I’m not a troublemaker. I’ll have you know I’m a respected and valued member of the Small Council!”

Margaret snorted, “Respected?”

”You made out with the king’s brother right in front of him.” Bennard pointed out.

”That’s besides the point,” Kaegan sniffed.

Rickon rolled his eyes, looking instead to the greying woman who stood behind his mother.

”Tanea,” He sighed, “You have no idea how relieved I am to see you.”

”I brought you into this world, it’s only fitting I do the same for your babe as well.” The old woods witch gave Rhaenyra a slight bow, “It’s my honor, princess, to be called upon by not only House Stark but also the crown.”

”Please, it’s I who should be thanking you.” She waved away the bow, “My alternatives were not…inspiring confidence.”

”Maesters might be learned men,” Tanea smirked, “But they’re still men.”

”I’ll be off again,” Daemon sighed as he climbed into the saddle once more, “Karhold is next, and I’m picking up Lady Glover and her betrothed after. We might have to tie poor Osric to Caraxes’s tail, but it should work out.”

”Oh, don’t kill Gillane’s betrothed.” Margaret chuckled, “She spent so long being incredibly obvious about her feelings in hopes the poor, obtuse man would get a clue.”

Lysa sighed in commiseration, as if she remembered the debacle quite well.

”Let us show you both to your chambers,” Rhaenyra cut in as Daemon gave Caraxes the command to fly.

”You’ll be in the royal wing with the rest of us,” Margaret piped up, leaning in to nudge Tanea playfully, “Hot baths every day.”

”It might do these old bones some good,” The witch chuckled.

Caraxes kicked up a wind as he took off again, Aegon cheering as the dragon soared into the skies once more.

Alicent glanced over at Margaret as they walked back into the keep, “Have you told your mother-by-law the news yet?”

Lysa paused, looking over to where Margaret had froze, “What news?”

”Ah,” The blonde woman chuckled slightly, “I fear I may have forgotten about that. Well, you’re to have another grandchild.”

Margaret patted her stomach. Bennard grinned widely, pressing a kiss to his wife’s cheek, over the moon with excitement now that the shock had passed.

Lysa’s eyes widened before she moved forward to sweep Margaret into her arms and fold her into a hug, “I’ll get no rest with you lot, will I?”

”I fear not, mother.” Rickon chuckled, “I fear not.”

Chapter Text

To His Majesty, King Viserys I Targaryen,

I am distressed at the knowledge of an attempt on the crown princess’s life, especially being that my own blood was involved. I will arrive in King’s Landing with my family by the end of the moon’s cycle. I am optimistic that we can sort out this misunderstanding in a way that shows House Tyrell’s loyalty to both the crown and Her Royal Highness Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Lord Matthos Tyrell,

Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South

Daemon scoffed, looking down at the letter in disgust before glancing at Rhaenyra, “He’s really trying to kiss your ass after his bastard tried to kill you?”

"Mmm," She hummed, "It appears that way."

"Let me read it." Marya reached around to try and snatch the letter from Daemon's hands.

He jerked it away from her, one eye twitching, "Begone, beast."

She looked at him, deadpan, and said, "How hurtful. Here I thought we'd really made a connection."

"You acted as if you’d shoot arrows at me as I landed in your decrepit little swamp." The prince bit out, glaring daggers at her.

"Oh, come now, it was merely a jest." She smirked, "If I wanted to hit you, I would've. No arrows ever left my quiver."

Rickon bites back a laugh from where he stands beside Rhaenyra, but the amusement is clear on his face. Kaegan, meanwhile, feigns concern as he bumps his hip against Marya.

"Be careful with him," The Bolton chides her, "I'll never find anyone half as fun to take a tumble with, if you know what I mean."

"Why, thank you, gevie." Daemon practically purred, winding an arm around his lover's waist.

"We all know what you mean," Gillane interrupted, her nose scrunched up, "Painfully aware, actually."

"My love, in all fairness, you didn't knock." Osric says, voice gentle.

"Doors have locks for a reason," She snaps, both at her husband-to-be and Kaegan, "Learn to use them, people. I needn't see a man I consider my brother naked."

It had barely been half a week of Daemon ferrying Northerners to King's Landing and things had already devolved. Gillane and Kaegan bickered half the time, with Osric fruitlessly trying to supervise. Then, mere hours ago, Daemon returned with Marya Reed and practically shoved the Lady Butcher of Greywater Watch off of Caraxes. At this point, since he had returned briefly, Rhaenyra decided to bring the letter from Lord Tyrell to his attention after the stir it caused when it arrived yesterday evening.

Lady Stark had frankly looked every bit like the wolf she married as she'd clenched her jaw, stalking off to write to her Lord Husband. Even the king was wise enough not to impede her; much like Daemon, she now had a target. The Reach. Rhaenyra prayed Lord Matthos Tyrell had a suitable defense when he arrived, or she was nearly certain that Highgarden would be a smoking rubble before all was said and done.

"Just hand it over," Marya finally huffed, jerking the letter from the prince's hands.

Daemon glowered, "I'm surprised you're literate. I saw no maesters in your floating barn."

"There is also no master-at-arms, yet I could outshoot any poor soul you put next to me." She mocked as she scanned the letter before tossing it down and looking up at the crown princess, "Want an arrow in his eye when he rides through the gates?"

Rhaenyra let out a surprised laugh, "Perhaps not...immediately."

"Keep your bow aimed." Rickon muttered, staring daggers down at the letter.

Rhaenyra placed a hand on Rickon's arm, squeezing slightly. His gaze softened when he looked at her, placing his hand over hers in response. Meanwhile, looking entirely mulish, Daemon seemed to struggle between his apparent dislike of Marya and his amusement at the thought of her skewering Lord Tyrell through the head.

"Aye, m'lord, I'll keep an eye on the flowery dolt." Marya winked at Rhaenyra, "Not to worry, though, dragon queen. I'll not be hasty when they arrive."

Daemon sighed heavily, pulling his riding gloves from his belt as he made to turn away, "Well, I have one more trip to make before said flowery dolt gets here and I'd like to get it over with. To Bear Island."

"Be safe," Marya coos after him, a wicked smile curling her lips, "We'd just hate for anything to happen."

Kaegan, in an extremely childish move, opts to stick his tongue out at her before following quickly after Daemon to say his farewells. Rhaenyra gets the feeling that this will be their new normal.

Lady Jorelyn Mormont arrives in a flurry of fur and windswept hair a day later.

The entire time before their estimated arrival, Alicent was picking her cuticles bloody. Rhaenyra wasn't sure what exactly was making her nervous. Her friend had balked at having a personal guard to begin with, maintaining that her father might go after others but never her or her children. The doubt must have shown on Rhaenyra and Rickon's faces, because she soon slumped her shoulders and agreed without further complaint.

It hurt Rhaenyra to see her so downcast. Otto Hightower hadn't even had the grace to write his daughter a letter after the birth of his newest grandson. Perhaps it was shame after a foiled plot, or perhaps he just didn't care about a son he didn't consider to be the heir to the Iron Throne. Even after word of the queen being bedridden due to her difficult labors reached the public, she received nothing from Old Town aside from a letter from her brother, Gwayne.

The queen desperately maintained that he had nothing to do with their father's plotting when the letter arrived and the unspoken question arose. Alicent insisted that her older brother was a devout follower of the Seven, and that he would consider harming a pregnant woman to be a sin against the Mother herself. Rhaenyra felt inclined to let her believe that for now. She had never met Ser Gwayne Hightower, nor did she know much of him outside of Alicent's accounts. Time would tell his true colors, the princess was sure.

Once the matter of the guard was fully settled, Rhaenyra had mentioned who Rickon enlisted for the role. Lady Jorelyn Mormont, whom had crowned Alicent the Queen of Love and Beauty. The queen flustered slightly at this, claiming that the attention had embarrassed her, but Rhaenyra had her doubts. Earlier this morning had been the first time she had risen from bed since her labors aside from attending to her children, insisting she meet her new guard in person.

Out of respect, Alicent earnestly claimed, as she plucked a beautiful dress of light periwinkle from her closet and fussed over her hair.

It's a color that Rhaenyra had not seen her in for some time. Since her marriage to the king, the queen favored the colors of her house by marriage. After the assurance that she would not be forced to bear anymore children, however, she'd been slowly drifting back to the pastels of her youth.

She was still weak after all that had happened, but Kaegan helped her up and down the long flights of stairs with Lady Stark and Tanea hovering close for fear of the worst. Rickon stride beside Rhaenyra, the royal couple arm in arm in front of them all. Bennard attempted to aid his wife, who insisted she did not need his aid, and the other northerners trailed behind them. When Caraxes landed, once more in the courtyard, Rhaenyra feared Alicent might make her hands bleed from the way she picked at her skin.

Most of Jorelyn's hair had fallen free of her braid, leaving it to spill over her shoulders in dark waves. She wore a leather tunic over trousers, and her cloak had a bear fashioned into the leather straps that crossed her chest, securing it in place. She slid off the dragon's wing with a grace Rhaenyra hadn't seen in many, not needing any assistance from Daemon as her feet found solid ground. The Rogue Prince followed soon after, a scowl firmly in place.

"I will have to take dear Helaena for a flight soon," He bit out as he approached their waiting group, "It seems only then will I have a passenger that does not threaten my life mid-journey."

"I did not threaten your life, prince, simply with the loss of a finger if you dipped out of the sky so suddenly again." Jorelyn said, her voice placid, "Just a bit of friendly maiming."

“Because you screamed like a child?” Daemon asked, smirking.

"Jorelyn!" Marya threw her arms up, rushing toward the other woman and preventing her from responding to the prince, "Jorie, it's been forever!"

The redheaded Reed crushed their newest arrival into a hug, making the Mormont roll her eyes as she patted Mayra's back placatingly. Beside Rhaenyra, Alicent wrung her hands.

"Welcome, Lady Mormont." Lysa moved forward, giving her a nod.

"Lady Stark," Jorelyn jolted slightly, brushing Marya off to bow, "An honor to see you again."

"Welcome to King's Landing," The woman gestured around her, "I warn you, it grows stifling here; your furs will be discarded quickly. As will your wits, should you have to suffer through court."

"Of course, my lady." Jorelyn said, lips quirked in amusement.

Her gaze trailed over to where Rhaenyra stood with her family by law, her eyes finally stuttering to a stop on the queen. It was silent for a moment as the two women looked at each other, wide eyed as if they'd somehow forgotten the other would be present.

"Lady Mormont," Alicent said after a moment of silence, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, "It is a pleasure to see you again so soon."

"No, it is my pleasure, your majesty." Jorelyn gave her a shallow bow, a small smile curling her lips, "My honor, as well, to be trusted as your personal guard."

"I can think of no one better," The queen said, flushing slightly once her words caught up with her and she realized exactly what she said.

Daemon coughed to hide a laugh. Kaegan, smiling all the while, elbowed him in the ribs.

"Perhaps we should all head inside and allow the prince to return his dragon to the pit." Lady Stark suggested, "Before any weaker willed lord or lady faints at the sight."

So they did. Jorelyn stepped into place behind Alicent, and the queen swallowed harshly as if forcing herself not to turn her head and sneak a glance at her new guard.

That same night, Rhaenyra sat on the couch while Rickon knelt before her. He had one gentle hand laid on her swollen belly as he felt multiple little kicks from the babe still in his wife's womb.

Rhaenyra hummed, "She's enthusiastic,"

"She?" Rickon looked up with a raised brow, "You believe it's a girl?"

"I'd like a daughter," The princess confessed quietly, "I always wanted a sister when I was younger, and now it would be good for Helaena to have another girl to play with."

"I believe Helaena prefers the company of her insects," Her husband chuckled slightly before his smile warmed to something more tender, "I'd like a girl, too. Beautiful, just like her mother."

Those eyes of his were anything but cold now when she looked upon him.

"Foolish," Rhaenyra whispered.

"Besotted," He suggested, "Or, at least, that what some of the ladies in court whisper."

"Oh, you pay attention to the whispers of court now?" She smiled, her amusement plain.

"Not at all," He said bluntly, "Alicent does, though, and she's all too eager to share."

"Believe me, I know." Rhaenyra said, scooting closer to the edge of the couch to draw closer to him, "I think it's time to choose their cradle egg, prince or princess they may be."

"Cradle egg?" His glanced up at her, "Like your siblings have, I presume?"

"Yes," Her brow furrowed, "We will also need to choose one for Daeron. I inquired after the egg while Alicent slept after all that happened, but the Dragonkeepers said one was never chosen."

"She can come with us, then. The children, too, if you'd like them to take part." Rickon suggested.

Rhaenyra nodded once, definitively, "I would. My father should have..."

She bit back the words, her jaw clenched. Rickon tried to soothe what he knew was a wave of anger rising, resting a hand on her hip and rubbing circles into the soft fabric of her night shift.

"My father should have chosen Daeron's egg. Aegon's too, and Helaena's, and Aemond's." She found the strength to push the words out around the emotions threatening to strangle her, "As he chose mine. Instead he ordered the Dragonkeepers to merely pick one, and apparently even that was too much effort for his newest child."

"We will do it, then." Rickon assured her, grasping both her hands in his, "You will. We will be for them what he cannot."

"What he will not," She corrected bitterly.

Rickon sighed, "He married Alicent only for duty, and thus I fear he does not see his children sired by her as truly his. He loved your mother in the only way he knew how, as most men do, and cannot see beyond her image in you."

"He butchered my mother," She whispered, lips trembling as tears flushed her eyes.

"Oh, love." He muttered, taking her into his arms.

"I know it has been years since she passed, soon to be four, but I still remember burning her. How the maids said she screamed, begged my father not to do it. I love him, I do, but how can I forget?" She looked up at him with desperate eyes, as if he might hold all the answers, "Especially when he was so keen to repeat his mistakes. They need her, my siblings need Alicent, just as I need-"

She was cut off by her own cries, her form trembling as she buried her face in Rickon's chest to heave her sobs. Mourning for a mother lost, a friend almost taken.

"They have her," Rickon whispered into the crown of her head, "They have you. I know not why your father did what he did, to your mother or Alicent. Perhaps he did not realize, and now he does. I know only one thing for certain, wife of mine, and that is that you cannot forget. You can forgive if you like, move on, but the pain will always be there."

"But I want it to go away," She pleaded, feeling like a small child whining, "I want my mother."

"I know, love." He stroked her hair, ever patient, "I watched my father mourn his two brothers my entire life. One elder and one younger. He never stopped. I asked him only once, too young then to truly understand grief, what could make it better. He told me that it's a pain not even time can soothe. That sometimes you might forget it's there, but it will strike when you least expect it."

She pulled back slightly, sniffing, "How did they die?"

"Wildlings who strayed south." He said, "They attacked my grandfather and his sons on their way back from visiting the Wall. My father left home a second son and returned the Lord of Winterfell."

"That is awful," Rhaenyra breathed out, "I never truly expected to be the heir, either. It is...jarring, I suppose, to be charged with your house so suddenly and so young."

"At sixteen." He agreed, idly fretting over pushing her hair away from her tear stained face, "My grandmother helped guide him, and later my mother when they wed at eighteen. He feared failing his remaining family, especially my aunts."

"They adore him, I can tell that much from the few interactions I've seen between the three." Rhaenyra scoffed at the notion before going quiet for a moment, her eyes far away, "I hope they adore me."

She was not talking about Rickon's aunts. She was referring to little Aegon, whom toddled around with toy dragons. Helaena, who played with spiders and ants and whom saved her sister's life. Aemond, who was so young but already so precocious. Little Daeron, the infant who Rhaenyra helped bring into this world.

"They will," Rickon smiled up at her, "They do."

She bit at her lip for a moment, her gaze traveling down to her belly, "I wish my mother were here. To hold my hand, to see the babe, to hear their cries when they are born."

He stayed silent, holding her close. A rock for her waves to crash against, an anchor to help her weather the storm.

"We will go tomorrow," She confirmed, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips.

He returned the favor, his body like a shield around her as he cradled her neck and waist. After, he rested his forehead against hers, her warm breath washing over him, still smelling of citrus and sugar.

"Tomorrow, then."

"We should probably just stay here," Margaret suggested, little Ben held close to her chest as she glanced at her husband and good mother, "This is a tradition for you lot, aye?"

"You can come," Rhaenyra insisted from beside her husband, "You should come. This will be your niece or nephew, and Lady Stark's grandchild. You are their family, and mine."

Alicent hovered behind her, Daeron swaddled in her arms. Daemon held Helaena as he usually did, Kaegan at his side playing with the little princess's hair. Aegon was half asleep in Rhaenyra's arms, which left Jorelyn herself holding Aemond. The Mormont woman looked down at the boy, her lips curled in amusement as he squirmed to try and reach for the shiny hilt of her sword.

"I have never chosen a cradle egg before, either." Alicent said, "It would be nice not to be the only one."

"And I'm going," Jorelyn said rather bluntly, "I'm not even family by marriage. Or...adoption, is it?"

Kaegan rolled his eyes, giving her a rather rude gesture.

Aemond then took some of her hair into his hands, tugging on it as if trying to get Jorelyn's attention. The woman shot the little prince an annoyed yet mildly fond look, wrangling him properly into her arms once more. Alicent bit her lip as if trying to keep herself from smiling.

"They aren't wrong, you know." Bennard smiled down at his wife slightly.

"My son speaks true," Lysa said, her hands clasped in front of her, "And I must admit some curiosity to the process besides."

"I must agree, my lady." Tanea smiled slightly, making the wrinkles by the woods witch's eyes stand out even more, "I know many things, but dragons are something foreign to me."

"Well, we're going by boat I'm afraid." Daemon hoisted Helaena up higher into his arms so she might chase a dragonfly, "Unless we strap a few of you to Caraxes's tail, that is. Any volunteers? Mormont? Stark?"

Bennard blanched. Lysa shot him a narrow glare.

"Elder Stark son," Daemon corrected himself swiftly.

"I wonder when Magnar might be old enough to eat a man," Rickon mused, glancing down at where his wolf came to heel by Daria in front of him and Rhaenyra.

"Caraxes would be upset," Rhaenyra chided.

"Caraxes?" Kaegan looked at her incredulously, "What about me? Would everyone please stop threatening to off my...erm..."

"Your?" Jorelyn smirked, prompting him, "Your what?"

"Friend," Kaegan choked out.

"Lover," Daemon said at the same time, his grin vicious.

Jorelyn rolled her eyes at the both of them, "Either way, a boat suits me just fine. No need to pull out the rope; keep it in your chambers, please."

Bennard choked on air, torn between a laugh and a wheeze.

Alicent chuckled nervously, "I'm in agreeance. Flying doesn't truly suit me; I think a boat would do me better."

"I've been on many a ship before," Jorelyn's expression lightens when she looks at the queen, all traces of annoyance gone, "Living on an island, that is the way of things. Of course, the Ironborn don't make it easy, but they die quick enough."

Alicent's eyes widen, "You have...fought in many battles before?"

"Did you think I let her beat me?" Kaegan tossed the Mormont a teasing grin, "This one is tough as nails."

"Aye," Jorelyn smirked in his direction, resting her hand on the pommel of her sword, "And don't you forget it."

When Rhaenyra took a closer look at the blade the woman had strapped to her hip, she noticed the pommel was actually fashioned into a roaring bear head. Then she saw the ripples in the dark metal and it told her all she needed to know about the value of the weapon.

"That's Valyrian steel," Rhaenyra said, glancing up at Jorelyn, "I was unaware House Mormont was in possession of such a thing."

"Longclaw, it's called." The Mormont nodded, "It has been entrusted to me by my father."

"You must have a very impressive reputation." Alicent noted, her eyes wide.

"That she does," Kaegan said eagerly to the queen, "She's the She-Bear of Bear Island!"

Jorelyn's entire face scrunched, shifting to hold Aemond in one arm as she swung to try and hit Kaegan, "That is not a title. Certainly not my title, it sounds ridiculous!"

He danced out of her reach, cackling. This was going to be a much longer trip than Rhaenyra had anticipated.

The two day journey was, in fact, grueling. Alicent had been seasick thrice, her stomach still not fully settled after all her problems birthing Daeron. Honestly, Rhaenyra wasn't sure if she was blushing from embarrassment or because each time Jorelyn would guide her to go sit, holding a hand on the queen's lower back to steady her.

Aegon had also announced he wanted to be a pirate. Which...raised some eyebrows, to say the least. 

"But mama," The boy had whined to Alicent, "It's so pretty!"

"Well, yes, but-" The queen looked up at Rhaenyra with pleading eyes.

"What about Sunfyre, little brother?" The princess knelt at his side, "He could not join you on the sea."

"I'll just get a real big boat," Aegon stubbornly insisted.

"What about your siblings?" Alicent asked, looking down at Daeron, "You'd never see them."

"They'll come too," Aegon asserted, as if he somehow knew it to be a fact.

"Ocean?" Helaena piped up from where she sat on a blanket, her eyes wide and curious.

"Yeah!" The little prince cheered, "We're gonna be pirates, Hel!"

Alicent paled, as if the though of her children getting a really big boat and becoming the first ever pirate crew with a dragon was actually concerning to her.

Kaegan bounded down to the deck right at that moment, sweeping Aegon into his arms, "Did I hear someone say pirates?"

"Yeah!" Aegon cheered loudly, joined by Kaegan.

”Outstanding!” The Bolton crowed, “Can I join your crew, little Egg?”

”Duh, Uncle Kae!” Aegon grinned, “We’ll be the most greatest pirates ever!”

Alicent sighed, leaning against the rail. She’d clearly given up persuading her eldest.

Jorelyn's head poked up from the hatch leading to the hold where she'd been fetching some fruit, "Are you feeling ill again, your grace?"

"No," The queen turned red, "No, I'm fine."

"I found some oranges," The Mormont offered, "Might I peel one for you?"

"No, that's-" Alicent paused, "Actually, yes, that would be lovely."

Rickon buried his head in Rhaenyra's shoulder to hide his amusement, whispering to her, "I've never seen Jorelyn so attentive to anything other than sharpening her blade."

Rhaenyra bit back a giggle, smacking him lightly on the stomach, "Hush."

"I speak only the truth," He grinned down at her.

"You know, I'd almost forgotten I should be careful with you so close to water," Rhaenyra nudged Rickon with a smile, "You might go tumbling in."

He flushed at the very tops of his cheeks, "I was a babe."

"A babe who tried to drown himself, as your mother tells it. I believe I said once I should watch taking you too close to the see." She poked him lightly in the side, "I've got an eye on you."

He glanced down at her and smiled, "Well, I can't object to that."

Now she was the one flushing, even as Kaegan began getting the children to chant something about stealing gold and plundering the seas.

Needless to say, when they finally docked in Dragonstone it was a mercy for all. The children were herded off, though Aegon stubbornly wanted to stay on the boat, and the Dragonkeepers met them on the shore.

"Princess, welcome home." One of the Dragonkeepers, bald and stout, bowed, "You are here for an egg?"

"Two," Rhaenyra specified, "One for Daeron as well."

The Dragonkeeper blinked, "Oh. Of course, your highness. We are nursing the eggs you sent from Syrax's most recent clutch, as well as several remaining from Dreamfyre."

"Escort us to the hatchery first, so we might select the eggs." Rhaenyra instructed, "We will stay tonight and return to the Red Keep on the morrow."

"Of course," The man agreed, motioning them forward, "I will also have someone notify staff to prepare adequate accommodations for your party in Sea Dragon Tower."

The hatchery was in the catacombs beneath Dragonmont. It was stiflingly hot below, suitable for the eggs yet to hatch. The domed caverns had pits burrowed into the ground where the eggs were kept among flames, glistening in the fire.

"By the Old Gods and the New," Margaret breathed out as the newcomers took in the hatchery for the very first time.

The Dragonkeeper gestured to the left as they entered, "This way, princess, for Syrax's clutch."

"Would you like to select Daeron's first?" Rhaenyra pushed Alicent forward gently.

The queen looked a bit overwhelmed, her eyes wide as she took in just how Targaryen dragons were incubated and some were hatched outside of cradles, "I...I suppose."

She swallowed hard, looking down at the eggs with Daeron in her arms. She kept glancing down at the babe, like her newborn might have some input.

"This one," Helaena said suddenly, "Egg."

Aegon looked up at his nickname, glancing at his sister in confusion. Helaena was not talking to him, though; instead, her chubby little finger pointed toward an egg that was black in color but had sapphire veins shooting across the shell. Alicent approached it cautiously, looking down into the flames.

"I-I guess we'll take this one?" She looked at the gathered party uncertainly.

"I'd suggest it, yes." Daemon said drolly.

"And now for this little one," Rhaenyra pressed a hand to her stomach as the Dragonkeepers came with tongs to retrieve Daeron's egg, "Which do you want, hmm?"

She felt a rambunctious little kick in her belly and chucked. She stepped forward, her eyes scanning over each egg critically. Perhaps she was overthinking it, but she wanted to choose correctly. If a hatchling came from this cradle egg, it would be her first child's life long companion.

No pressure.

He gaze finally fell upon an olive green egg that seemed to simmer under the fire; she could feel the energy inside, practically ready to burst into life. Just like the child within her. The shell of the egg was more jagged than the others, the scales covering it more jagged. She imagined she might bleed if she ran her finger along them.

"This one," She pointed at it.

The Dragonkeeper addressed her as another collected the second egg, "We will prepare them for transport to King's Landing, your highness."

As they left, she saw Aemond's gaze locked on the eggs they left behind. Helaena seemed to have no such issues; her little sister was never too worried about hatching a dragon or claiming one. Perhaps she already knew who her mount would be, Rhaenyra mused. Her dreams were a gift Aemond did not have; the boy was merely forced to continue wondering. She stepped closer to Jorelyn as she led Aegon out by the hand, smoothing a hand over the boy's hair. He looked up at her, instantly brightening.

For now, that was enough.

"It was definitely not what I pictured," Margaret chuckled as they all sat around the grand table of Dragonstone, "None of this is."

"I loved the hatchery as a child," Rhaenyra admitted, "I'd beg my father to let me go just look at the eggs. Back then it was only Dreamfyre laying clutches; recently, Syrax has begun to as well."

"Syrax is the prettiest," Aegon said promptly, pushing the food around on his plate, "Outside of Sunfyre."

"Eat, my dearest." Alicent bid him, "Else you'll be hungry when we get back on the boat tomorrow."

"Nuh-uh." Aegon pouted, "Jorie peeled me fruit."

Jorelyn froze as if she'd been called out for something horribly embarrassing rather than simply helping a small child.

"Well, then, you should thank her." Alicent glanced over at her sworn shield with one of the sweetest smiles Rhaenyra had ever seen her wear.

"Thank you, Jorie." Aegon said obediently, "The orange was good." 

Alicent turned from the Mormont woman to coo over Aegon's proper speech, and Rhaenyra could practically see the woman sag in relief at having the attention off of her.

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to speak, to say something perhaps to her husband and good mother or maybe Alicent and the children. As soon as she thought of what to say, though, it was washed away by a wave of nausea. Leaning back heavily in her chair, she cupped the bottom of her swollen stomach as she fought the urge the wretch.

"Rhaenyra?"

She looked up to find everyone’s attention on her. Rickon had fully turned in his chair and reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder.

"You're pale, Nyra." Her husband said quietly, "What is wrong?"

Then the pain hit. She groaned, doubling over in her chair and nearly slamming her head right into Rickon's. He dodged at the last moment, holding her up by her shoulders.

"Mother?" She heard his frightened voice as he called out for Lysa.

"Get Tanea," Lady Stark snapped at someone, "She went rummaging around in the old maester's quarters. Fetch her now."

Rhaenyra lifted her head, meeting her good mother's gaze, "The babe is-"

"Yes," Lysa rose, rushing to her side, "Someone help me get her to a bed."

Rickon didn’t hesitate, sweeping her into his arms and tucking her close to his chest. He carried her up the stairs to her chambers, whispering a prayer to the Old Gods the entire way.

Rickon's heart was pounding harder than it ever had before. He just kept looking at her face, pale and sweaty, and it felt like he'd been laying out in the snow for hours. His body was cold, fear numbing his limbs as he watched his mother and Alicent prop his wife up with pillows and blankets.

"Papa?" A little hand tugged on his sleeve.

His eyes darted down to find Aegon, the little boy trying to glance into Rhaenyra's chambers with wide eyes.

"Yes, Egg?" He asked faintly.

"What's wrong?" The little boy asked, "What are Nyra and Mama doing?"

"I..." He knelt, swallowing hard, "Our little one is coming. Like how Daeron left your mama's belly."

"You look scared," Aegon whispered.

He was. Gods, he'd never been this scared in all his life. After Alicent nearly died bringing Daeron into this world, he felt as if his anxiety regarding his wife's birth had damn near doubled.

"Only excited to meet the new baby," Rickon lied.

Rhaenyra screamed then, a sharp wail as her labors began to overtake her. A shiver ran down Rickon's back, but he couldn't panic. Not when Aegon looked terribly frightened, his entire body stiff as if he were ready to bolt into the room to try and protect his big sister. So, instead of the boy accidentally traumatizing himself by witnessing a woman's labor, Rickon picked the boy up and deposited him right into Daemon's arms.

"Take him for now," Rickon said, "I'm needed."

"A man is hardly ever needed in the birthing chambers," Daemon said briskly, his nerves given away by his agitation, "You have no purpose-"

"That is my wife," Rickon interrupted him, his voice firm, "And I will be there for her. That is my purpose."

Perhaps he was just imagining the approval in the Rogue Prince's eyes as he stepped away. Aegon's gaze was still locked on him, horrified, and even Helaena looked ready to cry in Kaegan's arms.

"Watch over the children," He repeated.

Daemon just nodded, and Rickon knew it would be done. Rhaenyra screamed again, calling out his name; he was in her chambers before she'd gotten the second syllable out. He knelt beside her bed, smoothing her sweaty hair from her face as she looked at him with hazy, tear filled eyes.

"I am here," He soothed her, kneeling by her bed, "I am here, Nyra. Right here."

"I don't want to die," She whispered.

He felt sick that he could not alleviate her fears. So instead he let her clench his hand so tightly it hurt as she began to slur words in what he loosely understood to be Valyrian.

"I won't leave you," Is all he kept saying again and again, "I am here."

Tanea burst through the door right as the bleeding began in earnest, and this was more horrifying that any battle he'd ever seen. No wildling could be worse than the sight of his wife, pale and weak and bleeding. A dragon brought so low. He had done this to her, he thinks deliriously as Alicent moves to hold Rhaenyra's other hand. If she dies, it will be his doing.

A strong hand gripped his shoulder and he looked up to see his mother standing beside him. It was only then that he realized he was crying.

"Focus, son." She whispers, her face pinched in worry, "She needs you."

Everything after that happened so quickly. He'd heard some women labored for hours, nearly days. Not Rhaenyra. She screamed bloody murder as Tanea coaxed her into pushing, the woods witch having her bite down on some root. Rickon lost feeling in his hand soon after, and he was sure Alicent had too, but they remained where they were.

They did not leave her. The Gods themselves couldn't have forced them to.

"Will Nyra be okay?" Aegon whispered into Daemon's chest, the boy practically trying to hide in his uncle.

Daemon glanced down impassively. Kaegan still held Helaena, who he had finally managed to calm down as they took the kids to the room they were using as a makeshift nursery. Margaret had gotten Ben and Aemond asleep while Bennard fussed over Daeron, worrying over the infant like it would help anything. He was just worried; they all were. Daemon got snappy in his concern, while everyone else seemed to turn into mother hens.

"All we can do is wait," The Rogue Prince said.

Aegon's lip trembled and Daemon fought back a sigh. The boy got this from Viserys, Daemon was sure; his older brother had always been a crier when they were children.

"I'm scared," The smaller prince said.

"Don't be," Daemon finally looked at him properly, "You are a dragon. So is your sister. She will be fine."

"Mama says we pray when we're scared," Aegon mumbled, "I don't know how. She says the Mother and-"

"The Seven are not your Gods." He interrupted the scared child's rambling, "Especially not in these halls."

Aegon tilted his head in confusion, "Then...who?"

"Meleys." He explained, "Goddess of family, marriage...childbirth. She'd be the one to bid to if you want protection for your sister."

"I just ask?" Aegon's nose scrunched in confusion.

"Sure," Daemon smirked, "But you have to do it in Valyrian."

The boy's shoulders slumped, "I don't...know much. A little for Sunfyre...and gevie. I know that."

His pronunciation is just short of awful, but Daemon is more confused why he only knows that one word.

"No one has taught you anything beyond dragon commands?" He raised an eyebrow, "Where did you even learn gevie, then?"

"You." Aegon said simply.

Daemon blinked dumbly, "What?"

"Heard you calling Uncle Kae that." Aegon shrugged a little, "So I told Syrax."

That made an uncomfortable feeling settle in Daemon's stomach. He knew damn well his brother hadn't raised these children, and certainly Viserys didn't bother teaching them High Valyrian. The little the boy knew came from Dragonkeepers and...Daemon himself.

"Can you pray?" Aegon interrupted his thoughts, looking up at him with pleading eyes, "For Nyra. So she's not hurt 'cause I don't know how."

Damn him. Damn this child for making Daemon feel like absolute horse shit.

"Repeat after me," Daemon instructed.

Aegon immediately perked up, his eyes brightening.

"Īlva riña Meleys," He spoke as slowly as possible.

The boy's eyes widened, but he copied the words as dutifully as he could, "Īlva...riña...Meleys..."

The pronunciation was still Gods awful, but they'd work on it, he supposed.

"I see the head!" Tanea cried out, "Push, girl, push! The babe is almost here!"

Rhaenyra's chest heaved, horrible sobs ripping out of her as she shrieked her way through another push. Then, through the ringing silence...cries.

Rickon's head snapped up to see his mother catch the baby...their baby. Their child. 

Tanea went to work, cutting the umbilical cord as Rhaenyra collapsed back onto the bed. Her eyes were locked on the wriggling, bloody babe in Lysa's hands as the child screamed his arrival to the world.

"A boy," Lysa announced, her face adoring as she looked down at her newest grandchild.

"A boy?" Rhaenyra asked, her throat rough from screaming.

Rickon stood, holding his arms out as his mother passed his son off to him, showing him how to support the head properly. He cared not for the blood smeared on his clothes as he looked down at the pale haired infant. Returning to his wife, he laid the child gently on her chest and watched the way her arms came up to cradle him so naturally to her bosom.

"He's perfect," Rhaenyra breathed out, entranced by her son from his first breath.

"He is, Rhaenyra." Alicent slumped over slightly, relief in the line of her shoulders, "What will you name him?"

"Jacaerys," The princess whispered, almost as if in a trance.

"Well, then...hello, Jacaerys." Rickon whispered, stroking his tiny son's red cheek, "Jacaerys Targaryen."

Jorelyn peeked in from the door, brows furrowed in concern, "Has..."

"Yes. The babe has arrived." Alicent finally stood, clapping her hands together, "We shall go tell the others, and give you your privacy while we can."

She bent down, squeezing Rhaenyra's hand once more before she turned to go. Rickon's gaze fell back to Jacaerys, watching the boy's eyes slowly creep open. If he wasn't mistaken, he'd gotten the Stark grey eyes.

"Little Jace," Rickon smiled down at the boy.

Rhaenyra's eyes, still somewhat clouded with pain, flickered up to him, "Jace..."

"A nickname." Rickon chuckled, leaning over to wrap an arm around her shoulders to pull his wife and son close, "Jacaerys is a bit of a mouthful."

"It is, isn't it?" She mummered, "Hello, Jace. Hello, sweet boy."

Jace looked up at his mother with the squinting eyes of a newborn, not yet used to the brightness of the world at large. Tanea came around to the side of the bed, her hands still bloody as she looked over the babe and mother. 

"Do you feel well?" She asked Rhaenyra, her brows furrowed.

Rickon tensed, glancing at his mother. Lysa also tilted her head, watching Tanea with pursed lips.

"Is something wrong?" Rickon asked, "Is she-"

"She's still dilated," Tanea said, "And there is no afterbirth. Are you still in pain?"

"Yes," Rhaenyra said slowly, "I thought it was leftover from pushing."

"Is it just as bad as when it began?" The woods witch pressed.

"It is." Rhaenyra whispered.

"Rickon, take your son." Tanea ordered, "Lady Stark, come here."

"Why?" Rickon asked as he gathered Jace in his arms, his eyes wide and confused, "What's happened? What's wrong?"

"There's another baby." Lysa surmised.

"Indeed," Tanea looked at a pale Rhaenyra, "You have to push again."

"Another-?" Rickon locked eyes with his wife, his love trembling at the thought of another delivery, "Another baby? Twins?"

"Hopefully just twins," Tanea muttered before raising her voice once more, "Now push, girl. Push!"

The screaming began anew. Rickon went to his knees by his wife's bed, his son cradled in one arm against the mattress as Rhaenyra took his hand once again. This time, he squeezed back just as hard.

As they approached Rhaenyra's chambers, they heard it again. The shrieks of labor, of pain, as well as the squalls of a newborn.

Daemon's eyes narrowed, glancing over at Alicent, "You said the child was here?"

"He is, that's him crying." Alicent insisted, "I saw him delivered. They named him Jacaerys Targaryen, Rhaenyra and Rickon were holding him!"

"Nyra..." Aegon's little face scrunched up, "Uncle, did Meleys listen?"

"Meleys?" The queen's brows furrowed in confusion as she glanced down at her son, "What does Princess Rhaenys's dragon have to do-"

Another screaming babe joined the first as Rhaenyra's cries of pain died down. Jorelyn paled as Alicent gasped.

"I believe Meleys listened too well," Daemon informed his nephew.

"Oh..." Aegon whispered.

"Twins?" Bennard said incredulously.

"Twins!" Margaret squealed in excitement.

"Holy shit..." Kaegan muttered.

A thought struck him then. Back at the wedding feast, he'd though his younger niece was referring to the literal wolves gifted to the newly weds when she began prattling on about her dreams of puppies. Now, though...perhaps there was a dual meaning he had not realized before this very moment. 

"Two puppies," Daemon said quietly as he slowly turned to stare at Helaena.

The little princess just looked up at him with those big, innocent eyes of hers, sitting without a care in the world in Kaegan's arms.

Rhaenyra could not remember delivering her second child. What a bizarre thought...her second child. The heir to the Iron Throne and the heir to Winterfell, all in one go. Still, the second babe was a mystery to her. She remembered holding little Jace in her arms, but had no clue if his twin was a boy or girl. She didn't even know their name.

Gods, this one would be a Stark. What would she name a Stark?

She basked for a few moments in the darkness, floating pleasantly without pain. When the light became to much to ignore, however, she opened her eyes and realized quickly that she was no longer on Dragonstone. Instead, she found herself in the winding halls of the Red Keep, servants bustling past her without even taking notice. In a haze, she walked forward, her footsteps making no sound and her body casting no shadow. As she turned, she saw several figures gathered at the end of the hallway.

A taller boy stood, tense, with his hand gripping the pommel of his sheathed sword so tight his knuckles turned white. Two other boys stood at his side, and a man was sprawled on the ground with a profusely bleeding nose.

"Call him that again," The one gripping his sword seethed, "Go on."

Rhaenyra moved around them so she could see their faces. The boy who spoke had his long, silver blond hair tied back and his violet eyes were narrowed dangerously. He took a step forward, making the man hastily try and crawl away. Rhaenyra idly thought it to be stupid to try and escape; this boy looked as if he'd rip the man's throat out and enjoy the taste of blood on his teeth.

She stiffened slightly as her gaze turned to the left. One of the others was the boy with the amethyst eye. His scar was redder now, though, as if the injury was more recent. The other boy had a hand on his shoulder; with those brown eyes and curls of his, he almost looked like a dark haired Margaret.

"Aemond," The brown-eyed boy spoke, "Leave him in one piece. He spoke treason, but perhaps he might take the black."

"You don't need a tongue to take the black, Ben." Aemond sneered down at the man who was rapidly paling.

Rhaenyra jolted. Aemond and Ben. Her little brother and nephew?

"Please stop." The boy with the amethyst eye spoke up, his gaze stubbornly glued to his feet as tears welled up in his remaining eye, "I just wanted to go to the library."

"And we will," Aemond's eyes softened as he turned to look at him, "As soon as this craven pays for his words. What, Ser, are you too much of a coward to repeat what you said? You falter now that you know more ears than my nephew's have heard you? You do not deserve the cloak you wear."

The man shut his eyes tightly in fear as Aemond took another step forward. Upon closer inspection, Rhaenyra saw that he was significantly older than the three boys surrounding him, and that his cloak was of gold. A member of the City Watch, then.

"Fine then," Aemond hissed before spitting down on the man, "Coward."

All was silent as the prince's spit splattered on the man's armor.

"I said he's a heathen with one eye!" The man finally screamed, enraged enough to forget his fear, "I cannot abide by these ungodly savages and you enable them-!"

Something ugly rose up in Rhaenyra at the words. She saw the one-eyed boy's face crumple, and she wanted to burn the man alive for causing it. Luckily enough, despite the fact that she could do nothing due to her incorporeality, Aemond had heard enough. Her little brother brought his foot down again, harder this time. Far more than a nudge, to be certain. Ben's face was drawn, much like the one-eyed boy's, both their anger palpable. The man cut himself off with a whimper as the kick landed, knocking him back again.

"What is going on here?" A distressed voice came from the other direction.

A familiar voice, though. One she knows well, even if it has changed a bit. Rhaenyra's eyes widened as she saw her, dressed in a gown of pale blue with gold and pearls lining her neck, wrists, and fingers. Alicent Hightower, older than Rhaenyra knows her to currently be but just as beautiful as always. Seeing a figure shift behind the queen, Rhaenyra was jolted to see another familiar face.

Lady Jorelyn Mormont. The Northern woman wore chainman with a green tunic overtop in the colors of her house, a roaring bear displayed on her breast. Her hair was in its typical braid; clearly, some things never change.

"Mother," Aemond stepped back, releasing his sword and folding his hands in front of him.

Alicent surveyed the scene with a sharp gaze before her eyes landed on the one-eyed boy and saw his tears. Her face tensed with worry as she swept forward, drawing him into her arms immediately. She held him like she would her own son.

"What has happened here?" She demanded, her voice low.

"This man," Aemond jerked his heard toward the City Watchman still sprawled on the ground, "Called my nephew a heathen with one eye. Called him and Ben ungodly savages."

Alicent's eyes went dark, smoothing down the one-eyed boy's hair before releasing him with a squeeze of his shoulder, "Take Luke and Ben and go, Aemond. Jorelyn, pick the man up off the ground."

Jorelyn stepped forward at the queen's word, ruffling the boy's hair as he passed her to return to Aemond and Ben. She then grabbed the City Watchman off the ground, twisting his arm behind his back with ease as she held him captive.

"Mother-" Aemond objected slightly, looking a bit put out that he might not claim the man's tongue.

"I will take care of this." She repeated before turning to give the man an icy look, "I'm sure your commander, Prince Daemon, would love to hear your concerns regarding his great nephew, Ser. Shall we find him so you might air out your grievances?"

If the man was pale before, he was white now.

"I have a right to my faith, Your Grace." He bowed his head, "You are a good lady, of good stock-"

"I am the Queen." She interrupted, "And you have a right to nothing. Certainly not verbally assaulting young boys under the guise of religious zealotry."

"You are telling uncle?" Aemond drew closer to her side, his voice quiet.

"Both of your uncles, to be exact." She confirmed, her lips still tilted downward, "I suspect Gwayne will have to keep Daemon and Kaegan from making a horrible mess. Now go, boys, that was not a request."

Rhaenyra tried to cling to the dream, to speak loud enough that her questions wouldn't fall of deaf ears. Alicent could not hear her, though, and neither could the others. Only one noticed her once again. The boy with the amethyst eye, Luke, looked at her as he passed, sparing her a small smile despite his poor mood. She watched him go, trying to cling to the scraps of this strange future she saw, but there was something else pulling her away.

A hand was stroking her hair as someone asked...no...pleaded for her to wake.

Wake she did. With a jolt and gasp, she jerked into consciousness once more to hear the squalling of two children. Her children.

In Old Town, in the Citadel, the glass candles within the vault flickered and lit without aid. Their strange light washed over the room suddenly, making reality shudder, making the shadows of the room appear as if they were swallowing the world itself. The novices and acolytes scattered in shock, and the other maesters tutted through their surprise.

Only one archmaester looked directly into the flame, unflinching, knowing himself to be the only one here capable of igniting the twisted obsidian pillars...but he had not. His golden chain flashed an otherworldly yellow in the wretched light as he snuffed the flame with one snap of his wrinkled fingers.

He knew but one thing. Something had happened, the magic he'd spent his entire life trying to escape had surged, and he hadn't a clue of the cause or consequence.