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Chapter Text

“You’ve been a great comfort to me, these past months,” he told her. Kind and welcoming, no hint of ill intent in his voice.

He was never malicious, or at least not intentionally so. He had no reason to be, not when everyone already gave him everything he wanted. That made it all the worse. The implicit assumption that she wanted the same thing as him.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done without you,” he reached for her hands and grasped them tightly. She smiled falsely but he didn’t notice, for it was not her face he was staring at.

“I’m glad I could help, Your Grace,” she said. Or rather, her father was glad that the king was taken with her. He was the one who sent her here.

“It’s been so lonely,” he lamented. The queen had been dead for half a year, and the princess was in no mood to remain in the city. She took her spot as Princess of Dragonstone rather quickly, leaving the keep rather empty.

He took another step towards her, so close that she could feel his panting breath on her face, trapping her against the table. “And please, call me Viserys.” She didn’t, and never would. Too friendly, it always felt wrong on her tongue. Not that the king would care much after he started getting what he really wanted.

“Y-your Grace,” she stammered out when he pressed impossibly closer to her. “If someone were to walk in- it’s unbecoming of a maiden.”

“It should be our secret then,” he said, a slight teasing grin on his face that twisted her stomach in a horrible way.

“My father wishes for me to be wed soon-” she tried. That part wasn’t a lie, but she knew exactly who her father wished for her to marry. Still, if it might bring the king back to his senses…

“And what if I do not want you to?” The king asked. His eyes looked down for a moment, “I cannot wed again. Not after Aemma.” It almost gave her hope until his eyes scanned her figure again, “But…a wedding is not strictly necessary.”

She wanted to protest. That’s not right, the Seven decree it is a sin to lay with another outside of a marriage. It would be horribly improper to lose her maidenhead before her wedding night. She didn’t want to lay with the king at all. Not that it mattered.

Years later, she still wondered why. Why wasn’t a wedding necessary? Was something wrong with her? Had she displeased the king and he deemed her unfit to be his wife? What had she done to deserve such callous disregard?

The king announced his intention to remain a widower and her father pivoted the plan. It was not a queen, but someone who could whisper into the king’s ear and overhear his private conversations, that would still be useful.

Without asking for her input, her father decided, “A paramour should suffice just as well.”

Alicent stood at the pyre, near two decades later, and watched the king’s body turn to ash. Her father grieved for his friend but didn’t let it show. The crown needed to project strength at this time and he was never one for emotions. She thought she should be more upset about it than she was, yet she felt numb more than anything as the flames took him.

Her daughter shuffled uncomfortably next to her. There were too many people gathered on the hillside for her liking, Helaena never liked large crowds. Her youngest boy, Daeron, clung tightly to her dress, nervously glancing around at the other lords who’d come to mourn the king.

Her children weren’t particularly heartbroken about their father’s passing. Her other two boys didn’t even bother to come. The king never had the inclination to spend much time with them. He helped them certainly, arranging for their chambers in the Red Keep, occasional name day presents, and he got Aegon and Aemond places in the City Watch, not that her eldest stayed there long, but he remained distant from them.

They were still bastards, after all. Something shameful to hide away as much as he could while keeping Alicent close. Even when Aemond lost an eye to a pair of squires in a fight that escalated too far, he hardly lifted a finger.

Don’t be ungrateful, Alicent reminded herself. She was merely his paramour, she was lucky to get anything for her children.

Much as she felt the urge to look back at the other lords, Alicent kept her eyes focused on the pyre. Their judging glances bore into the back of her skull and she was sure there were whispers about how improper it was for her to show her face while King Viserys’ proper family were here.

Luckily, the soon-to-be Queen Rhaenyra paid her little mind. Alicent had seen her scarcely in the years since she’d met the king, aside from odd glances when Rhaenyra returned to the capital for tourneys or celebrations. Rhaenyra held her husband’s hand while her children stood silently next to her. None of her three boys looked anything like Ser Laenor, with matted brown hair and pale skin. Alicent was hardly in a place to judge her for that though nor was it any of her concern.

Prince Daemon loomed behind them, a hand of his settling on Rhaenyra’s shoulder. Alicent tensed up unconsciously. Over the years, the prince had visited the keep more often than his niece and made his opinion on Alicent quite clear. The words whore and seductress had been thrown around liberally, with unsubtle threats towards her “bastard whelps”. If Rhaenyra thought the same…

She squeezed her youngest son’s hand tight. There was a time she’d dreaded the idea of having children. The day Grand Maester Mellos said she was with child, she cried so hard that she’d vomited. Losing her maidenhead out of wedlock was shameful enough. To have a bastard growing in her belly, her family would never accept her again.

There was nothing she could’ve done though, trapped in this arrangement with the king by her father. The guilt and shame had been replaced with longing over time. Longing that she could’ve lived a proper life with a proper husband. Or at least, someone who cared for her beyond slaking his lusts from time to time.

It was not to be though. The everpresent gossip through the keep when her name was mentioned made it clear. The king’s mistress was all she would ever be.

Rhaenyra’s coronation came and went swiftly with nary a glance in Alicent’s direction from her or Daemon. It gave her hope they were content to leave her be. She was still the Hand’s daughter after all and had every right to remain at court as long as he wished.

She broke her fast that morning with her children. Aegon rarely came back to the keep these days. Where he spent the nights, Alicent didn’t know, but she’d grown used to it by now and wasn’t concerned. Aemond slept in the City Watch barracks most nights with the other gold cloaks, so Daeron and Helaena were the only two left in the keep to eat with her.

Her daughter was always quiet and kept to herself, so Daeron carried the bulk of the conversation. He rambled excitedly about the stablemaster in the Red Keep, Ser Luthor Staunton, who let him help around the stables and feed the horses the other day.

Daeron was supposed to be practicing his swordplay in the training yard at that time, ideally so he could become a gold cloak like his elder brothers, but he was an easily distracted child. Something new was always catching his eye and he’d done all sorts of odd work around the castle whenever she wasn’t around to watch him. She wasn’t mad about that though, he stayed out of trouble for the most part.

“I want my own horse someday,” Daeron proclaimed.

Alicent smiled, “You’ll need one, if you are to be a knight.”

“A daring knight,” Helaena whispered, prodding her food lazily. 

Daeron then continued, describing in detail the exact horse he’d want, what he’d name it (“Vigilance! Like Great Uncle’s sword!”) and all the places they would go. Alicent couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pain in her heart. Her boy had the blood to ride a dragon. If he were a true prince, he would’ve been given a dragon egg, and he wouldn’t need to daydream about a prospect as mundane as horses.

Daeron hurried off soon to his lessons, darting through the halls and weaving around the crowd of people who were passing through. Alicent forgot how much energy a boy of one and ten could have.

She and Helaena set off not long after. Alicent’s father always gave her tasks to do since she had little else to do during the day. Messages to read or write or events to organize that he didn’t have time for, since King Viserys used to unload anything he didn’t want to do on his Hand. It had started to lessen with Queen Rhaenyra and her husband taking charge of the Small Council, but she was sure there would be something to keep her busy.

Her daughter, meanwhile, stopped at a different wing of the keep. “Hey, Waters! Hurry up!” One of the ladies called after her as they approached. The girl of three and ten hurried over to join the other ladies with only a scant nod to her mother.

Helaena was a handmaiden to one of Tyland Lannister’s nieces. It wasn’t the highest position at court, but she performed her duties well and Alicent held hope it might one day result in securing a good marriage for her daughter. With any luck, she could leave the bastard name behind.

She trailed through the keep and up to her father’s office in the Tower of the Hand. He had a Small Council meeting soon but they would hopefully have a few moments to talk. The iron door to his chamber swung open slowly with a creak. Somehow, it didn’t draw her father’s attention away from the parchment he was reading.

“Good morrow, father,” she greeted.

He breathed a heavy sigh before looking up at her, placing the parchment before her. She raised an eyebrow slightly in confusion, but he only gestured for her to read it. Cautiously, she took a seat and picked up the letter.

I, Rhaenyra of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, hereby relieve Ser Otto Hightower of his post as Hand of the King.

Alicent’s heart sank immediately, she didn’t bother reading the rest. Panic flooded her as she looked back over to her father, who for once seemed to be at a loss for words.

“What happened?” She inquired.

Otto took another breath. “Her Grace said she valued my leal service to the crown over these years, but I should spend the rest of my life with my family. Evidently, she has someone else in mind for the post.”

“But…” Alicent opened her mouth to protest but no more words came out. This was a royal decree by the queen, nothing to do but follow it.

“We always knew this was a possibility,” Otto reminded her, though bitter in his tone. “The queen has never been fond of me. I had hoped to have more time to ingratiate myself before she took such drastic action.”

“Never been fond,” was an understatement. Alicent suspected the dislike was more to do with Daemon’s influence than anything, however. Seven hells, Alicent wondered then. Is she going to name Daemon as Hand? The prince had always wanted the position. It was a worrying possibility.

“What do we do then?” Alicent asked warily, even though she already knew the answer.

Otto sighed again. “Go home to Oldtown. There’s no reason to linger.”

The idea put a pit in her stomach. The last time she saw her family had been at a tournament years ago. Gwayne had been kind, even if it was forced, but her other brothers scowled at her and her children. One of her cousins had delighted in tormenting Aegon and Aemond, eventually causing a bloody fist fight for which Aegon had been blamed.

“Unruly and violent, as all bastards are,” they had said.

Hightowers are supposed to be pious and proper but there was nothing respectable to them about four bastards. If they went to her home in Oldtown, she feared it would bring nothing but misery and scorn for her and her children.

“There must be another option,” she said, half-pleading. She had given her entire life and endured decades of contempt for the sake of her father’s plans and the king’s happiness. Surely, it could not all unravel so easily.

Her father looked at her with something resembling pity but only shrugged. “I will be returning to Oldtown within the next few days. You can come with me or find some other arrangements, do what you wish, daughter.”

Alicent was startled as she returned back to her chambers to see Aemond waiting at a table, staring out the window. He was still fitted in his armor and golden cloak, fiddling with the strap of his eyepatch.

She hurried over to him at once and he wordlessly rose to meet her embrace. It wasn’t often he had time to visit these days. A boy of only five and ten but he was already working day and night in the City Watch. “A bastard and a cripple,” he lamented once. “I need to work twice as hard as the other men to earn my station.”

Alicent wanted to remind him he was barely more than a boy himself, but it would do little good when he was so convinced. Guilt rose in her again, with royal blood, he should lead a better life than this.

They settled back down at the table. “How do you fare, my boy?” She asked.

“Exhausted,” he admitted. “But none the worse for wear.” He went on, elaborating on the patrols he’d been doing throughout the city and the few friends he’d made with fellow guardsmen, to which Alicent listened diligently. At the end, he added, “I saw Aegon the other day when I was out on patrol.”

“Is he well?” She asked quickly. He’d come back to the keep only once since the funeral, saying little and less before disappearing again, and she could not help but fret about him.

Aemond shrugged, “He’s not made trouble with the gold cloaks, at least. He wasn’t pleased to see me though.”

A sigh escaped her lips. It pained her to think Aegon was struggling out in Flea Bottom by himself but he scurried away from them at every turn. “If you see him again, please tell him to come back. Something important has come up.”

He raised an eyebrow, inquiring further as to what had happened. Alicent told him the truth, that his grandfather had been removed from his post and was returning to Oldtown in a few days.

He took the news in stride, not letting any worry show on his features. “Are we to return to Oldtown as well?”

“I don’t know,” Alicent told him honestly. “We won’t be able to stay here.”

“Is there no one else at court?” Aemond asked. “One of Lord Hightower’s bannermen, perhaps, who could help us keep our place in the Red Keep?”

Alicent considered the idea. She didn’t have many allies at court, beyond those in her father’s retinue, who were all returning to Oldtown with him. Most other lords and ladies scoffed at her as a harlot who shamed her house by being with the king. There was Lord Lyman Beesbury, the Master of Coin, who was sworn to her uncle, but he was forgetful and traditional besides, and there was little chance that Lord Hightower would vouch for her.

“It is unlikely,” she decided.

Aemond’s brow furrowed in thought. One possibility came to Alicent’s mind, though she dreaded it. Aegon seemed to already have a life of his own in Flea Bottom. Aemond and Helaena both had their places at court, and she knew they would look out for one another. She could endure the harsh, judging looks and the scorn of her family back at Oldtown if it meant Daeron could live a decent life there.

The thought of splitting up her family though, of being separated from her children for even a few years, twisted her gut. They were all she had. It would be a risk all the same to hope that her cousins would be kinder to Daeron than they were to Aegon and Aemond.

She shook her head. There must be someone, anyone, at court who would be willing to help them. Her father had allies, Lord Tyland Lannister and Lord Jasper Wylde, but they would be more likely to toss her to the wolves.

Another idea came then, a plainly foolish one. If it was for her children though, she would beg whoever she must to help them. She reached over and gripped Aemond’s hand tightly, assuring him she would deal with this problem and he need not worry himself over it.

Her heart thrummed uncomfortably in her chest as she walked through the halls of the keep, just as it did whenever the king summoned her. The act itself had gone from horrid and painful to a dull duty over the years, but dread always pooled in her stomach when she approached his chambers.

King Viserys was never cruel to her but she didn’t love him and never enjoyed laying with him. After birthing Aegon, no one else would have her so she had to remain in the keep. Her father had kept up hope that the king might legitimize his bastard son someday, for all the good that hope did.

Today, however, she did not go to the king’s chambers, but his brother’s. There was no one else for her to turn to, she believed. He was close to the queen and she hoped held some affection for his other niece and nephews. She would do whatever it took, even if it meant striking a deal with Daemon.

His room was shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the fire in the hearth. Alicent stepped in cautiously, spotting the prince in a chair by the fire, a cup of wine in his hands. His eyes met hers for only a moment before a sly grin formed on his face and he downed the contents of his goblet.

“Lady Alicent, how good it is to see you again,” he greeted. His eyes didn’t reflect the warmness of his words. She clasped her wrists to prevent herself from picking at her fingers until they bled out of nervousness. An ugly habit that she’d tried to break over the years.

“Prince Daemon,” she dipped in a curtsy and stood an awkward distance away from the prince. “I never got the chance to welcome you back to the Red Keep. It’s made brighter by you and your family’s presence.” A little flattery never hurt, she hoped.

“Her Grace wished for Laena and I to stay after the funeral, who am I to deny her?” Daemon replied.

“I hope your lady wife is adjusting well, I know it’s no Driftmark-” Alicent started.

“What do you want?” Daemon interrupted her, evidently tired of the pleasantries. The prince was always blunt, for better or worse.

Alicent nodded and took a breath. “I’ve come to ask a favor of you.”

“A favor?” Daemon repeated, as if the idea was funny.

“I’m sure you know by now, my father will no longer be serving as Hand of the King. He is returning to Oldtown within the next few days,” Alicent began.

Daemon smirked and refilled his glass, “Oh, I know. ‘Twas I who suggested such action to the queen.” His grin grew impossibly wider at her tensing up slightly. Pointedly, he continued, “The crown has no need for snakes in its midst.”

“The reasons matter not,” she said, a bit too quickly. “With his departure, I have no reason to remain in the castle-”

“That’s a shame,” Daemon cut in, his tone dry and unfeeling. “I’ll be seeing you then.”

Alicent huffed but kept her composure. With another deep breath, she went on, “Oldtown is no place for my children, your niece and nephews. I understand you care little for me, but for their sake, I ask that you speak to the queen about allowing us to remain at court.”

Daemon rose from his chair and took a few lazy steps towards her. She kept her eyes on his, unwilling to back down. “After leeching off my brother for near twenty years, you simply move on to the next Targaryen?”

Alicent shook her head unconsciously. Leeching made it sound as if she got anything out of it. Her father certainly did, but all Alicent got were dirty looks, ridicule, and years of horrid memories. She didn’t tell Daemon that though, figuring he wouldn’t care to hear her side of the story. “We would remain out of your way, you’d barely even know we were here.” Just as Viserys preferred it.

“Trueborn Targaryens walk these halls now. My daughters and the queen’s sons. It just wouldn’t do to have a gaggle of bastards running around the keep,” Daemon told her.

Her insides twisted further. If she could not get Daemon to agree, she would have no one else to turn to. “Please, my prince. They are your brother’s flesh and blood. The king wouldn’t wish for-”

“Your spawn are nothing but polluted Hightower wretches,” Daemon sneered. “A cripple, a simple-minded cunt, and a brat. And your eldest…” His lips transformed into a snarl and Alicent unconsciously took a step back. “I was down in Flea Bottom the other day and heard plenty of tales of the brothel that offers the ‘authentic Targaryen experience’.” He laughed wryly. “A whore just like his mother.”

“I-I’m not a whore,” she defended weakly, more on instinct than anything.

“No?” Daemon asked mockingly. “You certainly play the part of one well.”

She winced against her better judgment, breaking eye contact. Daemon chuckled again, taking more steps towards her until he was right next to her and leaned in close.

“If you were a whore, I would make you an offer. I could do as you’ve asked and you can keep your home here in the Red Keep…if you get on your knees and suck my cock.”

Alicent flinched again immediately. Vitriol was on her tongue in an instant, preparing to berate the prince for even suggesting it, but her mouth wouldn’t open to stand up for herself.

She felt immense shame yet part of her mind couldn’t help but consider it. Her virtue and reputation were already in tatters and she’d debased herself for the king for years. She’d learned to endure it, to ignore the urge to cry at unwanted touches and the guilt that gnawed inside her. If it was for her children, what was a few more years of it? Or even just until she could figure out some other arrangement.

Daemon saw her mind working to decide and laughed, loud, prolonged, and mean-spirited. He settled back into his chair, an insultingly smug smile plastered on his face. “I’ve no need for whores, unfortunately. Scurry on back to Oldtown already, I don’t want to see you or your bastards running amok in these halls again.”

Alicent sighed and let her fingers pick at each other freely as she trailed out of his chambers. She returned to her own and collapsed on the bed, full of regret and humiliation.

It was the worst idea she’s ever had, somehow even worse than turning to Daemon for help, but there were few options left to her. Alicent’s father left in the morning, and if she did not find a place in the keep, her family would be separated. She had the idea last night that she could find a home down in Flea Bottom as well, but she doubted that would be any safer for her children than Oldtown.

Her last hope lied with the queen herself. Perhaps a futile hope, she can’t imagine Queen Rhaenyra has a positive view of her father’s paramour, but she had to try. Alicent prayed to the Seven that the queen at least held some scrap of concern for her half-siblings’ wellbeing.

She donned her finest dress, dark green like her house colors but even she would admit it was far from proper to meet with a queen. Her father decided years ago that she hardly needed new, beautiful dresses if she was to remain with the king, who didn’t care one way or the other what she wore. Most of her clothes used to be her mother’s, in truth.

Alicent trailed through the halls and found Ser Criston standing guard outside Rhaenyra’s chambers. That’s good, she thought. She and the knight weren’t close, but he’d been kinder to her than most others in the keep.

She remembered when Aemond lost his eye, most every instructor had given up hope he could be a knight, but Criston took the little time he had away from his duties to help train him.

“I need to speak with Her Grace, if she’s able,” she told Criston plainly.

Ser Criston raised an eyebrow. “Is she expecting you?” Alicent shook her head. “I’m afraid she instructed me that she wasn’t to be disturbed for the rest of the night.”

Alicent sighed but wouldn’t give up so easily. “It is an important matter, Ser. It’ll only take a few moments of her time.”

Criston seemed to catch on to her urgency. “Are you certain you want to speak to her?” He asked with concern in his voice. It did sound a bit mad, she supposed, for her to turn to Queen Rhaenyra for help, but she was determined nonetheless.

“I am in need of her assistance. For my children’s sake,” she told him. The mention of them seemed to soften Ser Criston. 

He sighed and turned to knock on the door. “Enter,” the queen’s voice echoed from within a beat later. There were harsh whispers as Criston entered and spoke to the queen. Alicent held her breath, and against all the odds, the knight emerged and allowed her to enter the queen’s chambers.

She stepped in slowly and nervously, preparing for the disdain on the queen’s face. Her silver hair fell freely over her nightgown with a cup of wine in one of her hands. Queen Rhaenyra ran a hand across her face before finally turning to face her. “Lady Alicent.” Her eyes scrutinized Alicent, trying to discern what rumors of her father’s paramour were true and which were false. The sight made her look all too similar to Prince Daemon.

“Your Grace,” Alicent curtsied. “I’m sorry to disturb your rest.”

“Don’t be,” Rhaenyra waved it off. “I hadn’t found sleep yet anyway.”

“I will not take up much of your time,” she promised. Alicent’s eyes focused to the ground, feeling like the queen’s violet gaze was piercing through her. It wasn’t exactly malice in her features though, perhaps simply distrust, Alicent guessed. “I would ask for a boon from you.”

Rhaenyra held back a scoff poorly. “You require my help?”

“Yes,” Alicent inclined her head respectfully. “I know we don’t know each other well, but I am sure you know of me. You dismissed my father as Hand a few days ago, and he is returning home on the morrow.”

“That was nothing personal,” Rhaenyra answered. “Ser Otto has served the crown faithfully, but I prefer someone I know better and trust more to serve as my Hand.”

“Of course, that is your right as ruler,” Alicent acquiesced. “I am not here for him, but rather for my children, your siblings.” Rhaenyra’s features softened and she nodded for her to continue. “My son is a member of the City Watch and my daughter is a handmaiden. My eldest too works in Flea Bottom. I cannot leave them to return to Oldtown with my father and they cannot return with me and ruin all their prospects at court.”

Rhaenyra’s expression turned to confusion momentarily before she steeled her gaze.

“I ask only that you allow us to remain as we are, living here in the Red Keep,” Alicent told her. Quickly, she added the same promises she made to Daemon, “You would not have to worry, we would all remain out of the way of you and your family. We would ask nothing more.”

The queen tapped her goblet methodically, her mind at work deciding what to make of Alicent Hightower. “Why come to me with this?” She asked.

Alicent’s face fell, but answered the question truthfully. “I find I have few friends at court these days, no one else to turn to. My children are your half-siblings and I would hope some part of you cares for them and their futures.”

Rhaenyra took a slow drink of her wine before setting the cup down and taking a few steps towards Alicent. Closer, Alicent could see the queen’s features more clearly in the dark. The light of candles flickered on the queen, making part of her silver hair appear to glow, while her deep, violet eyes traced over Alicent again.

“That is all you’ve come for? The chambers you’ve already been staying in?” Rhaenyra inquired, her brow furrowed slightly. Alicent could briefly see the family resemblance to Aemond.

“Yes,” Alicent confirmed quickly. “I don’t know what stories you may have heard about me, but I’ve no wish to intervene in your family’s affairs. I swear to you, we will bother you no further after this.”

She silently prayed to the Seven as Rhaenyra took in her words, hoping desperately that they convinced her. A few moments stretched out before she answered, “Of course, you can remain at court as long as you like.” Her tone was light and easy, as if it was no trouble at all.

Alicent released a breath suddenly, her eyes darting across the queen’s features for any hint it was a lie or trick, but none came. “Thank you, Your Grace. You will not regret this, I swear.”

The queen’s lips curled slightly, “I’m sure I won’t. Have a good night, Lady Alicent.” She bowed low before turning on her heels and hurrying out before the queen had a chance to change her mind. Only after making it all the way back to her chambers did it finally hit her and she sighed deeply in relief.

Her youngest two were already asleep in the chamber next to them, but Aemond had elected to spend the night in the keep rather than the barracks. He didn’t want to miss them in the case that they did have to leave in the morning.

She allowed a soft smile to fall on her face as she saw Aemond had already fallen asleep while waiting for her on one of the beds. Alicent collapsed onto the other bed and resolved to share the good news with her children when the dawn came.

She thanked the Seven and thanked Queen Rhaenyra for allowing them this chance, and vowed silently they would not waste it. They simply needed to keep their heads down and stay out of trouble. For most of her children, she hoped that wouldn’t be much of a problem.

The first time Rhaenyra heard of Alicent was a few months after she’d come to Dragonstone. Rumors spread incessantly about the girl that her father had taken to his bed. She didn’t believe them until the word came that Lady Alicent was with child despite not being wed, and sure enough, nine months later, the truth was undeniable when Aegon Waters had shining silver hair.

The tales varied wildly. The ones Daemon believed said she had seduced the king and hoped he would make her his new queen in the wake of Queen Aemma’s passing. Daemon insisted she leeched off the king for his jewels and riches in lieu of a crown, with no shame or remorse.

Further rumors spun that she was the one spreading the lie that he killed Lady Rhea Royce and she was fueling the rumors about Jace, Luke, and Joffrey being bastards, in hopes that the king would decide to legitimize Aegon as his heir.

Laenor and Laena preferred the rumors that it was an act of love. Nothing else could make Alicent stay by the king’s side or bear four of his children, in their mind. They said Ser Otto had grown to resent the king for sullying his daughter’s prospects, and caused frequent conflicts in the Small Council room.

After finally coming face to face with the lady herself though, Rhaenyra didn’t know which ones to believe. Alicent seemed unsure of herself, hardly the demeanor of a seductress. She had mentioned her eldest son worked in Flea Bottom, which struck a chord with Rhaenyra.

Why would that be necessary if Alicent had valuables from the king? The dress she wore seemed less extravagant than a woman of her station should have as well, even if it fit her quite well. If the other tales were true, why would the king leave Alicent and his four children without anything if they were in love?

It didn’t seem to make sense in Rhaenyra’s mind. Alicent asked for nothing but a place to stay and seemed almost fearful of what Rhaenyra could do. It was clear she loved her children deeply at least, her plea to help rang sincere in Rhaenyra’s mind. While Alicent seemed certain she would stay away from Rhaenyra and her family, the queen was intrigued by the woman and felt an interest to learn more.

Part of the queen couldn’t help but wonder what her half-siblings were like as well. She’d never had the chance to properly meet them while she was away on Dragonstone.

Rhaenyra took another long drink from her wine cup before shifting back into bed. Much as she might like to spend all night pondering Alicent and her bastards, she had higher priorities as the Queen of Westeros. Still, she fell asleep with thoughts of the auburn haired woman and which tales might be the truth regarding her father’s mistress.

Chapter Text

Alicent held her second son close, wiping the blood and sweat from his face as best she could. The maester completed his work quick enough but she could see her son was in terrible pain. Yet, Aemond didn’t complain or whine or shed a tear. He flinched at every poke and prod but that was the extent of it.

Her son was trying to stay strong after such a horrendous injury and it broke Alicent’s heart. He was barely past ten, he shouldn’t have to act like a man twice his age.

The loud marching outside the chamber door caught her attention. The heavy boots of the Kingsguard sounded clearly and came to a sudden halt just as the door opened timidly. King Viserys trailed in slowly as he leaned on his cane.

“I called His Grace,” the maester told her. “Figured he’d want to know what occurred.”

Alicent sighed internally, frustrated he did so without asking either her or Aemond but she supposed she should be used to this treatment by now. The king scanned the room warily, seeing Aegon in the corner, his nose bloody and his eye blackened, and no sign of her other two children, who she had already sent to bed.

His eyes settled on Aemond, repulsing slightly at the sight. A long, bloody gash across Aemond’s eye, now riddled with stitches. “Will he live?” The king inquired of the maester.

“Yes, Your Grace. Though the eye is lost, I’m afraid.”

“What happened?” He asked.

“A group of boys attacked him in the training yard earlier,” Alicent answered, her voice shaking.

He groaned, “Why did this fight break out in the first place?”

“Does it matter?” Alicent questioned. “Aemond has been maimed, they are responsible.”

Viserys moved past her, turning to Aegon in the corner. “Tell me what happened.”

Aegon glanced up momentarily, his lips curled in a frown. “I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t see.”

Viserys narrowed his eyes, “You didn’t see?”

“They were hitting Aemond, I got involved. Didn’t see what started it,” Aegon answered.

The king looked annoyed, turning next to Aemond. He towered over the boy, “I will have the truth of it, Aemond. How did this fight start?”

Aemond glanced at his brother and mother in turn. A guilty look crossed his face as he admitted, “I started it. But they called me a bastard and they called mother a…” he trailed off, though next words were obvious.

“It hardly matters who started it,” Alicent told him. She rose from her spot at her son’s side and moved over to the king’s, desperate for him to listen to her on this. “Aemond has been damaged permanently.”

“I know that,” Viserys spat. He thought for a moment, “It is…a regrettable accident. But there is nothing to be done.”

Alicent’s mouth gaped open, incredulous. “Nothing to be done?” She echoed.

“I cannot restore his eye. Boys fight, it’s a terrible thing but it’s done,” Viserys told her.

“His eye has been taken from him,” Alicent turned more desperate. “You cannot leave this be.”

Viserys grew exasperated, “What would you have me do?”

Punish the boys responsible, ensure these vile insults are not thrown at us again, have one of their eyes in return, she thought of possibilities in her mind but did not say them. 

Do something, anything, to protect our boys. For once. Don’t just walk away and put it out of mind. “He is your son, Your Grace! Your blood!” She raised her voice at the king.

His face twisted in anger, staring down his paramour. “This matter is closed, Alicent. See to it that Aemond controls his anger from now on.”

Alicent could do nothing but watch uselessly as he stepped out of the chamber and the iron door slammed shut behind him.

Alicent startled awake at the sound of knocking at her door. Her heart sank immediately, panic beginning to flood into her system after twenty years of late night knocks at the door. There was only one person who would summon her this late.

It took her a few moments to remember what had happened, that the king was gone and would not plague her nights anymore. The knock started again and Alicent quickly collected herself, hurrying over to open it. She squinted as light poured into the room from the torches outside, but she easily recognized the figure on the other side to be her eldest son.

“Aegon,” she wrapped him in an embrace which he did not return. It had been nearly a fortnight since he last returned to the keep. Though Aemond occasionally went out of his way on patrols to make sure Aegon was well, Alicent still worried every day.

“Mother,” he grumbled, his voice strained. Pulling away, she could see he looked disheveled and filthy, his clothes equally so. Alicent let him in without a second thought.

She poured a cup of water for him quickly from the pitcher, seeing he clearly needed it, but by the time she turned back around, he had already collapsed on the other bed in the chamber. Sighing, she left the cup at the bedside for when he woke up. She covered him with a blanket and pressed a kiss to his forehead before climbing back into bed herself.

When the dawn came, she found herself grateful that he didn’t immediately scurry back to Flea Bottom. It had been entirely too long since Aegon last sat and ate a meal with them. Aemond too had found the time after his patrol to eat with them. Daeron seemed particularly excited, for he’d always admired his older brothers, not that Aegon was ever eager to indulge him. Helaena didn’t seem to notice the change, her eyes more focused on the table than anything.

Alicent was at the head of the table and her two youngest sat either side of her. Aemond was next to his sister, while Aegon was slumped on the chair by Daeron.

“I heard we’re not leaving after all,” he muttered as they ate, almost indecipherable with how groggy his voice was.

Alicent didn’t even know word had gotten to him that they were at risk of leaving to Oldtown, but chose to say nothing about it. “Her Grace has generously allowed us to remain here,” she told him.

“Why’d she do that?”

She hesitated with her answer, not knowing the truth herself. They had cut their conversation short just after the decision was made and it wasn’t until later that Alicent wondered what exactly compelled the queen to show pity on them. Perhaps she truly did care for her half-siblings or it really was of no consequences to her one way or the other. Or some desire to do right by her father who had sired them.

Or, the more sensible part of her mind interjected, the queen had something more sinister planned. What that is, she didn’t know, but with Daemon at her side, it could not be good for her children.

Despite her internal conflict, she settled on the first option to tell them. “You are her father’s children, of course she would help you all.”

Aegon scoffed at that, recalling all the times their father himself didn’t help them. “I suppose she would be a bit of a hypocrite if she judged her father for having bastards,” Aegon mused. “Given her strong boys.”

Daeron joined his older brother in laughing, even if she was quite sure he didn’t entirely know what was funny. “Enough of that,” she said to Aegon.

“Oh come on, everyone knows,” Aegon responded. “They’re no more trueborn than half of fucking Flea Bottom. Or us, for that matter.”

Alicent interrupted him before he could continue. “I have promised the queen that we will stay out of her affairs and cause no issues.”

Her eldest rolled his eyes and she sighed. Alicent paused for a moment to collect herself before reaching out for Daeron and Helaena’s hands. They both wordlessly reached over to grab their elder siblings’ hands with their free one, to which Aemond accepted and Aegon pointedly moved his hand out of reach.

Much as she would like to tell her children that all would be well, she could not lie to them. They needed to understand how serious this situation was. “We’ve no allies here, no protection,” she told them plainly. “We cannot afford any risk. We only have each other to rely on.”

Helaena’s face turned nervous and she squeezed tighter on Aemond’s hand, while he held his head high, taking the news in stride. Aegon stared blankly at her and Daeron glanced around, trying to mimic Aemond.

“It’s terrifying, I know, but we will survive as we always have,” she promised. “To do so, we all must remain out of trouble and out of mind for the queen. No challenging lordlings in the training yard or japes about the princes. So long as we do so, we will be safe.” Alicent looked at each of them in turn, a soft smile growing to her face. “Please, promise me you will all stay out of trouble. I could not bear to see any of you hurt.”

Aemond quickly agreed, “I promise.” Daeron repeated it soon after. Helaena only nodded but it was just as well.

Aegon hesitated, but when all four pairs of eyes settled on him, he groaned. “I promise,” he said, annoyed.

“Thank you.” She squeezed their hands tightly, “I love you all. And I swear we will get through this. Together.”

Laenor groaned in frustration as he pulled another piece of parchment out of his pile. Rhaenyra couldn’t help but chuckle as she sorted through her own mess of letters and petitions. “What’s wrong now?” She asked.

Her husband sighed, “It’s this bloody tourney.” Her council agreed it would be good to hold a grand tourney by year’s end, a celebration of the beginning of her reign and to sway any lords who were still wary of her to her side. “I have to sign off on every little thing. The accommodations for every visiting lord and their party, arrange meetings with most of them, the feasts, it’s exhausting.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, “That’s your job as my consort.”

Laenor waved that off. “It doesn’t help that Beesbury is insistent on fighting me about every penny spent.”

The Master of Coin could be a bit too frugal, she supposed. “I’m sure Laena would be willing to lend a hand.”

The knight scoffed, “Laena doesn’t know any more about this than I do. She’s been in Essos for a decade.” Her cousin was still adjusting to life in Westeros again, though she was grateful to finally be back. All it took was the king’s death to finally get Daemon to allow them to return. “A lifetime of wealth has not prepared us for this,” Laenor muttered.

“What a shame,” Rhaenyra replied dryly. “If I can figure out this Blackwood and Bracken dispute though, I’m certain you can organize a tourney.” A silence settled over them as they returned to their respective work. Lord Grover’s attempts to de-escalate the conflict between his sworn houses have thus far failed and he was petitioning for the crown to get involved.

Both she and Laenor have been drowning in royal matters since her coronation. It seemed every house in the realm had some concern for her to address, like they’d been waiting for her father to die to bring it up.

The queen would never say it aloud, but perhaps her dismissal of Ser Otto had been a bit premature. She’d loathed the Hand since she was a girl and saw him plainly for the relentlessly ambitious man he was, but he was also brilliant and knew the governance of the realm well. An extra person to carry the load would be much appreciated. It couldn’t be helped now however. With any luck, she would have her new Hand within the week.

That reminded her, she turned to Laenor again. “After the tourney is over and the realm settles, we’ll need to appoint a new Master of Laws.”

Her husband raised an eyebrow, a slight smirking crawling onto his lips, “What of Lord Jasper?”

“Wylde despises me,” Rhaenyra told him. “The unbending Ironrod, so he is called. I daresay nothing I ever do will make him change his mind. To him, I am just a woman and therefore unfit to rule.”

He chuckled, nodding. Laenor held no love for Jasper either and had no qualms about seeing him go. “Perhaps Lord Manderly or one of his sons might be fit to take the position,” Laenor suggested.

Rhaenyra hummed in acknowledgment. She’d hosted Desmond Manderly on Dragonstone once, he was a friend of Lord Corlys’, for their often shared trading routes. Making a mental note of the idea for later, she looked back down at the current petition. Their quiet talk was interrupted by the sudden opening of her chamber doors.

Ser Criston didn’t even have a moment to announce her visitor before her uncle came barreling in. Laenor grimaced as Daemon marched over to them. “What is this I hear about Lord Corlys becoming Hand?” He demanded to know.

Awkwardly, Laenor shifted out of his seat, grabbing his pile of parchment. “I’ll see if Laena can help me with this, leave you two to it.”

She mouthed ‘craven’ at him when he glanced briefly at her, but made no move to stop him, remaining silent as he shuffled out and left the room with only her and her uncle.

“Lord Corlys is one of most powerful lords in the realm, it is wise to keep him on our side,” Rhaenyra told him.

“I’m your family,” Daemon spat. “We spoke about this before, I was to be Hand.”

“I said I would consider the idea,” Rhaenyra argued. “Lord Corlys is family as well, and he has far more experience ruling, the strongest fleet in the world at his command-”

“The blood of the dragon runs thick, niece,” Daemon reminded her. “Our family is vulnerable these days, every lord in the Seven Kingdoms looks for a weakness they can exploit. I would protect us.”

“And I trust you to do so, just not as my Hand,” Rhaenyra told him. “I could reappoint you as the Commander of the Watch perhaps.”

Her uncle scowled, his hand fidgeting on the hilt of his sword.

“You are right, our house cannot afford these fractures, so do not make them. I trust your counsel, uncle, and need you by my side,” Rhaenyra told him. Daemon glared at her for a few moments but eventually relented with a sigh. Rhaenyra exhaled in relief as well. She’d already sent word to Corlys with the proposition and he was sailing to King’s Landing now. She could hardly rescind the offer now even if she wished to.

“Is there anything else?” The queen asked.

Daemon almost turned to leave but spoke again, “Alicent Hightower.”

“What of her?”

“She’s still here,” Daemon said, venom in his tone. “And her bastards too.”

Rhaenyra could only shrug. “She visited me and asked if she could stay, I saw no reason to deny her.”

“She visited you? In your chambers?” Daemon asked pointedly. “Don’t tell me you’ve become as cunt-struck as your father.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at her uncle’s crudeness. “Nothing of the sort,” she told him. “There is no harm in letting them stay at the keep.”

“You think letting a group of violent bastards run around in the same keep as your sons and my daughters is smart? Putting swords in their hands and teaching them to fight?” Daemon argued. “What if one of them snuck into the Dragonpit and stole a dragon?”

“That would fall under the fault of the City Watch who guard the Dragonpit. If you wish to prevent it, then you should accept my offer to be their Commander again,” Rhaenyra explained.

Daemon huffed and scoffed but Rhaenyra knew he would do as she bid sooner or later.

“I will not punish my half-siblings based on possibilities,” Rhaenyra said to him, but her uncle had ceased listening. He turned and strode out of the chamber, leaving Rhaenyra alone. With another sigh, she put Alicent and her father’s other children out of her mind to focus on the task at hand. 

So far, they had kept their word that they would cause no trouble and Rhaenyra trusted them to keep it that way.

Daeron swung his practice sword clumsily at the training dummy, nearly losing his footing in the process. This armor doesn’t fit me, he thought, mindlessly wiping filth off of the chestpiece. Aemond told him as much recently, but Aemond’s old armor was all their family had on hand.

He tried to refocus on his swordplay, practicing the moves and drills that the master-at-arms told him to. He’d gotten a few tips from his brothers as well, which he was glad for.

In just a few short years, I can join Aemond in the City Watch, he told himself whenever he got discouraged. There was honor in being a gold cloak, or so Aemond said, at least. Aegon had remarked it was quite the opposite, but Daeron was inclined to believe the former. It would be nice, he figured, to work alongside his brother. They got less and less time together as the years passed and he couldn’t help but miss him. It would make his mother proud too, he knew.

Swords clanged together across the yard and mud sloshed beneath his feet as he trained. The regular shouts and grunts that filled the air were tuned out, Daeron struck and stabbed the training dummy over and over as he repeated the drills.

His concentration was inevitably broken by an unfamiliar voice yet one that belonged to a familiar face. “Hurry up! You’re slower than Grandfather!”

Daeron glanced over to find a pair of brown-haired boys fastening their armor and rushing to grab practice swords. They looked wholly unremarkable and might not even have been distinguishable if not for the ladies following them. Baela and Rhaena, with the unmistakable look of their mother and their uncle, the king. That meant the boys were the princes, Jacaerys and Lucerys, he realized.

He must’ve been staring for too long because the taller of the two girls, he didn’t know which was which, scanned the training yard and her eyes settled on him quickly. Instinctively, he broke his gaze and kept his head down.

Must stay out of trouble and out of mind, he reminded himself of his promise to his mother. He shouldn’t be risking their ire by gawking at them.

He’d only seen them twice before, at the funeral and at the coronation, but his eldest brother had made his thoughts on the princes quite clear in the few times they spoke of them. Daeron distinctly remembered when word came to the keep of Queen Rhaenyra’s third child and the council planned a great feast for it, even though Rhaenyra and her family were still on Dragonstone.

“All this fuss over those boys, spoiled brats,” Aegon grumbled. “Why should they get a celebration? They’re just as much bastards as us. We were never thrown a fucking feast.” Still, their mother insisted it was none of their business.

Curiosity got the better of Daeron when he chanced a second glance over at the group, seeing Baela whispering something to her sister. Rhaena’s eyes darted between her and Daeron a few times, seemingly surprised by something.

He averted his eyes again, gripping his sword tight and trying to focus back on practicing. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, of course, but he had a decent idea after years of strange looks. He knew the girls’ father cared little for Daeron and his siblings as well, his mother had been clear several times to avoid Prince Daemon.

After a few moments, he chanced a third look. This time, Baela and Rhaena were turned away from him but he caught the eye of the younger brother, Lucerys, instead. A beat passed and the prince waved softly at him.

He panicked for a second, not knowing if catching his attention would bode ill for him, but figured it would be more rude not to wave back, so he did just that, equally nervous. The brief interaction lasted no longer than a few seconds before the elder brother drew the prince’s attention and they began sparring with their swords.

Daeron circled the training dummy, putting his back to the group of royals so he wouldn’t be tempted to stare again, and started his drills once more.

They didn’t seem as rude as Aegon made them out to be but he promised his mother to stay out of their way and he intended to honor it. He would wrap up his training for today soon, perhaps spend a bit of time in the library or helping with the horses, and with any luck, the princes would soon forget all about him.

Helaena stroked her brush through Lady Elyana’s bright, blonde hair mindlessly as the Lannister girl rambled. “Uncle says my father is considering marriage proposals for me already. Jaime Reyne is quite handsome but he seems a bit rude, don’t you think?”

“I saw him with the other squires,” her fellow handmaiden, Lady Rohanne Farman, told her. “As arrogant as Lord Reyne himself and not half as good with a sword. He couldn’t even shoot a bow straight.” The other girl was hard at work unlacing the lady’s dress.

Helaena only hummed to show she was listening but didn’t add to the topic. She didn’t even know which squire was Jaime, much less anything about him.

“There was also Leo Lydden,” Elyana said.

“I heard he was courting that girl from the Reach, Lady Oakheart,” Rohanne noted. A smirk grew slightly on her lips before adding, “I heard they may have even shared a bed.”

Elyana twisted her body to look at Rohanne, a shocked but amused expression on her face. “Truly?” She asked and Rohanne nodded. The Lannister laughed a bit before turning back around so they could finish. “Well, he wasn’t that gallant anyway.”

“There must be one of your father’s bannermen who is worth the time to consider,” Rohanne said, quickly returning to her job of unlacing the dress.

The blonde hummed unconvinced, “They all seem to be a bit of a bore, honestly.”

“What do you think, Helaena?” Rohanne asked suddenly.

Helaena startled at being addressed, eyes darting warily between Rohanne and Elyana. They were kind enough and tried to involve her in their talks occasionally, even if Helaena had told them that she was perfectly content with just listening. She shrugged, “I’m sure your lord father will find someone kind for you.”

Once, Helaena had similar hopes for herself. Her father was the king, surely he would find some good match for her, a gallant and handsome knight who didn’t care for her status. She’d given up on that a long time ago though. Boys didn’t notice a bastard nor did her lord father care about arranging a match before he passed.

Elyana sighed but nodded, “That’s true enough. I don’t think he’d marry me to someone cruel.”

Rohanne interrupted, “What about Adrian Westerling?”

“He might be earning his knight spurs soon, if my cousin is to be believed,” Elyana remarked and the two began gossiping anew. Their work was almost done though. In a few minutes, Elyana’s hair was perfectly brushed and she was dressed into her nightgown.

The Lannister girl bid them a good night and hurried off to bed. Rohanne and Helaena also said goodbye quickly, as they lived at separate ends of the Red Keep. “See you on the morrow, Helaena,” Rohanne waved warmly as she left.

While Helaena could barely keep up with their incessant gossip, the two girls were nice to her when few others in the keep were. They didn’t care that she was a bastard or that she could be too quiet sometimes. Rohanne even once came to look at her collection of bugs, though she didn’t stay long after getting frightened by them.

Helaena walked leisurely down the halls of the keep. She was quite exhausted and ready to sleep herself. The halls were rather empty at this time of night, aside from the occasional guard, and were lit only by the torches on the walls.

The girl was eventually halted in her tracks by a sudden shout, “Waters!” She spun on her heels, seeing a pair of boys approach her. She didn’t recognize them at first, but as the one in front walked closer, she saw his golden hair glistened in the torchlight. He was Elyana’s cousin, Daven Lannister. She’d seen him a few times performing her duties, but they’d only spoken once or twice. What would he want with a bastard girl five years his junior?

“I thought that was you, Waters,” Daven said, a smirk growing on his face. “It’s not safe, you know, traveling these halls all on your lonesome?”

“Daven,” she curtsied. Forcing a smile, she greeted him warmly. “How good it is to see you.” The way he stepped closer, looming over her, put her on edge. She patted her dress quickly, feeling the comforting steel object hidden inside it.

“Only for emergencies,” the memory of receiving it from her brother came to the forefront of her mind. With a wink, Aegon had added, “And don’t tell Mother.”

Into the late hours of the evening, Alicent remained at the sept, kneeling beneath the great statues of the Seven and the candles all around her. She was thankful that she’d been coming here so frequently over the years that others no longer eyed her suspiciously. She had forsaken everything the Faith expected of an unmarried noblewoman time and time again, but they wouldn’t turn her away.

At least now, she hoped, there was a chance to repent properly. The king would no longer call upon her and make all her hours at the sept for naught. She might yet even restore some scrap of honor to her name.

She used to try to convince her children to come with her to the sept. Aegon despised the idea since he was a boy, Daeron was disinterested in the Faith, and Aemond had grown too busy for prayer between his patrols. Only Helaena came with her on occasion, but even she had less time for it as she spent more time with Lady Elyana.

Alicent found comfort in her prayer though. She always had since her mother died, since she used to love walking her to the sept. Alicent let her thoughts stray, wondering what her mother would think if she saw her now. Would she be ashamed of what Alicent had become? Or would she see through the rumors and gossip?

Feelings of shame came unbidden to the forefront of her mind, as they often did when she lingered on her situation. If she had been more kind and more loving with the king, would he have married her? If not, then what would it have taken? What did she do wrong, to deserve this?

Alicent forced herself to her feet before she dwelled on it for too long. It was late and there were few people in the sept, but she didn’t want them to see or hear the tears that begged to fall from her eyes.

Wiping her eyes and hurrying out of the sept, the cool evening air greeted her. It must’ve been later than I thought, she realized, seeing how dark it was. Quickening her step, she began her way back to the keep. Daeron and Helaena would be worried if she wasn’t there when they went to sleep.

The lady was startled when, not even halfway back to the keep, a horse came galloping over to her. “Lady Alicent!”

“Ser Criston?” She recognized the voice.

“I was just on my way to find you at the sept,” Criston told her. “The queen sent me.”

Alicent’s brow furrowed and her stomach began to twist. “What happened?”

He offered his hand to help her onto his horse. “An incident with Helaena.”

Panic wracked through her the entire rest of the way back as she clung to Criston and the horse. Wind rushed past, filling her ears with a dull roar. Her mind couldn’t help but run to the worst possibilities. Please let her be well, she prayed silently. My sweet Helaena…

Barely had the horse stopped before Alicent jumped from its back. Ser Criston escorted her through the halls and towards her own chambers. The knight informed her Daeron was already asleep in his chambers, thankfully, and was uninvolved. He pushed the door open to her room as she rushed in, spotting Helaena in an instant.

She sat by the table, fiddling with her dress, while Maester Orwyle sat next to her. There was a bruise on her cheek and a cut just above her eye that was already stitched up. Alicent let out a terrified gasp, immediately rushing over and enveloping her daughter in a hug, which the girl accepted.

“The wounds are not serious, my lady,” the maester offered. “With a bit of time, they will heal without any lasting marks.”

Alicent barely heard him though. All she could think of was the little bits of blood pouring out of the wound and discoloring her silver hair.

“Are you well?” Alicent asked, caressing her daughter’s face and scanning for any further injuries. Helaena only nodded in response.

She didn’t know how long had passed before the chamber door opened again. Her focus was only on whispering in her daughter’s ear and comforting her. She assumed it was the maester leaving but as she spared a glance, she saw the queen enter.

“Thank you, Grand Maester. I trust all is well?” Rhaenyra asked.

The maester inclined his head, “Indeed. Do you need me to tend to the squires?”

“That won’t be necessary, the other maesters did an adequate job,” Rhaenyra told him. With that, Orwyle took his leave without a second glance in Alicent or Helaena’s direction.

Alicent held her daughter tightly, hesitant over what the queen would say next. Helaena didn’t always accept her touch, but tonight she leaned into it, her head on Alicent’s stomach.

“Helaena,” Rhaenyra addressed her first. With a look to Alicent, silently making sure it was all right, the queen took slow steps towards Helaena and knelt down to her level. “Could you tell me what happened, exactly? I heard the squires’ side of things, but I want to hear yours as well.”

Helaena glanced warily between her mother and the queen, nervously squeezing tighter as she grasped Alicent’s hand. Hesitantly, she started, “I was walking back to my chamber after bidding goodnight to Lady Elyana. Daven Lannister and his friend, I don’t know his name, they stopped me and started…” Helaena searched for words. “They were saying mean things, vile and crude. About me and my brothers. I tried to keep walking but one of them pushed me and I-” she cut herself off, her face scrunching up sadly.

“Take your time,” Rhaenyra encouraged.

“I didn’t mean to hurt them badly, I just wanted to be left alone,” Helaena told her. Carefully, she pulled an object out of her dress. Alicent’s eyes went wide when she saw it was a bloody knife. “They started hitting me back and then the guards found us.”

Rhaenyra nodded solemnly. Her mouth curled upwards slightly, “If it’s any consolation, you didn’t hurt them that bad. Nothing that they won’t recover from.” Helaena released a breath at that.

The queen took a step back for a moment, thinking over this in her head. Alicent was still reeling. Her daughter had stabbed a pair of squires, and a Lannister no less? “Where did you even get a knife?” Alicent whispered.

“Aegon gave it to me,” Helaena admitted quietly. “He said every woman in Flea Bottom carries one after they flower.” Alicent shuddered at the thought of something far worse happening to her. Much as her initial instinct was to be mad at her eldest for not even telling her about this, she was quite relieved at the moment that he did give it to her.

Alicent glanced at the queen again, internally bracing for her response. At best, she might shrug off the incident altogether, but Daven Lannister was the nephew of Lord Jason and one of her councilors. They could easily demand punishment and see Helaena harmed for the wounds she inflicted on the boy. Mindlessly, she took a step forward, putting herself between Helaena and the queen, for all the good it would do.

Rhaenyra sighed eventually. “Lord Jason might be cross about it, but I will have to arrange for transport for Daven back to Casterly Rock.”

She unconsciously flinched at the declaration until she realized what the queen actually said. “Daven is being sent home?”

“He certainly cannot stay here. Nor his friend either. I’ll not have squires accosting ladies in the halls,” Rhaenyra said, as if it was obvious. “Ser Arryk will need to find a new squire then, but that shan't be a problem. Westeros has no shortage of eager young knights in training.”

Alicent stared at the queen, confused. She was siding with her daughter over a trueborn son of House Lannister? Helaena seemed equally unsure, “What of me?”

Rhaenyra’s face softened, turning back to the young girl. “I’m very sorry this happened to you, Helaena,” the queen spoke sincerely. “If returning to the Lannisters’ service after this gives you pause, I could always arrange for other accommodations. Perhaps you could serve as one of my personal handmaidens.”

“One of your handmaidens?” Alicent echoed, incredulous.

“It would be a bit odd admittedly, with how young she is, but I’m afraid Daemon would not take it kindly if I assigned her to Baela or Rhaena,” Rhaenyra said sheepishly, as if that was the issue and not the queen taking a bastard girl into her retinue on a whim.

Alicent’s mind turned to the worst possibility, that this was some trick. Perhaps Rhaenyra was as cruel as Daemon. She would dangle such a gift before them only to snatch it away or it would come as a terrible cost. It may not even be a true offer at all, but simply a demand with flowery, kind language. King Viserys was always fond of those.

Helaena worriedly looked at her mother and the queen, unsure if she could answer the suggestion freely. Her eyes turned down to the ground before she shook her head.

“Are you certain?” Rhaenyra asked again and Alicent’s heart sank. 

It was a trick, she was sure now. Helaena nodded and Alicent quietly braced for the outburst. The queen would be offended that such a generous offer was turned down, perhaps change her mind about Daven or their entire stay at the keep.

Rhaenyra inclined her head. “If you change your mind, or if you require anything else, please do not hesitate to ask. Again, I’m deeply sorry this happened and I assure you it will not occur again.” The queen ran a hand through her own hair, starting towards the door. “Good night, Lady Alicent, Lady Helaena.”

It wasn’t until the door was firmly shut and the sound of Criston’s armor clanking was too far in the distance to be heard anymore that Alicent took a breath again. She was left more confused than before, it seemed the queen was sincere in her words but how could that be?

There must be something I’m missing, Alicent told herself as she and Helaena prepared for bed, her daughter too shaken to stay in her chambers with Daeron tonight. Viserys and Daemon were predictable, much as she disliked their presence. Rhaenyra was a very different Targaryen, it seemed, and the uncertainty terrified her.

Alicent kept thinking about it over and over as darkness settled over the room and Helaena’s soft, steady breathing indicated she’d fallen asleep. Twice now Rhaenyra had shown her family kindness but her patience could not be infinite. When it ran out, Alicent fretted to think about what could befall her family.

The lady prayed in the night for the gods to protect her children while her stomach twisted in dread at the thought of what her next encounter with the queen might entail.

Chapter Text

Ser Otto could not be trusted and Jasper Wylde was quite obvious in his dislike of the queen, but it was Tyland Lannister who particularly irked Rhaenyra. His terribly high opinion of himself and insufferable Lannister “charm” made every interaction a chore.

Not to mention, his principles, or lack thereof. Daemon had told her the Master of Ships flowed wherever the tide took him and that was clear immediately. His opinions shifted constantly, always eager to agree with whatever stance the queen leaned towards in an attempt to curry favor.

It felt like an ordeal as she sat in a meeting with Tyland reviewing the current state of their trading ships. He boasted at length about their income, the tariffs that were in place, and their allies across the Narrow Sea, matters he could discuss with the new Hand or Master of Coin instead but he preferred to receive the queen’s input directly.

“I’m afraid there are other urgent matters that require my attention, Lord Tyland,” she told him before he could launch into another tirade about the importance of the Stepstones. “If there is nothing else pressing to discuss, I suggest we meet again at a later date.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Tyland inclined his head, though hesitated to stand. “I apologize for taking so much of your time. Though, if I could ask for just a few more minutes…?”

She sighed, “What else is there?”

“It is about the upcoming tourney. I know you and Lord Corlys are a good deal too busy to involve yourselves in the minutiae of its planning. However, I fear a problem has come up,” Tyland explained.

She waved for him to continue.

He cleared his throat, careful about his words in a way that seemed uncharacteristic. “It would appear we are behind schedule in the planning.” A beat passed. “Very behind schedule. I fear we may not be able to see it done before the end of the year.”

“And why is that?” Rhaenyra asked. “You’ve organized tourneys for my father for years without issue, have you not?”

“We have, yes,” Tyland answered. “I would not wish to throw out blame anywhere, it’s hardly productive. At the same time, there is the root issue of the matter of which I cannot help but take note of. I would not challenge the competency of my colleagues, of course, but, given the circumstances-”

“Tyland,” Rhaenyra interrupted him, growing frustrated. “Say what you mean, plainly.”

Tyland glanced around nervously, before nodding. “With all due respect, Your Grace, I fear King Laenor may not entirely be fit for his position.”

“Not entirely fit?” She echoed.

The Master of Ships’ face wavered, wary of upsetting her. “What I mean is, again with the utmost respect, His Grace’s talents seem better fit elsewhere. He doesn’t seem particularly knowledgeable or interested in planning events and managing a household.”

Rhaenyra sighed again. Laenor had been more than a bit vocal about how loathsome he found his duties as her consort yet she hoped he might grow into the role. They may not have time to wait for him however. It was important that this tourney happened soon to quell any further doubts from lords about her reign.

“This did not seem to be a problem before, when my father lived,” Rhaenyra noted. Surely, her Small Council was used to this kind of work, she knew her father did little towards the end of his reign due to his various illnesses.

“Your father often delegated his tasks, mostly to his Hand. While all of us helped, Ser Otto primarily handled the managing of household duties and the organizing of feasts, tourneys, and such.”

“Ser Otto did this?” Rhaenyra asked. Again, part of her wondered if she might’ve been a bit hasty in his firing but refused to regret it. She needed people she could trust on her council and he was not among them.

“Well…” Tyland hesitated again. “That is to say, so far as I know, it was Ser Otto…”

That hardly seemed like the whole story from the way he spoke, Rhaenyra figured. “So far as you know,” she repeated, urging him to continue.

“However, there are some claims to the contrary. Lord Lyman says that he met with the Hand’s daughter on occasion and it was she who primarily handled those matters, leaving Ser Otto to his usual duties as Hand and relaying whatever decisions she made to the rest of the Small Council.”

“Lady Alicent?” Rhaenyra said, incredulous.

“I cannot confirm it, of course. I myself never spoke to the lady,” Tyland hastily added.

Rhaenyra paused to think about the news, confused yet curious. She supposed it made sense that the Hand would take up the duties in lieu of the Queen Consort, but giving them to Alicent in turn seemed odd.

She still knew little and less about the lady beyond their brief encounters, perhaps there was more to her than the queen expected. Surely Rhaenyra would’ve heard about it though, she figured, if Alicent was handling the responsibilities of the Queen Consort. “How long would you say she’d been doing this work?”

Tyland shrugged, “I couldn’t say for certain. If Lord Lyman spoke the truth, she would’ve been involved in the planning of the celebration held for Prince Joffrey’s birth, at the very least. Perhaps Prince Lucerys’ as well.”

Rhaenyra blinked in surprise at that. Over half the realm had come for those festivities. Lavish and extravagant, it was almost assuredly a grueling undertaking to plan. The king must’ve trusted Alicent a great deal to give such a task to her.

The queen remembered the various rumors about Alicent that she’d heard. She’d dismissed the idea of Alicent being a vile seductress soon after meeting her, but perhaps the other rumor was true, that Alicent and her father were truly in love. Why else would her father place such faith in her over the years for events that were so important?

That did make Rhaenyra wonder, if they were in love, why did her father never wed Alicent? As the daughter of a second son, she was far from the ideal marriage but she was a Hightower all the same, no one would have had many objections. The answer, however, mattered little at the moment.

She would need to speak to Laenor about how he was faring in his duties and if he wished for assistance, but part of her felt confident about asking Alicent to take over. At least for the time until Laenor got a better handle on his duties. Perhaps she might meet her half-siblings properly as well. “I will think about what you’ve told me. Thank you, Lord Tyland.”

Daeron wandered the halls of the keep alone. He ate his lunch alone, strolled in the gardens alone, and read in the library alone.

His mother was busy for much of the day, asking around the keep to try and find a job she could do. Without grandfather around, they needed extra coin for themselves, she had explained. Aemond had worked all night on patrol and was sleeping the day away while Helaena was off doing her duties for Lady Elyana. He didn’t know where his eldest brother went these days.

It was nothing that he hadn’t grown used to over the years, but it was lonely all the same. He and his brothers used to play for hours in the training yard or the godswood as brigands and valiant knights, but they’d grown up. Too busy to stick around for more than a few hours at a time.

He tried to push the thoughts aside as he put on his armor in the training yard. Somehow it felt like it had gotten smaller since last he wore it. I really need a new set, he thought. Perhaps, with the extra coin, his mother might be willing to get him one for his name day. That wouldn’t be for a few months yet though, so for now he endured.

Daeron had only been practicing for a few minutes, or at least it felt like that, when the now familiar sound of the princes’ chatter filled the yard. Jace and Luke came almost every day, he had learned, usually accompanied their cousins.

That’s none of your business though, he reminded himself. He made a promise to his mother, he needn’t draw attention to himself by gawking at the princes like everyone else. Turning his back to them again, he focused on the training dummy.

It might be easier to train if he had a partner to spar, he mused, but the pages his age didn’t like him very much. Aegon was apparently a terror to everyone in the yard when he still practiced and the memory of the fight that had cost Aemond his eye was recent.

“A bastard, violent and untrustworthy, my father says. He’ll be just like his brothers, I’d wager,” he’d overheard one of them say.

I’ll be a great knight, you’ll see, he promised silently. Ser Daeron the Dauntless, perhaps.

Gripping his sword tight, he practiced his drills with renewed determination. He slashed and stabbed over and over, remembering and rehearsing every move his instructors or brother ever taught him thrice. Even as his arms grew sore and sweat poured from his head, he continued, putting all his excess energy into the training.

When he took a brief moment of respite, he caught a figure in the corner of his eye. Turning on a whim, he saw the little prince, Lucerys, staring at him excitedly. Daeron panted heavily from the exertion, suddenly feeling unsure under his gaze.

They stood in silence for a few moments, Daeron shifting the hilt of the sword in his palm. He silently cursed himself, he promised his mother he wouldn’t draw attention.

“That was impressive,” Lucerys smiled at him. Daeron searched the prince’s face for any sign of mockery. Any compliment he received was usually laced with sarcasm. Remarkably though, he found no hint of it.

“Thank you, my prince,” Daeron inclined his head, his eyes turned towards the ground.

The prince took a step closer, growing a bit more bold. “Why is your hair silver?”

Daeron gaped at him, not knowing how to respond. Did the prince not know who he was?

He was saved by another voice, “Luke!” The other prince, just a few months older than Daeron if he recalled correctly, rushed over. “What are you doing? Stop wandering off,” Jacaerys chastised.

“But his hair! Mother said only Valyrians have silver hair,” Lucerys told his brother, attempting to whisper but doing a very poor job of it.

Jacaerys only seemed to notice Daeron’s presence then, glancing at him, unsure. The two looked at him like they were expecting him to say something, though he didn’t know what would be appropriate. Daeron was the princes’ uncle, but it would assuredly be improper to say so. He was just a bastard.

He settled for something simple, an introduction. “I’m Daeron Waters, my princes.”

The elder prince’s face flashed with a look of recognition, but the younger boy seemed oblivious. “Waters…I’ve never heard of that house.”

“It’s not a house,” Jacaerys whispered harshly. Turning back to Daeron briefly, the prince continued. “I’m sorry about my brother disturbing you.”

Daeron’s eyes went wide involuntarily. The prince was apologizing to him ? He shook his head quickly, “No need, my prince.”

With a slight nod, Jacaerys put his arm around his brother’s shoulders and started pulling him back over to their end of the training yard.

Lucerys spun on his heels though, turning back around to face Daeron. “Do you want to join us?”

“Luke!” The older prince said.

Panic rushed through Daeron. Joining them would be breaking his promise to his mother. They didn’t need to run the risk of the royal family finding a reason to throw them out. Yet, would they not take offense if he refused such a request? “I-I couldn’t, my prince. That’s too kind-”

“I’ve seen you training. You’re always by yourself,” Lucerys said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “It would be no trouble at all. Training is always more fun with friends.”

Friends. Now that was assuredly a step too far, Daeron thought. Someone like him couldn’t possibly become friends with the princes.

Jacaerys’ face scrunched, seemingly thinking it over. “It would be nice to have a new sparring partner,” he said after a moment. “Luke’s not very good.”

“Hey!” Lucerys pouted and his elder brother only ruffled his curly hair in response, which only made him pout more.

Against his better judgment, Daeron’s lips curled into a smile at the sight of the brothers. Light and carefree, he remembered Aemond acted similarly before he lost his eye. When they were done, Lucerys looked back at Daeron expectantly, waiting for his answer.

Daeron fidgeted with his sword nervously. His mother had warned him to stay out of their way. He should respectfully decline, head back to his chambers, perhaps see if he can draw a bath before dinner.

His feet remained planted on the ground though and the words didn’t come.

It would only be for today, he reasoned. It would be even more rude not to accept and he could use the extra practice if he was going to join the City Watch someday.

“If it’s really no trouble…” Daeron started hesitantly. When he saw the two princes’ faces start to light up, he couldn’t back out as another smile creeped onto his. “I would be honored to join you, my princes.”

Ser Luthor Largent held his drink high, spilling some of its contents onto the floor. “To the return of our good Commander!”

“To the prince of the city!” The dozens of gold cloaks throughout the establishment cheered in unison, some clinking their drinks together.

Aemond half-heartedly drank with them, but did not join in their rowdy shouts and bickering. Their new commander, Prince Daemon, had invited them all to celebrate his homecoming. It would be rude to not accept, however Aemond had little inclination to partake in their festivities.

Near half of the gold cloaks had a woman on their laps and they were all plenty drunk after several hours. More than a few fights had broken out, as well. It was filthy and uncomfortable and far, far too loud for Aemond’s liking.

Not to mention, he was quite sure that Daemon chose this brothel purposefully. Of all the establishments in King’s Landing, Daemon brought them deep into Flea Bottom to a rather dull place that just so happened to be the exact brothel his brother worked at.

He managed to avoid Aegon for most of the night, but he caught glimpses of him every time Aegon emerged from the back to find a new client. Dressed in thin coats and fine silks like all the rest of his coworkers, with his hair styled with scented oils, and a plastered smile on his face, Aegon looked unrecognizable as the drunken, crass brother he knew. Though, he could see the glassy look in his eyes and clumsy movements plainly and knew his brother probably got drunk before his work even began.

Aemond had lost track of how long it had been, but eventually his brother returned, now in his usual clothes. A dirty beige shirt and brown trousers with a cloak on top of it. He didn’t bother to fix his disheveled hair either. He must be done for tonight, Aemond assumed. Wordlessly, he walked over and slid onto a seat next to Aemond.

“You’ve been sitting there the entire night by yourself,” Aegon noted, taking Aemond’s drink for himself without asking.

“I don’t care to partake in the same ventures as my colleagues,” Aemond answered.

“Well, it makes you look like a miserable cunt,” Aegon told him.

“You didn’t exactly look like you were having the night of your life either,” Aemond countered. 

Aegon hummed in agreement, finishing the drink. “Made a bit of coin though. If there’s one decent gift Father ever gave us, it’s this silver hair.” Male whores wouldn’t usually make near as much coin as the women, but Valyrian traits were desired above all by customers. Or at least, that’s how Aegon explained it to him during one of his drunken ramblings.

His brother quickly got them more drinks, clearly not intent on keeping the money he’d made for very long. They spoke idly for a while. Aemond informed him about what happened to Helaena with the Lannister boy, which Aegon grinned proudly upon hearing that she stabbed him.

“Mother isn’t glad you gave her a knife without telling her,” Aemond mentioned.

Aegon waved him off, “It was worth having it though, wasn’t it?”

To Aemond’s surprise, he saw a much different side of his brother as they talked. He usually only saw Aegon in the midst of his drunken ramblings or the morning after, groggy and disgusting. Over the course of the night, other whores, Aegon’s coworkers, stopped by their table to speak to his brother. Their chat was light and casual, and he saw a genuine smile on his brother’s face as they talked, such a rare sight he couldn’t remember the last time he saw it.

That was abruptly ended when the stomping of iron boots approached and their uncle took a seat across from them. Both of the brothers immediately tensed up and Aegon took a swig of his drink.

“What a surprise it is to see you both,” Daemon grinned at them innocently.

“It is quite a celebration you’ve thrown,” Aegon noted, his tone not matching the kindness of his words. “Congratulations on your return, my prince.”

“Yes, I heard you were celebrating with some of my men,” Daemon quipped, a wry smirk on his face. Aegon, thankfully, had the sense to not rise to their uncle’s japes.

Aemond cleared his throat, tearing Daemon’s attention away. “I look forward to serving under you, Commander. The men in the City Watch speak highly of you.”

“As they should,” Daemon responded plainly. “I made the City Watch what it is today. It’s grown lacking in my absence it seems.”

The prince rather unsubtly looked Aemond up and down. The insinuation was clear, that Aemond did not deserve his position in the City Watch. With his eye and his name, it was far from the first time he’d heard it.

Aemond didn’t have the status to say what he really believed though. Instead, he inclined his head, “I’ll serve the Watch in whatever way you see fit, Commander.”

Daemon smiled, eerie and dangerous. “I’m certain we’ll find a good place for you, Waters.”

Alicent was exhausted by the time night settled over the keep. Rushing around the keep to find a job proved fruitless, unfortunately. She would search again tomorrow, but for now she contented herself to enjoy dinner with her two youngest children. Remarkably, both Daeron and Helaena seemed in high spirits despite their circumstances.

As Helaena told it, Lady Elyana took one glance at the purple, slightly swollen bruise on Helaena’s cheek and decided she never liked Daven anyway. Alicent was glad to hear it, she couldn’t deny part of her was worried about if they would be cross with Helaena after Daven was sent home to Casterly Rock. Her daughter seemed much happier to stay with the girls around her own age, rather than joining the queen’s retinue.

Daeron spoke about his day as if nothing important had happened, but she knew her son better. He had a goofy smile plastered on his face like he used to after he and his brothers would play for hours on end. He remained tight-lipped about it though and she didn’t push him to speak about it. She was happy knowing he was having fun, at least.

The two hurried off to bed soon enough and Alicent prepared as well. No sign of Aegon or Aemond tonight, she thought. Disappointing but not unusual.

She was startled at the sound of a knock at the door. Too loud to be either Daeron or Helaena, she figured. Hesitantly, she pulled the chamber door open, revealing none other than the queen.

Immediately, her heart jumped in panic. Her mind went to every terrible possibility. Something had happened with Aegon or Aemond, the queen had grown tired of their presence in the keep, perhaps she changed her mind about the situation with Helaena and Daven.

“Lady Alicent, I apologize for the late hour, might I have a moment of your time?” Queen Rhaenyra asked.

Though it was a question, Alicent knew there was no room to refuse. She nodded, stepping aside with her head held downwards as the queen trailed in.

“How is Helaena holding up?” Rhaenyra inquired idly.

“Quite well, Your Grace,” Alicent answered nervously.

“I cannot say enough how sorry I am that such a thing occurred,” Rhaenyra said. 

The words seemed sincere to Alicent but she knew better. It was likely just courtesy. All the same, she inclined her head. “I thank you for the kind words and all your help, Your Grace.”

A beat passed and the queen took a breath, clearly preparing for whatever she actually came to say. “Lady Alicent, you assisted your father in his duties as Hand, is that correct?”

Alicent’s brow furrowed, why was the queen asking her about this? “I did. Nothing important, of course.”

“Specifically, what did you do for him?”

Alicent gulped, unsure. “I often arranged accommodations for visiting lords, wrote and sent letters on his behalf, made seating charts and planned the courses for feasts, and other menial tasks that he didn’t have the time to be bothered with, Your Grace. Occasionally, I also met with Lord Lyman Beesbury to discuss the financial matters related to such.”

Rhaenyra hummed. “Most duties of a Queen Consort,” she mused.

Instantly, Alicent’s heart sank. “No, no, Your Grace, I…” Was the queen here because she was angry Alicent had overstepped her station? She was just the king’s paramour, not his wife, how dare she presume to act as a Queen Consort. Alicent was only doing as her father bid, as always. “I apologize if I offended, I only-”

The queen caught on to her distress, holding up her hand. “No, no, I’m not here to chastise you, Lady Alicent.”

She looked at the queen warily, her fingers begging to pick at each other to relieve the tension in her body.

“Quite the opposite, in fact,” Rhaenyra continued. “I spoke to Lord Lyman, he thinks highly of your abilities and I remember how well the events you arranged for the Crown were. I have run into a problem, you see, my husband is rather terrible at his duties. I talked it over with him and he agreed, it would be beneficial for him to have help from someone with more experience in this area.”

Alicent put the pieces together quickly. Her face twisted in confusion, “You want me to help the king?”

“I can think of no one better. You’re already here in the keep and you have ample experience with my council and court,” Rhaenyra answered. “And I did not mean to pry, but my handmaidens were saying you’ve been asking around the keep, looking for a job to occupy your time. I would be glad to provide that and payment for your services, of course.”

Silence fell over the room once Rhaenyra finished as Alicent was at a loss for words. This must be a jape, she thought. The queen surely could not be truly offering such an important position to her of all people.

Alicent searched the queen’s face for any sign of malice. There must be some twist of her lips or glint in her eye, like the way Prince Daemon subtly showed his contempt. Just a hint of falsehood was all she required to dash her hopes before they grew too wild.

Regrettably, she found nothing but sincerity.

Thrice had she met the queen in the past weeks and thrice had Rhaenyra shown her nothing but kindness. It simply didn’t make sense. Alicent had broken every tenant of the Faith and had not a scrap of virtue left to her, what reason did Rhaenyra have to show such generosity to her and her children?

If- The thought came unbidden and Alicent tried to push it away, to little avail. If she wanted the same thing as her father… The proclivities of Rhaenyra’s husband were common gossip, perhaps it was not so ridiculous to think she had similar inclinations. If it was true though, she had no reason to pretend to care. Rhaenyra was the queen, she could take whatever she wanted.

It must be something else then. There had to be some way to make sense of it, but no reason came to her. “Why?” Alicent asked her plainly. She couldn’t bear the uncertainty. King Viserys was always clear in what he wanted, she wished his daughter would be as well.

“Why?” Rhaenyra echoed, confused by the question.

“Why do you insist upon showing such sympathy for me and my family? Why do you care?” Alicent rambled on. “You could find anyone in the Seven Kingdoms who could do such duties, why turn to me?”

The queen recoiled slightly, taken aback by the sudden anger. “Do you not wish for the position?”

Part of Alicent should be worried at offending the queen, yet her tongue was too loose to think carefully about her words. “I simply want the truth, Your Grace. I cannot stand more feigned care. You’ve allowed us to stay in the Red Keep, you’ve protected Helaena, and now you wish to give me a pivotal task at court. Why?”

Rhaenyra’s features softened slightly. She took a few breaths, considering her answer, before beginning. “When I left court after my mother died, it was because I had lost most of my family. I used to dream of having a sibling, dreams that were dashed time and time again. My mother was gone, and, so the servants said, it was my father who killed her so brutally. In time, years later, I found the strength to forgive him for that, but I did not find the strength to return home for long.”

Alicent winced. She had heard the king mumble occasionally in his sleep, whispers of apologies to Queen Aemma. Sometimes, she heard him crying over what he’d done. Evidently though, the guilt didn’t stop him from summoning her to his chambers over and over.

“On Dragonstone, I found a new family. Ser Laenor, my sons, Lady Laena, Ser-” she cut herself off abruptly and shook her head. “Occasionally, I heard tales of your children, but I didn’t care. Or rather, I didn’t want to care. When I came back to the keep for my ascension and after that horrible situation with Helaena, I realized perhaps I’d been foolish to ignore them. They are not trueborn, and that is all the court will think about, but they are my siblings. I would not wish for them to suffer in squalor.”

Rhaenyra took a step closer, meeting Alicent’s eyes fully. The violet pierced through her, shining with genuine care. They were a tad too close, Alicent thought. If she reached out her arm, she could easily take the queen’s hand in hers.

“I’m sure my father cared for you all deeply as well. You spent decades loyally by his side, for that you will always have my gratitude.”

At that, Alicent’s face fell slightly. The queen didn’t know how little attention the king paid to her or their children. She had a wholly incorrect view of their relationship. However, the words wouldn’t form on Alicent’s tongue to correct her.

“You need not decide at this very moment to accept the position or not,” Rhaenyra assured her, evidently not seeing the falter in Alicent’s face. When she put up no objections, Rhaenyra nodded and backed away, towards the door. “Goodnight, Lady Alicent.”

“Goodnight, Your Grace,” Alicent barely managed to get out as the door shut behind the queen.

A deep sigh escaped her quickly as Alicent’s thoughts raced. She had been looking for a job and was not like to find a better one than assisting the King Consort. Alicent had thought staying away from the royal family would be best. It seemed impossible, but if it was really true that Rhaenyra was sincere, then keeping her favor would be imperative.

She fretted, Daemon would not be happy if he knew, and truthfully she feared his wrath more than the queen’s. Even hearing that he had been reinstated as Commander of the Watch made her nervous over what could happen to Aemond.

Alicent thought then, the queen had an entirely wrong impression of King Viserys’ care for her family. Yet, that mistruth seemed to work to Alicent’s benefit. It was a horrible lie to tell, though far from the worst thing she’d done to her reputation.

It would be dangerous for her but if she could remain in the queen’s good graces and perform her job well, perhaps her children may yet live a better life. Helaena could find a nice husband to erase her last name, Aegon would not have to work in such a horrid place, and Daeron and Aemond could be proper knights like they always wished for.

Alicent took a few more shaky breaths, picking at her fingers furiously as she considered the idea. She’d done the job well for her father. He never complimented her on it, he was not the type, but he nodded curtly and didn’t complain about her work most of the time.

The day before, she might’ve considered it a fit of madness to even contemplate the idea, but as the minutes passed, she grew ever more certain that it was for the best that she took the job.

Chapter Text

The weeks passed quickly in the Red Keep as Alicent settled into her new position. The work was familiar and comfortable, in a sense.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to see the queen very often. Usually only once a week, if even that, and that was only to give her a general overview of what had been decided. The king she met with almost every day, keeping him informed of any decisions she’d made so he could pass it on to the Small Council, as well as meetings for him she’d arranged through letters with other lords and ladies. She could do the work of a consort, but couldn’t replace Laenor in-person.

Alicent had fully expected the time she would have to spend with the king and queen, but she had not anticipated her days also being taken up by Lady Laena Velaryon. Alicent could only guess what the woman was like from what she knew of her husband, Prince Daemon. She expected someone cruel who despised her and was likely furious at her appointment.

Except, Alicent was surprised to find quite the opposite. Laena was thoughtful and easy-going, much more like her brother than her husband. She assisted them every so often and was always polite and warm to Alicent. Truthfully, Alicent couldn’t fathom how she was married to Daemon of all people. Unless Daemon was kinder than he let on but that seemed rather unlikely.

Laena had a tendency to interrupt her meetings with King Laenor, insisting they needed to get out of their stuffy chambers once in a while. While the king usually darted off to train at swordplay with his sons or his friend, Qarl Correy, Alicent was shocked that time and time again, Laena offered to spend time with her.

She didn’t have a royal title, but Laena was still close to the king and queen. Alicent fretted that any misstep with Laena would get back to them and they would rethink their kindness but nothing of the sort ever came about. Laena and her would stroll through the gardens, share meals together, or simply trade gossip they’d heard.

Today, they played cyvasse as the midday sun beat down on them in the gardens. Laena had taught her the game, though Alicent still didn’t quite understand all the rules.

“I worry about how Rhaena is doing,” Laena confessed as they played. “It was one thing when we were across the Narrow Sea, but we are home now and she is still dragonless. Her sister, her father and I, all of her cousins, the king, and the queen, we all have dragons, yet none have accepted her.”

Alicent nodded, remembering the aching on behalf of her children from years ago. Aegon in particular wanted a dragon so dearly, he used to have a toy in the shape of one, but he wasn’t allowed to try his hand at claiming one. Alicent offered advice to Laena, “There is still time for Rhaena, I’m sure. Until then, I always encouraged my children to pursue their other hobbies. That’s how Helaena became obsessed with bugs.”

Laena considered the idea for a moment, “Rhaena was quite fascinated by some stories of Old Valyria when I read them to her.”

“Aemond loves the histories as well,” Alicent added, a smile unconsciously fluttering to her lips. “Or he used to, when he had the time to read.”

Laena hummed as she moved a piece across the cyvasse board. “Laenor and I used to love them as well. Mostly when our father told them, he has a penchant for the dramatic.”

They settled into a comfortable silence for a few moments as they played. It was nice to be able to speak freely about her children, Alicent had learned. It had been far too long since she had a friend at court. Laena didn’t scoff and brush off any mention of them like other ladies at court had or think less of them simply because they were bastards. Perhaps that was because of the queen’s sons, Alicent wondered, but obviously would never speculate that aloud.

Laena’s mouth opened and closed a few times, seemingly debating whether to say something. Eventually, she made up her mind, “It would be easier to help Rhaena if her father paid more attention.”

“He’s become quite busy, I hear. Since his reinstatement,” Alicent spoke quickly. “Aemond told me he was working near constantly.”

“That he is,” Laena confirmed. “Though, even before we returned to Westeros, he always seemed to prefer Baela. He loves Rhaena in his own way, I know, but I’m not sure Rhaena knows it.” She took a breath, running a hand through her hair. Chuckling nervously, Laena added, “I suppose I don’t need to tell you of all people what Targaryen men are like.”

Alicent tensed slightly and she hoped Laena didn’t notice. Alicent had been keeping up the lie that she and King Viserys were in love. She had to, so Rhaenyra did not find a reason to withdraw all the kindness she’d shown her. Her father had always told her that Alicent was a dreadful liar, however.

“Viserys was always busy as well, naturally,” Alicent answered. Calling the king by his first name sounded odd on her tongue. “They just show their…affection in their own sort of way.” Her words were stiff and unconvincing, she thought.

Laena nodded slightly, her face not betraying any sign of whether she believed Alicent’s words. And indeed, Laena did not. Over the past weeks, she’d noticed how uncomfortable Alicent grew around the subject of the king. At first, she assumed it was simply grief, yet it seemed familiar to her.

“I used to stay in the Red Keep when my father was Master of Ships. I only spoke to the king personally once though. When I was just a girl, barely two and ten,” Laena recited. “My father bid me to convince the king that I would be a suitable second wife,” melancholy was in her voice and she stared down at the cyvasse board. “He was quite furious when King Viserys decided he would not wed again for no apparent reason.”

Alicent bit her lip, perhaps she thought she was hiding the turmoil in her features well. Laena’s face softened, sure even more now that she was correct in her hunch.

“I counted myself quite lucky, back then. I did not particularly want to marry the king,” Laena mused. Laena had once thought that Alicent and Viserys were in love, that was what the gossip said, after all. Maybe she simply wanted it to be true, for both Alicent and the king’s sakes. It was a nice, simple story.

Getting to know her in these past weeks had thrown it all into doubt, however. Laena now recognized the unease that plagued Alicent around the topic of the king as the same she once felt. The lady fidgeted whenever the topic was brought and dodged the questions if she could. If it was true though and Alicent never wanted to be the king’s paramour…

Laena shuddered internally at the possibility. It was not for Laena to press Alicent for the truth and it certainly wasn’t her place to spread the thought to her brother or the queen. Alicent would come to her, in time, if she wished to speak about it. All Laena could do was be kind to her, which few other people seemed inclined to be.

Giving her a soft, friendly smile, Laena continued their game of cyvasse. Alicent was quite glad for the distraction from her own thoughts.

King Laenor was nothing like Alicent expected. Her father often talked about Lord Corlys from their days on the council together. Formidable, stern, ambitious, very much like himself. One of the greatest lords of Westeros, who had sailed around the world and made his house the richest in all the realm. She supposed she expected Laenor to be something like him.

He was the King Consort, the first in history. She recalled that Viserys spoke highly of him before his wedding to Rhaenyra. He was a war hero from the Stepstones and rode a dragon. How could a man such as that be anything else?

Beyond that, her father had many words to say about Laenor and his “proclivities”, as he called it. “A vile, disgusting man, with no respect for the gods,” Otto had insulted Laenor one night.

And yet, this man needed her help with his duties. All her expectations were thrown out the window upon meeting him properly. He was affable and casual, full of jokes, and more concerned with swordplay and spending time with his children than his duties as the ruler’s consort.

Like his sister, he was oddly kind to her. He had never once asked about Viserys and he always checked with her before giving her a new task, as he didn’t want to overwhelm her, and made sure to thank her afterwards. She didn’t mind the workload, of course, but she was grateful that he at least seemed aware of how much she was doing for him.

Once, he convinced her to shirk their duties for an hour or two to watch their children in the training yard. Somehow, Daeron had become a close friend of the princes and they practiced their swordplay together near everyday.

Part of Alicent should’ve been upset with her youngest son for disregarding her wish to stay away from the royal family, but she could not bring herself to be. Not when Daeron had started smiling more than he had in the past year. It was good for him to have friends his own age, she thought, though she still worried over any possible misstep.

That was not the only reason for her anxiousness, however. Whenever a sword swing connected or one of the boys fell, Alicent couldn’t help but anguish. She picked at her fingers incessantly, drawing blood that she hoped the king wouldn’t notice.

She’d never particularly liked the training yard but she’d grown to loathe it since she bid Aemond a good day of training once and returned back to find her second son in a pool of his own blood and with one less eye.

Laenor seemed to notice her unease. He tried to assure her, “Those practice swords can’t truly harm. I got struck in the neck by one once, left a hell of a bruise but nothing serious.”

Alicent appreciated the gesture but hardly felt better.

“And my sons wouldn’t hurt anyone. Daeron, least of all. Luke told me over dinner that they started training together simply because he thought Daeron could use a friend,” Laenor recited. It was a sweet sentiment, Alicent thought.

She couldn’t help but notice the fondness in Laenor’s voice as he spoke about the princes, only rivaled by the pride as he watched them spar. If court gossip was true, they were not Laenor’s sons at all, but she wouldn’t be able to tell if not for their appearance. He loved them just as much as if they were his own. 

Or, perhaps they were his own. Alicent shouldn’t presume to believe gossip.

“It’s just in a lady’s nature to worry,” Alicent told Laenor. That’s what her father believed and told her repeatedly every time she grew anxious, at least.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Lady Alicent,” Laenor said. “Rhaenyra and Laena, when they were girls, they wanted more than anything to join the fighting, not sit on the sidelines.”

The idea sounded absurd to Alicent. Her family and the Seven always taught her the proper role of a woman, it was most certainly not to fight with swords like a man. She could not help but be curious. “Did they ever learn to fight?”

Laenor shook his head. “Laena gave up that dream when she got Vhagar instead. No need for swords when you have the biggest dragon in the realm. I think my wife still does want to be a knight, but there’s hardly a place for that anymore. She did get a lesson though once by-” he cut himself off suddenly. His face grew somber and distant.

Alicent probably should just leave it be, as Laenor clearly seemed to not want to speak about it, but her mouth worked quicker than her mind. She blurted out, “By?”

The king blinked a few times, as if he forgot momentarily that she was here. Quickly recovering himself, he answered, “Joffrey. Ser Joffrey Lonmouth. He was…a good friend of ours years ago.”

If the king’s solemn face wasn’t enough, Alicent knew their youngest son was named Joffrey. It was enough for her to put the pieces together.

A hint of recognition must’ve passed across her face, as Laenor already anticipated her next question. “It was a tourney accident, during the spectacle for Rhaenyra and I’s wedding. It was nobody’s fault. He was a good man, he fought with me in the war.”

Alicent vaguely remembered hearing gossip of a man who died in that tourney, but it was so long ago and she was grappling with her second pregnancy at the time. It was obvious to her how important he was to Laenor.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Alicent told him sincerely, hoping to soften his grief even if it had been a decade and a half ago.

Laenor inclined his head thankfully with a soft grin. Wordlessly, they turned back to watch their sons as they fought in the yard.

“Wait! Wait for me!” Luke called after his two friends as they darted through the halls of the Red Keep. Daeron and Jace didn’t slow however, the more distance they put between them and the kitchens, the better.

Daeron had gotten roped into their plan to sneak some cakes out of the kitchens. Each boy had a handful and hurried so they were nowhere near when their crime was discovered. Jace led the charge, leading the trio up to his own chambers, a safe place where they could hide and enjoy the fruits of their labor.

His mother would be disappointed in him, Daeron knew, but the adrenaline of the moment made him care little. It was just a few cakes and if the princes allowed it, surely it was not a problem.

“In here, quickly!” Jace told them, pushing open the door to his chambers. Daeron and Luke dashed in and Jace shut it behind them. Once they were well and truly alone, the three started laughing, giddy at their successful heist.

The boys gleefully recounted their daring plan to each other, as if they had not just lived it, while feasting on their stolen cakes. Daeron had not intended to spend more time with the princes beyond the single training session, but every day they asked if he would like to join them and every day he said yes.

It was like having his brothers back. Having friends that he could goof off with and dodge any miniscule responsibility. The princes didn’t seem to care that he was a bastard, and Luke only seemed half aware of what a bastard was at all.

Their tiny celebration was interrupted when the door was harshly pushed open. Luke yelped, thinking they had gotten caught, but Jace breathed a sigh of relief when they saw Baela and Rhaena enter the chamber instead.

“We’ve been looking for you both everywhere,” Baela complained. “Your father was looking for you.” It was then that they noticed all the stolen sweets strewn about the table in Jace’s room. Their faces were littered with crumbs to prove their guilt.

Thinking quickly, Jace grabbed two and offered them to his cousins. “Don’t tell anyone?” He suggested hopefully.

Baela scoffed but her sister easily nodded and took one of the cakes. “Rhaena!” The elder sister chastised. Rhaena only shrugged and sheepishly smiled as she devoured it.

“My ladies,” Daeron greeted, standing up from his seat and bowing. He didn’t know the pair very well, only glimpsing them a few times before and after practice in the yard, and he didn’t want to risk offending them by forgetting his courtesies. The princes had already told him a thousand times that he didn’t need to be so formal with them, though.

“This is Daeron,” Luke introduced excitedly. “He’s your cousin or something.” After a beat, Luke started to ramble, “He’s your cousin and you’re our cousins but he’s not our cousin which is odd.”

Daeron tensed, he wouldn’t presume to introduce himself as their cousin. Rhaena waved but Baela seemed more wary of him. She pulled Jace over, out of earshot of Daeron and Luke. They couldn’t hear them as they argued. 

“Why is Daeron Waters here?” Baela asked.

“He’s nice, he trains with us sometimes,” Jace answered. “He helped us get all of that stuff too.”

“He made you steal from the kitchens?” Baela guessed.

“No! It was our idea,” Jace defended.

“I don’t think it’s okay. My father says he’s dangerous,” Baela told him. “Unruly and violent, like all bastards.”

Jace shook his head firmly. “Great-Uncle Daemon’s never met Daeron. Give him a chance, Baela, he’s fun and smart too.”

Baela looked less than interested in the prospect. Her father had been very clear that they were not to go anywhere near them for their own safety. Baela had heard stories as well from other ladies at court.

Daeron’s older brothers attacked a pair of squires years ago and Aemond had threatened to murder them before the fight was broken up. His sister was violent, sending that poor Lannister boy to a maester with a stab in the belly. Even the king knew that they were rotten to the core, that was why he never fostered them away from the city.

She glanced over across the room and saw that Rhaena had already joined Luke and Daeron at the table, telling each other jokes as they ate cake after cake. They were almost certainly going to make themselves sick, she thought, but Rhaena seemed excited to meet the princes’ new friend.

“Come on, let’s join them,” Jace encouraged and held up the other cake from earlier for her to take.

Huffing, Baela took the cake and followed the prince. If Rhaena was giving him a chance, she supposed she could too. If nothing else, she could help dispose of the evidence that they’d raided the kitchens.

Alicent’s stomach still twisted in dread whenever she had to meet with the queen. Nothing awry had happened, it was always friendly yet formal. Rhaenyra was as courteous as ever. She appreciated the work Alicent did and even saw fit to praise her on occasion. “Excellent, Lady Alicent. We may yet have this tourney on time, thanks to you.” Alicent still fretted every time she climbed the steps to her chambers, Viserys’ old chambers.

It is all built on a lie, Alicent always reminded herself. Rhaenyra was only so amiable because she believed her father loved Alicent and she loved him in return. If Alicent ever slipped up in the lie and Rhaenyra discovered the truth, her patience with them could swiftly run out.

Thus far though, Alicent had been lucky. Rhaenyra hadn’t pried further into her history with her father and only briefly inquired about her children’s wellbeing, however she couldn’t tell it was out of mere politeness or genuine curiosity.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly. Aemond was working more than ever but beyond that, nothing had changed, which was just as well to Alicent.

Between her work, time spent with Laenor and Laena, and caring for her children, Alicent had little time to herself. When she finally did get some time alone, when Helaena was busy with her duties as a handmaiden and Daeron was training, Alicent found her way to the godswood with a book in hand.

It had been too long since she indulged in her hobby of reading and longer still since she had come to the godswood. Her boys used to play beneath the weirwood tree while she read to Helaena. Or sometimes Helaena preferred to explore the grass looking for insects and Alicent joined the boys in their games as the helpless maiden in distress.

The memory was vivid in her mind as Alicent curled up at the base of the tree and began to read. The soft wind rustling the branches and slightly overcast sky calmed her. Enough that she could spend a few minutes not thinking about the past twenty years of her life or the precarious position she was in.

That moment of tranquility, unfortunately, came crumbling down as she heard footsteps enter the godswood. Looking up from her book, Alicent startled and sat up straight when she saw it was the queen.

Rhaenyra was surprised to see her as well, pausing in her stride. “Lady Alicent? Apologies, I didn’t know you were here.”

Alicent’s hands fidgeted together. Surely, it could not be a coincidence. “I-I was nearly done regardless-” Alicent tried.

“No, no, you don’t have to leave on my account,” Rhaenyra told her. “Would you mind if I joined you?”

Alicent didn’t know if she could refuse a direct request from the queen. She moved to the side a bit so Rhaenyra could lean against the base of the tree as well.

The queen smiled warmly and settled next to her, “I used to come here all the time when I was a girl. The only place where I knew people wouldn’t bother me.”

She found a bit of amusement in that, since she came here for a similar reason. “My children and I loved coming here.” Away from the scornful eyes of court, but she couldn’t say that to Rhaenyra. Instead, she said, “Lots of room to run around.”

“It’s also a wonderful place to hide from mothers and council members,” Rhaenyra joked.

Alicent couldn’t help herself but smile a bit at the mental image. The always formal and proper queen showing her latent immaturity. Her tongue briefly felt loose enough to add, “I’ll keep it in mind if the king ever pesters me too much.”

Quickly, Alicent wished she could take back the words. She shouldn’t appear ungrateful for the position she’d been given. It was a great honor to do this work and she couldn’t afford to put that at risk.

Surprisingly, Rhaenyra only chuckled in response. “That shan’t be a problem. Laenor’s problem is he cares too little about the work of a consort. I honestly don’t know how he managed for those few weeks. We’re lucky to have you now, though.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Alicent inclined her head.

“Please, we’re not working at the moment. Just Rhaenyra will suffice,” Rhaenyra told her.

Alicent winced internally. “And please, call me Viserys,” the king had once said, entirely too close, his breath making her skin shudder unpleasantly. The king hadn’t truly cared, she’d refused to use his first name for twenty years and it hardly mattered to him after he started getting what he wanted.

She didn’t know if Rhaenyra would truly care either, but erred on the side of caution for now. “Whatever you wish, Rhaenyra.” The name sounded more natural on her tongue than she expected.

Rhaenyra nodded, glancing down and spotting the book in Alicent’s arm. She raised an eyebrow curiously, “What are you reading, if you don’t mind me asking?”

From there, Alicent was quite surprised that their conversation continued effortlessly. She told Rhaenyra about her book, an old favorite from when she was a girl that her mother often read, and in turn, Rhaenyra spoke about her own favorite books, tales from Old Valyria and the wonders of Essos.

They went from one topic to the next, always light and simple. They spoke of their hobbies, Rhaenyra’s time on Dragonstone, and Alicent’s old life in Oldtown. Rhaenyra recounted every detail of her dragon, Syrax, and how much fun it was to fly on dragonback. Alicent could only offer descriptions of the great Hightower or Starry Sept.

Alicent’s nervousness did not abate entirely, but she was able to speak a bit more boldly than she would’ve otherwise. The queen acted more freely than she did in their meetings as well.

While still confident and well-spoken, Rhaenyra grew more lax in her words, openly insulting Lord Jason Lannister once. Humorous as well, the queen seemed to make it her goal to coax laughs out of Alicent. She was much more like Laenor than Alicent realized. In hindsight maybe she shouldn’t be surprised by that.

Alicent felt herself growing a bit more relaxed in the queen’s presence as the time passed. Still, the queen had not asked about Viserys, which Alicent counted herself thankful for, though she knew it was only a matter of time.

“Seven hells,” Rhaenyra said abruptly when she looked up and saw the sky was turning orange in the sunset. “Must’ve lost track of the time. Luke will be furious if I miss another dinner.”

Alicent hurried to her feet, “I should be getting back as well.”

“This was quite pleasant, Lady Alicent. We ought to spend time outside meetings more often,” Rhaenyra suggested.

Alicent wasn’t sure if she liked the idea but she didn’t dislike it either. “Of course, Your- Rhaenyra.”

Just as Alicent turned to leave, Rhaenyra opened her mouth but no words came out. She hesitated for a moment, before speaking in earnest. “Perhaps, whenever is convenient to you all, you and your children might like to join us for dinner?”

Alicent froze on her feet. Despite the nice afternoon and all the kindness Rhaenyra had shown, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was a trick. Rhaenyra only wished to lure her in before being cruel to her children. She shook that thought away, “All of us?”

“I was thinking, it is past time I met my half-siblings properly,” Rhaenyra told her and the words seemed genuine. With a light smile, she added, “Jace and Luke are already close with Daeron, they’ve been clamoring for him to join us for weeks.”

It was one thing for Alicent to spend her time around the royal family, but she worried about her children doing so. Even one slip up about how little Viserys cared for them could end in disaster. Not to mention, if Rhaenyra’s family was to be there, Daemon would almost certainly be there, prepared to taunt and insult them incessantly. She didn’t want to subject her children to that.

It was far too dangerous, she thought. She doubted Aegon or Aemond even wanted to have dinner with the royal family, yet the queen might take offense to their family’s rejection. What right did they have to deny an invitation from the queen to dinner?

She debated internally for what was likely far too long. “It would be an honor to join you,” Alicent said, her voice wavering but Rhaenyra must not have noticed.

The queen smiled, “Excellent. Simply let me know whatever day works for all of you. See you on the morrow, Lady Alicent.” With that, Rhaenyra took her leave, the clanking armor of the Kingsguard following behind her.

Alicent waited until the sound was firmly out of sight before she let the panic fully set in. She rushed down to her chambers to find her children. They needed to ensure everything went perfectly for the queen’s dinner.

Chapter Text

Seven fucking hells. Aegon made for a pitiful sight.

Aemond was nearly done with his patrol, on his way back to the barracks to sleep the day away, and found his brother slumped over in an alley. He snored obnoxiously, as he always had, and drooled over the ground. He reeked of ale and filth, his muddied clothes and hair reflecting that.

It wasn’t an uncommon sight for Aemond to find. Aegon had been prone to overindulging in ale for years and that has only grown worse and more frequent since he began spending nearly all his time in Flea Bottom. Still, it twisted Aemond’s stomach uncomfortably every time.

This wasn’t the brother he remembered. When they were boys, Aegon was mischievous and crass, yes, but never so self-destructive. Aemond couldn’t help but think of one of his fellow gold cloaks. They’d lamented how their father fell victim to the same urges over and over again until he eventually found him dead.

Aemond shook the thought away at once.

“Aegon, get up,” he said, trying to rouse his brother. When he got no response, Aemond reached out and shook him lightly, “It’s Aemond, come on. Get up.” Shaking him forcefully proved fruitless as well, beyond some light groans from his brother who seemed to patently refuse to wake up.

“Aegon!” He yelled, more forcefully. When that didn’t work either, he sighed. Aemond rose back up, regretting that it had to come to this once again. He reeled back his foot and slammed it into his brother’s side.

“Fucking-” Aegon yelped as he reeled from the blow, finally awake. “Who the- Aemond, what the fuck?” His brother was groggy and his voice strained. He blinked rapidly, adjusting to the morning sun hanging over them.

“I tried waking you,” Aemond told him.

“Clearly not hard enough, cunt,” Aegon spat. Aemond already expected that response, his brother was never pleasant after nights like this. “You know, I’ve had a pretty shitty night already.”

“I’m sure,” Aemond responded dryly. He wordlessly offered his hand to his brother who scoffed but took it all the same after a moment. Aemond lifted him to his feet, his brother nearly stumbling into him as he recovered his balance. They fell into step as Aemond traced his steps back towards the Red Keep.

It was almost painful how routine it was for them at this point, dragging Aegon back to their home after a particularly hard night. He spent most nights in the brothel he worked at, at least, though that was only marginally better than the ground.

“Do you work tonight?” Aemond asked idly.

“What do you care?” Aegon responded half-heartedly.

“Mother wanted me to tell you, the queen has invited us to dinner tonight,” Aemond told him.

Aegon laughed for a few moments, only to find that Aemond wasn’t smiling with him. “Do you jest? Why would she do that?”

“Mother says she wishes to get to know us. We are her half-siblings,” Aemond reminded him.

“Well, that’s horseshit,” Aegon responded. “Probably one of our dear uncle’s tricks.”

Aemond hummed. “Daeron is excited about the prospect. He’s…close with the queen’s sons, so he’s said.”

“The phony princes?” Aegon asked, incredulous. “How’d he manage that?”

Aemond shrugged. A beat passed and he smirked. “I’ll give you a silver stag to call them that at dinner.”

His brother laughed freely, though he clutched his head halfway through as he felt a splitting headache course through him. After he had a moment to calm down, Aegon inquired. “Speaking truthfully though, what do you think about this dinner?”

“There are few things I would like to do less than spend an evening with our queen,” Aemond told him. “But our mother needs this to go well. We have to be on our best behavior. The royal family might take offense if we do not show.”

“More offense than they would take by dining with a cripple and a whore?” Aegon asked sardonically. He groaned, “I suppose we have to. If they’re cunts though…”

“Wreck the fucking dinner,” Aemond agreed.

For Rhaenyra, the day stretched on and on. The minutes felt like hours in the Small Council chamber. It was tedious issue after tedious issue, but that was the cost of ruling, she supposed.

“The Citadel suspects winter may be upon us sooner rather than later,” Tyland recited. “We ought to make certain we’ll have enough food for the city by then.”

That launched into a half an hour long tirade by Beesbury as he spoke at length about how much food would be required, where they would get it, and the cost of purchasing that much. One could never say the Master of Coin wasn’t thorough but the ledgers he showed threatened to give her a headache.

“Skirmishes with Dorne still plague our borders to the south,” Corlys explained. “Nothing to be concerned about in all likelihood, but the marcher lords are requesting aid.”

Dorne had been prodding at their borders for years, but they had a renewed vigor about them since she was crowned. She could only guess they were testing their limits under the new queen. She told Corlys to send some men down to the marches, gauge how much help the lords would need, and get back to her.

“Tourney planning goes well,” Laenor spoke about next. “We are still on course to start by the end of the moon. Lords are already writing confirming their attendance as well.”

There was a round of gratitude for the king consort’s diligent work, though Laenor seemed a bit uncomfortable accepting it, as he hadn’t truly done much. Rhaenyra and Lord Beesbury were the only ones besides him who had spoken to Alicent in person.

“There is another matter, Your Grace,” Jasper Wylde added. “An exceeding number of reports from the smallfolk in King’s Landing complaining about the gold cloaks. They say they are overbearing and quick to violence.”

Tyland furrowed his brow and chuckled, “They’re complaining that they can’t get away with crimes as easily?”

Jasper shrugged, “The majority claim they were innocent of the crime they were punished for.”

“Of course they would say they’re innocent,” Corlys remarked. “That doesn’t make it so.”

“Regardless, if it is as many as you say, this isn’t an issue we can dismiss out of hand,” Rhaenyra said. She assumed Daemon would excel in his position, she remembered from her youth that he was revered as the Commander of the City Watch. “I will speak to Daemon on the morrow, get a better sense of what is happening.”

It was a relief when the council meeting finally ended. She needed to prepare for the dinner tonight with Alicent and her family. She’d had plenty of dinners in the royal dining chamber with powerful lords whose support could make or break her reign, yet somehow this felt the most important.

Beyond her brief encounter with Helaena and the one time she saw Daeron running around with Jace and Luke, Rhaenyra didn’t know her half-siblings. Her father’s other family who had stayed by his side until his dying day. Even Alicent was still shrouded in mystery to her.

Their afternoon in the godswood was promising however. Alicent seemed quite intelligent and devout. Prim and proper but not without wit, and a delightfully mesmerizing laugh. She could certainly see why her father liked her. Though, the lady still seemed wary of her. There was much that Rhaenyra didn’t know about her relationship with her father, the queen was only waiting for a good time to ask.

Perhaps I’ll ask after the dinner, Rhaenyra hoped, assuming it all went well. Thankfully, there was no reason to assume it would go poorly.

Jace and Luke were already the best of friends with Daeron. She had no doubt that Baela and Rhaena would like Helaena as well. Aemond and Daemon likely already knew each other from their work in the City Watch. Aegon was a bit trickier, she knew the least about him by far, but nothing she couldn’t handle.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath and set to work making the last arrangements for the dinner with renewed energy. She had not a doubt that this would be a splendid night.

Alicent was sure this would be the worst night of her life.

Despite fretting over it all day, her family was not the least bit prepared for this. They didn’t even have the proper wardrobe for it. Helaena had to have formal dresses as a lady in waiting, but the boys hadn’t gotten clothes that would be fit for such an occasion in years. Not since the celebration for Prince Joffrey’s birth. Afterwards, her father never deemed it necessary to spend the money on them.

Daeron luckily could use Aemond’s old garb. It was a bit small but Aemond could also fit into Aegon’s, but that left her eldest without any proper clothes to meet the queen.

“I could see if my boss will let me borrow my fancy clothes for the evening,” Aegon suggested, a wry grin on his face.

Alicent rolled her eyes, “You cannot greet the queen dressed like a brothel worker.” Aegon shrugged as if he didn’t see the problem with it. Eventually, she found some of the old clothes Gwayne had left in the capital that he used to wear for feasts. They were old and had more than a few holes, but they were a sight better than the rags Aegon usually wore.

“Only a dragon can mend what another dragon broke,” Helaena muttered to herself. Alicent patted her lovingly but forgot the words quickly. Ever since she was young, Helaena has always said odd things at times.

As the hour of the dinner ticked closer, Alicent grew more and more anxious. It was all she could think about no matter how she tried to distract herself. Her nerves would be fried before they even set foot in the same room as the queen.

Any number of things could go wrong so easily. Her children didn’t like the idea of lying that their father was kind to them, Aegon in particular. It would only take a single slip up to expose her falsehood.

Rhaenyra had seemed kind, Alicent was even starting to believe she truly was, yet she also knew Targaryens were fickle. If the queen deemed Aegon too crass, Helaena too quiet, or Daeron too rambunctious, she could throw them out without a second thought.

Laenor and Laena were her friends, or the closest thing she had to them, but even they would not rise to defend her if Rhaenyra decided upon such a course of action. Daemon would see them off happily with his wicked grin.

A knock at the door threw her from her thoughts. A servant stepped in quietly. “The queen is ready to receive you all at dinner.”

Alicent took a deep breath, trying to collect herself, meanwhile Daeron hurried forward, excited to spend the evening with his friends. Her other three children fell into step, none of them were especially eager for this dinner either.

Her hands picked at each other as they followed the servant to the dining chamber, blood dripping out bit by bit.

The dinner itself was extravagant. A large ornate table with more courses than Alicent could stomach and all the while, a group of musicians played soft ballads around the chamber. Not that Alicent could enjoy much of it, she was still wracked with nervousness.

Rhaenyra sat in the center, with Laenor and Daemon on her right. Laena was apparently busy this evening. To the queen’s left was Baela and Rhaena, with Jace and Luke at the far end of the table. Alicent sat across from Rhaenyra, with Aegon on her left and Aemond on her right. Helaena and Daeron were closer to the other children.

The conversation was kept light as they ate, though only Daeron, Jace, and Luke seemed to be enjoying each other’s company. Daemon was clearly unhappy to be here but thankfully, he had said nothing so far.

Next to her, Aegon was pouring another goblet of wine for himself. They’d been at dinner for little more than half an hour and she’d already lost track of how much he’d drunk. “Perhaps slow down a bit,” she whispered to him.

Aegon rolled his eyes, “They put all this wine on the table for a reason, mother. Someone’s got to drink it.” His words were loud and slurred, his eyes glazy. She wondered if he had already drunk a bit before dinner.

Rhaenyra chuckled, “Please have as much as you like. We’ve got plenty of Dornish reds.”

“Dornish red,” Aegon spoke admirably as he stared at the liquid in his cup. “Much better than the piss down in Flea Bottom.” He took a long swig with ease then.

Aemond had been quiet all evening, picking at his food and keeping an eye on Helaena and Daeron. Rhaenyra must’ve noticed this as well, as she tried to get his attention. “Aemond, I hear you work with Daemon in the City Watch.”

“Indeed,” Aemond said stiffly. “It’s a great honor.”

“You must be quite the skilled swordsman to be in their ranks at your age,” Rhaenyra said, encouraging him to speak more.

“I train a lot,” Aemond spoke curtly, not wanting to engage in conversation.

An awkward beat passed where Rhaenyra didn’t know how to continue, but the silence was broken by Rhaena blurting out. “Did you lose your eye on patrol?”

“Rhaena!” Laenor chastised.

“I was just curious,” Rhaena defended herself.

Aemond hummed, gripping his fork a bit too tightly. “No. It was taken from me as a punishment.” Alicent inhaled sharply. That was certainly stretching the truth but she would rather they moved past this topic altogether instead of correcting him.

Rhaena lowered her head apologetically and went back to speaking with her cousins. Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed in confusion but she did not press the issue. A few moments of silence went by before the conversation went back to normal and Aemond remained quiet.

It was perhaps twenty minutes later when a servant hurried over to the table. “Your Grace, there’s a situation…” They whispered to Rhaenyra something that Alicent couldn’t hear.

“Shit,” Rhaenyra muttered. She and Laenor spoke quietly together for a few moments before the king rose from his seat.

“Sorry to leave so soon, it seems Joffrey is refusing to go to sleep,” Laenor explained. He patted his wife’s shoulder before hurrying out of the chamber. Rhaenyra sighed and fiddled with the rings on her fingers, clearly worried about her son.

“Joffrey,” Aegon mused aloud. “That’s an unusual name for a Velaryon.”

Alicent glanced at him warily, understanding his implication. Rhaenyra tensed but didn’t falter. “He was named after an old friend of ours.”

“I know a lad named Joffrey too, down at work,” Aegon said.

“Oh? What do you do for work?” Rhaenyra inquired.

Aemond jumped to interrupt Aegon before he could speak, “He used to be a gold cloak. A few years back.”

Aegon’s wine-addled mind was distracted easily. “Only for a few moons. It was dreadful, a bunch of cunts who think they’re high and mighty because they’ve got a fancy cloak.”

His brother could ignore the insult to the Watch, but it seemed Daemon could not. The prince sat up in his seat, “The City Watch protects the mongrels and lowlifes of King’s Landing and enforces the king’s peace. Or queen’s, as it were.”

Aegon laughed to himself, not moved in the least by Daemon’s words. “Whatever you say, my prince,” he spoke mockingly.

Daemon’s face twitched angrily but Rhaenyra changed the topic of the conversation before it could devolve into an argument. “Aegon, Aemond, will either of you be competing in the tourney?”

“Sounds like a bore,” Aegon countered.

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” Aemond added, his tone a bit harsher than necessary.

Rhaenyra was taken aback for a moment but nodded, ending the discussion promptly.

On the other side of the table, the younger members of the family idly spoke to each other. “Father says, since Jace is gonna squire for him when he gets older, I might squire for Ser Harrold instead,” Luke explained to Daeron. “He’s been serving in the Kingsguard for over forty years.”

Baela and Rhaena, uninterested in the talk of squires and knights, turned to Helaena, who’d hardly said a word all night. “You’re one of Elyana’s handmaidens, right?” Baela asked.

Helaena nodded wordlessly.

“I’ve only met her once but she seemed rude. Though, I suppose all Lannisters are a bit arrogant,” Baela continued.

Again, she got no response from Helaena beyond a shrug.

Rhaena tried to get her focus another way. “Do you like dragons? Mother says I might get to go down to the Dragonpit soon. She worries about the big ones but I need to claim one sooner or later. Dreamfyre is still without a rider.”

“A dragon not meant for you in another life,” Helaena muttered.

Rhaena tilted her head in confusion, “What do you mean? In another life?”

Helaena merely shrugged again.

The two sisters glanced at each other, unsure what to make of Helaena Waters. Hesitantly, Baela continued, “Jace and Luke wanted Daeron to accompany them soon for one of their dragon training lessons. Maybe you could join me for mine as well? Moondancer isn’t very large, I promise.”

 There was a pregnant pause in the conversation before Helaena said, “That’d be nice.”

“Really?” Rhaena asked excitedly. The small smile on Helaena’s face was the most emotion she’d shown all evening. Collecting herself, Rhaena went on, “I’m glad. Many of the other ladies get a bit frightened of the dragons.”

Helaena nodded, “I understand. They get scared of my insects too.”

“The dragons in the pit are marvelous,” Baela told her. “Besides Moondancer, Vermax is growing by the day and Syrax is a beauty. Caraxes is odd looking but I love him. You don’t want to mess with Vhagar though, she can be terrifying.”

“Vhagar,” Helaena mused. “She should be riderless by now.”

Rhaena raised an eyebrow, “What?”

“She loses her rider. Laena’s funeral, a wound that cuts too deep, a family destroyed,” Helaena whispered but the girls heard plenty clear enough.

“Our mother’s funeral?” Baela asked, her voice suddenly growing irritated. “Why would you say that? Our mother is alive.”

Helaena blinked in surprise at her anger. “I-I don’t know,” she stammered out.

“You don’t know?” Rhaena echoed. “You said our mother would die, that’s a cruel thing to say.”

Helaena shook her head, “I didn’t- I don’t know what it means.”

As the twins’ voices grew louder, they began to draw the attention of the rest of the table. Daeron seemed to catch on to his sister’s distress immediately. “She didn’t mean anything by it, I promise.”

“Then why would she say it?” Baela asked forcefully.

“What’s going on?” Daemon crossed from his side of the table to theirs, noticing the commotion.

“Helaena said our mother would die,” Rhaena told him. Now, the entire attention of the table was on them.

“Did she now?” Daemon asked, his eyes turning to glare at the bastard girl.

Aemond butted in. “Helaena says strange things oftentimes, it’s nothing.”

“Nothing? To me, that sounds like a threat against the royal family,” Daemon spat.

“No!” Alicent stood up, rushing over to her daughter. “Of course it’s not, that’s ridiculous.”

“Seven fucking hells. Uncle, she’s three and ten,” Aegon added. “She can barely tie laces for a dress, she’s not threatening anyone.”

“I am not your uncle,” Daemon stated flatly, glaring back at him.

Alicent grasped her daughter tightly. She knew Helaena didn’t normally like contact but fretted more about what Daemon could do. After worrying all evening, she panicked seeing the dinner come undone so quickly.

“Everyone relax for a moment,” Rhaenyra tried, shooting a glare at Daemon before he made any other accusations. “I’m sure Helaena didn’t-”

“You afford these bastards too many allowances, Rhaenyra,” Daemon hissed, interrupting her. “Perhaps she means no harm, but I can’t say the same about the rest of her family. She clearly got the idea from someone.”

His implication was obvious even if he wasn’t staring directly at Alicent. The Hightower shook her head fervently and stuttered, “Y-Your Grace, I swear we would never. Perhaps the ladies simply misheard or-”

“We didn’t mishear,” Baela interjected.

“Wild accusations are not helping anyone, Daemon,” Rhaenyra told him firmly. “I will speak to the girls privately and we will figure out the truth of it.”

“Figure out the truth of it,” Daemon repeated with a scowl. “How many times must they cause issues before you see the real truth of it, Rhaenyra? Picking fights with squires, stabbing a Lannister’s son, stealing from the kitchens, yet somehow you remain blind to these bastards.”

Jace opened his mouth to defend Daeron and say their continued plundering of the kitchens was not his idea, but Daemon kept on rambling.

“You would sooner trust two whores, a cripple, a thief, and a freak before your own blood?” Daemon asked.

Rhaenyra seemed a bit confused by Daemon calling Aegon a whore but brushed past it. “They are our blood as well, don’t forget, Daemon. I would not distrust them blindly simply because you hold a senseless vendetta.”

“My brother knew they weren’t worth the effort,” Daemon argued. “Why can’t you see that too?” Alicent winced instinctually at the reminder of Viserys’ neglect.

“Ah, fuck you,” Aegon spat at their uncle, his tongue loosened by the wine. “You only hate us because the king didn’t give a fuck about you either.”

“Aegon!” Alicent chastised, her voice shaky. Not only did his words show her falsehood but also incensed the prince further.

Aemond hummed and didn’t hesitate to continue his brother’s thought. “Father sent us all to the City Watch, uncle. The perfect place, out of sight so we don’t embarrass him.”

“You little fucking-” Daemon flared, trying to march towards them.

“That is enough!” Rhaenyra yelled, pulling Daemon back before he could round the table. “All of you!”

Alicent felt her heart sink as she flinched from Rhaenyra’s harsh tone. This was it. Dinner had gone horribly and now the queen knew the truth. Viserys didn’t love her or their children. He didn’t even seem to like them. If not even he cared, why should Rhaenyra waste her time with them?

Rhaenyra took a breath. “All of you, to your chambers. We’ll speak more about this on the morrow,” she told her two boys and the twins. Daemon scoffed and followed his daughters out, a protective hand over the both of them.

Alicent took it as a sign to take her children back to their chambers as well. Any decision would be saved for tomorrow, which only gave her the entire night to drive herself mad with worry. Aemond led Daeron away, who looked sullen that the evening ended poorly, meanwhile Alicent kept her daughter close. Aegon finished his goblet of wine before trailing after them, though his footsteps were sloppy and uncoordinated.

Each of their two chambers had two beds, which was enough for her children but not for her. Though she planned to sleep next to Helaena, if only to soothe her own anxiety, Alicent couldn’t bring herself to climb into bed.

Perhaps Oldtown won’t be so bad, she tried to reason with herself. Aegon could find a new establishment to work at, Aemond could join the Oldtown guard, and there were plenty of knights and ladies in need of a page or a handmaiden, some of them were bound to be willing to take on Daeron and Helaena. They could endure the scorn from Alicent’s family, it surely couldn’t be so terrible, right?

Alicent was exhausted and prepared to resign herself to her miserable fate. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to leave things as they were. If there was the smallest chance that she could sway the queen’s mind to allow them to stay, she had to take it. 

Before she could think better of it, Alicent left her children to their slumber and marched up to the queen’s chambers.

The door to the queen’s chambers creaked as Ser Criston opened it for her. The clang of its closing was uncomfortably loud. Luckily, it didn’t seem like she was disturbing Rhaenyra, as the queen wasn’t even wearing her nightclothes. She sat by the hearth with a flagon of wine and didn’t seem particularly surprised at her arrival.

Alicent’s hands clenched as memories came bubbling to the surface. These were the king’s chambers once, she remembered the shame every time she entered all too well.

“Lady Alicent,” she greeted.

“Your Grace,” Alicent bowed her head. She was standing an awkward distance away from Rhaenyra and the darkness shrouded them both. A beat passed. “First of all, I wanted to apologize deeply for all that occurred. Things got out of hand quickly. None of us would ever wish for any harm to befall the royal family.”

Alicent took a shaky breath, hesitant to speak on the next subject but it had to be done.

“About what Aegon and Aemond said. They didn’t…or rather, it was a secret, a poorly kept one at that, but all the same. V-Viserys and I,” the name still felt wrong on her tongue. “Our relationship was complicated but-”

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra interrupted. Alicent froze in her spot, bracing for the news that Rhaenyra would be furious to know Alicent had lied. “Come sit,” the queen invited, pointing to a chair nearby her. 

Hesitantly, Alicent stepped over and lowered herself onto the chair. The heat emanating from the flames hit her more prominently so close to the hearth, making her feel even more nervous if that was possible.

Rhaenyra took a drink from her goblet of wine. “You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you? That my children aren’t my husband’s.”

Alicent blinked, trying to gauge what would be the wisest answer. “I don’t put stock in rumors, Your Grace.”

“That’s kind, but you’ve heard them all the same,” Rhaenyra responded. “I met Ser Harwin while I was on Dragonstone. He was caring and charming and he loved me . Not my name, just me. And I loved him back, enough to risk everything and bear three of his children.”

Alicent noticed how reverently Rhaenyra spoke of Harwin. It had been years since the tragedy at Harrenhal that took Ser Harwin’s life but clearly the love had not faded.

“Which is all to say, my uncle always told me you were some wicked seductress preying on my father,” Rhaenyra told her. “And when I learned that wasn’t true, I assumed you were like Harwin and I. You had four of his children and remained by his side for nearly twenty years.”

That is the truth, Alicent’s mind begged her to interject, but she knew the words would come out weak and unconvincing, if she could even get them out at all.

“It was easier to believe my father was kind-hearted and simply found love with someone new,” Rhaenyra said. “But that’s not the truth, is it?”

Alicent’s face scrunched in despair. Perhaps it was already too late to change Rhaenyra’s mind. She braced silently for the judgment Rhaenyra would pass on them.

“Am I wrong?” Rhaenyra asked. Her tone was more broken than Alicent had ever heard it before, yet there was a twinge of hope in it, as if she was desperate to be wrong.

She closed her eyes tight, not wanting to look at Rhaenyra if she didn’t believe her. One memory after another came to the forefront of her mind, reminding her of every horrible encounter with the king in the past twenty years. If there was even the slightest opportunity to salvage it though…

“Vise- the king,” Alicent began, her voice weak. “H-he wasn’t perfect but…he was compassionate…”

The king never looked at Aemond the same after he lost his eye. The scar across his eye was ugly and jagged. His face would always twitch uncomfortably whenever he had to spare time for Aemond.

“See to it that Aemond controls his anger from now on,” he had once said.

Alicent took a ragged breath, failing miserably to make her words sound genuine. “...and he was attentive…”

It took three moons after Aegon had quit the gold cloaks for word to reach the king, and even that was only because of an offhand comment by the Hand. “Ungrateful,” he muttered to Alicent that night. “And he runs off to become a whore?”

His words were venomous and his nose upturned in disgust. “There’s something wrong with that boy.”

“...and gentle…” Alicent tried.

His hands held her wrists against the bed. His breath was hot against her neck as he panted and thrusted his hips against her. It wasn’t a particularly strong grip on her wrists, but only because it didn’t have to be. She was stuck there all the same.

A rat crawled on the canopy of the bed. She stared at the ceiling and just kept waiting. It would be over any minute now…

Alicent didn’t know when she’d started crying but her cheeks suddenly felt wet. She scrunched her eyes closed impossibly tighter. “And- and…he really…” Alicent was desperate for words. “He really loved us-”

She could hardly finish the sentence before a full sob wracked her body. Tears fell like an unending stream. It was over, she knew. Rhaenyra would pronounce her decision, seeing the falsehood clearly, and her family would be forced back to Oldtown.

She did what her father bid all those years ago. She’d forsaken the Seven’s teachings, endured the scorn and ridicule of losing her virtue, and her reputation was in tatters. She was a disgrace and now she couldn’t even hold herself together in front of the queen.

Alicent didn’t know how long she was crying, it may have been only seconds or hours, but she felt a pair of arms wrap around her. Her eyes remained shut, she couldn’t bear to face the queen.

“I’m sorry…” she managed to get out through her sobs. What she was apologizing for, she didn’t even know at this point. “I didn’t…” Didn’t mean to lie? Didn’t want, never wanted, to let the king use her as he had? Didn’t know what to do? 

What else could she do but accept the punishment for her transgressions? This was all her fault. If only she had been better, the king would’ve married her properly. Her children would live happier lives, with dragons and teachers and people who cared about them.

Alicent wept and wept, sure that she would never stop at this rate. Reality seemed to fade away around her as she got lost in the sea of memories. Minutes then hours passed and she couldn’t find her way back up to the surface.

The crying only stopped when the darkness of sleep finally took Alicent.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra recalled the last time she saw her father. The celebration for Joffrey’s birth had been a wondrous event, even if she only got to enjoy half of it because he kept being fussy with the maids.

“Oh, look at you,” Viserys cooed, rocking the baby softly. “I do believe he has his father’s nose.”

Rhaenyra forced a smile. Perhaps her father thought he was being subtle the way he had been insisting that Joffrey had Laenor’s features all week to assuage rumors. 

Her father was showing his age clearly now, Rhaenyra noted. He had grown gaunt and he’d started balding, even a few fingers were missing. The maester speculated he suffered from a perpetual illness, but couldn’t say for sure.

Rhaenyra leaned over and carefully took her son from his grandfather’s arms. “Laenor is waiting for us at the ship, we ought to get going.”

His smile faltered a bit. “Of course,” he nodded. “You should consider visiting again soon, I’ve not had nearly enough time with my grandchildren.”

Rhaenyra hummed. She’d avoided coming home for years before Jace was born, the memory of her mother still too raw. In recent times though, she’d simply grown used to life on Dragonstone and hardly wished to interrupt it. It might be nice to see her father more often though.

“We shall see,” she told him. He seemed content with that and walked them down to the docks where Laenor and her boys were waiting. Jace and Luke were chasing each other around while her husband fretted about one of them falling into the water.

She inclined her head to her father and bid him farewell. “Rhaenyra,” he stopped her before she could walk towards the ship. “You know you are welcome here anytime. I know I was not…the best after your mother died, but I do miss you deeply.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened. “I miss you as well, Father.”

The king clapped her on the shoulder. “I am proud to call you my heir.”

That was the father she remembered. Loving and sincere. Not without his faults, he could be feeble and indecisive but he was a good man underneath it all trying to be the best king and father he could. She never had any reason to think less of him.

As soon as Alicent fell asleep, Rhaenyra carried her over to her bed so she would be more comfortable. Rhaenyra’s breathing was shaky and her hands were trembling but she held it together for the moment.

She put out the hearth, placed a cup of water on the nightstand for Alicent when she woke, and donned a robe, doing her best not to think about all that she heard. She kept her neutral facade up as she departed the room and rushed through the halls towards Laenor’s chambers.

Try as she might though, she couldn’t get the image of Alicent out of her mind. The lady’s face was twisted in such intense distress and fear, she couldn’t even get out the words. The few things Rhaenyra was able to hear between Alicent’s sobs and wails disturbed her though.

Through her cries, Alicent had muttered about something she didn’t want to do, the pain and loneliness, and something about Ser Otto, among other worrying snippets. Rhaenyra blinked rapidly, trying to keep the thoughts away for just a few moments longer.

Rhaenyra didn’t wait for the servant to introduce her. She barged in and slammed the chamber door shut behind her.

“Rhaenyra?” Laenor was laying on his bed, nearly prepared for sleep. “What’s going on? Did the dinner go well?”

The queen opened her mouth to respond but no words came out. Now in private, she allowed her emotions to flood and overwhelm her. Rhaenyra let out a dry sob, Laenor hurrying over to her in an instant. They did not love each other as a husband and wife should, but he was her dearest friend and confidant.

“What happened?” Laenor inquired softly. “Is everyone alright?”

She nodded to alleviate his fears but couldn’t answer. She could hardly imagine it, much less say the words. It was her father. He was kind and affable and completely harmless. When she was a girl, he used to let her sit on his lap while he sat the throne and made silly jokes about the lords he found tiresome. To imagine he could treat his own children so poorly, that he could rape a girl her own age, it seemed unthinkinable.

Alicent didn’t say that he forced himself on her explicitly, but the conclusion was clear to the queen.

Rhaenyra thought of her siblings. Could her father really have cared so little for them? Squires cut out Aemond’s eye and Daven attacked Helaena with impunity, not to mention Aegon’s work. Trueborn or not, they had royal blood in their veins and a highborn mother, they ought to have had more prospects and support than they did. Jason Lannister treated his natural daughters in Lannisport better than this.

Her mind turned to her own children, Jace, Luke, and little Joffrey. She couldn’t imagine loving them any less simply because they weren’t her husband’s. Much less pushing them away and out of sight, like Aemond had claimed.

That man could not be her father. He simply couldn’t. The father she knew wasn’t capable of such horrors and callous disregard. She knew Daemon would tell her that Alicent and her children were lying for some scheme or another, but she couldn’t believe that either. Not after how despondent Alicent had been at the mere thought of him.

Even worse, she thought back on every time she had spoken with Alicent. It was always odd to her how uncomfortable and afraid she seemed, but Rhaenyra simply guessed it was due to their difference in station. Only now she realized that Alicent had thought she would be like her father. Alicent was only waiting for the moment that Rhaenyra treated her just as cruelly.

Her face contorted as tears threatened to spill out. At some point, Laenor must’ve led her to sit on the bed, though she didn’t recall when. She leaned on his shoulder and he didn’t ask further questions, only supporting her as she tried to settle her thoughts. He had done the same when word came from Harrenhal about Harwin’s demise, as she had for him when he lost Ser Joffrey all those years ago.

“My father…” she croaked out eventually. “I think- he was not…” Her words trailed off, unsure what to say. “He wasn’t a good person, Laenor.”

It was vague, but she didn’t even know the full truth yet. Beyond that, it wasn’t for her to go around telling people what had happened to Alicent if she wished to keep it private.

She told him as much as she could. What Aegon and Aemond said at dinner and how terrified Helaena was the day that they first met, and the suspicions she’d already had before Alicent came to her that night.

It was a strange feeling bubbling in her chest. Anger at what he’d done to Alicent and her family, regret at not seeing it sooner, and grieving all over again for the father she thought she knew. It twisted her heart and filled her mind until she could think of nothing else but the empty hole where she once held love for her father.

Alicent’s eyes were only open for a few moments before she started panicking. The bed, the blankets, the canopy were all too familiar. The king will be cross if I linger too long, she knew. She startled and sat up, taking a few moments before she recalled the king was dead and buried. Never again will she be forced to endure nights next to him. 

Yet, she was in his bed for some reason. There was no one else here. She blinked groggily and rubbed her face, her eyes aching, as last night came back to her.

The queen.

Alicent let out a sigh of regret, remembering everything she had confessed. Tears threatened to spill out again but she was too exhausted. Today was the day they would be kicked out of the Red Keep in all likelihood. There was nothing Alicent could do now, she’d ruined everything.

Though, part of her also couldn’t help but find relief. After years of keeping all her emotions to herself, it felt cathartic to let them out. It was a weight off her shoulders to not have to lie about it anymore.

Carefully she lifted herself to her feet and trailed through the room. There was no indication of where the queen had gone. Was Alicent supposed to stay and wait for her return? Or would it offend the queen to find her still in her chambers?

Glancing around, Alicent saw the large table in the center of the room was empty. She hadn’t even noticed last night that the king’s model of Old Valyria was gone. The chamber felt a tad bare without it. His Grace used to go on for hours about all the intricacies and the history of the city as she nodded obediently and remained quiet. She wasn’t heartbroken to see it gone.

Alicent was frightened again briefly when the chamber door started being pushed open. She braced herself for the scorn of the queen, but it seemed the Seven were merciful today. Laena entered the room instead, catching her eye quickly.

“Ah, you’re already awake,” she said happily. More calmly, she strode forward. “Are you well? I heard dinner was not a pleasant affair.”

Alicent was mostly surprised that Laena was greeting her so kindly. Even if Rhaenyra had not yet issued that her family must leave the keep, surely Baela and Rhaena had told her what happened with Helaena. “You heard?” She asked.

Laena smiled sheepishly. “Truth be told, my brother sent me. He and the queen are indisposed at the moment, whatever that means, and he thought you might need a friendly face when you awoke.”

Alicent was more confused now than anything.

“I’ll not ask why you slept in the queen’s chambers and she didn’t last night. If you want to talk about it though, I’d be happy too,” Laena offered. When Alicent stayed silent for a few moments, still unsure what to say, Laena continued. “Elsewise, we should break our fast and then, there is plenty more work to be done before the tourney. We need to get you a change of clothes though first.”

Alicent followed Laena back to her family’s chambers silently. She tried to sort everything out in her mind as they went and came to no conclusion. Why hadn’t the king told Laena? Did he even know what Alicent had confessed? If not, why would the queen keep it a secret, especially after how poorly last night went? Laena must know something had occurred though, as she was worried about Alicent and wished to help.

She sighed. The uncertainty made her terribly anxious but there was nothing she could do but wait for the queen to render her judgment.

Laena waited outside as Alicent slipped into her chambers to get changed. She was startled once again when she turned and saw Aemond sitting by the window.

“Mother,” he perked up immediately. He noticed the signs of distress on her features quickly. “Are you well?”

She nodded mindlessly. “Where are your siblings?”

“After we broke our fast, Daeron went to visit the stables and Helaena had her duties with Elyana. I don’t know where Aegon ran off to,” Aemond reported flatly. A beat passed, an awkward look grew on his face. Hesitantly, he noted, “You didn’t come back last night. Aegon asked some guards…they said you went into the queen’s chambers and did not come out.”

Alicent tensed. “It’s not what you think, Aemond,” she spoke curtly.

“It’s not my business,” he added. “I only wish for you to be alright, Mother.”

She took a shaky breath and repeated, “It’s not what you think.” A few moments went by before Aemond nodded. She didn’t know if he believed her. It only made her feel worse, how resigned he seemed to the possibility that Rhaenyra would act as her father did.

“I should get to the barracks,” he told her. “I wanted to say though, I’m sorry about last night. Aegon and I spoke out of turn.”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing you two need to worry about.” Daemon had clearly already made up his mind about them. Much as she regretted that the queen found out in such a way, she could not blame her sons. They were still young and impulsive, Alicent knew the fault lied with her for allowing it to escalate as far as it did.

“Is the queen angry about our deception? Do we…are we leaving?” He inquired, his features creased with worry.

Alicent couldn’t lie to him so she only shrugged. “I don’t know.” His face fell, only highlighting again his youthful features that reminded her he was too young to be burdened with all this. They embraced and she bid him a good day as he set out for the barracks.

She and Laena worked idly on the preparations for the tourney. She kept her word and didn’t pry further about what happened last night, for which Alicent was grateful. The work was mindless but it brought her some comfort.

It was a reprieve from her worry to focus on something familiar and easy. Deciding the seating for the lords was straightforward and had a simple solution. She let herself enjoy the distraction freely, as it was likely her last day doing this work. It took her mind off the queen and the lingering dread in her stomach, even if only briefly.

Helaena watched a dragonfly dart through the air as she sewed in the gardens with Elyana and her fellow handmaidens. There was Rohanne, of course, but also Jeyne Payne and Alys Tarbeck. The latter two were a good deal less pleasant to be around than her other friends, as they despised having to work with a bastard like her. Helaena had little choice but to spend time with them however because of their shared duties.

“My uncle made me meet with Lord Wylde’s son last night,” Elyana began telling them.

“Which one? The one with that burn mark on his face?” Rohanne inquired.

“No, it was Robert,” Elyana corrected.

“The pudgy one?” Jeyne asked.

“That’s Simon,” Alys whispered to her.

Rohanne hummed, “I thought Robert was already betrothed to Lady Selmy.”

“That’s his elder brother, Lomas. Robert is the one with the twin, Ser Rogar. You must remember, he caused that big scandal last year by crowning Lady Connington the Queen of Love and Beauty instead of his wife.”

“How many sons does Lord Wylde have?” Helaena muttered, unable to keep track of them all in her head.

“Seventeen,” Elyana told her, exasperated.

“He’s had four wives and the last died of exhaustion from all the childbirths, so they say,” Alys explained. Helaena winced. She hoped, if she ever found a husband who would take her, he would not make her bear children until she died like that.

“Regardless, Robert was rather boring. He’s all lanky and prefers talking about boring books. He might be better off serving as a maester. Uncle Tyland is cross with me though because I keep rejecting every suitor he puts before me,” Elyana explained.

“You know, when I was betrothed,” Jeyne began, rather loudly. Helaena could see Rohanne suppress an eye roll. Jeyne talked insistently about her husband-to-be, the second son of Lord Reyne, since he was allegedly the most gallant and handsome knight in the Seven Kingdoms.

“We get it. You’ve been betrothed for years now,” Rohanne muttered. “Best get on with it already.”

Alys shushed her quickly, trying to focus on what the other girl was saying, and Rohanne only scowled at her.

Evidently, Jeyne didn’t notice the ladies. Or perhaps, she simply liked the sound of her own voice enough to barrel forward regardless. “I knew it was meant to be as soon as I met Gwayne. If it is true love, you will know it immediately, Elyana.”

Helaena started to tune out the rest of the discussion, her mind continuously wandering back to last night’s dinner. Aemond and her mother had assured her before they went to bed that the fight wasn’t her fault, but still she worried. Mother had stressed how important it was that the dinner went well and Daeron was very happy being friends with the princes, she didn’t want to make them upset.

An opportunity arose to make amends later that day. As the five walked through the keep, Helaena caught a glimpse of Lady Baela and Lady Rhaena walking with their arms linked towards the gardens.

She bit the inside of her cheek as she considered the chance in front of her. Perhaps it would be rude to approach the ladies after what happened last night. If not them, Jeyne and Alys would almost surely mock her for it. All the same, she felt guilty about how the dinner ended.

Helaena shook her head and turned her feet in the opposite direction of her friends before she could think better of it. She hurried after the sisters and called out, “Lady Baela, Lady Rhaena,” when she got close.

The twins spun around and caught her eyes quickly though neither looked particularly happy to see her. Helaena was older and a few inches taller than either, but still felt small under their gaze.

She inclined her head and bowed low. “I wanted to apologize for last night. I deeply regret my words and I’m sorry for all the offense they caused.”

Baela and Rhaena glanced at each other warily. Carefully, Rhaena leaned over and whispered to her sister, and the older twin groaned in annoyance.

Begrudgingly, Baela turned back to Helaena. “Our mother told us we did not behave entirely appropriately either.” Her words were a bit stilted but sincere. She shifted on her feet and a few moments passed. “So, apologies from us as well and on behalf of our father for accusing you.”

An awkward air hung around them then, all three of them unsure what else to say. Rhaena took a breath and spoke up, “Why did you say it? About our mother?”

Helaena shrugged. She didn’t entirely understand her gift, only that it’s been with her all her life. She offered them what explanation she could. “Sometimes I just…get visions of things. I say them without thinking.”

“Things?” Baela asked, unconvinced.

“Things that will happen, that have happened, that may have happened if other events were different. It’s difficult to explain,” she told them.

Rhaena hummed as she considered her words. “You mean like dragon dreams?”

“Dragon dreams?” Helaena asked.

Baela perked up and nodded along with her sister. “Our father told us about them. It is said that some members of our family were given the gift of prophecy. It’s how Daenys the Dreamer helped us flee the Doom of Valyria.”

Helaena blinked in confusion. She’d learned little of Targaryen history in her years, there was never a need or inclination to. Daenys and dragon dreams were completely foreign to her.

“Waters!” Helaena spun on her heel and saw Jeyne angrily urging her to catch up with the rest of the handmaidens. “Stop bothering them! We have work to do!”

Helaena bowed her head to Baela and Rhaena. “Apologies, I must be on my way.”

Baela grabbed her hand before Helaena could depart. “We should speak more about this soon.” Rhaena nodded encouragingly as well.

It was a stark contrast to the hostility of last night but not unwelcome. The ladies seemed kind enough and Daeron had gone on at length about how much he liked them. Helaena nodded, carefully but surely. With a smile, the two returned to their walk to the gardens and Helaena hurried after her fellow handmaidens.

Dragon dreams… she mused. It was nice to have a name for the phenomenon that had plagued her all her life. It made her feel better to know she was not some freak with an unexplainable ability.

She grinned as she rejoined the group and fell into step next to Rohanne. Helaena found herself very much looking forward to getting to spend more time with Baela and Rhaena.

Alicent began to grow restless as night settled over the keep. She had dinner with Daeron and Helaena, her elder sons again choosing to spend their time elsewhere. The hours passed and still she had no word about her fate.

It was almost a relief when Ser Criston knocked on her door and announced Queen Rhaenyra. Any sense of ease she got was immediately overpowered though as her entire body tensed. The Kingsguard knight shut the chamber door, leaving the two women alone. The harsh clang of the door nearly startled her but she kept her poise.

Alicent curtsied, “Your Grace,” but kept her head held high. No matter what judgment the queen renders, she wanted to meet it with some scrap of dignity. The air was heavy between them, keeping them apart like a wall.

Rhaenyra’s features softened quickly though. “Alicent. First of all, let me apologize for leaving after you fell asleep last night.” She took a careful breath. “I must admit, what you said…troubled me.”

Alicent’s fingers picked at each other, bracing herself for the queen’s next words.

The queen noticed her demeanor. The downturned look in her eyes and the frown on her face, all preparing for the worst as Alicent expected the queen to despise her for her confession. It twisted Rhaenyra’s heart terribly in pity for the woman.

“Alicent,” she spoke softly, catching her gaze. “My father was horrible for what he did to you. I'm so sorry that you had to endure that.”

She blinked, unsure if she had heard Rhaenyra correctly at first.

“I understand why you did not tell me the truth and you don’t need to tell me any more than you have, unless you wish to,” Rhaenyra continued. The queen fiddled with the rings on her fingers, searching for the right words to say. “I only…I regret that we did not meet under the best circumstances and I did not notice your distress sooner.”

Alicent was frozen in doubt. Scanning the queen’s features, she found nothing but sincerity, which only made it more difficult to formulate a response.

The queen must’ve noticed how she struggled to reply. “You can speak freely, Alicent,” Rhaenyra invited her. “Say or ask me anything. I will be honest with you, I promise.”

Taking a shaky breath, Alicent forced herself to trust the queen’s words and ask the burning question on her mind, if only to finally rid herself of the uncertainty. “Will my family be forced to leave the keep?”

Rhaenyra’s face fell in further pity. “No, Alicent. You and my siblings are free to stay as long as you like. No matter what happens.”

It sounded far too good to be true to Alicent. The king occasionally did kind acts for her, but it was always with the expectation of repayment, in whatever way she could. But then, she recalled, the queen had been nothing but generous to her. She didn’t want to trust her but felt her resolve waver.

She asked another question that was burning in her mind. “And what of my work? As the assistant to the King Consort?”

“You can continue it, if you wish. If you don’t, that is just as well,” Rhaenyra told her. A beat passed. “I was horribly wrong about you and my father, I know, and I’ll never be able to make right what he did to you. But I still meant what I said the day when I recruited you to help Laenor. I swear, I do not, and would never, wish for any harm to befall you or my siblings.”

Alicent found herself believing the queen, against her better judgment.

“If possible, if you would wish for it, I would still like to get to know you and my siblings. Properly, this time,” said Rhaenyra.

She couldn’t help asking the first question on her tongue. “Why?” It came out rather pathetically, but she couldn’t take it back. Why did the queen want to know her, now knowing that not even her father had truly cared?

Rhaenyra shrugged. “I thought we were becoming friends. I rather enjoyed our afternoon in the godswood. If you don’t want to, of course, I would not make you.”

Friends. With the queen. The idea sounded absurd to Alicent. Her father and the king had always made it abundantly clear what her station was and warned her not to overreach. Every lord and lady in the Red Keep balked at even the slightest step out of line, calling her “an opportunistic and shameless whore . ”

Yet, Laenor and Laena had enjoyed her company. Laena had offered her comfort today at her lowest, as she had in the past weeks. Always genuinely excited to spend time with her, so far as Alicent could tell. Laenor was appreciative of her help with his work and never took it for granted.

Alicent admitted to herself that she also rather liked the afternoon they shared in the godswood. Rhaenyra was not like her father. She listened to Alicent and cared about what she had to say. Their conversation was light and effortless, enjoyable in a way she had not expected.

Friends, Alicent repeated in her mind.

It had been a long time since she had proper friends.

She may regret it later, when her anxiety caught up with her, but in the moment, Alicent took a deep breath and let her worries wash away. She accepted Rhaenyra’s offer with a small, tremulous, but genuine smile on her lips.

Chapter Text

Laenor groaned as he settled into the seat across from Alicent in the gardens. It wasn’t a particularly nice day out, she thought, clouds forming over the city and the wind a bit too chilly, but anything was better than being stuck in another stuffy room.

“You were quite right about Lord Borros. Insufferable, that one is,” Laenor mused. Lords and ladies from all across the realm had started pouring into King’s Landing for the tourney which meant Laenor had a veritable mountain of meetings to attend.

Alicent hummed and nodded absent-mindedly, not entirely listening to him. There was another matter on her mind.

“Are you well?” He inquired.

“Just a bit tired,” she answered, brushing away any concern. She needn’t bother the King Consort with this, especially when he is already exhausted.

It had been weeks since the disastrous family dinner. Though Alicent tried her best to be more open with Laenor, Laena, and Rhaenyra, she still fell into old habits often. It was simpler and safer to keep her thoughts to herself.

Today however, her demeanor was not only because of her nervousness around the king. Last night, House Hightower had arrived in the Red Keep. Mere days before they came, a raven delivered news to the queen. Lord Hobert had passed away just before they set off from Oldtown, making his son, Ormund, the new Lord Hightower.

Lord Ormund had arrived with his wife and son, who seemed remarkably close to each other. In tow came Alicent’s own family, Ser Otto, her brothers, and her many nieces and nephews.

Alicent hardly knew her cousin, having only met a handful of times, but the last time they’d seen each other, he was encouraging her nephews to torment Aegon and Aemond. It twisted Alicent’s heart and she dreaded what would happen now that Ormund was the head of the house. That was not the only issue plaguing her mind though.

Alicent sighed. She knew Laenor was being sincere when he wanted to know if she was well, perhaps he wouldn’t judge her over this. “My family never sent a raven,” she told him.

“What?” Laenor asked.

“To me, I mean,” Alicent clarified. “They didn’t bother to write to me to let me know that Uncle Hobert passed away.”

They were never particularly close but she had a few fond memories of him from when she was young. More than that, he had firmly shut down Ormund and her family’s bullying of her sons. Granted, that was only because, “It reflects poorly on House Hightower,” but she was grateful nonetheless.

What truly hurt was that it plainly showed how little her family, even her own father, thought of her. Not even worth the raven. They’d been estranged for years yet it stung all the same.

Laenor looked at her sympathetically. He’d had his fair share of arguments with his father and uncle, but he could scarcely imagine being entirely cut off from them. Even with all his power as King Consort, there was little he could do to help.

The king tried to lighten her mood. “If you want, I’m sure Rhaenyra would jump at the opportunity to embarrass the Hightowers at the feast.”

Alicent hummed, slightly amused. “That would hardly be proper behavior for a queen.”

He shrugged. “It would be far from the first time. Lord Redwyne doesn’t care for us anymore because Rhaenyra called his wife a useless cunt.”

Alicent poorly concealed an improper giggle. She’d met Lady Selyse Redwyne once or twice. She spent most of the time talking over everyone else about herself and her dogs.

She felt a bit warm inside at the prospect of Rhaenyra defending her to her family. Alicent would never ask it of the queen, of course, it would be a political nightmare. The thought lifted her spirits though, very few people have stood up for Alicent over the years.

With any luck, the Hightowers might simply pretend she and her family are not there. It would hurt but it would be straightforward and it would protect her children from any further taunting and scorn. That being said, Alicent had never been very lucky.

It had only been a couple months since he left but her father had returned to the keep. Even now, she still felt emotionally drained from her confession to the queen weeks ago and wasn’t sure she was prepared to come face to face with him again.

Laenor seemed to notice her distress, reaching over to pat her hand soothingly. “Just say the word, I’d love the opportunity to insult old Otto.”

Alicent smiled. She wouldn’t tell them to, she could handle this herself, but she felt a bit more comfortable knowing that the royal family wouldn’t hesitate to help her.

Vermax carefully snaked his way across the Dragonpit’s floor and towards his rider.

“Umbās, Vermax,” Jace commanded and the small dragon stopped in his tracks at once. Helaena watched from behind the young prince, along with Luke, Daeron, Baela, and Rhaena. She got a good look at the dragon then, dark green with reddish bronze tints across his scales.

Helaena was grateful that Lady Baela and Lady Rhaena were still open to her coming to see them practice in the Dragonpit, despite all that had transpired. In addition, they’d helped her understand her dragon dreams more, providing books from the keep’s library all about the phenomenon. They were something akin to friends, Helaena thought, though she still spoke carefully around them.

Visiting the Dragonpit with the twins certainly beat listening to Jeyne ramble on and on about her family, Helaena decided as she admired Vermax. She tried not to complain but there was only so many times she could hear about Jeyne’s sister’s great love story with Lord Aurane of Starfall down in Dorne and how they were making the long, and politically controversial, trip up to King’s Landing for the tourney.

Jace smiled widely at his dragon. “Now, Naejot!”

Vermax obeyed quickly, bounding forward until he was within arm’s reach of Jace. The prince excitedly reached out his hand and patted the dragon. The dragon keepers watched closely for any potential signs of danger but found none, for now.

“Wow…” Daeron looked at the dragon in awe. “When can you fly on it?”

Luke giggled at the question. Vermax was still slightly shorter than Jace. The elder prince shook his head, amused. “Not for some years yet. Vermax has to get much bigger.”

Daeron’s eyes widened. “How big can he get?”

Baela smirked. “They say Balerion was the largest dragon in history and his wings were as big as whole castles. Vhagar is too large to house in the Dragonpit, that’s why she roams around mostly.”

Rhaena quickly added, “Mother has to use a rope ladder to get on Vhagar’s back and even just one of her claws are as big as me!”

Helaena smiled at her younger brother’s disbelief. She thought that his eyes might just pop out of his head if he ever saw Vhagar in-person.

The group watched as the keepers brought out a goat as a meal for Vermax. Jace was nearly vibrating with excitement before they finally told him he was allowed to command Vermax to breath fire. “ Dracarys! ” Jace commanded and the young dragon spewed red hot flames, killing the goat near instantly.

Jace, Luke, and Daeron stared intently as Vermax feasted, meanwhile Rhaena turned to one of the dragon keepers. “Do you know if Syrax will have her clutch of eggs soon?”

The keeper hummed noncommittally and answered in Valyrian. Rhaena understood it perfectly well but Helaena was lost.

Baela noticed her confusion, helpfully supplying a translation. “He says not for a few moons yet.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Helaena said, bowing her head. Baela waved off her stiff thanks. She’d told Helaena many times that she doesn’t need to use such formalities but Helaena had her courtesies drilled into her for too long to stop now. She was merely a bastard and they were the trueborn daughters of a prince and the king’s sister, it wouldn’t be proper to speak to them casually.

Baela took a few steps over to her twin. “Don’t worry, it won’t be long now,” she promised Rhaena. “We can all go pick out an egg for you when the time comes.”

Jace and Luke both perked up at the idea. Luke started excitedly rambling about the time he and Jace had ventured to get an egg for Joffrey’s birth, meanwhile Daeron seemed a bit confused.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Daeron asked. “Won’t Syrax get upset if we steal her eggs?”

“It’s not stealing,” Jace explained. “We’ll be helping it hatch. And Syrax trusts us because Mother does.”

“It’s part of the dragon bond,” Luke added.

“A dragon rider sleeping with an egg in their bed so it’ll hatch and they’ll bond is an ancient Valyrian tradition,” Baela elaborated.

Helaena and Daeron glanced at each other, both a little unsure. It was still a bit odd getting used to all the Valyrian customs they’d been learning about in the past weeks. Apparently, they had a very odd type of wedding where the bride and groom cut their hands open to mix their blood, as well as all sorts of queer gods.

It was their heritage yet seemed so foreign to them. Baela, Rhaena, and the princes seemed eager to teach them though.

Once Jace’s training ended, the dragon keepers started leading Vermax back down into the Dragonpit. The group started talking idly of what to do next, with Rhaena suggesting they head to the library, but Helaena lingered and stared as the keepers descended down into the dark depths of the pit.

Vermax let out of a whiny shriek as he went and, deep in the earth below, a lower bellow answered his cry. It unnerved Helaena and made her head flare up in pain, as it usually did when she had a dragon dream while sleeping.

There were no words or flashes of moments to communicate this time though. She only had an uncertain feeling about what lay in the caverns as she trailed after the group.

A few days before the tourney was set to begin, Alicent and Rhaenyra went over the last details left for planning and ensured everything was in order for the welcoming feast and joust.

Or at least, that was the intention. Unfortunately, Rhaenyra’s youngest child seemed to have other plans.

The door burst open just as they were finalizing the courses for the feast. The three year old prince came barrelling in, straight towards his mother.

“Muña!” Joffrey yelled.

“Joffrey,” Rhaenyra turned in her seat. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer that question, only tried to climb up onto her lap. Rhaenyra helped him after a moment so he didn’t hit his head on the underside of the table.

A servant came rushing in after him, out of breath. “Your Grace, I’m so sorry, he just took off running-”

“It’s not a problem,” Rhaenyra told them. “I suppose we haven’t had much time together as of late, have we, sweet boy?”

Joffrey nodded slightly and clung tightly to his mother’s dress. Rhaenyra ran a hand through his hair lovingly as she waved off the servant.

“Apologies,” she turned to Alicent. They could still work while Joffrey laid in his mother’s lap, though it was a bit cumbersome for the queen.

Alicent brushed it off easily. She remembered how restless her own children were when they were young. Helaena in particular was always sensitive around others and found comfort with her and her alone. Aegon always rushed around and distracted her when she was working, preferring to be the center of her attention. Aemond and Daeron were a bit more calm, though not without their own hiccups.

Alicent suppressed a wince at the memories. Much as she tried, she didn’t think she was a great mother back then. She was being bombarded by the king and the gossip at court as they were born. Her father always told her she looked too lifeless and detached with them. It wasn’t until much later that parenting started to feel more natural.

“Joffrey, this is Alicent,” Rhaenyra introduced. “She’s a friend of mine.”

Joffrey waved hesitantly. Clearly, he didn’t seem to be comfortable around her, which was hardly surprising as she was a stranger.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Prince Joffrey.” Coming up with an idea, Alicent sat up straighter. “While you’re here, perhaps you can help your mother and I with some selections.”

The little prince perked up at the idea of helping his mother. He puffed out his tiny chest, preparing to help in any way he could. 

“The final course of the feast. We are torn between lemon cake, honey cake, and apple cake,” she explained to him.

She used to do something similar with her own children when they were young. Never anything crucial, but they enjoyed making decisions and feeling helpful.

His face scrunched up as he thought carefully about his answer. Rhaenyra’s grin grew watching him and they both stayed silent as he considered.

“Lemon cake!” He finally announced proudly.

“Then, lemon cake, it is,” Alicent responded. “Very excellent choice,” she added and he beamed.

Rhaenyra breathed a sigh of relief. She pretended to be offended, “A child of mine own blood should not have taken so long with such a choice. Honey cakes are disgusting.”

“Father likes honey cakes,” Joffrey defended.

“Well, your father is a bit of an idiot,” Rhaenyra whispered to him mischievously and he giggled again.

They continued this process for a while. She asked him to pick between options for food and seating and decorations. They were relatively unimportant, but he grinned and laughed, quite delighted to lend his assistance.

She made the choices as easy to understand as she could for him and made sure to approve of his decision verbally, as he always glowed his pride when she did. Just like Aegon used to, she thought. 

After a while, she noticed that Rhaenyra stopped interjecting. She simply watched as the two went back and forth with a fond look on her face. It was only when she stared at Alicent for a bit too long that she decided to ask. “Your Gr- Rhaenyra? Is everything well?”

The queen quickly shook her head, breaking out of her thoughts suddenly. Her smile didn’t waver though. “Yes, apologies, I got a bit distracted.” An awkward beat passed before she turned to her son. “I think it’s time you got back to your lessons, Joffrey.”

The boy slumped in disappointment but nodded, and Alicent was surprised to find her own spirit deflating a tad as well. She had almost forgotten how effortlessly enjoyable it was to entertain children his age. 

It was for the best though, she knew, they had plenty more to discuss regarding the feasts and tourneys that couldn’t be decided by a three year old.

“Bye, Alicent!” He waved vigorously as Rhaenyra lifted him and started to carry him out. She bid him farewell in return.

“I’ll be right back,” Rhaenyra promised Alicent as she left.

Alicent couldn’t help but think that the queen’s exit seemed a bit abrupt. She was clearly lost in thought about something, perhaps her speech for the feast or the meetings with lords she had. However, it was none of Alicent’s business what went on in the mind of the queen.

Aegon smoothed out the wrinkles in his silk coat and checked his hair in the mirror. It was crucial that not a hair looked out of place, according to his boss, Hallis. Their patrons were often sloppy and unkempt but gods forbid that their whores looked like anything less than an unspoiled maiden.

Well, Aegon was hardly a maiden but Hallis kept them all to the same standards.

His reflection barely looked like himself, with the brothel’s fancy clothes and the oils in his hair. As ever, he briefly recalled the vitriol his grandfather spewed at him when he found out Aegon had quit the City Watch and started working at a pleasure house. The anger and disgust, as if all his hopes for Aegon had been dashed in an instant. Not that Aegon particularly cared. If anything, it only emboldened him to know how much it bothered his grandfather, and most of House Hightower, that he worked here.

He was torn from his thoughts as the bed behind him started creaking. His most recent customer groggily sat up and stretched, Ser Samwell Darklyn, the heir to Duskendale. Aegon stopped being shocked at how many important noblemen frequented this establishment long ago.

“You sure I can’t buy more of your time?” Samwell offered. He was perhaps only a year or two older than Aegon with short, dirty blond hair, and had come to pay for his services thrice in the past five days.

Aegon hummed in consideration, he was kinder than some of the other clients Aegon had taken as of late. However, the many lords coming to the city for the tourney looked for cheap pleasure in every corner of Flea Bottom. Hallis preferred they attended to as many patrons as possible with how busy it was, rather than trying to squeeze every last penny out of only one.

“Sun is almost up, Ser,” Aegon told him. “You ought to get back before your wife starts asking questions.”

Samwell’s expression flickered with disappointment at the reminder of his wife, the dutiful Lady Thorne who happened to be six moons pregnant. That was none of Aegon’s business though.

The knight pulled out a handful of coins and handed them over to Aegon. As he counted them out to make certain he was paid correctly, Samwell spoke up. “Do you work tomorrow?” There was the slightest hint of hope in his voice and it made Aegon want to groan.

A brief glance back at the knight was all it took to see the glossy look in his eyes and slight curl of his lips that Aegon’s coworkers oft warned him about. The look of a patron getting a bit too comfortable and beginning to forget that Aegon was only paid to seem like he enjoyed his company.

Aegon finished counting the money, it was more than his actual fee. He couldn’t tell if Samwell had done that intentionally but certainly wasn’t going to point out the mistake. “I do.” He smiled and threw in a wink for good measure. So long as Samwell kept paying, Aegon had no reason to deny him as many nights together as he wished.

Before he headed back out, Aegon finished the remainder of the wine that they’d left on the table. He was already feeling a bit light-headed but he often needed it to get through his work. Not all patrons were as gentle and smitten as poor Sam.

Trailing out back into the main area of the brothel, Aegon’s ears were bombarded by the sounds of dozens of conversations. Loud shouts by men who’d had too much ale or were looking to start a fight filled the air making it difficult for everyone else to converse normally.

Glancing around the room, Aegon scanned for another client. He saw some of his fellow workers making the most of the crowded night. Essie was seated on a broad man’s lap, fawning over him with a well-practiced adoring look on her face. Not that it mattered, the man was staring unabashedly at her chest instead.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Myriah Sand lead a woman, who looked quite transparently like a noblewoman pretending to be a commoner, into the back towards the private chambers. He thought idly that he was a tad jealous. They had very few female customers in general and Hallis always directed them to Myriah.

He counted Myriah as a good friend though. She was a bastard, like him, with a noble Dornish mother somewhere out there. He didn’t really know why she left Dorne, considering it was supposed to be better for bastards, but they could relate to each other and they got along well enough.

He saw Falyse trying to seduce a client, albeit very poorly with how nervous she was. She was still new at the job and he offered her a sympathetic look. Serala from the East was dancing for a group of knights, garnering the attention of dozens. He was pretty sure Joffrey, the only other male worker, was here too, but didn’t see him. Likely already in a private chamber, he guessed. Joffrey was much better at this than he was. Aegon’s pretty sure the only reason Hallis kept him on was for his Targaryen features bringing in patrons.

No customers stood out to him immediately and he knew better than to randomly try his luck with someone. His coworkers could but he and Joffrey couldn’t. If he tries to seduce the wrong man with enough ale in his system, he’s like to break Aegon’s nose. He wandered the area idly with a plastered smile on his face.

“Seven fucking hells, is that you, Waters?” A voice called through the room, barely audible above the dull roar of the crowd but it made Aegon freeze in his step.

He really wanted to keep walking and pretend like he hadn’t heard, yet Aegon spun on his heels, suppressing a groan. Through the crowd, at a table with four knights, was his cousin, Horas Hightower.

Horas, along with his other cousins and Ormund, had delighted in tormenting Aemond and Aegon the last time they were in King’s Landing years ago. They made a game of it to see who could play the most cruel prank right under Lord Hobert’s nose. Though, Hobert wasn’t around anymore, so he’d heard.

He remembered his mother pleaded with one of her brothers, Horas’ father, and Ormund to get them to relent. “Relax, it’s just the bluster of boys,” they had assured her casually. It only made Horas and his cousins more eager to find new, more subtle ways to accomplish their goal.

It took everything in him to keep the smile on his face. “Horas, it’s been too long.”

“I knew it was you! You can spot that hair from a league away,” Horas laughed. “Lads, this is my cousin, Aegon Waters.” The three other knights offered their names and Aegon forgot them just as quickly as he learned them.

“What are you wearing?” His red-haired friend barked out, looking incredulously at his attire. It was a coat made of colorful Dornish silk that Hallis had everyone wear. “To allure the customers,” or something like that.

The red-haired knight plainly knew what it was and only wished to hear Aegon say it. He pressed his lips into a thin line and refused to give him the satisfaction.

When he stayed silent, Horas pretended to be confused. “Wait- you don’t work here, do you, Waters?”

Insufferable, Aegon complained in his mind. A pampered nobleman who's never had to lift a finger, even to wipe his own arse.

He settled for a less snide remark. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a keep to inherit like you. Not yet, at least.” Horas smirked then. He was betrothed to the only child of Lord Osgrey and he would be Lord of Standfast someday.

Horas hummed. “It’s certainly one way to earn coin.”

“I suppose it’s the family trade then,” one of the other knights interjected, to uproarious laughter by the other three.

Aegon had to grin placidly and bear it. It was far from the first time someone made fun of his work. “I should get back to it,” he tried.

“Aegon…” Horas said wistfully, ignoring him. “The Conqueror, a legendary warrior and king. They’ll sing songs about him for centuries, thousands of years.” His lips curled wryly. “How sad it is to see such a name wasted on you, Waters.”

Aegon’s face twitched and he felt rage bubbling in him. His grandfather had given him the Conqueror’s name with hopes of greatness, that someday the king would come to his senses, legitimize Aegon, and name him heir. Aegon turned out to be nothing but an embarrassment to him, to his father, to everyone, in truth. 

Aemond always was upset whenever he dragged him back to the keep after a long night of drinking. His father barely looked him in the eyes anymore during the last years of his life. His mother had even pulled him aside before that horrible dinner weeks ago, “Please, do not mention your work in front of the queen.”

Horas watched him smugly, reveling in the fact that he’d gotten under Aegon’s skin. Gods, how he wished to punch that stupid smirk right off his face. He’d probably just call him violent and cruel again. “It is their very nature as bastards,” he’d heard countless times.

He could endure a bit of scorn though. It would be worth it if he got to bash his cousin’s face against the wall until he lost all his teeth. That bride he was so fond of might not find him so appealing after that. Or maybe he could break his legs, so terribly that they would never heal right. Or tear out his eye for all the times he’d mocked his brother’s wound. Perhaps lure him to the Dragonpit and let one of those beasts that were supposed to be his devour him slowly.

Aegon huffed and hurried back into the crowd of people before he got any ideas about actually doing any of it. He swiped someone’s ale to try to dull his senses. It was much more preferable to never think about his situation at all.

Though he desperately wanted to, he couldn’t harm a nobleman like Horas. Not without severe consequences, whether from Hallis or the gold cloaks or the queen. He could only guess that Helaena’s incident with Daven was a fluke and Queen Rhaenyra would not be so lenient the second time.

“My uncle was in that tourney at Rook’s Rest a few months back,” he heard someone nearby speak to their companion. “He told me that there was this mystery knight. He knocked out all the best competitors, took the prize, and then just left! Lord Staunton has been trying to find him but no one’s turned up yet.”

Sipping the ale again, Aegon’s mind started to work. He hadn’t held a sword in years but perhaps the instincts remained with him. They were still accepting entrants into the tourney and mystery knights required no proof of knighthood. 

It was a terrible idea with countless chances for it to go wrong. Hallis had already sternly warned him and Joffrey not to get any ideas about fighting in the joust or melee. “No customer wants to buy a bruised, bloody whore,” he had said.

If Aemond was here, he’d kick him in the ribs and knock some sense into him. But then, Aemond wasn’t here.

Aegon downed the rest of the cup and allowed himself to indulge in the possibility.

Chapter Text

“Hallis is going to wring your neck for this,” Myriah Sand told Aegon flatly.

Aegon shook his head casually as he fitted his armor on himself, a few hours before the tourney. “Hallis will whinge and whine like he always does but he’s not like to find another who can replace me.”

“I think you underestimate how absolutely livid he will be. He wanted everyone to be working day-and-night for the tourney,” Myriah answered.

Aegon remembered Hallis’ speech well. Blood runs hot at tourneys and all of Westeros is in King’s Landing. It was the perfect opportunity for them to make more coin in one week than they had in the past half year.

“If you have so much as a scratch on your face, you won’t work for the next three moons,” Myriah said.

“That’s what the helmet is for,” he replied mockingly, shaking the helmet in question in his hand. It better offer the best damn protection in Westeros, for how he spent on it. Near all of the coin he’d been saving were poured into buying this mismatched, loose fitting armor, but he spent the most on a proper helmet. A bruise on his chest or arm was nothing new in his profession, an injury on his face would end in disaster.

“I don’t know why you’re taking the risk,” Myriah muttered. “When’s the last time you even held a sword?”

Three years ago, he knew. The day he turned in his gold cloak, or rather, sold his gold cloak for a bit of drinking money. He was out of practice but it was now or never.

Obviously, he couldn’t tell her he was joining just to beat the piss out of whoever he wanted. Instead, he answered, “There’s five thousand gold dragons to the victor of the joust. Three thousand for the runner up, and a thousand each for the other top eight. The melee has similar rewards.”

Myriah scoffed. “You won’t even get past the first round, much less the top eight.”

“How little faith you have in me,” he remarked. “These are green as grass tourney knights. I’ve fought tougher while blind drunk.”

“And you’ve lost those fights,” Myriah reminded him. “It hardly matters, I’ve already bet Essie a handful of silver stags that you get knocked flat on your arse, first tilt.”

Aegon turned to her, a bit offended but with a more pressing concern. “You told Essie?”

“I told everyone at work, except Hallis, of course. We’ve all placed our bets.”

His confusion turned to intrigue then. “Surely, someone believes I can do this.”

Myriah shrugged. “Serala bet three stags that you get past the third round. Though she also doesn’t speak the Common Tongue very well. I’m not entirely sure she understood what we were betting on.”

Aegon sighed. Some friends he had. Perhaps they had a point, it still wasn’t too late to back out. Maybe he could make some of his coin back by selling the pieces to some poor fellows who’d lost or dented their own armor during the tourney.

He thought about the smug, satisfied look on Horas’ face however. He thought about how his cousins used to delight in yanking Aemond’s eyepatch from behind to get a peak at the grotesque scar below or the smoothened chunk of marble Aemond had put in to keep his face from becoming uneven. He thought about how his mother wept terribly and often whenever her family were in the city, never feeling relaxed until they finally left. He thought about every time he’d been mocked and ridiculed for being a bastard, being a whore, being a drunk.

Aegon finished putting on his armor, fastened his sword to his belt, and took a deep breath. It was a terrible risk to compete but one he was very willing to take if it meant the opportunity to meet his cousin in combat.

The welcoming feast for the tourney had thankfully passed without incident. The Hightowers scarcely paid Alicent and her family any mind, too busy ingratiating themselves with their new queen and speaking to the sea of other nobles. It gave Alicent a bit of hope for the coming week of festivities.

She broke her fast the morning of the tourney with her children, save for Aegon. Aemond looked barely half awake as he picked at the food, heavy bags under his eyes.

“Will you watch the tourney with us?” Daeron asked his brother hopefully.

Aemond shook his head. “Prince Daemon wants us patrolling the city as much as possible,” he told him. A bit quieter, he added, “Can’t have our noble guests getting robbed and raped in the streets.”

Daeron’s lips curled into a pout. “But the queen invited us. It’s just one day off of patrol,” he practically begged. 

The queen had offered to let them watch the event from the royal box. “It’s only fitting. You did help organize the entire event,” Rhaenyra had said. Alicent was wary of the attention but she knew Daeron would love the opportunity.

Trying to cheer her youngest up, she patted his hand across the table. “Jace and Luke will be there to watch with you. They’re very excited about it, so I hear.”

Daeron mumbled something she couldn’t make out. Much as he enjoyed spending time with the princes, Alicent knew they were no substitute for his actual brothers.

“Sorry,” Aemond said to him. “Next time,” he promised and Daeron nodded reluctantly.

Noticing the tension in the room, Helaena started rambling idly about her friends, which Alicent tried to pay attention to. Rohanne was smitten with Alys' brother, Cleos Tarbeck, after they danced last night, Elyana made a ruckus with her family at the feast by getting into a fight with Daven, and Jeyne’s two sisters were coming to the tourney. Alysanne was riding all the way up from Dorne and Alayne was coming down from the Riverlands despite being heavy with child.

It was meaningless talk to Alicent but she enjoyed the distraction from her worries and was glad to see Helaena being a bit more talkative than usual.

After breakfast, Aemond returned to his patrols and Daeron sought out the princes while Helaena hurried to get Elyana dressed for the tourney. Alicent was alone in her chambers when a knock came at the door.

She tensed and opened it hesitantly, worried it would be her father on the other end. She didn’t think she was ready to speak to him again. She wasn’t entirely relieved though to find it was her brother, Gwayne, waiting for her instead.

Alicent inhaled sharply and froze, unsure what to say. Gwayne was always the kindest of her brothers but that was hardly a feat. “Alicent,” he started, hesitantly. “Do you have a moment?”

She quickly moved so he could enter the chambers. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Her words were stiff and far too formal for family. Gwayne frowned at them but said nothing about it.

“It has been quite a while since we last spoke,” Gwayne said. Through no fault of mine, Alicent wanted to say but held her tongue. She had sent letters to him at Oldtown when she was younger, telling him about Aegon and Aemond when they were newborns, but he never replied back. “I simply…” he trailed off. “I wanted to know how you were.”

“I am managing well,” she responded. Gwayne’s face indicated that he didn’t believe her in that.

“Sister, I regret our distance,” he said. “And I think it was wrong for our father to leave you alone here.”

Alicent’s fingers fidgeted together unconsciously. “I chose to stay,” she reminded him. “My family and I certainly wouldn’t be welcome at home.”

Gwayne at least looked ashamed of that. Though he was caring to her at times, he did little to interfere with their brothers’ mockery of her nor when their sons tormented hers.

“It is not too late, Alicent,” he implored. “Come home with us, after the tourney. I’ve missed you and I know our brothers and father are too proud to say it but they have as well. We would welcome you with open arms.”

Alicent shook her head unconsciously. “And my children? How am I supposed to believe they will be treated any differently than they have in the past?”

“I’ll speak to our brothers and to Lord Ormund,” Gwayne told her. “Whatever mistakes you’ve made, you are still family.”

“Mistakes I’ve made?” She blurted out before she could think better of it. She had never been cruel to her siblings, unlike them. She never wanted to be the king’s paramour. That was all her father’s plot, surely Gwayne must know that.

Gwayne tried to correct himself. “Mistakes that we’ve all made- it matters not. It’s in the past, sister.”

Alicent winced again. Her error was that she was never good enough for the king to wed but that had little and less to do with her family. They were the ones who pushed her out of the family time and time again. She could not bring herself to pretend as if everything was well simply because they wished to reconcile years later.

Yet, when she opened her mouth to say as much to Gwayne, the words wouldn’t come out. Shaking her head, she instead responded, “My assistance is needed elsewhere before the tourney begins. If you’ll excuse me.” She started walking out before he got the chance to answer.

“Alicent,” Gwayne called after her. “Sister!”

She kept walking until she was out of sight, trying to force herself to think of anything else but her former family.

“Ser Triston of House Waynwood!” The announcer bellowed as the knight in question trotted onto the field. Fanciful armor with the sigil of his house engraved in its center, a dark green cloak flowing in the wind behind him. Aegon thought he looked like a pretentious arse as he riled up the crowd by cheering for himself.

“Facing against the mystery Knight of Rats!” With a final check to make sure his helmet was secure, Aegon rode out to the tilt. He was lucky that the stablemaster in the Red Keep was fond of Daeron as he scarcely had the coin to pay for a horse himself. So long as he returned the horse after the tourney, Ser Luthor would look the other way about him “borrowing” one of them.

The crowd seemed intrigued by him, unsure what to make of the mystery knight with mismatched armor and a shield painted with a pair of bloody rats. Knight of Rats was hardly a gallant name but Aegon liked it. Rat pits were common in Flea Bottom, where one could bet on rats fighting each other. There were other kinds of fighting pits as well, dogs, chickens, he’d heard rumors of even children being forced to brutalize each other, but rats sufficed perfectly well for him.

It was the ugly side of Flea Bottom that none of these highborn cunts cared to see.

Glancing over the royal box, as much as could with how tiny the slits in the helmet for his vision were, he could see his mother and siblings watching the match. He got a bit of amusement out of them not knowing it was him. In the stands, he spotted the Hightowers, though no Horas. He must be getting ready for his own matches.

Gods, he hoped he got the chance to face Horas.

Aegon readied himself on his horse and gripped the jousting lance tight. As soon as the announcer sounded the horn, he whipped the reins and they were off. The crowd held its breath and the horses’ hooves beat hard against the muddy ground. He aimed the jousting lance for his opponent’s chest, slightly shaky but-

CRACK!

Before his lance even made contact, Ser Triston hit his mark and Aegon was thrown backwards. He slipped off the saddle with embarrassing ease, tumbling into the dirt below.

It was hard to breathe for a few moments as Aegon tried to pull himself off the ground. Seven fucking hells! He could already feel the dark purple bruise forming on his chest.

The audience cheered as Triston confidently grinned and made a victory lap around the tilt. Myriah will be happy, he realized bitterly. She won her bet.

All that fucking work just to get knocked down on the first tilt. He’d never even jousted before, what was he thinking?

As he pulled himself back to his feet, his hand idly fell towards his belt, brushing against the scabbard of the sword he’d stolen from the armory.

Aegon grinned to himself then. This wasn’t quite over yet.

He pulled the sword out roughly and pointed it at Ser Triston. The announcer took notice of this quickly. “The Knight of Rats wishes to continue in a challenge of arms!”

Triston stopped in his celebration, leveling Aegon with an arrogant stare. He seemed to think it over for a moment before deciding the spectacle of beating the mystery knight twice was worth the risk. “SWORD!” He yelled, slipping off his horse. His squire rushed forward, handing it over to him, and the knight charged forward towards Aegon.

Ser Triston swung too wide and Aegon moved out of the way easily. The knight rushed to strike with his sword over and over, seemingly believing he could end this match quickly. Aegon’s instincts were rusty but not forgotten, as he blocked most of the blows with his shield and avoided the rest.

When an opening presented itself, Aegon slammed the edge of his shield against his opponent’s helmet, rattling the knight. Ser Triston grew angrier then, lunging forward to stab with his sword. Aegon narrowly deflected the attack with his own sword.

He forced on the defensive again as Triston pursued with a volley of blows, pushing him back slowly but surely. The clang of their swords echoed through the air as the audience watched in anticipation.

Ser Triston was fighting too properly, in Aegon’s opinion. Moves he’d clearly practiced against a lesser knight too wary to truly harm him, where his useless master of arms probably patted him on the back and told him not to push himself too hard. A knight who never had to really fight, up in a keep of his very own with all the servants to bow to his every whim.

The knight overstepped once, missing Aegon with his next swing. Aegon took advantage, raising his armored foot and kicking hard against the side of Ser Triston’s knee. Before he could even recoil from the blow, Aegon gripped his shoulders tight to keep him in place as he slammed his shield into his head again. Once then twice then a third time, sending the knight toppling to the ground.

Triston groaned in pain on the ground and Aegon pressed his sword at the exposed part of the lordling’s armor, near his neck. A beat passed and Aegon waited. The knight panted heavily, his eyes darting trying to find a way to recover the match until he finally relented. “I yield!” He yelled so everyone could hear it.

Withdrawing his sword, Aegon pushed it back into his scabbard as the crowd erupted in applause. As his opponent limped off the field, it took Aegon a long few moments before he realized the cheers were for him. Not the usual ribald cheering of drunken clients at the whorehouse but genuine cheers.

But then, they didn’t know it was him. A mystery knight could be anyone. Perhaps they’d be less inclined to clap if he took off the helmet.

With a huff, Aegon recovered his horse and left the field to await his next match. He was rather amused to see Ser Samwell Darklyn compete in the joust after his. He almost felt a twinge of pity for the boy’s wife, with that positively adoring look on her face as she gave Samwell her favor. If only she knew…

The next rounds for Aegon were not near as embarrassing as his first unhorsing. Though he was still not as skilled at jousting as the other competitors, it hardly mattered so long as he hit his target.

The names started to blur together for him. There was a Lord Buckwell, a Ser Fossoway, some ironborn knight, he didn’t care to remember their names though. He grew a bit more confident with each win. What skill he didn’t have in jousting, he made up for in swordplay. Most knights expected their opponent to fight with that ridiculous code of honor. Aegon wasn’t a true knight though.

He got a bit of wry satisfaction from every crunch of bones and splatter of blood as he fought his opponents. They would be none the worse for wear after a few moons spent resting and being waited on by their army of servants.

Aegon had almost forgotten why he joined the tourney in the first place as he got wrapped up in the praise of the crowd and thrill of tearing down noble knights. That was, until his sixth match was announced.

“The Knight of Rats!” The announcer shouted as he approached the tilt and the crowd roared their approval. For a moment, the cheers made him almost believe he could win the tourney. “The mystery knight shall face Ser Horas Hightower!”

It sounded too good to be true, yet sure enough, that smug cunt rode in on his horse, wearing that fucking absurd looking Hightower helmet. Horas rode up to where his betrothed sat in the stands and she granted him her favor.

Aegon realized then he should be wearing someone’s favor as well. There was no one he particularly cared enough about to ask however. He supposed his sister probably had made one for the tourney but he was quite sure that she didn’t want to give her favor to a stranger who left his opponents bloody and broken.

An idea came to him then. Kicking the sides of his horse, he went over to where the Hightowers sat. It was his chance to embarrass both Horas and Ormund in one match. The latter of which wasn’t competing in the tourney. The Lord of Oldtown sat by his wife’s side, though Lady Samantha seemed a good deal more interested in conversing with her stepson, Lyonel.

“Lady Hightower.” Aegon’s voice echoed in his helmet, warping his voice. “Would you do me the honor of allowing me to carry your favor into battle?”

Ormund looked insulted already but he watched as Lady Sam’s lips curled into a smirk. Reaching over, she easily placed her favor on his jousting lance. “Don’t waste it, Knight of Rats,” she told him. He smirked under his helmet at the outrage building on Ormund’s face. With a nod, he returned to his side of tilt. He couldn’t see Horas underneath his helmet but liked to believe he was just as upset as Ormund.

The horn sounded once the two were ready and their horses charged forward. Reinvigorated, Aegon put all his strength behind the thrusts of his lance. All the bruises on his body after the tournament would be well worth it if he beat Horas.

The first lance’s crack pierced through the air but both competitors recovered quickly. The second lance nearly unhorsed Aegon but he held firm to the saddle and charged with renewed fervor on the third tilt, the blow from which disoriented Horas. His Hightower cousin didn’t have the chance to fully regain his balance before they charged for the fourth tilt and the lance threw him to the ground.

The stands applauded and cheered but Aegon kept his eyes locked on Horas, reeling on the ground. “Come on…get up…” Aegon whispered to himself, watching as Horas struggled. “We’re not done yet, get back up.”

His prayers were answered when Horas managed to get back on his feet. The knight drew his sword and Aegon was already halfway off his mount by then. He drew his own sword then, itching to start the fight properly.

The steel of their swords clashed together as they reached each other. Aegon tried to keep him on his heels, swinging wildly with his blade. The knight was surprisingly light on his feet though, staying out of the reach of Aegon’s sword.

After Aegon missed again, Horas took advantage of the opening. He slammed the hilt of his sword against Aegon’s stomach and then his shield crashed into Aegon’s chest for good measure.

He reeled backwards, his steps were shaky and hurried. His mismatched armor rattled as he moved and Horas took note of a larger gap than normal between the steel pieces. Stabbing his sword forward quickly, Aegon winced as he felt a cut open up on his side. With a kick to Aegon’s stomach, the mystery knight fell down into the wet mud below them.

Horas kneeled down, pressing the point of his sword near Aegon’s neck. “Yield,” he practically ordered.

Aegon groaned in pain below him but refused to give him the satisfaction of winning. He struggled beneath Horas, trying to grasp for his sword and shield which had fallen in the mud nearby.

Growing impatient, Horas gripped Aegon by the helmet, lifting his head and slamming it down again. “Yield!” He told him again.

“Fuck you, Hightower,” he rasped out angrily.

At that, Horas’ expression waved for a moment. He must’ve thought the voice sounded familiar. The knight looked through the slit in Aegon’s helmet and saw violet eyes staring back at him.

A problem for later, Aegon decided. The brief distraction gave him the opportunity to turn the tables on Horas. He grappled the knight, shoving him off of Aegon and into the mud. Scrambling for his shield, Aegon hit Horas’s helmet once, then twice with the edge.

Horas recovered before he could do more though, hurrying back to his feet and taking a few steps away to collect himself. As Aegon got to his feet as well, he noticed that the shield had put a dent in Horas’ helmet. The small openings for his vision were mangled and likely hard to see through now.

Frustrated, Horas wrestled his helmet off quickly, tossing it to the side with little care. It would’ve been smart for him to give up then, Aegon knew, but Horas was too riled up by the knowledge of who he was to think that clearly.

“Come on, bastard!” Horas barked at him, leveling his sword at Aegon.

With only his shield in hand, Aegon rushed forward again to meet his challenge. He blocked the first swing and then the second. Before the third could reach him, Aegon reached his free hand out, grasping Horas’ wrist tightly to keep him from swinging again.

Horas pulled fiercely to try to free himself but Aegon reeled his arm back and crashed his shield into Horas’ stomach. For good measure, he headbutted Horas in his helmet, blood spewing out as the knight went down.

Horas grunted as he tried to pick himself up. Aegon rammed his armored boot against Horas’ face. The crowd winced around them and Horas fell miserably back into the mud. Aegon was quite sure he heard the crack of a tooth as well.

He should leave it there, he knew. He’d won the match succinctly and could force Horas to yield easily.

“Fucking Waters…” Horas grumbled out, weakly trying to right himself on the ground.

Aegon didn’t think then.

Dropping down to the mud with him, Aegon punched Horas with as much force as he could muster. He stopped listening to the crowd after they cringed again at the violence.

Waters. That’s all he ever was. It wasn’t his fault that his father didn’t care to wed the highborn lady he was fucking. Why did he have to pay for it every day of his life?

Another punch and another. Sickening cracks as the steel of his gauntlet met flesh.

“Some family you’ve got. Your mother’s a whore, brother’s a cripple, sister’s simple,” Horas and his cousins had mocked relentlessly. And for what? Aegon never did anything to them to deserve it.

His arms were aching but he didn’t stop swinging.

“I yield…” Horas muttered out, too quiet for anyone but him to hear.

“Oh, now you’ve had enough?” Aegon seethed.

He slammed his fist into him again and again.

“Please, please stop,” Aegon had begged them when he was only six. They’d torn apart his favorite toy, a little dragon that he would clutch all night because he wanted one so badly it hurt. But bastards can’t have dragons.

They can’t have anything but what their father deemed they could and even with all the power in the realm at his fingertips, his father never cared to grant them anything but a few measly trinkets.

There was yelling somewhere, far off. He could barely hear it anymore.

Horas and his cousins had everything. Trueborn sons with their every whim attended to. Their fathers cared about them, gave them whatever they needed, and spent time with them. They weren’t embarrassments.

The last time he saw his father, the king couldn’t look him in the eye.

“I YIELD!” Horas used the last of his strength to shout loud enough for everyone to hear.

Aegon stopped himself before his fist connected again. He was panting hard, coming back to reality. The dirt below them was more red than brown. Aegon’s gauntlet was dripping blood.

He didn’t look down at Horas.

Aegon stood up as a group of servants hurried over to carry Horas to a maester. The crowd clapped, somewhat hesitantly. Bloodshed in a tourney was nothing new though. They’ll forget it quickly, Aegon reasoned.

He wandered out of the arena then, still trying to regain his bearings. Horas wouldn’t forget this though, he knew. When he got back on his feet, he would stop at nothing to make sure Aegon paid for this.

Aegon found he didn’t regret it a bit though. He’ll recover just fine, highborn cunts always do.

He lost the next match against a Royce knight, his ranking still far away from the top eight and the prize money, but he didn’t much care. He’d gotten what he wanted out of the tourney.

In private, he finally removed his helmet.

Not a scratch on my face, he boasted to himself with a wide smirk growing across his lips.

For Alicent, it felt unusual to be in the royal box. The king always preferred to keep her out of sight but especially so at tourneys. They would be lucky to find seats nestled between the extended Hightower family which obviously wasn’t ideal for her sons.

Her elder two boys were too busy to watch the event but Alicent, Daeron, and Helaena sat with the royal family, as well as the Small Council and their families. There were more than a few odd, disapproving  glances towards them but Alicent had grown used to it by now.

While Alicent was never particularly fond of tourneys, Daeron was glad to sit with his friends. He and the princes rambled excitedly together about every single knight competing. Helaena sat next to Alicent with Lady Elyana on her other side. The two girls spoke idly to each other but more often, Helaena remained quiet and gripped Alicent’s arm tightly whenever a particularly bloody match happened. Her sweet girl never liked all the noise and violence.

Helaena had to turn and bury her face in Alicent’s shoulder, covering her ears, when that savage mystery knight beat Horas within an inch of his life. Alicent knew her nephew could be cruel, her own sons had told her of it extensively, but it still churned her stomach to see.

“Seven hells,” she heard Rhaenyra mutter, aghast. She turned to Lord Corlys then and asked him to ensure that the Grand Maester himself take charge of Horas’ care. “The last thing I need is Lord Ormund growing wroth about this.”

Laena sat in the row in front of them with her daughters eagerly watching every joust, especially during their father’s matches. Prince Daemon was as arrogant as ever, tearing through his opponents with ease in his fanciful armor and getting as much dissent as he did praise whenever he won a match.

King Laenor and Ser Criston were competing as well. She paid more attention to the jousts when it was their turn but for the most part, she focused on conversing with Laena and the queen.

They spoke of insignificant topics, court gossip and the reception of the festivities thus far. Alicent didn’t have much to contribute in truth, with so few friends of her own and few rumors ever reaching her ears, but she was content simply to speak idly with them.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her extended family in the stands, Lord Ormund, her brothers and father, and all the nieces and nephews she never got to properly meet. She couldn’t help but grow a bit more nervous with their presence, even from a distance, and tried not to think of her conversation with Gwayne earlier.

The crack of another lance brought her focus back to the tourney. Laenor unhorsed Petyr Royce on their fourth tilt, inching ever closer to victory. 

Ser Criston dueled Prince Daemon next. The crowd grew more rowdy than ever, as both were some of the most skilled knights living today. There was an odd ferocity in how they each fought that wasn’t present in their other matches, Alicent noticed.

“Ser Criston unhorsed my uncle during the heir’s tourney when I was a girl,” Rhaenyra told her when she noticed Alicent’s confusion. “Then Daemon unhorsed him during my wedding tourney. Criston won again at the tourney for Jace’s birth, then Daemon beat him as Luke’s. Their feud likely won’t cease until one of them drops dead. It’s a bit tiresome, in truth.”

Alicent hummed. She never paid enough attention to the results of any tourney to notice, she supposed.

They broke one lance against each other, then another, and another and more still. Eight lances in total before Daemon finally fell from his horse. The crowd cheered fervently for the Kingsguard knight as Daemon raged and trudged off the field. Alicent felt a bit of wry amusement at his loss but would never admit it. It was not her place to grow so careless in her position as to look down on Prince Daemon.

After that spectacle, the final match between Ser Criston and Laenor came as a slight disappointment. Either exhausted from his tilts with Daemon or unwilling to harm the king too harshly, Criston went down in three tilts and King Laenor was named the victor of the tourney.

The audience roared in applause, but she could still hear Jace and Luke’s cheers for their father above it all. Daeron added his voice to their shouts shortly after.

The announcer bestowed Laenor with the laurel of blue roses to name a lady the Queen of Love and Beauty. It was a great honor, especially at such an extravagant and important event as this. Unsurprisingly, Laenor turned to ride towards the royal box, no doubt to bestow the title upon his wife.

He took off his helmet as he rode, the laurel balanced on the end of the lance. “Lady Alicent Hightower,” Laenor called out.

Alicent already raised her hands to clap for Rhaenyra mindlessly before the words set in.

She blinked, quite sure she had misheard until she looked down and saw Laenor looking directly at her. The crowd had fallen silent then, equally as confused as she was. Alicent glanced over to Rhaenyra, expecting to see her hurt or even enraged, but perhaps Alicent should know by now that the queen wasn’t that type of person. Rhaenyra had a grin on her face, nodding her head encouragingly at Alicent.

Warily, Alicent stood to her feet and walked to the edge of the royal box. She took the laurel from the lance but stopped short of placing it on her head. It didn’t seem right. Was this some cruel trick by Laenor? Maybe the royal family really had been lying to her all along, all to humiliate her in front of the entire kingdom.

Alicent was not the Queen of Love and Beauty, not by any measure. She was sinful and wicked and worthless beyond the pleasure the king took from her and the meager tasks her father had for her.

Glancing down, Laenor’s eyes showed nothing but earnestness and he nudged her with his lance to put on the laurel. Taking a deep breath, Alicent did so before she could think better of it, not wanting to endure the painful silence surrounding the field any longer.

She kept her eyes shut for a few moments, waiting for them to start laughing at her, until she heard a distant clap. Hesitant to start with but rapidly growing more sure. Another joined them and then a whole row. Opening her eyes back up, it wasn’t long before every person in the stands was applauding.

Alicent gulped. That wasn’t- This isn’t right, she thought. Turning around momentarily, she saw Rhaenyra and Laena smiling at her. Daeron was grinning and clapping as fast as he could, as was Helaena, though her daughter seemed clearly uncomfortable with all the noise.

“Alicent Hightower! The Queen of Love and Beauty!” The announcer shouted for all to hear.

It was only then that it started to sink in. They were clapping and cheering for her . Perhaps just out of courtesy but they did it all the same, with no scorn or cruel intentions behind it.

Alicent released a breath she didn’t even know she was holding, half a laugh and half a sob spilling out of her. In all likelihood, tomorrow they will return to their usual japes and glares. Court had an exceptionally short memory.

But today at least, they congratulated her with their praises and applause. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, they didn’t look upon her with disdain. For once, she was more than just the discarded mistress of the Red Keep.

She grinned so wide it hurt and her vision grew blurry with the most joyous of tears.

Rhaenyra sat at the head table while the feast that night was in full swing. The musicians played upbeat songs and the center of the hall was a mass of people dancing joyfully.

Scanning the crowd, Rhaenyra smiled when she spotted Jace dancing with Baela. Laena and her had often talked about betrothing the two, though nothing was certain yet. They wanted to wait until the children were a bit older to discuss the possibility, but Rhaenyra felt a bit more confident about the idea seeing the two have fun together.

She saw Laena and Daemon off to the side of the head table, half-heartedly enjoying each other’s company. Helaena was getting dragged around by her friends as they all met a handful of lordlings. Meanwhile, Daeron and Luke rather unsubtly were hiding sweets for later.

The laurel of blue roses sitting atop Alicent’s head was plain to see from the head table as well. The lords and ladies of the realm greeted Alicent warmly tonight. Maybe they only were doing so because the laurel crown made it clear that she was a friend of the royal family, but Rhaenyra hardly cared for their reasons, so long as Alicent enjoyed herself.

Indeed, Alicent was laughing and dancing free-spiritedly, grinning more in the past hours than Rhaenyra thought she had in the past months she’d known her. It made for a wonderful sight, in Rhaenyra’s opinion.

“Satisfied with the fruits of your plan?” Laenor spoke as he slid into the seat next to her.

Truthfully, it was her idea for Laenor to crown Alicent the Queen of Love and Beauty. She wanted to do something kind for Alicent after all her father did and ensure that she was not treated as poorly by the lords and ladies of the keep as she was under Viserys’ reign.

It was important that Laenor had to be the one to give it. Any other man would’ve sent rumors across the realm about how she had fallen into bed with someone new so soon after the king’s death, but Laenor’s preference for men was gossip everyone in the realm knew well.

“Quite,” Rhaenyra answered simply. She could feel her heart soar, seeing Alicent unburdened by her anxieties and memories of the king. Even if it was simply for a short while, it was well worth it.

Rhaenyra noticed then that Alicent wore the same dress that she did the first night the two properly met months ago. It was a bit small for her frame but had a dazzling, dark green color. Her auburn curls fell down over her shoulders, swaying with her as she danced and messing her hair up ever so slightly. Alicent’s face was flushed red with all the exertion and laughing.

Rhaenyra caught her eyes from across the room and Alicent flashed a wide, genuine smile before being pulled off into another dance.

In that moment, Rhaenyra could hardly be faulted for thinking Alicent must be the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.

Chapter Text

King Viserys was careless, as always.

Part of Alicent wondered if he even remembered she was still laying in the bed. She pulled the blanket a bit tighter around her and kept quiet as the king shuffled over to the door, hurriedly fastening on his robe. The gauntlets of a kingsguard were banging on the entrance to the chamber.

Peering through the privacy screen, Alicent watched as Tyland Lannister strode in once the king opened the door.

“Pardon for the early morning intrusion, Your Grace,” Tyland began. The king sighed, mindlessly moving towards the table where there was a flagon of wine waiting. “I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t important.”

“Speak it then,” he told the Master of Ships.

“You see, Your Grace, there is a delicate matter that I would not wish to speak of so freely in the Small Council chamber.” He hesitated briefly in his speech. “I hear reports from Dragonstone about Princess Rhaenyra.”

“What kind of reports? Is she well?” He urged, his face turning to concern in an instant.

“Yes, of course,” Tyland hurriedly clarified. “There has just been some…ill made rumors of…improper activities, so to say-”

His Grace’s expression hardened quickly. “What accusations exactly are you making, my lord?”

Tyland immediately shook his head, a tad panicked. “No, no, Your Grace, I do not believe anything truly sordid occurred. Not yet, at least. But it is known that Prince Daemon has returned to Dragonstone and he can encourage certain indulgences in his niece.”

“Careful how you speak about mine own brother.”

Tyland, to his credit, did not falter. “I only mean to suggest that perhaps it is time for the princess to finally be wed. To ensure such gossip about her activities remains as just that. Not to mention, the crown needs allies and heirs.”

The king hummed, considering the idea. “Who did you have in mind?”

“There are plenty of excellent candidates, I think. I know Lord Lyonel is partial to Ser Laenor. Maybe one of her cousins in the Vale…” Tyland sharply inhaled. “Or, perhaps, if I may make a suggestion, my brother. Jason is Lord of Casterly Rock now.”

Alicent sat and listened as the Master of Ships gave a rather long spiel about the might of House Lannister and all the benefits they could give the crown. She could almost scoff at how blatant he was. But, she supposed, any other lord at court would do the same with the information he had. The king was noncommittal through all of it and only said he would consider the idea before dismissing Tyland.

She already knew what her father would tell her to do if he were here. She carefully stepped out of the bed while the king studied his model of Valyria. “I suppose you heard all of that,” he said.

“Perhaps it is not my place to say, Your Grace,” Alicent started. “But you should be fully informed before you make a decision on Rhaenyra’s husband.”

“How so?” He asked lazily. She knew he didn’t truly care to hear her opinion on the matter but he would listen regardless.

She recited simply, “Court rumors suggest Jason Lannister has a natural daughter down in Lannisport. Perhaps more than one.” Viserys’ brow furrowed a bit. “I cannot imagine his proclivities will change after marriage.”

From anyone else, the words would sound self-serving to sway Viserys towards their own choice. They would undeniably sound so from her father’s lips. But she could whisper in his ear and, every once in a while, he would listen to her advice. He underestimated her, as always.

He thought about what she’d said as she trailed out of the room. Someone smarter might wonder why Alicent would take issue with natural born children, considering her son, and might figure out Ser Otto’s ploy but His Grace barely gave any thought to Aegon on the best of days. Her words would suffice to sway him against wedding Lord Jason, opening the door for her own father to put forward someone else.

Alicent arrived back in the Tower of the Hand and reported to her father what Tyland had told the king. She didn’t know what his plan was from there or who he wished for Rhaenyra to wed, but it wasn’t her place to know.

Her father only nodded curtly and spoke, “Well done.” It was the most affection she ever got from him. It brought her some satisfaction, regardless of how disgusted she felt with herself over how she got the information.

She hurried back to her own room to change out of her clothes. They always felt uncomfortable on her skin on the mornings she had to make the shameful walk out of the king’s chambers.

Alicent sat at the table in her chambers and turned the crown of blue roses in her hands carefully, reliving the memories of last night. It was the lightest she’d felt in a long time, like a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She wasn’t quite ready to leave her chambers for the day yet, to see the scorn return to the lords and ladies’ eyes and face the reality that nothing had truly changed.

She could not hide away forever though. The tourney for the melee would be starting soon. Daeron and Helaena had already left after breakfast to meet with the princes and Daemon’s daughters. Perhaps her eldest two might also come to join them today after missing the joust.

A harsh knock on her chamber door startled her out of her thoughts. The second day in a row with an unexpected visitor. Alicent could hope it was merely Laena or Laenor. She dreaded the idea that Gwayne had come again to speak. Or perhaps it was just Ser Criston, come to escort her to the royal box.

Her heart sank terribly when she opened the door and found her father on the other side. He stood tall and stern, as ever, an unreadable expression on his face.

Alicent tensed immediately. She wasn’t anywhere near prepared to speak to her father after everything. He entered the room wordlessly and without her invitation though.

Taking a shaky breath, Alicent greeted demurely, “Father.”

He nodded vaguely in recognition as he prowled around the room for a moment. His gaze landed on the crown of blue roses on the table briefly. His voice didn’t betray any emotion as he spoke, “It was quite a surprise to see you crowned by the king yesterday.”

“It was a great honor,” Alicent said. Her lips curled upwards slightly at the memory. The king had done her a kindness she wasn’t sure she deserved. She would need to thank him profusely the next time they spoke.

He hummed noncommittally. “It seems I underestimated you, my daughter. You and your children have grown close to the royal family in my absence, so I hear.”

“I help the queen and king in whatever way I can,” she told him. “I was left with few other options after your abrupt departure.” She tried to keep any hint of bitterness out of her tone.

“You know I had little choice in that matter.” Her father’s cold eyes stared at her for a few moments.

I didn’t have a choice either, when I was but a girl, she wanted to remark but held her tongue. He was still her father, she shouldn’t be cross with him.

“I understand you had a…disagreement with Gwayne yesterday. Rest assured though, whatever our differences, our hearts remain as one,” he said simply. “You’ve done an excellent job ensuring our efforts all these years were not put to waste with Viserys’ passing. Our usual work may yet continue.”

“Usual work?”

“A spy in the queen’s midst and a whisper in her ear,” Otto recited, as if it was obvious.

Alicent flinched unconsciously. It reminded her of the certain rumors that had sprung up in the past months of a more intimate involvement between her and the royal couple. They had sparked after her night in Rhaenyra’s chambers, but had died down after it was a one-time occurrence. The gift from Laenor last night had almost assuredly reignited them. She could only hope the other prevalent rumors of Laenor’s preferences squashed them just as quickly.

Shaking her head, she focused back on her father. She tried to reason with him rationally, “That’s not- Rhaenyra and Laenor are not like the king. It is not likely they will be as susceptible as His Grace was.”

Her father didn’t seem satisfied with that answer. “You’ll manage, I’m sure.”

Alicent’s eyes turned to the floor. Deceiving the old king always filled her with guilt, no matter how much she disliked being with him. She dreaded even the idea of doing the same to Rhaenyra and Laenor.

Against all reason, they seemed to enjoy her company. They were her friends. She had a place in the keep and felt more than just shame and guilt most days, thanks to them.

Her father cared little for her distress though. He mused idly, “In time, your children may still flourish as well. A bastard who looks like a Targaryen would still be preferable to the lords compared to the queen’s bastard sons,” he deliberated. With disdain, he added, “Not Aegon, of course, but Aemond…”

Alicent stopped herself before she could groan and roll her eyes. Her father always kept the idea in his head that one day, despite the king’s clear indifference to them, he would legitimize her children. It was an unlikely plan even in the early days of their relationship yet he was so desperate to see Hightower blood on the throne.

He took a step closer to her and pressed a gloved hand to her cheek. “I assure you, my daughter. My loss of position was but a setback. Together, we will prevail.”

Alicent only nodded along because it was what he wanted to hear. She bit the inside of her cheek as he departed. Her stomach twisted with regret as she prepared to head to the tourney grounds.

She was a woman grown with four children. She could speak her mind to her brother yet she still didn’t have the strength to push back against her father. If he had his way, her safety, her family’s safety, the stability of the realm, they would all come second to his own ambition.

Aemond’s armor rattled and clanged together as he marched hurriedly through the streets of King’s Landing. The night was nearly over but Flea Bottom was always alive with performers and merchants. He saw a play in the central area of the city about Queen Rhaenyra and her infidelity but Aemond could not stop to watch.

Of all the dim-witted ideas… Aemond seethed silently. How could Aegon be so foolish?

People stepped aside for him as he rushed through, not wanting to risk agitating a gold cloak. Some did the opposite, shoving him and spitting in his direction but he paid it little mind tonight.

He shoved the door to the brothel open roughly and his ears were immediately bombarded with the ribald shouting of dozens of drunk patrons and the overpowering scent of ale. It was terribly busy, with so many people it felt suffocating.

Aemond scanned the room quickly. He could see plenty of Aegon’s coworkers seducing their current clients, though he never spoke to them often enough to remember their names. Finally, he spotted his brother off in the corner, huddled next to a man a few years older than him with red hair.

Even from across the room, he could see the unfocused look in his brother’s eye and his sluggish and clumsy movements. As Aemond walked closer, it only became more apparent how drunk his brother was. He didn’t even notice Aemond approaching until he was practically right next to him.

“Brother!” Aegon slurred out lazily. “So good of you to come. Ser Tully, this is my little brother,” he said to the red-haired man beside him.

Tully? Aemond thought. This is hardly the establishment for a nobleman of a Great House, but Aemond shook his head and moved past it quickly. He had far more pressing matters to discuss.

He wrenched Aegon out of his seat, making his brother yelp. He clung to Aemond as he tried to gain his balance, giggling slightly and looking a bit more sick than he should’ve. “Should you even be working right now? How much have you drunk tonight?”

Aegon snorted and ignored the questions. “We’re celebrating, brother. I got to knock that fucker Horas on his arse. That’s worth a bit of indulgence, no?”

Aemond huffed. If he wasn’t already certain his brother was the Knight of Rats, that was as much confession as he needed. Lord Ormund had been livid about the situation and practically demanded the crown search for the true identity of the mystery knight. Prince Daemon wasn’t inclined to help House Hightower but the reward Ormund offered was enough to sway the captains of the City Watch.

They set the gold cloaks to scour the city for any trace of the mystery knight. It took Aemond barely two hours of questioning blacksmiths to learn the mismatched pieces the Knight of Rats wore were all bought by “Hallis’ silver-haired whore”.

Aemond handed off a few coins to each blacksmith so they wouldn’t tell anyone else that fact, but he was under no delusion that this would keep them from the truth forever. “You’ve gone too far this time, Aegon,” Aemond told him flatly. “Lord Ormund wants your head on a spike for what you did.”

Aegon waved his arm lazily. “He’ll get over it.”

He stared at his brother, incredulous. Was he so drunk that he truly didn’t realize the weight of the situation? Horas hadn’t woken up since the tourney. His nose was broken, most of his teeth were shattered, and there were fears he might even lose one of his eyes. There was some doubt he would even wake at all. If the Hightowers or Prince Daemon knew Aegon killed a nobleman…Aemond shuddered to think of the consequences.

“Lighten up, little brother,” Aegon said when he took note of Aemond’s dour expression. “You cannot tell me you weren’t the least bit satisfied when you heard what happened to him.”

Aemond huffed. He held no love for Horas or any of his cousins, after all that transpired when they were boys. All the same, the dread over what might happen to their family was greater than any wry amusement he got.

Brushing past his brother’s words, Aemond insisted, “I think we should go to the queen about this.” Aegon burst out laughing then but Aemond pushed forward. “She helped Helaena and our mother, if we get ahead of Prince Daemon and tell her-”

“That cunt will throw me to the wolves to save face with the Hightowers,” Aegon answered easily. “You’re a bigger fool than I thought if you truly think she’d help us. She’s kinder than Prince Daemon, grant you, but that’ll evaporate the instant she decides we’re more trouble than we’re worth. She’s a Targaryen and we’re not . That’ll be all that matters to her.”

Aemond hesitated in his response. The royal family seemed amicable to him, from his brief interactions with them. Mother was more joyful than he’d ever seen her when the king crowned her at the tourney, not to mention their brother and sister had become companions of princes and their cousins. He hardly saw a better option, besides. Rhaenyra had to help them if they went to her. “We’re her half-siblings,” he reminded Aegon, his voice coming out a bit weaker than he intended.

Aegon sipped the goblet of wine in his hand and stared at Aemond for a few moments. His eyes flickered with an emotion he couldn’t name. “Sometimes I forget that you’re younger than you look,” Aegon muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re a naive fool,” Aegon mocked. He ended the conversation promptly then, “I’ve got work to do.” He batted at his arm, trying to urge Aemond away.

“You cannot simply sit around and await the gold cloaks,” Aemond tried.

Aegon stumbled back to his seat next to the Tully knight, paying no mind to his brother or his worries. Aemond could do nothing but roll his eye and saunter out as Aegon shuffled closer to the knight, whispering drunkenly.

The night air greeted Aemond once more as he left the brothel. He returned to his normal patrols as his stomach twisted and he searched his mind frantically for any plan to help his brother when the truth inevitably came to light.

The melee tourney passed quickly and without incident. Laenor took his place in the royal box next to Rhaenyra, now that he was not competing, as did Daemon next to Laena. Alicent shied away from sitting near them today, as Daemon glared at her unflinching. She cannot imagine the prince was very happy when he heard that she’d been crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty yesterday.

Alicent settled in a seat near her daughter, which ended up putting her next to Lord Lyman Beesbury. Though he could be long-winded and a bit scatter-brained in his old age, she knew from the meetings they had together when she assisted her father that he was rather kind. At the very least, he never treated her any different for being the king’s paramour.

In the brief time after the tourney ended but before the feast began, Alicent made a detour in her walk back to her chambers. One that she was quite sure she would regret but the memory of yesterday compelled her all the same.

Despite her estrangement from her family, she was horrified seeing the brutality done to Horas in the joust. It only felt right that she should visit him as her nephew recovered under the maesters’ care.

Entering the chamber, Alicent found a pair of maesters tending to Horas, while her elder brother, Horas’ father, Matthos Hightower, sat wordlessly at his bedside. It had been years since she last saw him. He shared the dirty blonde hair of their father and now sported a full beard, making him look older than Gwayne despite being two years his junior.

Matthos didn’t say anything when she entered but she could see him avert his eyes from her. “How is he?” She asked the maesters simply.

She recognized one as the Grand Maester’s head assistant. He spoke carefully, “It is still too early to say conclusively, I’m afraid. It’s hard to tell with such things.” Glancing at her nephew, she could see they’d cleaned off the blood and dirt from his face, however that made the true injuries all the more apparent. Bruises caked his skin, his nose was out of shape, and his mouth was closed but she was sure there would be more than a few missing teeth. Bandages were wrapped around his head and left eye.

Alicent knew her nephew could be a cruel boy. Aegon and Aemond would care little if they knew, perhaps even say he deserved it, yet she could not bring herself to feel the same. For all the strain in her relationship with her brother, she still sympathized with his worry over his son. She’d spent many nights herself aching over every injury that her children came back with and could scarcely imagine being on the verge of losing one forever.

“Why are you here, Alicent?” Matthos asked, his voice harsh and hoarse.

She was unsurprised by his tone. He and her other brother had scorned her after she lost her maidenhead to the king. All the same, she spoke calmly, “I came to offer my sympathies for my nephew. I will pray for his recovery.”

Matthos’ face softened a bit. Alicent could not and would not easily forgive how he enabled his sons to torment her own, but she felt a twinge of hope in her heart, for she did still miss her brothers dearly. Her meeting with Gwayne yesterday solidified that, much as it pained her to see how he still blamed her.

Her hopes, for the moment, were dashed though. His eyes turned away from her and he huffed, saying curtly, “You’ve given them. No need to linger.”

With a sigh, Alicent made her exit. She could only do so much if her brothers weren’t willing to admit their own wrongdoing in their estrangement.

She and her youngest children prepared for the feast quickly. For all the allowances they had in the past months, sitting with the royal family at the head table was certainly a step too far. It would draw far too much attention that her family didn’t need. Lady Rohanne Farman was kind enough to offer Helaena a place with her relatively small family and extend the invitation to her and Daeron.

Alicent was beginning to grow weary of the festivities after a third night of feasting in a row. It picked up her spirits to get a handful of kind smiles and offers to dance, though she knew it was just a matter of time before all the lords and ladies at court went back to scoffing at her for any minor infraction, perceived or otherwise.

She was glad to see that her children were having fun though. Daeron was content to scarf down as much food as he could and then run around with the other children. Where her youngest son got his boundless energy, Alicent would never understand.

Helaena danced with a handful of lordlings, Lady Rohanne’s elder brother as well as Tommen Rykker and Edric Dustin. Alicent prayed once again that her daughter might wed a kind nobleman who could help her shed the stain of bastardy. It was more than her brothers could do, sadly.

Across the hall, she could see her family gathered around their own table. Lord Ormund was nowhere in sight but her brothers were there. There was Lady Samantha and the heir, Lyonel, as well as her father and a handful of her nieces and nephews. They all seemed to be enjoying themselves, laughing and chattering excitedly to each other. It made Alicent’s heart ache for what she’d lost.

“Are you well?” Alicent was startled out of her thoughts by a voice beside her. At some point, Rhaenyra had come down from the head table and stood next to her now.

“Your Grace- Rhaenyra,” Alicent started, taken aback. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You looked a bit down, is all,” Rhaenyra answered, thinking nothing of sitting down next to her at the table.

“It’s nothing,” Alicent told her. She needn’t burden the queen with this.

“Are you certain?” She asked. Rhaenyra’s expression seemed sincerely concerned and it only served to twist her heart further. It was still hard for her to understand that the royal family cared for her and wished to help in whatever way they could.

Taking a shaky breath, Alicent continued, “It’s simply rough being around my family again.” First Gwayne, then her father, then Matthos. She used to hope that someday she would reconcile with her family but it seemed ever less possible now.

Rhaenyra hummed in agreement. Of course, she understood having a horrible father, even if she was not around for the worst of it. Her father’s lack of care after her mother’s death had pushed her out of King’s Landing for decades.

“I’m sorry,” Rhaenyra said, offering Alicent what comfort she could. “If it would make you feel better, I’ve wanted to insult Otto to his face since I was a girl.”

Alicent chuckled a bit, if only because Laenor was exactly right when they had this same conversation days before. “That won’t be necessary,” Alicent told her.

Glancing over at her father again, she saw him listening intently to one of his granddaughters. He laughed along with her and patted her shoulder. More true affection than she could recall him ever giving her.

“It was my father, you know. He sent me to the king’s chambers,” Alicent confessed. She didn’t even know what compelled her to say it, in truth. It made her feel better though to tell someone and she found herself inexplicably trusting Rhaenyra. “He wanted me to seduce the king so he would take me as his second wife. Evidently, I did a horrible job of it, but he said a paramour would suffice.”

She blinked hurriedly, not knowing when tears formed in her eyes. Rhaenyra reached over to grasp Alicent’s hand with her own, soothing her slightly. Glancing over at her, though Alicent’s vision was blurry, she could plainly see the look in Rhaenyra’s eyes. The contempt she had for Otto Hightower grew more furious, while she only looked at Alicent with sympathy and care.

“I shouldn’t have allowed it to happen,” Alicent bemoaned quietly. “If I had just-” The words caught in her throat.

Rhaenyra shook her head. “It’s not your fault, Alicent.” The queen’s voice was strained as well, like hearing Alicent's pain harmed her as well. “It’s not,” Rhaenyra repeated softly and Alicent tried to let the words sink in. “Nothing that happened was your fault.”

Alicent took a deep breath and clasped Rhaenyra’s hand tighter. The middle of a feast was hardly the place for this conversation, Alicent knew, yet she could hardly stop it now. Wiping her tears away, the two sat quietly as Alicent grieved for her old family all over again, in their own little world while half the realm danced around them.

Aegon winced at the late afternoon sun piercing in through the window. His head pounded horribly and with each movement, his stomach lurched. Soreness permeated every inch of his body from both the tourney and long night of customers.

He sat on the edge of a bed in the back room of Hallis’ brothel, where his coworkers without another place to stay would often sleep. He used it whenever he couldn’t be bothered to drag himself back up to the keep, which was most days. Several of his coworkers had also fallen asleep here after their own shifts.

Aegon would not admit it to anyone, but perhaps he had overdid it last night. He’d gotten caught up in celebrating his handful of victories at the joust, as well as having a plethora of clients all clamoring for pleasure after the tourney. Not that he remembered most of the night, in truth. He probably hadn’t even gotten to sleep until well into the morning.

Thinking back, Aegon was reasonably sure Aemond came sometime last night. He couldn’t recall what they spoke about though.

With a deep breath, Aegon tried to force himself onto his feet. He could use some water or fresh air. Before he could get steady though, he felt nausea overcome him and threaten to spill vomit on the floor. Falling back down onto the bed, Aegon sighed. He was feeling the bruises on his chest from the joust more than ever.

His other coworkers weren’t doing much better, at least. Essie had her head in her hands and looked exhausted. Two others were fast asleep still despite being well past midday. Roslin was the only one who was walking about, unencumbered, but he’d never seen her have so much as a drop of ale in the entire time he’d known her.

At this time of day, there were likely very few patrons at the brothel. Hallis wouldn’t need them to be prepared until dusk. Knowing that, he quickly abandoned his plan and collapsed against the pillow.

He didn’t know if it had been a few hours or a few minutes, when someone shook him in the bed. “Aegon, get up. Now,” they spoke harshly yet quietly. He groaned in pain, lazily opening his eyes again.

“Myriah?” He identified. “What do you want?” Distantly, he could hear some loud bangs, as if someone was punching a table.

“You need to get up,” she repeated, dead serious. “Gold cloaks are here.”

Aegon’s eyes shot open fully then. “What? Why?”

“Why do you think?” Myriah asked sarcastically. “Get up.”

“Fuck,” Aegon muttered. He forced himself to sit up and Myriah helped him to his feet, even as his body ached in soreness. “How’d they know the knight was me?”

“Probably because you told everyone who asked it was you last night,” she answered dryly. Aegon didn’t remember doing that but it, admittedly, did sound like something he would do.

Myriah hurriedly grabbed a cloak and threw it over Aegon as they stepped out of the back room. Aegon’s steps were clumsy and loud but he tried to balance himself against the wall. He could hear shouting from the main area of the brothel.

“Stand aside,” a stern voice that was almost certainly a gold cloak demanded.

“As I already told you, Aegon Waters left this morning. Don’t know where he went but he’s not here and I’ll not have you ransack my establishment and terrify my girls.” That’s Hallis, he realized quickly. He was either lying for Aegon out of the goodwill of his heart, unlikely, or because he didn’t want his property to get damaged or the workers hurt, which would make him lose money. Or maybe he didn’t care to even notice Aegon was still here after his shift. It didn’t matter, Aegon supposed.

This was all horseshit, he thought. Aegon hadn’t even done anything wrong. Beating Horas in the tourney was entirely legal and some entrants had gotten it much worse, a few had even died. He doesn’t think the gold cloaks or the Hightowers would care to hear his side of it though.

He wordlessly followed Myriah as they ducked through a private chamber and through a side exit of the brothel. It was hardly the first time one of them had to make a hurried exit to escape gold cloaks. 

One of the whores who used to work with them, Genna, had been pursued for stealing a bunch of valuables off her clients. She eluded the gold cloaks and ended up leaving the city unscathed, as far as he knew. 

Essie too had gotten into trouble once after a client of hers had disappeared abruptly and she was the last to see him. Even when the City Watch caught her, they couldn’t charge her with murder since there was no body and therefore, no proof he’d even been murdered. They kept harassing her about it for months but they could never find the body. 

(Thanks to Lyarra, as it was her idea to throw the corpse into the Blackwater. It was a rather stressful night for him and Joffrey, lugging him around without anyone seeing, but the fucker deserved it, from what Essie told them.)

More grimly, he remembered a story he had heard about a worker from before he came to the brothel, Cass. The gold cloaks killed her right in the middle of the establishment because she resisted them too much as they tried to drag her to the Red Keep’s dungeons.

Aegon shook the thought off, the stench of Flea Bottom filling his nose as they rushed through the side alley. It was horrendous, as usual, but he’d long since gotten used to it. He could see now it had certainly been hours since he last woke up, the orange twilight sun now filling the sky.

The two of them startled when they heard a crash coming from back inside the brothel. There were a few shouts and a couple more loud bangs. “Fuck,” Aegon muttered. Was this matter really so important to them?

“I have to get back in there,” Myriah knew. She’d been working when they came in and it’d be far too suspicious if she disappeared while they searched.

“I’ll get to the Red Keep,” Aegon told her. There probably would be even more gold cloaks there, but he couldn’t just leave the city. He was panicking a bit, truthfully. But his mother or maybe Aemond would know what to do.

The two nodded at each other simply before Aegon took off through the streets of Flea Bottom. He weaved through the crowds of people, earning himself plenty of angry remarks from street vendors and the like. Aegon ducked into alleys whenever he saw the shimmer of a gold cloak in the sunlight.

He’d traversed the path from Hallis’ brothel to the Red Keep hundreds of times, sober and drunk, and he had little doubt he could do it again. He kept the hood of the cloak tight around his head, obscuring his silver hair as much as possible.

It was obnoxious how many gold cloaks were prowling around the city. Most were scanning the area, just begging for any reason to start a fight with someone. It reminded him of the few moons he spent as a gold cloak himself, a miserable experience.

The Red Keep’s entrance was soon in sight as he continued running. There were guards watching the gate, of course, but they weren’t City Watch and wouldn’t be looking for him. A confident smirk on his face, he quickened his step and almost-

A nearby man leaning on a wall suddenly stretched out his foot, tripping Aegon midstep. He fell face first into the dirt on the street, splattering mud outwards a bit. He groaned as he tried to pick himself back up, still partly sore and reeling from the previous night.

“Seven fucking hells,” a familiar voice called out. Aegon raised his head enough to see none other than Ormund Hightower watching him. “Here we were, waiting for the gold cloaks to return, and you came to present yourself to us. Saves them the trouble, at least.”

Aegon stood shakily, spinning around to see that the man who tripped him was another of his cousins, Argrave Hightower, Horas’ younger brother. There were another four men around, slowly closing in on him. Two of them he recognized as Horas’ friends from the night they came to his brothel. The other two were his cousins by a different uncle, the twins, Willam and Willas, among the cousins who used to berate him when they were younger.

“Don’t you all have something better to do?” He spat.

Argrave didn’t take kindly to that. “My brother is half-dead because of you!”

Aegon didn’t care to hear how they figured out it was him and he certainly wasn’t about to beg them for mercy. “Good. I should’ve finished the job,” he told them bitterly.

Ormund scoffed. The six of them had completely encircled him. “I always knew you’d do something like this, Waters. I told my father, you and your bastard siblings were dangerous, brutal, and wild.”

“And you’re the righteous defenders of your family name?” Aegon mocked. “You’re not better than me.”

The expression on Ormund’s face indicated he thought he was exactly that. He was trueborn and one of the most powerful lords in the realm. Aegon was nothing and no one. The history books wouldn’t write of Aegon Waters, beyond a shameful side note to King Viserys the Peaceful’s reign.

The six men stepped closer and closer. Before he could react, one suddenly lunged forward, grabbing his right arm tight, while another grappled for his left. He felt a sharp blow to his back while Ormund reeled his fist and slammed into Aegon’s face.

Blood spewed out of Aegon’s nose and mouth. His vision started to darken and the six men swung their fists over and over and over, raging and relentless.

Chapter Text

“AEGON!” Someone shouted. He couldn’t hear them well, the voice was muffled and distant. There was a splitting pain in Aegon’s head. His whole body ached, in fact, and he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes to see who called his name.

He wasn’t sure how long it was after he heard his name that he felt a twinge of warmth in one hand, like someone was clutching it.

“Aegon, my sweet boy…” The voice said. Mother…

He slipped in and out of consciousness, for how long, he didn’t know. Sometimes his mother was whispering to him, sometimes she wasn’t. He felt weightless and numb yet exhausted all the time and so he kept falling back asleep time and time again.

His dreams were near incomprehensible most of the time, if he remembered them at all. Occasionally though, he could see through the haze.

He dreamed he was a boy again, barely past six. Aegon never spent much time with his father but on the rare occasion he did, they were always cooped up in his chambers, looking over his model of Valyria. In hindsight, Aegon wondered if his father only ever spent time with him here because it was private. No one at court would have to see his bastard.

“Father, what was that building for?” Aegon asked, pointing at one, careful to not knock over any pieces.

The king hesitated for a few moments, Aegon thought he was just thinking of an answer. Eventually, he said half-heartedly, “That was where the mages who tended to the Fourteen Flames resided, before the Doom.” Aegon opened his mouth to ask another question but his father stood up hurriedly. “I think that’s enough for today, I have important matters to tend to and a realm to rule.”

Aegon pouted, it had barely been an hour, but he had little choice other than to comply. He told his mother what happened when he arrived as she was bouncing Helaena on her knee. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” Aegon insisted.

“I know, my sweet boy,” his mother had said, right before she told him he shouldn’t refer to the king as his father from now on. It didn’t make sense to him at the time. After all, the king was his father. But, he supposed now, the king didn’t like being reminded of that fact. He had another daughter, far away, by another woman, who he would always love far more than Aegon and his siblings.

Another time, he was back in the godswood at the age of one and ten. His mother’s laugh sounded through the air as he held a toy sword to her neck. “Back off, sers!” He commanded his brothers who were circling him. For this game, he was the third Vulture King, who had come to King’s Landing to steal the comeliest maiden at court for ransom.

His brothers played as knights of great renown, Ser Daeron the Dauntless and Prince Aemond of Dragonstone. “We’ll save you, Mother!” Aemond had promised before they charged forward. Daeron hit him with all the force a four year old could muster and Aegon pretended to cry out in pain. The three clashed their swords together, making noises with their mouths in lieu of the sound of steel.

At some point, one of them fell over and the other two followed soon after. Their mother was still laughing when she joined them on the ground. “Wait!” They heard a shrill voice yell. Helaena, louder than she ever usually was. She darted over and took a beetle off the ground nearby Aemond. “You almost smashed her!”

They stayed in the godswood until the sun set and they were all covered in dirt and grime. For a few hours, he was able to forget that he was a bastard.

Aegon dreamed then that he was atop a great beast. A dragon, the one he always wished for. When he was younger, he used to ask his grandfather incessantly to take him to the Dragonpit so he could claim one until he shouted and told him to stop asking. If he could see me now…

It was a great golden dragon, whose scales glistened in the sun. Its name and the Valyrian commands it responded came easily from his tongue, like second nature, even though he wouldn’t remember them when he woke up.

He could hear other roars in the distance, other dragons. His siblings, he guessed. Maybe they all had dragons too. Aegon yanked the reins to turn the dragon in their direction, he wanted them to fly together.

They swooped and darted through the clouds until, before he knew what was happening, the dragon bucked wildly and threw him off the side. Aegon shrieked in terror as wind pounded in his ears and he plummeted to the ground. The dragon he wanted so dearly turned and left him behind.

Then, he was on the ground at Hallis’ brothel. A glass was shattered nearby. There was some shouting far off. Vomit and bile were on the ground around him. He’d gone too far. Not again-

His eyelids felt heavy and he was terribly cold for the summer season. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know what was happening or what to do. His heart was pounding relentlessly, he felt like he was going to die.

“Mother, Aemond, Helaena, Daeron-”

They couldn’t find him. Not here.

“You came,” a man spoke excitedly when the vision shifted again. He was in a place he didn’t recognize in the least, but he could tell he was in a secluded area in the dark. The man had short, blond hair and a dumb look on his face. Samwell Darklyn? Were they in Duskendale? “It’s been too long since we had time alone.” Sam moved closer to Aegon until they were inches apart.

“I missed you too, love,” Aegon responded instinctively, but he knew the words were false on his tongue. Somehow he knew, he had to lie or Samwell wouldn’t let him stay in his castle. He had to play the part of a willing paramour to keep himself alive and afloat in this foreign kingdom.

Just as his mother once did.

The last dream he remembered was on a stage. A sea of people before him, it must have been thousands. Smallfolk and nobles alike gathered around. Aegon had a sword in his hand, pitch black yet with an ethereal look to it, and an iron weight upon his skull. It was Blackfyre, his father’s sword, and the crown of the conqueror.

The crowd roared their approval. He was Prince Aegon- no, he was King Aegon. He was the king’s firstborn son, but the king was dead now. Aegon raised the sword and they cheered even louder. They loved him. He wasn’t an embarrassment to them.

“Long live King Aegon!!”

Aegon awoke then. He was back in the Red Keep, staring at the brown ceiling. Every movement of his body sent flares of pain through his system and he could barely turn his head to see where he was. The light streaming in through the window pained his eyes and his throat felt dryer than ever.

He collapsed back on his pillow and wished more than anything to go back to sleep. He wanted to dream further and see what better lives there could be than this one.

Truthfully, Rhaenyra hoped that Lord Ormund’s search for the Knight of Rats would prove fruitless. She paid it little mind, as she had much more important business to attend to than a petty squabble with a random mystery knight.

The queen had clearly severely underestimated this situation, she realized, as she sat in Horas Hightower’s chamber where he was recovering. Not only was Aegon of all people the Knight of Rats, but he and the Hightowers had gotten into a fight outside the keep. While the maesters tended to her half-brother elsewhere in the keep, Rhaenyra sought to salvage this situation before it got even more wildly out of hand.

Aegon, though a bastard, carried royal blood and she obviously cannot have lords attacking them in the streets. Even outside of the danger it posed for Alicent and her children, she feared for her own children who people widely considered bastards. All the same, the Hightowers were an important family and dismissing their concerns out of hand would be foolish. According to her Hand, at least.

Horas had finally awoken, however it was only for a few minutes at a time. Around him sat Lord Ormund as well as Horas’ brother and cousins.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, steeling herself. “If you would tell me, Ser Horas, exactly what occurred with Aegon Waters?”

The knight shuffled in the bed before he spoke. His voice was raspy and weak, in addition to his words coming out slightly garbled with his missing teeth. “You all saw it in the tourney. That bastard nearly killed me!”

“To that, I would remind you that tourneys are often bloody affairs. Some men even die, it is a risk all participants are aware of and is not punishable,” Rhaenyra recited. Her voice wavered briefly, thinking of Ser Joffrey’s death so many years ago, but kept her poise. “However, I’m more interested in what occurred before that, Ser Horas. Surely you must’ve spoken to Aegon before the tourney, you are family after all.”

He thought for a moment. “I saw him when me and the lads were out drinking at Flea Bottom about a week back. Ran into him at that whorehouse he works at. We said our greetings, nothing happened.”

Rhaenyra was suspicious of that claim, to say the least. Daven had tried to say much the same thing after his incident with Helaena. She focused her gaze on Horas, making her dissatisfaction with his answer clear silently.

Horas sighed and relented a bit. “I’ve seen him a few times over the years. We’re cousins, after all. Feasts and tourneys and the like. We never got along well, sure, but this?” Horas gestured as much as he could to his injuries. “He’s dangerous, always has been. Ask any of the squires he used to train with in the yard, they’ll tell you the same.”

“Your Grace,” Grand Maester Orwyle interjected when he was finished. “Horas should be resting now. If you have any last questions for him…”

“No, Grand Maester-” she began.

“Wait,” Horas said. “At the tourney, I tried to yield.” Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before he elaborated. “Aegon heard me, he responded to it. But he kept hitting me, nearly killing me, as I said.”

Rhaenyra paused for a moment. That was a much more serious accusation. If Horas had yielded and Aegon continued fighting regardless, that was unequivocally assault. “Could anyone else substantiate that claim? Did anyone else hear you try to yield?”

Horas’ face fell. “No, just Aegon and I.” Hardly the most ironclad of accusations, then. Still, she would look into it.

After the Grand Maester gave Horas milk of the poppy to help him sleep, Rhaenyra continued asking questions of the family. Ormund insisted he and his companions were merely waiting for the gold cloaks outside the keep when Aegon came running at them. The lord was adamant that Aegon threw the first punch, however the only evidence of injury on any of the six was a bruised lip on Willas. The rest remained unscathed, compared to Aegon’s myriad of wounds. Even if truly had thrown the first punch, the response by the Hightowers was clearly far too excessive.

“He’s dangerous, Your Grace,” Lord Ormund repeated. “A boy as cruel as that must be punished.”

Rhaenyra made assurances that she would continue looking into it but made no promises regarding any punishment. Argrave wanted Aegon to lose his hand for striking a nobleman, while Willas and Willam said they would be content with his tongue for the insults he levied at them.

The queen was not so quick to jump to more bloodshed. Any information gotten by the Hightowers would be useless if she did not get Aegon’s side of events as well, of course. After bidding the Hightowers farewell, she trailed back down through the keep’s halls towards the chambers where Aegon was staying while he healed.

Evening had settled over the keep by the time she arrived, the orange light of dusk coming in through the window. She knew Alicent had spent all night and day with her son, fretting over him while the maesters worked diligently. When she pushed open the chamber door however, she was nowhere to be seen.

Rhaenyra instinctively winced at the sight of her half-brother. His face was bruised and swollen, with one eye blackened and a crooked nose. His left arm was also broken and wrapped in a plaster.

“Oh, it’s you,” Aegon muttered, disappointed. Rhaenyra thought briefly that if Daemon were here, he’d likely chastise the boy for not showing proper respect, even in his condition. Rhaenyra wouldn’t fault him for that though.

“Aegon,” she greeted. “Is Alicent not here?”

“She hadn’t eaten all day, Aemond made her go get dinner. Can’t have her wasting away on my account,” he explained.

Rhaenyra’s heart twisted at the thought of Alicent being so despondent that she could barely eat. Rhaenyra wished she could’ve come sooner but she’d been caught up in meetings with lords and mandatory appearances at the festivities all day that she’d barely seen Alicent since word reached them of Aegon’s condition.

“I’m very sorry this happened to you,” Rhaenyra started with. Aegon made a noise that indicated he didn’t believe she was genuine but said nothing. Rhaenyra ignored it as she continued, “I’m aware you’re still recovering but, if you could, I’d like to hear your side of the story.”

“My side?” Aegon echoed mockingly.

“I’ve heard from the Hightowers but I would like your account as well, before I make any judgment on the matter,” Rhaenyra explained to him.

The boy grumbled and shifted in the bed. “I entered the tourney and won and they’re a bunch of cunts. Not much else to say,” Aegon told her flatly.

Rhaenyra hummed, unamused. “You told me you thought the tourney was a bore. Why’d you change your mind?”

“Prize money,” he said curtly.

“Ser Horas said you two encountered each other several days before the tourney at…your place of work,” Rhaenyra recalled, correcting herself before calling it a whorehouse like Horas did. The adjustment made little difference though as Aegon scowled. “I simply want the full truth, Aegon.”

He glared at her for a few moments. “Yeah, we saw each other. He was a cunt and I decided to break his bones and bash his face in, so I joined the tourney. Is that what you want to hear, Your Grace?” His tone was harsh, his voice raspy from his injuries.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath. She supposed that could be the truth, she didn’t know Aegon well enough to say otherwise. They only spoke during dinner nearly a moon ago. However, it was most unhelpful in trying to help placate the Hightowers.

“I want to help you, Aegon,” she said sincerely. “The Hightowers will not let this slight go easily.”

“I don’t need your help, I didn’t do anything wrong!” Aegon raised his voice suddenly. “I entered fairly, I beat that fucker fairly. It's not my fault they can’t accept that.” He winced a bit as he settled back down.

“I know that,” Rhaenyra told him. When the anger in his eyes did not relent, she repeated, “Aegon, I know that. I helped your sister once out of a similar situation, if you recall.” 

Granted, the situation with Daven was much simpler. Anyone could tell Helaena was not a threat and Daven had instigated the fight. It was much more difficult if the Hightowers believed Aegon had intentionally and maliciously sought a fight with Horas and continued the fight after he yielded. Not to mention, Lord Jason was much easier to cow than Ormund.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Aegon mumbled.

“Why not?” Rhaenyra inquired after a beat.

“Look at me.” He gestured to his injuries with his good hand. “I can’t fucking work like this. Not for months, at least, and my boss won’t want to wait that long.”

Rhaenyra thought for a moment. It was one thing to know that her half-brother worked in a brothel and another to hear him speak about it so casually. It churned her stomach to think of it. She’d only heard tales of the brothels in Flea Bottom from Daemon but it was certainly no place for someone of royal blood.

“Perhaps, we could arrange another job for you,” Rhaenyra suggested. When he didn’t immediately shoot down the suggestion, she continued, “You could return to your post in the City Watch or there could be some work in the Red Keep. It could be a blessing in disguise that this happened.”

She looked at him, a hopeful look on her face, and saw him staring back blankly. A moment passed in silence before he said, “Fuck you, Rhaenyra.”

The queen blinked in shock, if only at the gall.

“Blessing in disguise?” he mocked. “Perhaps I’ve grown to enjoy my work. Not all of us are royalty, we find what pleasure we can in our lot in life.”

She frankly didn’t believe his words. “Don’t you think you deserve more than working in the slums of Flea Bottom?” Rhaenyra insisted.

“Have you ever been to Flea Bottom? I don’t believe you even know what it’s like down there,” Aegon argued. “Too busy throwing feasts in your fancy castle.”

She knew he was trying to rile her up and tried to collect herself.  “I’m merely suggesting that some other work might be more preferable.”

“As in, something less embarrassing?” Aegon countered, spite in his voice.

“Something less dangerous,” she told him. “I’ve heard plenty of stories about Flea Bottom. I don’t want my brother working in a place where he could be beaten or robbed or killed and dumped in an alley.”

“I am not your brother,” he spat. “You’re a Targaryen and I’m not. Our dear father made that distinction very clear.”

Rhaenyra found herself cursing her father’s memory yet again. Just how horribly had he treated his own children for him to think like this?

“Aegon, our-“

Rhaenyra was interrupted as the chamber door was pushed open and Alicent hurried in, finally back from dinner. She carried a bowl of stew with her, presumably for Aegon.

“Oh, Rhaenyra,” she said, surprised to see the queen here. “What are you-“

“We were just about done talking,” Aegon interjected, a pointed look at Rhaenyra.

Much as she wanted to press the issue of her father and Aegon’s work, she feared it would only exacerbate his anger at the moment. She tabled that for another time.

“Indeed,” she said, a bit strained. “I wish you a speedy recovery, Aegon.” Rhaenyra hadn’t gotten much of the testimony she came for but resolved to make do with the information she did know.

She knew the Hightowers would not relent yet refused to place the blame on Aegon for this matter. Without a way to placate both sides, Rhaenyra knew she had to make a choice. In this case, thankfully, it was a rather effortless decision to make.

Word had already rapidly spread through the keep. Everyone that Aemond spoke to knew that his brother was the Knight of Rats and had gotten into a bloody fight with the Hightowers just outside the keep.

Some thought it was amusing that half a dozen highborn knights had been bested by a bastard who worked in a brothel. Others thought it was merely further proof that bastards were dangerous. He scrunched his nose in disgust when he heard one lady call it gallant and romantic, words that could not describe his brother any less accurately.

He could not escape the gossip even while on patrol. Prince Daemon and his captains in the City Watch couldn’t decide whether to mock Aegon or Horas, so they insulted both in equal measure.

“If there’s one good thing that uppity bastard has ever done, it’s kicking a Hightowers’ teeth in,” Daemon laughed, drinking with his companions. “Can’t have him getting too confident though. At least Lord Hightower had the self-respect to knock him back down into the dirt.”

Aemond held his tongue and continued his work. King’s Landing moved on quickly, he knew, and they’d be talking about another incident entirely come morning. All the same, it boiled Aemond’s blood to hear them insult his brother like that.

It was a horrendously stupid decision for him to compete, Aemond had told Aegon as much, but that did not mean he deserved this. He shuddered at the memory of seeing his brother dragged into the maester’s chambers, his face caked with blood. Aemond’s heart had sunk and he panicked, believing his brother to already be dead at first, until the maesters confirmed he was still breathing.

When his patrol came to an end, Aemond found himself walking into Hallis’ brothel. Aegon had awoken but he was not yet back on his feet. Even if he could walk on his own, their mother likely wouldn’t let him leave the Red Keep until he was completely healed. Someone had to explain Aegon’s absence from work to Hallis and he had entrusted Aemond to do so.

“Stupid fucking boy,” Hallis muttered after Aemond told him what happened.

“It will be quite a while before Aegon is fit to return. Three moons at the most, the maesters said,” Aemond explained.

He scoffed at that. “And what am I supposed to do without one of my workers for three moons? I told that boy that fighting in tourneys leads to nothing but trouble.” Hallis grumbled for a few minutes more but Aemond tuned him out quickly.

Thankfully, Hallis was finally cut off when a pair of men drinking started arguing and shouting. Hallis marched over to them exasperated and tried to defuse the situation, while Aemond sighed and turned to leave.

“You’re Aegon’s brother. Aemond, right?” A woman stopped him before he could. She had copper skin and dark hair, obviously already dressed for work in silks that left little to the imagination. Aemond was a bit surprised that his brother had mentioned him to his coworkers, considering how little Aemond knew about them in return. “Is he alright? We got a bit worried when he didn’t come back.”

Aemond shuffled on his feet and settled for telling them the truth. “He was attacked. He’ll live but he won’t be back for a while. If he ever is allowed to return.” He looked pointedly over to Hallis fuming at the two men who nearly broke out into a fist fight.

“Hallis can be dramatic,” she said. “We’ll talk to him. See to it that Aegon keeps his job.”

“That’s kind of you.”

She shrugged. “We whores have to stick together. No one else in the world is looking out for us.” A beat passed. “Besides, Hallis wouldn’t want to lose the only Targaryen this side of the Narrow Sea willing to work in a brothel.”

Aemond hummed, not as confident in that as she was but he supposed she would know better on this matter. “I should be going,” he said then. It was nearly dusk by the look of the sun in the sky.

“Of course. Just, if you would, tell Aegon that all of us wish him well, yeah?”

Aemond nodded easily. It was a refreshing change of pace for someone to be kind about Aegon’s condition after a day full of japes from nobles and his fellow gold cloaks.

He hurried back through the streets of Flea Bottom towards the keep. Though it was near time for their family to eat dinner together, he knew his mother would be holed up with Aegon. She’d barely left his side since they put him on the bed.

After years of only having themselves to rely on, Aemond was well used to stepping up to take care of his younger siblings. Neither Daeron nor Helaena had been to see Aegon yet. It wasn’t a pretty sight to see their older brother battered and bloody and he knew Aegon was also irritable and short-tempered as a result of his injuries. They would give him some time to adjust beforehand, but Aemond knew his siblings were terribly worried.

He gathered them quickly after entering the keep. Helaena looked almost relieved to see Aemond pull her away for dinner, as her friend, Jeyne, was apparently prattling on incessantly about her brother-in-law, Cayn, the head of House Wayn, much to all the other girls’ annoyance. Daeron, on the other hand, was sitting alone in the godswood when Aemond found him. He seemed sulky and quiet but wouldn’t tell Aemond what was wrong when he asked. He could only assume he was just worried over Aegon though Aemond found it odd that he was not spending time with the princes, as he usually did these days.

The three sat at dinner in their chambers and ate quietly. Helaena had never been inclined to conversation and Daeron seemed lost in his own head. Aemond tried to fill the silence with some tales he heard from the other gold cloaks. Ser Alyn Massey had spoken at length about an incident from a few days ago where he found a man running, drunk and naked, through the streets of King’s Landing. The story didn’t amuse his siblings though.

Idly, he thought that he should bring some food up to his mother. He’d had to practically beg her to come to dinner the other night because she kept forgetting to eat while watching over Aegon. His thoughts were interrupted though by a knock at the door.

On the other side of the chamber door was not who he expected, Lyonel Hightower. He was the only child of Lord Ormund and around Aemond’s age. Aemond tensed immediately, not interested in entertaining more Hightowers after what happened. Not to mention, Lyonel had been a part of the group that terrorized them when they were younger.

“What do you want?” Aemond asked curtly.

Lyonel’s face wavered for a few moments. “Apologies for interrupting, I simply…or rather, I wanted to…” he lost his words briefly. Eventually, he settled on, “It’s not right, what my father and cousins did to Aegon. I know they won’t apologize but I will on their behalf, I’m sorry.”

The words shocked Aemond admittedly. He never knew his stiff Hightower relatives to apologize for anything.

“And,” he hesitated again. “I’m sorry about when we were younger. I followed my cousins’ lead but that doesn’t make any of it right.”

Aemond eyed him warily. Surely, there was some ulterior motive to this confession. “Why are you telling me this?”

“We’re heading back to Oldtown tomorrow, after the hearing with Her Grace about this whole situation. I just wanted you to know that not all of us Hightowers are cunts,” he joked. Aemond hummed, slightly amused. Lyonel added, “Sam is on your side in this debacle as well. She found Aegon’s little stunt rather funny.”

“Thank you,” Aemond said and meant it more than he expected to. A mere apology was not enough to mend their families but a part of him felt better knowing that they were not completely isolated from their Hightower relatives.

Alicent’s fingers fidgeted together as she waited. The sun had risen over King’s Landing and the time had come for Rhaenyra to make a decision about this mess with Aegon and Horas. Alicent told herself over and over that Rhaenyra would not toss them aside casually, she knew her better by now, but that did not mean they would leave unscathed.

Surely, Rhaenyra would need to save face with the Hightowers, even if it meant giving Aegon some menial punishment. They were too important of a house in the realm to act otherwise.

They sat in the Small Council chamber for the decision. Alicent sat on one side, while Ormund and his son were on the other. Horas, helped by his brother and father, settled next to them. Alicent couldn’t help but feel a bit of pity and guilt at the sight of her nephew. He appeared even worse than Aegon did and certainly didn’t seem fit to make the trip back to Oldtown, yet she knew he was leaving with the rest of the family tonight.

Tearing her attention away, Alicent stood when she saw Aemond entering with Aegon. Aegon’s good arm was around his brother’s neck as Aemond tried to keep him steady while they walked. Alicent instantly hurried over to help them.

Tears stung at her eyes anew at seeing her eldest son in this state again. Her heart had nearly leaped out of her chest when she first saw him, unconscious and covered in blood. In truth, she had constantly feared that this would happen ever since he started working in that brothel.

It’s all your fault, she chastised herself. If she had provided him a better life or set a better example, Aegon would not have even considered the position.

She shook the thought away for the moment as Rhaenyra finally entered, followed by Alicent’s father close behind. He was whispering in hushed tones that Alicent strained to make out.

“...don’t wish to overstep…a pertinent suggestion…the Night’s Watch…” was all she could understand. Alicent didn’t need more than that to understand, though. She tried to conceal her panic as she worried. If her father was trying to get Aegon sent to the Night’s Watch…

She could scarcely handle the thought of her eldest son being halfway across the world where she could not reach him. Bitterly, she figured that it only made sense for her father. If he wanted Aemond to usurp Jacaerys, he would need Aegon out of the way and the situation provided just the perfect opportunity to do so.

Rhaenyra only nodded stiffly and waved him off before finding her seat at the head of the table. Alicent prayed that her dismissiveness meant the queen would not even consider the idea.

“My lords, I shall keep this brief,” Rhaenyra said. “I’m sure we are all eager to be finished with this matter.”

“Eager for justice to be done, Your Grace,” Ormund added, eyeing Aegon pointedly, who scowled in turn.

Rhaenyra hummed. “Ser Horas, while I sympathize with your injuries and pray for your good health, after hearing the testimonies it is clear to me that Lord Ormund and his accomplices were far out of line in their attack on Aegon.”

Silence filled the room for a few moments before the words sank in. Alicent’s eyes widened a bit in surprise and glanced nervously at her family across the table. “Your Grace…” Lord Ormund spoke cautiously.

“He attacked after I yielded, does that not constitute wrongdoing?” Horas asked, voice growing louder.

“So you claim,” Rhaenyra responded. “Aegon says differently, and there is no way to prove one way or the other. In absence of any proof, the injuries you sustained in tourney, while grievous, are simply the risk of joining such an event.” Alicent subtly looked over at Aegon, his eyebrows raised in confusion but he said nothing. “What can be proven is that six men attacked Aegon outside the gates of the Red Keep and beat him within an inch of his life.”

“Is this a jest, Your Grace?” Ormund asked. “Horas is my cousin, a noble knight of House Hightower, and you side with a cruel bastard?”

“Aegon Waters, bastard though he may be, is my brother, do not forget, Lord Hightower.” Rhaenyra’s tone was sharp and confident. “Let it be known to you, and every other lord in the realm, that an attack on any of my siblings is tantamount to an attack on the royal family itself and shall be treated as such.”

Alicent was taken aback. It was one thing to defend her children in private and another to make such a bold declaration to be spread to every lord in the realm.

“However,” Rhaenyra’s face softened a bit. “In light of Ser Horas’ injuries, and in the spirit of keeping goodwill between our houses, I am willing to solve this matter with a mere fine.”

Ormund laughed in disbelief. “A fine?” His voice was teetering on anger.

“To make up for the income lost by Aegon being unable to return to work, as a result of the injuries you gave him,” Rhaenyra explained. “It will not be terribly substantial for you, as I’m sure you have gold to spare.” The queen smiled tightly, almost mockingly.

Fuming now, Ormund roughly shoved himself out of his seat. He stomped out of the chamber, seething, and his family trailed after him hurriedly. Alicent noticed Lyonel shared an odd look with Aemond as he left but thought little of it.

Her father fixed her with an icy stare before finally following after the rest of the Hightowers. It was only after the chamber door fell shut that Alicent felt like she could breathe again.

Before Alicent could even form the words to thank Rhaenyra, Aegon was trying to lift himself out of his seat. “I need to lay down,” he muttered and Aemond moved to help him walk.

“Aegon,” Rhaenyra spoke up, stopping him in his tracks momentarily. “I understand that you have your reservations about me, but I mean what I said. You are my siblings and I’ll help you all in whatever way I can.”

Aegon stared at her briefly, considering her words. “I’ve already got a sister, don’t need another. Thanks for the help though,” he said, half-heartedly and insincere. Aemond looked like he wanted to say more but followed his brother wordlessly, keeping him steady as they trailed back to his bed.

Alicent rose to meet the queen then. “Aegon can be…harsh sometimes, think little of it,” Alicent said. “I cannot thank you enough for what you said.”

“I should’ve said it long ago, truthfully, after that incident with Daven,” Rhaenyra admitted. “I didn’t get the chance to say it to you before, I’m terribly sorry that all this occurred, and I promise, I’ll do everything I can to ensure it does not happen again.”

Alicent waved it off. There was plenty of blame to go around, at Alicent’s family, King Viserys, her father, part of her blamed herself as well, but not a bit belonged to Rhaenyra.

The queen had been nothing but accommodating and helpful since she arrived in the Red Keep, despite all the problems that had arisen. She was nothing like her father at all, Alicent had come to realize.

Rhaenyra smiled then, a soft quirk of her lips that was small yet encouraging and genuine and made Alicent want to grin widely as well.

Despite the nagging part in her mind, Alicent felt a twinge of hope at her family’s future in the Red Keep. She could rest easier knowing that her family was safe and would be protected by someone who cared enough to fight for them.

It made her heart flutter with an unspeakable emotion.

Chapter Text

Aemond sighed internally as his brother’s plate scraped against the table incessantly. They sat in the gardens on a relatively warm yet breezy day, a week after the tourney concluded. Aegon was trying, rather unsuccessfully, to use a knife to cut his lunch with only one arm, as his left was still trapped in its plaster. Aemond was quite sure the food would eventually end up on the ground if Aegon continued, as it shifted with every movement.

“Would you just allow me to do it?” Aemond insisted, annoyed at the sound.

“I’m not a child, I can cut my own fucking food,” Aegon snapped. Aemond shook off the venom easily and Aegon went back to furiously moving the knife. He tried holding the plate down with his plastered forearm as he cut, a position which Aemond was mostly concerned would result in him stabbing right through his arm.

His elder brother had been irritable ever since his injury, more so than usual. Aemond couldn’t blame him, he was much the same after he lost his eye, though at least Aegon would recover from his wounds. It did not help that Aegon’s coworkers had brought over a small cask of ale for him, which he had drunk from near constantly.

The worst part, to Aegon, was that he wasn’t allowed to leave the keep while in his condition. Some of the bruises had begun to fade but his arm would take many more weeks to heal and Aegon bemoaned his “imprisonment” every day.

Aegon had abandoned the knife altogether and taken to messily tearing chunks of meat off his food with his bare hands when the pair of them were interrupted. Aemond’s brow furrowed slightly in confusion when he saw the two princes carefully approach them.

“Pardon for interrupting, Ser,” Jacaerys spoke calmly.

“I’m not a Ser, my prince,” Aemond corrected casually. Hardly the first time someone mistook him for a knight, as he was a member of the City Watch.

The prince hesitated before continuing, “We haven’t seen Daeron in some time.”

“We think he might be avoiding us,” Lucerys added sheepishly. Aegon made an amused noise as he took a sip of his ale and Aemond glared at him to keep him from saying whatever snide remark he had on the tip of his tongue.

“We just wanted to know if he’s well,” the elder prince said. “And apologize, if we did something to offend him.” Eyeing the prince, Aemond found nothing but sincerity in his words.

He hummed. It would be easier to remain cold towards the princes, were they not so sickeningly kind. All of Rhaenyra’s children were bastards, everyone knew it, just as much as he and his siblings were, yet they were afforded every privilege that a trueborn child got. It hardly seemed fair to Aemond, but the pair had befriended his brother easily when Daeron had few other companions in the keep.

Admittedly, he wondered much the same about his brother’s sudden brooding in the past days. He had given Daeron the space he seemed to want but the more this behavior persisted, the more worried Aemond grew.

“He’s well, so far as I know. I’ll speak to my brother about it,” Aemond promised them. Seeing the unease in their faces, Aemond reluctantly added, “I’m sure it has nothing to do with either of you.” Out of the corner of his vision, he ignored Aegon rolling his eyes.

A few moments after the princes disappeared around the corner, Aemond lifted himself to his feet. “You’re leaving already?” Aegon asked.

“Clearly, our brother needs help,” Aemond told him, a tad incredulously because it was obvious.

“We can’t finish our meal first?” He said dumbly. Aemond only scoffed, picking up his tray and sauntering off wordlessly. Either out of a desire to not remain alone and dreadfully bored in the gardens or out of genuine care for their brother, Aegon quickly followed after him, handing his tray off to Aemond because he was likely to drop it with his one arm.

The two brothers scoured the keep for their younger sibling. He was not in their chambers nor the training yard nor the library. Remembering where he found Daeron the previous week, Aemond dragged Aegon up to the godswood.

The red leaves of the tree shook in the wind, some falling slowly to the ground and littering the green grass. The bleeding eyes of the white trunk of the tree bore down at them, like it was watching their every move.

“Daeron!” Aemond called out. Immediately, they heard rustling from behind the tree. The two made their way over, predictably finding their younger brother slumped against the base, rather glumly picking at the leaves on the ground.

“There you are,” Aegon grinned. Daeron didn’t greet his brothers with a smile like usual. He grumbled and kept his focus on the red leaves surrounding him. Aegon and Aemond shared a brief look of confusion and his elder brother took the lead. “What’s got you so glum? It’s making everyone nervous.”

“You’re hardly one to talk,” Daeron muttered. “You’re always in a foul mood."

Aegon chuckled, settling down on the ground next to their younger brother, and Aemond soon joined them. Daeron pointedly turned away from both of them.

“What’s wrong, Daeron?” Aemond asked. Daeron was always the most outgoing and kind of them, it pained Aemond to see him upset. He only scooched further away with all the petulance of a boy of one and ten years.

“Come on,” Aegon encouraged. His voice was a bit softer than it usually was, “We want to help.”

“Just leave me alone,” Daeron snapped at them. “Neither of you want to be here anyway, you don’t need to pretend.”

The elder brothers glanced at each other. “What do you mean?” Aegon inquired.

“You complain all the time about being stuck here,” Daeron reminded him. His voice cracked slightly as he continued, “You’re just counting the days until you can go back to Flea Bottom.”

“Daeron-“ Aemond tried.

His younger brother wasn’t content with just that. Turning his attention to Aemond now, he started again, “And all you do is work and work. You never have time for anything else. You couldn’t even watch the tourney with us.”

“This was never a problem before,” Aemond remarked, trying to understand his brother’s outburst.

Daeron’s eyes focused on the plaster around Aegon’s arm. “You could’ve died.” Aegon half-scoffed like that was ridiculous, but Aemond recalled the state they had found his brother in. If the Hightowers hadn’t stopped, they very well might have killed him. “I didn’t get to see you until days afterward. You don’t even care how worried I was. All you want to do is run off again!”

Aegon averted his eyes then, looking guilty at Daeron’s words.

“Neither of you are ever around anymore,” he said, tone laced with sadness. “You’re supposed to be my brothers…”

“Daeron,” Aemond shifted closer to him, reaching out his arm. “I’m sorry.” It was all he could think to say. He hadn’t realized the distance growing between them had hurt Daeron so much.

Aemond had gotten used to taking care of his siblings when their mother was stretched too thin. It only felt right that he got a job as a gold cloak as soon as he was able, to help their family as much as he could. He couldn’t deny though that he longed for the days he was able to spend more time with his siblings, to relax and play in the godswood or the training yard. He spent the most time around Aegon now, simply because his older brother kept getting into trouble.

Idly, he figured this was why Daeron had been avoiding the princes. Seeing how much the three brothers adored each other must’ve stung.

“I’ve missed you too,” he told Daeron. “Believe me, I wish I did not have to work so much either.” Daemon and his friends high up in the City Watch were fond of giving the grunt work to the youngest members of the Watch, which included Aemond. Patrols, cleaning the barracks, polishing the armor, all tedious and frustrating but he had little choice in doing them.

Aemond looked over to his elder brother. Aegon looked a bit ashamed and uncomfortable, his eyes averted from the pair. He was never good at earnest conversations. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before hesitantly saying, “It is not you I dislike, brother. Only the keep itself. Regrettably, I grew rather fond of you all years ago.”

Aemond huffed. It was just like his brother to say a kind thing in the rudest way he could. 

Daeron glanced between his two brothers warily. “I do not want to be like Mother and her siblings. They don’t talk to each other anymore.”

Reaching over, Aemond put a hand on Daeron’s shoulder reassuringly. “I promise that won’t happen.” He remembered the words that Aegon’s coworkers said to him back at the brothel. “We stick together and help each other. No one else in the world will look after us,” he delivered a bit jokingly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aegon’s expression flash with recognition.

Daeron leaned closer to him, enjoying the moment. Aegon shuffled closer as well but kept his distance, still uneasy. After a few seconds, the elder brother broke the silence. “Since we’re all here, we should take advantage of the opportunity.” He lowered his voice mischievously. “I hear the Vulture King has returned to Westeros.”

Their younger brother laughed and thought briefly. “We already defeated him soundly. The Knight of Rats is on the run though.”

Aegon smirked. “That he is. He’s terribly strong though, you might need a bit of help?” Aegon looked pointedly at Aemond. “What say you, Prince Aemond?”

He rolled his eyes instinctually. ‘Prince Aemond of Dragonstone’ was the childish name he’d given himself for a childish dream. Today though, he supposed it would suffice.

The three brothers bounded to their feet and Daeron rushed away to grab practice swords from the training yard, returning within minutes. Aemond’s sword was too small for his frame and Aegon held his own awkwardly, trying to ensure his plastered arm would not be injured further. All the same, they grinned and laughed as they smacked each other with their swords as the hours passed in the godswood.

Helaena remembered when she was young, perhaps only five. She kept tossing and turning, trying to get to sleep to no avail as she had a painful headache, the beginnings of her dragon dreams. At some point in the night, she was shaken out of bed by Aegon. Aemond, Daeron, and their mother were asleep in the other room, so the two of them snuck out.

Aegon had taken her up on one of the ramparts, overlooking the whole city while the stars beamed down at them. He told her jokes and recounted gossip he’d heard, taking her mind off her headache. This was before he grew older and started spending all his time in Flea Bottom. He was less cruel and less distant in those days.

“Over there is Blackwater Bay,” he pointed towards the water. “They’ve got more ships than you can even count.” Helaena’s never been on a ship before but it sounded horrid the way her brother described it. Constant swaying and the smell of the sea would upset her stomach easily, she feared.

He went on, showing her where the tourney grounds were, which she vaguely remembered from the celebration for the prince a while back, as well as the sept. Her mother took her there often but seeing how far away it was from atop the castle walls made her jaw drop. 

“And that is the Dragonpit,” he showed her next. It was a grand looking building at the peak of a hill, though she couldn’t make out much in the darkness. “They’ve got a whole brood of dragons in there, completely unclaimed at the moment.”

“Unclaimed?” She asked.

“Most of the already owned ones are on Dragonstone,” Aegon said. Helaena knew the princess resided there, along with her family.

“Will we get dragons?” Helaena inquired then. She vaguely recalled their grandsire saying they had blood of the dragon a few times.

Aegon’s expression faltered a bit in the moonlight. He took a deep breath before looking at her. “Someday, we will. All of us,” he spoke confidently. “There’s enough for each of us to have our own. Great, big creatures, older than grandfather, even.” Helaena scrunched her nose, struggling to believe anything could be older than their grandfather. After a beat, Aegon added, mischievously, “Well, maybe Aemond can have one of the little ones.”

Helaena giggled. “What about mother? Will she have one?”

“Absolutely. She’ll need the biggest one.” They both laughed, trying to picture their mother atop a dragon, probably shrieking in terror.

When they finally went to bed, Helaena had a dragon dream. All four of them riding their own dragons, soaring through the air without a care in the world. Hers was pale blue and towered over Aegon and Daeron’s own dragons. She held onto that dream and the memory. Someday, they would all fly together.

It was damp and dark in the caves of the Dragonpit. A cloak was draped over Helaena’s shoulders, keeping her warm as they traversed the area. It didn’t make sense to Helaena how a place full of dragons could still be so chilly.

Baela and Rhaena led her through the winding paths. Moondancer was ill, so the dragon keepers said, which meant they had to travel down to her rather than the keepers forcing her to make the trek up to the main area.

They didn’t see many dragons on their way down but Helaena certainly heard many. An unnatural whine that Baela said belonged to Caraxes, a high-pitched screech that was certainly Vermax’s, and the low bellow of Seasmoke. The only one they saw was Tyraxes but that was just for a moment before the tiny dragon scurried back into the darkness.

All the while, Helaena’s head pounded with an ache that reminded her of the nights she had dragon dreams, just as it did days before the tourney, the last time she visited the Dragonpit, which was now weeks ago. She got no visions or prophecies of the future as she walked though, merely an uncertain feeling pooling in her stomach, setting her on edge and growing stronger the deeper into the caves they got.

“Are you well?” Rhaena asked, noticing Helaena’s face had twisted in discomfort.

“Of course, my lady,” Helaena answered, rubbing her head. This is nothing to trouble them with, she told herself.

“It’s just Rhaena,” she corrected but did not push the issue. They descended deeper into the Dragonpit until they heard a weak cry come from one tunnel.

“Moondancer!” Baela called out and broke into a sprint in the dragon’s direction while Rhaena and Helaena trailed behind. In the darkness of the cave, Helaena could make out the small, pale green dragon as they approached, laying flat on her side and breathing shallowly.

Baela quickly hurried to Moondancer, stroking her scales soothingly. The dragon let out a small roar of acknowledgment and appreciation for her rider being there.

“The dragon keepers say it’s not serious,” Rhaena told Helaena. “It’s not uncommon for dragons to fall ill, particularly younger ones, but they recover easily.”

Despite the assurances, Baela remained sitting right at Moondancer’s side. Helaena still didn’t fully understand the bond between dragon and rider, but over the past weeks she had been learning just how strong it was. She could only imagine how terribly worried Baela was for her dragon.

Rhaena and Helaena settled on the ground nearby while Baela fed chunks of meat she’d brought to Moondancer.

“The dragon keepers say it looks like it’ll be even longer until Syrax has her next clutch of eggs,” Rhaena bemoaned. “And it’ll take years after it hatches until I’m able to fly with them. If it even hatches at all.”

“Is it terribly important? Hatching a dragon?” Helaena asked.

Rhaena hummed. “My whole family has dragons of their own, even little Joffrey. We Targaryens are meant to fly,” she explained. A beat passed and then Rhaena added, quieter, “Mother says that, sometimes, my father doesn’t know quite how to connect with me. But he can spend hours with Baela, teaching her to train her dragon. If I had a dragon of my own…” she trailed off.

Helaena understood the urge, truthfully. She remembered when she was younger, Aemond had buried himself in books about Valyrian history. Their father was obsessed with the old stories of Valyria but all the knowledge her brother gained did little good in trying to grab his attention.

“Couldn’t you claim a dragon?” Helaena asked.

“That’s what I keep reminding her,” Baela interjected.

Rhaena shrugged noncommittally. “I always thought it would be nice to raise our dragons together,” she told Baela. “I suppose though, you’ve far surpassed me on that count.”

“That’s why you must claim a dragon,” Baela urged. “Then, we can ride together in a few years, when Moondancer grows larger.”

The younger twin teetered on the edge, still a bit unsure. Helaena tried to encourage her, “My brother once told me that the greatest dragonriders had to claim their dragons and earn their right to fly.” She didn’t actually know if that was true, but Aegon had said it years ago, back when he still held hope of getting a dragon of his own. Perhaps it was a falsehood he made up simply to make them feel better, but it seemed to work for Rhaena.

“Didn’t they move most of the unclaimed ones to Dragonstone?” Rhaena asked her sister. “To make room for all of our family’s dragons.”

“Not all of them, Dreamfyre was too large to move and she’s protective over her nest in here,” Baela explained.

Helaena’s head flared in pain again but she tried to ignore it.

Rhaena thought for a moment before steeling herself. She pushed back any doubts she had and nodded eagerly then. “Let’s do it! Lead the way to Dreamfyre!”

Baela jumped right to her feet, bidding farewell to Moondancer quickly before leading the two even deeper into the Dragonpit. Helaena’s head continued to ache but she pushed forward, not wanting to get left behind or lost.

Rhaena had a newfound burst of energy, charging ahead. “I can’t wait to see the look on Mother’s face,” she laughed.

“Father taught me a song to soothe the dragons,” Baela told her. Taking a deep breath, she started singing lightly, “Drakari pykiros. Tīkummo jemiros.”

The three slowed then as they heard rumblings through the caverns. They took cautious steps and huddled together.

“Yn lantyz bartossa. Saelot vāedis. Hen ñuhā elēnī. Perzyssy vestretis,” Baela continued, her voice echoing off the walls. Helaena didn’t understand a word of the song but it seemed to affect the dragons. There was a far off cry from a younger dragon, perhaps Arrax, but the low rumbling of the floor indicated a larger dragon was nearby.

“Dreamfyre,” Rhaena called out into the darkness. “ Dohaeris, Dreamfyre.”

“Se gēlȳn irūdaks. Ānogrose.” Helaena started humming along, even if she didn’t know the words, hoping it might help in some way. Her headache grew more intense as the seconds passed.

A loud bellow suddenly broke through the air, startling the three girls. The ground shook heavily and the torches on the walls lit up the area only enough to see a little ways in front of them. The footsteps got louder as a large dragon pierced through the darkness, just ahead of them.

The dragon was pale blue and towered above the three girls. She roared harshly, her claws scraping against the walls as she walked because she was almost too large to fit in the cavern passage.

Dreamfyre, she knew. Helaena didn’t know where but she’d seen her before.

Her headache grew even more fierce, freezing Helaena in place.

Dreamfyre’s dark eyes leveled at Helaena. Her blue scales were pointed and her teeth sharp. The dragon roared again, the force of which sent Helaena reeling back. She scrambled away from the dragon instinctively, nearly tripping when she ran right into Baela.

“Dreamfyre! Lykiri! ” Rhaena shouted, stepping in front of Helaena and her sister. The dragon turned her attention towards the younger twin. She bellowed once more, uninterested in Rhaena’s commands but the girls did not cow so easily. “Dohaeris! Lykiri!”

The dragon growled low, baring her teeth at Rhaena. The twin held out her hand though, unfazed. 

“Serve me! Lykiri! Dohaeris, Dreamfyre!”

Again, the pale dragon roared loud enough to shake the walls of the cavern but when her jaws snapped shut, Rhaena remained unmoved. Helaena and Baela were clutching each other’s arms in worry, unsure what the elderly dragon would do.

Dreamfyre and Rhaena locked eyes for several moments. The entire Dragonpit seemed to freeze in the brief silence. Helaena couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight nor compel her legs to move and flee like her instincts said. 

The pounding in her head grew almost unbearable, like a dream was just on the back of her eyelids, until suddenly it too was abruptly silenced.

When she breathed again, Dreamfyre roared but not angrily anymore, almost encouraging. She shifted in the caves, now leading the three of them down through the winding passages and out into an open area.

Rhaena wasted no time, using Dreamfyre’s scales as footholds and climbing up to the saddle left on her back by her previous, long-deceased rider. Rhaena laughed when she settled onto it with no issue.

“Baela! Helaena! I did it!” She cheered, a bright smile on her face.

Her sister seemed equally as excited, grinning back at Rhaena. “That was incredible, Rhaena!” Helaena clapped for her as well, glad her friend had gotten her wish.

She shuffled atop Dreamfyre, taking a tight hold of the reins. “Ready, Dreamfyre? Soves! ” In an instant, the dragon took off running and flapping her wings until she took flight. She could hear Rhaena whoop and laugh before the clap of her dragon’s wings overpowered the sound.

Baela giggled and watched in awe as Dreamfyre flew over the city. “I should go get our mother,” she realized. “She’ll want to greet Rhaena when she comes down.” Helaena nodded and agreed to stay in case Rhaena landed before they got back. Baela took off running towards her horse, rushing as fast as she could back to the keep.

Helaena sat down on the sandy ground, her eyes following Rhaena and Dreamfyre as they flew the sky, unburdened and free.

Her head didn’t hurt anymore, but part of Helaena still felt a bit empty, as if losing something she didn’t know she had. “A dragon not meant for you in another life,” she recalled her words to the twins over a month ago. They’d all long since forgotten them.

This was a grand day for Rhaena, getting a dragon like she’d always wanted. One of the happiest days of her life, most likely. So, Helaena smiled and clapped for her friend when she finally landed.

Rhaena beamed and hugged Baela, Helaena, and her mother tightly. Prince Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Daemon, as well as the king, the queen, and the Hand, offered their congratulations and praise for her great accomplishment.

It was just as well, she told herself. Helaena was only a bastard and was never meant to fly. She simply had to be content with the memory of the dream she had so long ago.

Rhaenyra laughed as Laena told her of how Baela had scared the life out of her, barging into her chambers and yelling about Rhaena and dragons. In celebration of Rhaena’s achievement, the family had gathered for dinner. Jace, Luke, Joffrey, and the twins sat on one end of the table with Rhaenyra, Laena, Daemon, and Laenor on the other. 

Ser Qarl joined them briefly but did not linger. Rhaenyra didn’t know the man as well as she probably should, but from what she’d observed, the knight had never truly felt comfortable among the Targaryens and royal family. He was commonborn and never got used to the pageantry of court. He and Laenor made each other happy though, no one could deny that seeing how Laenor’s face lit up in his presence.

Rhaena was animatedly explaining how she claimed Dreamfyre for the third time in a row, embellishing the details even more than she had previously, though neither Luke nor Joffrey seemed to notice. They were much too enthralled with the story. Jace and Baela whispered and laughed together, barely paying attention to Rhaena’s story the third time through.

Sometime during the night, Rhaenyra turned to her husband. “I was thinking, sometime soon, we ought to finally find a replacement for Lord Wylde.” Jasper Wylde was starkly opposed to her reign and turned up his nose at every command she gave, which had not changed in the nearly four months since she took the crown.

Laenor, half-drunk already, cheered too loudly at that. Daemon and Laena laughed, overhearing their conversation. Her uncle raised his cup, “Another thing to celebrate then. One less cunt on the council.”

“Who would you name as Master of Laws in his stead?” Laena asked.

“Lord Corlys gave a few of his ideas but nothing for certain yet,” she told them. “We considered Desmond Manderly, Gormon Massey, Elmo Tully, perhaps even my cousin in the Vale, Jeyne Arryn.” Though she wished to be rid of Lord Jasper as soon as she could, she would not make a decision hastily and there were plenty of other choices to still consider.

“Whoever you choose, I say good riddance to Jasper,” Laena grinned and clinked her cup of wine against her husband’s.

The minutes turned into hours quickly as the family laughed and told stories around the table. Laenor regaled them all with one of his father’s old stories from when he made his Nine Voyages, meanwhile Daemon told them of how he won the war in the Stepstones. Rhaenyra was glad to hear from Jace and Luke that they had started spending time with Daeron again, after how much they bemoaned their friend avoiding them for a week.

After Joffrey, exhausted, nearly collapsed into his plate, Laenor decided it was time for him to go to sleep, picking the young boy up to put him to bed. “I’m not tired,” Joffrey mumbled into his father’s shoulder, unconvincingly, as they left.

Not long after, Laena and the twins decided it was time to sleep as well. She saw Daemon stop Rhaena just before they walked out. “It’s a great achievement, what you did today,” he told her quietly. “We’ll go flying soon, I promise.” The smile Rhaena gave in response was beaming.

After Jace and Luke ran off to their chambers, Rhaenyra knew she should too. She could still get a bit of work done before it was time to turn in for the night. Every second mattered when she was the queen, it seemed.

Before she could leave though, Daemon spoke up. “Rhaenyra, might I say something?”

“Of course,” she said, a bit warily. It was never really a good sign when Daemon went out of his way to talk. A small part of her hoped this was about the continuing complaints she’d been receiving of the brutality of the City Watch as of late, but the rest of her mind knew that was unlikely. Daemon was not the type to admit his leadership was flawed.

Daemon took a quick breath and locked his eyes on hers. “You know I support you as queen wholeheartedly.”

“And I thank you for that,” she replied. If Daemon wanted to, he could have pressed his own claim to the throne as the eldest trueborn male. He may have even succeeded, as neither her nor Jace were preferred by the lords.

“My brother named you his rightful heir. He entrusted the realm and his legacy to you,” Daemon reminded her. A beat passed before he continued. “That’s why I must insist that you are making a mistake with Alicent Hightower and her children.”

Rhaenyra immediately rolled her eyes. “This again, Daemon?” She supposed another complaint from him was inevitable after her most recent declaration.

“You declared they were practically members of the royal family,” Daemon scoffed. “I was forced to suffer my brother’s failings, I thought you of all people would be smarter than this, Rhaenyra.”

“Seven hells, Daemon,” she sighed. “I don’t pretend to understand your incessant grudge against Alicent and her children but it is entirely unfounded.”

“She is Otto Hightower’s daughter, through and through,” he argued. “You know they whisper that she came to your father on the night of your mother’s funeral. Perhaps even before that. You cannot believe whatever horseshit she’s telling you.”

Rhaenyra bit her tongue. That was technically true, but Alicent had confessed the whole of the truth to her. She couldn’t share that with Daemon though, as it was a private matter and not hers to share. Not that it would convince Daemon otherwise, she figured.

“You’re wrong, Daemon,” Rhaenyra said flatly. “Alicent has been nothing but helpful and gracious since my ascension to the throne.” Admittedly, her children were a bit less cooperative but Rhaenyra knew she was quite a handful herself when she was around their ages and could not fault them for that.

“She’s manipulating you,” Daemon insisted. “She’s got you siding with that whore Waters over a noble family.”

“And here I thought you might be ecstatic at the possibility of the Hightowers being humiliated,” Rhaenyra muttered.

“You’re a fool to think that she is not still in league with Otto. This is obviously a ploy and you’ve been handing her everything she could ever want. A high position at court, immunity for her bastards, when does it end? Will you let those bastards claim dragons? Take the name Targaryen? What do you think will happen when it comes time for Jacaerys to ascend the throne? That Aegon and Aemond and the Hightowers will just stand idly by? They’ve as much right to the Iron Throne as your children do, according to this declaration.”

“This is just baseless speculation, uncle,” Rhaenyra chastised. “I will not punish my siblings over something they might do decades from now.” 

In truth, the idea of legitimizing Alicent’s children had occurred to her, but it was far too risky. Legitimized male bastards may still be preferable to the lords over her sons’ claims, perhaps even her own.

Rhaenyra sighed. “There is nothing to fear from them. Your daughters and my sons have become good friends with the younger two, and Alicent has been nothing but helpful to the crown. You would know this to be true, if you weren’t so determined to see them as enemies.”

Daemon grumbled, tapping the cup of his wine as he stood silently for a moment. His lips curled downward into a frown. “Before he passed, you heard the japes that the nobles made about my brother, correct? Their foolish cunt-struck king, allowing the Hightowers so much influence and power.”

The queen shrugged. “Of course. Ribald, insulting jokes, but harmless besides.”

“Those Hightowers made a mockery of my brother. They’re supposed to fear us and instead they laughed right in our faces,” Daemon ranted. He finished the rest of his wine before placing the cup down on the table with a bit more force than necessary. “But, of course, the only thing more embarrassing than the crown allowing the Hightowers to manipulate the crown once would be to allow it to happen twice.”

Rhaenyra fixed him with a cold glare. “I am not a hapless child, Daemon. You do not need to agree with my decisions but you will not change my mind on this matter. Alicent Hightower and her children are of no threat to us and I will not toss them aside simply because of your ego.”

Her uncle huffed. “This act of theirs will not last forever. Do not say I didn’t warn you.” With that, he stomped out of the chamber.

Rhaenyra ran a hand over her face, feeling more exhausted now than she had five minutes ago. Nevertheless, the queen's work was never done. She put her uncle’s ridiculous warning out of mind to focus on the matters the realm needed attending to urgently.

She could merely hope that someday her uncle would come back to his senses.

The weeks after the tourney flew by quicker than Alicent expected. She felt a twinge of shame at how relieved she was when the Hightowers left, but that was quickly replaced by a lightness in her chest that had persisted for weeks.

With the ugliness of the tourney behind them, Alicent was pleased to find her life in the keep had changed. The lords and ladies at court, or at least most of them, no longer openly scorned her. The handful that still did kept their voices down. After being crowned Queen of Love and Beauty and Rhaenyra’s declaration about her children, the message was clear to the lords that they could not treat Alicent and her family as they had under Viserys’ reign.

Every so often, Alicent overheard more…crude rumors about her and Rhaenyra. The lords had the sense to not speak too loudly, knowing it would bode ill for them to utter such vile calumnies about their queen. Alicent tried to ignore them.

She was able to walk easier through the halls of the keep with Rhaenyra’s protection, as were her children. Daeron in particular, with the help of the princes, seemed much more happy with this development. Helaena had even drawn the eye of a handful of lordlings, mostly Elyana’s peers. Though, her daughter was much too shy to strike up conversations with them.

Daeron’s name day came and went as the weeks passed. With the compensation she’d received from all her work for the King Consort, Alicent was able to buy him a new set of armor that fit better, just as he asked for.

Alicent continued her work for the crown diligently and grew closer to the king and his sister. Laena had more time on her hands recently, with Daemon and the twins being in the Dragonpit from dawn until dusk most days. She was happy for Rhaena, remembering how Laena had fretted about her daughter feeling inadequate without a dragon.

“You should visit the Dragonpit someday,” Laena suggested. “Vhagar only looks intimidating, I think she’d like you.”

Alicent couldn’t think of a single thing she’d like less than to come face to face with the largest dragon in the realm.

One night, when she had dinner with Laenor and Laena, she told them about her father sending her to the king. They didn’t seem entirely surprised by the confession but held no reservations towards her and supported her in whatever way they could.

It was like another piece of the weight bearing down on her shoulders was lifted away. She was grateful to have such kind friends, even if a voice in the back of her head echoed that she didn’t deserve them.

Of course, she spent much of her time with Rhaenyra as well. They still had meetings so Alicent could update her on all the decisions she’d made with Laenor, managing the Red Keep’s affairs and various other minor issues that had come up with the lords.

Beyond that, Alicent found herself spending more of her days with Rhaenyra. Her cautiousness and fear over every move she made had lessened with the queen’s formal declaration protecting her family. Still, she remained proper at all times, not wanting to give the royal family any excuse to revoke the decree.

Or, at least, she tried to remain proper at all times. Before their dinner with the royal family, she and Rhaenyra had run into each other in the godswood, a habit that had become unexpectedly frequent in recent weeks. The queen grew bored of endless council meetings and letters and sought solace in the godswood, where Alicent spent what little free time she had.

Before, it would’ve struck her as bizarre and terrifying to even think of spending so much time with Rhaenyra. Yet, it had become a routine she looked forward to. The queen was quick-witted and casual, however not to the point of being crass as her eldest son was. She listened eagerly to every word Alicent said and even in silence, made her feel comfortable speaking her mind.

Sometimes Rhaenyra spent the time telling tales of her life on Dragonstone and how rowdy her boys were when they were even younger. Alicent would often only have stories from books she’d been reading recently to regale her with but the queen enjoyed them just as much.

They mostly avoided speaking of the old king and her family’s treatment at his hands, though not always. She told the queen of how Viserys reacted to Aemond’s maiming, of how it was the Hand who had to pull strings to get Helaena her position as Elyana’s handmaiden because the king didn’t care to, and of the argument that occurred after Aegon started working in a brothel.

It was never an easy subject to speak about and she felt guilty every time Rhaenyra’s face fell a bit more, the love she once had for her father withering away piece by piece. She knew the feeling all too well. Rhaenyra, however, never held it against her. She always apologized for what her father did and offered sympathy and what comfort she could.

Today was much less heavy, however. The queen paced the length of the godswood, ranting. She’d been meeting with lords to take over the Master of Laws position after Lord Jasper gets dismissed. Alicent couldn’t say she would miss Lord Wylde, the few brief interactions she’d had with the man all had him turn up his nose at her, scoffing at the sight of her.

“Ser Tully, quite frankly, is a bit of a cunt,” Rhaenyra told her and Alicent smiled a bit at her bluntness. “His house is a strong ally, of course, but I don’t think I could stand to sit in a room with him and Tyland all day. I’d sooner throw myself out of the window than listen to those two blather on about themselves.”

Ser Tyland was another lord she didn’t particularly care for. Though not nearly as harsh in his dislike of her, he had made it clear over the years of his disapproval for her. He seemed to have pivoted from that in recent weeks, like much of the keep.

“Lady Jeyne is family but I am not ignorant to the controversy that would stir at her appointment,” Rhaenyra remarked.

Alicent hummed, amused. “You’ve never been one to be averse to controversy.”

Rhaenyra laughed briefly. “I suppose you’re right in that. Still, she seems to have little interest in managing the kingdom. I’ll need to speak with her more.”

Alicent had seen the Lady of the Vale only from afar. She knew there were odd rumors surrounding her, but had always assumed they were nothing more than slanders by her political enemies. The lords were not fond of their liege lord being a woman.

“And Desmond Manderly was another self-serving bore. He very unsubtly suggested that his granddaughter would be a good match for Jace when he comes of age,” Rhaenyra continued.

“I daresay every lord in the realm thinks their daughters would be a good match for Jace,” Alicent remarked.

“I’m already drowning in parchment with offers for both him and Luke,” she said. “I fear an offer will come for Joffrey before his fifth name day.”

Alicent chuckled. “At least you’ll have no shortage of options when the time comes to decide.”

The queen grumbled, sounding uncharacteristically childish, before sitting back down next to Alicent on the bench in the godswood. “The time will come all too soon. I fear they’re already growing up too fast for my liking.”

She hummed in response. Her children had seemed to grow up in the blink of an eye. Aegon was already off living his own life for the most part, Aemond always acted like a man ten years older than he was, and even Helaena was four and ten now. In a few, short years, she would be wed and move halfway across the continent, more like than not.

“I understand the feeling. I dread the day Daeron joins the City Watch and starts patrolling as much as Aemond does,” she replied.

Rhaenyra thought in silence before saying, “I was thinking, Luke’s eleventh name day will be upon us in a few short weeks.”

“Laenor and I can arrange a feast for the occasion,” Alicent suggested.

“I had something else in mind. The other night, he told how much he missed Dragonstone, and I must confess sharing similar feelings. The dealings of court can be exhausting at times.”

Alicent paused. “You’re going back to Dragonstone?”

“Only for a few weeks at the most. I’ll take Syrax so if anything urgent arises, I can be back in mere hours, but I have confidence in my Hand and my council,” she explained.

Alicent nodded. From her brief interactions with Lord Corlys, she knew he was more than capable of governing the realm for a short time in Rhaenyra’s stead. It was perhaps not the most opportune time for an absence from court, with a new Master of Laws being chosen, but she supposed it was one of the perks of being the queen, to do whatever you liked on a whim.

Rhaenyra’s face turned a bit unsure then, a rarity, she’d come to find. The queen was usually quite decisive. After a beat, she began, “If you, and your children, of course, would like…” Alicent’s eyes widened, already knowing where this was going. “You could accompany us to Dragonstone,” Rhaenyra finished.

Silence passed over the godswood for a few moments.

At the first slight downward curl of her lips, Rhaenyra’s expression turned to worry. “I think Luke would enjoy Daeron being there for his name day and Helaena has become close to the twins, and, of course, you would all want to remain together,” she hurriedly said.

Alicent struggled to find the words as the queen spoke. “It’s too kind,” she eventually said. Rhaenyra had done so much for her and her family in the past months, far, far more than she ever expected. Even still, going to Dragonstone felt wrong. 

It was the ancestral home of House Targaryen, their seat since the days of Old Valyria. She could practically hear all the whispers now. It’s not a place for bastards and whores.

“We would not want to impose. Besides, someone will need to do the work for the council while Laenor is away,” she tried to justify.

Rhaenyra looked at her, unconvinced. “It’s your choice, naturally. I simply…” she paused and thought. “I’ve come to enjoy spending time with you,” she said sincerely. “Dragonstone is a beautiful place, I thought it would be a well-deserved break from court for all of us.”

Alicent’s fingers fidgeted together as she considered the queen’s words. She didn’t deserve all the kindness that Rhaenyra had shown to her, yet the queen still insisted upon it time and time again.

She appreciated the time she spent together with Rhaenyra as well, and in truth the idea of spending weeks alone in the keep again gave her pause. All the same though, she feared overstepping her position and growing too comfortable on her laurels after all that happened with the king.

“You need not answer now,” Rhaenyra said, when Alicent did not speak up. “All I ask is to give it some thought.”

Alicent nodded and Rhaenyra grinned back at her, soft and hopeful. A grin that had become familiar and comfortable in the past months. Another familiarity came then, the feeling like a heat in her stomach, nervous yet eager.

She would have to speak to her children about it, of course. They’d never even been outside King’s Landing all their lives, she realized.

Rhaenyra’s kind, violet eyes met hers and Alicent’s mind indulged in the possibility she might enjoy taking a trip to Dragonstone.

Chapter Text

This is a horrible idea, Alicent thought, much too late at that point. She gripped the rail of the ship as it swayed on the waves. Dragonstone was still hours away and Alicent had been on the verge of losing her lunch ever since they left Blackwater Bay.

She vaguely recalled, over two decades ago, the last time she was on a ship. A girl of barely ten name days, traveling to King’s Landing after her mother’s death to be with her father. She’d gotten sick then too, but Gwayne was there to help her through it.

That was the last time she was ever outside the city before now, she realized. Even when the king set off to the kingswood for a hunt and brought half the court with him, Alicent had to remain behind, sequestered in the keep. Such an extravagant and public event, it wouldn’t be proper for her to be seen there. Besides, her children always had some reason to stay in the city and she did not want to be separated from them for days at a time.

Alicent was grateful then that they had all agreed to the queen’s request for them to join the royal family on their trip to Dragonstone. Daeron and Helaena apparently were already told of the trip by their friends and were eager for the chance to tag along. Aemond didn’t have as much enthusiasm but decided to come as well, perhaps simply for the rest it afforded him.

Aegon moaned and whined about the idea, especially as he only just got the plaster off of his arm. He wanted to rush back to resume his life in Flea Bottom, but the idea of being left behind was enough to convince him to join them regardless.

A fact he likely regretted, Alicent figured, glancing over across the ship and seeing her son in much the same situation as her, looking green as he tried not to vomit over the side. “Why does the boat have to sway so fucking much? It’s like we’re in a storm.” He muttered, heavily exaggerating. The weather was rather calm today in truth, but it didn’t feel like it to her or Aegon.

Next to him, Helaena hummed with amusement. “I think all that ale you drank is getting to your head.” Aegon laughed sardonically and flicked Helaena’s head lightly.

Aemond was asleep below deck, she knew, while Daeron darted around with the princes. She’d told him many times not to run, worrying he would lose his footing easily, but it seemed like her words were easily forgotten as the boys had fun.

“Are you feeling well?” The words tore her attention away from her children and she found Laenor approaching her.

She grinned back half-heartedly. “Well as I can be, I suppose. I don’t think I’m made for the sea as you are.”

“My father had me on ships before I could walk,” Laenor mused. “You get used to it after a while.” Alicent hoped ‘a while’ would come rather soon as she was not excited for the return trip to King’s Landing, where she would have to endure this sickness all over again.

The two were interrupted as a low roar sounded through the air. The wind picked up and shadow blanketed the ship suddenly. The whole crew glanced upwards to the sky to find the fearsome Vhagar above them.

She roared again, so loud that it pained Alicent’s ears, and flapped her wings that sounded like thunder. A screech pierced through the air and two more deep bellows as more dragons appeared from the clouds, first Caraxes, then Dreamfyre and Syrax. The king stared up at them wistfully and Alicent figured he was thinking of his own dragon and how he wished to fly with them. He’d had to join them on the ship to keep an eye on his sons, but that meant leaving Seasmoke back at the Dragonpit.

Laena had taken Baela with her up on Vhagar, as Moondancer wasn’t large enough to ride yet, while the rest of the family followed on their own dragons. Four of the beasts were more than enough to make Alicent terrified with their very presence, but she could not deny there was a certain beauty in them as the four hovered above the ship.

Caraxes circled Vhagar almost playfully, his unnatural shriek filling the air as he twisted and turned through the air, spinning in a showy display. Vhagar responded in kind, performing tricks in the air that Alicent thought surely would’ve given her a heart attack with a beast of that size.

Dreamfyre darted through the air, passing through clouds then diving low. Alicent could only guess the beast was still ecstatic to be flying once more after being stuck in the Dragonpit for so long, an explanation Laena gave her a week ago for all of Rhaena’s frequent flights.

Alicent jumped when one of the roars suddenly sounded closer than normal. Syrax dipped into view, just next to the ship. The great golden dragon turned slightly, her wing grazing the sea and sending a spray of water towards them.

Alicent yelped, unable to run away, as the water splashed onto her, Laenor, and a dozen other men on that side of the ship. She heard Laenor’s laugh as she opened her eyes again, trying to wipe the water off of her to little avail. Her hair and dress were drenched. The king waved over to his wife and remarkably, the queen waved back. Alicent was surprised Rhaenyra could even see them from such a distance away. Hesitantly, Alicent raised her hand in greeting as well, despite her simmering anger at getting water thrown at her.

Rhaenyra gripped the reins of her dragon tight, with a laugh that was barely loud enough to hear over the cries of the dragons and roar of the waves, and took off after the other three beasts, which were now far ahead of them.

Flying atop her dragon with confident poise and skill, her hair flowing in the wind and dressed in riding leathers, Alicent could admit to herself that the queen made for a rather striking image.

Alicent and her family, as well as the elder two princes, walked together along the beaches of Dragonstone. Ser Criston trailed behind them in case of the unlikely event that the princes were put in danger. Laenor had helped them settle into their quarters but was pulled away by some matters with Maester Gerardys. 

They had arrived on the island later than the dragonriders. So much later, in fact, that the five had already gone back up in the sky by the time the rest of them were settled. They decided to pass the time by exploring the island a bit and the princes led the way, knowing Dragonstone intimately from their years living here.

Helaena was walking along the edge of the water, the hem of her dress getting sprayed with sea water with every lap of the waves. Every minute or so, she would stop in her tracks and lean down, inspecting the sand for a bit, before continuing their walk.

“What are you doing, sweet girl?” Alicent asked her after the first few times it happened.

“Looking for a memento,” Helaena answered. “I wanted to bring something back for Lady Elyana and my other friends. I thought seashells might be a good idea.”

Alicent smiled and lightly touched her daughter’s shoulder lovingly, to which she flinched away from slightly. Retracting her hand, Alicent told her instead, “That sounds like a lovely idea.”

As she helped Helaena look, she kept an eye on her other children. Daeron ran around, splashing water and throwing handfuls of sand occasionally at the princes, to which they responded in kind. Meanwhile, Aegon and Aemond trailed behind them.

“There’s villages down below the Dragonmont, you know,” Aegon told his brother. “There’s a lot of fun that could be had. Might be more preferable to dining with Her Grace, ” he emphasized the title mockingly.

Aemond hummed, noncommittally while Alicent rolled her eyes. Normally, she would leave her eldest son to chase whatever flights of fancy he wanted but they were no longer in King’s Landing.

“Aegon,” she chastised. “We are guests here on Dragonstone. We must not appear ungrateful.”

“Of course not, Mother,” Aegon responded lazily and with a smile that did not inspire confidence that he would listen to her. She hoped Aemond had enough sense for the both of them.

Alicent’s attention was torn away by the roar of a dragon overhead. She looked up just in time to make an undignified shriek of fear as the familiar visage of Syrax swooped down towards them. The flaps of her wings sent gusts of wind towards them, shaking her off her balance for a moment, before the beast finally landed on the sand a good ways away from their group.

“Mother!” Jace and Luke yelled, rushing towards the dragon without a second thought and kicking up sand as they went.

Queen Rhaenyra swung off the back of her dragon with practiced grace, landing on the ground with a thump. She knelt to greet her children with open arms when they reached her, pressing kisses to the two princes’ heads.

Syrax made a noise of greeting, bumping her snout against the two boys. Luke turned his attention to the dragon eagerly while Jace spoke with his mother. “There was no trouble on the trip over, I trust?” Rhaenyra asked Jace.

He shook his head fervently. “It was fun! Can I fly home with you on Syrax?”

Rhaenyra hummed noncommittally. She likely didn’t want to leave either Jace or Luke on the boat while the other was on a dragon, but there wasn’t enough room on the saddle for all three of them. “We’ll see,” she told him.

The queen brushed a line of sweat off her forehead as Daeron, Helaena, and Alicent approached, a tad wary with the presence of the dragon. Luke had no such concern for his safety, hurrying over to grab Helaena and Daeron’s hands to pull them towards Syrax.

“Come meet Syrax! She’s really nice, I promise,” Luke assured them. Alicent felt her heart leap in her stomach as her children stepped toward the dragon. Syrax huffed, focusing her attention on the two of them.

Daeron looked a bit intimidated by such a large dragon. “Are you certain she’s friendly? She could take my whole head off in one bite.”

“She’d take off more than just your head,” Rhaenyra teased. The joke made Alicent more nervous than anything but her son seemed to find amusement in it. “Not to worry, Syrax can be gentle when she wants to.”

Helaena and Daeron carefully patted the dragon’s head, growing more eager by the moment as they saw the dragon was no threat to them. Syrax made a low, pleased noise and her children giggled in excitement. Alicent couldn’t help but fret over every move the dragon made, worrying it would lash out at any second.

“Lady Alicent,” Rhaenyra’s voice tore her away from the sight briefly. “Perhaps you’d like to meet Syrax as well?”

Alicent shook her head fervently at that. “I’m quite content as a spectator, thank you.”

“Come on, Mother!” Daeron encouraged, trying to wave her over.

“She’s harmless,” Helaena muttered, stroking the dragon’s scales. Alicent didn’t know how her daughter was so sure after only a few moments but didn’t question her.

Rhaenyra stepped toward Alicent, offering her hand. “Trust me, Syrax would never hurt you.”

Alicent bit the inside of her cheek, doubting the words. With Daeron and Helaena’s eyes begging her to do so and Rhaenyra’s soft, assuring glance, Alicent couldn’t help but accept. She took Rhaenyra’s hand and allowed the queen to lead her towards the golden dragon.

Syrax huffed and shook her head a bit, making Alicent tense up, but Rhaenyra remained patient and carefully guided her closer. She helped Alicent press her palm on Syrax’s snout, slow enough to not frighten either her or the dragon.

Alicent perhaps shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was to feel how warm the dragon’s scales were. The skin was tough yet pliant as she ran her hand across it. She let out a yelp when Syrax suddenly butted her head lightly against her and Rhaenyra had to hold Alicent by the shoulders to keep her from running off.

The queen laughed. “I think she likes you.” She flushed in embarrassment as her youngest children and the princes joined in the amusement. She cautiously started petting Syrax again with the rest of them after, finding herself enjoying the presence of the dragon a little more with every moment and her lips curling into a soft smile.

“Aegon! Aemond!” Daeron called out to his brothers, who were a distance away still strolling on the beach. “Come meet Syrax!”

Even from a distance, she could see they were not excited at the prospect. “Another time, mayhaps,” Aemond replied back, more keen on watching the waves hit the beach. Aegon did not even bother with a response as he clumsily dusted sand off of his clothes.

Daeron seemed disappointed but was quickly distracted as the princes took off running again and he dashed after them. “They have boundless energy, those three,” Rhaenyra mused. 

Once Helaena and Alicent backed away from Syrax, the dragon took off alone, her wings flapping grains of sand everywhere as she flew towards the Dragonmont. Rhaenyra sighed as she watched her dragon leave, looking a bit exhausted from all the flying she’d done but nonetheless turned back at Alicent with a bright smile.

“Allow me the chance to formally welcome you to Dragonstone, Alicent. It’s an honor to have you here,” Rhaenyra told her.

Alicent grinned back, ignoring that the flush of red in her cheeks from earlier had only grown more prominent. “I am glad to be here,” she said.

Aemond was wholly unsurprised when he caught Aegon sneaking out of the castle that night. He told his brother it was a terrible idea earlier on the beach. Much as he did not like the queen, they were guests on Dragonstone and should not take her hospitality for granted.

His words didn’t sway his brother though. Just before they left King’s Landing, the payment Aegon was due from the Hightowers arrived and he intended to make the most of every gold dragon he was given.

It seemed like wasting the generous sum to spend it all on ale and cheap pleasure, in Aemond’s opinion, but again, his brother was deaf to all other ideas. At least, Aemond could ensure he did not get into another fight, so he followed Aemond down to the villages near the keep.

The village was small and much less busy than the streets of King’s Landing. The salt of the sea drowned out any unpleasant smells and there wasn’t a fight or headache inducing performers around every corner. It was a breath of fresh air truthfully, however Aemond still cared little for the same activities that his brother did.

He sat in the corner of the modest brothel they’d found, drinking a cup of ale, while he waited for his brother to be ready to leave. The workers thankfully took the hint quickly that Aemond wasn’t a customer, despite his brother’s repeated attempts to encourage him.

“It’s past time you got it wet,” Aegon slurred out, already thoroughly drunk after he came back from an hour with a girl with bright, red hair. “Plenty of wonderful people to choose from here.”

“Not interested,” he stated flatly.

His older brother was easily distracted, at least, turning his attention back to his own drink. “I should get my arm broken more often,” he’d heard Aegon muse aloud, pleased with how the night was going. Aemond knew any word to the contrary would likely be forgotten as soon as he heard it.

They talked idly of any topic that could keep Aegon’s addled mind occupied for more than a few seconds. Aemond told him of a few incidents that had occurred while he was patrolling, drunkards acting like fools in the square and the like. There was a particularly memorable one who interrupted the usual performance about the queen to decry Prince Daemon’s control of the city and his treatment of the smallfolk, though he said it all with much more crude language than Aemond was willing to repeat. His brother muttered his agreement with the man before downing the drink.

Aegon perked up a bit as he told Aemond of the happenings in Hallis’ brothel, what little he was able to glean during Myriah’s brief visits to the Red Keep over the past months. One of Aegon’s friends, Lyarra, apparently wasn’t working there anymore. She’d met a woman named Nymeria (who Aegon called “a prissy ambassador sent personally by the Prince of Dorne”) at the tourney and the two had grown close. Lyarra had left King’s Landing with her to live as a permanent paramour of the lady.

According to Aegon, it was not an entirely uncommon occurrence for nobles to want their favorite whores to live in their keeps for ease of access. He supposed Lyarra was lucky in that Nymeria sounded quite kind and besotted with her, from how Myriah told it, but Aemond figured not all could be as lucky.

Living and acting entirely at the whims of a noble who could have them cast out and on the streets in a foreign land at the slightest displeasure did not sound appealing, in his opinion. It churned his stomach a bit, as he thought of how his mother was once in a similar situation.

Aegon drunkenly shrugged it off when he voiced those concerns. “It is not as if most of us have many other prospects. We cannot be whores forever, after all.” 

Aemond wondered then what his brother would do as the years passed and he stopped drawing in clients for Hallis, but Aegon seemed disinterested in answering that question tonight, changing the subject.

It wasn’t long after that his brother left again for his usual activities, getting distracted by a woman who seemed to be from Essos. Aemond mulled over the possibility of returning to the castle without him but decided against it once more. At the very least, his brother would need the help walking back up all the steps.

The younger brother sat alone with his thoughts, hardly paying attention to the ruckus of the brothel around him until he heard a familiar voice. Glancing up, he spotted the long, straight, silver hair from across the room that could only belong to Prince Daemon. 

He laughed with the worker he was talking to as Aemond tried to avoid his gaze, not wanting to stir any trouble. Unfortunately, Aemond’s own cursed silver hair gave him away with ease. Daemon paused mid-sentence to the worker before a smirk curled onto his lips and he strode over to his nephew with heavy steps and a cup of ale in his hand.

“What do we have here?” He asked. The prince eyed the empty mug that Aegon had left behind. “I take it your brother is here as well.”

“It is good to see you, Commander,” Aemond spoke, trying to sound sincere.

“It’s a privilege, you know,” Daemon said, thinly veiled bitterness in his voice. “To be granted this trip by our generous queen, yet here you are, on the very first night. I suppose one cannot expect anything more from bastards.”

Aemond’s nostrils flared. Perhaps it was the few drinks he’d had already that made him answer spitefully. “I would think it is hardly a place for a married man either.”

“Careful, Waters,” Daemon warned but Aemond did not cow from his gaze. “Believe it or not, I come in peace.”

“Is that so?” Aemond asked, his voice flat. Mere seconds ago you were insulting me and my siblings, he wanted to add.

Daemon took a drink before continuing, “My niece has taken a liking to your family, it seems. Perhaps I was wrong to judge you all so quickly.” His tone did nothing to assure Aemond that his words were true. “We should train together while we’re on Dragonstone.”

Aemond raised a suspicious eyebrow. “You want to train with me?”

“I hear from my men in the Watch that you’re a diligent worker. A prodigy with the sword, according to some,” Daemon explained. “Proper training might do us both some good.” The smile the prince gave was as false as his words, Aemond knew.

It was almost assuredly a trick to humiliate Aemond during their sparring sessions. Daemon was getting old though and the thought of turning the tables on him was an enticing one. After how he mocked Aegon and his mother, it was a risk Aemond was willing to take.

“What a kind offer, I accept. I shall see you in the training yard, uncle, ” Aemond told him. There was the slightest twitch in Daemon’s eye when he called him uncle but the prince kept his grin steady.

With that, Daemon returned to the worker he had left, trailing off into a private chamber with them in the back. He felt a twinge of pity for Lady Laena but not enough to distract him from the matter at hand.

As soon as Aegon returned, Aemond practically dragged his brother out of the establishment. “The night is still young, brother,” Aegon protested, his words heavily slurred and his movements sluggish. Aemond kept pulling him along though. Aegon needed to sleep off the ale and Aemond needed to be well-rested. He would practice as much as he could alone, or perhaps with Ser Criston if he had the time, on the morrow. For now, he went to sleep with thoughts of besting Daemon in front of everyone in the training yard and his dreams were never more pleasant.

The queen climbed the steps of Dragonstone, exasperated, in the early hours of the morning. Fog was heavy in the air and the island was far more chilly than Rhaenyra remembered it half a year ago. She supposed that the Citadel was correct and winter would soon be upon them as she tugged the cloak tighter around her shoulders.

She’d had to order Ser Harrold to leave her be as she left the castle, though he protested quite a bit on the grounds of being worried for her safety. Rhaenyra needed to be alone with her thoughts for the moment, however.

What are you doing, Rhaenyra? She chastised herself.

She’d lost her mind, utterly and completely.

Alicent. Her own father’s paramour. A woman that, over the decades, she had ignored at best and was derisive of at worst, with all the rumors that her uncle told her. They’d only truly known each other for a little less than half a year yet Rhaenyra had come to adore the time she spent in Alicent’s company.

Alicent was strikingly intelligent and diligent in her work, sometimes to a fault. She was caring and compassionate for her children, that much was obvious from even the briefest interactions Rhaenyra would catch of her with them. Rhaenyra would lose track of the hours in the godswood easily, getting lost in meaningless conversations with Alicent, simply because she always enjoyed whatever the other woman had to say. And she couldn’t help but notice how stunningly beautiful Alicent was-

Rhaenyra pinched her own arm, forcing herself away from that line of thought. She felt awful even thinking such things about Alicent. After all the horrid abuse she’d suffered at the hands of her father, the last thing she would want is another Targaryen admirer.

And yet, Rhaenyra had, inanely, invited Alicent to join them on Dragonstone on a whim. She would never want to make Alicent uncomfortable but still, Rhaenyra’s mind kept wandering and indulging in possibilities and they’d been on the island for less than a day.

When Alicent smiled at Syrax, Rhaenyra imagined what it would be like to take her up into the sky on dragonback. She pictured how her screams of terror would turn into laughs and whoops of joy as she grew more comfortable on Syrax. Rhaenyra would sit right behind her, a comforting arm around her waist to assure her she would not fall, and perhaps Alicent would lean into her touch-

She pinched herself again and groaned in frustration.

Rhaenyra paced the castle twice over, unable to clear her head. She didn’t want Alicent to feel uneasy around her and especially did not want to give the impression that she was anything like her father. Pursuing these feelings would only push Alicent away, she knew, and even still, they had not abated in the past weeks.

The queen eventually stopped her walk when she was overlooking the training yard. In the early morning, she was alone in the area, but she could easily recall how the yard was when it was active and lively. Jace and Luke, laughing and running around with wooden swords in their hands, while their father, their real father, could spend time with them outside of the prying eyes of court.

“Even away from court, you wake up before the sun rises.” Rhaenyra turned to find her husband approaching her. His hair was down and he did not look entirely prepared for the day yet.

“I’m used to it by now, the realm always has need of its queen. What’s your explanation?”

“Qarl kicks in his sleep,” Laenor responded, grinning. He settled next to her on the parapet above the training yard. “What’s bothering you?”

Rhaenyra shouldn’t be surprised at this point that Laenor could tell that she was troubled with just a look. “Simply reminiscing on the past,” she told a half-truth. “It was in this yard that I first met Ser Harwin, you know.” Her father had sent a ship full of new guards to Dragonstone for her and Laenor’s safety as they tried to make an heir to the throne. She had seen the son of the Master of Laws around court every so often when she was younger, but never took note of him until then.

She sighed then, her shoulders sagging, thinking of her loss again. It was supposed to be a simple ride home with his father to deal with some land dispute and to get Harwin used to ruling as Lord Strong. She bid him farewell in secret the night before, the idea never crossing her mind that it would be their last time together.

All sorts of gossip circled the fire that took his life. That the fire was started by bitter Riverlands lords, angry at Harwin for siring bastards, by Harren the Black’s ghost, or Harwin’s younger brother, Larys, the current Lord of Harrenhal. She never put much stock in the rumors, it was easier to believe it was an accident.

“I miss him as well.” Laenor put a comforting hand on her shoulder and she smiled softly at him. After the news arrived, Rhaenyra had to put up a stern face in public. He was a friend but nothing more in the eyes of the rest of the world. In private though, she fell to pieces and only Laenor was there to help her through it.

It would soon be four years since the fire. The overpowering grief that had once plagued her had abated long ago, which filled her with a strange sense of guilt. That guilt grew worse with her mind constantly wandering towards Alicent. It felt like a betrayal of his memory, among the myriad of other reasons that she could not pursue such a relationship.

“Might I ask you something personal, Laenor?” She asked cautiously. Her husband nodded easily. “How were you able to be with someone else, after what happened with Joffrey?”

Laenor hummed in thought. “I suppose I didn’t know I could until I did. Meeting Qarl, falling in love again, it was all a bit of an accident,” he joked.

“You didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else?”

“I did, at first, but then, I don’t think Joffrey would’ve wanted me to squander the rest of my life alone,” he mused. A beat passed and he added, “I think Harwin would want you to be happy as well, even without him.”

Laenor looked at her like he could tell exactly who she was thinking about it, but thankfully he did not press the issue at the moment. This matter would be simpler if she had fallen for anyone else in the keep, but she refused to disturb Alicent with this after all that occurred with her father.

With another sigh, Rhaenyra bid her husband farewell and left to break her fast. With more time, she hoped her feelings would cease plaguing her and she would not need to bother Alicent with any of this. She would have to be at peace with only the memory of Ser Harwin.

Chapter Text

Alicent’s knees started to ache but she remained fixed to her spot, kneeling. With all her work for the crown and the excitement of the trip to Dragonstone taking up so much of her time, Alicent had scarcely found a moment to visit the sept as of late.

The woman bowed her head lower at the thought. She could not afford to grow lax in her prayers. Her place in the eyes of the gods was fragile enough already.

“The gods scorn ladies who behave so wantonly,” her mother had told her when she was young, when gossip went around that one of Lord Tyrell’s daughters had lost her maidenhead before her betrothal.

Rhaenyra, Laenor, and Laena were always insistent that none of her situation with the king was her fault. Not even the Seven would blame her for it, they said, but Alicent struggled to believe them. The gods would punish her no matter what was in her heart at the time. I was following my father’s orders, he only cared for a political advantage.

She bit back the thought quickly. The blame fell to her and to no one else, surely. If she had not given the king the wrong impression or perhaps, if she’d presented herself as a more suitable bride, the king would’ve taken her to wife. She would’ve been queen, revered alongside the memory of Queen Aemma, and then she would not be so burdened now by all her sins.

Minutes turned to hours as Alicent prayed to the Seven. She begged the Maiden for her forgiveness for Alicent’s impropriety and asked the Mother Above to watch over her children, hoping they would have a better life than her.

Then, she prayed to the Stranger, hoping they would look after her own mother’s soul. It was so many years ago that she was taken from Alicent, she could hardly remember what she looked like anymore. She was just a faceless warmth that lived only in her memories, stroking her cheek and promising all would be well, as she did when Alicent was but a girl.

Alicent lost track of how long she’d been praying when she heard the distant sound of the sept doors opening and footsteps trailing in. Over the past few days on Dragonstone, she’d come to learn that very few people came to the sept on the island. It was built simply as a courtesy to visiting nobles from the other kingdoms.

Turning in her spot, the tension in Alicent’s shoulders was released when she saw it was Rhaenyra trailing towards her, a tad warily. “Apologies for the intrusion,” Rhaenyra started, idly admiring the pillars and statues of the Seven. “Nobody had seen you since breakfast. I wanted to ensure you were well.”

“I am, thank you,” Alicent assured her, surprised yet pleased that Rhaenyra was worried enough to come find her personally. It made her a bit worried though, just how long had she been praying for everyone to grow concerned about it?

The queen hummed and nodded, though stopped short of leaving just yet. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here. My mother always tried to instill her piety in me but it never quite took. I was a stubborn child who never found the need for it.”

“For me, I often find that time with the gods helps to clear my head,” Alicent said. A beat passed and she continued, more nervous, “It helps me feel closer to mine own mother as well.”

“It does?” Rhaenyra inquired, stepping closer and moving to kneel next to Alicent.

“When I was a girl, she used to take me to the sept almost every day. I didn’t grasp the meaning in it either back then. It was not until after she passed that I understood. The gods watch over all, as do all those they’ve brought into the seven heavens. In that way, my mother is always with me,” Alicent explained. “Believing that brings me comfort whenever I require it.”

Rhaenyra hesitated, not wanting to pry but hoping to help alleviate her friend’s pain if she could. “And what was it that you required comfort from today?”

For once, Alicent’s instinct was not to brush it off. Rhaenyra cared genuinely, she wanted to hear her troubles, Alicent knew. Slowly, she started, “It is only…the other night, I was reading a book from the library about the old dragonlords of this island.”

Rhaenyra reached for her hand, a wordless gesture of comfort, and Alicent accepted without thought as she continued.

“They spoke of old traditions that the lords used to favor here. Before King Jaehaerys outlawed it, they-” Alicent took a shaky breath. “It is said the Targaryen and Velaryon lords favored the right of the first night on Dragonstone and Driftmark more than any other nobles in Westeros. The common folk have a name for any children born of the act, dragonseeds. They consider it a blessing to have a Valyrian bastard.”

She had kept reading the book, hoping to understand and perhaps find some solace in that belief. It merely twisted her stomach further though at the suggestion that getting to bear a Valyrian bastard was a gift, nay a privilege. That she should be grateful for everything that happened to her, that there was no harm in the king taking her virtue simply because he was a Targaryen.

The distress in her mind must’ve shown on her face because Rhaenyra moved closer. “I’m sorry,” she grasped Alicent’s hand and apologized for her father’s actions for what felt like the thousandth time. It wasn’t her fault, they both knew, and there was nothing either of them could do to change the past. It did not make the memories hurt less for Alicent but she was always thankful Rhaenyra said it regardless, helping her feel more comfortable and safe around the queen. “If there’s anything I can do to help you, simply name it.”

You already do too much, Alicent wanted to argue. Rhaenyra had given more to her family in half a year than the king and his colleagues had in two decades; it made her feel somewhat guilty, in truth. Despite her worries though, Alicent thought she could use a distraction from her thoughts, swirling with memories of the king and her past.

“Perhaps you could tell me something about you to take my mind off all of this. You  mentioned your mother earlier?” The king never liked to talk about Queen Aemma. The few times she was brought up, he turned cold and harsh, more so than usual.

Rhaenyra’s answer was the smallest of nods. “My mother was…” Rhaenyra paused, seemingly trying to find the correct words but falling short. Eventually, she decided on, “...strong. She was compassionate and kind, yes. She was intelligent and had a quick-wit about her but above all, she was strong. Even as she lost my brothers and sisters, she faced every pregnancy with her head held high and a stiff lip and she never wavered in that confidence.”

The melancholy etched into Rhaenyra’s features was clear as she spoke. Her mother’s loss still weighed on her, the gravity of it was enough for her to leave her home behind for decades.

Alicent squeezed Rhaenyra’s hand softly, reassuring her, even if it was only a fraction of the comfort that Rhaenyra had brought her over the past months. The queen smiled back and launched into a story about her mother, the time that Rhaenyra had claimed Syrax when she was seven and nearly gave her mother a heart attack.

Watching Rhaenyra’s face light up as she talked about her mother, Alicent felt that now familiar traitorous flutter of her heart. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to ignore the warmth rushing to her cheeks. She wasn’t ignorant of what it meant, of course.

It wasn’t right that Rhaenyra could make her feel this way. It wasn’t fair . Hadn’t the gods cursed her enough?

Her mother told her once that the Seven tested their subjects with these kinds of sinful urges to ensure they did not stray from their teachings. She prayed to the Warrior for the strength to resist her feelings, then to the Smith to make her right again and take them away.

All the same though, Alicent studied the queen’s features, watching the fire of the candles flicker and illuminate her silver hair. It is an ethereal kind of beauty, Alicent realized and made no move to take her hand out of Rhaenyra’s grasp.

Aemond huffed, swinging his sword in a wide arc as Ser Criston narrowly dodged it. The knight did not allow himself to be put on the defensive, flailing his mace towards Aemond. He raised his shield just in time to block the blow, splinters of wood flying off of it with a mighty crack.

Much as he trained, Aemond could not help but feel it was never enough. Criston was leagues above him, a knight of the Kingsguard. Ser Criston had taken pity on him after he lost his eye and trained him as best he could in between his time guarding the king. Even when Aemond raged at his situation and wept in private that he would never be a proper knight with only one eye, Ser Criston continued helping him. They spent less time together after Aemond joined the City Watch but he still counted the knight among his few friends.

Their training swords clanged together, the sound rattling through the air, as they continued to spar. Sweat dripped off Aemond’s forehead and the afternoon sun beat down on them. Aemond refused to relent despite the aching in his arms, ducking and blocking every attack that Ser Criston made until eventually his shield was knocked out of his hands by Criston’s mace and he had no other choice.

“Well fought, Aemond,” Criston complimented, clapping for him. It was then that Aemond noticed the small crowd that had gathered to watch their duel as it was happening. A handful of them joined in clapping, though a nagging voice in Aemond’s head thought it was mocking praise, like as not.

There was no doubt about the insincerity from one person in the crowd though. “Excellently done, brother,” Aegon said, clapping slowly, both as an insult and because all the wine in his system made him sluggish. “Soon or late, you might win one.”

Aemond huffed and ignored him. His brother sat lazily on a barrel by the racks of swords and shields, half-heartedly paying attention to Aemond’s training as he had nothing better to do with his time. Aemond wiped his brow, catching his breath while the crowd dispersed.

The younger brother trudged through the mud to get an undamaged shield for himself, fiddling with the straps of his armor to ensure it was still tightly fitted. As he prepared for another bout with Ser Criston however, he heard the rattling of armor pieces and heavy footsteps of another person approaching.

He resisted the urge to sigh, seeing that it was Prince Daemon. The Commander turned his gaze towards Aemond, Aegon, and Ser Criston with an almost smug grin on his face.

“Good morrow, Commander,” Aemond greeted with forced pleasantry. “I was beginning to think you turned craven.” It had been a couple days since Daemon’s offer to train with him, during which Aemond spent relentlessly sparring with Ser Criston and any other knights on Dragonstone who would spare the time.

“And what would I be scared of?” Daemon questioned, clearly not impressed with Aemond’s swordplay during his fight with Criston. “Seems like you could use a better teacher.”

Criston turned his eyes towards the ground to avoid glaring directly at the prince, biting back any sharp retort he wanted to throw at the prince.

Aemond’s brother, however, had no such restraint. “I seem to recall Cole knocked you flat on your arse at the tourney,” Aegon noted with an undignified snort as he laughed.

The prince’s nose flared and he tried to intimidate Aegon with an icy stare, to little avail with Aegon’s addled mind. “Will the Knight of Rats be joining us today?” Daemon asked him.

“I’m afraid that was a one time performance. It’s a shame you missed it,” he responded.

“A shame indeed,” Daemon muttered before turning back to Aemond. “Let us not delay, Waters.”

Aemond agreed, shifting the sword and shield in his hands to get a firm grip before readying himself to spar with the prince. Ser Criston moved to stand next to Aegon, while Daemon took hold of his own sword, leveling it towards Aemond.

After a breath, Aemond charged forward, thrusting his sword at the prince. Daemon blocked the blow with ease and Aemond tried to slam his shield into Daemon’s chest while he was preoccupied. Again though, Daemon moved swifter than the younger warrior would’ve expected of someone his age.

Daemon hurried to the left, the side where he’d lost his eye, and crashed the hilt of his sword into Aemond’s side before he could react. Aemond recoiled, stepping back and hurrying to face his opponent. Daemon swung his sword wildly then, forcing Aemond on his heels. He raised his shield to block the attacks, the force of them shaking his arm as the shield cracked.

Unwilling to stay on the defensive, Aemond waited for an opening and slashed with his own sword. A harsh clang sounded through the training yard as their two swords met, then again and again.

“I was told you were a prodigy,” Daemon muttered, just loud enough for Aemond alone to hear. “I suppose not all the tales were true.”

Frustrated, Aemond tried to force him back by trying to strike Daemon’s head with his shield. The blow connected but seemed to only succeed in angering Daemon. The prince lunged forward, slashing in a wide arc that Aemond narrowly avoided. In his hurry to avoid it, Aemond briefly lost his footing and Daemon pushed forward, Aemond struggling to keep up with the volley of blows.

As the minutes passed and the shouts of the crowd that had once again gathered blurred together, Aemond knew he had little chance of beating Daemon as he was now. The prince gave Aemond no opportunity for retaliation. It was taking every bit of his focus simply to stop Daemon from knocking him to the ground.

“Kick his fucking legs!” He heard Aegon shout from the sidelines, crass as ever. Any other day, Aemond would scoff at him. It was hardly the proper technique of a knight. But then, it had worked rather well for Aegon during the tourney.

And Aemond really wanted to knock Daemon on his arse.

As Daemon raised his leg to take a step forward and push his advantage even further, Aemond lifted his armored boot and kicked Daemon’s leg hard. The prince lost his balance immediately and Aemond darted ahead, slamming his shoulder into Daemon to knock him down. The prince fell backwards, mud splashing as he hit the ground, and the crowd around them winced at the sight.

Daemon tried to lift himself back up, but as he sat up, Aemond leveled his sword at his throat. “Yield,” he commanded, panting.

For a brief moment, Aemond saw how Daemon’s nostrils flared in anger, how his lips turned into a scowl at the very idea of yielding to a bastard. The prince steeled his expression to a neutral smile. “Not bad,” he complimented, as sincere as he could muster though still transparently false.

Aemond’s grip wavered, lowering his sword only a few inches, which Daemon was all too prepared to take advantage of. In the blink of an eye, he gripped Aemond’s wrist, twisting violently until he released the sword, then yanked Aemond forward, right where Daemon was waiting with a concealed knife in his other hand to point at his neck.

“But there’s still room for improvement,” Daemon quipped, as Aemond tried and failed to wrench himself from his grasp. The steel was cold against his skin, pressing harshly into it but not drawing blood. He tried to break out of his grip again and then once more, stumbling free on the third attempt.

Daemon wore a smug grin as the crowd clapped and dispersed just as quickly as it had formed. Glancing across the yard, Aemond spotted his brother half-heartedly arguing with Ser Criston but he couldn’t tell what it was about.

“That was hardly a proper move you pulled,” Daemon noted, stepping towards Aemond. “Did Ser Criston teach you that one?”

“Kicking worked well enough for the Knight of Rats,” Aemond responded. “And I almost had you with it.”

There was the briefest glimpse of amusement in the prince’s eyes. “ Almost ,” he emphasized. “It was good though. Far too many knights focus on proper form. They forget the goal of a real fight is to gut the other person, by any means necessary.”

“I’ll count myself lucky that we were merely sparring then,” Aemond remarked.

A second passed and Aemond almost moved to rejoin his brother and Ser Criston until Daemon halted him again. “You are a promising knight but you require more guidance. Proper guidance, that is.” He stretched a hand out towards Aemond. “We both know we have not seen eye to eye in the past but I wish to rectify that. And I believe I can offer you what you lack, if you’ll allow me to.”

Aemond was tempted to scoff in his face and reject him flatly. He had no need for whatever lessons Daemon wanted to impart on him. In all likelihood, it was a trick, merely Daemon luring him in close before turning on him.

There was also every chance the consequence of rejecting the offer would be worse than the trick itself. He cannot imagine the prince would take kindly to being scorned by a bastard. Or perhaps, Daemon was speaking truthfully about his intentions, but Aemond would sooner believe his father had risen from the dead.

For the time being, Aemond decided, it might be better for Daemon to believe he was a friend. He shook his hand firmly, a false smile on his lips.

“I’m sure I’ll learn much from your teaching. Thank you, uncle .”

The slightest, almost imperceptible twitch on Daemon’s features at the name told him all he needed to know.

Rhaenyra was too kind to them, Alicent thought. Far, far too kind. Half a year since they’d properly met and the queen had shown endless kindness to her and her family. She’d given Alicent a proper job at court and defended her children from Ormund Hightower. The queen and Prince Daemon’s children befriend her own with open arms and both Daeron and Helaena seemed all the happier with their companions.

Even just this morning, Alicent had spied Helaena carrying a bundle of sharp, shining, black stone. “Dragonglass,” Helaena told her. “They were a gift from the queen.” Her daughter seemed enthralled with the gift, running her hands up and down a piece of the glass and occasionally holding it up to the light.

She recalled the king mentioning dragonglass once or twice. It was a rare but beautiful material found on Dragonstone. Alicent worried it was far too extravagant of a gift but Rhaenyra waved it off casually.

“Think nothing of it. Dragonstone is built on a deposit of dragonglass and there’s far more than we could ever make use of,” the queen explained. “Helaena said she was looking for keepsakes to bring back for her friends. I thought dragonglass might be a bit more exciting than seashells.”

She didn’t want to seem ungrateful yet she felt a tad guilty for having been given so much by the queen. Making up her mind then, Alicent decided she would bestow Rhaenyra with a gift of her own to show her appreciation, a task that was easier said than done.

Alicent had modest savings from the past months of working for the crown but struggled to find an adequate present. Buying any old necklace or dress wouldn’t fully show her gratitude, Alicent believed. Besides, Rhaenyra was the queen . It was not as if she lacked for expensive gowns and jewelry.

She spoke to Laena about her idea, hoping she might have a better sense of what her cousin would enjoy. A sly grin formed on her friend’s face, an odd glint in her eyes, but Alicent assumed she was just eager for the opportunity to help.

“I think Rhaenyra would very much enjoy a gift from you,” Laena said plainly. “She has the means to get whatever trinket she wants if she truly desires it. Perhaps you should give her something personal, something only you could give her.”

Alicent thought about what Laena said for a while, trying to think of what would be suitable. Eventually, she came upon the idea of embroidering an image for Rhaenyra. Her mother naturally taught her how to when she was a girl and it had become a frequent hobby of hers in the years since she passed. When she had little else to do, embroidery always gave Alicent something to occupy her mind and busy her hands. At the best of times, it helped her feel like any other lady at court, free from the pressure of her father and the duties she had to the king.

She set to work on her gift at once, her hands moving swift and thoughtlessly after all the practice she’d had. Alicent sat in the chambers her family had been given on Dragonstone as she embroidered. It was spacious, more so than the two rooms they had in the Red Keep combined, with a large balcony overlooking the beach and sea.

The table out on the balcony made it easy to sit and enjoy the pleasant weather of the day, while watching over her youngest son and daughter as they played in the sand with the princes, Baela, and Rhaena.

Laena came to visit throughout the day, each time growing more amused that Alicent had not moved an inch from her spot as she worked. “I don’t think Rhaenyra needs her gift expediently,” Laena remarked. “You’re allowed to take a break.”

Alicent thanked her for the concern but brushed it off. Alicent found that she didn’t mind the time or the work if it was for Rhaenyra. It was almost relaxing in a way to focus only on her embroidery for a time.

It was after the sun had set that Alicent finished her gift, admiring her work with pride. In high spirits, she ate dinner with her children, or rather, most of them as Daeron had decided to spend supper with the princes instead. Aegon was plainly drunk throughout the meal and paid little mind to her and Aemond’s attempts to get him to sleep it off.

Partway through the meal, he spotted the chunks of dragonglass that Helaena was gifted. He laughed, “You could fashion these into a weapon. You know, if you ever feel compelled to stab another lordling.”

Alicent chastised him as Helaena flushed red in embarrassment at the memory of Daven Lannister. Aegon left soon after, prowling the halls of Dragonstone, and Alicent took her leave once Aemond and Helaena were settled in for the night.

Making her way through the dark, damp corridors of the keep, Alicent felt her stomach flutter and turn at the idea of giving her gift to Rhaenyra. She hoped the queen enjoyed it, though doubt creeped in gradually that she would find it dull.

She’d almost convinced herself to turn back and forget about the gift by the time her legs carried her to the queen’s chambers. Criston greeted her, guarding the door, and it became too late to turn back.

As Alicent entered nervously, the embroidery hid behind her back, she spotted the queen sitting at her desk. A calm breeze came in through the window and the candles around her flickered lightly. The queen twisted in her seat, a bit surprised to see her.

“I apologize for the late hour,” Alicent said. “I was lucky you were awake at all.”

Rhaenyra waved that idea off. “No rest for me, I’m afraid. The Small Council gave me a load of documents to look over while I was away.”

Alicent’s nose scrunched slightly. “It is a vacation, Rhaenyra. You need not work all the time.” Alicent ignored the hypocrisy of saying that after ignoring Laena’s attempts to get her to rest all day.

Rhaenyra didn’t seem convinced by her words but did not press the matter further. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Suddenly growing nervous again at the reminder of why she was here, Alicent averted her eyes. A few seconds passed in silence. “You’ve done so much for me and my family, Rhaenyra. Ever since we met, you’ve been nothing but generous.”

Carefully, she pulled the embroidery out from behind her and handed it over to Rhaenyra. The queen seemed confused at first, but her features softened immediately upon seeing the gift. Alicent had stitched it to resemble the godswood tree in King’s Landing, with its white trunk and dark red leaves on a green background.

“I wanted to give you this as a show of my gratitude and appreciation for everything. I can never say enough how much it means to me,” Alicent told her.

Alicent’s heart skipped a beat when a bright smile formed on Rhaenyra’s face as her eyes scanned every inch of the piece. “You made this?” She asked and Alicent nodded. “It’s amazing. I was always rubbish at embroidery, I’ve never made anything a fraction as good as this.”

They both chuckled lightly. “I know it is not near enough to say thank you after all you’ve done for us but…” Alicent trailed off.

Rhaenyra shook her off. “You don’t need to thank me for all of that.”

“Even so,” Alicent said. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Rhaenyra relented, her lips forming a soft smile. “And thank you for the wonderful gift, I love it.”

Silence fell over them again for a few moments, staring at each other. The queen’s violet eyes were practically shining in the candlelight, looking at Alicent with adoration that made her heart beat faster.

The king never made her feel like this, Alicent knew. Neither him nor any man in her life. Sinful and wrong, the gods will curse you even worse than they have already, she reminded herself internally but the words sounded distant and weak.

Rhaenyra broke the silence first. “I suppose you’re right and I should take a break from my work. While you’re here, would you care to join me?”

Alicent didn’t hesitate to say yes.

Daeron yawned, slowly trailing after the elder two princes as they walked through the keep. It was Luke’s idea for the three of them to sneak off after dinner and go swimming on the beach. It had seemed like a wonderful idea at the time but three hours later, Daeron began to regret their decision, exhausted and soaking wet as they made the long walk back up to the keep.

Mother’s probably worried by now, Daeron thought. The sun had already long since set and it was frightfully easy to put her on edge, especially when it came to him and his siblings. He also hoped the queen wouldn’t be upset that they snuck out but Jace and Luke didn’t seem concerned about it in the least.

“Can we stop by the kitchens for some sweets?” Luke asked, tugging on his brother’s sleeve.

Jace didn’t hesitate in his answer, shaking his head. “Not tonight.”

“But they haven’t caught us yet,” the younger prince protested.

“We shouldn’t push our luck, Luke,” Jace told him. “Besides, it’s getting late. You need to get to bed.”

Luke pouted, mumbling under his breath how he was old enough to not require a bed time. Daeron smiled to himself, watching them. Jace reminded him of Aemond whenever he tried to be the responsible older brother to Luke.

The three wandered through the halls, Daeron mostly following the other boys’ lead as he had no idea how to navigate the castle. It was getting cold with the night air rushing in through the windows and their drenched clothes certainly were not helping. Shivering, they tried to pick up the pace but the winding paths seemed endless to Daeron.

Daeron jumped, startled, at a sudden noise that sounded like a loud cough from a nearby balcony. The princes also stopped in their tracks, turning to investigate. Peering over the corner at the balcony, Daeron quickly noticed the silver hair that could only belong to him and his brothers.

“Aegon?” Daeron recognized. He was leaning over the edge of the rail, looking terribly ill. It took a few moments for him to even realize he’d been spoken to, moving slowly to face Daeron.

“Oh, it’s you. Mother was looking for you,” Aegon mumbled. Even in the dark, the sluggish way he moved and the stain of vomit on his shirt were clear to see.

“Are you well?” Daeron asked, more concerned about his older brother’s wellbeing than the trouble he might be in for worrying his mother.

Again, it took longer than it should’ve for Aegon to respond. He waved his hand half-heartedly, chuckling. “No need to worry. Just lost most of my dinner over the balcony.” Laughing at himself, he jutted a thumb towards the edge of the balcony where he’d thrown up. Daeron hoped it was rocks below them and not some poor guard.

Daeron saw the two princes glance between him and his brother, unsure what to make of Aegon. It had become an all too familiar sight for Daeron, his elder brother in such a drunken state.

“You should be in bed, you know,” Aegon mused, patting Daeron’s shoulder briefly before recoiling. “Why are you wet?” He wiped his hand off on his clothes which only made it more dirty than before.

“We went out swimming,” Daeron told him. Aegon glanced over in the direction of the princes, as if noticing them for the first time. Luke waved innocently and Jace inclined his head in greeting.

Aegon was not as inclined to be friendly, it seemed. He hummed and replied, “If it isn’t the phony princes.”

Daeron’s heart sank abruptly.

Their mother had warned them months ago that they could not repeat those rumors about the princes being bastards like them, Harwin Strong’s sons. Daeron didn’t believe them anyway, seeing how close His Grace was with his sons, but his brother always seemed certain. Aegon usually had the sense to keep his japes to himself around the royal family but the wine addled his mind tonight.

Luke appeared confused by the comment but Jace understood the implication. “Phony princes?” Jace said, almost daring Aegon to repeat it.

Aegon seemed barely half aware of what he said, a tad surprised by the prince’s sudden hostility. “It’s not an insult. Simply the truth.”

Daeron tried to interject and grabbed Aegon’s hand. “My apologies, I think my brother’s quite drunk. We should both be getting to bed.” He did his best to pull Aegon along, away from the princes but Aegon yanked his arm back quickly.

“Then say what you mean plainly,” Jace challenged him with his head held high.

Aegon looked amused by the serious expression on the prince’s face. Seven years Jace’s elder, Aegon didn’t feel particularly threatened by him. “You’re just like me. Only your father had a shred of decency in him before he burned.”

“Enough,” Daeron told his brother. “Aegon, please.”

Luke’s face scrunched in confusion. “Our father’s alive,” he said.

Aegon snorted, still finding this whole affair funny in his drunken state. Jace’s expression wavered briefly, which Aegon noticed. “He doesn’t know, does he?” He asked the older prince, a wry smile on his face before turning back to Luke. “Your father was Harwin Strong.”

“That’s treason. My grandfather would have your tongue for daring to-” Jace argued.

“That wouldn’t change the truth. You’re both bastards , like me and Daeron,” he said. After a beat, he went on, “It’s not so bad once you get used to it, Waters.”

Silence fell over the four of them for a few moments. Luke was reeling from this revelation, confused and looking at his brother for help. Jace looked prepared to take Aegon’s tongue himself, glaring at Aegon with fire in his eyes, but didn’t move from his spot.

“My apologies, princes,” Daeron bowed, not looking either of them in the eye. He didn’t wait for a response before grabbing his brother’s arm again and pulling him away. Thankfully, he did not resist this time.

He blinked back tears as he marched Aegon back to their chambers. He hated when his brother got like this, bitter and cruel, with a loose tongue from all the wine. Aegon had ruined the end of their wonderful day and Daeron fretted what would happen come morning.

Aemond was the only one awake in their chambers when the two arrived, Helaena already fast asleep in her bed. He stood immediately, not asking any questions as he helped Aegon to a couch where he could sleep off the wine.

Aegon fell asleep quickly, sharing none of Daeron’s concern over what had occurred. He seemed rather pleased with himself, in fact, though perhaps the full weight of it hadn’t yet hit him. It frustrated Daeron to the point of him punching Aegon’s shoulder to try to jolt him back awake but his brother was a heavy sleeper, it seemed.

Aemond placed a blanket over Aegon’s sleeping figure before asking Daeron, “Are you well? What happened?”

Daeron recited what happened as best he could. The whole time, he couldn’t help but feel a sinking feeling in his stomach. In all likelihood, the princes had gone to tell their mother what had happened. The queen had been kind to them and was a friend to their mother but Daeron suspected she would not overlook this transgression as easily.

Defending them from the Hightowers and Lannisters was one thing, but the queen would never choose them over her own sons. Daeron fell asleep that night, fearing that their recent luck had finally run out.

Chapter Text

Aegon woke up with a pounding headache, only exacerbated by the person trying to shake him awake. He tried to ignore them, turning over and covering his ears. It was far too early for whatever they wanted.

Evidently, they were not deterred by his brilliant plan. He felt the blanket covering him get yanked off abruptly. “Aegon! Get up!” They ordered and he then recognized it to be his mother.

Groaning, he lifted himself off the pillow. The second he opened his eyes, he winced and shut them tightly again. Overpowering sunlight was beaming through the window. Perhaps it wasn’t that early after all.

“Have you lost your senses, Aegon?” She asked him, exasperated.

“What are you on about?” He answered, rubbing his eyes.

“The princes, Aegon,” Alicent told him as if it was obvious. “What you said to them last night.”

Aegon paused, trying to collect his thoughts. He had vague memories of running into the princes last night but they were foggy and he could barely think straight with his headache.

His mother took his silence to mean he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Seven hells,” she muttered. “You picked a fight and insinuated they were bastards. The ‘phony princes’.”

Aegon hummed, starting to remember then. It wasn’t one of his better insults, truth be told. His coworkers could come up with a dozen better names for the bastard princes, he thought, but doubted his mother would take it well if he said as much.

“Are they terribly upset?” Aegon inquired. His voice was groggy and full of sarcastic concern. At the moment, his priorities lied more with finding more wine to numb his headache than worrying if he hurt the poor princes’ feelings.

She looked at him, disappointed, seeing that Aegon wasn’t taking this seriously. “The queen wants to speak with you,” she informed him.

Aegon sighed but didn’t expect any different. He hobbled to his feet, yawning and rubbing his head in a fruitless attempt to soothe the pain, and told his mother, “Then we should not keep her waiting.”

Alicent stopped him before he could move towards the door though. “Get changed first, Aegon,” she said, pointing out the vomit stain on his clothes. Part of him was tempted to keep the clothes on regardless, if only for his own amusement, but he rolled his eyes and did as his mother bid this time.

He dragged his feet the entire way up to Rhaenyra’s chambers with his mother in tow. She seemed on edge, glancing nervously around the corridors. Aegon’s body ached and the pounding in his head had barely subsided when they arrived. Alicent greeted Criston but there was an unmistakable lump in her throat.

Ser Criston stepped to the side to allow him to enter but his mother grabbed his arm before he could. She hesitated for a moment before speaking, “I know you care little for the queen or the princes, but Aegon, please, do not be rash. Be respectful to her and apologize sincerely. Please, ” she begged him. The look in her eyes plainly showed how anxious she was, worried about the fragile peace in her life coming undone.

Aegon wanted to scoff. The queen would do as she wanted, regardless of how he acted, and this situation would scarcely be resolved with a slap on the wrist. He pulled his arm back and pushed open the door wordlessly, leaving his mother to wait outside and stew in her worry.

He didn’t care to take cautious steps as he strode into the queen’s chambers. Rhaenyra was gazing out the window, clearly deep in thought, and she took a deep breath before turning to face him. Her expression showed no hint of her true emotion, looking as proper and regal as ever.

“Aegon,” she greeted flatly. “I’m sure you know why I asked you here. My sons gave me a rather worrying report last night.”

“Is that so?” Aegon asked half-heartedly.

“They say you spread unsavory rumors about my children’s parentage. I thought this surely couldn’t be the case but you understand I cannot let such talk fester, if it did indeed occur.”

Aegon was tempted to roll his eyes. They both knew it was true. The feigned ignorance and unsubtle attempts to get him to confess was a bore. He would rather keep this brief. “It wasn’t an insult, I’ve nothing against bastards, obviously. I told them the truth,” he answered. “Unlike you, who seems intent on lying to your own children.”

The queen clenched her jaw, clearly holding back whatever she truly wanted to say. “To question my son’s legitimacy is an act of treason.”

He could see plainly that he was getting under her skin. With a false grin, he said, “Surely not any more treasonous than passing off your bastard sons as trueborn heirs.”

Aegon saw the queen’s face twitch in concealed anger, a snarl bubbling underneath the surface. Her hands were clasped tightly together and she gritted her teeth as silence filled the room. The younger man couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride. Not quite the perfect daughter now.

Rhaenyra seemed to be lost in thought, likely considering what punishment to inflict on Aegon. She was probably glad for the excuse to shed her veil of generosity after months, Aegon guessed. Whatever his punishment would be, he could handle it, as he was reasonably confident the queen wouldn’t execute him.

She took a deep breath, collecting herself. The simmering anger in her face seemed to dissipate, replaced by an expression of melancholy. “Aegon, I do not want us to be at odds. We are supposed to be family.” 

He was caught off guard by her sudden change in demeanor. “I don’t care what you want ,” he spat back at her. He’d wished for a thousand things in his life and had gotten none of them.

“You’ve made that rather clear but I’m still not sure what it is you actually want,” Rhaenyra answered. “I’ve only ever tried to help you and your family yet all I’m met with is scorn and scandals from you. Why?”

Aegon grew more annoyed as the queen kept her composure and pointedly avoided her question. “Sorry to be such a thorn in your side,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm. “I should just stay out of sight, I wouldn’t want to embarrass the royal family. Father told me the same thing.”

He could see Rhaenyra’s face twitch again, bothered by the comparison to their father. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

That’s what she was thinking though, he could tell. That’s what everyone thinks, he thought bitterly.

Any rage that the queen was feeling was stifled once more however. “Aegon, I’m sorry for all that’s happened to you and your family but-” Her tone sounded so sincere, he could almost believe she meant it.

“You’re sorry?” He interrupted, incredulous. Aegon committed treason and here the queen was, apologizing to him? “I don’t need your ‘sympathy’.”

Rhaenyra continued, ignoring his words, “But it does not give you the right to speak to my children as you did. I want our families to get along, truly I do. You’re my brother.”

Aegon rolled his eyes. “Enough of this fucking charade. I am to be punished for my treason, yes? Speak it and let us be done already.”

The queen was clearly not pleased with him yet still she minced her words. “I’ll have a decision on what is to be done on the morrow. Until then, you are free to go.”

He scoffed again. After all that, he was free to go . Her violet eyes were filled with a hundred emotions but all he could see was pity. Poor little Aegon, a bastard and a whore, he knew she was thinking.

It boiled his blood. At least Horas Hightower and the rest were open with their contempt. High and mighty Rhaenyra had her veneer of kindness however, an act played to perfection that not even treasonous words could break through. All her pity was only because she thought, or knew, she was better than them. She was the trueborn child, their father’s favorite even when she’d left for decades.

He left the room in a hurry, huffing. His mother was waiting outside but he paid her little mind, even as she called after him. Aegon headed back to his family’s chambers, wanting a drink of wine more than anything. A few people in the halls stared at him, as if they knew what had happened with the queen but he tried to ignore them.

In their room, Aegon found Daeron waiting. He jumped up from his seat and hurried over to him, just as nervous as their mother. “What did the queen say?”

“She’ll render her judgment tomorrow,” he answered, walking over to the pitcher on the table and pouring himself a drink. He imagined part of his punishment would be not getting all this fancy Dornish wine for free anymore so he intended to make the most of it while it lasted.

Daeron shuffled on his feet, seeming to want more details than that but Aegon wasn’t interested in rehashing it all for him.

“Thought you’d be with the princes today,” Aegon remarked instead.

Daeron shrugged. “I think they went to see Syrax down on the beach. I don’t know if they’d want me there,” he admitted. He had a sullen expression but shook his head and smiled softly after a moment. “Besides, I wanted to make sure you were well.”

Aegon hummed in acknowledgment, unsure what to say. He didn’t particularly feel bad about what he said to the princes but he never intended to separate his brother from his friends. Seeing a dragon up close, he would’ve done anything for such a gift when he was younger.

He paused then, an idea forming in his head. His mother and Aemond would tell him to stay put and not cause any more ruckus until tomorrow. Alone with his thoughts and a pitcher of wine though, the idea sounded rather appealing.

To wipe out that look of pity from the queen’s eyes, to make himself feel superior for once, it would be worth a bit of risk, he thought.

“Get dressed,” he ordered Daeron as he quickly finished his drink.

“What? Why?” Daeron inquired, confused.

“We’re going on a little trip,” he told him and clapped him on the back. “We’re going to pay a visit to the Dragonmont.”

How can one teenager be so endlessly frustrating? Rhaenyra thought. Perhaps this is what her parents thought of her when she acted like a terror in her youth. Rhaenyra sighed and tried to compose herself after Aegon left.

She would be lying if she said she wasn’t tempted to rise to his insults during their argument. Part of her knew that was likely exactly what he wanted, to have the proof he needed to distrust her, yet it was difficult to keep her poise when Aegon so flagrantly insulted her and, more importantly, her children.

The worst of it was comparing Rhaenyra to their father. The past months had opened her eyes to who he really was and it sickened her to be likened to him, as if she could ever be as callous and uncaring as he was to Alicent and her children.

She thought, or at least hoped, that the months of helping their family had begun to bridge the gap between them. The more she thought about it, the less angry she was. It disappointed her more than anything to see that, to Aegon, nothing had changed. Even with Alicent, the recent incident had shaken their relationship.

Her friend had come to her in the middle of night, just after Rhaenyra heard the story of what happened from Laenor and Jace. She apologized for Aegon, promised he would be reprimanded by her, and asked for some degree of leniency. What broke Rhaenyra’s heart was seeing how Alicent had reverted to the way she acted when they first met, nervous beyond measure and her fingers picking at each other. She was hardly able to look Rhaenyra in the eye and feared her reaction, like she expected Rhaenyra would toss their months of friendship aside without a second thought.

She had assured Alicent that wasn’t the case and, despite her simmering anger at Aegon, would listen to what he had to say in the morning. With any luck, he would be apologetic and they could come to an amicable conclusion. So it would seem, her hope was misplaced this time.

Rhaenyra stepped out onto her balcony, getting some fresh air to calm her mind. It was past midday now and clouds blanketed the sky. The dull gray and brewing storm did little to help, in truth.

Aegon would need to be punished, that much was clear. However, the queen was at a loss for the exact consequence. Her father had once threatened to cut out the tongue of any person who spread the rumor that her children were bastards, a promise he, thankfully, never had to act on.

If her Small Council were here, they too would likely advise a harsh sentence. She could practically hear what Corlys would say now, “Allowing any treason to fester would threaten to undermine your reign. It would give lords and nobles the impression they can speak with impunity, if not even a bastard whore receives punishment for his crimes. It must be dealt with, swiftly and harshly.”

Perhaps he would have a point, but Rhaenyra struggled to think the same. With all she had learned about Aegon, Alicent, and their family, she could hardly justify inflicting more torment upon them. Aegon was much like she was, bitter and angry after her mother died, and nothing would be gained by his continued suffering.

At the same time, this kind of behavior could not go unanswered either. It was her children’s lives at stake if their parentage was publicly known. If she could not guarantee Aegon’s silence on the matter…

Rhaenyra groaned, putting her head in her hands. Her thoughts were going around in circles with no solution in sight.

She decided then to turn her attention elsewhere for the moment. She had time to figure out what would be done with Aegon later. For now, she trailed through the halls quickly to her children’s chambers.

Jace and Luke had come to her last night, both terribly upset. Luke asked a thousand questions, hoping that Aegon’s words were false, meanwhile Jace was more concerned with retribution. She had to wake Laenor to help settle the two of them and even then, it took hours.

Her husband was with their youngest now, ensuring none of the ill rumors reached his ears and he didn’t grow too curious about the events of last night. He likely wouldn’t even understand the accusations if he heard them but it was better to be cautious than risk him repeating them out of ignorance.

Entering Jace’s room, she found both him and Luke laid out on the floor, playing a game of cyvasse lazily. Both boys perked up when they saw her, immediately jumping to their feet and forgetting their game.

Rhaenyra pulled them both into a hug, kissing the top of their heads. “How are you both feeling?”

“We’re all right,” Jace answered, half heartedly.

“Jace taught me how to play,” Luke said, pointing to the cyvasse board. 

He rambled for a while about the rules that Jace had told him, getting most of them wrong, but Rhaenyra didn’t bother to correct them. She was glad this mess had not robbed them of their boundless energy.

“Jace is much better at the game than me,” Luke bemoaned. “But when we teach Daeron to play, I’ll have someone on the same level as me.”

“Joffrey is on the same level as you,” Jace joked and Luke playfully shoved him, smiling.

Rhaenyra grinned at their antics and was relieved that it seemed they held no grudge against Daeron for any of this. She thought it was sweet, the way her boys had taken him under their wing in recent months, and she didn’t want that friendship to be ruined over this incident.

A beat passed and Jace spoke up warily. “Did you speak to Aegon?”

Rhaenyra hesitated for a moment, wondering how much she should tell them. “Yes, we talked. I am still…deliberating on options for what is to be done.” 

Neither of her children appeared satisfied by that vague answer but she didn’t think it would be wise to tell them more. It would simply make them more worried to know how poorly it truly went.

An idea came to her then. “What do you two think? You were the ones wronged by this mess, after all,” Rhaenyra inquired. She certainly wouldn’t rely entirely on their judgment, as neither were above the age of three and ten, but it couldn’t hurt to ask for their perspective.

Both looked at each other and considered it for a few moments. Luke was the first to speak up, shuffling nervously on his feet. “Aegon was really mean last night,” he remarked. “But Daeron talks about him all the time. He says he’s funny and a good brother. If Daeron likes Aegon then Aegon can’t be all bad, right?”

Even if the logic was a tad flawed, it warmed Rhaenyra’s heart. She caressed his face lovingly. “I suppose not.”

Jace seemed less convinced though. “He still called us bastards,” he grumbled.

Rhaenyra nodded. No matter what was in Aegon’s heart, it was true that his words were dangerous. Once more, she was pulled in two directions and no closer to figuring out a solution.

Several moments passed with the queen lost in thought before Jace broke the silence again. Quietly, he asked, “Is it true?”

“Hm?” Rhaenyra questioned with a hum.

“Is what he said true?” Jace repeated pointedly, more confident. “Is Harwin Strong our father?”

Rhaenyra paused. The two boys looked up at her with beady eyes, searching for an answer, and Rhaenyra’s mind raced. After what Aegon said this morning, she could not deny there was a lingering guilt in her for always lying to them about their parentage. For a brief moment, she considered this could be an opportunity to give them and only them the truth, for once.

However, it was not so simple. Much as she loved her boys, they were still children. She didn’t know if they would understand why they had to keep the truth secret, why Harwin always had to keep his distance, or that Laenor loved them no matter who their father was. They were but boys and boys could be thoughtless at times. This secret carried too great a risk, in her mind.

Someday, she promised them in her mind. When you’re older, it will all make sense.

“No,” she told Jace. “It is nothing but court gossip. You are Velaryons, trueborn and all.”

Luke appeared satisfied with that answer, smiling before turning to sit on the floor again so they could resume their cyvasse game. He urged her to come sit next to him so he could explain more about it to her, which she did happily.

Jace sat down slowly on the other side of the board, his eyes staring at her suspiciously. She reached over, grasping his hand with hers and squeezed fondly, hoping to communicate to him that he should trust her words.

He grinned back placidly but even as Luke started rambling and the cyvasse game started anew, it was clear his elder brother was distracted. Once in a while, she caught him gazing across the room, where a mirror sat pointed at them, and Jace seemed to study his dark, curly hair in the reflection.

He doesn’t believe me, she knew and it made her feel all the more guilty. He’ll understand, someday. Or at least, she hoped he would.

Helaena didn’t like being left in the dark. She’d been woken up in the middle of the night by hushed whispers and pacing steps in her family’s chambers. Her mother and Daeron sat next to each other in chairs while Aemond walked up the length of the room again and again, with but a single candle to light the room.

It was much too late for any of them to still be awake, she knew. When she asked what was going on, her mother simply told her it was nothing to be concerned about and that she should go back to sleep. They spoke quietly enough that she couldn’t get the full story, just that something had happened with Aegon. Her eldest brother seemed perfectly well however, in a deep slumber on the couch.

Even when they broke their fast in the morning, Aemond brushed off any attempt from her to get more information. She wanted to protest, she was four and ten, almost a woman grown, and she didn’t need to be coddled from the truth. Aegon was always getting into mischief though, perhaps this was nothing out of the ordinary, so she let it go for the time being.

She spent her day instead with the twins. The three sat on a balcony high up in the castle, overlooking the harbor. While Rhaena gawked at the ships, trying to recall the houses that the sigils were for, Helaena inspected the insect circling in her palm.

It was a centipede colored red, a kind she had never seen in King’s Landing. Its little legs tickled her slightly but pleasantly and she ran her free hand across the segments of its body. She carefully maneuvered her hand around so it never ran out of room to walk as she watched it, mesmerized.

“Can I see?” Baela spoke up suddenly, startling Helaena. She knelt next to her, looking at the centipede, intrigued.

Helaena was caught off guard for a moment. No one had ever been interested in seeing her bugs before. Even Rohanne and Elyana, while they were polite about it, were always unnerved by her interest in the creatures. Baela didn’t seem to be mocking her, she was genuinely curious about it.

Nodding, Helaena carefully guided the centipede over to Baela’s waiting hands. The younger girl made a small noise of surprise at the feeling of its legs crawling over her fingers but quickly got used to it.

“Ew, what is that thing?” Rhaena said, having torn her eyes away from the ships long enough to see her sister holding the centipede close to her face. She scrunched her nose in disgust.

Baela chuckled. “It’s just a centipede, Rhaena.”

“Keep it away from me,” Rhaena told them, taking a few steps away from them and watching her sister warily.

Baela had a mischievous look in her eye as she stood up straight and started walking towards her sister. “I think it wants to meet you.”

“Absolutely not,” Rhaena said, almost tripping over a chair in her hurry to put distance between her and her sister. Baela quickened her pace as much as she could while keeping the centipede safe in her hands. “Baela! I’ll tell Mother if you come near me with that!” Rhaena shrieked and darted off as her sister got closer.

Baela chuckled to herself, chasing after Rhaena, and Helaena laughed as well. She remembered when she was younger, Aegon acted similarly every time she tried to show him a spider or beetle. One time, he even stomped on her spider when it got loose but he apologized for it, at least.

Helaena started to stand so she could hurry after her friends, only for a sharp pain in her head to throw her off balance. She clutched a nearby chair before her legs could give out from under her. Shutting her eyes tight, Helaena felt the familiar stings in her mind of a dragon dream.

She saw somewhere deep in a cave, intricate and ancient pillars and steps aligned with torches. There were cautious footsteps and low growling. A stream of flame and shouting, silver hair burnt to ash.

Coming back to reality abruptly, Helaena panicked. At some point, Baela had come back, looking at her oddly. “Helaena, are you all right?”

There was a lump in her throat and she couldn’t find the words to respond. Something was wrong. Or rather, something would go wrong, she believed. Her legs carried her away without a second thought.

She didn’t know where she was walking to, being guided purely on instinct, until she found herself approaching the training yard. Hurriedly, she weaved through the crowd of men training at arms and found Aemond, polishing his armor nearby.

He will know what to do, Aemond always knows what to do.

Aemond spotted her as she walked towards him, furrowing his brow a bit. She’d told him once that she hated the training yard, always too loud with the clanging swords and there were far too many people. It must’ve surprised him to see her here.

“Helaena?”

“We need to go,” she told him immediately. “The sun burns the sons.”

Aemond appeared even more confused at that. “The sun? What do you mean?”

“The false sun!” She insisted. The words were all that came to her mind when she tried to think back on what she saw, but still, Aemond didn’t understand.

She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away from the training yard. She would let her dreams guide her where they needed to be, even if she didn’t yet know what was wrong. Aemond stared at her oddly for a few moments yet relented quickly, following after her. Though he didn’t know what was agitating her, he wanted to help regardless.

“Lead the way,” he said and the two hurried through the corridors of the keep.

“The caves,” Helaena knew. They had to get there quickly. Something in the caves. A great beast lying in wait. Silver hair and a great fire.

Helaena picked up the pace and Aemond clutched her hand tight. For once, she was grateful for her dragon dreams and hoped the future she saw was not set in stone.

“I’m not sure about this, Aegon,” Daeron said, not for the first time, as he trailed after his older brother by a few feet. His voice echoed off the walls of the cavern, sinking into the darkness. The only light they had was the torch in Aegon’s hand, the entrance long left behind.

Aegon rolled his eyes. His brother was too worried about getting in trouble. When they had dragons of their own, it wouldn’t matter anymore. No one would be able to insult or punish them again.

“Aegon, please. We should head back,” Daeron tried again.

“You’re welcome to leave,” he countered, gesturing back the way they came, the winding path with no light to guide them. 

Obviously, Daeron was not about to run off by himself in the Dragonmont so they continued on. A few moments passed and Aegon felt a tad guilty about snapping at his brother, who had grown quiet.

Turning back to face him, Aegon patted Daeron’s shoulder. “Look, there’s nothing to worry about,” he assured him. “Do you know what dragons are in this cave?”

Daeron shook his head.

“Sunfyre and Tessarion,” he told him. “Wild dragons that were hatched right around when we were born. That’s not a coincidence, dear brother. They were meant for us. Aemond and Helaena will claim their own as well, of course.” When Daeron didn’t look as convinced as Aegon was, the elder brother continued. “We have the blood of the dragon in our veins. We were meant to have dragons.”

With that, Aegon continued their trek deeper in the cold, dank caves and Daeron tepidly followed behind, glancing around nervously at every shadow and around every corner. Distance sounds reached through the corridors that put him on edge, wondering when the dragons would finally show themselves. The ground rumbled every so often, movements of something far away, yet it felt so close by.

Aegon kept his pace stalwartly. He would not turn back, not for anything. His father and grandfather had denied him every time he begged for the chance to claim a dragon as a boy. He remembered the look in his father’s eye, almost insulted at the idea that his bastard should get the same privilege as his trueborn children. He would prove them wrong today, though. It was his dragon and Sunfyre had already waited far too long for him.

Daeron spoke up, “Helaena said that when Rhaena claimed her dragon, they sang a Valyrian song to the dragon. It helped to soothe them.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t know any dragon soothing songs,” Aegon responded. He was a terrible singer besides, according to his coworkers. He would simply have to make do without it. He had dragon’s blood, that should be enough.

“What was that?” Daeron asked, startled. He rushed to cling to Aegon tightly and the elder brother rolled his eyes when he heard nothing.

“A dragon’s not going to sneak up on us,” he told him. “Quit being a baby.”

“I heard something!” Daeron insisted. He glanced hurriedly around the cave, scanning the walls and ceiling as well as if something would be clinging to it. Aegon moved his torch around them, trying to show him there was nothing to fear.

He opened his mouth to say as much, only to pause when he heard a distant sound. He shushed Daeron’s whimpering and listened closer. It wasn’t loud enough to be a dragon, it sounded almost like footsteps. He worried it could be guards but there was no rattling of their armor. Perhaps it was one of the dragon keepers?

He and Daeron moved cautiously towards the sound, their bodies coiled with tension. Whoever it was could likely see the fire of the torch in his hands, it was useless to hide. Another few steps forward, their shadows danced on the cave walls in the flickering light.

“It’s this way,” a soft voice told him.

“Are you certain?” Another asked, clearly hesitant. “We should not be here. Mother will be cross if she finds out.”

Aegon stopped their movements abruptly, causing Daeron to run into him. He would recognize those voices anywhere. “Seven hells,” he muttered and marched towards the pair of footsteps. Soon enough, he saw they too had a torch in their hands, illuminating his other brother and sister.

“Aemond! Helaena!” Daeron got their attention, seemingly grateful to see them. He rushed towards the two with little care. Helaena smiled and started whispering something to him, meanwhile Aemond turned his attention from Daeron to him.

Aegon groaned, already guessing how poorly Aemond would react. Wordlessly, Aemond strode towards him and pushed Aegon backward. He hit the rough, jagged wall of the cave harshly and almost lost his grip on the torch.

“You really have lost your fucking mind this time,” Aemond fumed at him.

He shoved his brother back as soon as he recovered. He didn’t know how Aemond and Helaena had found them in the Dragonmont but didn’t particularly care at the moment. “I know exactly what I’m doing.” What we should’ve done a long time ago.

Aemond scoffed. “Do you think the queen will simply let you take a dragon without issue? Have you any idea of the consequences we would suffer for this?”

“What does it matter?” He countered. The potential consequences were hardly of note to Aegon. They’d waited in fear of retribution and punishment for years. The queen could rage all she likes, none of it would be of importance to them after they had dragons of their own. Aegon would stand as tall as the rest of them and none would look down on him again.

Aemond shook his head, incredulous at his brother’s callousness. “We need to leave. With any luck, no one will notice our absence.”

“Absolutely not,” Aegon refused. They were too close. Once they returned to King’s Landing, they would not have another chance to claim dragons. “Leave if you wish, craven. I’m not going anywhere.”

The ground suddenly quaked heavily, knocking them off balance. It continued to rumble in slow, methodical beats. Their argument must’ve attracted the attention of one of the dragons.

“Aegon,” Aemond hissed, trying to be quiet. “Do not be a fool. We can’t stay here.”

“Please, let’s just go,” Helaena and Daeron added their voices to his side.

“No!” He repeated. Somehow, he just knew it had to be Sunfyre. He couldn’t turn tail and run now. The footsteps grew louder, booming in his ears, and the cave shook constantly. His siblings shied away, stepping backwards carefully as they surveyed the cave for any signs of the beast.

The light from the torches flickered with all the movement, the shadows on the walls creating imaginary beasts to distract them. A low growling filled the air, sounding closer with every moment, and it raised goosebumps on Aegon’s skin.

When it reached a crescendo, the shaking stopped. Silence fell over them for a brief second before the harsh snarling started again. Slowly, almost deliberately, the head of a dragon pushed into the illuminated area of Aegon’s torch, revealing itself at last.

Aegon took a step back on instinct. Disgusting, gnarled teeth and its scaly snout pushed closer, its mouth dripping wetness onto the cave floor. He moved the torch slowly, getting a better view of its bronze scales- no, gold scales. It had to be gold. Sunfyre was a brilliant, shining gold, from what he’d been told.

The dragon’s head alone was enormous, bigger than Syrax or Caraxes’, he figured. It seemed to have a wound on its snout as well, a claw mark from another dragon, but old and faded with time.

“Sunfyre,” Aegon said, breaking the silence that had fallen over his siblings. He couldn’t help but smile a bit, he’d waited so long for this day. Sunfyre was as magnificent as he had dreamed.

The dragon breathed heavily, the hot air hitting the four of them, seemingly unsure what to make of these people in his home. Aegon and Aemond put their hands out behind them, urging their younger siblings to stay back while they kept the dragon’s attention.

“Aegon,” Aemond whispered warily. “That’s not-” He was silenced quickly by the sudden shifting of the dragon, rocking the walls as he took a step to the side. His dark eyes glared down at them, inspecting them for weakness.

Aegon moved to raise his hand towards the dragon. He knew there were some Valyrian words to say, but never studied the language enough to know them well. “Sunfyre!” He got the dragon’s attention. “Doharus, Sunfyre!”

Time seemed to stand still for a brief few seconds. The dragon bared down at Aegon, its fangs almost glowing in the fire from the torch. Aegon’s breaths were shallow and shaky but he held his gaze firmly. Aemond and his siblings were frozen, too afraid of the beast for any sudden moves.

“Sunfyre,” Aegon whispered, knowing the dragon could hear him. It had to accept him. As far back as he could remember, it was all he ever wanted. He would be a true Targaryen with a dragon at his side, the pride of his house.

Aegon took a cautious step forward, moving his hand closer to the dragon’s snout. His dragon. He pressed his hand to its scales, warm to the touch and softer than he anticipated, and knew it had to be true.

In a blur of motion, the dragon reared back, shaking the ground and making him lose his balance once more. He didn’t even have time to process it before the cave lit up fully, a dark orange glow emanating from the beast’s mouth.

“AEGON!” He heard Aemond shout yet it seemed so far off.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t supposed to happen. “Sunfyre-” he managed before he was tackled to the ground.

His head hit the rock floor abruptly, his vision growing hazy. He heard a pair of screams and felt someone hold him down. Only out of the corner of his eye did he see the jet of flame overhead.

He heard Aemond cry out in pain, holding tightly to him, before the flames suddenly died out. A bellowing roar filled the caverns and Aegon was pulled to his feet. He almost stumbled immediately but then his feet were moving on their own, rushing away from the scene as Aemond pulled him along. Far ahead, he saw Daeron and Helaena were also sprinting away.

He tried to glance back to see Sunfyre but both of their torches were dropped in the chaos. In an instant, both flames were snuffed out by a harsh footstep and once more the cavern was covered in endless darkness.

Chapter Text

Daeron fiddled mindlessly with the bandage on his arm. The maester said he shouldn’t touch it but it was horribly uncomfortable. He wasn’t even bleeding that bad, he thought.

He and his siblings had to trek through the maze of darkness that was the Dragonmont. Daeron and Helaena had clung to one another, afraid of getting lost or separated, as it was too dark to even see a few feet in front of them. Aegon and Aemond had trailed behind them, the latter’s breathing had grown more heavy and the former’s footsteps more uneven as they continued on, but they kept pressing on. The exit had to be somewhere.

Daeron had ended up tripping in the darkness, cutting his arm on a jagged piece of rock on the wall. It hurt in the moment but he tried not to think about it, more concerned with getting out of the cave first. None of them dared to speak, not wanting to cause more noise than necessary. They had to be quick and be silent, lest that dragon or any other find them.

He didn’t know how long it had taken them, in the end, but they found their way back to the entrance on the beach. Only then, when they were all safe, did Aemond collapse onto the sand with a thud. They could see clearly then in the moonlight, a trail of burnt flesh across his back, from when he’d tackled Aegon to save him from the dragon.

Daeron had run ahead for help while Aegon and Helaena did their best to carry him up to the castle. The maesters were attending to Aemond now, but that left the three of them to wait in their family’s chambers.

Aegon had a minor concussion from his fall, so said the maester who came to check on the three. There was a small amount of blood but he said it was nothing to be overly concerned about and wrapped a cloth around his head. He did the same to Daeron’s wound on his arm. Helaena’s only marks from the events were a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing serious, thankfully.

The three siblings waited in silence, the tension thick in the air. Daeron wanted to break it to thank Helaena for coming to help, to find the maesters and ask how Aemond was doing, to ask Aegon why he ever thought this was a good idea in the first place. He didn’t say anything though, too cautious of the fragile state of everyone at the moment.

In the end, it was their mother who interrupted it, barging into the room, her eyes heavy with concern. She wept when she saw Aemond’s condition and refused to leave his side as the maesters began tending to him, hours ago. The siblings told her and the maesters enough about the situation for them to get the picture of what had happened.

Now, she let out a strangled noise, half a sob and half a sigh of relief, then hurried over to them. First, she hugged each of them in turn, so tight that Daeron feared they might need to call the maesters back to this room. Daeron returned the embrace, happy to be back safe, but Helaena looked uncomfortable at the contact and Aegon seemed only half aware that there were other people in the room at all, staring blankly at nothing.

Once she released Aegon though, she raised her hand and slapped him hard. The sound echoed through the small room, bringing him back to reality abruptly. “I cannot believe you, Aegon. You could not simply do what you were told for once. How can you keep carrying on like this?” She raised her voice at him.

Daeron and Helaena glanced at each other, nervously. Aegon fixed his gaze towards their mother and looked like he was about to counter her words, but only replied in a small voice, “Is Aemond okay?”

Alicent took a shaky breath. “Yes, he will be. The maesters say, with some rest and proper treatment, it will leave only a scar.” A beat passed. “He was very lucky that the fire only grazed him, as were you all. What were you thinking, Aegon?”

His brother looked nervous, his eyes darting anywhere but directly at their mother. “Aemond wasn’t supposed to be there,” he said half-heartedly.

“Thank the gods he was, otherwise…” She trailed off, then glanced at each of them. “You could’ve died, do you understand that? Your brothers, your sister, you all could’ve died because of this stunt!”

“I knew what I was doing-” he tried to justify.

Alicent fumed. “No, you didn’t! You can’t keep doing this. You get into trouble time and time again. You throw caution to the wind, heed no warnings, and every time you come back bloody and bruised, or worse. What do you think that does to your siblings, to me, Aegon?”

Aegon briefly looked at him and Helaena, guilt showing clearly in his eyes. He had no response to their mother, turning towards the ground instead.

Their mother’s voice was thick with tears unshed now. “You can’t keep doing this,” she repeated. “If anything happened to you, to any of you…I couldn’t bear it.”

“Mother…” he croaked out.

“I would not survive it,” Alicent insisted. A tense moment passed and their mother wiped her tears away as best she could. With another shaky breath, she tried to compose herself. “Aegon,” she said forcefully, making him look back up at her. “When the queen comes to speak with you, you will show humility and respect. You will beg for her forgiveness for this transgression and promise nothing of the sort will ever happen again. Is that clear?”

Seconds went by in silence before Aegon nodded his head ever so slightly.

Their mother sighed, equal parts relief, frustration, and worry. She hugged him tightly once more then ran a hand absentmindedly through his hair to make it more presentable.

“Can we see Aemond?” Helaena spoke up.

“Of course,” Alicent said softly. “The first thing he did after waking up was ask after you all.”

Daeron was glad to leave their chambers at last, jumping to his feet, despite the quick sting of pain in his arm. Aegon lingered for a moment, unsure if he was allowed to join them but hurried after them when their mother waved for him to follow.

They found Ser Criston waiting by the door when they arrived, which Daeron found a bit odd as he should be with the royal family. Either the queen has assigned him to watch over Aemond or he had come of his own volition.

He spoke quietly to Alicent when they approached before turning to him and Helaena. “Your brother will be just fine,” he assured them softly. Daeron thought it was nice that they were not the only ones concerned about Aemond. His brother and the Kingsguard knight had been close for years.

Their mother stayed outside to speak with the Grand Maester about how to treat Aemond’s injuries going forward and any symptoms they should alert him of. Meanwhile, Daeron and his siblings tepidly entered the chamber to see their brother.

Aemond sat upright on the edge of the bed, seemingly torn from his thoughts when he heard them. He wore a loose, thin cloth shirt, enough to cover the burns that ran over his back but not irritate them. His hair was a mess, the length of it burnt by the flames, leaving it uneven and barely reaching his shoulders. Aemond’s eyepatch was on a desk nearby, the scar and marble that sat where his eye once did were on full display.

Despite everything, the corner of his brother’s lips twisted upwards into a small smile seeing them. Daeron and Helaena hurriedly approached him. “They wouldn’t let us see you before now,” Daeron said. They all wanted to stay with him from the start but the maesters needed room to do their work.

“For good reason,” Aemond answered. His voice was a bit hoarse. “Not to worry, I’m feeling much better.” Daeron thought he was lying about that from the way he winced when he shifted on the bed. His brother always tried to be too strong for his own good. “Are you all well?” His gaze shifted to the wound on Daeron’s arm.

Daeron nodded quickly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” Helaena spread out her arms wordlessly, showing that she was unscathed.

“That’s good,” he spoke quietly.

A beat passed in silence before Daeron noticed Aemond rather pointedly did not look concerned about their other sibling. “I’m doing well too, if you were wondering,” Aegon tried to ease the tension with a casual tone. “Maesters say it’s only a mild concussion. I did throw up my breakfast though.” He chuckled at himself but no one joined in.

Aemond hummed in acknowledgement then turned back to his younger siblings. Daeron watched as Aegon opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to find the right words to say.

“Thank you for saving me,” he settled on, his voice weaker than Daeron could ever recall. “It wasn’t all supposed to happen like that, I thought that…” he trailed off. “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

“Alright,” Aemond replied curtly, his voice betraying not a hint of emotion.

Silence hung over them for a few moments. Daeron and Helaena’s eyes met awkwardly, it seemed Aemond had no more to say to their brother but it didn’t feel like that was all that needed to be said.

“Aemond?” Aegon asked, a light chuckle escaping his lips if for no other reason than to put himself at ease, and again, their brother seemed to ignore it as best he could, his attention focused on a light scrape on Helaena’s wrist. “I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear? I didn’t mean for it to get out of hand,” he tried.

Aemond sighed and shakily got to his feet, with a little help from Helaena. “I don’t need an apology from you, Aegon.”

Aegon furrowed his brow at that. “You don’t? You seem rather mad.”

“I’m not,” Aemond said. Daeron could be fooled into thinking that was a lie, knowing his brother always kept his emotions well concealed. However, Daeron surprisingly found no trace of anger or even annoyance in Aemond’s gaze, leveled at Aegon. With an even, almost remarkably unfeeling tone, he continued, “And I don’t want a hollow apology so you can save your breath.”

Their eldest brother looked caught off guard by that. “It wasn’t hollow. I-I didn’t think any of you would get hurt.”

“No, you just expected to waltz into a cave and come out with a dragon, consequence free?” Aemond asked, a tad mockingly. Aegon tried to defend himself but Aemond interrupted him before he could. “You’re always sorry after the fact, Aegon. And yet you still remain as reckless as ever, no matter who gets hurt.”

The hurt on his brother’s face quickly morphed to frustration. Daeron knew his brother well, he always resorted to lashing out when he didn’t know what else to do. “Reckless? That’s rich  coming from you. You’re the one who picked a fight with four squires that you couldn’t win. I had to save your arse before you bled to death, if you remember.”

Daeron saw the briefest twitch on Aemond’s face around where his eye once sat. However, his brother held his composure in the face of Aegon’s insults. “I remember well and I learned from that. You just…don’t. You never learn. You never stop acting like a child lashing out, with the princes, Daemon, Ormund-”

“Ormund was not my fault,” Aegon interjected.

“You beat Horas half to death,” Aemond reminded him, the barest hints of anger seeping through. He took a quick breath to calm himself. “And you never thought what retribution the Hightowers would seek for it. Even after you nearly died, you went right back to doing the exact same thing, only this time you put our siblings in danger as well. I’ve little doubt you’ll continue to do the same after all this has settled down. Why even bother with the apology if it means nothing?”

For once, Aegon was at a loss for words. His eyes turned to Daeron and Helaena’s quickly, like he was hoping they would defend him but neither spoke up.

“It’s alright though,” Aemond said. “You can carry on as you are, as you always will. It’s not my problem anymore.”

“What does that mean?” Aegon inquired hesitantly.

“I’m done helping you when you won’t help yourself. If you want to be a drunkard and a whore, embarrass yourself until you drop dead one day, that’s none of my concern. I am done.”

Daeron noticed how Aegon flinched slightly when Aemond said he would embarrass himself. “You’re my brother,” Aegon tried to say, hoping that would make a difference.

“Waters isn’t a family name,” Aemond told him pointedly, undeterred. He then winced as the burns on his back flared up in pain. Helaena helped him lay back down on the bed in the chamber and Daeron watched him nervously, hoping he would say more. 

Aemond couldn’t entirely mean what he said, Daeron thought. He would never turn his back on their family, even Aegon. When Daeron looked back to his eldest brother though, Aegon had already turned to leave the room and Aemond spared him no more words.

That’s not right, he wanted to tell Aemond. Aegon may get in trouble a lot and cause problems, but he was their brother and they loved him. Mother had always told them they had to look out for and defend one another.

Daeron kept silent however. He hoped it was just the pain of his injury and the chaos of the situation that spurred Aemond’s words. They would make up soon enough when their heads cleared and all would return to normal.

Helaena started talking about a letter she received from her friends back in King’s Landing to take their minds off the situation. Daeron couldn’t help but notice how Aemond’s eye kept wandering towards he and Helaena’s injuries, and every time it did, his face seemed to grow more resolute.

Daeron worried that, this time, forgiveness would not come as quickly.

When the news came, Rhaenyra clenched her hands so tightly that her nails began to dig into the flesh of her palm.

It was, evidently, too much to ask that Aegon would keep his head down for a single day while she figured out how to proceed. He’d thrown caution to the wind and created an even larger mess.

Her instinct was to yell at him until her voice was hoarse, to let out all of her frustrations that what was supposed to be a relaxing break from court had turned sour and he had nearly gotten his siblings killed. However, not only had Alicent already done that for her, more importantly, she knew the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms needed to maintain more poise and dignity than that. She could not go around screaming at every person who posed an inconvenience to her.

She waited for most of the day to pass, allowing Alicent’s family time to recuperate and their wounds to be tended to, as well as for her own thoughts to settle. She ran into Alicent in the corridors, her heart twisting at the anguished look on her face.

Her friend tried to conceal it but it was plain to see that she had been crying, worrying herself sick over Aemond’s injuries. Part of her yearned to take Alicent into her arms, to wipe away every last tear and hold her until her despair was chased away, but, of course, the last thing Alicent needed now was Rhaenyra putting her own desires first. She had settled with assuring Alicent that the Grand Maester himself would oversee Aemond’s treatment when they returned to King’s Landing and that Daemon would make any accommodation necessary for him in the City Watch.

When the sun began to set and the sky darkened over King’s Landing, Rhaenyra steeled herself and knew she could not put it off any longer. It was time she sought out her half-brother.

For once, Aegon had done what he was told and stayed put. She found him alone in his family’s chambers. He had a bandage around his head and a small amount of blood that had stained through it, discoloring a section of his hair. He sat on the edge of one of the beds, a cup of wine in his hands, staring at the wall and not even acknowledging her presence.

“Aegon?” She took a few steps closer, yet he did not respond. She noticed then that the cup of wine was still full, which seemed rather odd for him. “Aegon,” she repeated, a bit louder, and only then did he startle and notice her, spilling a bit of wine on his trousers.

He sat the drink aside with a groan and turned to face her fully, giving Rhaenyra a proper look at him for the first time. To her surprise, she saw none of the defiance or anger in his face that she expected. His lips were downturned in a frown and his eyes showed lingering redness. Perhaps it was merely a trick of the light, but she thought there was a glint of wetness on his cheek as well.

She shook her head and focused on the matter at hand. “You know why I’m here,” she said flatly.

Aegon nodded wordlessly, taking a cautious breath. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. There was a lump in his throat, as if the words were caught in it. Seconds passed and still the silence persisted. Aegon averted his eyes and Rhaenyra sighed.

“You’ve nothing to say? Truly nothing?” Rhaenyra asked, a bit incredulous. Even he must understand the gravity of this situation.

Aegon seemed tempted to say something else but only shook his head. “Just render your judgment, let us not waste each other’s time.”

Rhaenyra huffed. “I don’t want to render judgment against you, Aegon,” she told him. How could he still not understand that? “It gives me no joy for it to come to this but you seem insistent on burning every branch I extend. If not for yourself, then for your mother and your siblings, work with me to mend this.”

His expression looked more sullen at the mention of his family. It was only for a moment though before it hardened into anger. “You don’t care about my family,” he said harshly.

“You’re a Targaryen and I’m not. Our dear father made that distinction very clear.” Rhaenyra recalled his words from months ago, after his injury at the tourney. She cursed her father silently.

“Aegon, I don’t know how else to convince you that I do. You’ve left me with very little choices in this matter though. I want to help you but I cannot have you speaking treason or sneaking off to claim a dragon,” Rhaenyra explained.

Aegon huffed. “Sunfyre should be mine.”

“Your arrogance is astounding,” Rhaenyra retorted without thought. “You could not even tell the difference between Sunfyre and Vermithor.”

His brow furrowed briefly, like he had not even realized the critical error he made until now. He shook it off quickly however. “Your bastards had dragons before they could walk,” he countered.

“Careful,” she warned him.

“I’m the king’s son,” Aegon insisted. “His first son. The one he always wanted so I-” Aegon’s words caught in his throat again. “I deserve a dragon.”

Rhaenyra could not help but feel sorry for him. She remembered as a girl, how ecstatic her father was at even the prospect of a son. It pained her to think that, when he got not only one but three of them, he would toss them to the side without a care.

Whether the dragon was to spite their father or to make him love him, if only posthumously, Rhaenyra wasn’t sure even Aegon knew at this point. Just that he wanted it enough to risk everything for it.

Unfortunately, it was not a gift she could give. There were dozens, perhaps hundreds of bastards of Valyrian blood in Westeros. Giving a dragon to Aegon and his siblings would set a dangerous precedent and dragons were too destructive to be handled recklessly.

“Aegon, I cannot right the wrongs our father did to you and yours. I know you think little of me, and you can very well go back to despising me on the morrow, but do not be a fool here. For your mother’s, your siblings’, and your sake, take the help I’m offering you.”

His eyes were still full of venom as he hesitantly asked, “What help?”

“Your punishment for these transgressions will be to serve the crown,” she began. “You will attend Small Council meetings with me. You will serve wine as the lords need it as my cupbearer.”

Aegon looked at her oddly. “Isn’t being a cupbearer a privilege?”

“As someone who’s done it for those cunts, trust me, it’s not,” Rhaenyra told him. “You’ll also deliver letters and documents and run any other errand as I require them.”

Aegon scowled. “You want me to be your servant?”

“It is a punishment,” she reminded him. “More importantly, I would like to keep an eye on you to ensure a mess like this does not occur again. If you remain out of trouble and never speak a word about my son’s parentage again, then we’ll be able to put this whole matter behind us.”

He seemed to think it over for three entire seconds before making his decision. “Fuck you.”

“I expected that,” Rhaenyra responded. Her brother really was an ungrateful twat at times. “I’ll remind you that your other option is to face the true consequences for treason.” She did not like threatening her brother but she needed him to see how dire this was. “I daresay you would not like the Wall.”

Her brother hummed and spoke mockingly, “You’d have a riot in your streets if I went celibate.”

A few moments passed and Aegon made no move to change his mind. She sighed again, “I’ll require your answer by the time we return to King’s Landing. Elsewise…I fear we will both have few other options.” Rhaenyra turned to leave but stopped herself, not wanting to leave that as the last words. “Aegon, I know you won’t believe me, but I do care about your family and you. You’re my brother, even if I do not know you as well as I should like. These mistakes do not have to define the rest of your life.”

He remained quiet and avoided her gaze, she figured pushing further would only put their delicate situation at risk. She left him then to his thoughts and prayed he would make the right choice.

Alicent couldn’t see the waves from below the deck of the ship but felt their rise and fall clearly. After the weeks on Dragonstone, it was almost a relief to be returning home to King’s Landing. Or at least, it would be if she did not have to suffer the rocking of the ship once more.

It was marginally more tolerable below deck though, so she decided she would remain there until they reached their destination. Aemond had joined her but soon after, fell asleep in his quarters. She was glad for it, truthfully. He hadn’t slept well since his injury, as he had to lay on his stomach instead of his back. Any rest he could get was a gift.

Her solitude did not last long however. Laena had come to join her before long, complaining of seasickness as well. She had elected not to fly home to King’s Landing on her dragon, the way she arrived, and Alicent was glad for the company. “Vhagar will find her way back to King’s Landing on her own,” Laena dismissed casually when Alicent asked. She wasn’t quite sure of the logistics of that but supposed Laena would know better than her what a dragon could do. Baela had joined her father on Caraxes for the journey home so she could remain with her sister above the clouds.

“I confess, I am not particularly excited to be returning to King’s Landing,” Laena mused. “It’s a wonder from the skies but in the halls, I’ve always found it rather dull.”

Alicent hummed, not sure if she agreed. She supposed she didn’t have much to compare King’s Landing to. It had been her home since she was a girl and she hardly remembered Oldtown. Dragonstone, for all the heartache it brought her, was stunning in its uniqueness. She wondered if all the great castles across Westeros were equally as intriguing or if she would ever be able to find out.

“I’ll take dull over stressful,” Alicent responded. The entire business with Aegon, the princes, and the Dragonmont had rattled her for the rest of the trip, she was hardly able to think of anything else for a week.

Laena didn’t need her to say that to know what she was referring to. “Certainly not the relaxing break from court we were promised,” she joked.

Alicent still could hardly believe her eldest son’s audacity. He could be reckless but this was bordering on insanity. She preferred not to dwell on what might’ve happened if Helaena and Aemond had not interfered. Her children were all she had for years. If she lost any of them…

“You were lucky to be given only daughters,” Alicent thought aloud. Helaena was a challenge in her own ways but she would never be quite so foolish. Aegon, Aemond, and even Daeron at times had a way of throwing themselves headfirst into danger.

Laena inhaled sharply at that, which Alicent found odd. There was a brief pause in their conversation as Laena seemed to be lost in thought. Eventually, the other woman blinked and seemed to decide on something.

“I would not be so certain,” Laena said. “The gods may yet bless me with a son.”

The two shared a glance and Alicent saw a glint in her eye, knowing then it was not mere speculation that led to say this. Laena’s hand moved absentmindedly to her stomach.

Alicent let out a small gasp at first. They didn’t speak often of Prince Daemon, but she had the impression that he and his wife weren’t trying for more children. At times, it seemed like they went back and forth between being fully estranged and barely amicable.

“Let me offer my congratulations to you and your husband,” Alicent eventually responded.

Laena smiled but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Don’t congratulate me quite yet, I still have many more months to endure.” Laena chuckled half-heartedly at her own joke. “I haven’t even told Daemon yet, truthfully.”

Alicent thought briefly on her own pregnancies. She remembered her time with Aegon as the hardest. Seeing the scorn grow in the other ladies’ eyes as her stomach grew and it became ever more difficult to hide that she had sullied herself outside of marriage made her heart twist with shame even now. She had felt so alone, so afraid of motherhood, all while her father was more concerned with trying to convince the king to legitimize her child, to little avail.

It became a bit easier with each child, the nobles at court becoming less surprised and aghast each time, though nonetheless they shunned her. She was more experienced, at least, which put her mind at ease sometimes in those days, but it was still terribly lonely.

While Laena would certainly have her brother and the queen, as well as a small army of servants, to tend to her, Alicent vowed to do whatever she could to support Laena. She doubted Daemon would be a particularly doting husband and didn’t want her friend to have any more trouble than necessary.

Laena had been her first true friend after years of distance from the other ladies at court. Alicent wished to repay her by showing the same kindness that she did.

Reaching over, Alicent clasped Laena’s hand with her own and the two shared a soft smile. “Anything you need, simply ask. I’d be happy to help.”

Aegon felt like throwing up, leaning over the side of the boat. It was constantly rocking back and forth, twisting his stomach, and he suspected his lingering concussion did not help matters. To top it off, he hadn’t even had any wine to soothe himself. Or perhaps it would make it worse. He didn’t really know or care. It was worth a try though, probably.

He hated ships, he decided. Why he ever agreed to go on this inane trip to Dragonstone remained a mystery to him. He slumped against the railing and tried to take his mind off the swaying.

He will be back home soon and back to work. Hallis would chew him out certainly, he was supposed to return after he got the plaster off his arm and instead he had taken a trip across the bay, but hopefully he would let him keep his job. He was not like to find another Targaryen to work for him, after all.

It will be nice to see everyone again, he thought. Myriah had been the only one to visit him in the keep, and that was merely because she had clients who wanted her services there instead of the brothel. Most others did not have the time to spare to come to the castle. He understood but still, it was a bit lonely.

Aegon was torn from his thoughts by the thunderous sound of wings beating. He glanced up only in time to see the crimson red of Caraxes diving towards the ship with a screech. Men on the ship gawked and some yelped in fear at the sight.

Moments before he would’ve crashed into them, Caraxes extended his wings and pulled up from his dive. Though he soared safely over them, a gale from his wings rocked the ship once more, heavily. Aegon nearly lost his footing and his headache was exacerbated even further. If he strained, he could almost hear Prince Daemon laughing madly from atop the dragon’s saddle at the crew’s fears.

“Cunt,” Aegon whispered. His uncle flew with his daughter, he was likely showing off for her. Meanwhile, the other one flew Dreamfyre nearby, he couldn’t remember which twin it was nor did he particularly care. Syrax trailed behind them, snapping her jaw at Caraxes briefly.

He clutched the ship’s railing tight then. He’d heard word go around Dragonstone that the prince had suddenly taken an interest in Aemond. It was a trick most assuredly, Daemon would never give his bastard nephews the time of day if he didn’t have something up his sleeve. He doubted Aemond would listen to him if he tried to tell him that.

Mindlessly, Aegon scanned the ship and saw the person in question looking out over the sea. Aemond, after losing the length of his hair to the dragon, had cut off nearly all the rest of it to make it even again. It now resembled Ser Criston's hair.

He knew he stared at Aemond for too long when the other boy’s eyes met his. A beat passed before Aegon averted his gaze. 

Aemond hadn’t spoken to him since their argument. Aegon wouldn’t know what to say even if he did.

Daeron and Helaena hadn’t taken to leaving him behind just yet, though they had still been distant as of late. That’s your own fault, you hurt them, his head reminded him. He winced at the memory of blood pouring down Daeron’s arm, bruises and grime caking Helaena’s body, and the trail of fire up Aemond’s back. He didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.

He shook his head and forced himself to think of something else. Unfortunately, his mind turned right to another issue he was avoiding, Rhaenyra’s offer. Aegon was not a servant and certainly not for that group of cunts on the council. At least his clients paid him to give them ale.

His mother had slapped him again at his hesitation. It was not as if he had another option, he supposed. The Wall would be torture and he preferred to keep his tongue. Essos wouldn’t be too bad, perhaps. He heard stories once about a Targaryen who fled across the Narrow Sea and started her own successful brothel.

Aegon groaned then. He didn’t want to leave. Rhaenyra’s offer was generous. More than generous, in fact. And yet, he hesitated.

He remembered, as a boy, the king talked incessantly about his darling sister across the water. Even as his mother bore child after child for him, all he ever wanted to talk about was Rhaenyra. He threw feasts and tourneys every time she deigned to grace the city with her presence.

His grandfather too, his sole concern was with usurping Rhaenyra’s position as heir. He told Aegon countless times how long his father had prayed for a son. Grandfather told him, if he presented himself properly, full of wisdom and strength, his father would finally notice. He would legitimize him and name him heir in her stead.

Aegon tried. Perhaps he could’ve tried harder, but he tried nonetheless. It was never enough. The only one the king bothered to notice was Rhaenyra.

Why should he give in to her wishes now, when she had been so disastrous to his life? Why did she even care about him, when his own brother had given up hope? It wasn’t fair. She was right though in that he had few other choices to get out of this situation.

He leaned against the railing of the ship lazily, trying to make sense of it all. The wind was calm and the scent of the sea filled the air. It didn’t soothe him despite his hopes. Part of him was tempted to rest below deck, but he worried he would sleep until they arrived in the city and be left with no time to make his choice.

A screech filled the air then, distant but unmistakable as a dragon’s cry. He figured it was one of the royal family’s but looked up out of curiosity anyway. Caraxes, Dreamfyre, and Syrax were far away, speeding ahead of the ship but the roar came from the opposite direction.

He looked back at the island of Dragonstone and saw him. Glistening in the sun, golden and pure as any jewel, and flying high above the castle. There was no error this time, that was Sunfyre.

Sunfyre, who was far out of his reach now, who he may never see again. It felt like a cruel joke at first, taunting him with what he’d missed.

But Aegon knew the truth. He was never going to claim a dragon. He couldn’t even tell the difference between them nor did he know the words to command them. It was a childish fantasy, he derided himself.

The dragon cried out again, circling the island, wild and free. Perhaps he was only imagining it, he didn’t know about dragon’s roars, but it sounded almost sorrowful. Almost like a goodbye.

Aegon took a deep breath. Maybe it was.

He was not a boy anymore with a boy’s fantasies of dragons and glory and a true name. In the absence of them however, he had his family, his companions, and a life that he rather enjoyed living.

If Rhaenyra was offering him the chance to keep all of that, he figured he ought to take it.

“It could be a blessing in disguise,” he muttered to himself, mocking the queen’s words from months before. He was keeping his job at Hallis’ though.

Sunfyre disappeared behind the volcano on the island and Aegon finally tore his eyes away from the sight. He turned to look towards the city and did not look back.

Chapter Text

The end of their trip and the return to the Red Keep was both a relief and a disappointment. Rhaenyra could not say she missed the tedium of ruling but monotony was better than the near catastrophic events of their stay in Dragonstone.

Aegon had, at last, come to his senses and agreed to her terms. It would still be a long road to get him to trust her but so long as he remained out of trouble, they would have plenty of time.

Clearly, Rhaenyra had misjudged her standing with Alicent’s children by quite a lot. After their disastrous dinner months ago, Rhaenyra had wanted to give them time and space without her possibly overbearing attempts to connect with her siblings. She’d spent some time with Helaena, thanks to her friendship with Laena’s daughters, however it was always brief and light. She had hoped though that all the help she’d given to the family might endear her to her brothers despite their estrangement, but it was to little avail, it seemed.

Rhaenyra had meant what she said to Alicent all those months ago, she wanted to truly know Alicent and her siblings, free of her father’s influence on their lives. She had spent much of her time with Alicent and grown closer to her than she intended but that did not deter her. The rest of Westeros looked down on her siblings for their bastard status but it made little difference to Rhaenyra. She did not love her sons any less for their birth, after all.

Her siblings just needed a bit of help and someone who did not abandon them as their father had.

A few days after they arrived back in King’s Landing, Rhaenyra had some time to herself between meetings. There was plenty of business to catch up on, especially as they prepared to finally remove Jasper Wylde from his position, but she was not about to work herself into an early grave.

(Laenor may have been the one to suggest a break after learning she skipped breakfast and lunch but that was neither here nor there.)

Rhaenyra wandered the ramparts of the keep, attempting to find some way to relax. She had briefly watched her sons train with Ser Criston in the yard but the boys grew sheepish with her presence so she left them to their own devices.

Her attention was again taken a few minutes later. She overlooked the yard outside the City Watch barracks, seeing the dozens of knights rush to and fro as they either prepared for their patrols that night or returned from the day shift. What drew her eye however was the sudden sound of a horse braying and loud splat in the mud.

Glancing towards the stables, Rhaenyra squinted in confusion, seeing her youngest brother groaning and pulling himself off the ground, now caked in dirt and grime, turning part of his silver hair as brown as her sons’.

Curious, Rhaenyra hurried down the steps and approached Daeron. “Are you alright?”

Daeron jumped to attention, startled by her presence. “Yes, Your Grace,” he answered as he stood up, trying to wipe the mud off of himself to little avail.

“You don’t need to call me that,” she reminded him. “What were you doing?”

Daeron’s face seemed to light up at the opportunity to tell someone. He turned and rushed over to a large, brown horse with a white mane standing in the stables. “I was trying to feed Moon,” Daeron told her. “She spooks easily though and the ground isn’t exactly solid, so I lost my balance,” he moved his foot around effortlessly in the mud to emphasize his point.

Rhaenyra hummed. “But why are you doing it? Surely there’s enough stablehands.”

Her brother shrugged. “Pate sprained his ankle last week so Ser Luthor needed some extra help. Besides, I like taking care of the horses…except for scooping manure,” he added, his face scrunched in disgust. “Godry takes care of that, thankfully.”

Daeron patted the horse and brushed her mane lightly with his fingers, the animal let out a whinny in response. Rhaenyra cautiously reached out to pet the creature as well. “I used to go riding often when I was a girl, especially whenever my father had a royal hunt. I had a black mare back then, I think I named her Rabbit because I had that for dinner the night before.”

The two chuckled at that and Rhaenyra briefly wondered whatever happened to her horse or if she was still in the stables somewhere. “You don’t go riding anymore though?” Daeron inquired.

“There weren’t a lot of places to ride a horse on Dragonstone,” she explained. “That, and I grew old enough to take Syrax out for longer and longer.” Daeron nodded, however she noticed the way his face slightly faltered. The mention of dragons was perhaps not her smartest idea, bringing up poor memories. She quickly sought to change the subject, “Ser Harrold was the one to teach me how to ride, you know.”

Thankfully, Daeron’s face lit right back up. “He was already in the Kingsguard when you were young? Just how old is Ser Harrold?” He asked, incredulous.

Rhaenyra laughed. “I’ve no idea, now that you mention it.”

Her brother opened up after that, speaking excitedly about horses while he tended to Moon. He brushed her mane, cleaned her hooves, and replaced her bedding, while telling Rhaenyra about each horse that was in the stables and all their quirks. She thought it was cute how gleeful he was about it, reminding her of Luke’s infectious energy.

“How’d you end up working for the stablemaster?” She questioned after he was done with all the horses.

Daeron looked down sheepishly. “It’s not really work, just something to do. Training endlessly can get a bit dull and my family’s usually busy. People always need help around the keep and I’m glad to give it,” he explained. “I’ve helped with cleaning the armory, tending to the flowers in the gardens, feeding the birds, training the dogs, near everything at this point. I once tried to help in the kitchens but I started a fire.”

Rhaenyra smiled at that. Admittedly, she was impressed by her little brother. Rhaenyra hadn’t done half those jobs in her entire life. She’d never had any reason to, she supposed.

“In that case, I thank you for your service to the keep,” she told him, an amused look on her face. They settled into silence for a moment, Rhaenyra almost considering that it was time to get back to her own work, when Daeron spoke up.

“Your Grace…” he started. His demeanor had entirely changed and he seemed more nervous. “I know my brother probably didn’t say it properly so I wanted to apologize again for what we did on Dragonstone, and thank you for the mercy you showed him.”

“There is no need for an apology, least of all from you,” she said, her voice soft. “I know it was not your idea or your fault. Alicent speaks fondly of you all the time and you’ve been a true friend to my sons.”

“All the same, thank you,” he repeated. “Not all would be as forgiving of Aegon’s…foibles.”

Rhaenyra felt a sting of pity again for her siblings, who thought they would be cast aside for their transgressions. She knelt down to Daeron’s level, “I know we’ve not been close for many years, but you’re family. I would not turn my back on any of you so callously.” She reached up to press her hand against his cheek, realizing belatedly that his face was still covered in dirt and mud, but it was too late to pull her hand back. “If there’s ever any help you or your siblings require, about anything, you can always come to me. You know that, yes?”

Daeron nodded slightly with a soft smile.

Rhaenyra was able to return to her work with a renewed lightness in her heart. It would be a while yet until her siblings fully trusted her but her little brother gave her hope that their bond would grow soon.

Aegon grunted at the thud of Hallis’ hand to his skull. He, perhaps, had not exactly asked permission to extend his time away from work before his family departed to Dragonstone. He had figured, or at least hoped, that the queen’s approval would be enough for Hallis. Evidently, that hope was misplaced.

His boss yanked his hair roughly, not for the first time in the past half hour of him yelling at Aegon. “I ought to throw you back to the streets where I found you, bastard,” he spat and shoved Aegon aside.

Aegon remained silent, it was easier to let Hallis lash out for a bit. The threats against his job were mostly hollow. Hallis was a businessman first and foremost, and he recognized Aegon brought value to his brothel that other whores couldn’t. The minutes ticked by and eventually, Hallis’ anger abated for the time being.

“If you ever pull a stunt like this again, Waters, I won’t be so generous. And the next time I tell you to stay away from tourneys, you fucking listen,” he ordered him. Aegon almost laughed at the lingering pain in his scalp from Hallis’ “generosity” but didn’t care for the further headache it would cause. He nodded simply and Hallis seemed satisfied with that. “Good. Now, get to work and I don’t want to hear one damn complaint from customers about you.”

He breathed easier as he stepped away from Hallis and into the back of the brothel to prepare. Not much about the place had changed in the months he’d been gone, in truth. It still reeked constantly of ale and sweat, it was still suffocatingly crowded, and it still gave him a headache listening to all the incessant shouts and chatter. Always good to be back, he thought, only half-jokingly.

Several other workers were getting ready at the same time as him, ensuring their hair looked perfectly untouched and their attire would tantalize the clients just so. A few waved or nodded at him as he passed, welcoming him back. 

Aegon felt he could breathe a bit easier around them. It wasn’t like life at the Red Keep with all the nobles looking down on him. They were all on the same level and they all assisted each other without question.

He noticed Myriah nearby as he started dressing himself in the usual Dornish silks. “How’s Hallis?” She inquired with a knowing smirk.

“He’ll get over it,” Aegon answered casually.

She chuckled. “You should’ve seen him the day you left. I swear, he was close to swimming all the way across the Blackwater to gut you himself.” Aegon laughed, he hoped Hallis didn’t give the rest of them any trouble for it. “So, how was the royal family’s home? Worth the trouble?”

“Nope,” he said quickly. If Aegon could go back, he would’ve much preferred to stay and avoid the whole mess. “Rather dull in my opinion.”

“You missed quite a bit while you were gone,” Myriah told him. As they prepared, she went on about the recent events in Flea Bottom.

The gold cloaks had been getting more bold. They went on one of their infamous hunts recently and tore a regular right out of Essie’s bed, cutting his arm off in the town square. Prices for food had been going up due to the coming winter which wasn’t pleasant for anyone, it caused more than a few scuffles between the merchants and their buyers. Hallis had also been on the lookout for a new worker to join them after Lyarra left rather abruptly.

Myriah finished preparing soon enough, making a quick, last inspection in the mirror. Before she left, she poured two drinks from a nearby pitcher of ale and offered one to him. “To a warm welcome back,” she toasted.

Aegon hesitated. Aemond’s voice echoed in his mind, “If you want to be a drunkard and a whore, embarrass yourself until you drop dead one day, that’s none of my concern.”

He’d gotten into that mess with the queen, the princes, and the dragon all because he had drunk far more than he should. Aemond had told him often that he indulged too much, it always left him feeling like shit and yet it had become almost a comfort. Perhaps he shouldn’t.

Still, he had always had a drink before work to calm his nerves and dull his senses. He enjoyed it but it was far from a terribly pleasant profession that he’d chosen. One cup certainly couldn’t hurt, he reasoned.

He downed the drink before he could think too much about it and thanked Myriah. Before long, he joined her out in the main area of the brothel and searched for his first client of the night.

When he finally found one, they offered him a drink. He had to be nice to them, he justified, Hallis said he wanted no complaints tonight. A second couldn’t be much more harmful than the first.

The client was a bit rougher than he expected, sometimes past the point of pain, and by the time he was done, Aegon was rather exhausted. A third drink was just what he needed to get through the rest of the night.

Aegon lost track of his number of drinks after that.

He woke up the next morning, groggy and feeling on the verge of vomiting. He was in his usual spot at the back of the brothel, uncomfortably sore and with a headache to match. Summoning the strength to raise his head and glance around the room, he saw most other workers were in a similar position. Mornings were never particularly easy.

He kicked himself mentally. That was the last time, he swore, but even he did not truly believe his own words. He noticed Roslin was up and about, sober as ever. Straining to think, he recalled she had sworn off ale some time ago. Perhaps he should ask her for advice.

Aegon had other duties now, he reminded himself miserably. The queen’s little servant, the idea still disgusted him. He lowered his head back down on the bed, wanting nothing more than to sleep and not think about Rhaenyra or the Small Council meeting that was happening today.

A beat passed.

Oh fuck.

Aegon shot upright at once, a sharp pain piercing through his head as he did. He pushed through it, turning towards the window. The sun was still low in the sky, he wasn’t late yet. Forcing himself to his feet despite his aching, Aegon ran into the main area, pushing through the small crowd of people as he dashed towards the exit at once. There were a few shouts and shoves but he couldn’t pay any mind to them at the moment.

He ran out of breath quickly but kept running in spite of it. He could not be late to this. He had a feeling he was on the very edge of Rhaenyra’s patience already.

Aegon tripped and fell in the middle of the street, getting dirt and mud all over his clothes and face. He wiped his face off as best he could but the clothes he paid no mind. He had to change anyway, his mother would chastise him if he tried to wear his usual rags to a council meeting.

Through the streets of King’s Landing he went and mercifully, he found his way to the keep soon enough. He darted through the halls and up the stairs until he finally reached his family’s chambers. They kept old clothes from one of his mother’s brothers in there, Uncle Gwayne, he was pretty sure. They would have to suffice for today.

Aegon flung the door open, panting, and the first thing he spotted was Aemond, reading a thick book by the window. They locked eyes briefly and Aegon froze. His brother made a small noise, half amused and half disappointed, before returning his gaze to his book without a word. Aegon huffed, his brother was still going with this inane silent treatment. He couldn’t truly mean to ignore Aegon forever, right?

Aegon hoped he didn’t, at least.

He shook his head and focused on the matter at hand. Digging through an old chest of clothes, he found the garments. They were green and had Hightower sigils on them which made him want to throw them back in but he didn’t have the time to be picky. He rushed into their adjacent, empty room and changed as quickly as he could, then he was off to the Small Council chamber.

Ser Criston flashed him a sympathetic look as he approached and opened the door for him. As it turned out, he arrived just in time, as Lord Beesbury, the last member they were waiting for, arrived not a moment later.

There was a silent accusation in the look the queen leveled at him. He figured it was not the time to attempt to justify his near tardiness and silently moved to grab the pitcher of wine from the nearby table. Lord Velaryon and Lord Lannister stared at him for a long while, taking note of his grimy appearance and the sweat pouring down his forehead. He certainly didn’t look like the proper picture of a royal cupbearer.

It did not help that Gwayne’s clothes felt monstrously uncomfortable to Aegon. They were far too tight with more than a few holes. Aegon idly pondered spending the rest of his money from the Hightowers’ fine to buy himself a proper outfit for these meetings. Not his ideal use of the coin but it was certainly preferable to wearing Gwayne’s clothes again.

When the discussion and debates began though, Aegon thankfully faded into the background. He stood off to the side, only making his presence known when a lord needed a refill on wine. Not difficult work but it was terribly boring. It was made a bit more simple today as the Master of Laws seat remained vacant. Rhaenyra had dismissed Lord Jasper Wylde not long after they returned to King’s Landing.

Once, he tried to follow along with the Small Council matters to little avail. There were so many house names and places thrown around, Aegon couldn’t keep track of them all. It simply wasn’t worth trying, especially with his already pounding headache. His legs ached standing there, he wanted to go to bed, but he tried to keep his poise.

His exhaustion caught up with him when he was pouring wine for Lord Beesbury. His hand slipped briefly, spilling wine all over the table and onto the lord’s lap, catching the attention of the whole council.

“Fuck,” Aegon said instinctively, before remembering where he was. “Apologies, m’lord,” he corrected himself and hurried to get a rag to clean it up.

“That’s alright,” Beesbury waved it off. He knew his mother spoke to Beesbury a handful of times in the past, she always called him a kindly, old man. He was certainly nicer than most lords to let this go easily. Lord Velaryon was glaring daggers at him as he hurriedly cleaned, evidently he held a stronger disdain.

Out of the corner of his eye, he also noticed a confused, almost annoyed, look from Rhaenyra. It was after another moment he realized he had said m’lord instead of my lord. ‘M’lord’ was for peasants, highborns preferred to say ‘my lord’. Aegon always used m’lord down at the brothel when dealing with noble clients, even though he was technically noble born himself. It saved him the trouble of explaining his parentage to the clients and everyone else at the brothel used it, besides.

Rhaenyra must’ve not liked him, in her eyes, downplaying his station or perhaps was bothered by the reminder of where he spent most of his time. Regardless, the first time was an accident but he resolved to use m’lord from then on. It was an insignificant act of defiance but it made him feel a tad better about serving these cunts on the council.

The meeting seemed to drag on for hours but at last, they called it to an end. Lord Lannister, Lord Beesbury, and the Grand Maester shuffled out quickly while the Hand stayed for a few more moments, whispering to Rhaenyra, before he took his leave with a last judgemental stare in Aegon’s direction.

Left alone with the queen, she turned to him with a distinctly displeased look in her eye. “You were almost late.”

“I got here, didn’t I?” He argued back.

“You should’ve been early,” she told him. There was a tense, silent moment before she sighed. “It’s your first day though. Do not let it happen again. If I get the impression that you believe this punishment to be optional-”

“It won’t happen again, I swear,” he said simply.

Rhaenyra seemed satisfied with that for the moment. She grabbed a handful of documents from a stack she had brought with her and handed them to Aegon. “Please deliver these documents to Lord Beesbury’s chambers.”

Aegon furrowed his brow. “Lord Beesbury was just here. Why didn’t you give them to him then?”

Rhaenyra’s only response to that was a silent, stern gaze and slight raise of her eyebrows at his tone. He sighed and nodded, getting the hint to not question her orders as he took the pieces of parchment.

She grabbed another and passed it to him. “This one you’ll deliver to Maester Edwell. He’s to send it to Lord Thaddeus Rowan at Goldengrove.”

“Edwell to Thaddeus Rowan at Goldengrove,” he repeated to be sure he got it. “Why him?” he asked idly. He didn’t truly care but he was used to feigning interest.

“He’s to be the new Master of Laws,” she explained. “The crown needs other strong allies in the Reach given Lyonel Tyrell’s infancy and Lord Hightower’s…distaste for me.”

Aegon snorted in laughter at that. She handed him a few more pages with explanations of what to do, deliver it to this lord or that lord, get a maester to copy it down, or shelve it up in the library. Once she was satisfied, she dismissed him to go do the tasks.

“Once you’re done, report back to my chambers,” she told him plainly. He nodded and headed towards the exit until she stopped him again. “Wait, before that, there’s one more thing you must do.”

He stifled a groan in frustration at yet another thing but turned to hear it.

“Take a bath,” she ordered, the smallest hint of a mischievous smile on her lips as her eyes briefly flitted down to look at the dirt caking his body.

Aegon left the Small Council chamber silently. He repeated his tasks over and over in his mind so he wouldn’t forget which documents went to who. It was difficult with the sharp sting in his head though. Perhaps he ought to write it all down next time.

It was tedious work but he could do it, at least. With any luck, a few months of this would be enough to satisfy the queen and he could return to his normal routine. A life at court was not the place for him, he knew, and a few errands were not about to change that.

The harsh scrape of the whetstone against steel filled the air as Aemond sharpened the blade, slow and methodical. He sat in the armory of the City Watch barracks, its walls filled to the brim with swords waiting to be honed and armor to be polished.

When he was satisfied with the blade’s sharpness, he set it aside carefully. He stretched his muscles then, and felt the sharp sting of the lingering wounds on his back. With a wince, he leaned over to grab another sword, dulled from training, and set to work at sharpening it too.

Ever since they’d returned from Dragonstone, he hadn’t been allowed back on patrol because of the accident. Many of the tedious chores were given to him then, cleaning the barracks and checking their inventory to ensure no one had stolen any swords or armor, among others. It was mindless work, to the point of frustration at times, but Aemond did it without complaint.

He almost felt a bit of comfort in the tedium. It helped him believe everything was just as it was before Dragonstone. His family was unbothered and whole, they would likely all have dinner together tonight, as they had often done when he and his siblings were young.

And yet, frustratingly, his thoughts always drifted back to Aegon. His loathsome brother who wasn’t his brother, not anymore.

It was not that Aemond regretted his words, far from it. Aegon had nearly gotten him killed and put Daeron and Helaena in harm’s way. Even now, he still did not take his responsibilities seriously. He had seen it today, the way Aegon had come in late, his hair a mess and covered in dirt, just before he was to go to the Small Council chamber. Aemond expected he would not last long as Rhaenyra’s assistant.

Aemond was steadfast in his decision to stop speaking to Aegon. Or, at least, he tried to be.

Old habits were not easy to shake. More than once, Aemond caught himself worrying if Aegon would get into another tavern brawl or if the queen would send him off to the Wall when he inevitably failed in his duties. Aemond imagined that one of his fellow gold cloaks might come to him quietly to inform him Aegon had drank himself to death, alone in an alley, and the thought twisted his stomach against his wishes.

Daeron hadn’t said anything directly, but he could tell his younger brother disapproved of the drastic measure. Helaena seemed to not want to acknowledge the change, meanwhile his mother tried her best to manage her eldest sons separately.

Aemond was thrown from his thoughts by the harsh clanking of metal boots coming up behind him. “I think that sword is sharp enough, boy,” his uncle’s voice said, laced with both anger and amusement at once.

“Indeed it is,” Aemond replied awkwardly when he turned his gaze towards the blade. He must’ve gotten too caught up in his head to notice. He set it aside as well and turned back to the prince.

Daemon sighed, seeming annoyed, before he sat down on a chair across from Aemond. “You seem troubled,” he noted.

“I would think the Commander of the Watch has better uses of his time than worrying about me,” he retorted. Daemon was still keeping up his act of wanting to be nice to Aemond. Truthfully, he would prefer to be left alone but he surely couldn’t tell the prince that.

“It is my job to look after my men,” Daemon said. “A troubled mind does no one any good.”

Aemond huffed. “I was thinking about my brother.”

Daemon snorted. “Ah, yes. I saw him earlier today, you know. You’d think it was his first day in the keep, the way he looked like a lost puppy as he ran around doing a servant’s work.”

The younger man clenched his fists. Daemon had seemed to take his distance from Aegon as an excuse to insult his brother blatantly. Any other day, Aemond might have defended him at his own peril, but today, he hesitated. “I’m not sure if I made the right choice, in truth,” he told the prince.

He worried he was a bit harsh in his words to Aegon, if not in his actions. He had said that Aegon’s work was an embarrassment to the family only because he knew it would hurt him the most. He didn’t know how to apologize for that though, or if he even should.

Daemon nodded. “Brothers can be a mess at times. Mine own exiled me thrice in his life,” he mused. “And yet, here I stand, returned to Westeros with honors.”

“Only after he died,” Aemond reminded him.

For a moment, there was a twitch on Daemon’s face. Something like bitterness or regret, he wasn’t sure. “It was a tragedy, the loss of my brother,” he said. Aemond hid his scowl expertly. “But, speaking as the frequent cause of our estrangements, I know that my brother made the wise decision, every time.”

Aemond narrowed his eye. “How so?”

“I would not be the man I am today if I was able to rest on my laurels and my brother’s constant forgiveness,” Daemon told him. “I would not have won glory in the Stepstones or married my darling wife. I may have grown as fat and complacent as those dry cunts in the keep had my brother not stripped me of my council seats and put a sword in my hand instead.”

The boy chuckled at the idea of Daemon being a boring bookkeeper like Lord Beesbury.

Daemon stood and patted him on the shoulder. “Leave Aegon to his own devices. He’ll sink or swim on his own and no matter which, you will be all the better for it,” he said. “Now, come with me.”

The order surprised him. “I still have work left to do here.”

“I’m the Commander, I say what work you will do, and someone else will do this,” Daemon answered, his demeanor suddenly cold again.

“Where are we going?” Aemond asked warily. Much as he would like to get out of the barracks, he worried about his injuries getting worse. His mother was worried enough for him as it was.

Daemon threw an arm around Aemond’s neck, pulling him forward a tad too tightly, with a wry grin on his face. “My captains have been dying to meet this nephew of mine. We’re all going on patrol.” Noticing the unenthused look on Aemond’s face, Daemon’s smile tightened, almost menacingly, “Not to worry, Waters, you’ll fit in well.” His uncle hit his chest, attempting to be playful but Aemond grunted at the blow.

Aemond wasn’t sure if he wanted to fit in with Daemon’s lackeys but was pulled along regardless, towards the city streets where the gold cloaks waited to hunt.

The flames in the hearth flickered softly, a crackling sound filled Queen Rhaenyra’s room as the heat chased away the chill coming in from the window. It was late at night, the moon high in the sky, with candles lit all around the room.

Alicent attempted to relax, sipping her cup of wine. After the night Alicent gave her the embroidery gift on Dragonstone, they’d fallen into a routine of spending time together after dinner to wind down. Aegon’s incident had thrown those plans awry for a while but they’d returned to their usual schedule soon enough. It was always easy to talk to Rhaenyra, she felt more comfortable and free to speak her mind. However, that was on Dragonstone. It was a good deal different now that they were back in King’s Landing.

Perhaps it shouldn’t be so different, Alicent bemoaned. The queen was still the same and their conversation flowed just as smoothly, only the room had changed. Now, they spent time in the queen’s quarters, the old king’s quarters.

Alicent truly tried to not let it bother her. She didn’t want to let memories of him sour her time with Rhaenyra. But she’d spent many nights in this room before, none of them were pleasant.

“How did Aegon do today?” Alicent asked, to ward off her ill thoughts. She sat in a chair by the hearth, shivering a little.

Rhaenyra had no such issues with the temperature. She lounged lazily across from Alicent, part of her attention focused on a half-finished cyvasse game that Rhaenyra had played with Laena earlier, seemingly already trying to plan out her next move for when they resumed tomorrow.

“As well as can be expected, I suppose,” Rhaenyra answered. “It was a bit of a relief that he showed up at all, no offense.”

Alicent hummed, noncommittally. She knew Aegon was not the most reliable but even he knew how important it was to not endanger the chance he was given.

“I cannot thank you enough for the generosity you’ve shown him and-” Alicent started.

“You’ll never have to thank me, Alicent,” Rhaenyra told her. It was becoming a bit of a habit, how often Alicent thanked her and Rhaenyra said it was unnecessary. She never wanted to, even for a moment, take the queen’s kindness for granted though.

Perhaps she should give her another token of her gratitude, Alicent thought. She wasn’t quite sure what but she would have to figure it out soon.

Rhaenyra sighed then. “I think Lord Corlys is cross with me about this situation, on the other hand. Lord Tyland and Daemon too, I suspect.”

Alicent had never spoken to Lord Corlys properly, only having a few brief interactions during the tourney when they were in the royal box and her father’s stories of him to go off of. Still, Laenor and Laena were some of the kindest nobles she’d ever met, it surprised her to hear that about their father.

Lord Tyland, on the other hand, did not make his distaste for her a secret over the years. He was never quite malicious but his words were curt and his eyes judgmental. Daemon did not shock her in the least.

“Lord Corlys?” She inquired.

Rhaenyra waved it off. “He does not want further ire drawn to the crown and thinks Aegon’s status and other job reflects poorly on us. I told him, in no uncertain terms, it was not his decision to make. Besides, he’s only pouring wine and performing chores. I doubt the realm will crumble to pieces over this,” she joked.

Alicent chuckled half-heartedly, shuffling uncomfortably in her seat. The last thing her family needed was more attention and scorn drawn to them. If Rhaenyra was sure all would be well, Alicent supposed she should believe her, yet her stomach still twisted in knots in worry all the same.

The mention of Aegon’s work, his bastard status, the trouble he’d gotten in, it all weighed on her as well. “I feel like I made so many mistakes with him,” Alicent confessed. She’d never said it out loud before. “I was hardly ready to be a mother then.”

Aegon had such energy in his youth, she could hardly ever keep up all on her own, especially after his siblings came along. He once told her that he was quite content with his life in Flea Bottom, working at the pleasure house, but the guilt still gnawed at Alicent.

If she had been better equipped, if he had a proper father and a true name, everything would be different, for him and all his siblings.

“I think you did rather well, considering the circumstances,” Rhaenyra assured her. The intent to help warmed her but she struggled to believe it. Rhaenyra’s tone turned a bit somber as she continued, “We all have regrets as parents.”

“What would you do differently, if you could?” Alicent asked, curious.

“What would I change…” Rhaenyra mused aloud for a moment. “The day Daemon came back to Dragonstone, after the Stepstones War, he invited me out to go explore the villages nearby. I’d been too wrapped up in my own grief and loneliness to leave Dragonstone’s castle.”

Alicent made a sound of recognition, vaguely recalling this tale from years ago, though she hadn’t paid it much mind then.

“He took me to taverns and brothels, it was a rather enjoyable night. When I returned to the castle, I was not satisfied though. That was the first night I laid with Ser Harwin,” Rhaenyra spoke wistfully, lost in her own memories. “I should’ve sent a raven the next day. I should’ve told my father that I’d found the husband I wanted. I was too distracted, enthralled with something new and real, I thought we had all the time in the world.”

“Then, the king got word of your activities with Daemon,” she recalled.

Rhaenyra nodded, the look in her eyes turning melancholic. “He visited me on Dragonstone and declared he’d had enough waiting. I was to marry Ser Laenor and nothing would change his mind on that matter.” She sighed. “I would’ve saved myself and my children a lot of heartache if I hadn’t been so damned careless.”

Alicent offered her a sympathetic look. “I think my regrets are much the same as yours,” she said. “If I had just…I don’t know,” Alicent started but lost her words.

She’d thought about it every single day, how else she might’ve handled the king’s advances. It haunted her day and night, her failure a constant plague on her family. “There must be something I could’ve done differently,” she told her.

The look in Rhaenyra’s eyes turned to confusion as she spoke. “What you could have done differently?”

Alicent shrugged. “Presented myself in a different manner, more suitable as a wife. If I had been more insistent on marriage or perhaps I gave the king the wrong impression. I’m not sure-”

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra interrupted, leaning forward to clasp Alicent’s hand with her own. Alicent had not even noticed she had begun to pick at the skin around her fingers again with tiny drops of blood seeping out. “None of that was your fault.”

She yanked her hand back and picked at her fingers unconsciously. “I was not the one to make the plan, but the blame falls to me for not executing it.”

Rhaenyra quickly moved to sit next to Alicent, cradling her hands to stop her from worsening the blood flow. “My father’s sins are not yours to bear. You had no choice in the matter.”

“But it was my fault, I-” Alicent’s breath hitched and her muscles tensed, memories rushing to the surface. The day her life fell apart, when the king cornered her against the table, simply making the assumption that she would gladly be his paramour. The glower on her father’s face at the news, how she failed to be a wife and he would have to settle for less.

It had to be her fault, she reasoned. It had to be. There must’ve been something else she could’ve done, something that would’ve changed everything. If there wasn’t, if she had been doomed from the start by the king’s lustful malice…

Alicent shook the thought away. It made her feel far too helpless.

“Why else wouldn’t he want to marry me, if I hadn’t done something wrong?” Alicent croaked out. Her eyes welled up with tears and she suddenly couldn’t bear to look at Rhaenyra. It wasn’t fair to her, Alicent shouldn’t tear down her memories of her father like this.

The queen brushed her hand against Alicent’s cheek, lightly wiping her tears away. “There is nothing wrong with you and it was certainly nothing that you did. My father…” Rhaenyra struggled to find the words.

“Why then?” Alicent asked, even though she knew Rhaenyra didn’t have the answer. “Why didn’t he just marry me?” The question had echoed in her mind since that day. It would’ve been easy, it was the right thing, the proper thing, to do. He cared enough to force her to stay with him for decades but not enough to put her under his protection in the eyes of the gods? Was he ashamed of her and thought her unworthy of being queen? Or perhaps he was still so wrapped up in his grief over Queen Aemma yet thought little of bedding another woman regardless?

“I don’t know,” Rhaenyra admitted. “I don’t think I ever truly knew my father, not the man that was capable of such cruelty and disregard.” The queen wrapped Alicent in a tight embrace as the memories continued to flood her mind. Alicent could do little to protest, only weeping into the princess’ shoulder.

Alicent chastised herself again. She’d gone and ruined their pleasant night, forcing the queen to comfort her again. She couldn’t stop the flow of tears though. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered quietly but Rhaenyra only lightly shushed her.

At the very least, Alicent felt a bit better in Rhaenyra’s arms, safe and cared for.

“I do know that you had no fault in all that happened, Alicent,” Rhaenyra repeated. “Not a single bit. No one with any sense would ever blame you for this. Not your mother or the Seven or me.”

Alicent took a shaky breath, leaning her head against Rhaenyra’s shoulder. It seemed like such a simple sentiment but it was more than her family ever afforded her before. She wasn’t quite sure if she believed it yet, truthfully.

In the quiet of Rhaenyra’s chambers though, the queen whispering assurances in her ear and chasing away her tears, Alicent felt like she could start to accept it.

Chapter Text

Aemond stared long and hard at the mirror. He traced the curve of his scar across his eye and studied the piece of marble placed in the socket. He ran a hand through his hair, still getting used to how short it was now, even four moons after he cut it on Dragonstone.

It was his name day today. Six and ten, he was officially a man grown now.

It didn’t feel any different, truthfully. He felt like he had been a man for years, looking after his younger siblings and working in the City Watch. His older brother was caught up in his own life and their father certainly didn’t do anything for them, it always fell to him to be their rock.

Name days were small affairs in his family but he preferred it like that. When he was ready, Aemond emerged from his chamber and joined his family in their mother’s room to break their fast. Their chambers were their own now, one for each of the five of them. Queen Rhaenyra saw fit to move them after hearing of their rather cramped previous living arrangements months ago.

His mother wasted no time, hugging him tight and pressing a kiss to his brow. “Look at you, all grown into a man. It still feels like it was yesterday when you were just a boy who couldn’t bear to part with me, when you spent hours in my father’s stuffy office learning your sums.”

Aemond was a bit sheepish at the memory but thankfully, it was brushed past quickly as Daeron was practically bouncing in his seat. “Happy name day! Open your gifts!” Daeron insisted.

“We should eat first, no?” Aemond asked as he and his mother settled into their seats, but his little brother seemed adamant. Helaena didn’t share his vocal enthusiasm but she slid her gift across the table to him silently as a way of conveying the same thought.

He relented easily.

Helaena’s gift was first. It was a pair of leather gloves that she had made herself, using material she got from Lady Elyana, as she explained. He tried them on quickly, they were a bit large for him but he’d been needing a new pair anyway. “Thank you,” he said and Helaena grinned softly, celebrating to herself.

His mother had gotten him a tome full of Dornish history, from Nymeria’s landing in the region up to their squabbles with House Targaryen. It had been a while since he was truly passionate about learning history but he still enjoyed it from time to time. Dorne in particular was always interesting to him, a land where bastards and paramours were not as frowned upon. He thanked his mother as well for the present.

Daeron was the most excited. He was surprised when Daeron pulled out a helm to give him. It was clearly old, but it fit him well. It covered his face fully, with only a thin slit in the visor to see through, as well as a pair of wing-like features on the back of the helm. They resembled Daemon’s wings on his helm, but they were sharper, leaner, and with less ridges. The wings were also more pointed backwards instead of upwards.

Daeron had apparently worked with the blacksmiths in the Red Keep on occasion. He couldn’t make anything this impressive by himself, but they had made the helm years ago and gave it to him as a gift. Daeron thought it was perfect for Aemond. He thanked his brother and pulled him into a hug.

The family settled into breakfast at last then. It was quiet but nice, a relaxing break from his usual companions in the City Watch. Daeron spent most of the time regaling them of his latest training session where he, Prince Jacaerys, and Prince Lucerys together managed to trip and knock down Ser Criston.

A knock at the door interrupted their meal. Ser Harrold entered when his mother pulled open the door. “Lady Alicent,” he nodded his head at her. “And Aemond, just the man I was looking for.”

Aemond rose from his chair at that and concern rushed through him. For a moment, he worried the knight brought ill news.

“Her Grace apologizes that she couldn’t be here in person to deliver it but she has a busy schedule today.” Ser Harrold turned to a servant that was outside the room and out of their view. They handed him a box and he turned back to the family. “The queen offers you this gift for your name day.”

Aemond was more confused than anything at first. He and the queen weren’t close by any means. They’d spoken only a handful of times, always cordial but short. He didn’t even know that she knew today was his name day, perhaps his mother or Prince Daemon mentioned it to her.

He had no reason to refuse the gift though. Cautiously, he took the box out of Ser Harrold’s hands and laid it on the nearby table. Inside, he found a dark blue coat, lined with fur, that fit him exactly. Winter had settled over Westeros and even in King’s Landing, it could get terribly cold patrolling the streets. Even with his money from the Watch, he hadn’t the coin to get such a jacket for himself, especially not one of such high quality. It was a thoughtful present.

“Give my thanks to Her Grace,” Aemond told the Kingsguard, bowing his head. Ser Harrold nodded and took his leave. Daeron crowded around the table, wanting to get a good look at the gift, meanwhile his mother seemed even more pleased by the present than he was, for some reason.

Soon enough, breakfast had come to an end. Helaena had to scamper off to her duties with Lady Elyana and Daeron was determined to beat Jace today in a sparring match, meanwhile his mother had a meeting with the queen. Part of Aemond hoped they might all share a meal again tonight at dinner, if his City Watch schedule allowed for it.

As they said their goodbyes, none of them addressed the gaping hole in their celebration.

Every year, their family always celebrated their name days together. Even as Aegon drifted deeper into his cups and Flea Bottom, he had never missed a day before.

Aemond huffed. None of my concern, he brushed it off. He was the one who pushed Aegon away, it shouldn’t bother him- it didn’t bother him in the least that he didn’t show up.

He marched off to the training yard to find Prince Daemon. A sparring session was just what he needed.

“This is lovely, Alicent,” Rhaenyra grinned, closely inspecting the ring the other woman had given her. It had a red jewel in the center flanked by two smaller green ones, connected by a thin gold band. “Thank you.”

“It is the least that I could do,” Alicent remarked. She sat across from Rhaenyra at a small table. Ostensibly, they were supposed to be having a meeting about their stocks of food for the winter, but Rhaenyra had gotten distracted telling a story about Jace’s seventh name day, when he ate so many lemon cakes that he threw up, and the conversation had veered off course after that, leading to Alicent giving Rhaenyra the ring like she’d been meaning to for some days.

Since they returned from Dragonstone, it had become a habit for Alicent to buy or make new gifts for the queen. Initially, she had wanted to simply show her gratitude to Rhaenyra but she had since devolved into giving the presents for the mere sake of it. She enjoyed the way Rhaenyra’s eyes always lit up like it was the most treasured item in all the world.

“I love it, truly,” Rhaenyra said, slipping the ring onto her finger with ease.

Alicent chastised herself when the wide grin on the queen’s face sent a flutter down to her stomach. It was a friendly gift, nothing more, and Alicent should not be perverting it with her own sinful desires.

Besides, there was an element of gratitude still there, she justified to herself. Just recently, Rhaenyra had given her family new chambers so that they all might have some privacy from each other. Alicent was a bit reluctant, she’d kept the same chambers as her children since Aegon was a babe, but they were growing up and did not need their mother hovering, she knew.

“It looks wonderful on you,” she responded, before she could think better of it. She instantly wanted to retract her words but the soft curve of the queen’s lips gave her pause. Rhaenyra reached out to place her hand over Alicent’s, holding her palm just right and circling her thumb across Alicent’s hand. There was a flicker in Rhaenyra’s eyes, noticing then that Alicent had a similar ring to hers, with a green jewel surrounded by red.

The traitorous flutter returned even worse but Alicent could not bring herself to pull away. A beat of silence passed, the two staring at each other. Her brown eyes met violet, shining in the sun pouring in from the window.

They were torn from the moment when the chamber door opened abruptly. Her son, Aegon, came waltzing in without a care. “Your Grace, I figured out where I heard that name, Petyr Perryn, before. He knows my friend, Joffrey, rather intimately,” he snorted in laughter, taking a moment to realize Rhaenyra was not alone in her chambers. “Mother,” he nodded at her.

Alicent smiled back. She’d seen much less of her eldest son over the past months, he was always busy between his two jobs. She thought it was a great shame that he missed their celebration with Aemond that morning, but she knew her sons were on shaky terms and dwelling on that only brought her misery. He looked well though, in a set of new dark-colored clothes he’d bought just for his work with the queen.

Once Aegon’s eyes briefly flitted down to their conjoined hands, the queen quickly yanked her hand back, as if they’d been caught doing something wrong. She cleared her throat, “Did you deliver my letter to Ser Perryn?”

Aegon darted his gaze between Alicent and Rhaenyra for a few moments, a questioning look on his face, before he answered hesitantly. “Yes, I think he recognized me too, though. Regardless, he said he would write to his father on your behalf.”

“That’s good,” Rhaenyra spoke, her words noticeably strained. She hurriedly looked through the documents that were scattered half-heartedly on the table, trying to find something else for Aegon. After a few moments, she gave up. “You can take the rest of the day off, actually. Good work.”

There was something odd in Aegon’s expression then. Like a realization but Alicent hadn’t a guess what he could be thinking of. Regardless, her son was not one to refuse the chance to avoid work, so he took his leave quickly with a lingering glance in the queen’s direction.

Alicent asked idly, “Is Aegon doing well in his position?”

Rhaenyra took a heavy breath then. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”

She raised an eyebrow at that, those words hardly inspired confidence.

“He gets here on time and doesn’t reek of ale, which is better than he was. He’s stayed out of trouble, as far as I know,” Rhaenyra explained. “Still though, his distaste for me has not subsided. He loathes that I make him do this yet I cannot let him relieve him of it until I’m certain he’ll not spread gossip about my children again. And it seems the longer he works for me, the more he resents it, which only makes me less certain that I can trust him. It’s a maddening cycle.”

Alicent nodded, not surprised but saddened all the same. It was a precarious position that her son had placed the queen in. Alicent had spoken to him, trying to make him understand that Rhaenyra was not their enemy, but it never lasted. At the very least, he wasn’t fighting with nobles and hadn’t mentioned a word about dragons in the past months. It was something, but not nearly enough.

Rhaenyra tapped her hand then, bringing her back to reality. “What say we get back to the matter at hand?” The queen said, pointing at the documents they’d been reviewing.

Right, the stores of food for the winter, Alicent reminded herself. She could certainly use the distraction from her worries.

“Of course. Where were we?”

Aemond winced from the harsh clap on his back. Even wearing thick clothes and with his wounds mostly healed, there were still flares of pain from the burn scars on his back. Ser Luthor paid his discomfort little mind though.

The burly man laughed loudly, hurting Aemond’s ears a bit, and drank from his cup sloppily, spilling more than a bit on his trousers. Of all of Daemon’s companions, Aemond cared for Ser Luthor the least.

Truth be told, Aemond didn’t particularly like any of the captains that Daemon had introduced him to over the past months. Ser Alton was a tall man with a short temper, he never liked repeating himself yet mumbled every word, a poor combination. Ser Byren was a bit more lax but a twat all the same. He had won glory in the Stepstones and intended to never let anyone forget that. Ser Otter was Ironborn through and through. He treated everyone, save the Prince, as if they were mere servants on his crew.

That was only the beginning. Daemon had invited dozens of his most trusted men in the City Watch to a night of revelry in a brothel he’d bought out. He said it was for Aemond’s name day but Aemond hardly believed that. He was glad that the prince abandoned the pretense quickly, not wanting the attention.

At least, he was thankful that they didn’t go to Aegon’s brothel this time. It was a much more expensive looking place, higher in the Street of Silk. Not that it made any difference to Aemond’s inclination to join his brothers-in-arms in their ventures.

Ser Luthor attempted to joke with him about some thief he’d taken in the other night. How the man had acted proud and defiant about his crime then turned into a sobbing mess the moment he brought out the butcher’s knife. None of the man’s pleading saved his three fingers though. Luthor grew bored with him soon though and took off to find a whore’s company, to Aemond’s relief.

He only had a brief respite before Prince Daemon sauntered over, a pair of cups in his hand. “I’ve never seen someone have less fun at a brothel. It’s impressive, in a way,” Daemon quipped, handing Aemond one of the cups without a word. It was some wine he’d never had before but he might as well drink it. “You ought to go enjoy yourself. It’s your name day.”

“I’m perfectly well right where I am,” Aemond answered.

Daemon laughed like it was a joke. “You never seem to want to partake. Why is that?”

Aemond wrung his hands together for a few moments, unsure whether to tell Daemon the truth. Moons had passed since Daemon first made his offer of tentative friendship yet no trap had swung closed on him. At times, he almost seemed genuine in his enjoyment of Aemond’s company. Still, the bastard remained wary and alert.

This secret surely couldn’t hurt though. “Perhaps it is foolish, but I have seen my mother’s pain over the years. My life has not been so easy, either. Bedding someone outside of marriage, to even risk siring a bastard myself…I would prefer to avoid that,” Aemond explained, his voice stilted.

Daemon’s expression was unreadable for a handful of seconds. The prince’s face twitched and he took a drink of his wine. Just when the silence became overbearing, Daemon’s lips curled into a smirk. “If you’d prefer it, they also have male whores. But, of course, your brother made sure you knew of them already.”

It was a dumb joke, not even particularly funny, but it made Aemond chuckle all the same. Perhaps only because Daemon didn’t mock him for what he said, for once.

Thankfully, they turned away from that topic afterwards. A few of Daemon’s companions came by their table as the night went on. The wine in his system made them a bit easier to deal with. Dare he say it, he had a bit of fun on occasion, listening to their stories. 

Some were also veterans of the Stepstones and one man boasted of surviving the Crabfeeder’s torture, with the nail scars on his hand to prove it. More often though, their stories were beyond fanciful and into the realm of complete fiction. One man claimed he was a former wildling who had scaled up and down the Wall to start a new life in the south, while another said he was royalty back in his homeland of Yi Ti but had been exiled in some war of succession.

Ridiculous stories, but it was a good bit of fun to entertain them for the night.

At one point in the night, Daemon took note of his new coat. “It was from Her Grace,” Aemond told him.

Aemond was too drunk to read into the odd glint in Daemon’s eye before he steeled his expression and laughed. “Careful, you might get a lord’s taste with gifts like that.”

It was not his preferred way to spend the night of his name day, but by the end of it, Aemond felt a bit lighter and glad he had gone. He started trudging back to the keep after Daemon went off to fuck one of the workers who had caught his eye. It was late by then, the moon high above the city, which was as alive as ever with crowds gathering to watch plays and cheap tricks by anyone desperate for coin.

The trek back was cold and a bit of a blur with all the wine going to his head. The scar on his eye itched and ached, a not uncommon occurrence. He’d gotten used to the brief flares of pain every so often.

Arriving home at the Red Keep, Aemond hurried through the halls to his chambers. It was late already and he had an early patrol. What he most assuredly did not expect to see as he turned the corner to his room was Aegon glancing around, presumably making sure no one saw him as he exited Aemond’s quarters.

“What are you doing?” Aemond barked, his words unfortunately slurring together and making his tone less intimidating than he intended.

Aegon startled. “Aemond, where were you?”

“I was with the Commander. Not that it’s any of your concern,” Aemond noted.

“Prince Daemon?” Aegon raised an eyebrow. “That must’ve been a poor time. You have my sympathies.”

“He’s a good deal better company than I used to keep,” Aemond responded pointedly. “Not that you would know anything about Daemon.”

Aegon stared at him, long and hard, then he scoffed and shook his head. “I didn’t realize you were one of Daemon’s dogs now.”

He huffed and ignored his insult. “What were you doing?” Aemond asked again.

“Just wondering where my brother went. He’s certainly not here,” Aegon mocked and shoved past him, out of sight.

Aemond was too exhausted to go after him and start the fight anew. It felt like a trial every time he saw Aegon. With each time, at least, he became less surprised that Aegon had still done little to change in all their time apart. He hated that it still pained him though.

With a huff, Aemond went into his chambers, intent on sleeping for the night. He paused in his steps however once he saw an object placed on the bed that he didn’t remember setting there.

He took a careful step forward and picked it up. It was a metal brooch, its bronze color shining in the candlelight but parts of it showed signs of its age. It was in the shape of a shield, he recalled seeing a similar brooch fastened to the shirt of some of his fellow gold cloaks. He immediately wondered if Daemon sent this but then, that would not explain why it was left here without a message. 

Aegon, he realized then. A name day gift but not one he was brave enough to give himself after their months estranged. Aemond hummed and turned the brooch in his hand, inspecting it.

If Aegon thought this was enough to make it right, he was sorely mistaken. Though, part of him could not deny a small sense of relief at his brother had not forgotten his name day. With a sigh, he put the gift away inside of a chest of his belongings.

In the morning, he got prepared for his day of patrol, and the brooch was left in the darkness of the trunk.

Perhaps, at this point, Alicent should stop being surprised when Aegon insisted upon causing issues for the queen. She had hoped these outbursts were behind them, at least for the time being.

And yet, over the last few days, Rhaenyra had bemoaned the renewed anger towards her from Aegon. He was cold and curt to her, every request was met with derision. Were he not under the threat of banishment to the Wall, Alicent did not doubt he would make his disdain more vocal, if he even continued showing up at all.

Alicent was determined to put a stop to it before it boiled over into a larger scandal this time. Early in the morning one day, before the Small Council meeting, Alicent entered Aegon’s chambers. It was just after he’d come back from his work at the pleasure house, still reeking of ale and filth. At the very least, she supposed, it didn’t seem like he had actually drunk any of the ale that night, for his mind seemed as clear as ever.

She was to have dinner with the queen that night, for no real reason beyond the joy of it, and hoped to come with good news of solving her problems with Aegon for the time being.

“Mother,” he greeted flatly. “I’m rather busy at the moment.” He pulled out his usual clothes for the meetings from a trunk under his bed as he talked.

“Aegon, whatever this revitalized hatred you have for the queen stems from, it must cease,” Alicent told him. “Your station is delicate enough as it is, you cannot be giving Rhaenyra further reason to mistrust you.”

Aegon sighed at the lecture. He stretched lazily, clearly not taking her words seriously. “Of course, we wouldn’t want to upset Rhaenyra ,” he mocked.

“I’ve no idea where you get your arrogance,” Alicent scoffed. “You could be cast out of the city, or worse, much worse. I thought you understood this, why’ve you gone back again?”

Her son looked at her oddly. “Must I say it? I have eyes, I can see what is in front of me.”

“What do you mean?” She demanded.

“The reason she is so lenient with us, I figured it out,” Aegon answered.

Alicent hadn’t the faintest idea what her son was talking about. Rhaenyra was merciful because she was kind. She wanted to know her siblings and make right what her father did to them.

“The queen, mother,” Aegon began. His gaze turned to something akin to pity. “She desires you.”

Alicent’s first instinct was to let out a nervous laugh.

That was ridiculous. Completely. Alicent’s own sinful urges were her own burden to bear. Someone like Rhaenyra, who the gods shined upon, would surely not be afflicted with the same. Besides, Rhaenyra had loved Ser Harwin. It was absurd, categorically, to believe such a thing.

“That’s not true,” she said, the words coming out weaker than she intended.

“I think I’ve worked at a brothel long enough to recognize lust when I see it,” Aegon reminded her. His words had none of their usual amusement, like he regretted having to tell her. “Just like her father, through and through.”

Rhaenyra is nothing like the king, she wanted to insist. The king never listened to what she said, not truly. He never laughed at her jokes or inquired about her thoughts on a matter or spent time with her just for the sake of it. Rhaenyra was her friend , it made all the difference.

“She’s not been doing all of this-” he gestured to the room, a gift from the queen to each of them out of the kindness of her heart, “-for us. She’s doing it for you. And when she gets what she wants…” His expression softened. “She’ll toss us all to the side, I suspect.”

Alicent shook her head hurriedly. She couldn’t believe Rhaenyra would ever be so callous. “This is why you’ve scorned her anew?”

Aegon nodded. “I do the work I must but I’ll not play the happy servant while she prowls around trying to-” he cut himself off then but Alicent knew full well what he would’ve said. There was only one end goal of Rhaenyra’s desires , as he saw them. “She’s a danger to you, mother. You must see that.”

She took a shaky breath, still disbelieving his words. Aegon shifted on his feet, a tad uncomfortable with the tension that had grown in the room. Mindlessly, Alicent spoke, “It is a gift, the mercy the queen has shown you.” Aegon looked like he wanted to interrupt but she silenced him with a look. “You will not waste it. Now get dressed, she’ll be expecting you soon.”

With that, she left him to prepare. She needed a moment alone to herself. Even though she could barely hear anything else with her thoughts raging, a quiet phrase was uttered from Aegon as she left. “I’m sorry,” he said, though for what specifically he didn’t say.

Alicent walked through the keep on her lonesome, trying to make sense of all her disparate thoughts. It simply could not be true, she reasoned. Aegon saw a threat where there was none, all to justify his own anger.

The Seven had cursed her for her own sins, they would not do the same to Rhaenyra. But then, she figured, Laenor’s own preferences were not dissimilar. It was not the most outlandish thing to think that Rhaenyra was the same…

No, she shook her head. She sped up her movements, weaving through the small crowds of nobles making their way through the keep, trying to give herself something else to think about.

She could not entertain the idea that Aegon was correct. Rhaenyra was her friend, the queen valued her opinion and friendship and nothing more. The queen invited her for dinner that night, in her chambers, alone , because she enjoyed her company.

If it was true, if it was true, her anxious mind whirred.

What would that mean? That Rhaenyra only ever befriended her with foul intentions? More cunning and subtle than her father, waiting months and luring her in with her companionship, but the same deep down.

The very idea made Alicent want to wail. Rhaenyra made her feel safe and appreciated for the first time in so long. To think that it was an act. All the gifts she’d given, all the compliments she’d bestowed, all the time they spent together, they were merely a ruse to get her to lower her guard. It could not possibly have all been some cruel lie to get what she wanted, could it?

“Alicent?” A voice tore her from her thoughts. She hurriedly batted at her eyes, not knowing when tears started to form. “Careful, careful,” they said, grabbing her arms gently to stop her from doing so after a moment. Blinking away the tears, she could see Laena more clearly, as well as the blood pouring liberally from her fingertips, the skin torn haphazardly.

She likely looked like a mess, tears and blood staining her cheeks now.

“What’s happened?” Laena inquired softly.

Alicent opened her mouth to answer but no words came out. Part of her mind tormented her, did Laena know the truth? Was their friendship a part of Rhaenyra’s darkling scheme as well?

She shook her head furiously then. She shouldn’t make wild accusations like that. There was still the chance that Aegon was wrong. With an apology, Alicent pulled herself from Laena’s grip and set off in the other direction, despite the lady calling after her.

Worrying about this would drive her mad, she knew. She waited in her rooms, trying to calm herself over the next hours. She cleaned her face and tended to the wounds on her fingers. Alicent resolved that there was only one way to solve this matter and that was to ask Rhaenyra for the truth plainly tonight at dinner.

The queen would probably laugh and deny it, just another of Aegon’s aggravating antics. It would be a weight off of Alicent’s shoulders and nothing needed to change between them.

When the time came though and she marched up to the queen’s chambers, her anxieties began to rage again. What if the queen grew wroth at such an accusation from Aegon? It surely was not worse than the incidents on Dragonstone, but perhaps it would be the breaking point. What if she thought it was Alicent propositioning her, in truth, and labeled her a deviant? No, she wouldn’t. Rhaenyra wasn’t cruel. And yet…

Worst of all, what if it was true? What would the queen do once the deception was over?

Alicent clasped her hands tightly to her arms to prevent her from picking at her fingers again.

“The Lady Alicent Hightower, Your Grace,” Ser Criston announced when she arrived at the queen’s chambers, far too soon for Alicent’s liking.

She peered inside, seeing Rhaenyra fiddling with a small table. Food was already laid out for them, meanwhile Rhaenyra moved candles around like she was trying to make it look perfect.

The queen smiled brighter than the sun when she saw Alicent. “Yes, come in. I’m glad you could join me.”

Alicent bit the inside of her cheek. She took a deep breath, blinked her eyes rapidly, then took the first shaky steps into the chamber.

Ser Criston closed the door behind her with a horrible thud.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra acted as if nothing was amiss. She didn’t know, after all. She greeted Alicent warmly, eager to show her the selection of food that the servants prepared and the elaborate decorations for the table. Rhaenyra spoke about her day, laughing and grinning, as she always did. Alicent tried to nod along, speak when it was proper, but there was no joy in it, not today.

As they ate, her thoughts were plagued by her own doubts and fears. Alicent gripped her own arms desperately, trying to resist the urge to pick at her nails. Her mind was at war with itself. One side going mad with worry about the queen’s true nature, the other protesting, hoping against hope that it was not true.

The former made her chastise herself. How stupid could you be, to have missed all the signs? The position as Laenor’s assistant to keep close, with weekly meetings alone with the queen. The trip to Dragonstone, a lavish gift to sequester her away from court. Seven hells, she could’ve been behind Laenor naming her Queen of Love and Beauty, showing all the realm that her position had not changed with the new royal family.

The other part of her mind reminded her of the many hours she’s spent in the queen’s company. Rhaenyra had been endlessly patient and kind to her and her children. For once, Alicent felt safe and happy in the life she’d made, thanks to Rhaenyra’s help. Their friendship could not all have been a ruse.

Just ask her, her thoughts insisted. Better to know for sure than to keep worrying yourself sendless.

The certainty of the truth would bring a whole slew of other problems with it though, she knew.

“Alicent?” Rhaenyra asked, breaking through the raging storm of her thoughts. “Are you well?” Evidently, her turmoil had not gone unnoticed.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Alicent answered, her voice timid and unconvincing. She met Rhaenyra’s eye for a brief moment, finding them concerned and inviting. Alicent broke her gaze quickly, staring down at her untouched food.

“Your Grace?” Rhaenyra questioned and Alicent clenched her hands, not even realizing her mistake until then. The queen always insisted upon being called by her name, they were friends and the title was too formal. 

Rhaenyra sighed and fiddled with the rings on her fingers, including the red jewel ring that Alicent had gotten her. A beat passed in silence. Rhaenyra clearly noticed something was wrong, but Alicent couldn’t find the words to say to explain it. Any answer to the question burning in her mind would terrify her, she was sure.

“I spoke to Laena earlier,” the queen began tentatively. “She said you were upset about something. I don’t wish to pry but if you want to talk about it, you know I am always here to listen and help in whatever way I can.” Rhaenyra reached her hand across the table with an encouraging, soft smile forming on her lips.

Alicent regretted that her first instinct was to accept the outstretched hand. Rhaenyra’s touch was always warm and comforting, it might soothe her worries, if only for a time. She saw the red and green jewels of the ring she’d gifted to Rhaenyra on her finger. Had I given her the wrong impression with the gift? She picked at her fingernails then, the wince of pain a penance for her thoughts.

Just ask her. It probably won’t even be true and you’ve troubled everyone, yourself included, for nothing.

“Rhaenyra, what is this?” She asked after a moment, her voice strained and exhausted from the day of uncertainty. “What are we doing here?”

The queen was caught off guard by the question, clearly unsure of how to answer. “What do you mean?” She inquired.

Alicent bit down on her tongue, not wanting to continue. As soon as the words left her, there would be no going back. The fragile life she’d made would be upended, one way or another.

She took a long, shaky breath and wiped the blood from her fingertips. “When you first offered me my position, was that…” she trailed off, not knowing how to say it. “That is to say, did you- do you… desire me?”

There was a silence, the longest seconds of Alicent’s life, and the briefest shift in Rhaenyra’s gaze that told her all she needed to know.

Alicent’s heart sank.

There was a conflict in Rhaenyra’s face, like she wanted to deny it but saw the recognition on Alicent’s face. Her secret was out and there was no going back. The queen seemed as hesitant and worried as she was. She knew just as well that any confession would launch into a long and exhausting confrontation, yet she could not lie to Alicent. 

She deserved the truth. 

“Yes,” Rhaenyra responded, barely a whisper but it pounded in Alicent’s ears.

Alicent let out the breath she was holding, half in relief and half a whimper.

Rhaenyra was still caught off guard by the entire situation. She never had planned to tell Alicent of her feelings, much less expected to be confronted about them directly. Regardless, it was clear the confession had shaken Alicent and, from the growing look of panic on her face, she was not glad for it.

“But, Alicent, you must know that I never intended to say anything. I would never wish to pressure you,” Rhaenyra scrambled to explain.

Alicent, however, was hardly listening to the queen. Every bit of hope she still had that it was not as it seemed was shattered. Lost in her own mind, Alicent’s worries ran rampant with the truth finally laid bare.

She remembered the king’s salacious gaze. His desire was plain to see, even in the days she spent with him, before their relationship. At the very least, in those days, there was an air of restraint, a veil of kindness that gave her a small bit of futile hope that he had no interest in her. He told her once that he found her presence a great comfort in his grief. Any comfort she might have found in the amiable, doddering old man he acted like was quickly snuffed out when he brought her to his bed.

As Alicent’s breathing picked up, becoming quick and shaky, she wondered if it would be the same with Rhaenyra. Losing the safety she felt with her friend, seeing the act melt away until her lustful, predatory eyes were all that she could see, it made Alicent’s stomach lurch.

I can’t do it all again, I won’t, she promised herself.

The harsh scrape of her chair against the floor sounded through the room as Alicent backed up, rising to her feet.

“Alicent, wait,” Rhaenyra hurried after her.

Alicent clutched her wrist tight, past the point of pain, fighting back the urge to tear the flesh from her fingers. She stopped in her tracks but averted her gaze from Rhaenyra. “How long?” She said, in a tiny voice.

“What?” Rhaenyra asked warily.

“When did you start desiring me? Has our friendship been nothing but a deception to you?” Alicent continued.

“Of course not,” Rhaenyra insisted. “Alicent, I would never do such a thing. You must know that.”

Alicent paused for only a moment, letting the words wash over her. It was true, the Rhaenyra she had known these past months could surely not be capable of it. Part of her yearned to believe it, if only to keep the fragile peace she’d found in her life. Yet, too many memories flooded her mind.

How could she trust Rhaenyra’s words? How could she trust that they would stay true? With the truth out in the open and their friendship rocked, how could they ever return to how they were?

Is that what you even want? A distant voice in her head taunted her.

Alicent didn’t know.

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra tried to get through to her again. “Breathe.”

It took that statement for Alicent to realize she’d been too frozen to do that for the last several seconds. She kept her eyes shut as she took quick, shallow breaths.

“Please, let me explain,” Rhaenyra said after allowing her to catch her breath.

Alicent, hesitantly, opened her eyes to look at the queen. She blinked away the wetness that was forming on her eyelids and focused her gaze on her violet eyes.

There was such sincerity in them, worry for Alicent and hope that she would agree to let her say her piece. It wasn’t like with Viserys, Rhaenyra wasn’t like Viserys.

All the same, it was too much for Alicent.

“I need to clear my head, I think,” Alicent hurriedly rushed out, already backing away like a caged animal.

“But-” Rhaenyra reached out her hand and Alicent recoiled from it. Miserably, she lowered her hand back to her side. “Of course,” the queen then relented. “Take as much time as you require.”

There was a last look between them. Alicent knew in her gut that she should not leave now, so much said between them. Her legs moved on their own though, carrying her out of the room and through the halls in a blur.

Alicent collapsed on her bed when she arrived back at her chambers. She buried herself in the sheets, as if trying to hide from the rest of the world. Memories came forth in a whirlwind, wrought with emotions she’d tried so hard to forget.

She locked herself in her chambers for the rest of that night and would not emerge for three days hence.

Rhaenyra could hardly focus over the next few days. She had to keep up her poised appearance at her royal meetings, but her thoughts were always drawn back to Alicent. From what she’d heard, the poor woman had locked herself away, and had only spoken to her children a handful of times each.

She replayed their encounter over and over again in her mind, wishing she could’ve done more to help her friend. Should I have told her the truth? She wondered. Perhaps it would’ve been better to hide it, to avoid this issue entirely for the moment. But then, Rhaenyra feared that she could not keep the secret forever and lying would only give her reason to doubt Rhaenyra’s intentions.

How did she even know? Rhaenyra also thought. A question to ask the woman herself, she supposed, if Alicent ever spoke to her again.

More than once, Rhaenyra cursed the gods. If only she had fallen for any other person in the castle, the separation might’ve been easier. She had grown so close to Alicent though, their moments together were a wonderful routine. She had never intended to tell Alicent of her feelings for the specific purpose of not disrupting their friendship, but now everything was in disarray. 

If only Rhaenyra had the chance to explain properly. She had to give Alicent time, she knew, but it nagged at her all the same as she went about her duties. So much so that it had begun to be noticed. Corlys caught her spacing out several times and she’d given Aegon the wrong instructions for his duties once in her distraction.

As she sat in her chambers, trying in vain to focus on the financial documents Beesbury had sent over, her husband entered to figure out the truth of her odd behavior. There was little reason to conceal it from him, so she told him plainly what had transpired at the dinner.

She knew it was a foolish idea yet suggested it all the same, desperate to salvage this situation. “Perhaps you could speak to Alicent. She may be more receptive to your presence than mine.”

Laenor’s face conveyed how unconvinced he was. “Or it may drive her further away.”

Rhaenyra sighed. She hated being so useless to help Alicent in her time of distress and knowing that it was her causing such feelings. There must be something she could do.

“Maybe I should have the Kingsguard deliver a letter to her. Not to demand an answer but just to explain myself and alleviate her concerns,” Rhaenyra supposed.

Laenor didn’t look any more enthusiastic about that idea than the first. “I think this may be an issue you must leave in Alicent’s hands. Wait for her to come to you.”

“And if she never does?” Rhaenyra countered, worried at the possibility. It didn’t matter to her if Alicent returned her affections at this point, she almost certainly didn’t based on her reaction. Rhaenyra only fretted over her friend and the last thing she would ever want to do is add to Alicent’s sorrow.

“It is the hardest thing to do sometimes, to do nothing,” Laenor told her. “I’d like to think I know Alicent quite well after this past year, as do you. You know she will not avoid you forever, you must only give her time to sort through her thoughts.”

The queen supposed he was right in that. All the same, it pained her to think of Alicent suffering alone. Rhaenyra twisted the rings on her fingers, thinking that she may be out of her depth in this area.

With Harwin, it was simple. He spoke what he meant plainly oftentimes. Whenever their secrets piled up and their relationship grew strained, they could always speak to each other. Even Laenor, though they’d never been lovers, never minced words with her in their relationship.

She had little clue as to how to properly approach Alicent in this state, though she desperately wanted to help. It would pain her heart, like as not, but she wished to remain friends with Alicent after all of this settled, if she could.

Rhaenyra would give Alicent time, as much as time as she required, of course. All the same, she had to let her know that she would never intend to hurt her. She needed Alicent to know that their friendship was true and all that it meant to her.

She sent Criston to the lady’s chambers with a letter saying as such and braced herself for the long wait ahead of her. Though the queen did not believe in the gods, she still prayed for Alicent to find the answers she was searching for.

Alicent studied the letter in her hand, eyes glazing over the words that she’d read a dozen times already. They were simple and to the point, an explanation of Rhaenyra’s feelings and her side of the story.

She knew it would be easy to walk up to her chambers and talk it all out, yet her legs stood frozen to her spot. She wasn’t ready, so she sat and waited in her chambers, alone and cold. Too many thoughts ran amok in her mind, it was difficult to even parse through them all as she tried to find a way out of her spiral.

Rhaenyra was not a callous monster, she knew that. She would not treat her as the old king did. Still, her fears ran like wildfire. Flashes in her mind of Rhaenyra slowly unveiling her true self, cold and calculating, using her for her own pleasure then discarding her. Only this time, Alicent would not recover from it.

She wouldn’t be able to stand the betrayal from the few friends she had. And worse, there would be nowhere left to go if Rhaenyra spurned her or her affections waned. Her family wouldn’t let her return home to Oldtown if rumors spread of an illicit relationship with the queen, nor would any other lord be inclined to pity.

Daeron and Helaena were still children, Flea Bottom was no place for them. Even Aemond could lose his position in the Watch and Aegon’s debt would come due once the charade was over, most assuredly.

But that wouldn’t happen, she tried to insist. Rhaenyra had been nothing but kind and generous. She never belittled Alicent, never looked down on her. They had spent hours upon hours talking and laughing in each other’s company, her mere presence comforting Alicent in her darkest moments.

Perhaps the worst thing, Alicent thought, was how much a part of her wished Rhaenyra’s feelings could be true. The other part of her was sickened by her own thoughts however.

These were sinful desires brought on by a curse from the gods, she could not indulge them. Yet, the gods had never helped her before, why should she even listen to them? They were her father’s gods, the father who left her here and ordered her to the king’s company. Her family’s gods, who had not the least bit of interest in helping her since that cursed day the king took her to bed.

There was a scrape of her fingernail on flesh and blood oozed out of the wound. She should not think about the Seven that way, she knew. She wanted to pray for forgiveness but could not muster the words for it. She couldn’t do anything, paralyzed by her own indecision, it seemed.

Days had passed of her remaining mostly in solitude, her children began to take notice. Aemond knew something was wrong but she certainly couldn’t tell him. “My stomach was troubling me, that is all,” she assured him. “I just need some rest.” Aemond’s expression was still fraught with concern but he let it be for the moment.

Aegon came to visit her but once and they said little and less to each other, but she suspected her absence only made him more resolute in his hatred of the queen. She hoped he would not do anything rash, for his own sake, if not hers.

Daeron seemed none the wiser to the change, caught up in his flights of fancy around the keep and playing with the princes. She was glad he was ignorant of it and hoped he would remain as such. He was still barely more than a boy, he did not need the burdens of his older siblings.

Helaena stopped by only to break her fast. Though Alicent was too caught up to engage in conversation, Helaena filled the void for the both of them.

After much begging from her friends, Helaena had introduced them to Laena’s daughters. “I don’t think Baela liked them very much, she said they were a bore,” Helaena admitted, not showing any emotion on her face from that. A tiny smile shone then, “But Rhaena enjoyed their company. She and Rohanne were giggling about court gossip all afternoon. Apparently, Lord Reed was making drunken boasts of his prowess at swordplay only to slip and fall, breaking his arm, at the tourney at Stonedance.”

It was a good distraction from her anxieties while it lasted.

Before she left, however, Helaena whispered to her, “Clarity is found at the end and the beginning, where the dragon burned.”

Another of her dreams, she recognized. Helaena had told her a bit about what Laena’s daughters had uncovered about her strange musings, that they were portents of the future. Her daughter had no insight as to what it meant though and trailed off without another word.

“Where the dragon burned,” she said aloud. She wondered if it was foolish to put stock into ramblings by her daughter of four and ten, but it couldn’t hurt to try.

When night fell over King’s Landing, Alicent dressed quickly and slipped out of her chambers. Daeron had a friend in the stablemaster at the keep, as ever he would look the other way about her borrowing a horse, so long as she returned it before anyone else had need of it. Alicent did not stop to consider her doubts before she gripped the reins of the horse and rushed off into the night.

It was a blur from there, galloping through the streets. She didn’t quite know her way but guided the horse on instinct. Once she found a gate out of the city, she took off faster than ever, knowing her goal clearly.

Upwards the horse climbed, up steeper and steeper hills. Wind rushed past her, chilling her skin and messing her hair. It was at the peak of one of these hills that she found what she was looking for, a sight so simple yet so familiar to her.

Alicent dismounted the horse with little grace. Distantly, she could hear waves crash against rock and the sounds of the city far away. On a hill overlooking a cliff, it was where the funeral for King Viserys was held ten moons ago.

That day, she remembered feeling numb more than anything. There was no joy or relief or sadness in watching him burn to ash. King Viserys the Peaceful, they’d called him, loved and missed by all. All the lords gathered to praise his kindness, how much he loved his daughter and his family, how well he ran the realm, even her father joined their chorus with not a hint of irony in his voice.

At the same time, Alicent could still hear the court’s jests and insults as clear as day in her mind. “The king’s whore,” “the Hand’s little puppet,” torn from her golden teat and cast aside at last. The truth of the matter was of little consequence to them, they wouldn’t listen even if she tried to explain.

They only cared for their perception. The good and proper king seduced by a wanton instigator, looking to further her station. She chuckled darkly at herself then. A true seductress might have at least gotten something out of the arrangement. Alicent, however, after all that had occurred, was left with nothing.

She took a long, shaky breath, almost stumbling in her steps as she stepped closer to where the funeral pyre once was. Focusing, she could recall the smell of smoke washing over her as her family stood and watched him burn.

Her hands clenched, so tight yet she barely noticed as her nails dug into her skin. She could scarcely remember the dreams she had for a life when she was a girl. They were as faint to her as the memory of her mother, lost to time. She knew she had them though, she would lay awake at night in Oldtown and pray for the gods to grant her wishes. They’d all been torn to shreds, the day her father sent her to the king’s chambers.

She gritted her teeth as the first tears fell unbidden from her eyes. “A wedding is not strictly necessary,” the king had said, half a smile on his face like it was a joke.

“A paramour should suffice just as well,” her father ordered. And as easy as that, it was set in stone.

A storm of emotions built up in her as the tears continued to fall, wetting her cheeks and the ground beneath her, regret and shame, despair and anger .

King Viserys the Peaceful, the name mocked her in her mind. A charade the whole court played into until the truth no longer mattered.

Where was honor, where was justice, where was decency? Scattered to the winds with the king’s ashes, flying free and far from the city where she never could go. She was stuck here, unable to escape the gossip and scorn even if she fled the city. Forevermore the mistress of the Red Keep, a life she had never wished for.

Her legs gave out underneath her, one question burning in her mind. What did she wish for?

It had been so long since she had any say in the matter of her own fate. In her moments of clarity, Alicent knew that Rhaenyra was not a cruel person. She would not throw her out of the keep if she rejected her affections. Her life would remain as it was now, true friends at her side and her children growing up quickly.

It would be easy and safe, and there was nothing of more importance than security in her station.

And yet.

Against reason, her heart yearned for more. It was against her faith, her values, everything she’d been taught, but she could envision a life with Rhaenyra. Her shining silver hair and deep, violet eyes, laughing together at dinner every night and falling asleep in each other’s arms. She used to read stories of ladies and their gallant loves when she was a girl. To properly love and be loved in return, it was more than she ever dared hope for.

Tempting as the vision was, she remained paralyzed with fear. Rumors would swirl and there would be far more contempt for her than ever before. Alicent didn’t know if she could go through it all again, the heartache and the mockery. She would lose the last connections she had to her family back in Oldtown, no doubt, and her children would be met with equal disdain. All that for the mere chance of a life with Rhaenyra.

Alicent laid on the ground then, staring up at the stars and letting the last of her tears run dry.

King Viserys was gone but even now, he was tormenting her, keeping her from moving past that life. He was an ever present shadow, looming over her every decision. There was a life waiting for her, if she risked everything to reach for it, but Alicent had never thought of herself as particularly strong or brave.

Gazing at the twinkles in the sky, Alicent thought of how different her life was compared to the previous year. Now, she did not have to fret about every conversation she had with a noble turning to ridicule. She did not have to spend most of her days in isolation, aside from her father and her children. She did not have to trade her body for the king to pay even a modicum of attention to their children’s needs.

These days, she had Laena, witty and kind, the first person to be her true friend in so many years. There was Laenor, foolish at times but affable and understanding.

And Rhaenyra… The queen who would make her smile and laugh like she never thought she could. Rhaenyra, who never looked down on her or made her feel lesser. Rhaenyra, who could wrap her arms around Alicent and whisper, “You had no fault in all that happened,” and Alicent could truly believe her.

It would be a precarious position, with every reason to fear it would all come crashing down around her.

But, alone on the hillside, Alicent wondered if it would all be worth it in the end.

“Now, Lord Chyttering was a bit frugal but he paid his taxes well. I’m sure his son will be much the same, however the loss of a lord is always wont to shake their territory,” Beesbury droned off. Rhaenyra turned her rings absent-mindedly, only half paying attention to the council meeting. Lord Beesbury was speaking about taxes collected from the house being low because their lord passed away some weeks ago.

Lord Tyland spoke up, insisting that no exceptions could be made. House Chyttering would have to pay their due or there would be consequences from the crown.

Rhaenyra truthfully could not find it in herself to care for the meager amount of gold dragons at the moment.

There was no word from Alicent as of yet, despite Ser Criston’s assurances that he handed the letter directly to her. Rhaenyra could not help but worry. Perhaps she was too forward, she should’ve given her more time. She simply wanted the chance to explain herself and clear the air between them, and hopefully to remain as they were, close companions and friends.

She was tempted at times to ask Aegon how his mother was, growing concerned over her isolation the last few days. The more wise part of her knew that would be foolish, however. Her brother barely spoke to her as he did his duties, pushing the issue would only serve to make him more distant.

When she was not busy with her duties, Rhaenyra paced the length of the castle, trying to find anything to occupy herself with. She watched her boys spar in the yard, then visited Laena. Her stomach was starting to swell and she got odd cravings, four moons into her pregnancy. Assisting Laenor in trying to wrangle the servants to provide her the food she wanted was a welcome distraction. She visited Joffrey during his lessons as well and watched him throw a fit about wanting to play with his toys instead of learning his letters.

Alicent lingered at the back of her mind, however. She considered going down to her chambers personally to speak with her and spent hours arguing back and forth the merits of such a plan. Before she came to an answer though, there was a knock at the door.

“Your Grace,” Criston bowed his head to her. “I’ve just received a message from Lady Alicent.”

Rhaenyra perked up in an instant. With perhaps too much insistence, she urged him, “What is it?”

“She asks for an audience with you in the godswood, tonight.”

“I shall be there,” Rhaenyra answered instantly.

The godswood, that’s a good sign, she thought. The place where they first became friends, surely it boded well for Alicent’s feelings. Or did sending a messenger to her instead of coming to see Rhaenyra herself say the opposite? That she didn’t wish to see Rhaenyra any more than necessary?

Rhaenyra would worry herself senseless over this if she lingered on it for too long. When night fell, Rhaenyra cautiously exited her chambers to march to the godswood. Only a few servants wandered the halls at this hour, most shocked to see the queen up and about, but they said nothing, naturally.

“Ensure we are not disturbed,” she ordered Ser Criston as she trailed into the godswood alone. She took a deep breath to ready herself as she spotted Alicent, already waiting and sitting on the bench. Moonlight beamed down on the godswood, illuminating the area and making the trim of Alicent’s dress glitter.

The lady turned to Rhaenyra and for a terrifying moment, Rhaenyra saw her features scrunched in worry and fear. Rhaenyra’s mind nearly slipped away from her, terrified of what it meant for what Alicent wanted to tell her, but almost a second later, Alicent’s face melted in a small, careful smile.

The queen felt a brief sense of relief pass through her and she sat down on the bench beside Alicent. There was a moment of silence as the soft, cold midnight wind rushed past them, neither wishing to be the first to speak.

“I got your letter,” Alicent eventually started, her voice timid.

Despite that, Rhaenyra felt the urge to restate what she said in it, face to face. “I never meant to make you afraid or worried and I certainly didn’t befriend you with any foul intentions.”

“I know,” Alicent assured her. “I…jumped to conclusions when I accused you of such.” Rhaenyra noticed as Alicent nearly scratched at her cuticles thoughtlessly, but then gripped her arm instead.

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me,” Rhaenyra admitted. Alicent was such a bright spot in her life in recent months, she didn’t wish to lose her. “But I will respect your wishes, if you think it best to end our friendship.”

At that, Alicent’s expression fell. She opened and closed her mouth, clearly unsure what to say. Rhaenyra’s heart sank a bit more with every second, believing that Alicent simply was trying to figure out how to kindly say she did not want to speak to Rhaenyra anymore.

The queen scoffed internally at herself. She was kidding herself. Alicent was pious and had spent most of her life tormented by her father. It was only natural she would want nothing to do with Rhaenyra after this.

“Might I ask you something?” Alicent inquired and Rhaenyra easily nodded. “I wished to know the answer to the question I asked when we last spoke. You did not give it then.”

“Your question?”

“When did you first come to…be attracted to me? And how?”

Rhaenyra blinked, slightly taken aback by the odd question. “When? I could not say, truthfully.” Multiple moments came to mind, seeing Alicent bond with Joffrey, seeing how happy she was after being crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty, and after they started having their nightly meetings on Dragonstone. 

The second question, however, was much more easily answered. She debated with herself for a second how much she should say. She didn’t want to make Alicent uneasy, of course, but she deserved the full truth.

The words came flooding out of her then. “As for how…how could I not? You’re a marvel, Alicent. I adore every moment we spend together. You’re thoughtful, far more intelligent than the Hightowers ever gave you credit for, and I always love to hear what you have to say. And I see how much you care for your children, you’ve done well with them. I-”

Rhaenyra cut herself off before she went on about Alicent’s beauty and grace. She’s made her point well enough, she thought. The queen looked warily at Alicent, gauging her reaction to the confession.

Alicent averted her eyes after a second. She let out a breath and Rhaenyra noticed how her eyes shone with wetness. Believing she had certainly gone too far, Rhaenyra hurried to salvage it. “I’m sorry, Alicent, I didn’t mean to-”

“No,” Alicent interrupted her, clearing her throat. “You don’t have to apologize. I…” she trailed off. With another sigh, Alicent collected her thoughts and started again. “I still remember the first person who figured it out when I started…going to the king’s chambers at night.”

Rhaenyra was a bit confused by the change in topic but allowed Alicent to speak freely.

“It was my Septa, Septa Marlow. She had come to my chambers early in the morning looking for me and caught me as I was coming back from his rooms. I still had my dress from the day before on, she didn’t need to ask any questions to know what had occurred. It was humiliating, seeing the scorn in her eyes grow and listening to lectures about chastity she gave every day from then on. I don’t know if she told anyone, but she was far from the last to know the truth.”

Alicent clenched her hands into fists tight. Rhaenyra wanted nothing more than to take her hands into hers and try to soothe her but feared it would only make it worse.

“It was so lonely, all those years. I was a pariah at court, seen as an example to every young lady of how not to act. Just a lecherous whore,” Alicent confessed, her voice trembling. “You and Laena and Laenor though, none of that mattered to you all. You were my first friends in so long and I finally felt happy and safe and…”

Rhaenyra nodded, believing she understood what Alicent was trying to say. She took the risk of extending her hand for Alicent to take, if only to comfort her, which the lady silently took.

“This past year, free of the king, I have felt alive again,” Alicent explained. “To be with you would be to go through it all over again. All the derision and loneliness. It would be madness to consider.”

Rhaenyra tried not to let the hurt show on her face. It was alright, she reasoned to herself. Alicent’s comfort was paramount and Rhaenyra would have to simply-

“And yet,” Alicent interrupted her thoughts. The tiniest voice came from her lips, “I want to…I want to try. What kind of fool does that make me?”

The queen sat stunned for a moment, disbelieving her own ears.

Alicent cautiously reached over to place her other hand over their conjoined ones. “I’ve never felt so comfortable and welcome around anyone until I met you. You are sweet and charming, I get lost in the time we spend together. You’ve been endlessly generous to me and to my family and never asked for anything in return. You are simply wonderful, Rhaenyra.”

Her heart swelled at that, eyes gleaming with hope.

“I want to try,” she repeated. “I do not wish to live my life alone anymore. But still, these doubts plague me.”

Rhaenyra raised her free hand to brush Alicent’s curls out of her face. “I would never ask you to do something you did not want to do. We could go at your pace, whatever you decide,” she explained. Then added, “And I would never leave you to fend for yourself at court.”

“I know,” Alicent nodded. If the trip to Dragonstone and the incident with Horas Hightower had taught her anything, it was that Rhaenyra would choose them over what was considered proper.

“And…if the day should come that these doubts become too great, we may end our relationship, if you wish. I would not cast you aside brazenly, you would suffer no loss for it.” It would break Rhaenyra’s heart, surely, but her focus remained on Alicent and assuaging her fears.

Alicent took a breath, nodding. After a moment, she leaned forward, closer to Rhaenyra. For the briefest second, Rhaenyra saw Alicent’s eyes flit down to her lips, but she must’ve decided against it. Instead, Alicent turned her head and pressed a kiss to Rhaenyra’s cheek.

At her pace, Rhaenyra knew. She would never begrudge Alicent not being ready yet.

“Then let us try,” Alicent agreed. She moved her body closer to Rhaenyra and buried her face in the crook of her neck, overwhelmed by the emotion of the moment.

Rhaenyra held her close and grinned wide, not that Alicent could see it. She released a breath, savoring the feeling of holding Alicent.

Much would change between them in the coming days, Rhaenyra knew. All of it perhaps a bit shaky and unstable, but it was a welcome change all the same to the queen. A new life with Alicent, a life she believed once she could only dream of. Rhaenyra leaned against Alicent as much as she rested on her, auburn curls tickling at her face.

Oh, how she couldn’t wait for her new life to begin.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra grinned, wide and bright, as Alicent entered her chambers and she could not help but return it with a smile of her own. She slid wordlessly into the seat next to Rhaenyra at the main table.

This was only supposed to be a meeting about the Red Keep’s staff and how much it would cost to hire more servants. Strictly professional, that is. All the same, Rhaenyra nudged her chair a few inches closer to Alicent, which the lady did not protest to.

Rhaenyra had kept her word in the past days since their confessions in the godswood. She never pressured Alicent beyond what she was comfortable with. Still, the queen delighted in the few allowances she had.

At every opportunity, Rhaenyra pressed her lips to Alicent’s cheek or the back of her hand. Today was no different and as soon as they settled in their seats, Rhaenyra gently pulled her wrist up to plant a kiss on her knuckles.

Alicent did not feel ready for a proper kiss, as she felt the eyes of Seven judging her, but the warm flutter in her heart at the sensation of Rhaenyra’s soft lips made her hopeful that she would be ready soon.

Of course, the queen’s affection had to be limited to when they were in private. Not only would it be a horrible scandal for the crown if their relationship was revealed, but Alicent feared what consequences she and her children would endure. Rhaenyra had sworn up and down that she would protect them, from slanders and swords alike, should anything arise, but it was better to be safe and avoid the issue altogether.

Alicent worried terribly about the possibility every night before she went to bed, but those fears seemed to leave her whenever she was with Rhaenyra. The queen was as charming as ever and continued to make her feel safe, never pressuring her beyond what she was ready for in their relationship.

She attempted to remain focused on the task at hand as she and Rhaenyra began the meeting. Alicent went over the current number of servants they had dedicated to cooking and cleaning, as well as the knights hired to guard the castle. She got all the way to her projections for how many people they would need to hire before Rhaenyra got distracted.

With their blossoming relationship, Rhaenyra had a renewed interest in learning everything there was to know about her. “What was life like back in Oldtown? You don’t talk about it much,” she asked.

Alicent knew plainly that if she answered, they would not get back to the original purpose of the meeting for at least half a candlemark, yet replied nearly instantly all the same. It made her heart swell with joy. It made all the difference that Rhaenyra wanted to know about her, that she cared enough to ask and listen without reservations.

“It’s hard to recall some days,” she admitted. “I haven’t been home since I was a girl.”

Rhaenyra prompted her further, wanting any details she could remember.

“When my mother lived, I would help her tend to her garden. Gwayne joined us sometimes, even when the other boys made fun of him for it,” Alicent spoke wistfully. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine the smell of the dirt and flowers and the summer sun beating down on them. “Father would get upset that I would ruin my dress and dirty my hands, but Mother could always soothe his anger in an instant.” A beat passed and she added, solemnly, “He was never quite the same after she passed.”

Rhaenyra wordlessly entangled their hands together, keeping Alicent’s darker thoughts at bay.

She tried to move to happier memories. “Myrielle and Falia. They were my friends back in Oldtown. Or, at least, we attended knitting circles together. I don’t think I would recognize them if I saw them today, though.”

“Would you ever want to return to Oldtown? Not forever, just to visit,” Rhaenyra inquired. “I know you and your family are strained but there might be some comfort to be found at home.”

Alicent pondered the question for a moment. King’s Landing had been her home since her mother passed and she hadn’t left it until their recent visit to Dragonstone. She couldn’t imagine going home could end well. The few nostalgic indulgences would turn sour quickly if she had to face her family again. Even then, what memories she had, of her father, mother, brothers, they would be like to cause more heartache, she thought.

“Perhaps not Oldtown,” she decided. “But…” Alicent changed her mind mid-sentence, trailing off.

Rhaenyra’s interest was piqued however. “But?”

Alicent bit her lip nervously. “It would be nice to leave the city more,” she confessed. “Much of the world I’ve only read about in stories and Dragonstone was a wonder to behold.”

The queen’s lips broke out into a wide grin. “Certainly we could arrange that, whenever you would wish. I’ve scarcely been back a year and this castle already feels far too stuffy for my taste. Did you have anywhere in mind?”

Alicent shrugged. “It was just a fleeting idea. Nothing in particular.”

Rhaenyra nodded. “You know, I’ve always wanted to see the wonders across the Narrow Sea. They say the Titan of Braavos is nearly as tall as the Wall and that you can buy practically anything you can dream of on the Long Bridge in Volantis.”

She smiled at the thought. “Sounds like a wondrous adventure.” Of course, she couldn’t simply leave on a whim nor could Rhaenyra. The idea was still fun to dream about. “Maybe someday.”

“We wouldn’t have to be gone long,” Rhaenyra reminded her. “Syrax could take us across the Narrow Sea in less than a day.”

Alicent’s cheeks flushed at the idea of riding the queen’s dragon with her. “I think my sons would be cross to learn I flew a dragon before them.”

Rhaenyra hummed in agreement. “I suppose so. We might have to keep it a secret then. I’d love to take you flying any day.”

She didn’t know what madness had taken hold of her in the past few days that allowed her to even consider the possibility but Alicent grinned and tried to imagine it all the same. Flying high up into the clouds, just the two of them. Alicent worried she’d be scared out of her mind yet the idea also seemed so thrilling. So long as Rhaenyra was there, she mused.

She didn’t promise anything though and quickly moved their conversation back to the matters at hand. Steering the queen away from any further tangents, they finished their business just in time for Rhaenyra to begin preparing for the Small Council meeting that morning. She bid Rhaenyra farewell as the other woman pressed another kiss to the back of her hand.

Alicent left the queen’s chamber with a smile on her face and her cheeks flushed red. Setting off through the corridors, she intended to return to her chambers. There was much to do with the rest of her day and she had no time to dawdle.

As she walked further and further away from the queen’s chambers, her footsteps echoing in the halls, her anxieties began to encroach upon her again. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a lord glancing in her direction, only for a second, before turning to the lady on his arm and whispering to her.

Ignore it, she told herself, as if it would actually stop her thoughts from running rampant. It was nothing, in all likelihood, his words probably weren’t about her at all. Yet, she could not stop the fear gnawing in her stomach.

He knew. Somehow, someway, she didn’t know. Not just him, every lord and lady who looked her way. It was no different that it had been the past months, but even still her mind yelled at her that they knew. They could just tell by looking at her, she was drowning in her sins caused by this new relationship with the queen.

They can’t know, she tried to remind herself. Laena and Laenor were the only ones who knew besides the two of them and they would never dare tell a soul. She was being paranoid, as always.

All the same, the thought nagged at her. It was easier to ignore when she was with the queen, the flutter in her heart overpowering everything else. Alone, however, the burden of the secret seemed evermore daunting.

She found her way to her room soon enough, feeling able to breathe properly once the door was closed and her privacy secured. Much as she felt like relaxing in her chambers until it was time for lunch with Laena, there was a more pressing matter.

Since Rhaenyra was heading off to a Small Council meeting soon, so too was her eldest son, and she had promised herself to not delay speaking with him any longer. He had been cold and stubborn with the queen as of late and only she knew the reason why. Rhaenyra had told her not to worry, that Aegon would return to his usual behavior in time, but Alicent was not about to allow him to take Rhaenyra’s graciousness for granted, now that she knew the truth of his words from the other day.

She and Rhaenyra had agreed to limit who knew about their new relationship, both to keep themselves safe from rumors and for practicality. They did not know if their relationship would last in the long term and preferred to not make a fuss about it just yet. Rhaenyra had already confided in Laenor, who naturally rushed to share it with Laena, so the truth could not be hidden from them. As much as Alicent wished for it to only be the four of them, she knew that Aegon must know the truth if he was to relent in his anger towards the queen.

Alicent found him in his chambers as he prepared for the Small Council meeting, grabbing clothes out of the trunk beneath his bed.

There was no beating around the bush. After tearing his attention away and a few pleasantries, she told him the truth plainly. “What you said the other day, about Rhaenyra and her…carrying affection for me, it was true. As I do for her.”

Aegon paused, his face blank, the meaning of her words clear to him. “Mother…”

She continued before he could find the words. “I am telling you and only you this secret. I trust you to have discretion. But, this anger you hold for Rhaenyra, it must cease.”

Aegon huffed, clenching his jaw. He turned away from her briefly, trying to sort his thoughts out.

“I know you think this is like it was with the king,” she tried to get ahead of his outburst.

“Is it not?” He questioned, almost mockingly. “She’ll slake her lusts in private but never rise to defend you when the eyes of the court are on her. Another shameful secret for a Targaryen.”

“You know why it must remain secret,” she remarked. A king with a mistress was a scandal to be sure, but no more than the next man. A queen with a mistress could end in a call for war. Aegon, of all people, must understand that, with the company he kept.

His eyes scanned her features for a moment, searching for something. His tone was hesitant as he began, “Mother, you do not have to do as she commands simply because she is the queen.”

Alicent sighed, understanding his implication. “It was my choice to begin this relationship. There was no pressure.”

Aegon plainly didn’t believe her. “You truly think this was not her intention from the first?”

She sighed at her son’s stubbornness. “Aegon…”

“It’s madness. Her ill intent will be plain to see now that she no longer has need for a facade,” he rambled.

Alicent had tried to get through to him so many times, with anger and tears and disappointing looks. Letting out a breath, she spoke with only sincerity. A last plea to reach him. “Listen to me, please. You do not have to like her but she is not our enemy and she is not like your father. She cares about me, truly.”

Aegon plainly suppressed a scoff but she pressed on regardless.

“If you cannot find it in yourself to trust her, then trust me. Believe that I know full well what I am doing and I would not do it if I thought Rhaenyra was a threat to any of us.”

To that, Aegon had no answer, clenching his jaw as he held back his response.

“And please, Aegon, do not cause any further trouble. Your siblings love you, I love you. We want you to stay with us and not get sent away to live across the world for the rest of your days.”

When he still remained silent, she decided it was best to leave him alone with his thoughts. She could only pray he made the right choice.

Helaena concentrated hard on her task, carefully weaving the thread with the needle as she attempted to embroider a spider pattern. Without meaning to, she had zoned out of the conversation that her fellow handmaidens, as well as Rhaena who had come to join them today, were having as she tried to focus. They sat in the gardens under the canopy with a circle of chairs and a larger, unoccupied couch. Her other friends were talking in circles about the gossip at court, hardly any of which interested Helaena at the moment.

It was the same rumors as always. Lost maidenheads, betrothals, fights broken out over petty matters and the like. They also frequently talked of their own prospects in marriage. Jeyne was to be wed to Gwayne Reyne soon, though she had been saying “soon” for near three years. Alys’ grandfather and Rohanne’s father were looking for matches for them but to no avail yet. 

Of course, Rhaena had no shortage of suitors, as the trueborn daughter of a prince and with Valyrian blood. However, she had yet to flower and her mother was entirely uninterested in entertaining any offers until a good while after that. Still, Helaena had heard whispers that she was likely to be betrothed to Lucerys, just as her sister would almost certainly marry his brother.

It made Helaena’s heart twist whenever they spoke of this, as she struggled even more to have a match of her own. She’d met a handful of lordlings, at court and at the tourney months ago, but she could never make an impression. Her friends were far more sociable than her and Helaena’s name turned off most of them from the start.

Among the six of their group, one did have luck in securing a betrothal. As they sat and talked, Lady Elyana suddenly came stomping over, uncharacteristically late because of a meeting with her Uncle Tyland. She did not look pleased in the slightest.

“What did your uncle want?” Rohanne asked.

Elyana’s answer was to let out an improper groan of frustration as she collapsed on the couch. Alys stifled a chuckle as they watched their friend, while Rohanne laughed freely. Rhaena seemed a bit confused at her behavior but didn’t raise her voice to ask. Rohanne scooted her chair closer to the Lannister girl, not particularly fearing her wrath as she’d always been the closest with Elyana.

“That terribly?” She prompted, amused.

With a second groan, Elyana held out a piece of parchment for the other lady. Rohanne plucked it out of her hand and cleared her throat to read it for the whole group.

“Dear daughter, it is my pleasure to write to you today with joyous news…” Rohanne recited, her eyes scanning over the words and skipping through most of the pleasantries. “I have reached a deal with Lord Serrett for you to wed his eldest son and heir, Ser Myles.”

Jeyne gasped in excitement, her face lighting up with all of the enthusiasm that Elyana’s lacked. The lady in question reluctantly pulled herself up to a sitting position as Rohanne finished reading it.

“He has agreed for the wedding to be held in Casterly Rock in three moons time. Myles should be writing to you so you may be acquainted before then. I am most eager to see you again soon. With love, your father, Lord Jason Lannister.” Once she concluded, Rohanne silently handed the letter back to Elyana, who appeared even more sullen hearing the words said aloud.

“Does this not please you?” Jeyne inquired, confused at her demeanor. “You will be the Lady of Silverhill, in time. I hear it is a wondrous castle.”

“No, it does not please me,” Elyana responded harshly. “I had hoped for more time before my father sent me off to some lord’s castle.”

There was a brief pause of awkward silence. None of them knew quite what to say to help Elyana, it was not as if they could put a stop to the wedding.

“Is Myles kind, at least?” Helaena tried. She’d never heard of him before. Elyana shrugged, unsure as well.

“My mother met his father once,” Rhaena began tentatively. She wanted to be of help to her new friends and so offered the only information she knew. “She said he complained of his son’s preference for blacksmithing over swordplay and how quiet he was compared to his brothers. He seems decent enough though, I’ve heard not a word of a scandal from him.”

Elyana scoffed. “Decent enough, lucky me.”

Rhaena’s face fell at that, feeling as if she did something wrong. Helaena patted her hand silently to help assuage her fears. Elyana was simply in a bad mood in light of this new information.

Rohanne was the next to try to lighten the atmosphere. “Your wedding will surely be splendid, at least.”

Elyana hummed, half hearted. “My uncle says Father will be sparing no expense for the celebration. As it’ll be a decade or more until my brother is of age to marry, he will want to use this last excuse for splendor for all it’s worth.” Helaena recalled that Lord Lannister had four daughters, the elder two were wedded previously and the youngest was promised to the Faith, making Elyana the last.

Jeyne perked up at hearing about the lavish celebrations. “I cannot wait! My betrothed will surely be there, Lord Reyne and your father have been friends since they were boys.”

There was a collective sigh in the group at having to hear Jeyne ramble about her betrothed again, but they indulged her just the same. Rhaena was the only one who seemed interested in it, only because she had not heard the spiel of how handsome and gallant he was dozens of times.

When she finally finished, Elyana shifted the conversation back to what she said before. “Near all of the Westerlands will be there and ideally much of the Reach and Stormlands as well. You’ll all come too, of course.” After a beat, she remembered herself and hurriedly turned to Rhaena and added, “If you wish it, my lady.”

“It sounds fun,” Rhaena smiled.

Rohanne’s smile wavered as she turned to ask Elyana a question. “When the wedding is finished, will you go to Silverhill?”

“I suppose I’ll have to,” Elyana answered, but she knew what Rohanne was really saying. 

With Elyana out of King’s Landing, they would not remain her handmaidens anymore.

A silence passed over the group then, the realization dawning on all of them. Jeyne would be off soon to wed her betrothed at last. With their time at court at an end, Rohanne and Alys would surely not stay much longer in the Red Keep either. It was possible that the wedding would be their last time all together.

Helaena looked down to the ground, blinking rapidly. She liked her friends very much. Sure, Jeyne could be obnoxious and Alys, callous. Elyana spoke thoughtlessly at times, cursing her father’s natural daughters when Helaena was standing right there. All the same, they were her friends. They didn’t make fun of her or think she was too odd or quiet like other nobles. Baela and Rhaena were a joy but it was not the same as the friends she had known for years.

They would all scatter to the winds at their families’ whims and Helaena would be left here, a bastard girl with no prospects.

Another thought came after, she didn’t even know if she could attend the wedding. Her mother had duties in the keep, ones she could not ignore easily to travel across Westeros for a wedding. She doubted her mother would let her go alone. Perhaps she could attend with Rhaena and her family, she hoped, but that was far from certain.

Rhaena glanced nervously around the group of friends, suddenly feeling out of place. She wished to liven up their spirits though. Her mother always told her it was best not to dwell on things you cannot change, better to focus on the present.

“If these months are the last you will all get, then you should not waste a single moment of it,” Rhaena suggested. “There’s surely much that you would all like to do together before the wedding, no?”

Rohanne grinned, nodding. “Yes, my lady is right.” Rather unceremoniously, she tossed her half-finished stitchwork on the ground, leaving a pile of tangled string.

Jeyne gasped, shocked, and Elyana laughed freely for the first time that day at that. Jeyne cried, “What are you doing? The Septa said she would check our stitching, she’ll be cross with you.”

“I’m not spending another second fighting with these seams,” Rohanne declared. “We’ve much to do and little time to do it.”

“My older sister once told me there’s a stash of vintage wine down in the castle’s basement. I’ve always wanted to raid it,” Elyana suggested mischievously.

“We would get in so much trouble,” Alys reminded them.

Rhaena, feeling adventurous and happy she had helped her friends, also threw down her embroidery and stomped it for good measure. Helaena, before she had the chance to think better of it, copied her actions.

Elyana led the charge as they rushed out of the gardens. Alys and Jeyne protested yet followed after them all the same. Laughing and giggling as they descended deeper into the castle, their worries about the future were put aside for the moment.

Three moons seemed like so little time but the group of six resolved to make the most of it.

Aegon suppressed a yawn, standing lazily in the council room. The discussion between the lords was as dry as ever and the minutes ticked by frustratingly slow.

Lord Beesbury and the new Master of Laws, Lord Rowan, were in a spirited discussion about the current level of taxation in the Riverlands, as they had been for the past half hour. Lord Tyland had stopped paying attention ten minutes ago, Lord Corlys was looking at other documents entirely, and the queen kept blinking away the sleep in her eyes to try to focus. Only Orwyle seemed at all interested in the discussion.

He made his way across the room to pour more wine for the Hand when he signaled him, but beyond that, Aegon was stuck standing and waiting, boredom creeping in with every passing second.

Idly, he thought about the pitcher of wine in his hands. The aroma reached his nose and made his stomach churn. Roslin at the brothel had been helping him cut down on his drinking habit over the past months, though it was easier said than done.

Restricting himself to three cups a week was the current goal. He was doing well in his own opinion, aside from an incident or two, but gods, if he wasn’t tempted every time he stood in this chamber with nothing else to occupy his thoughts.

The Seven had pity on him today, at least. The meeting came to an end soon enough and the lords shuffled out to return to their own offices. As had become routine afterwards, Rhaenyra gave him a list of further duties for the rest of the day. Tedious work like delivering letters and passing instructions along to maesters and servants.

“Well done,” Rhaenyra said, after hours had passed and all his tasks were complete. “That’s enough for today. Have a nice evening, Aegon.”

The tone was flat but not without sincerity. He didn’t prefer to exchange words with the queen, it only reminded him of the revelation he had made a few days prior. Or, today, of the truth his mother told him this morning.

How could she not see? How could she let herself end up in the same situation she had only just escaped a year ago? It twisted Aegon’s heart and made his skin itch. He did not trust Rhaenyra.

“Your Grace,” he inclined his head curtly and exited without any further pleasantries.

He knew people like Rhaenyra. He’d seen them all the time in his work, nobles more often than not. Soft words and bright smiles hiding malice and ill intent. Only as much kindness as needed before they could abandon the act and take what they wanted from people they looked down upon.

Rhaenyra was always their father’s favorite and surely inherited all of his worst behaviors. Especially with the company she surrounded herself with, Prince Daemon was a plague. If she kept him around, he doubted she had any care for their family beyond her current desires.

He was strained from his family, that much was true, but he would never wish for his mother to suffer under a Targaryen again. That being said, he wasn’t sure at all what he could do to help her. No use dwelling on tonight though, he figured, he had places to be.

Aegon yawned, walking back to his chambers. With any luck, he could get a few hours of sleep before he had to head down to Hallis’. He could barely keep his eyes open. It was due to that exhaustion that he didn’t hear the stomping of footsteps and high-pitched giggles coming from behind him.

He grunted as two people slammed into him, nearly knocking him off balance. For some reason, that only made the figures laugh louder. Annoyed, he turned to find his little sister and one of her friends, leaning on one another.

“Sorry, Aegon,” Helaena said between her laughs, clearly not that sorry. She then turned and whispered something into her friend’s ear. He didn’t know which friend it was, never caring much to learn the names, but she had bright red hair. Afterwards, they burst out cackling, certainly far too loud for whatever joke she said.

It was odd, he noted. His sister was always so quiet and reserved. Now, she was bouncing with glee.

“Are you well?” He inquired, suspicious.

“Of course!” She answered, much too quickly. “Don’t tell Mother!” She added. Not something someone who was perfectly well would say.

“Shh! Don’t tell him!” Rohanne whispered loudly, still giggling.

“Shh! He’ll hear you!” Helaena said back, even louder.

“Helaena! Rohanne! Wait up!” Coming from around a corner, one of the Daemon’s daughters emerged, freezing up when she saw Aegon. It was either Baela or Rhaena. Again, Aegon never cared to learn which was which.

“They’re drunk,” Aegon recognized immediately.

Daemon’s daughter had the decency to admit it sheepishly. “It’s a long story. There was a stash in the basement-”

“Oh, I know,” Aegon assured her. He discovered it when he was younger and would’ve made more use of it had the guards not threatened to geld him when he was four and ten if they caught him stealing from the basement again. “I don’t care for the story.”

It seemed Daemon’s daughter didn’t partake like her companions. Or, at least, not to the same extent. He supposed it was since she was only two and ten. Hesitantly, she explained, “Rohanne wanted to stay in Helaena’s chambers tonight, so her father didn’t catch her like this. Don’t tell anyone, please?”

Aegon grunted in annoyance but nodded. Helaena had covered for him on occasion when they were younger, he could surely do the same for her and her friends. Reluctantly however, he did have to be the stern, older brother in this case.

“Sleep it off, both of you,” he shoved Helaena lightly towards her chambers and she tugged her friend, Rohanne apparently, along. Both of them were still shushing the other, evidently unaware of their conversation.

“Thank you, Aegon,” Daemon’s daughter said.

Though it frustrated him to thank any kin of Prince Daemon, he figured he ought to say the same for looking after Helaena. “Likewise Lady…Baela,” he guessed.

Any gratitude she showed evaporated quickly. “I’m Rhaena.”

“That would’ve been my next guess,” he responded cheekily. “You should rush back to your mother too. I imagine she’s getting concerned.”

Rhaena shook her head. “I still have a few other drunken ladies to wrangle back to their chambers unnoticed, goodnight.” With that, she took off back the way she came.

Aegon made sure Helaena and Rohanne went right to sleep. The last thing he needed was them drunkenly playing on the windowsill or with a dinner knife. As they drifted off to sleep, he could hear the redheaded girl mumbling something about a wedding.

Meanwhile, Helaena directed her sleepy words to him. “Night, Egg,” she mumbled into her pillow. It was unexpected to him, they hadn’t called him ‘Egg’ since he was nine, when he insisted the nickname was for little boys and he was big enough to be Aegon.

“Night,” he responded simply, even though it was still early evening.

“Love you,” she then said and he froze briefly. “Our family doesn’t say that enough, I think.” Then sleep took her without another word.

Aegon left the room, quiet as he could manage, and sighed. As he trailed back to his own chambers, he could not help but think of his sister’s remark. It ate away at him even as he tried desperately to find sleep.

He remembered how upset his mother was when they returned from the Dragonmont those months ago. Livid at his defiance and horrified at the scars on Aemond’s back, but most of all, she was terrified. 

“If anything happened to you, to any of you…I couldn’t bear it. I would not survive it,” she had said, tears barely held back in her eyes.

She loved them more than life itself, Aegon knew that. For years she had done nothing but give her every effort to care for them, to give them every scrap and opportunity for a good life that she could.

They weren’t always the best about returning that love, Aegon wasn’t always the best. He recognized that. But he did love her just the same.

If his mother believed her relationship with Rhaenyra to be wise, if she had faith that it would really be different this time, he supposed he ought to trust her in that.

When morning came, he apologized to his mother for his harshness. She didn’t need the apology, he knew, but he gave it anyway.

Personally, he wanted to leave it at that. Frustratingly though, a nagging voice in his head told him he was not yet done and it was rather difficult to ignore without any ale on hand.

He arrived at the queen’s chambers just after breakfast, prepared for his day of work. Rhaenyra was already long since awake, he assumed, seeing the mess of documents and exhaustion in her eyes.

“You’re here bright and early, for a change,” she teased, glancing up from her work briefly.

He handed over a pile of parchment he’d retrieved earlier that morning. “The draft you wanted from Lord Rowan,” he explained and she nodded.

“Excellent,” she said. “If you would, check with Maester Orwyle if any ravens arrived for me. I’m expecting a letter from Lady Arryn.”

He inclined his head and heeded the order without protest. Much as he wanted to leave the chamber wordlessly, he did not move from his spot.

Aegon grumbled to himself and swallowed his pride. “I’m sorry,” he said plainly. She looked up fully then, both surprised and a tad perplexed. He continued, “For insulting your sons and the mess at the Dragonmont.” Part of him thought that an apology was insufficient but it was all he had to give.

Rhaenyra was stunned for a moment, the sincerity from Aegon was unexpected.

“The business with Horas wasn’t my fault however, I maintain that,” he added.

She chuckled at that. “Thank you. Though, it was not I who was hurt by your words.”

Aegon suppressed the urge to sigh. He knew the implication, that he had to apologize to the princes directly. He would drag his feet the whole way, he knew, but he would do it.

Brief seconds of silence passed, both unsure of what to say. “I take it your mother told you about us,” the queen said.

“She told me enough,” he answered. “I still don’t like you, but it seems we’re stuck together for the foreseeable future.”

“I suppose so,” she responded. After a beat, she spoke, “I have always meant what I said, Aegon. You are my brother and I do not wish for us to be enemies.”

Aegon hummed. He’d heard the spiel too many times at this point. He never believed it before, part of him still didn’t, but her tone rang true to him.

“We shall see,” he compromised and the two left it at that. He did not trust her with his mother and his heart still echoed with the lost love of his father, eternally focused on her instead of him.

At the very least, after all she had done for him, he supposed he owed her a chance.

Alicent felt like a fool.

Tonight was supposed to be joyous. She was to have dinner with Rhaenyra, a do-over after their last disastrous attempt at it. All day, Alicent was eager for it. After Rhaenyra remarked that Aegon had actually improved his behavior, she was able to shed some of her fears about their relationship.

Idly, as she dressed, she thought about a request her daughter had come to her with that morning. She wanted to go to Elyana’s wedding in the Westerlands, a few months from then. Alicent did not wish to overstep but she wondered if it would be too much to ask for Rhaenyra to arrange her and her family’s passage to Casterly Rock. 

The queen likely couldn’t tear herself away from her duties, so soon after Dragonstone, but Alicent had no such firm obligations. Laena and her daughters may be attending as well, so she wouldn’t be alone on the trip, at least.

Alicent would ask the queen, she decided. Not tonight, but soon. She wanted tonight to just be about them.

Alas, all her excitement had been torn away from her when the hour came.

She expected to walk up to Rhaenyra’s chambers on her own, as she had done countless times before. Alicent tensed up when a fisted steel gauntlet banged on the door in a knock instead.

In Alicent’s fright and muffled through the door, she heard a knight of the Kingsguard call to her, “The queen commands your presence in her chambers.”

In an instant, she felt like barely more than a girl again. Forced awake in the middle of the night by a servant knocking on her door with a request she couldn’t refuse. She could remember the look of pity they gave her when she tried to feign an excuse that never worked. The king always got what he wanted, after all.

Rhaenyra is not her father… she reminded herself, taking deep breaths. She doesn’t mean it that way, we are only having dinner.

It all felt too real, however, the weight of her choice to begin this relationship hanging heavily on her. Alicent had agreed to this, asked to start their relationship, yet still she felt frozen on her feet.

“I would never ask you to do something you did not want to do. We could go at your pace, whatever you decide,” Rhaenyra had said. “If the day should come that these doubts become too great, we may end our relationship, if you wish.”

She tried to recall her words from the godswood, trying to assure herself once again that it would not be as it was with the king. Rhaenyra made her happy and secure, she likely didn’t mean ‘command’ as the knight had said it. Once again, Alicent was overthinking it all and she felt like an utter fool.

“Lady Alicent?” The knight on the other side of the door asked, knocking again.

She could not keep the queen waiting, it seemed. Shaky on her feet, she exited the room and followed the knight up to the queen’s chambers, silently trying to assure herself that all was well.

Again, she glanced around, catching sight of every nobleman whose eyes wandered over to her. As if they knew exactly why she was being escorted personally by a knight of the Kingsguard.

Reserved for the royal family…and their playthings, she could imagine their mocking words in her mind and tried to ignore them.

The knight pushed open the heavy iron door to the queen’s chambers and Alicent quickly scurried inside.

As she caught her breath, not even realizing she’d been holding it, her eyes found Rhaenyra across the room, who had perked up at the sound of her entrance.

She rose to meet her with a smile, only for it to falter as she approached. Alicent’s distress must’ve shown clearly.

“What’s the matter? Are you well?” Rhaenyra asked softly, taking slow steps so as not to alarm Alicent.

Part of Alicent, after all the turmoil her own mind had just put her through, felt a bit ashamed of how immediately her heart fluttered hearing Rhaenyra’s concern. Before she could think better of it, Alicent closed the distance between them, embracing Rhaenyra tightly.

She took a deep breath as Rhaenyra wrapped her arms around her in kind. The queen rubbed a hand comfortingly on her back. Her lingering fears seemed to evaporate in Rhaenyra’s presence, as they always did. Breathing in her scent, running a hand through her hair, it reminded her firmly of all the wonderful days she had spent with Rhaenyra, of the warmth and safety she always seemed to radiate.

After a while, the two finally pulled apart and Alicent brushed her own cheeks to ensure there were no traces of wetness. “Did something upset you?” Rhaenyra asked quietly.

Alicent shook her head. “I got myself worked up over nothing.”

The answer didn’t seem to please Rhaenyra. “Clearly it wasn’t nothing if it troubled you so.”

Alicent hesitated to speak the truth, but then, she knew Rhaenyra would not judge her for this. “It was the guard you sent. Between the command and the escort…it’s foolish perhaps, it made me recall the king too much.”

Rhaenyra’s features shifted to show her guilt quickly. “I’m so sorry, Alicent. I didn’t think it would be an issue and it was never supposed to be a command, only a request.”

Pausing, Alicent figured it was entirely possible she was mistaken. She heard the knight only through the door when she was already paranoid. He very well could’ve said it as a request.

“You've no reason to apologize. You could not have known,” Alicent responded.

Still, Rhaenyra seemed ashamed. “You know that I would never command you to do anything, most certainly anything you weren’t comfortable with-“

“I know,” Alicent interrupted. She is not her father, Alicent repeated to herself. She would repeat it as many times as it took for it to feel natural.

Rhaenyra nodded then. “It will take time, I think. To understand what we each are comfortable with.” Alicent agreed with that, it was never going to be so easy. “Please, never hesitate to tell me if I do something that discomforts you. And I promise, no more escorts.”

Alicent gave a tremulous smile at that. Carefully, she took Rhaenyra’s hand in hers and raised it to press a kiss on the back of it. “Likewise for you, you know. You don’t have to accommodate me at every turn if I do something that displeases you.”

Rhaenyra gave a cheeky grin. “Nothing you do could ever displease me.” Alicent could not help herself but laugh at the queen’s charm. After a few moments of simply enjoying each other’s company, Rhaenyra asked, “Do you feel well enough to still have dinner?”

She did not need to think twice before nodding. “It seems we’ve had quite a bit of bad luck with dinners,” she remarked humorously, between the family’s dinner, the one a few days ago, and this.

Rhaenyra hummed. “Then I suppose we’ll need to keep trying until we get it right.”

As the two settled at the table and Rhaenyra began animatedly explaining what the cooks had made, Alicent thought she could certainly enjoy a lifetime of disastrous dinners as long as they were with Rhaenyra.

Chapter Text

Daeron cheered, wind rushing past him as he held tightly to the reins of the horse. It was an exceptionally warm day out for the winter season, the bright sun high in the sky with no clouds in sight. Perfect weather to get out of the city and go horse riding.

Or, at least, Helaena and her friends thought so. He’d never known her to be interested in riding before but she had come to him asking if he could speak to the stable master at the keep for them.

The idea had excited Daeron, which he mentioned to the princes. One thing led to another, and before long, the queen and her family had elected to join them. Lord Tyland had accompanied them as well, to both keep an eye on his niece and pester Her Grace about some court matters that Daeron didn’t care to hear about.

“Slow down, Daeron!” He heard his mother call out, far in the distance behind him. Begrudgingly, he pulled on the reins to slow his horse, not wanting to worry her.

He was a bit too eager, admittedly. It had been quite a while since he’d had so much free space to ride in, the markedly few times he got the chance to mount a horse. He was to be a knight someday and Ser Criston said half of the skill of jousting was riding.

Daeron straightened his back, overlooking the hills outside King’s Landing and imagining the sight. Mounted atop a mighty steed, a lance in his hand, a set of stainless, shining armor adorning him. Ser Daeron Waters, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms. All the crowds would cheer his name, it wouldn’t matter that he was a bastard.

Someday, he thought wistfully.

“Wait up!” He heard Jace call from behind him. The two princes trotted towards him on their own horses. Daeron knew Jace would’ve gladly raced off at the same speed as him, but he had to look after his younger brother, as Luke had little experience riding outside of the confines of the keep’s yards.

“You’re really good,” Luke complimented.

“Thank you,” Daeron smiled. “Ser Luthor says knowing your horse well is most of the skill and I’ve helped take care of Moon for nearly a year.”

“You think Mother would let us do this more often?” Luke asked his brother. “We need to be properly trained for when we’re knights.”

Jace hummed in thought. “I don’t see why she wouldn’t.”

Luke grinned and gripped the reins of his horse with newfound energy. He kicked the sides of his horse, spurring them on to move, not a full gallop, but markedly more than a trot. He circled around the pair as they moved, trying to get a handle on controlling his horse. Jace chuckled as he watched his younger brother, though Daeron noticed there was something a bit restrained about it.

Before he could ask, a yelp sounded through the air. “Stop, stop, stop!” A girl he knew to be one of Helaena’s friends cried out, pulling frantically on her horse’s reins. The mount skidded to a shaky halt, clearly conveying the girl’s inexperience in riding.

“That’ll teach you to rush off, Rohanne,” Elyana Lannister mocked playfully as she and the rest of Helaena’s friends came to meet her. Daeron had only met the girl a handful of times and knew little and less about her, but Helaena liked her which was enough for him.

“You think I wanted to? This beast is out of his mind,” the other girl spoke, her voice still conveying panic.

Ser Luthor, who had come along with them to make sure the girls stayed safe as they learned to ride on horseback, rode up to the ground. “You cannot be at odds with your steed, my lady. It responds to you.”

“So, it is her fault,” Elyana concluded and the red-headed girl rolled her eyes playfully.

“Lady Helaena is taking to riding well,” Luthor noted. Daeron’s sister, he saw, was riding quietly but with little issue. Her horse was as relaxed as she was and responded well to her commands. “You ought to take cues from her. Remain calm and treat your horse well.” Helaena smiled slightly at his praise and the Lannister girl next to her, nudged her arm, grinning wider.

“You know, my betrothed is said to be a prodigy on horseback,” another of the girls boasted. The group seemed to collectively sigh as she started going on about some boy named Gwayne who won tourneys in the Westerlands. She sounded all sappy and in love, which Daeron thought was gross so he decided to ignore the rest.

A little ways behind them, Daeron spotted the queen’s party. His mother rode right next to Queen Rhaenyra, the two talking and laughing together. Daeron felt a bit happier at the sight, knowing how gloomy his mother used to be and how much that had changed in the past year.

King Laenor was nearby, his youngest son riding with him. The young prince giggled excitedly as he ran his hands through their horse’s mane and his father kept him steady on the saddle. The group was also flanked by half the Kingsguard, wary of any threats that might appear with the royal family out in the open.

Daeron had thought once that he wanted to be a knight of the Kingsguard. Ser Criston was one and he was honorable and friendly to them. He wasn’t quite sure about it though. Aegon discouraged him from the prospect and his mother told him that he had all the time in the world to decide what he wanted to be.

“Father! Look!” Luke called out as he rode his horse quickly over to the king. Laenor smiled and complimented him on how he was a natural on horseback. Daeron turned to see Jace pointedly looking away from the sight, brooding as he held the reins too tightly.

“Are you well?” Daeron asked, concerned.

“Why would I not be?” Jace huffed, more harsh than necessary. Daeron didn’t think it was wise to say that his tone made him seem decidedly unwell.

He wondered why Jace would be upset with his father. The king loved his sons more than anything, so it seemed to Daeron, and he had no qualms about showing it. The only way to know was to ask but he didn’t wish to upset the prince any more.

“I’m always here to listen if you wish to talk,” Daeron settled on.

Jace looked a bit guilty for snapping at him for a moment then appeared conflicted. Eventually, he spoke quietly, “If I tell you something, you must keep it a secret.”

“Absolutely,” Daeron agreed immediately.

“You cannot tell your brothers or Luke or anyone,” Jace insisted. Daeron nodded firmly. The prince’s voice was hesitant as he began, “Do you remember what your brother said, back at Dragonstone?”

Daeron bit his lip nervously, his mother had told him not to talk about that incident again and certainly not to repeat any of what Aegon said. “About Ser Harwin Strong?” Daeron clarified.

Jace took a breath. “Sometimes, I think he was right.”

Daeron furrowed his brow at that. “His Grace loves you deeply though. I don’t think he’d be so dedicated if you weren’t his sons.”

He didn’t seem convinced. “If I was his son, why do I not look like him? Luke and Joffrey too, we all look like Ser Harwin. Everyone says so.”

Daeron didn’t know much about lineages, admittedly.

The prince continued, “Mother used to say he was only our shield and her close friend, but none of our other guards were as dedicated to us. Not Ser Criston or Ser Harrold or any of the Kingsguard.”

The prince averted his eyes from Daeron. There was the reluctant tug of a smile on his lips as he recalled memories from when the knight lived.

“Ser Harwin was always with us, from dawn to dusk. He ate meals with us, taught us to hold swords, took us to get Joffrey’s egg, and he accompanied me the first time I rode a horse.” Daeron figured that was why his friend was thinking of Ser Harwin now, as they rode. “One time, I was playing down in the caves by myself and I twisted my ankle. Ser Harwin came running, looking for me, and carried me all the way to the maester’s office. He whispered to me about how all would be well and held my hand as the maester inspected it. Why would he do all that if he wasn’t our father?”

Daeron shrugged, unsure what to say. He did not know if agreeing with Jace’s conclusion or debating it would make him feel better.

“Mother says he’s not our father. She swore he wasn’t,” Jace said. “She lied, I think.”

Daeron sympathized with the prince. When he was younger, back when his father lived, he would get awoken in the middle of the night by a servant knocking at the door. His mother would always tell him not to worry, it was merely business for his grandfather that she had to attend to. Aegon always said she was lying though.

It hurt to think that she wouldn’t tell him the truth, but then Aegon said it was better he didn’t know. Daeron didn’t really understand what that meant, but it made him feel a bit better. She was lying to help him, not out of malice.

He told Jace much the same. “Sometimes lies are told for the greater good. To protect us.”

Jace pouted. “I’m two and ten, nearly a man grown.” He stood up straight to make himself feel older and more important.

Daeron laughed, thinking twelve was hardly close to a man. “Perhaps you should talk to your mother. Tell her about your worries.”

His confidence seemed to fade quickly at the idea, shifting nervously on his saddle. “Maybe.”

An awakened silence hung over them for a few moments, putting Daeron on edge himself. It was only broken when Luke came rushing back over, a wide grin on his face.

“We should race over to that rock!” He suggested, pointing way off in the distance.

“You should not! Luke!” Laenor called out to them.

Jace’s energy returned to him quickly, meeting his brother and Daeron’s eyes with a mischievous smile. With a sudden move, he snapped the reins and his horse started galloping off towards their goal. Daeron and Luke wasted no time, chasing after him despite the protests from the king.

Their laughs were lost in the wind and they rushed over the green hills outside King’s Landing. For all the turmoil Jace was facing, Daeron was glad he was not too caught up to forget to enjoy himself.

It was a beautiful day out and they intended to make the most of it. They could worry about everything else tomorrow.

Alicent and Rhaenyra lazed on the ground side by side, a thin blanket separating their dresses from the grass underneath. Between them was a basket full of food the queen had brought, knowing they would likely be out of the keep past lunch. The children had already eaten, now running around freely in the green plains to expend their energy while their horses rested and grazed.

The pair of them were quite content to remain where they were, however. Rhaenyra plucked a pair of lemon cakes from the basket and offered one to Alicent, which she gladly accepted. Rhaenyra had a sweet tooth, she had come to learn.

“My mother would have them made whenever I behaved, which admittedly wasn’t very often,” Rhaenyra explained sheepishly. “It was our own little treat.”

The area outside King’s Landing was tranquil in the afternoon. They had seen a few carts and riders going in and out of the city but beyond that, their group was left undisturbed. She could see Laenor leaning against a tree, Joffrey in his lap whose face was messy from their meal. He spoke softly to his son, repeating his father’s stories of adventure during his Nine Voyages across the Narrow Sea.

Elsewhere, Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk gave the princes and Daeron an impromptu lesson on tracking animals. None of them were very good at it, but Alicent thought it was an adorable sight, the three boys sneaking around in the grass.

Rhaenyra laughed mockingly when she spotted Tyland Lannister, roped into chaperoning his niece and her friends for the moment. Knowing him, Alicent didn’t doubt that he would rather have spent his day holed up doing work in the Red Keep. Ostensibly, he had joined them to make sure his niece didn’t get in trouble before her wedding day. Rhaenyra and Alicent knew the truth of it however.

With her father and Jasper Wylde’s dismissal from the council, Tyland was clearly fretting that he would be next. He had doubled up on his usual routine of flattery and servitude in an attempt to ingratiate himself with the queen and save his position. She had asked Rhaenyra her thoughts on the man, “He’s skillful at his job, but it still remains to be seen how much I can trust him. Appointing someone else may be the safer choice, in time.” Of course, Lord Rowan had only just joined the council, so any decision would wait until he was more settled.

In Elyana’s group with her handmaidens, Alicent saw her daughter digging in the grass. Helaena had an inquisitive look on her face as she picked up beetles and worms and centipedes, turning them in her hand. Alicent would truly never understand her daughter’s fascination with those creatures, but they seemed to make her happy nonetheless.

As the clouds passed by slowly overhead, Alicent found herself surrendering to the peaceful aura of the afternoon. She laid down on the blanket and relished in its softness. Rhaenyra smiled down at her, brushing the hair out of her face.

The chatter of children slowly became dull background noise as her eyes fluttered close. The breeze flowed easily, birds chirped in the skies, and Rhaenyra’s hands brushed soothingly at her scalp. It was so quaint, so easy to get lost in the moment. Alicent could think for a moment that she had no burdens weighing down on her outside the walls of the city, away from the eyes of court.

All too quickly, sleep overtook her.

“Mother!!”

Alicent jerked awake, unsure of how long she had been at rest. Blinking away the tiredness, she saw Ser Arryk approach her with one of Rhaenyra’s sons in tow. After her vision adjusted and she could see more clearly, she recognized him as Luke.

Immediately, she shot to attention. His eyes were puffy and red, with remnants of tear stains easily visible on his cheeks. He was walking oddly and she recognized quickly that he must’ve hurt his leg.

“Is everything all right?” Alicent called out. “Where’s Daeron and Prince Jacaerys?”

The knight slowly led Luke over to the blanket she sat on. It was only then that Alicent noticed that Rhaenyra was no longer next to her. “The prince scraped his knee badly while out playing. Ser Erryk stayed with the other boys. Do you know where Her Grace went off to?”

Looking around the plains, Alicent could see that Laenor and Joffrey were gone as well; she assumed Rhaenyra was with them. Ser Harrold too was nowhere in sight, so at least they were presumably protected.

“I’m unsure, Ser,” Alicent confessed.

Ser Arryk’s face was full of conflict. He had to go fetch the queen for her son, but Luke could not walk all the way with him.

“You have to find Mother!” Luke said, his lip curled up sadly.

“Of course, of course,” Arryk knew. He turned to Alicent again. “Would you mind keeping an eye on the boy?” After a beat, he then leaned closer and whispered quiet enough so Luke wouldn’t hear. “His injury is not truly any cause for concern. But it is easier to humor him.”

Alicent could sympathize with that. Aegon had a penchant for overreacting when he was barely more than a boy. She asked Luke, “Would you be alright staying with me while Ser Arryk finds your mother?”

Luke sniffled, rubbing at his eyes. “I suppose.”

With that, Ser Arryk took off, trudging over tall hills to find a glimpse of the queen and her family, wherever they had gone. Luke sat on the sheet, whimpering over his leg. It almost broke Alicent’s heart, seeing a boy usually full of life so distraught, as if he thought a tiny scrape would cause him to lose his leg entirely.

She scooted closer to him, wanting to help lift his spirits while they waited for Rhaenyra. “Would you mind if I took a look, Luke?”

The prince glanced at her warily. She was not necessarily a stranger, they’d seen each other many times between her work for Rhaenyra and his friendship with Daeron, but still, they had not spoken more than a handful of words to each other. Eventually, he nodded and rolled up his pant leg to reveal the scrape on his knee.

It certainly wasn’t a pretty sight, covered in dirt and oozing drops of blood, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. Her sons had all had worse cuts and scrapes from their swordplay training. From the basket Rhaenyra had brought, Alicent pulled out a waterskin, still half full.

“I’m going to clean it, would that be all right?” She asked. She wanted to make sure Luke felt comfortable with every step. When the boy nodded, she held out her hand. “You can grab on if it stings too much,” she told him.

He did so as she carefully tilted the waterskin and the clear liquid came tepidly pouring out, passing over his knee. He winced and clenched his hand tightly. Alicent thought for a moment, remembering how her mother would get her and her siblings to talk about something they liked whenever she treated a wound so they wouldn’t focus on the pain.

“You were quite a prodigy on horseback earlier, I heard,” Alicent commented.

A tiny bit of Luke’s enthusiasm returned to him then. “I want to be a knight someday. Like my father. And knights need to be good at riding.”

“That they do,” she nodded. “Would you ever wish to have a horse of your own?” At the same time, she pulled out a rag from the basket, wiping the wetted dirt and blood away from his wound. He sucked in a breath but otherwise focused on answering her question.

“I’m not sure. Mother says it’s a lot of work to take care of a horse. And I already have Arrax, so it’d be double the work,” he explained. “But Daeron says horses are fun and Ser Luthor told us the bond between us and our horses will make us better riders.”

“The stablemaster is very wise. He’s been in charge of the stables since the Old King’s reign,” she said.

“He’s older than Grandfather,” Luke giggled. “Though, speaking of, Grandfather says I should focus more on sailing, since I’m to be the Lord of Tides.”

“I reckon you won’t find much use for a horse at sea,” Alicent noted, slightly amused. With a clean handkerchief, she carefully wrapped up the prince’s knee, covering the wound and securing it with a tight but not discomforting knot.

Luke barely noticed as he thought for a moment. “Unless I could teach a horse to swim. It can’t be that hard, right? Joffrey has started swimming lessons and he still eats with his hands.”

Alicent laughed, nodding along. “I think Ser Luthor would know much more about that than I.”

They talked for a while longer, she encouraged him to continue speaking about his dream to become a knight. The boy told her of how he wanted to squire for Ser Harrold someday. He would win extravagant tourneys and crown his cousin, Rhaena, the Queen of Love and Beauty because his father told him it would be a kind thing to do for her.

Beyond tourneys, he wanted to be like the knights he heard about in stories. Fighting off brigands and criminals in the Kingswood, restoring peace in the realm, and helping people. Of course, he would do it all alongside Jace and Daeron because they were the best of friends, at least until Jace became king.

It was a wondrous image from the mind of an idealistic boy, she thought.

A few minutes later, Ser Arryk came back from over the hill with the queen, king, little Joffrey, and Ser Harrold in tow. Rhaenyra rushed down to them, her face creased with worry over Luke.

“I’m so sorry. Joffrey wanted to go pick flowers. Are you all right, Luke?” She knelt down, wanting to get a look at the injury herself.

Surprisingly however, Luke pushed himself to his feet. “I’m well enough, Mother,” he told her, puffing out his chest like he was acting strong.

She looked at him quizzically. Ser Arryk had told her how upset the poor boy was. “Are you certain?”

He nodded without hesitation. “Ser Arryk! We must go find my brother!” He commanded with all the authority of a child.

The knight panted heavily, the thick armor not suited for walking this much in the heat, but nodded all the same. “Of course, my prince. Right this way.”

The boy waved goodbye to them as he followed the knight. He walked confidently, as if nothing was ever wrong.

Rhaenyra and Laenor appeared shocked and the queen’s eyes met hers. A curious, somewhat playful smile grew on her face. “What did you do?”

Alicent shrugged, playing innocent. “We just talked.”

The queen chuckled and sat back on the ground next to her. Earnestly, she said, “You’re very good with them, you know. An amazing mother.”

Alicent blushed, part of her doubting that but allowing herself to accept the compliment. Alicent, acting as a mother to Rhaenyra’s children. The idea sounded ridiculous and yet made her feel lighter than air.

She was very glad, she decided, that she had agreed to join them on today’s excursion.

Aemond grumbled as he stomped through the streets of King’s Landing. It was cold out, at least by King’s Landing standards, so he pulled his coat tighter around himself. It was the same one he got for his birthday and he’d had ample opportunity to use it with winter setting in. His back ached as he walked, the scar tissue still not quite healed. 

The prince had awoken him as the sun set, telling him they should go on patrols together. As he was the Commander, Aemond was in no place to refuse. Not that he would, of course.

It was almost nice, he thought, to have someone to rely on. He didn’t have to shoulder everything himself, so long as Prince Daemon remained on his side. He was older, wiser, and stronger. It felt like a burden was lifted from the boy when Daemon was around.

The moon rose high above the city, shining light down to illuminate the streets. Aemond suppressed a yawn as he walked. A few paces ahead, Daemon’s heavy armor clanged with every step. The crowd parted for them, intimidated by Daemon’s golden commander cloak. He felt the glares of the common folk, their cold eyes boring into him. The prince, on the other hand, either did not notice how little the people liked them or simply didn’t care.

Aemond huffed and continued following him. The streets of Flea Bottom were alive at this hour, a common occurrence. Vendors tried to sell them exotic food and performed tricks with flaming batons. None of it interested him so he kept his head down and hoped no one approached him.

The flaw in his plan became apparent when Daemon came to a stop in the square and Aemond didn’t realize until he’d ran right into him. Normally, Daemon would huff and give a stern, “Watch yourself, boy,” yet today, he said nothing. Looking to the prince, Aemond saw he wasn’t focused on Aemond at all, but instead towards the raised platform in the square where a performance was taking place.

It only took a brief glance of Aemond’s to figure out why.

“The queen is dead! And the king shall take no second wife!” The narrator yelled above the crowd. He had far too much powder on his face, looking deathly pale in the moonlight, and wore a ridiculously colorful outfit. 

In the center of the stage was a gray chair clearly meant to be the Iron Throne and in it sat a man with a thick beard, his clothes stuffed to the brim with straw to make him appear more round, with a fake crown on his head. It was supposed to be his father, he could already figure.

“The little princess flees to Dragonstone, its new heir. In comes the vultures, looking for a meal…” He waved dramatically as two more actors came onto the stage. One tall and sickly looking, his chin held so high that even those in the back of the crowd could sense his feeling of superiority. Beside him, Aemond clenched his teeth so hard it started to hurt, was a woman dressed in thin, nearly see-through green. Members of the crowd whooped and hollered at her as she walked the stage to her position.

His grandfather and mother. He spared a glance at the prince, who watched the scene blankly.

“Whatever are we to do, Father?” Alicent’s actor asked, overly dramatic.

“The king has decreed it, he is not to be remarried,” Otto’s actor replied.

“That is not good enough,” she whined. “You said I would be queen!”

“His Grace only just lost his wife, dear daughter,” he answered. At that, the actor for Viserys let out a howl of despair, weeping as he drank sloppily from a cup of wine and the sea of common folk laughed. “Let us give him some time.”

“I think he simply needs to get over himself,” she scoffed. “Perhaps a distraction from his woes is in order.”

The actor for Otto grinned, understanding her meaning. “Yes. Some extra incentive to change his mind.” The two laughed together mischievously, concocting their master plan.

Aemond clenched the hilt of his sword tight. There’d been plenty of plays made about the royal family and insulting all their tribulations, Jaehaerys’ wild daughters, the tale of King Maegor getting killed by a chair, and even Rhaenyra and her plain-featured sons. It was something else though to see his own mother ridiculed and portrayed like this.

They don’t know anything, he said to himself. None of this is true.

Aemond muttered, “I don’t need to see more of this. Let us move on, uncle.” He took a few steps until Daemon grabbed his shoulder roughly and pulled him back.

“Show’s not over yet,” Daemon hissed and returned his attention to the stage.

“Oh, Your Grace, you look so gallant this morning,” Alicent’s actress said, high pitched and mocking. 

“Aemma used to say I was gallant,” the actor sighed, weeping into his cup of wine.

The actress looked toward the crowd, her face unamused by the king’s sorrow. She forced a smile back onto her features and brought back the obnoxious tone, “Your Grace, how thin you’ve grown.”

“Aemma was thin…” he thought wistfully. 

It went on like this several times, each more grating than the last. The lady complimented him, the king bemoaned his lost wife. As if he ever cared about her, Aemond thought bitterly. It was not difficult math to figure out. It was only six months after the queen died that his eldest brother was conceived.

The audience seemed to love it though, watching their foolish, drunken king. Eventually, the actress grew tired of the king’s drinking and tore his cup from his fingers, throwing it to the floor with a splatter.

“Alicent!” Otto’s actor stepped forward, panicked at her outburst.

“Oh, my mistake. My hand must’ve slipped,” she feigned innocence and somehow, the king believed her. “Let me get that, Your Grace.”

The crowd began shouting ribald remarks as the actress leaned over, exaggerated, arching her back. The king’s actor widened his eyes like a boy, green as grass, and stammered over his words. All the while, Otto’s actor reached out his hand, inching closer to the makeshift crown.

At the last moment though, the king turned to look at his Hand and the actor retreated his hand before he got caught. “Otto! This- this is quite- well, this is- to say that your daughter’s behavior-”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that, Your Grace,” he responded.

Aemond clenched his fist tight, his fingernails dug into the palm of his hand.

“Apologies, Your Grace,” Alicent’s actress smiled and handed him back his cup. In a swift move, she practically leapt onto the throne, laying on the king’s lap with her legs hanging over the side.

“Alicent!” Viserys’ actor exclaimed, shocked. Once more, Otto moved his hand towards the crown while the king was distracted, tantalizingly close but was cut short as the king turned his head to him,

“Ser Otto, what are you doing?” He demanded.

“Nothing at all, Your Grace,” he responded and the audience laughed.

Aemond bit the inside of his cheek so hard he was sure he could taste blood.

Seemingly satisfied with that, the actor turned back to Alicent, smiling innocently and batting her eyelashes.

“Is there a problem, Your Grace?” She inquired. “I could help you relax , if you wish.”

“Alicent- I think this is most inappropriate-“

She groaned, annoyed. “Oh, Seven Hells!” At once, she grabbed the collar of her dress and wrenched it open, exposing her chest to the king.

Aemond averted his eyes, anger seething within him. The crowd cheered uproariously. They laughed at the mockery of his mother and all she endured.

The actor for Otto finally plucked the crown off of the king’s head while he was distracted and placed it on his own.

The king didn’t even notice.

He barged through the crowd, shoving people aside forcefully as he fled the square. He couldn’t watch another second of that damn play. He didn’t pay attention to where he was going, only knowing that he needed to get out of earshot.

How dare they? He seethed. Pent up rage filled every bone in his body. He ought to get the gold cloaks to storm the stage and end their little show. He was barely more than a grunt though, a bastard with no authority.

Eventually, he had gotten lost in the maze of Flea Bottom’s alleys in his anger. Aemond took deep breaths, trying to calm himself. All the while, the scar over his eye had started throbbing in pain again, irritating him even more.

He slammed his fist into the nearest building, yelping in pain at the crack of his knuckles.

“Waters!” Daemon called for him, getting his attention when he finally caught up. “You missed the rest of the show.”

Aemond scowled. “I hope you enjoyed it, uncle. I could not stomach anymore of that disgusting display.”

“You misunderstand. I found it distasteful, same as you, and horribly inaccurate.”

“My mother is not a whore,” Aemond gritted the obvious through his teeth. Despite the time that they had spent together, Aemond did not forget how the prince despised his mother.

“I was referring to the portrayal of my brother. A blind, incompetent, lustful fool. After all he did for these miserable cunts, that’s how they remember him,” Daemon complained.

Aemond had to laugh, mocking. “That is what you take umbrage with? My father was a cunt. Let his legacy rot.”

His uncle certainly didn’t appreciate that. There was a beat of silence, their eyes locked on each other in a glare. “You did not know him. Not truly, as I did.”

“I knew enough,” Aemond answered. “I know that I was his flesh and blood and when my eye was taken from me, he told me it was my fault.”

“As I heard it, you did start that fight.”

“I was ten,” Aemond spat. For months afterwards he had tried to act strong, like it did not bother him, even as he had nightmares of the steel cutting through his flesh. The boy who did it, Lucas Vypren, had suffered no consequence for it. As Aemond was told, he was thriving back home in the Riverlands these days, with a wife and a son and a keep all his own.

It wasn’t fair . Aemond had to work tirelessly to keep up with the other squires from then on, running drills from dawn to dusk. His father never showed any regret or concern. Aemond didn’t think he liked looking at him afterward, seeing the ugly scar on his eye.

Daemon took note of his growing rage and decided pushing Aemond too far too quickly was like to sour their relationship. “Easy, boy. You’re right. Let us agree that it was a dreadful show.”

The younger man took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He nodded cautiously, but he would not forget those words. He scratched at his eye, the memories making it flare up in pain even more, or maybe it was just his imagination.

Aemond took a seat on a house’s steps and Daemon joined him. Silence hung in the air as they watched the common folk walk by. Even at this hour, the street was packed with people, almost suffocatingly busy.

When Aemond had composed himself, he hesitantly turned to his uncle. “What was your brother like, to you?” Beyond the incidents and the neglect, he didn’t truly know his father.

He shouldn’t want to, he knew. He didn’t. And yet, the possibility of clearer answers allured him.

Daemon hummed, considering the question for a moment. He spoke quietly and cautiously as he began, “Our mother passed when we were children. And our father, he had little time to spare as our grandfather grew older and delegated more of his duties. Over the years we lost more aunts and uncles, one after another like a curse on our house. It…took a toll on our father. Even when he was there, he wasn’t quite present . Viserys and I, though, we had each other through it all.”

Aemond hadn’t known much about his other grandfather, or that entire side of the family in general, beyond the stories of the wise Old King. It seemed hard to imagine, losing so many siblings.

“We did everything together. We were princes with no obligations and very little supervision, so we did as princes are wont to do. We trained in the yard, gorged ourselves on the finest wines, a few less than proper late night excursions,” Daemon smiled to himself, as if he was remembering a specific memory. “He was always the more responsible between the two of us. He got us back to the keep, well and alive, every time. What was my brother like, to me? He was a hearth, a bright and warm light. A stable comfort amidst the chaos.”

Aemond could understand the feeling. All he had ever had was his mother and his siblings. When few others at court could tolerate their presence, Aemond always knew he could be safe and happy with them.

“Then, our grandfather called his name at the Great Council. He was to be King of Westeros,” Daemon spoke, equal parts reverent and melancholic. “He was different after that, with a wife and child of his own and a realm looking to him to solve all their issues. We were busier, we were older, and I suppose he grew tired of the many headaches I caused him.”

It was not often Daemon spoke from the heart. Every word was usually laced with hidden motives and subtle insinuations. But this, Aemond knew, was true.

“I could not even remember the last thing we said to each other, before I went into exile that final time.”

“You never wrote to each other?” Aemond asked.

“He never sent letters, so I never wrote either. It was calm in Essos. A mind-numbing sort of peace. It was easy to stew on bitterness, let the time pass too quickly to even enjoy it. And then, the raven came. He was gone.”

Daemon was silent for a handful of seconds, his expression unreadable.

“For all we did and said, he was my brother. I could never forget that, for better and worse, no matter how far I strayed from Westeros. We defended each other as much as we fought, and hated as much as we loved.”

Aemond clenched his jaw, remembering those feelings.

As vividly as the steel on his eye, he recalled that fateful day, how Lucas and the bullies, towering over Aemond as he laid on the ground, had been assaulted by a blur of silver hair. “Get the fuck off my brother!”

He could close his eyes and retrace the steps he always took to bring Aegon to the Red Keep after a rough night. He would kick him awake then practically carry him back, drunken and miserable.

He remembered the sting of fire on his back, the scars still itching at him day after day. 

“Waters isn’t a family name.”

“I shall never know what my brother thought of me, at the end,” Daemon mused. “All the same, his legacy is mine to uphold.”

Aemond needed to think of something else, desperately. “Why didn’t you, then? Uphold his legacy?”

“Pardon?”

“You could’ve succeeded him as king, ensured it was done properly. Yet you refused to push your claim against Rhaenyra,” Aemond noted. It was always odd to him. There were whispers after the king died, fears of a war brewing, yet Rhaenyra had invited Daemon home to Westeros without a second thought and no conflict came of it. “You are the king’s eldest trueborn male relative. The lords would have sided with you.”

Daemon was silent for a beat too long, gritting his teeth. “My brother chose Rhaenyra. He believed I was not built to bear the burden of rule.” His tone did not indicate he was at peace with the decision but he abided by it all the same. “It matters not. His name, his image, his legacy, I will defend that to my last breath. From any and all who sully it.”

The prince had no more to say, standing abruptly and marching off. They were supposed to be on patrol, after all. Aemond hesitantly followed, struggling to keep up as Daemon quickened the pace. The Commander scanned the streets like a hungry wolf, begging for any prey to show its face.

Aemond gripped his sword. Months had passed, he still did not know what to make of Daemon. With every conversation, it seemed answers only ever eluded him more and more.

The moon was full as it gazed down on the beach below. Gentle waves lapped at the shorefront and calm had filled the air after hours of children and horses buzzing about on the hills. Most had grown tired and hungry with the setting sun, returning to the sanctuary of the Red Keep. 

All but three had left, Alicent, Rhaenyra, and the Kingsguard sworn to protect the queen. On the sands of the beach, the queen and her lover laid against a tall rock side by side, giving them a modicum of privacy from the guard who stood a ways back, engrossed in their conversation and enjoying one another’s presence.

“I was simply writing a letter in my chambers, relaxing before dinner, then suddenly I heard Syrax start roaring,” Rhaenyra explained, in the middle of telling her a story. “I didn’t think much of it, the dragons are always screeching at something or other. That was, until I heard Luke start shouting. I hurried down to the beach to figure out what was going on. Poor Jace was clinging to the side of the saddle and Syrax nearly took flight. He was eight at the time, I swear he scared the life out of me.”

Despite her initial fear, the story had turned to an amusing anecdote over the years and Alicent smiled when the queen did. Dragons scared her enough already without having to be worried about one of her children climbing around on one.

“Best keep an eye on Joffrey then,” Alicent mused.

“I fear the day when he starts flying. It was already enough hassle to settle him when we had to send Tyraxes to the Dragonpit permanently,” Rhaenyra recalled.

“You Targaryens and your dragons,” Alicent teased. “Truly, I do not understand all the fuss.”

Rhaenyra hummed, disagreeing. Her love would understand if she ever accepted the queen’s invitation to ride a dragon but she did not want to push the issue, especially on a night as exquisite as this.

Alicent let out a peaceful sigh, laying back against the rock. They let a comfortable silence fall over them, listening to the sounds of nature around them. It was not near often enough that they got to enjoy life outside the city, Rhaenyra thought.

After a second, Alicent idly leaned over, resting her head on Rhaenyra’s shoulder. Cautiously, Rhaenyra followed her lead and wrapped an arm around Alicent, pulling her slightly closer. “Is this all right?” She whispered.

“Yes,” Alicent answered, content. Deeper she cuddled into Rhaenyra’s form, feeling her lean muscles honed from years of dragon riding through the dress. The two soaked up the feeling of being close to one another. There was no one to bother them and no need to hide. Rhaenyra wished they didn’t have to hide.

Rhaenyra’s father’s choice to not marry Alicent had tormented her life for decades. She hated and feared the possibility of treating Alicent even remotely as he had. But there was no other option in their case. She could not wed Alicent in the eyes of the Seven and see the realm rejoice, no matter her desires. The lords would not have it. They did not like her as queen as it was, an affront to the gods in their minds would be enough to call for war.

The queen tried to focus on brighter ventures, distracting her dour thoughts with memories of their day. “Thank you for what you did with Luke,” Rhaenyra said, breaking the silence.

Alicent smiled. “It was nothing. He’s a very sweet boy.”

She hummed, “That he is.” Where Jace was always headstrong and confident, her second son was bashful and friendly. It had been so ever since they were children and she adored both of their qualities in equal measure.

“Besides,” Alicent began. “I ought to get to know them better. If we are to make our relationship work, I expect I’ll be seeing much more of them.”

Rhaenyra grinned at that, glad to know her love was just as committed to their affair. She eagerly imagined the possibilities of her life with Alicent. Luke would love her given more time to know her, she just knew it. Jace too, and they were already the best of friends with Daeron. 

She wondered if Aemond would enjoy helping the boys’ train when he wasn’t busy with his duties. It would be a good chance for him to relax a bit, as Alicent told her of how often he worked. Perhaps even take one on as a squire once he was old enough to earn his knight spurs. It would still be younger than most knights were when they took on an apprentice, but Alicent had always said her second son was more mature than most.

Helaena was close with Laena’s daughters, so she’d heard. She’d spoken to her many times but never very deeply. She would love to know her better. Rhaenyra had always so wanted a sister, or a daughter in a certain sense. Alicent had confided in her on occasion about her worries for Helaena finding a husband. As queen, Rhaenyra could certainly help with that, if Helaena would wish for it.

As for Aegon, it was still difficult to determine if their current fragile peace would last. She held out hope, at least, that they would be close someday. He had a good soul beneath his bluster, she believed.

Of course, there was also her little Joffrey. He was so young, he would never remember his father, a fact that had and would always bring her sorrow. All the same, she found herself getting emotional at the chance to raise him together with Alicent. He already adored her from their brief encounters.

Rhaenyra leaned her head against Alicent’s, feeling her auburn curls tickle at the side of her face. It was difficult to comprehend at times, how lucky she was to be with Alicent. Part of her doubted she would ever find anyone again after Harwin passed.

She supposed her only regret was that she had not met Alicent sooner, before their fathers had turned her into a pawn.

The queen held Alicent tightly and her love sighed into the embrace, perfectly content.

“I love you.” The words spilled out of Rhaenyra, hanging in the air. “You don’t have to say it, if you’re not ready. I only wished for you to know how much I cherish you and every day we spend together.”

The wind brushed lightly past them, filling the void of silence. Alicent’s expression was indistinct for a few moments but she did not pull away.

Eventually, she turned to face Rhaenyra directly, her eyes glowing in the moonlight. Shining almost too much, Rhaenyra noticed, before realizing the tears wetting her eyes.

“I’m sorry if that was too much-“ Rhaenyra tried but Alicent shook her head quickly.

“It wasn’t,” she assured the queen. “I am happy. You make me happy, more than I have been in so long.”

Rhaenyra smiled at that. “I shall strive to keep you this happy always then.”

“I’ve no doubt that you are up to the task,” Alicent teased.

All that Alicent felt, this lightness and warmth in her heart practically bursting at the seams, it was all foreign to her yet so exhilarating. She had never known love could feel like this. It made her want to laugh and cry and never be without Rhaenyra again.

Tomorrow, she expected her fears would return and eat away at her confidence. Tonight, however, she did not wish to be beholden to them.

Alicent raised her hand, brushing away the silver hair of the queen from her cheek. Slowly but surely, she leaned closer until she connected their lips in an unfamiliar dance.

It was soft and tentative, almost restrained on the queen’s part. For Alicent, it set her whole face alight with a blush. The fire in her heart grew hotter as she felt the world melt away around them.

It felt right to Alicent, like nothing ever had before.

They separated all too soon, catching their breath.

“Was that all right?” Rhaenyra asked, needing to be sure.

“Yes, yes,” Alicent answered immediately, a wide grin on her face. She wanted to lean in for more but feared pushing herself too much too quickly.

This moment, to her, was simply perfect , and there was no need to risk sullying it.

She leaned back on Rhaenyra’s shoulder and let the queen envelop her in her arms again. There was no pressure of court life or doubts plaguing her mind. It was just the two of them and that was more than enough for Alicent.

Chapter Text

Nineteen years before the death of King Viserys…

Laena Velaryon wasn’t particularly pious. She learned about her ancestors’ faith in the Old Gods of Valyria, yet it always seemed so foreign to her. Likewise, the Faith of the Seven never held much appeal for her despite her septa’s teachings. The gods simply held little interest for her.

All the same, Laena found herself lighting a candle and praying to any god that could hear her. She met with the king a few days ago at her father’s request. Viserys was kind and affable, he talked to her about the vast history of Valyria and his brief time as a dragonrider. She might’ve liked to speak to him more, under different circumstances.

She could not shake it from her mind though during their meeting, the idea of being married to him made her skin crawl. He was a large man, towering over her, and he was so very old, nearly as old as her mother. Even if he had been perfect, Laena didn’t want to be married to anyone yet. In truth, the idea frightened her. Over the years in Driftmark and King’s Landing, she’d heard the screams and shouts of mothers as they gave birth, it sounded far too painful to ever be worth it. She’d heard from some of her friends that the bedding could hurt terribly as well. She wanted to avoid that fate for as long as possible.

Laena prayed to the gods to make the king change his mind, to refuse to marry her. Her father said it was practically already certain, the king would not be like to find a better match than her. Her mother wasn’t quite sure though. Her one sliver of hope laid in the king’s reaction during their meeting.

Though he tried to hide it, it was plain to see that the king’s heart was not in their conversation. He seemed more than a bit uncomfortable, perhaps it was still too soon since his wife’s death. It felt a bit rude to pray for grief to plague him but she wished it were so. If only for a few more years respite from her duty.

Laena prayed until her eyelids felt heavy, then she headed off to bed and relented to sleep for the night. She dreamt of riding a dragon, flying through the skies wild and free, a fate she would never earn if she was married off so soon.

When morning came, so did a tentative knock on her door. Still groggy from sleep, Laena assumed it would be her handmaidens to help her dress, but instead it was her mother. Her hair was down, a rare sight given her penchant for elaborate braids. Quietly, she entered the room and sat down on the edge of Laena’s bed.

“What is it, Mother?” She asked, growing a tad worried.

Her mother remained quiet for a few moments, seemingly trying to figure out the best way to say what she had to. “I know this is rather sudden, my dear, but after we break our fast, you must begin packing your things.”

“What? Are we leaving?” Laena guessed, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What about Father’s position? Did something happen?”

Her mother held up a hand, encouraging her to relax. “Everything is well. Your father and the king had a…disagreement. We’ll be returning to Driftmark.”

Father lost his council position? He’d had it since she was born, since the reign of the Old King. No one understood ships and sailing better than her father.

Laena was hesitant to even ask her next question. “What of the betrothal offer?”

Her mother reached out to grasp her hand. “The king has denied it. In fact, he has decreed he will not be remarrying at all.”

Laena was more confused now than ever. She thought he had to, he didn’t have a male heir. She didn’t dwell on it though, allowing herself to be pleased at the news. She supposed this was why he and her father had an argument.

“Does that bother you?” Her mother asked when she noticed Laena’s silence.

Laena knew it should. Being queen was the highest honor for a woman in the Seven Kingdoms, any maiden would be heartbroken to lose it. And yet, she could only feel glee. For once, the gods heard her prayers and spared her this fate.

Nervously, Laena shook her head. “I’m a bit relieved,” she admitted.

Her mother shocked her then by smiling. She raised a hand to caress her daughter’s face lovingly. “Can I tell you a secret?” She whispered and Laena nodded. “I am relieved as well.”

She laughed then, happy her mother was in agreement.

“I daresay my cousin does not deserve you in the slightest,” she said. “You’ve no need to worry though. We will find you a worthy match when the time is right.”

“In a few years?” Laena inquired, wanting to push back her fate just a little more.

“In many years,” her mother corrected and the two giggled together conspiratorially.

Laena broke her fast and packed her bags. She bid farewell to Princess Rhaenyra on her way out, her truest friend in all the Red Keep. She held her head a little higher and spirit felt lighter on the ship home, a blank slate of a future awaiting her.

Seventeen years before the death of King Viserys…

Dearest sister,

Tomorrow, we sail for Grey Gallows to liberate it from the Crabfeeder’s forces. I fear I will not have time to write to you for some weeks but do not fret. We have Drahar on his heels. With any luck, Father and I may return home before the turn of the year.

As I mentioned in my last letter, I have been training day and night with Seasmoke to prepare for battle. I had always hoped my first ride on dragonback would be under better conditions but we’ve not the luxury now. Grey Gallows will be his, or rather our, first test on the field together. So long as he does not get startled by the catapults, he will be a fearsome ally to our cause.

I believe I also mentioned Ser Joffrey Lonmouth to you. He has become a dear friend of mine over the past months. Father once said I am not like to find better comrades than my brothers-in-arms and I am sure now he was right in that. Perhaps he may even join the Velaryon guard when the war is done. I think you two would get along well.

Enough about me, however. Have you been keeping busy on Driftmark? I know you’ve no love for Lady Celtigar but do try not to poke her eyes out at the sewing circles. It would give Mother less of a headache, I’m sure. Speaking of, do check in on her, if you would. I don’t think Father has written to her in some time, too busy with the war, and I don’t want her to suffer in silence.

When next I write, I hope to have good news for you.

With love, your brother,

Laenor Velaryon

Laena’s eyes scanned the parchment thrice over before she finally set it down. It was some glimmer of hope that her family would return soon from the war in the Stepstones, though not much. She put the letter with the others Laenor had sent, a growing pile on her desk. Those letters, as well as the handful from her father and Princess Rhaenyra, were all that she had for company these days.

It was dreadfully lonely being stuck on Driftmark. Her mother was busy most days governing their house in her father’s stead. The two were lucky to share a meal a handful of times a week. Laena had her cousins, she supposed, but none she was particularly close with.

Most frustratingly, Laena could not even sail the short distance across the bay to visit her closest friend. Rhaenyra had holed herself up in Dragonstone not long after her mother’s tragic passing, but they were denied the opportunity to visit each other because of their family’s ongoing feud. Her father had taken the king’s rejection too harshly, in her opinion. It was not as if she wanted to marry King Viserys anyway.

Laena thought she knew Rhaenyra quite well from their childhood together. She was energetic and extroverted, to the point of being too assertive at times. She was surely not happy, all by her lonesome on Dragonstone, with nothing but her own grief as her company.

They exchanged a handful of letters, which her mother willfully ignored for their sakes, but it was not the same. Laena longed to sail to her, or Laenor, or anyone, really. She hated feeling trapped on the island. It was her home, yes, but she was not fit to stay in one place for too long.

It was this conviction and desperation to leave the island that led to her taking drastic action. The greatest living dragon, Vhagar, had spent a dozen years combing up and down the east side of the continent. She razed villages in the Stormlands and stole sheep in the Vale. For the moment, however, she had settled on the outskirts of Driftmark, among the rocky shores and harsh waves.

Laena was of the purest Valyrian blood. She was made to sail and soar and be free to go wherever she pleased. She was not a caged animal, content to wait for her family to return, and she most certainly was not afraid of any dragon, no matter the size.

Lit only by the moonlight, Laena evaded the guards on watch around the castle. A heavy wind picked outside, her silver curls flowing wildly as she rushed down the beaches and towards the lair where Vhagar had made her nest. She knew her mother would worry herself sick if she knew what Laena planned but it did not deter her. Laena remained resolute in her steps as she trailed further and further away from the castle of High Tide.

She could hear and smell Vhagar before she saw her. The low rumbling of her breathing was louder than the waves crashing into the sand. The stink of dragon was plain as well, much more potent than she knew from Seasmoke when he was a hatchling.

Evidently, Vhagar could sense her as well despite her slumber. As Laena approached, Vhagar’s eyes shot open, rearing her overlarge head to face whoever dared interrupt her. Laena kept her footing secure, unwilling to show weakness. Vhagar had a queen and a beloved prince for riders before her. If she was to prove herself worthy of the honor of claiming Vhagar, she could not afford to cow before intimidation.

The dragon snarled at her, bearing her razor sharp teeth. Laena could see the sagging scales on her skin, a deep green that seemed almost black in the darkness. There were cuts and scars raking all across her, Laena noticed, wounds of a thousand battles past.

She raised her hand to the beast. “Dohaeris, Vhagar!” She commanded with all the courage she could muster. 

The dragon did not take kindly to her yelling, growling as she moved to her feet. With every step, the ground shook heavily and threw off Laena’s balance. Vhagar raised her head high, her golden eyes glaring down at Laena.

The girl took a breath, unwilling to give up. She yelled louder, “Dohaeris!”

Vhagar unhinged her jaw, a loud roar erupting from her mouth. The sound and stink of her breath hit Laena an instant, nearly toppling her over. She had to shield her eyes from it and it took all she could to keep her footing. Vhagar snapped her mouth shut harshly, a final warning to stay away.

But Laena could not, would not, leave empty handed. Her mother had told her often she had the blood of a mighty dragon, the blood of Old Valyria, and she intended to prove it.

She met Vhagar’s eyes again. “Dohaeris!” Laena shouted once more.

A long moment of silence passed, their eyes locked to each other, and it seemed as if time had stood still. And when the moment was broken, Vhagar lowered her head in deference to her new rider.

There was no hesitation in Laena’s steps as she moved to the dragon’s side. She had a saddle already on with a large rope ladder needed to climb onto her back, untouched in the decade since Prince Baelon’s demise.

Laena settled onto the saddle with ease, as if she was born to do it.

“Soves!” She yelled and Vhagar immediately answered her call. Her wings flapped, each time a loud, overpowering crack in the sky, and before long they soared high above Driftmark. The castle below seemed smaller than Laena could’ve imagined and the clouds were so close she could reach out and touch them.

Laena laughed unbidden, despite knowing her mother would chastise her when she landed on the ground. Laena felt as free as she could ever be in the sky. There was no future of noble boys vying for her hand to worry about nor the loneliness set upon her by the war she could not aid in.

It was only her and Vhagar, the most powerful dragon in the world. None could ever dictate her destiny for her so long as they were together.

Sixteen years before the death of King Viserys…

“LAENOR!” Laena yelled as she practically ran across the shore. It wasn’t proper, her dress getting sand caught up in it as every knight and servant watched her poise break, but Laena could hardly help herself.

“Laena!” He greeted, a wide grin shining on his face. The two embraced tightly, Laenor nearly picking her up off the ground as they laughed.

Over three long years since they left, her brother and father were finally home.

When they broke apart, Laena took the chance to look at her brother properly. He was taller and broader, with a few scars on his face and arms. So different than when she last saw him, sailing off to the Stepstones, but his features had stayed just the same.

“It’s so good to see you again,” she said and he nodded his agreement. The silence of Driftmark’s halls wouldn’t be as potent anymore with her family back, she hoped.

“Laena,” another voice caught her attention. She spun around to see her father and barely wasted a moment before launching herself into his arms as well. He, on the other hand, did not look the least bit different than when he’d left. “Look at you,” he said when they pulled away, stroking her hair lovingly. “I missed you so much.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and pulled her in for a second hug, which she had no objections to.

Laena felt herself almost on the verge of tears. It felt odd, she hadn’t cried the whole time they were gone and only now that they were back did the full weight of her loneliness hit her. She was so grateful that it was over.

“I almost thought I’d never see you or these halls again…” her father mused wistfully. 

His moment was broken by her mother, who had greeted Laenor with a hug and kiss to his brow. She cleared her throat, raising her eyebrows at her husband.

“And my darling wife, of course,” he added sheepishly and she seemed pleased enough with that. Laena stepped aside as her parents reunited. It felt a bit odd to watch, their touches seemed restrained yet loving, with a chaste kiss and pressing their foreheads against each other. Her father whispered something that made her mother smile and then they laughed together, though Laena couldn’t make out the specifics.

She turned to her brother instead. “I heard a rumor, I’ve been dying to know its authenticity. Is it true Seasmoke ate the Crabfeeder whole?”

Laenor chuckled. “Not exactly. He ate what remained of him after the battle, but Prince Daemon is the one who slew Drahar in single combat.” Her brother leaned closer, his face brimming with excitement. “It was incredible, Laena. He used himself as bait to lure out dozens of Drahar’s best men and cut them all down without breaking a sweat. And he did it all with three arrow wounds in his chest!”

She tried to picture it yet it seemed larger than life. Like a fabled myth from the books she used to read, the valiant prince slaying the evil tyrant of the Stepstones in single combat. She’d barely known the prince, back when she lived in King’s Landing. Rhaenyra always spoke highly of him, the truest of dragons from House Targaryen. The tales of him being one of the greatest living knights must be true then.

Idly, Laena wished she could know more about Daemon. He sounded rather gallant to her.

“Since you asked about dragons,” Laenor began, bringing her back to reality. “I heard you got into some trouble while we were away.”

“Perhaps a bit.” Laena couldn’t hold back her grin. “Would you like to meet Vhagar?” Laenor didn’t even have to answer before the two broke out into a sprint, racing to the other side of Driftmark where Vhagar slept. 

Laena and her mother had arranged a great feast to celebrate her father and Laenor’s return, but that was not for a few more hours. In the meantime, the siblings knew exactly what they wished to do. Vhagar lurched into the sky, lumbering and old but magnificent as always, and Seasmoke followed quickly after her, the Velaryons astride their respective dragons’ backs.

She whooped at the exhilaration of flying, now more joyous to have someone to keep her company up in the skies. Seasmoke circled Vhagar with his youthful speed and she could hear Laenor’s laughing pierce through the racing wind.

Vhagar’s thundering roar bellowed out, probably waking the whole population of High Tide, and Seasmoke answered with his short, higher screeches. Not long after, a third voice joined their chorus. Flying through the air with remarkable speed, Meleys had come to join them.

Their mother maneuvered her with the ease only someone who’d been riding a dragon for decades could have. Laena could not help but laugh freely into the air at the sight of their father, clinging to Rhaenys from behind as if he would slip and fall out at any moment. Much as he was fascinated by their dragons, her father had always maintained that he was not made for the skies and it was a rare occasion that he relented enough to join his wife on her beast. It was clear to see why after he made a rather undignified yelp when Meleys dived through the air.

If only his crew could see him now, Laena thought, amused.

When they finally touched the ground again, hours later, the sun had nearly set and it was time for the feast. Laena changed as quickly as she could and headed to the main hall for the festivities. Despite all the flying, she still had energy to spare after all the excitement of today, and settled on dancing first and foremost.

The room was filled with knights sworn to her house and nobles from nearby keeps, come to welcome the great Sea Snake home. The music was kept light and Laena was all the happier for it, jumping from one partner to the next hurriedly. There were a handful of little lordlings who thought they might try to win her hand but marriage was the last thing on her mind tonight, so she paid them no attention.

She saw her brother standing on top of a table, dramatically sharing tales of the Stepstones with a group of guards. He talked of the Crabfeeder’s cruelty, how he nailed men to posts and left them to die, as well as the battles they won. The story she caught was of him fearlessly fighting as their ship sank and how he eventually had to swim back to shore, only to find six of Drahar’s men waiting for him. Laena was quite sure he was lying, or at the very least embellishing, but the men were enthralled so she saw no reason to mention that.

Laena saw her mother and father dancing together, slowly and quietly. He pressed a kiss to her hand as they whispered together. She smiled at the sweet sight and left them to it.

It was just after she sat down to finally eat some of the food prepared for the feast that she was joined by a new face. A boy with long, red hair and a square jaw, who looked to be a similar age to her brother.

“You must be Laena. Your brother’s told me much about you,” he said, boldly slipping into the seat next to her.

“Funny, he hasn’t mentioned you at all,” she retorted.

He winced though it was with a smile. “Joffrey Lonmouth. I fought with your brother in the Stepstones, we’re close.”

Laena’s face lit up with recognition then. “Yes, he did write to me about you. Said you were the idiot who got knocked out before the battle even began and slept through the whole thing.”

“That was only one time,” he defended quickly. “I’ve many other exploits. Perhaps I could regale you with some of them. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing much and more of each other from now on.”

Laena hummed. Her brother had written often and incessantly about the knight he met at war, the dashing Ser Joffrey. “My brother-in-arms,” Laenor had written but she had always gotten the sense it was a bit more than that.

Her brother happened to glance over at them then, his face brightening with a wide smile as he waved at Joffrey, who raised his glass at him. “Close, you said?” Laena recalled and Joffrey met her eyes with a knowing smirk.

She was sure then that Joffrey was right and she would indeed be seeing much more of the knight from then on. So long as he kept her brother happy, she supposed he was alright.

The rest of the night, she spent conversing with her brother’s companion. House Lonmouth was not particularly large or notable and Joffrey himself was second son of a fourth son. He had gone to the Stepstones to find glory and make a name for himself, with no prospects in his future. He had bold, heroic dreams of winning tourneys and hearing the crowds cheer his name, rising far higher than anything his family expected of him.

Though the revelry ended soon, the coming days on Driftmark were just as joyous. For once, her father was content to simply be happy at home instead of chasing political matters, and their family was all the better. Laenor and Joffrey snuck around to avoid their parents’ watchful gaze and Laena thought it amusing how obvious they were being.

She flew with Laenor in the skies on their dragons, ate meals with her father as he caught up on every bit of her life that he’d missed, watched Joffrey spar in the fields, and studied the histories in the library with her mother.

It was quiet and blissful. She would want to spend the rest of her days like this, if she could.

Their peace was broken far too soon though by a little raven that came from King’s Landing, a message from His Grace affixed to its feet.

He proposed a marriage between Laenor and Princess Rhaenyra, and her father was not one to turn down such a generous offer.

Fifteen years before the death of King Viserys…

The crowd of nobles erupted into applause as Laenor and Rhaenyra’s dance came to an end. It was a traditional Targaryen dance, based on mating rituals for dragons, which Laena found particularly amusing given her brother’s disinterest in his bride. Though, Rhaenyra hardly seemed smitten with Laenor either.

The lords and ladies gathered in the center of the hall to begin dancing alongside the betrothed couple. Laena was tempted to join them but remained at the head table, as most of the lords she saw would be dreadful to dance with.

Further down the table, the king animatedly told a story to her parents, who were both struggling to humor the king as he became more long-winded and drunk. She noticed Ser Otto Hightower then, the Hand of the King, who shared none of the humor of his colleagues. From the stories she heard, Ser Otto practically ran the realm himself these days, a crown in all but name.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Ser Joffrey approached and leaned onto the table to whisper to her. “I think I did it.”

“Did what?” She asked, unamused by his vagueness.

“I figured out who it is, the princess’ paramour,” Joffrey explained. He had been determined to find the truth of the matter since Laenor and Rhaenyra came to their arrangement. So she was told, they would do their duties in public but pursue their own pleasures privately.

“It wouldn’t happen to be Ser Harwin, would it?” Laena inquired, a smug grin on her lips.

Joffrey’s face fell, his moment of triumph torn from him. “What? How’d you know?”

Laena only had to gesture down to the center of the hall, where Rhaenyra and Harwin circled each other in a dance. Their eyes were locked solely on each other, the clearest glint of desire shining in them. Rhaenyra dared to take a step close and whisper something in his ear that had him stammering and glancing around in case anyone heard.

“It’s not exactly a great mystery, Joffrey,” she told him.

He rolled his eyes and took a swig of wine from his cup. “I’ll need to have words with him. Make sure we understand each other in this arrangement.”

“Be careful,” she warned him. It was not light banter to walk up to someone and announce you know of their illicit affair with the heir to the throne.

“When am I not careful?” Joffrey teased as he strode into the wave of nobles dancing and got lost in the crowd.

Laena spun her goblet of wine in her hand for a few moments, deciding whether or not to join her friends, when a shrill cry suddenly pierced through the air. High-pitched and whining, Laena turned to find the source of the noise as a baby seated on his mother’s lap on the far end of the room.

Gods, he’s got quite the set of lungs, Laena idly thought. He was screaming so loud, they could likely hear it back in the Stepstones. She was far from the only one to be disturbed by the child, heads turned and scoffed at the sound. Looking closer, she saw the boy had silver hair matted on his head.

“Shh, you’re well, everything is well,” his mother said, her voice practically pleading. Auburn haired and heavy with a second, no doubt equally as Valyrian, child, Laena could only assume she was Alicent Hightower, the king’s mistress. More glares were focused in her direction as the boy, Aegon Waters, she recalled, continued weeping and wailing.

The Hand marched down towards her, doing his best to hide any emotion from his face as he tried to resolve this situation before it offended too many lords. Before long, Alicent rose from her seat and waddled out of the great hall with her father in tow. She bounced the boy in her arms as much as she could with her belly in the way, but it was still not enough to abate his screaming. Laena then saw the king pull himself out of his seat and follow after the pair.

He must be going to help his paramour and son, she guessed. It was more than most lords would do for their bastards. Perhaps there was some truth to the rumors that she went to his bed for no other reason but love.

“Horribly unpleasant creature, isn’t he?” A voice to her left took her by surprise and startled her. Turning, she was met with a tall man with short, silver hair, draped in red and black. It could only be Daemon Targaryen. “My nephew, I mean. I’ve heard he squeals more than the pigs in their pens.”

Laena hummed, amused. “Prince Daemon, I presume?”

“Naturally,” he greeted, his lips upturned in a confident smirk. “Laena Velaryon, you’re almost as pretty as your brother.”

“How sweet of you to say,” she responded, sarcastic. The prince wordlessly held out his hand, an offer to dance. She took it gladly. “Allow me to give my condolences, my prince.”

“Condolences?” He questioned.

“On your wife. I heard she passed recently,” Laena reminded him.

“Ah, yes. I must confess that I was not as close to my wife as I may have liked,” Daemon said, his voice’s disinterest showing how false his few courtesies towards his wife were. “It is a marriage I did not choose. My brother should’ve annulled it ages ago.”

 The two fell into step as they started their dance, circling each other. “Speaking truthfully, I understand your feelings. My father talks of betrothing me to this lord or that lord, it’s endlessly dull.”

Daemon chuckled. He spun her around with an equal amount of grace and laziness. “I know Lord Corlys well, he’ll not choose without careful consideration. Is it not every maiden’s fantasy to have a kind lord chosen for her to grow old with?” His tone was almost mocking and she did not appreciate it.

“I am the blood of Old Valyria, I ride the largest dragon in the world. I am destined for better things than to bear heirs for whomever can give my father the greatest advantage. I’m sure you know the sentiment well,” Laena explained.

Daemon hummed, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips. She couldn’t tell if he was impressed or if it was a faux amusement, the way one would smile at an annoying child’s antics. “And yet, you have a duty to your family to do as you are bid. Freedom, family, duty, happiness, it seems as if one can never have it all.”

His words rang true even as they frustrated her. “And how do you deal with this contradiction of life, my prince?”

He thought for a moment. “As you said. We are the blood of the dragon, with higher callings. We should be free to do whatever we please. If the whole family is united in that, all the better.”

“That is not the world we live in though,” she said, melancholic. “We are bound by the laws of gods and men, the same as any other.”

She could not deny the prospect was tempting, however. To throw caution to the wind, assert her rights as a Valyrian dragonrider and choose her own fate. Daemon had that power, a warrior, a prince, a man, but she did not.

“I think you’ll find everything is much simpler with a dragon at your side,” Daemon quipped and Laena chuckled.

The two of them danced in silence from then on, the prince’s steps as careful and practiced as any move he performed in combat. There was a certain grace in it, she could not help but admire. A section of his hair fell out of place, draping over his forehead, giving it a messy yet charming appeal. His deep, violet eyes, and mature features…

One could hardly fault her for noticing he was a sight better than most of the nobles she’d met with, who were barely more than cranky boys.

She shook out of her thoughts as the crowd turned, switching partners with someone nearby. Laena sighed as she was met face to face with Lord Jason Lannister, an irritating man beyond all measure. Meanwhile, the prince danced with his niece, whispering in High Valyrian to each other.

Thankfully, the time passed quickly and she did not have to suffer the Lannister’s presence for long. The feast shifted to a great tourney to celebrate the wedding. Laena sat next to Rhaenyra, engrossed in hearing all about the princess’ life as of late. In hushed whispers, she told her about Ser Harwin and the deal she had made with Laenor. It was nice, Laena thought. A more perfect arrangement than she ever expected Laenor to get out of his marriage. She was hopeful to think that if they could make their odd betrothal work, Laena might as well when it was inevitably her turn.

Rhaenyra had granted her betrothed her favor in the tourney to uproarious applause. Behind them in the royal box, Laena watched the king laugh and joke and take bets on the winners, alongside much of his Small Council and, naturally, her father. His pride restored, Laena would not be surprised if her father was eyeing to get his seat on the council back.

Unlikely, she figured. Otto Hightower controlled the council these days and he had feuded with her father for years.

Soon enough, Daemon came riding up the box, draped in a red cloak over his black armor and a shining winged helmet. Her heart unconsciously skipped a beat when he turned to her. “Might I have your favor for the tourney, my lady?” He asked.

Rhaenyra glanced at her, confused yet very interested in this development. Laena wordlessly trotted down to the edge of the box to carefully lower her wreath down his lance. His piercing eyes stared back at hers, charged, and he lingered for a moment too long.

She returned to seat as he rode off to his next match and Rhaenyra demanded answers, of which she had none to give.

For not the first time in her life and still far from the last, Laena’s joy in the moment turned sour and bitter. It was then that the next match was held, a Blackwood boy against Ser Joffrey. The Blackwood was thrown from his horse but refused to cow, wishing to continue in a contest of arms.

It was during the fight that the boy swung his flailing mace hard, crashing against the back of Joffrey’s helmet in an effort to put an end to Joffrey’s onslaught of attacks. The knight, a man Laena had quickly come to count as a dear friend, crumbled to the ground with an almost jarring speed.

The crowd gasped as blood began to ooze out of Joffrey’s helmet. Far, far too much blood.

The Blackwood boy dropped his weapon, flinching away from what he had done. Maesters were called for and Rhaenyra kept trying to get a better look, worry strewn on her face.

Above it all, Laena heard her brother’s wail, forgetting any sense of propriety.

It all became a blur after that for her. She barely remembered the rest of the tourney or the wedding after, beyond her brother and Rhaenyra having to kiss between his sobs.

Joffrey lingered in the world for six days but he would never open his eyes again.

Twelve years before the death of King Viserys…

Laena knew she would not be exempt from her duties forever. By the time she turned seven and ten, it was considered long past time she was wed. 

Her father announced to the court that he made an agreement with the Sealord of Braavos to wed Laena to his son and heir to his house, Galeo Otherys. For House Velaryon, which made most of its fortune by trading, having a powerful and wealthy ally in the Free Cities only made sense.

She was nine and ten now and her father was sparing no expense for the wedding. She may not be marrying royalty like Laenor did, but he wanted House Velaryon to exude extravagance in every aspect.

Lord Otherys arrived early with his family and dozens of ships in tow, eager to finally seal their alliance. The Sealord made for an intimidating sight, standing taller than her father and a good number of years younger. His renowned expertise at sailing was what had earned him the position of Sealord and he looked every bit the proper captain.

It was then that Laena met her betrothed, a few months her elder. He had his family’s characteristic dark skin but beyond that, looked rather the opposite of his father. Where the Sealord had a thick, intricate beard, Galeo was clean-shaven. He appeared a bit scrawny and greeted her father with none of the same warmth. She’d spoken to him a handful of times in curtly written letters, but only had descriptions of his appearance beforehand.

“My betrothed,” he greeted and kissed the back of her hand.

“It is an honor to finally meet you, my lord,” she replied. Abruptly, he dropped her hand and returned to his father’s side as they were led into the castle and shown to their quarters.

They had a few weeks before the wedding was to take place, she assured herself. Plenty of time for her and Galeo to warm up to one another.

It was that hope that led her to seek out Galeo over the following days. Her father held feasts almost nightly to celebrate their guests and as such, she invited him to dance with her. 

The boy was clumsy in his steps and grew frustrated easily, she learned. He stepped on her feet often and couldn’t keep up with the rest of the nobles around them. She could hear the whispers around them as they danced.

Many gawked at her fanciful dresses, in awe of her beauty. “How lucky Galeo is,” a few boys said to each other. “Lady Laena is more than he deserves.” Galeo seemed to overhear these comments too, but it seemed to only agitate him more. Eventually, it became too much and he stormed off with only the barest of courtesies, leaving her alone.

It was embarrassing for her, being left behind to deal with the judging eyes of the nobles as he fled. Nevertheless, she did not give up.

If not dancing, there surely must be something he was interested in. She found him in the library and tried to engage with him about the book he was reading.

“The Conquests of Valyria…” She read the title. “That was a favorite of mine when I was a girl. I’ve never been to the area around Old Valyria, or anywhere in Essos for that matter. What is it like?”

Galeo remained silent for a moment. “Harsh, in a word. But the food is better.”

The answer disappointed Laena when he did not continue his thoughts, she hoped for more elaboration. “What about in Braavos? What do you enjoy doing?”

“Dull, for the most part. And sailing, as any good Otherys should,” he said with a twinge of sarcasm. Before she could ask something else, he stood to his feet. “Apologies, my lady, I have to go.” He said, ending the conversation swiftly before departing the library.

Laena huffed and sighed, gazing out the window longingly. What was she to do if her own betrothed continued avoiding her? They were supposed to spend the rest of their lives together, unfortunately.

Only one time did she have hope for her future marriage at another of her father’s feasts. Laena did not even bother to ask her betrothed for a dance that night, it wasn’t worth the humiliation. Instead, she danced with a few other nobles and knights, from both her father’s guard and the Sealord’s.

She grew tired quickly though and had to rise early on the morrow, so she left before the festivities ended to return to her chambers. As she trailed through the castle though, she heard soft music being played from a nearby balcony.

Approaching it cautiously, not wanting to disturb the musician, she saw Galeo sitting with a woodharp on his lap, humming along as he played a quiet tune. The music was calming and sweet, yet a twinge sorrowful. The balcony overlooked the sea and the distant crashing waves almost seamlessly blended with the music.

“That’s very good,” she said when he reached a lull in his song. “I’ve never heard that song before. Did you write it?”

Galeo looked panicked for a moment that he’d been caught then awkwardly averted his eyes from her. “Yes,” he answered quietly. “It’s not done.”

“I’d love to hear it when it is,” she encouraged.

He eyed her oddly briefly, seeming suspicious of her praise. Eventually, he averted his gaze. “I don’t have the time to work on it most days. Father says I should be captaining the ships more often if I wish for the other houses to choose me as the next Sealord.”

Laena hummed. It was the most he had ever revealed to her so she did her best to continue the conversation. “I can imagine. My father is always telling my brother to get his head out of the clouds and focus on sailing.”

“Your brother was a war hero, at least,” Galeo mused. “The son of a Sealord and surrounded by Velaryons, meanwhile I got green sick on the way here.”

She chuckled at that. “I used to be the same, you know. Ride a dragon enough though and you’ll be longing for the comfort of the swaying seas.”

The slightest of smiles crept onto his face then and Laena’s hope grew that she could bond with her betrothed. Their light conversation continued and she told him more about Laenor and Rhaenyra. 

He spoke about his home and his friends. His passion for music was clear but his family’s trade of sailing got in the way. “What do you love about music?” She asked him idly.

“The feelings it brings, the stories the songs tell,” Galeo answered. “Stories of noble knights fighting for their ladies. My mother used to sing them to me when I was a boy, she taught me I had to be just like them.” His voice broke towards the end and he averted his eyes from her.

Laena recalled that his mother passed away the year before. Uncle Vaemond had accidentally mentioned her earlier that week and Lord Otherys seemed not the least bit bothered by it. In fact, he had been flirting with the noble ladies who had come for the wedding. Galeo, it seemed, had taken the loss harder but she did not press him for details.

Despite it being more than they had ever spoken, she could tell Galeo was still holding back. He was awkward in his speech and seemed almost annoyed whenever she mentioned Vhagar.

She noticed how his face twisted briefly in distaste. “Targaryens and your dragons,” he muttered under his breath, thinking he couldn’t hear her. She huffed but chose to say nothing for this night, if only to keep up the slight hope she had.

When she finally departed to at last go to sleep, she was left conflicted. There was potential for peace, possibly even love, in their marriage, or at least more than there was yesterday, but it all felt wrong. Like how her father described it when he could tell there was a storm brewing on the horizon.

She tried more on the following days to spend time with him, hoping to alleviate her fears. Some days were better than others, he told her more about his life in Essos and the drinking companions he was forbidden by his father to bring with them to the wedding. She spoke to him of King’s Landing and her childhood.

Just the same, it felt as if she was always kept at arm’s length with him. Much as she pried, he was never quite open with her.

It was a similar hope as usual that led her to Driftmark’s training yard. She found Galeo in the midst of sparring with one of her cousins, Rhogar. Admittedly, she knew little of swordplay, but it was plain to see that he was losing terribly.

Galeo swung wide which Rhogar easily sidestepped, then slapped his back with the flat of his practice sword. Galeo yelped in pain and tried to attack him again, only for Rhogar to parry the blow.

A handful of other knights, from both her father and the Sealord’s retinues, had stopped to watch the spectacle. They laughed at every attempt Galeo made to land a blow on his opponent. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Lord Otherys watching in cold silence.

“Can the Sealord not afford lessons for his son? I’ve a niece of seven with more skill,” Rhogar mocked.

Galeo yelled in frustration, raising his sword to bring it down on Rhogar. He was cut short though and her cousin slammed the hilt of his sword into his stomach.

Her betrothed reeled from the attack but Rhogar did not let up on the offensive. He kicked Galeo’s leg out from under him, whacking him hard in the face with the blunt of the sword. With a final kick, Galeo landed pathetically in the mud.

Laughs and mocking claps came from the crowd of people who had gathered to watch the match. Rhogar confidently grinned and twirled his sword around.

With a sigh, Laena moved onto the field, towards where Galeo still knelt on the ground, wiping blood from his mouth. “Are you well?” She inquired cautiously. He looked up and met her eyes, clearly upset and embarrassed by the crowd.

“Apologies if I bruised your betrothed, cousin. He is so very fragile,” Rhogar chuckled at his own joke.

“That’s enough, Rhogar,” she spat.

“Perhaps you should give it a try.” He offered her Galeo’s dropped practice sword. “His little protector, that would be a sight.”

Laena rolled her eyes, ignoring his antics. She offered her hand to Galeo, expecting to pull him to his feet. What she did not expect was for him to lash out, slapping her hand away.

“I do not need your help,” he hissed at her angrily.

She met his harsh glance with one of her own. Kind though she may be, she would not suffer any mistreatment.

“Careful, Galeo,” she warned him, quiet enough that the other knights didn’t hear. In the distance, as if responding to her emotions, they could hear Vhagar’s wings flapping like thunder.

He backed down easily enough, glancing around at the spectacle Rhogar had made of him. His father had stopped watching the incident entirely, uninterested in how the situation reflected on his house.

Galeo huffed, “Just leave me be.” With that, he marched from the training yard in defeat.

Laena awkwardly shuffled away as well. Any hope she had for her future with Galeo had turned to ash. Frustrated, she headed for the beach to find Vhagar, hoping a flight would clear her mind.

She heard Vhagar roar as she flew around the island, moving to land in the sand. Before she could though, several screeches pierced through the air. Glancing upwards, Laena broke into a wide smile.

Bursting through the clouds came three dragons, one after another. Caraxes, all red and winding with his deformed neck. Syrax, roaring loud and flying quick. And lastly, Seasmoke, who recognized Vhagar immediately, cried out with joy.

Daemon, Rhaenyra, and Laenor had finally arrived.

Just outside the gates to the castle, Laena caught up with her brother and his wife. She threw her arms around Laenor, practically tackling him in a hug. “Apologies for the delay, sister,” he said, returning the embrace.

“We would’ve been here sooner if not for Maester Gerardys,” Rhaenyra added. “He got all fussy about me riding a dragon in my condition.”

Laena raised an eyebrow, unsure of what she meant. “Your condition?”

“Ah, yes,” Laenor perked up. “We come bearing good news. Rhaenyra is with child.” The princess’ hand settled over her stomach and Laena noticed the exhaustion hanging off her features from their long journey. She barely looked pregnant, Laena noticed, so she figured it was very recent news.

“Father will rejoice,” Laena said, amused.

“And I shall be glad to hear the end of his pestering,” Laenor added.

Rhaenyra sighed, stretching her arms. “Do you think we can delay telling them a few hours more? I need to rest soon if I’m going to survive dinner.”

“Of course.” Laenor waved over a pair of servants to lead the princess to her guest chambers, meanwhile the siblings fell into step as they strode through the castle.

“Without meaning any offense, I’m a bit surprised your marriage has borne fruit,” Laena noted.

“It took a good deal of persistence,” he spoke, a tad awkward. “And a greater deal of help.” Ser Harwin was among the few knights sent ahead from Dragonstone so they could be with Rhaenyra and Laenor as soon as they arrived, which Laena consciously chose not to address. “But the results speak for themselves. A royal heir, just as Father wanted.”

“I only hope my marriage can be as loving as yours,” she responded mockingly and he chuckled.

“Is Galeo Otherys not all you’ve dreamed of?” Laenor asked.

She sighed, thinking of how carefully to word her speech. “He is difficult to approach. It is plain to see he has no interest in making our match work.”

“Perhaps he’ll come around in time?” He suggested. “Father always said House Otherys was a stubborn bunch. He was well acquainted with them from his trips east. And no one wishes to be in a marriage with someone they do not know.”

“Enough about me,” Laena brushed off the conversation, not wishing to dwell on her current woes. “How’ve you been, brother?”

Laenor shrugged. “I’m well. Seasmoke loves the caves on Dragonstone. Ser Harwin is the best drinking companion a friend could ask for. And Rhaenyra is an…understanding wife.”

“That is not entirely what I meant,” she interjected. “How are you holding up?” The times she visited Dragonstone in the months after the wedding, after Joffrey’s death, Laenor had looked like a mess. She tried often to cheer him up but he was so despondent, it hardly ever seemed to work. He was drowning and she could not pull him from the whirlpool no matter how hard she tried.

He and Rhaenyra had written recently, speaking of how he was in better spirits these days, but Laena still worried all the time.

Laenor’s face fell, his stride faltering for a moment. “I’m well,” he answered too quickly.

“Laenor…”

“Really, I am, Laena,” he emphasized. “It was hard in the first months to do anything more than eat and sleep. As I said, Rhaenyra was understanding. She helped me through the worst of the grief. But I’m well. Or better, at least.”

Laena wasn’t sure how much he was holding back from her but she could tell his words were true for the most part. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said, leaving it at that. The two embraced again, tighter, and she hoped it brought Laenor the comfort he deserved.

Predictably, when the pregnancy news was announced at dinner, her father rejoiced. Her mother looked at them a bit suspiciously but said nothing beyond congratulations. It was then that Laena was reunited with their third guest, Daemon.

The prince’s hair had grown longer since the wedding, but he still carried the same aura about him. Rhaenyra and Laenor were exceptionally close with him, after the war and the past years he had spent living at both Dragonstone and the Red Keep. The three of them sat together on one end of the table while Laena had to sit with her betrothed on the side dedicated to House Otherys.

It was dreadfully boring, as her betrothed lazily picked at his food and she made small talk with one of his cousins. Meanwhile, Daemon, Rhaenyra, and Laenor laughed uproariously together as the prince told war stories from their days in the Stepstones. Only briefly did they get the chance to speak with one another, when everyone began to rise and offer toasts to one another.

Rhaenyra bid her good fortune in her marriage, commenting how happy she was in hers with irony that only she and her close friends could appreciate. Laenor toasted to Lord Otherys, speaking to his renowned prowess as a sea captain and hoping their houses will thrive together.

When Daemon raised his cup, it was to Galeo. “My congratulations are in order. My cousin is a gem, one could say you do not deserve her,” he said with a light, teasing tone that made everyone at the table laugh. Not Galeo though, it seemed, who only gripped his cup tighter. “But, as a bit of an expert on poor marriages, I daresay you two might have a chance at making it work.” With a few more chuckles, everyone clapped and drank.

Laena couldn’t tell if Daemon truly believed what he said but she doubted the likelihood of that outcome regardless. As soon as it was proper, Galeo excused himself to flee to his chambers with the barest of courtesies said to her before he departed.

She was finally able to rise from her seat then and join her brother at his side. It was much more pleasant company, undoubtedly.

Laena spent the next days almost exclusively with her brother and the Targaryens. All four of them took to the skies on dragonback as crowds gathered below to gawk at the sight. Four of the mightiest dragons still living, circling Driftmark like it was Valyria, come again.

Seasmoke and Syrax sped ahead, nipping at each other playfully as they raced. She could hear Rhaenyra’s laughter plainly through the rushing winds, glad to be among her closest friends in the world.

Vhagar, though strong, was too slow to keep up with the younger dragons. That was to say nothing of her skill, however. When Laena’s eyes met Daemon’s across the sky, he smirked, silently challenging her to a contest as he twisted Caraxes around. The dragon flew sideways and upside down, twirling with the finesse only his twisted body could allow for.

Laena was not one to be outdone in impressive dragon riding feats. Letting go of Vhagar’s reins, she ordered the dragon to dive. With her weight and size, the wind was attacking her fiercely during the descent but she refused to grab the reins for safety.

The water below grew ever closer, the dragon hurdling downwards at an incredible speed. Laena could hear her heartbeat in her throat and her blood pounding. Seasmoke roared in the distance but she could barely hear it, narrowly focused on the task at hand.

At the very last moment, Vhagar knew to extend her wings. Catching the wind, they rose rapidly and the sea beneath them shook greatly, sending a large wave crashing onto the shore. Vhagar let out a triumphant roar as they soared back up to the heights of the other dragons and Laena met Daemon’s eyes.

Only once the prince clapped for her and accepted her victory, a smile growing on his face, did Laena finally retrieve the reins of her dragon.

She found herself gravitating closer to the prince. His quick wit and lax behavior helped to put her at ease at a time when she fretted about so much. When her father would kindly yet pointedly request she spend more time around her betrothed and his house, Daemon always had a jape and a distraction prepared.

Time ticked down, ever nearer to her wedding, and she ignored it as best she could.

She watched Daemon and Ser Harwin duel in the training yards. Distantly, she recalled when she was a girl and she wanted to join her brother in the field, a dream she had to give up on quickly at the behest of her parents. It was just as well though, she had Vhagar now.

It was a narrow match as Harwin was strong and skillful, unwilling to give an inch to his opponent. Daemon, however, was lean and fierce, well trained on the fields of battle. One could hardly fault her for admiring the way he ducked and weaved around Harwin’s slashes and the controlled viciousness with which he fought. 

She had heard countless stories of his skill in the Stepstones but it was different to see it in person. Wiping blood from his chin from where Harwin had nicked him, he and Laena locked eyes for a brief moment. Unconsciously, her heart skipped a beat.

Another night, after an evening of drinking and feasting, Laena sat at her family’s table. Rhaenyra and Harwin had snuck off together and she certainly was not about to look deeper into that. Meanwhile, her brother practically chased after a boy he had met from Lord Otherys’ retinue. The only one to keep her company was Prince Daemon.

As had become routine, the conversation inevitably turned to her forthcoming wedding. “I saw your groom this morning, you know. Caraxes had snarled at him and scared the boy half to death,” Daemon laughed and Laena joined in, picturing the scene. “Meaning no offense, Lady Laena, I doubt your children will be dragonriders with a father like that.”

She thought for a moment. “If there is anything good to come of our union, it will be our children, assuredly.” Daemon scoffed at that idea so she felt compelled to elaborate. “I think I will make a good mother. Or I hope, at least.” Her own mother had said she would do excellent and she herself always had a penchant for caring for others.

“Children are a menace,” Daemon concluded. “It’s a ridiculous idea. I’m only glad my bronze bitch and I never had any of our own.”

Laena hummed, annoyed, and took a sip of her wine. “Thank you for your input, my prince,” she said, curtly, and rose to leave. She did not appreciate his callousness directed at her when she was already upset at this whole situation.

She’d barely left her seat before Daemon’s hand lunged, grabbing her wrist. “Wait,” he insisted. Reluctantly, she settled back into her chair. Seconds of silence passed, Daemon’s face shifting with conflicted emotions.

“I didn't mean to offend,” he settled on when he found the words. “I admit, on some occasions, the inclination has interested me. A son, in particular.” 

There was an odd sort of vulnerability in his voice that she had never heard before. It softened her anger to know that he was more than just the Rogue Prince underneath all his bluster.

(She did not notice it at the time, caught up in the moment, but it was distinctly not an apology for mocking her.)

The following day, at yet another feast, which she was quite getting tired of attending, she danced with Daemon in the castle’s great hall.

He twirled her around as they moved in time to the music. It was energetic and exhilarating as Daemon moved with careful, precise steps. His sweet, lilac eyes looked at her like she was the only one in the room. He was the shining example of a proper Targaryen prince. If he held her a bit too close to be considered proper, Laena didn’t mind one bit.

“You are as beautiful as the moon, Laena,” Daemon whispered to her, his words coming out in soothing High Valyrian.

Gods, how good it felt to hear those words, Laena thought, to feel desired by a gallant man. “And you are the most charming man I’ve ever met, my prince.”

In the back of her mind, she knew she should not encourage this. Yet, no one could hear them when they spoke in their mother tongue. What was the harm in a bit of indulgence?

Unbeknownst to them, across the room, Lord Otherys watched with a cold stare. He found his son where he stood alone eating, uncaring of the sight of his betrothed so close to the prince. He marched over to his son, not fast enough to cause alarm, but with urgency all the same.

“You ought to ask your betrothed for a dance,” he hissed at the boy. “Before she forgets herself.”

Galeo took a quick glance at the pair dancing and shrugged. “Until we are married, it’s none of my concern who spends her time with.”

That was not good enough for the Sealord of Braavos. He reached out, grasping his son’s shoulder tightly, bordering on pain. “Go to her. Now, boy.”

Reluctantly, Galeo did just that. He navigated carefully through the crowd until he came upon the two, pressed close to each other and whispering in a language he didn’t understand. “Prince Daemon, would you mind if I cut in?” He asked, as kindly as he could manage.

Laena held back a sigh, knowing she had to accept his offer for propriety’s sake. Daemon did not look happy in the least, his eyes scanning over Galeo, measuring him up with a glare.

“Of course,” Laena said to interrupt any ideas Daemon was having. She took Galeo’s hand and continued the dance, while the prince sulked off to find Rhaenyra.

It was during the dance that it truly hit Laena how miserable she found her match. Every step they took and word exchanged was a stark contrast to how it felt to be with Daemon. Galeo was clumsy and disinterested, keeping her at arm’s length. Any time they talked, it was curt and cold.

Daemon was passionate and exciting, he made her heart beat faster with every twirl. She had not a scrap of the same connection with her betrothed, all quiet and boring.

“I fear this will never work,” Laena whispered, more to herself than anyone.

“What was that?” Galeo inquired.

“Nothing,” Laena brushed it off. “Do you speak Valyrian?”

“All the Free Cities have bastard versions of Valyrian. I fear I’ve never had the inclination to learn your dialect though,” Galeo admitted.

Laena supposed that was exactly the problem. He never had the inclination. To learn, to try, to speak to her more than required.

She sighed. What am I to do?

The stars were beautiful above Driftmark and there were no clouds in sight to obscure them. Laena could not help but admire the view as she strolled on the beach, Daemon at her side.

It was late, far too late for her to be outside the keep, but she didn’t particularly care. Nor did she choose to care about what her father might say about being alone at night with the unmarried Rogue Prince, only a few days before her wedding. Her father and Lord Otherys could balk at it all they liked, it made no difference.

Laena sighed. It made no difference, she repeated in her mind. She could complain to Laenor, Rhaenyra, and Daemon all she liked. She could fly up to the clouds on Vhagar and scream her voice hoarse, throw all her dresses into the sea, or fall to her knees in front of her parents, begging. It would change nothing. Galeo or Viserys, it seemed she was always doomed to a match she despised.

Her wedding was in mere days and that time was only dwindling.

Daemon noticed her uncharacteristic silence and figured easily what she was thinking about. “It won’t be so bad, I assure you. Marriage is only a political arrangement.”

“For men, mayhaps,” she brushed off. “I’ll have to go to a foreign land to raise my children with a man I barely know. See my family every few years, if that. That is hardly a life I would ever look forward to.”

He hummed before stopping in his steps abruptly. Sitting down, the two settled in the sand as the waves lapped at the shoreline, barely touching their feet. Another dress ruined, she figured, but again, she hardly cared.

“My brother and his wife scarcely knew each other before they were married. A year into the marriage, I could hardly get him to shut up about how wonderful his darling wife was,” Daemon explained. “Sometimes it takes only a bit of patience.”

And where did all that love get her? She wanted to say. Butchered like cattle for a babe who lived not six hours. Laena bit back the words though. That wasn’t fair to say, not to Queen Aemma.

Instead, she turned her thoughts back to her betrothed. For quite a while, it had stumped her why he scorned her so. If she could only fix whatever slight he held against her, perhaps she would be able to find happiness in her lot in life.

It had finally hit her the other night, when Galeo met Daemon. The way he hated whenever she brought up Vhagar and whenever her father boasted of their Valyrian blood, how he lashed out when she tried to defend him, and how his father treated everyone he thought below him.

“Galeo is a twat,” she mocked. She told Daemon the truth as she saw it, “He hates this match because I am his better. I ride the largest dragon in the world, with ancient blood, and I carry more confidence and strength than he ever could.”

Daemon chuckled at the revelation. “Some men do not like to be outshined by their wives. I’d assume he gets it from Lord Otherys, the cunt.”

It didn’t matter to her where he got the idea, only the result. She intimidated him, made him look inadequate, everyone saw the pair of them and knew he was lucky to be betrothed to her, not the other way around.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. Again, the voice in the back of her head reminded her that knowing the answer did not change her situation. Her family had bid her to marry Galeo and she must fulfill her duty, much as the prospect filled her with misery.

Daemon leaned closer to her. “Galeo is quite a fool then, for you are a wonder, Laena. A weak boy from Essos should be groveling at your feet.”

Laena chuckled at the idea. She focused on the curl of Daemon’s smile, a charming smirk that glowed in the moonlight. Laena thought of how much easier it was to spend time with Daemon. They matched wits and rode their dragons together. They understood one another much more than she and Galeo ever would, she expected.

Oh, if only things were different. She imagined the giddiness that would swell in her heart if it was Daemon she was marrying instead.

A lovely, thrilling prospect.

A moment passed and her lips had connected with Daemon’s. She didn’t know which of the two leaned in, only that once they started, she could barely contain herself. She pushed into the kiss, desperate to deepen the connection. Daemon grabbed her neck with his hand to pull her closer, tight but not painful.

Their lips caressed on another's and it quickly became addicting. Never before had Laena felt so exhilarated, like she was flying without the need for a dragon. Her blood roared and a fire in her stomach stirred, she needed more.

Daemon pulled away abruptly and the lady let out an improper whimper. “Daemon…”

“You are a dragon, Laena. Free to love as you like,” he whispered, his voice raspy. “He will bore you senseless and confine you in a cage.”

Laena took heavy breaths, his words making more sense to her with every passing moment. “My parents will be cross with me. The Otherys’ will fight it.”

“Fuck them,” Daemon spoke plainly. “This is your life, Laena.”

To spend the rest of her days with Daemon or Galeo, with her family or the Otherys’, with love or without. Her choices stood before her and the answer was rather obvious.

She recalled the first flight she took on Vhagar, how invincible she felt. Freedom was at her fingertips, a destiny that was hers to decide and no one else. 

Her parents would forgive her, in time, but she would not forgive herself if she did not act now before it was too late.

There was a low drumming in her mind, like she could feel her connection to Vhagar from across the island. As if her dragon could feel the weight of the choice she would make. Nothing could stop her, so long as she had the strongest dragon at her side.

She was Laena Velaryon, the blood of Old Valyria. She was meant to burn brighter than this.

“I know what I want,” she told Daemon. “Are you prepared to fight for us?”

Daemon wasted no time, already knowing his answer. Gripping her face, he pulled her back to him and resumed their fervent kiss. His lips felt like fire, like power, like the strength she needed to see this drastic action through.

He pulled at the laces of her dress while she fumbled with his shirt and breeches. With only the moon as their witness, they made certain of their promise to each other.

Tomorrow would bring scandal and fury, to be sure. There would be no turning back from this decision but she would face it unafraid. For tonight, they indulged in one another. There was no cloud hanging over her head anymore, the path to the future she desired laid bare before her.

The truest freedom she had always longed for was just within her reach. 

Only a few steps further and her future would be all that she had ever dreamed of.

Chapter Text

Alicent scarcely had the time for this and Rhaenyra certainly didn’t. And yet, here we are, Alicent thought.

Rhaenyra’s hands were steady, one on her neck and the other at her back. Alicent, admittedly, was much less practiced, her hands fumbling for purchase on Rhaenyra’s dress, on her shoulders, in her hair.

Their lips danced together, slow and languid, but it exhilarated Alicent all the same. Just over two months had passed since their first kiss on the beach shore and Alicent had rarely tired of the feeling of Rhaenyra’s lips against hers.

The queen was always so tender yet passionate, her every touch lighting a fire in Alicent. She never made Alicent feel worse for being less experienced than she was, merely guided and accommodated her every boundary.

That being said, however, it was easy to get carried away in the throes of passion. As they kissed, Alicent felt Rhaenyra’s hands wander. The hand on her neck moved southward to grip her hip, while the hand on her back moved down, down, down-

She remembered the first night Viserys took her to bed, how desperately she had hoped until the last second that he would change his mind. It was wrong to take a lady’s maidenhead out of wedlock, he must know that, he must. And still, he ever so slowly untied the laces of her dress, as if relishing in the act-

Alicent instinctively tensed and froze, breaking the kiss abruptly. Barely a moment passed before Rhaenyra realized her mistake, removing her hand at once and taking a step back from Alicent so she could breathe.

She tried her best to calm herself, repeating in her mind that Viserys was dead and gone and Rhaenyra was not like him, not in the slightest. As she breathed, she was both thankful that Rhaenyra was so considerate and regretted that she had stepped away, robbing Alicent of her warmth and touch.

Alicent sighed. She hated ruining their moments by freezing up. At least, it was far from the worst incident that had occurred, as she was able to relax her body soon enough. She palmed the table nearby, grounding herself in the place she was. Her own chambers. And no one could harm her here.

Rhaenyra wanted more from their relationship, it was plain to see even as the queen insisted that she was content. Alicent wished he could give it to her, wished that these memories would stop plaguing her.

“I’m so sorry, Alicent,” Rhaenyra tried once she saw that Alicent had calmed down. “I never meant-”

“It’s all right,” Alicent said hurriedly. "I know it was an accident." She didn’t want to make a fuss out of it and feel more embarrassed than she already did.

Over the past months, they had tried to be more intimate. Mostly, it was reserved to chaste kisses and cuddling close on the couch after a long day. Alicent relished in the times that she could be fully in the moment, like any other lover would be, but they were few and far between.

It is just for now, she told herself. As time passed and she grew more comfortable with Rhaenyra, surely there would be less cause for incidents like this one. A hope more than a certainty but she clung to it all the same.

More relaxed, Alicent took in the sight before her. Rhaenyra looked back at her cautiously but her appearance conveyed anything but trepidation. Her dress was askew, her cheeks flushed, and her hair a tangled mess, not to mention the way her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.

Despite her worries, Alicent could not deny the urge to smile a bit at the sight, knowing that she had done that. Even as she disheveled as she was, Rhaenyra looked a vision of beauty. She steadied her voice before she said, “I don’t expect you’ll be able to go back to the council meeting like that.”

Rhaenyra glanced down at herself and chuckled. Following Alicent’s lead of brushing past their hiccup, her lips curled into a smirk, “Perhaps I won’t go back then. The realm can wait a few more hours.”

As tempting as the thought of getting lost in Rhaenyra again was, especially with that charming smile, taking a second to glance around the room reminded Alicent that there was much to do. A half full trunk of clothes sat on her bed with the rest of her garments strewn about the room as well as a second empty chest that she needed to fill with any other necessities for the trip.

Helaena did not often ask for much, so when she had come to Alicent practically begging to go to the Westerlands with Elyana and her friends for the girl’s wedding, Alicent could hardly refuse. Laena was already planning on attending the event, at Rhaena’s insistence, which made it easy for Alicent to accompany them. Daeron too was going, if only because Alicent did not trust Aegon to look after him while she was away and Aemond was far too busy to do so.

“I must finish packing, I’m afraid,” Alicent told Rhaenyra.

“I thought you do not leave for a few more days,” Rhaenyra noted.

“It never hurts to prepare early,” she countered. “And trying to get Daeron to pack will take several days, I expect.”

Rhaenyra smiled briefly before her features fell slightly. “I’ll miss you in the weeks you are gone,” she admitted.

Alicent’s heart skipped a beat, hearing the lowness of her voice. The feeling was quite mutual, she was already dreading their time apart. She took a step closer to the queen and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. “You could always come with us.”

“Alas, my duty is here,” Rhaenyra bemoaned. She joked, “Nobody told me that being queen meant I had to be responsible all the time.”

After their trip to Dragonstone, Alicent supposed it would be a hard sell to the council to take another impromptu break from King’s Landing. “Then, I shall think of you every day we are apart,” she teased lightly as she went to continue packing her clothes.

“Or we could make the most of the time we still have here,” Rhaenyra suggested.

Alicent was halfway through considering it when a loud knock on the door broke their moment. “Your Grace, the council is gathering soon,” Ser Criston called out from the hallway.

With an improper groan and quick kiss goodbye, Rhaenyra had to relent that their moment alone was over. “I shall see you tonight,” Alicent promised. Dinners and talking in her chambers into the night had become exceedingly common for them.

Alicent took a deep breath before she returned to gathering her clothes for the journey west with a newfound lightness in her step. For all their missteps and incidents, her relationship with Rhaenyra still made her heart soar in a way it had not in decades.

“If there is nothing else, let us be finished for today,” Rhaenyra said. The Small Council meeting had lasted near three hours, old disputes over the Stepstones rising from the grave. It gave her quite the headache, the queen counted it as a mercy that it was finally finished.

Lord Rowan, Lannister, Beesbury, and the Grand Maester rose from their seats bowing to the queen before taking their leave. Rhaenyra leaned back in her seat, stretching and yawning. Now, she had to eat lunch with Lord Caswell, then write a letter to the Lords Ambrose and Frey. And lest she forget, hold court in the afternoon for her subjects. With much to do, she moved to stand.

“Your Grace, if I may have a moment of your time,” Corlys interrupted. She hadn’t realized he was still here.

“So long as it is quick, Lord Corlys,” Rhaenyra told him and sat back down.

“I have a matter to speak to you about,” he said, then added, “ Privately. ” She nodded and motioned for Aegon to leave the chambers, which he did with little protest. The months that had passed since her deal with Aegon had included little strife between them, which she was thankful for. Granted, there was also little love there, but it was a start.

Lord Corlys had never liked Aegon as her assistant so his wish for privacy did not particularly alarm her. “Is this so secret that you could not bring it up during the meeting?” Rhaenyra inquired as the doors slammed shut behind Aegon.

“It is regarding your current…status among many lords in the realm,” Corlys explained. She sighed, knowing exactly where this was going. “Let us be frank, Your Grace, you’ve never been popular among the lords.”

Rhaenyra hummed, mockingly. “I’m very much aware of that.” It was only because of their lack of other options that the lords accepted her as their queen and they did it rather begrudgingly.

“I keep an ear out for whispers in the realm. Dissent over your rule grows ever louder,” he told her.

“Wasn’t the purpose of our last tourney to quell any misgivings?” She recalled.

“You refer to the tourney where you very publicly sided against one of the realm’s oldest and proudest houses?” He responded, sarcastic. “House Hightower did not take kindly to your insult.”

“It is not an insult to have punished Ser Horas for his wrongdoing,” Rhaenyra countered.

“It was to them,” he said. “Not to mention, that business with Daven, which House Lannister did not appreciate. Replacing key figures of your father’s court, Ser Otto, Lord Jasper, the Commander of the Watch. And your children and the lord’s perception of them.”

“Careful, Lord Corlys.”

“They are my grandchildren as well. I am not your enemy in this, Your Grace,” Corlys said. “I have a vested interest in maintaining their identities. I say all this not to antagonize you but only to make it clear where the lords are taking issue.”

Rhaenyra gritted her teeth, her fingers running across the marble placed in its socket in front of her. A calming gesture, something to occupy her hands while her mind raced. The Hightowers and Lannisters should be grateful they got off easy after what Horas and Daven did to Aegon and Helaena. She was the queen, she could replace any figure she liked if she found them lacking.

And she would not stand for slanders against her children.

“The lords of the realm are haughty and resentful. Even if I did everything to their standards, they would find some fleeting matter to take umbrage with. They have to learn to live with a queen.”

“I fear some do not see it this way,” he interjected. “I wish for your rule to prosper, I really do, Your Grace. But friction grows every day and the realm cannot prosper if it is divided.”

“Then, what would you suggest, my lord Hand?” She inquired. “Surely you do not mean to say I should cow to their desires.”

“Of course not,” he assured. “As I have gathered, many lords feel discarded and offended. You must go to them, hear their grievances, and do what you can to remedy them. Make them feel heard and give them a reason to keep faith in your rule.”

“A royal progress?” She guessed his idea. “Lord Beesbury says we have not the coin to travel across an entire kingdom.”

“War would cost us more coin, and who knows what else, in the long run,” Corlys argued.

Rhaenyra considered his words for a moment. She had no desire to travel around Westeros, begging after every lord’s favor. The time and the coin were too great of burdens. Still, she could see the sense in what Corlys said.

She ran a hand through her hair as she thought, idly recalling how difficult it was to get it straightened after this morning with Alicent. With that memory, an idea came to her. “A full progress is unnecessary and costly, but there may be another solution.”

Lord Corlys motioned for her to continue.

“You say Lord Lannister is unhappy with my rule? He is holding a wedding in the Westerlands this coming moon. Many prominent lords will be there and, if what you say is true, I imagine most will share Jason’s perspective. It can be a good opportunity to meet with them all, address their grievances in one fell swoop.”

Her Hand raised an eyebrow, interested in the prospect. “Beesbury would certainly appreciate the coin saved,” he joked mostly to himself. “Gaining an ally in the Lord of the Casterly Rock alone will be a significant boost to your reputation among the lords.”

“I’ve known Lord Jason since I was barely more than a girl. He is fickle and arrogant, but he can be persuaded to reason. It is worth a try, no?” Rhaenyra said. 

And, if it also allowed her the chance to remain at her love’s side over the coming weeks, that would be an entirely unintended but quite welcome bonus. Obviously it wasn’t more important than the safety of the realm, but it was perhaps of equal importance.

“It is an excellent idea, Your Grace,” Corlys agreed. “We will need to begin preparations immediately if we are to make it in time.” Alicent and Laena were leaving in only a few days.

“Then, we must act quickly,” she decided. “I’ll pester Beesbury about the arrangements and speak with my sons to ensure they’re ready to depart as well.” Corlys nodded. It would be good for the lords to see their princes too. Jace would surely face similar challenges when he becomes king.

She stood, twisting the rings on her finger as she tried to make a mental list of all that needed to be done before they left. She would have to take care of the most urgent business before she left the rest in the Small Council’s hands. Corlys was more than capable to run the realm while she was away, she knew.

“Your Grace, one more thing, if I may,” he spoke before she strode to the doors. “Laena told me about this wedding, she is attending too, as I recall.”

“That she is,” Rhaenyra affirmed.

“So is Lady Alicent,” he added, his voice devoid of any previous warmth.

She steadied her features, turning to him blankly. “What of her?”

“You know.” His face conveyed his seriousness. He knew the truth. Rhaenyra supposed then they may not have been entirely subtle the past months, despite their efforts. “I know you’ll not do what I think you should, so I won’t suggest it.”

“A smart decision,” she said curtly.

He sighed. “I don’t care to know how it started but I do know you are playing with fire. As I feel I have demonstrated clearly, the lords have reason to dislike you already. If you intend for her to be at your side during this wedding…I fear the result if they catch wind of this . Even Targaryens are not immune to being burned.”

She did not allow her face to betray any emotion. She knew the risks full well when she entered her relationship with Alicent. Offenses to powerful houses and suspected bastards would be nothing in light of an unholy affair with her father’s old paramour. That would be enough for the lords to rise in rebellion.

“Do not let them hear of it,” Corlys simply warned.

The queen turned and left him without another word.

Laena took each step down the stairs with caution, her back aching. The many years since she was pregnant with the twins had made it slip her mind how exhausting it could be. At the very least, the Grand Maester had assured her it was unlikely she was carrying more than one child this time.

Her daughters were very excited about the prospect of a new sibling. Rhaena had already stitched a picture of a dragon for them and Baela talked incessantly about going to pick out an egg for them. Or, him, as her husband often corrected them on. He was certain the babe would be a boy, a son to call his own at last. Laena was not so sure but she wouldn’t mind a son.

She breathed a sigh of relief when her feet touched solid ground, the mud of the training yard. The area stank, the sweat of a dozen men rolling around in the dirt with the sun beating down on them. It was loud as well, irritating her head, as the song of steel filled the air incessantly.

At the other end of the area, she could see what she came to find. Her husband, who was locked in a heated sparring match with Aemond Waters. For a boy of his age, with an injury like the one he suffered, he fought with a ferocity of a man twice his years, enough to match Daemon blow for blow.

Carefully, she approached to get a closer look at the duel. There was a small crowd watching them already, entranced by the skilled prowess of both warriors. They ducked and weaved around each other’s blows and every swing of their sword was met with a parry by the other. With how little their swords actually connected with their bodies though, it seemed almost like an odd sort of dance.

Laena instinctually recalled the stories of her youth, when she knew Daemon as little else but the hero of the Stepstones, a legend on par with Joffrey Doggett and Jonquil Darke. She knew now that the tales of her youth were just that, however. There was much more to Daemon than the singers would tell.

She waited and watched as the fight dragged on. It only finally came to a finish when Daemon lunged at Aemond from the left, where the boy was blinded, to catch him off guard. It ended with Aemond in the dirt and mud and her husband, panting heavily, victorious.

The crowd clapped for the wonderful show from both as Daemon heaved his opponent back to his feet. When they all dispersed, Laena took a few steps closer to make her presence known to the pair.

“Laena, my dear wife, what a surprise,” Daemon greeted with a smile as he wiped away sweat from his brow.

“I was getting restless in my chambers and figured I ought to go for a walk,” Laena explained. “I happened to pass by and see you.”

Daemon hummed in the barest of acknowledgments. “The maester said you should rest,” he said, his voice restrained. She never knew why his voice became like that sometimes. Was he trying to hide his worry, ashamed of his own feelings? Or was it an effort to say it, merely pretending to care? Something else? She always wished she could understand Daemon better.

“If I had to sit in that room any longer, I would go mad,” she said lightheartedly and the side of his lip raised upward for a brief moment.

The prince reached out, pressing his hand against the growing bump in her belly to feel the babe underneath. They were quiet at the moment, thank the gods. “We’ll have to think of a name for him soon,” Daemon noted.

Laena had a few ideas of her own but hadn’t settled on any particular favorites yet. “Another time,” she settled on.

Their moment faded as a man in heavy armor stomped over to the prince, splashing mud as he went. He whispered harshly into Daemon’s ear and her husband waved him off just as quickly as he’d come. “City Watch business,” he said before turning away from her abruptly. He pointed at Aemond, “You as well, boy.”

“Daemon,” Laena spoke, trying to regain his attention. She hadn’t said all she had wanted to. “The girls wanted to know if you would be joining us for supper this evening.”

“If there’s time,” he brushed off, not turning to look at her. He grabbed Dark Sister’s scabbard and went after the messenger without another thought, not even waiting for Aemond to acknowledge the command.

The boy was still wiping sweat from his brow, fumbling with the straps of his armor. He didn’t seem overly concerned about hurrying after his uncle though, taking his time to put away the practice swords and shields that they had used.

For all the time that she had spent around Alicent in the past year, Laena had scarcely interacted with her eldest children. Alicent had always said Aemond was a quiet, dutiful boy, knowledgeable in histories and philosophy. She was quite surprised then when her husband took Aemond under his wing months ago.

She hoped it would be good for the both of them, but a deeper sense of dread sat in her stomach. Daemon spoke little and less about their newfound affinity and dodged her attempt to ask what spurred his change of heart.

“Ser Aemond,” she got the boy’s attention before he started after his uncle.

“I’m not a Ser, my lady,” he corrected quickly, as if on instinct. His gaze didn’t meet her eyes and his head was slightly downturned in respect, a habit likely learned from years of dealing with nobles.

She hummed. “Your mother speaks highly of you,” she noted. “And you fought well against Daemon today, it’s very impressive for a boy of your age.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he bowed his head. An awkward beat passed, Laena was hesitant on how to approach her question. Aemond saved her the trouble by inquiring, “Was there something you needed? I have to follow the prince soon.”

“I was simply curious about your friendship with my husband,” Laena admitted. “Meaning no offense, it struck me as rather odd.”

“He is my uncle,” Aemond said rather obviously.

And yet, Laena could not help but note, Daemon had made no effort to know Aegon, Helaena, or Daeron. Many days, he spent more time with Aemond than Rhaena. It did not make sense to her but Daemon was not a man to act without reason.

Everything he did had a purpose, even if it was often a selfish one.

Laena didn’t say that to Aemond, however. She could be mistaken, of course. Perhaps the queen’s pleas for her family to make peace had simply taken root in Daemon’s heart. He had been different ever since King Viserys died, he could have changed from the man she knew him to be in Essos.

Still, she felt compelled to offer advice to him. “I only mean to say…we do not know each other well, Aemond. From your mother, I hear you are intelligent, driven, and honorable.” Aemond’s head raised slightly, pride swelling in his chest. “Daemon, my husband though he is, is none of that. You ought to exercise caution around his lot or they’re like to drag a boy like you down.”

To that, however, Aemond seemed less receptive. “With all due respect, my lady, I am a man grown. I know full well the kind of man my uncle is and have no need for your advice.” Laena was more or less a stranger to him and he treated her advice as such.

“You are six and ten. Trust me, you are not that grown.” Barely a moment passed before Aemond bid her farewell and trudged off after Daemon.

Laena sighed, hoping he would at least think more about what she said. 

Aemond thinking he understood Daemon and his intentions well was a grave mistake, Laena knew.

And people older and wiser than him have suffered so greatly for such an error.

Preparing a royal party to go to the Westerlands was difficult, especially on such short notice. Rhaenyra met with Beesbury and Corlys countless times over the following days. Anyone passing the halls could see the hectic fervor of the servants, rushing around to ensure everything was in order for their departure.

Aegon, too, had to work from dawn to dusk with her to ferry letters and gather documents for her. She had to settle as many matters as possible before they left the rest in her council’s hands. Her half-brother was none too pleased about the development though, agitated and exhausted with every new order. All the same, the two had formed a tentative peace over the past months and she had no doubt he would hold to it.

As the sun began to set, Aegon entered her chambers with a pile of parchment. He listed them as he laid them on her desk, “From Lord Rowan, regarding the succession of House Belmore. From Lord Beesbury, about the cost of the carriages and the food. And from Lord Glover, who is none too pleased that you’re leaving just as he made the trek down from the North to see you.”

“I shall have to meet with him on the morrow, then.” This whole excursion was to placate the lords, it would not do to displease others in that pursuit. It would have to be a short meeting, between all her other duties, but she could manage. She hoped. “Was there any word from the Lord Commander about how many guards will be joining us?”

“None yet,” Aegon said. The queen sighed. She needed the total, or a close estimate, rather soon for her final conversations with the Hand and Beesbury.

Rhaenyra looked over her documents another time, her eyes beginning to strain. Her stomach growled, having skipped over lunch, and her bones ached after sitting all day. “Perhaps that is enough for the moment,” she told Aegon. She would be working under candlelight through the hour of the wolf assuredly, but she surely had to eat first. Besides, Aegon had his other work to attend to, no doubt, and she could manage without him until tomorrow.

Aegon yawned, relieved to be done scurrying around the keep for now. “Good night, Your Grace,” he mumbled.

“Aegon,” she got his attention before he could fully turn. “Before you go, I simply wished to know if you were attending the wedding as well. Your mother worried you might not.” With their change in plans, much of their family was now planning to attend the wedding. Laenor naturally would accompany her and their children, as would Daemon and Aemond as a part of the group of gold cloaks tasked with assisting their household guards.

Her brother’s face twitched briefly at the mention of his mother, she assumed he didn’t like the reminder of their relationship. Still, he answered, “I wasn’t planning on it, initially. Hallis would have my hide if I left so abruptly again. Luckily, however, fortune has turned in my favor.”

“Oh? What fortune?”

“You, as it happens. The royal family are no small guests. You’ve turned this event from a boring wedding of a minor lord to the event of the year. Lords from all over sent word they would attend just after you did,” Aegon explained. “Where a flock of nobility goes, there’s plenty of coin to be made. Hallis wants to send a handful of us to join the procession, to which I so graciously volunteered.”

“You’re a camp follower now?” She questioned.

“Something like that. Only we’re not at war,” Aegon shrugged.

Rhaenyra hummed without emotion. Aegon’s work had always struck her as odd, she could never understand why he chose to stay there. If it was another job he wished for, she could always find him one in the keep. Still, she knew how much it angered him the last time she brought it up, back when he was laying in a bed after Ormund’s attack, and chose to leave it be.

“Well, I am glad you are coming, in that case,” Rhaenyra told him. Alicent would be pleased too, she suspected.

Aegon didn’t seem particularly moved by her words, barely paying them any notice at all. “It is a rare opportunity for half the realm to be gathered in one place. Beyond the coin, rumors and whispers spread like wildfire. It would be a shame to miss it.”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware you were so fond of gossip.”

“You’d be surprised what men say to whores once they have a bit of ale in them. Or even just how careless they can be around servants or maids,” Aegon remarked. “And word travels fast among common folk.”

That had piqued Rhaenyra’s interest. “What sort of things do you hear?”

“I know Lord Rowan’s daughter lost her maidenhead to a woman down in the kitchens. He’s keeping it quiet to avoid the scandal and turns a blind eye while they still see each other,” Aegon explained. “I know one of your Kingsguard confessed in the Sept that he broke his white cloak vows. Couldn’t say which though.”

Rhaenyra wondered idly which of the guards it could be. Admittedly, beyond Ser Harrold, she didn’t know most of them well because of the years she spent at Dragonstone. She supposed it didn’t truly matter, she had higher priorities to attend to, so long as the oath breaking was restricted to only affairs.

“Lord Darklyn is cheating on his wife, quite often. Oh, and I know Lord Corlys has a pair of bastards back on Driftmark.”

The queen’s eyes widened. “You’re lying,” was her instinctual reaction.

“It’s the truth. He sends money back to Hull every month for their mother,” he laughed.

Rhaenyra wasn’t quite sure how much to believe him, but it did not strike her as a lie. It was impressive, she thought, the magnitude of the rumors. A more underhanded noble would pay good money for that kind of information.

She had no reason to make an enemy of any of the lords he mentioned, but if this was in Aegon’s skillset, perhaps there may be a use for it.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I may have a job for you while we’re at Casterly Rock,” she said. Aegon motioned for her to continue. “Lord Corlys says there are whispers of lords displeased with my reign. But, as of yet, we are unsure as to the nobles spreading this gossip and the exact grievances they carry. More solid confirmations of the rumors may shed some light on the path forward.”

Her brother was silent for a moment, his eyes averted away from her. She could insist that it was his duty as her assistant to help her with this, but didn’t wish to push him. It was all the better if he willingly helped in this matter.

After a while lost in thought, he finally hummed. “I suppose I could keep an ear out.”

“You would have my gratitude,” she said.

With that, he ended his dawdling and left her to her work. There was a veritable mountain of documents waiting for her to review, but at the very least she could put this matter out of mind for now.

She had to have faith that Aegon was true in his words and intentions.

Jason Lannister yawned, running a hand over his tired eyes and scraggly beard. He glanced around, bored, and exhaled loudly.

Johanna suppressed a scoff at her husband’s impropriety. She nudged him forcefully with her elbow to get him to stand more upright. “These lords have traveled far, greet them with honor,” she demanded.

She stood at the gates of Casterly Rock with her whole family lined up, her husband and their children in the front. Already, lords were arriving for the upcoming wedding. Mostly their vassals, Houses Tarbeck and Reyne, and of course, the house of her future son-in-law, House Serret. Today, however, a particularly important house was to arrive and House Lannister could not afford to show any cracks in their perfect image.

“They’re taking a bloody long time to get out of their carriages,” Jason rolled his eyes. “There’s much to do and little time to waste.”

Johanna bit the inside of her cheek. Of all the husbands to be shackled to, why did it have to be Jason Lannister? All the splendor of Casterly Rock was not worth spending it in his company every day.

“If you did not wish for so many guests, perhaps you should not have invited them,” she gritted through her teeth.

“They were courtesy invites. How was I supposed to know the queen would say yes and bring half the realm with her?” Jason defended himself.

Johanna shook her head, annoyed and unwilling to argue further. You should’ve anticipated the worst, she said in her mind, for her own sake. Then, they would not be scrambling for enough food and space to accommodate all the new guests. 

It was advice her father gave her and it had suited her well over the years. Johanna had always prided herself on her ability to adapt, however, and she could make the best of any bad situation. Including being married to Jason.

Much as she had grown frustrated with the planning of this wedding, Johanna could not deny she was always eagerly anticipating it. Her first family, the Westerlings, would be in attendance. It had been so long since she had the chance to catch up with her older brother and younger sister and she had yet to meet her newest nephew.

Even more importantly, Elyana was finally coming home after years in King’s Landing. Her little girl, it seemed impossible to believe it was already time for her to be wed. She could still remember the tiny tufts of golden curls on her head when she was a babe and the way she would adorably trail after her elder sisters.

She had exchanged letters with her over the years, naturally, but it was hardly the same as being with her. If she ever needed to brighten her day, she only had to remember that with every lord’s arrival, she grew closer and closer to seeing her youngest daughter again.

The gates were pulled open, slowly but creaking loudly, pulling her out of her thoughts. Jason straightened his back and whispered something to their eldest daughter, who was at his side. Trailing through the doors was a procession of horses and guards, flying an intricately woven banner above them.

A banner of a grey tower and green flame on a dark field.

“Welcome, my lord,” Jason bowed his head. Johanna and her daughters curtsied properly while the head maid proudly presented Johanna’s only son and the heir to Casterly Rock, little Loreon, a boy of not two name days. Jason greeted their guests with all the disparate scraps of Lannister charm he could muster, “It is an honor to have you join us in Casterly Rock.”

Descending from his horse, the young Lord Ormund grinned. At his side was his son and heir, Ser Lyonel, and his wife, Lady Samantha. Trailing just behind them was the former Hand of the King, Ser Otto Hightower, looking as dour as ever.

Ormund laughed, “Please, Lord Jason, the honor is all mine.”

Johanna forced a smile, already dreading how long the festivities would last.

Chapter Text

Alicent winced at the afternoon sun piercing in through the windows of the carriage. The wheelhouse rocked from side to side on the bumpy, dirt roads towards Casterly Rock, shaking the pair of women within. Alicent had her head laid against Rhaenyra’s shoulder, the queen’s arm around her torso, as the two spoke quietly, enjoying the leisurely trip towards their destination.

“Laena told me earlier that the babe’s been agitating her the whole trip,” Rhaenyra spoke lazily.

“I wouldn’t imagine such a rocky ride is good for them,” Alicent mused.

“Hm, I was thinking they were just upset at the prospect of meeting Lannisters,” Rhaenyra joked and the two laughed together lightly.

Despite their weeks of travel, their conversations had never run dry or become bland. Perhaps it was Rhaenyra’s natural charm or Alicent’s simple infatuation with the queen. Either way, she was not complaining as she burrowed her head deeper into the crook of Rhaenyra’s shoulder.

They talked of incidents around camp over the past weeks. Aegon had almost got into a fight when he tried to proposition the wrong man last week. Daemon and Aemond had gone hunting the other day and victoriously brought back a stag, to which the prince gave his nephew most of the credit. And just last night, sparring between Jace and Luke had turned sour when Jace had hit his brother’s nose too hard by accident. There were many tears and quite a few napkins worth of blood, but the maester assured them there was no long-term damage and a handful of weeks of healing would do the trick perfectly well.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door of their carriage. “Your Grace,” Ser Criston’s voice called. “You wished to be informed when we close in on Casterly Rock. It should be less than an hour now.”

Rhaenyra sighed. “Thank you, Ser. Stop the carriage, if you would.”

Alicent knew what it meant. If they were to keep their relationship secret, they could hardly arrive at Lord Jason’s doorstep alone in the same wheelhouse. Once they halted, Alicent raised to her feet.

“I’m sorry,” Rhaenyra apologized but Alicent brushed it off. They both knew that this relationship would come with the need for discretion. She planted a kiss on Rhaenyra’s lips, lingering longer than strictly necessary, before pulling away. In all likelihood, they would not have the chance to speak again until tonight or even days from now, depending on how many lords the queen needed to meet with.

She descended the steps of the carriage, assisted down by Ser Criston. A horse waited for her to ride the rest of the way to Casterly Rock. Alicent exchanged a small look of confirmation with the Kingsguard before he climbed back on his horse and commanded the carriage to keep moving.

She was not sure if he could tell the true nature of her relationship with Rhaenyra. With how much time the two spent together, she would not be entirely surprised. It was difficult to hide it from any of the Kingsguard, unfortunately, as they guarded the queen day and night. They were also charged with keeping her secrets however, so she hoped it would not be an issue if he, Ser Harrold, or any of them knew the truth.

Mounting her horse, Alicent kept it at a light trot as the procession made its way towards Casterly Rock. The royal party was enormous, hundreds of guards and servants packed together as they rode. Several houses had joined them as they went, increasing their size further. It was easy for Alicent to blend in.

It took only moments for her to miss the comfort of Rhaenyra. How quickly she had become dependent on her and her companions, Alicent mused, after the decades she had spent in solitude.

Turning her thoughts towards her children, Alicent tallied their locations in her mind. Helaena was with Elyana’s retinue, wearing a brand new dress that had cost Alicent a not insignificant sum for the occasion. Aemond was with Daeron, among the men of the City Watch who had come to assist the Targaryens' household guard. As for Aegon, she could not say where he was. He’d spent last night with a knight she didn’t recognize and had not returned, but it was far from the first night he’d done that.

The march was slow going and dull, but eventually they reached their destination. The mighty, towering sight of Casterly Rock loomed over them. They went up its exhausting winding roads in the mountain face, an even longer and more grueling ordeal than the journey there, but arrived at the gates of the castle within the next hours.

Alicent was far from the front of the group when Rhaenyra exited her carriage. She could barely see over the taller knights but strained to look all the same. Jason Lannister, his wife, and their children were all lined up to greet them.

“Your Grace, we are most honored by your presence,” Jason kneeled, as did everyone else awaiting them inside Casterly Rock. Rhaenyra waited a few seconds before ordering them to stand again. “I must admit, it was a bit of a surprise to get your letter.”

Rhaenyra hummed. “I will always make time for my most valued allies, Lord Jason,” she told him. King Laenor and their children came next. The boys performed their parts dutifully. Jace pressed a kiss to the hand of Jason’s eldest daughter and spoke with confidence and poise as he thanked them for their hospitality. It was not hard to imagine that Jace would be a wise and just king when his turn came.

Next, Elyana came to greet her family. She hugged her father and mother gleefully, her handmaidens waiting at her side. After more pleasantries had passed, the lords began to head inside and the procession finally moved forward.

It had taken another hour of waiting and slowly moving through the crowds to reach the Great Hall of Casterly Rock, and even longer for the many noble families to find their places and settle. Alicent sat with her sons in the area meant for the guards and City Watch. Daeron was ecstatic about all the splendor and wealth shown off in the Lannister’s home while Aemond remained quiet, uninterested in the event.

Cramped as they all were with this many lords, it was hard to deny how beautiful Casterly Rock was. Paintings and tapestries littered the walls, with golden vases and ornaments aplenty strewn about. It was a sight greater than the Red Keep, she thought.

The nobility went silent at last when House Serrett entered with their heir, Ser Myles, in the front. He was a tall boy with plain features, the beginnings of a beard were on his chin, and he had an awkward gait. Elyana greeted him with her best curtsy, dressed in a crimson red with her golden hair styled elegantly.

“My betrothed,” she said with all the poise she could muster.

“My betrothed,” he replied, kissing the back of her hand.

The hall clapped for the couple as Lord Jason stood to address them all. “Be welcome, my lords and ladies. Thank you all for making the long trek here, especially Her Grace, the queen, I hope to make it all worth your while. House Serrett has been a loyal and powerful ally of House Lannisters for centuries and it is my greatest pleasure to join our two houses as one.”

Alicent began to ignore his words after that, so filled with platitudes and pleasantries that had nothing to do with her. She glanced around the room, trying to get a glimpse of her companions and family. Rhaenyra, Laenor, and the princes naturally sat with the Lannisters and the Serretts at the head table. Even from across the room, she could tell that the queen was loath to listen to Lord Lannister prattle on and on but she focused on it all the same.

Close to the head table were where Elyana’s handmaidens and minor members of Houses Serrett and Lannister sat. Craning her head subtly, she could see Helaena seated quietly with her friends. Lord Jason seemed to have the sense to seat her furthest away from Daven Lannister who sat with his father on the other end. She prayed that they would not give her darling daughter any trouble. Helaena was so excited to come today and Alicent did not want her joy to turn to ruin.

As Jason went on and on, Alicent scanned the room and stifled a gasp when she saw them. Her family. The Hightowers were far across the hall, almost out of her view, but she could see her father plainly.

Why are they here? She wondered. It was certainly not a short trip from Oldtown to Casterly Rock and though they were amicable, it seemed an odd choice for Ormund to bring his entire house.

Alicent could not help but think of the last time she saw her father at the tourney. How he had ordered her to spy on and influence Rhaenyra for his own gain, and how she had disobeyed him. Disregarded what he asked.

(Had she? She was right back where she used to be, a royal paramour. Is that not what he wished for? Was she not in the exact right place to do what he bid?)

Her breathing picked up even as she tried to calm herself. What if he came to speak to her? What would she say? She could not bear it, seeing the scorn in his eyes and the venom on his tongue. What if he knew? Her mind could not help but wonder. It was impossible but maybe it wasn’t. If he knew what she had done, the relationship she had started…

Rhaenyra will protect you. She will not leave you to fend for yourself, she reminded herself and yet her heart pounded. Her father wasn’t even looking at her, perhaps he didn’t even know she was here, and already he had sent her into a panic.

She didn’t want to face him. Not any of them. She felt she had to eventually, though. A nagging feeling in her chest, unresolved business. A deeper part of her feared she would crumble at their first words, just as she had at the tourney.

“Mother,” Aemond whispered, bringing her back to reality. He looked at her with concern, noticing her distress. Even Daeron tilted his head to the side, taking note of how heavy she was breathing and how her eyes moved frantically.

Alicent took a few deep breaths, before nodding. “I’m well,” she whispered back. 

At the same time, a servant passed by, pouring wine for the knights. Aemond held a hand over his cup, stopping them, but Alicent made a split second decision to let them pour.

She downed the drink hurriedly, barely savoring the taste as it went down her throat. Minutes later, a servant would come by again to refill it, which she drank in moments too.

She prayed to the Seven silently. Please, let them be so focused on grandeur and politicking that they ignore me. 

It was a sin, she knew, to wish for it, but the gods could surely grant her this mercy, after everything. To spare her the indignity of having to reunite with her father and her family, if only for a bit longer. 

There was to be one week of festivities in Casterly Rock. The gods’ mercy only needed to last a single week, she prayed.

Rhaenyra nearly fell asleep listening to Jason Lannister drone on and on. He rambled about the wealth of his house, the ancient history of House Lannister, and how close he was with Lord Serrett in their youths when they were squires together. She shared a glance with Laenor next to her and her husband was equally as uninterested.

Even when the speech came to a merciful end, Rhaenyra was not free. Lords and ladies came up in droves to pay their thanks and well wishes to Lord Jason, the betrothed couple, and the royal family, meaning she was stuck exchanging pleasantries. Luke was clearly getting antsy after the first dozen houses had come and gone, wanting to explore and enjoy the feast. Jace held his composure better than his younger brother but evidently, he was growing bored of this as well.

He would have to perform these duties someday, she knew. But that day was not today, he was still just a boy. After most of the major houses had passed, she gave them permission to leave and they practically bolted out of their seats, to her amusement. 

As Lord Ambrose came to greet the families, Rhaenyra’s mind wandered. The presence of one house in particular made her worry over how well this wedding was going to go. She had not expected the Hightowers to come but here they sat. Scanning the crowd, she saw Alicent far away from them and seemingly unnoticed. If that was to change though, she feared the result. Aegon as well, given the business with Lord Horas.

During a lull in the pleasantries, she turned to Ser Criston, who stood guard behind her. “Ser Criston, bring Aegon to me, if you would,” she commanded. “After that, you are to watch over Alicent Hightower for the remainder of the wedding.” There was not a chance she was risking Otto or any of the Hightowers laying a finger on Alicent.

If Criston thought the command was odd, he made no show of it.

He turned to move but she stopped him before he could take a step. Much as her heart yearned to protect Alicent, her mind knew that rumors would fly if she had royal protection. “Do not make it seem as if you are watching her though. Blend in but keep an eye on her,” she explained. With a stiff nod, Ser Criston went to follow out his orders and Ser Harrold took his place protecting the queen.

Another handful of lords passed by before Aegon arrived at Criston’s behest. Compared to the well-groomed and fanciful attires of the lords and ladies, Aegon looked a mess. His hair was lazily matted down and he wore the same, plain clothes as he usually did to council meetings.

“Your Grace,” he greeted, a hint of mockery in his tone. “Enjoying your time away from court?”

She hummed noncommittally. “Not as much as you, clearly. I’ve not seen you in a number of days.”

“I’ve been busy. I do have other work to attend to,” he mused. “Which I must get back to soon. Did you need something?”

“A number of things. First and foremost, I’m sure you’ve noticed the Hightowers are here.”

The features on his face fell. He glanced down at the cup of water in his hands and took a sip. “That I have. What of them?”

“I simply wanted to remind you that I expect no further incidents with them while we are here. I trust you’ll steer clear of them,” Rhaenyra told him.

He laughed dryly. “After they broke my arm and left me bed-ridden? Do you think me a fool?”

“You would not like my answer to that,” she quipped.

Aegon rolled his eyes. “I’ve had my fill of that side of my family for a lifetime. You’ve nothing to fear from me.”

Rhaenyra wasn’t quite sure how much to trust his word but nodded. “Good. Then, a more pressing matter. Those rumors I asked you to investigate, what have you found?”

At that, Aegon seemed to light up a tad. “I’ve learned all sorts of things.” He nudged his head in the direction of House Costayne. “A knight in the Costayne guard says Lord Axell took three highly secretive meetings with Lord Bulwer last month. And both of them were in House Hightower’s procession up to Casterly Rock and spent many an hour holed up with that cunt, Ormund.”

“You are sure these meetings were sinister?” She asked.

“A pair of twin servants poured wine for the lords on the trip here. Both of them said the same thing, Lord Hightower had mentioned the incident with Horas and steered the conversation towards letting the other two lords air their own grievances,” Aegon continued. “And air, they most certainly did.”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue.

“Lord Costayne is a deeply religious man. He was almost a Septon before his elder brother died of a fever. He opposes Jacaerys as your heir on principle and I think you are not like to find common cause with him. But Lord Bulwer is a different story. He complained of taxes and whatnot but his heart was not in it. He was at the ceremony where you were named heir, bent the knee to you personally. According to his nephew, he’s a bit cowardly but he has his honor. What he really desires is to keep his house in order. His only son’s wife passed away two years ago, with no child, and he’s had no luck arranging another match. If he is to keep the lordship from passing on to his sister’s branch of the family, his son needs an heir.”

“And if I was to help arrange such a match for him, he may be persuaded to change his tune,” Rhaenyra filled in the blanks.

“Precisely,” Aegon said. “And once you start picking away at House Hightower’s allies, word will spread. Others may flock to you.”

Rhaenyra nodded. A marriage would surely not be difficult to arrange, especially with all the nobility gathered in one place like this. “This is promising, Aegon. Well done,” she said, absentmindedly, and she saw the way his lips almost curled into a smile.

“I shall keep asking around for ways to persuade Lord Lannister,” he said, showing a bit of initiative, which was appreciated.

“I’ll need to meet with him privately within the next few days, anything you can find would be of help,” Rhaenyra remarked.

“Lord Jason’s a bit of an open book, from what I hear. Some servants even say his wife is the true power behind House Lannister. Although, he overruled her so his paramour and natural daughters could attend the wedding, so I’m unsure of how true that is,” Aegon explained.

It was better than nothing, she figured. A meeting with Lady Johanna should perhaps be on her schedule as well, then.

With the beginnings of a plan in her head, Rhaenyra could allow herself to relax and enjoy the festivities a bit more. “Lord Jason has certainly spared no expense for this wedding. Near as grand as my own was,” she mused aloud.

“I wouldn’t know,” Aegon shrugged.

“You were there,” Rhaenyra recalled, amused. Regrettably, back then she did not give her half-brother a second glance. She was more focused on building her life with Laenor and Harwin. It was then that she noticed Aegon pointedly looking away from her. His grip on his cup had become noticeably too tight and he clenched his jaw. “What’s wrong?” She inquired.

“Nothing’s wrong, Your Grace,” he answered, the slightest hint of annoyance in his tone.

That was not assuring in the slightest. “You can talk to me, Aegon, you know. If you let all that anger simmer, it’ll become another Dragonmont incident.”

He scoffed but made no move to leave yet. Aegon took a swig of the water in his cup, mulling over whether to answer her honestly, before he finally relented. “I was thinking about our dear father,” he muttered. “The great feasts he would throw whenever you deigned to grace the city with your presence. It used to send him into a frenzy for weeks making sure everything was perfect. He never did anything half as kind for us, only ever you.”

“That’s not fair,” Rhaenyra tried to say. He could hardly blame her for what their father did.

Aegon shrugged. “You asked what I was thinking.”

She sighed. Even a year after he had passed, the specter of their father still hung over them, pulling her siblings away. The queen had spent hours upon hours thinking about it since she had learned what he did to Alicent and their children, struggling to reconcile it with the father she knew from her youth.

But then, she could not say she knew her father well from those days. She told Aegon, “When I was a girl, he scarcely found the time for me either. Pouring wine at his Small Council meetings was the most I ever got. He was always more concerned with entertaining lords and his efforts to replace me with a son and proper heir.”

“A trueborn son,” Aegon corrected. He added, “You are the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Please do not act as if we are the same.”

“I only mean to say that our father was not kind to either of us,” Rhaenyra said. “I think back on my youth, of how I did not see who my father was, and wonder what else I missed.” Rhaenyra thought of her mother, how she forever had that exhausted look in her eyes yet kept her playful, kind spirit. Or, at least, that is what she showed Rhaenyra.

The queen could not shake the thought that her mother had concealed some truths from her. Knowing how he treated Alicent, Rhaenyra fretted above all that it was no different with her mother.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore,” Aegon mumbled. “Good thing he’s fucking dead.” His tone was somber and bitter in equal measure.

“Good thing,” she agreed.

They shared a quiet moment together, understanding passing between them. There was nothing they could do to right the wrongs their father did that split their family apart. But Rhaenyra had worked all year to build her relationship with her half-siblings up piece by piece. She amusingly noted this was one of the few times she and Aegon had spoken honestly to one another that had not ended in an argument.

It was progress, more progress than they had made in the months of him being her assistant. When he left to continue his work, she went back to her own duties with the nobles. Boring, tedious conversations as always, but she took solace in the fact that there was a clear path forward for her family.

Rhaenyra held out hope that the worst of it was behind them and the future was bright.

Helaena crossed her arms, trying to make herself small as she weaved through the crowds of nobles. It was so loud in the main hall with far too many bodies moving about. It made her uncomfortable and longing for the sanctuary of her chambers back in King’s Landing.

After getting held up briefly to speak to her mother, Helaena hurried around the hall to find her friends again. She would feel better with them, she knew, not surrounded by strangers who looked at her suspiciously.

She eventually spotted them, or at least Elyana, Rohanne, and Rhaena, standing away from the main table, evidently trying to avoid the attention. All three wore beautiful, intricate dresses made specially for this event, Elyana in scarlet, Rohanne in a deep blue, and Rhaena in a teal and silver attire. 

Admittedly, it made Helaena feel a bit inadequate. Her pink gown was elegant in its own way, certainly the most expensive dress she’d ever worn, but still fell short in comparison to theirs. She brushed off the thought though and approached her friends. Rhaena waved to her excitedly and the other two raised their glasses to her. Helaena could not help but note the sour look on their faces.

“Casterly Rock is truly marvelous,” Rhaena complimented. “The stories my mother told did not do it justice.”

Elyana hummed. “It’s smaller than I remember,” she said with little feeling.

“How is your betrothed?” Helaena inquired, guessing the reason her friend was so glum. It was either that or the presence of her father’s paramour and natural children at her wedding that bothered her and Helaena certainly hoped it was the former.

Elyana shrugged and took a sip of her cup of wine. “He is perfectly acceptable.” She did not seem keen to give any more details than that so Helaena did not ask.

In her mind, Helaena thought idly that she would be glad to have a husband who was “perfectly acceptable”. They didn’t have to love each other. Helaena would be lucky to find a husband at all with her name, one who would not mistreat her was more than she could hope for.

“My mother says some marriages take longer to adapt to. Perhaps you will grow to love him,” Rhaena suggested with hope in her tone but Elyana shrugged that off too.

“In truth, the prospect of romance has never interested me,” Elyana admitted. She giggled mischievously, “Beyond the gossip.”

Rhaena laughed. “Speaking of, I saw our dear Alys was dancing with Lord Swyft earlier.”

Elyana furrowed her brow, “Isn’t Lord Swyft married?”

Helaena nodded. “His wife had to remain at Cornfield, since she is still recovering from their son’s birth.” Aegon had told her as much the day before. Apparently, his wife’s absence was causing the lord to look in other places to be entertained and he had hired one of Aegon’s friends.

“Does Alys know that?” Elyana asked, concerned. The two of them shrugged. Helaena noticed then that Rohanne was not paying attention to their conversation, staring off into the crowd of dancing nobles. “Rohanne?” Elyana nudged her, getting her attention.

“Apologies,” she mumbled, her eyes glancing back and forth between them and the crowd. “It’s not fair.”

“What isn’t?” Rhaena inquired.

“Gwayne Reyne,” she responded mockingly.

“Is he not as perfect as Jeyne said?” Elyana inquired, amused.

“Worse. He is just as perfect,” Rohanne answered. She pointed out the man in question and Jeyne, who were dancing in the crowd. Their eyes were locked on each other, the widest grin on Jeyne’s face. If it was even possible, she seemed even more smitten with him than ever. “I spoke to him earlier. He’s kind, courteous, funny, handsome, and has eyes for no one but Jeyne. Not fair at all, Jeyne’s a twat.”

“She’s not that bad,” Elyana laughed and teased her friend for being jealous of how happy Jeyne was. 

Helaena shrugged. Jeyne could be rude at times. Back when Helaena first began serving Elyana, Jeyne was furious she had to share a position with a bastard. Still, that was a long time ago and she was glad that her friend had found a joyous marriage.

“Where is Baela?” Helaena asked Rhaena, changing the topic of conversation.

Rhaena shrugged. “My sister does not have a taste for pageantry as I do. I think Mother is making her play nice with the lords.”

“I suppose that’s good practice for when she’s the queen,” Rohanne mused.

“My sister isn’t betrothed to Jace,” Rhaena argued.

Elyana rolled her eyes. “But she will be. Everyone says so. The queen is not like to find a better match for her heir.”

As if the talk of betrothals had summoned, soon enough the group of four was joined by Elyana’s betrothed, Ser Myles. Helaena hadn’t gotten a good look at him earlier but she could see him clearly now. He was square of face with broad shoulders and blisters caking his palm. His hair was shaved down short as well.

“Lady Elyana, perhaps you’d like to join me for a dance?” He offered.

Her friend stifled any annoyance and nodded. “Of course, my betrothed.” She bid farewell to her friends and walked off with him sullenly. Rhaena departed soon too to find her mother and sister, leaving Helaena and Rohanne alone.

“Come along,” Rohanne encouraged, grabbing Helaena’s hand. “Let’s not sulk over here, there’s plenty to do.”

Helaena wasn’t one for daring escapades, she’d had quite her fill of that over the past months as they crossed off their long list of things they wished to do, but she followed her friend nonetheless. Rohanne was quick, snatching up pastries and sweets from the feast for the two to share as they explored the Great Hall.

The two dodged out of sight when they spotted Lord Ormund Hightower. Helaena didn’t want to find out if he was still angry over her brother’s tourney incident. Rohanne took her around to meet groups of other nobles, most of them either her family or people she knew back when she lived on Fair Isle.

Rohanne’s father was jovial and loud. Far, far too loud for Helaena’s liking. Unfortunately, her mother was equally as thunderous, if not more so. The two were clearly a bit drunk, singing and laughing together. She could see where Rohanne got her energy from. Helaena was also reunited with Rohanne’s elder brother. They had danced together once back at Rhaenyra’s tourney. It was mostly a courtesy on his part but he was a pleasant boy.

They were a tight knit family, Helaena noticed quickly. Even despite the years that Rohanne had been away from them at court, they treated her as if she hadn’t been gone a day, welcoming her with open arms and wide smiles.

Helaena grinned softly at the sight, a touch of melancholy hitting her heart. She missed when her family was so close together. Once Aegon started going out to Flea Bottom more often, and more recently, when he and Aemond had their fight, it all felt like they were drifting apart. She dearly hoped she and Daeron didn’t grow to hate each other or stop speaking someday.

Helaena liked her family as it was and wished that it could be that way again.

“Rohanne!” Helaena heard a voice call and turned with her friend to face the source.

Rohanne groaned when she saw three boys gathered around a table. “The Marbrand boys, my cousins,” she explained to Helaena and reluctantly went to greet them, to which Helaena followed.

The eldest of the three was plump and friendly-looking, with a thin beard and matted hair. He was a bit older than Aegon, she guessed. The second was lanky with sharp features and clearly the least interested in being polite to their cousin. The third was around Helaena and Rohanne’s age, short and more focused on his game of cyvasse with the eldest brother to notice them at first. Each of the three brothers were marked with pitch black hair, a stark contrast to Rohanne’s bright red. She wouldn’t have guessed they were related by sight.

“It’s been too long, cousin,” the eldest greeted. He noticed Helaena trailing behind her then, “And good morrow, my lady.”

“I’m not a lady, Ser,“ Helaena corrected on instinct.

Before the boys could inquire as to what she meant, Rohanne interjected, “This is Helaena. Another of Lady Elyana’s handmaidens. Helaena, these are my cousins, Caster, Edric, and Gareth Marbrand.” She listed them in order of oldest to youngest.

Helaena curtsied for the three lordlings. She tried to remember what she could of House Marbrand but little came to mind. It wasn’t a very notable house nor did Ashmark stand out among the many fanciful keeps in the Westerlands.

“How is Lady Elyana these days?” Caster asked politely. “I haven’t seen her since my own wedding years ago.”

“She and Myles are getting along wonderfully,” Rohanne lied with remarkable ease. “She simply cannot wait for tomorrow.”

“That’s-“ Caster started.

“Wait a moment,” the second son, Edric, interrupted. “I do know you.” He looked directly at Helaena. She clenched her hands, already bracing for what he would say. “You’re the old king’s bastard. Silver hair and all.” He laughed, though he was the only one.

Helaena shakily nodded and suppressed a sigh. It was not as if it was a well hidden secret, but Helaena would’ve liked to pretend like she was any other noble lady for a few minutes. “I’m Helaena Waters, my lord.”

“Yes, Waters. Daven told me all about you,” Edric said with a wry smirk, causing the color to drain from Helaena’s face.

She had seen the boy earlier during the feast and thought it was wisest to keep to herself. It was an honor to be here and she didn’t want to cause any more squabbles. The fact that Edric seemed on friendly terms with Daven did not bode well for her.

“Probably a bunch of rubbish,” Rohanne defended. “Daven is a cunt.”

“He was stabbed ,” Edric countered. “I saw the scar myself.”

“Enough, brother,” Caster told him. “It has naught to do with us.”

“Daven is a cunt,” Gareth murmured, thinking his brother couldn’t hear him but the girls did. She and Rohanne poorly stifled their chuckles, Helaena’s was mostly out of nervousness, catching the older boy’s attention.

“You think that’s funny?” He asked dangerously.

“Leave her be,” Caster warned but Edric took a step forward, causing Helaena to shuffle back.

She felt uncomfortable where she stood, suddenly all too aware of how many people were around them and the anger on Edric’s face.

Helaena turned her gaze to the ground, avoiding his glare. She wanted to say something, anything, to defend herself and to explain what had really happened, but the words wouldn’t form in her mouth.

“Have you nothing else to say, bastard?” He mocked.

The telltale feeling of a sharp sting in body crept up her spine and into her mind. Another cursed dragon dream, she recognized.

When she shut her eyes, Helaena could see a dragon of smoke, venom dripping out of its mouth. It made shapes out of piles of sand on a beach, molding the result into whatever it desired.

 She heard shouting and clanging of steel. A sea of gold with crimson in the center, a smaller dragon gasping for air in its midst.

“He knows too much and too little,” she muttered the words that came to her instinctively. “It cuts deeper than he knows.”

“Helaena?” Rohanne broke through the fog of her mind, looking down at her with worried eyes. It was only then that Helaena noticed her legs had given out from under her and now, she was sprawled out on the ground. A dozen nobles looked on, confused and only half-heartedly concerned. “What happened? Are you all right?”

Helaena forced herself to turn her gaze anywhere but at her friend. Her cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. These cursed dragon dreams of hers made her like a fool, muttering to herself and losing her balance. Above her, Edric looked at his brothers, laughing and bewildered by the bizarre bastard before him.

“I did hear once that she could be simple,” Edric whispered. “I wouldn’t discount those tales.”

Caster seemed concerned for the girl but paralyzed in the confusion of what had happened. Meanwhile, the young Gareth had quite enough of his brother’s japes. He pushed past the taller boy forcefully, “Mother would be ashamed of you,” he told Edric as he went. That seemed to get under the boy’s skin, as he clutched his goblet of wine tightly and his features flickered in anger.

Gareth strode over next to Rohanne and offered his hand to Helaena. “Do you need help?”

Helaena blinked up at him, surprised. Carefully, she grabbed his hand and he helped haul her to her feet. Rohanne helped to smooth out her dress, murmuring to herself about Edric being a cunt. Helaena would not say it aloud but she found herself agreeing on that point.

“Thank you,” she said to both Rohanne and Gareth.

It was not often she found people who were patient and kind to her. Even without the prophecies and her bastard status, her interest in bugs and few words put most nobles off quickly. It made her heart twinge in sadness to remember that some of the few people in her life who were her friends, Elyana and Jeyne, were not coming home with them to King’s Landing.

“Would you like to come play cyvasse with me? My brother’s been teaching me,” Gareth invited her and Rohanne. Edric scoffed behind them and then sulked off into the crowd. Helaena worried briefly that he would go find Daven and tell him about Helaena’s presence here. Caster trailed not far after him, likely keen to keep his younger brother out of further trouble.

“We would love to, cousin,” Rohanne answered quickly, giving a glance to Helaena to ensure it was all right. Helaena nodded her assent and the three of them returned to the table where the brothers sat before.

She didn’t quite get the rules of the game, even as Gareth kept patiently explaining them, so Helaena mostly sat and watched the two of them play but it was nice to feel included nonetheless. He inquired into her life at King’s Landing, never prying too deeply into her father or life as a bastard though, which she appreciated.

Gareth also told her about himself. Rohanne knew most of it already but let him speak. He and his eldest brother were close, bonding over riding horses in the plains around Ashmark or fishing in the nearby river. He was bookish and raved about the stories he’d read of gallant knights and fearsome monsters from the East.

“My father says I’d be a good maester, since my brother will be Lord of Ashmark after him. I’d much rather explore Westeros though. Mayhaps as a tourney knight,” Gareth mused.

“Didn’t you break your arm last time you tried to spar with someone? Two years ago? Some knight you’d make,” Rohanne teased and Gareth took the jape well. Helaena could not help but join in their laughs.

Making friends did not come easy to Helaena but it was always nice to have one more. Even if it was just for today, before she and Gareth went their separate ways.

Alicent felt the cold, sweet flavor of the wine go down her throat, dulling her senses further. A low drum pounded in her mind, the beginnings of a headache. 

The feast had been going on for hours and Alicent gladly faded into the background. Daeron was eager to meet the many other young nobles and squires at the feast, buzzing around the Great Hall with his boundless energy. Alicent had few worries that he would get into trouble, as Daeron was always well-behaved, but nonetheless, Aemond insisted on keeping an eye on him.

The dull roar of the crowd and the light music rattled her brain. She had grown used to loneliness over the years, it was achingly familiar. All the same, sitting alone during a grand feast filled her with melancholy.

Part of her was almost tempted to wade into the crowd. Perhaps she’d find some of her old friends from Oldtown to catch up with. The idea sounded so alluring and yet, she knew full well it was not like to end in anything but disaster. At best, mockery and scorn from those who knew her reputation, and at worst, she could run into her family.

She shook her head. It was best to stay where she was and keep her head down, as she always had. Alicent called the servants over for another goblet of wine, barely savoring the taste as she gulped it down.

Time passed her by and Alicent waited for the festivities to wind down. Her only respites were when her children came to talk every so often. Daeron, mostly, who excitedly rambled about the new friends he’d made. Aegon, too, made a point to visit her in a lowly corner, ensuring she knew he was still alive after disappearing last night. Apparently, he was still with the same knight from before but he got uncharacteristically tight-lipped when she inquired as to their identity. Though, she was not inclined to push the matter all that much.

She was surprised when most of the day had gone by without Helaena and Aemond’s return. Alicent could only presume Helaena was with her friends and Aemond, with his fellow men in the City Watch, but neither usually had a habit of staying away for too long.

The wine, and a promise from Aegon to look for them himself when he had an opportunity, drowned out any further stress she had about it.

When the sun had long past fallen, most lords began to retire to their chambers and Alicent was glad to do the same. She realized quickly that, perhaps, she had drunk a few too many goblets of wine, as she navigated the blurry room on shaky steps.

Cautiously, she pushed through the crowd, apologizing as she went every time she stepped on someone’s foot by accident. Her head felt lighter yet her eyes felt heavier and her stomach lurched when she nearly stumbled climbing up steps. Gods, how did Aegon do this all the time?

Alicent can scarcely remember the few times she ever got well and truly drunk. Most of them were when she was younger, overwhelmed with taking care of the children and when the sting of loneliness was fresh. She was unaccustomed to it nowadays but tried her best to adapt as she walked.

She kept her head down, not wanting to risk who she might run into. Beyond her family, there were a great many lords and ladies who would turn up their nose at the sight of her in their midst. She only hoped her children were faring better than she at enjoying themselves at this feast.

Once finally out of the Great Hall, Alicent felt she could breathe a bit easier. She had a set of directions given to her by a servant for where to find her chambers but Casterly Rock was a vast network of corridors and easy to get lost in.

Alicent recalled vaguely when she was a girl, no more than ten years of age, and she found the winding halls of the Red Keep impossible to navigate. It took her months and months to feel comfortable knowing where she was going.

East wing, she recited in her mind. Past the armory and kitchens. Go left at the wide balcony. You’re in the last room of the third hall on your right. Or was it the second hall? It was the third, she was sure. Mostly sure.

She felt her steps grow more difficult with every move and she couldn’t wait to lie down and sleep the wine off. Maybe she would have a pleasant dream for once.

Once she turned the corner into the hall though, her heart skipped a beat. Small banners were put outside the general area of where every house was staying. It only made sense to group each house together, of course. 

At the end of the hall, Alicent could see clear as day, the green and gray tower of her birth.

It was natural, she supposed. Perhaps whoever arranged the chambers didn’t think much of it, her name was Hightower, after all. There were hundreds of guests arriving, no time to fuss over one in particular. It made perfect sense and yet her mind hadn’t connected the dots until she was staring it in the face.

She would sleep just a door away from her family. She would wake in the mornings and likely run right into them on their way to breakfast.

It seemed like a cruel joke. Even now, she could not escape them. Her name was forever Hightower and she would always be brought right back to them. To her father.

She startled when a door was pushed open. 

It was just her luck that, from one of the Hightowers’ chambers, came her father. He didn’t notice her for a few terrifying moments, shutting the door behind him, but when their eyes locked, Alicent felt an icy panic run through her system.

It was dead quiet in the corridor. Alicent didn’t even dare breathe.

She couldn’t do this, she decided. Certainly not now. Maybe not ever.

Before he could open his mouth, she turned and darted back around the corner. A coward as always , she chastised herself but her legs moved of their own accord, rushing away from the hall as fast as possible.

Her heartbeat picked up, her lungs begged for air.

She turned around briefly, hoping against hope that he wasn’t following her, only for her to make another sharp turn and run directly into a man wearing armor. “Lady Alicent?” They asked and Alicent took a moment to realize it was Ser Criston. “Who were you running from?”

“Ser, I-” She took shaky breaths, trying to force herself back to calmness. “I wasn’t. I…”

Criston plainly didn’t believe her, his eyes looking back where she came with suspicion.

“I apologize for running into you,” she said. Unsure of where else to go with her father at her door, Alicent made an instinctual decision. “Do you think you could show me where the queen’s chambers are? We were supposed to have some wine after the feast. I’ve got myself all turned around.” The lie came quickly. It was hardly suspect, she hoped, Criston knew they had been having nightly talks for months.

There was a brief pause before he hesitantly nodded, leading the way. She thanked the gods that he did not pry further. Ser Harrold guarded the door that surely belonged to the queen, with Ser Erryk and Ser Steffon further down the hall, likely for the princes and the king. Ser Harrold nodded to her before standing aside to let her pass.

Alicent pushed the door open, the door creaking far more than she expected. The queen immediately spun to face her, still dressed in her gown from the feast. “Alicent?” She asked, not expecting her presence tonight.

“I didn’t want to forgo our nightly routine,” she meant to say. Talking into the night with Rhaenyra sounded to Alicent like just what she needed and it was a good enough excuse to explain her presence. However, in her inebriated state, she spoke the truth plainly, “I missed you today.”

Rhaenyra’s features softened immediately, striding across the room to approach her. “I had a rather dreadful day as well, being apart from you.”

“Poor thing,” Alicent teased. The wine was surely influencing her head, making Alicent feel floaty and delighted to embrace Rhaenyra tightly. She buried her head in the queen’s shoulder, soaking up the comfort and warmth.

She didn’t tell the queen about seeing her father. Part of her didn’t want to dwell on it any more than necessary and another felt too ashamed to speak it. She was a woman grown, four and thirty, yet she still was cowed by her father’s very presence. She knew the kind of vile insults he would levy at her if he ever learned of her queer desires. Or perhaps he’d think of it as just another tool for his schemes, an advantage he could exploit in the queen. Alicent didn’t know which was worse.

Their heads close together, Rhaenyra softly sniffed, noticing the scent of wine on Alicent’s breath. “Are you drunk?” She questioned.

Alicent hummed noncommittally. “I had a few cups of wine,” she brushed off. “I had little else to do all day while you were conversing with nobles and dancing with lords.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t do much dancing,” Rhaenyra admitted. With that charming smirk, she added, “I didn’t have the right partner.”

Alicent was glad for the wine dulling her doubts as she easily replied, “We can fix that, surely.”

Carefully, she looped her arms around Rhaenyra’s neck, pulling her closer. Rhaenyra, in turn, placed her hands on Alicent’s hips, a respectful bit higher than necessary. Slowly, the two swayed their bodies together, their focus only on one another.

There was no music to dance to nor a sea of nobles cheering for their performance, but it was quiet and joyful in its own way. A peaceful retreat from prying eyes where it could just be the two of them, without reservation.

“I wish it could be different,” Rhaenyra whispered to her. “I would marry you, if I could.”

Alicent smiled sadly. There was a safety in their privacy, Alicent knew and took solace in that, but she too felt that wish at times. If only they could be openly together and have the realm rejoice. A world where she would not have to be the Targaryens’ dirty little secret, a stain to be removed from the history books.

Alicent pressed a kiss to Rhaenyra’s cheek, feeling light and sappy from the wine. “It is enough to be here with you,” she said.

She tried to mean it, truly. It was enough. It had to be enough.

It was all she was ever going to get.

They pressed their foreheads together, enjoying the closeness to one another as they danced.

In the world they lived in, secret dances and kisses in the dark were all that Rhaenyra had to give, for their safety. Alicent would take the scraps she could and cherish them. They were far more than anyone in her life had given her before, in truth.

Repeating the thoughts in her mind, however, did not make it easier to be the royal paramour all over again.

Alicent and Rhaenyra danced into the night, with soft brushes of their lips throughout, as the candles went out over Casterly Rock, and no one else in the castle would ever be allowed to know.

Chapter Text

There was a wet splat of mud as Aemond’s body hit the ground, half his silver hair quickly discolored to a common brown. The boy stifled a whimper, pushing himself back to his feet.

Standing tall over Aemond were four boys. Jon Vypren, his younger brother, Lucas, and their two friends, brothers-in-arms. “You should stay down, bastard,” Jon taunted. He was four years Aemond’s elder with all the arrogance of the heir to his house. “And listen next time someone tells you to fuck off.”

Aemond huffed. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, just practicing the forms that Ser Criston had shown him, all on his own. For nobles like Jon though, it wasn’t enough for Aemond to be unheard, he should also be unseen.

The bastard boy stood his ground. Back on his feet, he glared at Jon hard, his violet eyes proving he was more than the average bastard. He was the blood of the dragon, his grandfather always told him so.

Jon snickered with his friends, Lucas joining in a few seconds late. “Scurry on back to that whore mother of yours, Waters. You don’t belong here.”

Aemond could hear his mother’s words in his mind, pleading with him to not cause any trouble. He could imagine the tears staining her face if he came back bloody and bruised. He had promised her he would be good.

Yet, in the face of Jon’s insult, Aemond barely hesitated before throwing a punch towards his jaw. The noble boy reeled back briefly, his cocksure attitude melting away in an instant. “You fucking-” he slapped Aemond, hard, sending him back to the ground once more.

His friends took that as their cue to join in. One kicked Aemond’s shin as he scrambled to try to get back to his feet. The other tried to stomp on his fingers, which Aemond frantically avoided.

Aemond was wrenched back to his feet by Jon before getting shoved towards a wall. “They ought to take your hand for striking a trueborn noble,” Jon seethed. Aemond grunted against the hold the boy had on him, spitting in his eye in an attempt to break free.

The noble did not take kindly to that. A sharp hiss sounded through the air as he pulled a knife from his belt, leveling it towards Aemond. The bastard gulped, panic flooding his system, but he had nowhere to run. The four boys and a wall surrounded him on all sides.

“You are dead, bastard,” Jon threatened. He looked towards his younger brother with a cold glance. The boy, barely more than Aemond’s age, seemed unsure and nervous but followed his brother’s silent command. Lucas took a step forward and delivered a quick punch to Aemond’s stomach.

As he doubled over in pain, the older boys grabbed him and threw him back into the mud. Jon waved the knife menacingly, striding towards Aemond. The boy wasn’t sure if Jon would actually use it but he certainly didn’t care to find out.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond said, at last, and he hated how quiet his own voice was. He hated feeling small and weak but he had no choice. “Let me go, please.” 

Jon merely chuckled. He took another step forward, the three other boys in tow, towering over Aemond. Before the younger boy could even try to scramble away, he suddenly heard quick, frantic steps coming from the side.

Aemond barely had time to glance at who it was before a blur of silver hair practically tackled Jon off his feet. “Get the fuck off my brother!” He yelled, kicking Jon’s face. He tore the knife from Jon’s hands forcefully and tossed it off to the side.

Aegon, Aemond recognized instantly. His heart soared only briefly at the sight of his elder brother coming to defend him, as the other boys recovered from their shock and rushed to their friend’s aid.

Jon’s two friends each grabbed one of Aegon’s arms, yanking him backwards. One punched him right in the nose while the other kneed him in the stomach. Aegon yelled out, elbowing one in the chest before grappling with the other.

Meanwhile, Jon recovered from his initial attack. He scrambled to follow after Aegon but Aemond rushed to his feet. The three of them would be able to overwhelm Aegon easily, he knew, so he stopped Jon in his tracks, kicking his legs out from under him.

As Jon fell back into the mud, Aemond shouted in anger. His limbs still ached in pain but he pushed through it, punching Jon over and over, in the face, in the chest, in the shoulder. It was messy and bloody as Jon tried to push him off but Aemond kept up the assault.

All his life, it was nobles like Jon who bullied him and his family. He couldn’t have a proper name or a place in his father’s household. He could barely train to be a squire because of their harassment.

“Get off of him!” Someone yelled.

Aemond didn’t hear.

His arms wailed as he swung over and over and-

A sting passed over his face. 

He barely felt it for a moment before the pain became overwhelming and unbearable. Red filled his vision, falling down his cheek and onto his clothes, and he fell backwards into the mud.

Above him stood Lucas Vypren, his hand tightly clutching the previously discarded knife.

Aemond screamed, clutching at his face. He screamed so loud he could feel his voice going hoarse. A fiery pain shot through his entire system, so terrible it almost felt numb at points. He panted hard, curling in on himself.

He wanted to cry out for his family but he couldn’t find his voice for anything more than shouting out his suffering.

He didn’t know if it was one moment or a thousand before Aegon entered his vision. “Aemond? Aemond!” He yelled, pulling him up by the shoulders. Aegon’s eyes darted around and the way his features twisted in horror did nothing to soothe Aemond’s fears.

Out of the corner of his remaining vision, he saw the four boys flee the scene, Lucas looking on in horror before his brother pulled him away.

Hours passed in agony, days passed in sorrow. Weeks and years of grief. He never saw the boys again.

Alicent stared at the ceiling, the cold, uneven stone. Her eyes wandered the crevasses and invented patterns in her mind, keeping herself occupied in the hours of the night.

She needed anything to keep herself awake.

Next to her, the queen slept soundly. Her chest rose and fell steadily with each soft breath. Her silver hair splayed out across the pillow like a beautiful tapestry. There was a gap between them on the bed that Alicent tried her best to ignore, lest she grow tempted to close it.

It was not her intention to stay the night with Rhaenyra, that first evening that she and the queen danced together. However, she had fretted to return to her assigned chambers near her family and was well past drunk at that point, so Rhaenyra had offered her own bed. Despite the queen’s insistence, Alicent was not about to throw her out of her own bed and force her to sleep on the couch, which led to their current predicament of resting beside one another.

It was harmless, Alicent knew. Rhaenyra had no ill intent with the invitation and would never attempt anything uncouth. She knew that and still she lied awake. Hearing another person’s breaths next to her, feeling the dip in the bed and their tossing and turning, Alicent couldn’t relax.

You’re being foolish, she chastised herself. Rhaenyra is not her father.

The two of them had spent countless hours cuddling together, she even fell asleep with Rhaenyra during their excursion out of King’s Landing months ago, sleeping in a proper bed should not be so different. Still, her body refused to calm. Even when exhaustion overcame her, it was usually only for an hour or two at a time. 

Flashes of nightmares and memories kept her from true rest. There were phantom touches on her hip, rolling her over whenever the king decided he was not quite done yet. Squeaks of rats on the canopy haunted her ears. The ceiling of the king’s chamber was carved forever in the annals of her mind.

Alicent sat up, trying not to wake Rhaenyra with her movements. Her eyes were heavy and begged for slumber but she pushed through her weariness. Alicent slowly stepped onto the balcony adjoined to the queen’s chambers, feeling the early morning air pass over her. The room had a perfect view of Lannisport below, where ships were arriving and the town was full of life. Hundreds of visitors that Casterly Rock could not manage alone were down there, enjoying the festivities in their own way.

She sat at the small table on the balcony, marveling at how tall Casterly Rock was. The view down to the ground paled in comparison to even the highest room in the Red Keep. It made her wonder if this was how dragonriders felt, touching the cloud line and seeing everyone as but ants from above.

The sight quickly became dull in her drowsiness, the call of sleep beckoning her once more. She could go back to her assigned chambers, she supposed. At this hour, none of the Hightowers were like to be awake. The thought of running into them when morning came gave her pause, however.

Her children had all likewise chosen to avoid the area. Aemond had different quarters lower in the castle, where the City Watch guards slept, and Daeron had joined him there. Helaena stayed with her fellow handmaidens and Aegon, she presumed, was with one of his clients. She rested a bit easier knowing they were not at risk of a confrontation with the Hightowers.

It should be easier , she thought, to stay with Rhaenyra than to be so close to her family. There was a twinge of guilt and worry in her chest. If she could not feel safe with Rhaenyra, she wondered if she would ever feel safe with anyone again. She put her head in her hands, resisting the urge to cry.

It was then that Rhaenyra stirred in the bed, noticing the emptiness despite her groggy state. Her eyes fluttered open and searched for her love in the darkness, squinting in confusion when she saw her out on the balcony.

“Could you not find sleep?” Rhaenyra inquired softly as she rose out of bed and walked towards her.

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent startled, hurriedly rubbing at her eyes. The queen’s features turned to concern immediately and she knelt by Alicent’s side.

“My love, what’s wrong?” Rhaenyra asked, cradling Alicent’s hands in her own.

Alicent felt her heart swell a bit at the queen’s nickname for her. It was then followed by another twinge of guilt. “I’m sorry. Sleeping in a bed with another, it’s…I could not find sleep.”

“You do not have to apologize for that,” Rhaenyra promised, pressing a kiss to the back of her palm.

Alicent shook her head, absentmindedly. “You are so endlessly kind and patient with me, Rhaenyra. You deserve more than what I can give you.” Someone who was not afraid every time Rhaenyra’s hands wandered or when the queen did even the slightest thing that reminded her of Viserys.

“None of that,” Rhaenyra said, not sternly, only with tenderness in her tone. “I love you, Alicent. There is no one I’d rather be with.”

Despite what the queen hoped for, it made Alicent feel more shame. It had been near three months since Rhaenyra confessed that she loved Alicent and the lady could not find the words to say it back.

Rhaenyra held her close, hugging her like it would chase away all her fears. Alicent clung just as tightly with the same hope. “We don’t have to sleep, if you don’t want to,” Rhaenyra told her. “Let’s just stay awake together and talk, like in the carriage.”

Alicent nodded silently. Rhaenyra had business to attend to when the sun rose, she knew, and she could not be exhausted while handling it. For once, she let the protests die on her tongue and accepted the queen’s help.

They laid back on the bed, a distance apart because Alicent did not want to wake with a hand draped over her and fall into another panic. Rhaenyra began, “You know, Aegon told me some weeks back that one of my Kingsguard broke their vows. I’ve been keeping a closer eye on them, to ascertain the truth of the matter.”

Alicent relaxed a tad. Mindless gossip was good to occupy her mind and keep away the memories. “And what have you found?” 

Alicent did not know any of the Kingsguard knights that well, truthfully. Ser Criston was close to Aemond, a time that seems to have passed, but they had not spoken much personally. Ser Harrold was dear to the queen, Alicent had come to learn, but beyond that, she had not a clue.

“Very little so far. I’m certain it was not Ser Harrold, at least. Ser Erryk, too, I believe is innocent. Both men are too honorable for such,” Rhaenyra explained. She went down the list of the knights, assessing the possibility of each but finding no conclusion.

After they ended up at a dead end, they turned to the next topic, of Lord Jason and his wife’s frequent disputes. Then another, and another, and another. 

The two talked for what felt like hours into the night until Alicent’s eyes finally could stay open no longer and a welcoming sleep took her.

“You’ve an impressive gift, nephew,” Daemon said, walking up to Aemond, barely audible over the crowds of nobles. Aemond spared him half a glance, nodding his head in greeting.

The young bastard sat in the corner of the Great Hall, looking out over the crowd. “And what gift is that?” Aemond inquired.

“A remarkable ability to be so bored at such a luxurious event,” Daemon joked. He handed his nephew one of the two cups of wine in his hand.

“Perhaps it’s only because I’ve spent too much time around you these past days,” Aemond teased back, sipping the beverage.

“You do have a sense of humor after all,” Daemon noted. 

Aemond chuckled to himself, feeling relaxed around his uncle. He was not one for large gatherings and extravagant feasts, so he counted himself lucky he could rely on Prince Daemon.

“Truly though, what ails you?” Daemon asked.

“Nothing,” Aemond brushed it off. “I’ve never been one to mindlessly mingle with lords. And someone must keep an eye on my family.”

Looking out over the crowd, their silver hair made it easy for him to identify them from afar. Daeron and their mother had found a table to sit and eat at, his brother animatedly telling her a story while they did so.

Aemond kept a particular eye on Helaena. For once, her friends were nowhere in sight. Instead, she had spent most of the day with a short, black-haired young noble, eating and dancing and laughing. Aemond did not trust the boy in the slightest.

He tried to ignore Aegon, truthfully, and yet his traitorous eye wandered to ensure he was alright. The oaf was making a fool of himself, hanging on to the son of Lord Westerling unabashedly. As ever, it seemed his brother had learned nothing in their months apart, drinking sloppily from a cup of wine and flailing about clumsily.

“It does not always have to be you,” Daemon told him, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Watching over them, I mean. It’s a wonderful party, you should take a chance to enjoy it as well.”

“I can’t,” Aemond answered, too quickly. His mother could not do it all on her own and he would not leave his siblings alone in this unfamiliar place. “I’m not fond of festivities, besides.”

“Perhaps because you’ve never let yourself enjoy them,” Daemon suggested. With an assertive tone that left no room for discussion, he told Aemond, “Go, take a walk around. I’ll keep an eye out in your stead.”

Aemond eyed his uncle suspiciously. They’d grown closer since Dragonstone, one might even call them friends, but his family was another matter entirely. He knew Daemon held no love for his mother nor Aegon and he did not trust him to help them should the need arise.

“You can afford to be lax for one hour, boy,” Daemon insisted.

Despite his mind saying differently, his uncle’s tone rang sincerely to Aemond. He supposed, maybe, it would be nice to not have to worry for a candle mark. Or less, if needed.

Reluctantly, he nodded and rose from his chair. Just for once, he resolved.

He waded through the herd of nobles, quickly remembering why he was not a fan of such crowds. It felt tiring just to exist around them, almost suffocating. He briefly thought that he should find his mother and Daeron, but then wondered if that would go against the entire point of his excursion.

Truthfully, he did not have many other friends. He was acquainted with other men in the City Watch, grunts and Daemon’s men alike, however no one that he could willfully seek out for companionship. His name and his eye put off most and he was not as personable as his brother or even Aegon to make up for it. It never mattered to him before, so focused on his work and his family, but now he began to regret it.

Aemond found himself trailing out of the Great Hall and into the courtyard of Casterly Rock. Though it was still brimming with people, it was a good deal quieter. The fresh air did him well.

The courtyard was just as lavishly decorated as the main hall was with fanciful tapestries and pottery. Aemond sat on a bench, letting himself rest briefly. It was easy to sit and get lost in thought, staring out at the mass of people, observing all their stories passively. 

There was a boy, barely older than Aemond, desperately trying to court a noble lady, likely a widow, twice his age, bringing food and gifts and charming words. On the other side of the hall, there was a girl with an eyepatch like his. There was an odd reddish web sprawling out from her eye, lingering signs of some infection that likely took it. A third person, a nobleman, helped an ailing old man cross the yard. Aemond could guess it was his father by their matching clothes.

Watching and learning from these nobles was a trick Aemond had to learn. He’d been overly reckless once, a boy with naive and desperate wishes to be like them, and he had lost an eye for it. Caution and patience, traits his brother never learned, were of the utmost importance.

“Aemond?” A voice called out. Aemond startled out of his thoughts, turning around to face them.

It was Lyonel Hightower, Lord Ormund’s eldest son and heir. He had the same shaggy, blonde hair as his father, clean shaven and broad shouldered. “You remember me? From the tourney, we talked after that situation with our cousin.”

Aemond nodded. It was gladdening to know that not all of their Hightower relatives were against them, but they’d not kept up in the months since. “A terrible mess,” he agreed. From the tales he’d heard, some of Horas’ injuries that day left permanent scars. Aemond wondered if that was why he did not travel with the rest of the family to the wedding.

“It’s behind us, I should think,” Lyonel waved it off. “How’ve you been, cousin?”

“Same as always. My life is not near as exciting as yours, I’m sure,” Aemond responded.

“I don’t think that’s quite true,” Lyonel said. “I heard a rumor about you, I was wondering if there was any truth in it. Did you stare down a wild dragon to protect your siblings? The Bronze Fury himself, no?”

Aemond blinked, taken aback. “How did you know about that?” He thought the queen kept the entire incident quiet.

“So it is true,” Lyonel grinned. “We hear all sorts of gossip in Oldtown.”

“It is not as daring as you make it sound. And it was not my choice to find the dragon,” Aemond corrected.

“Nevertheless, few men can claim to come face to face with a vicious dragon and live to tell the tale,” Lyonel told him, waving his hands dramatically as he did. “I think it’s rather impressive.”

Aemond felt the ache of his back scars at the reminder of the incident. With it though, he also felt a swell of pride in his chest. He supposed he had done something grand, getting all his siblings to safety. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

“A feat worthy of a true Targaryen,” Lyonel boasted.

“I’m not a Targaryen,” Aemond replied.

“Of course,” Lyonel answered, the smile oddly never leaving his face. “Let’s get a drink and catch up, shall we?”

Aemond felt compelled to protest that he really should return to Daemon but some part of him stifled the words and his legs moved of their own accord. Lyonel guided his way through the crowd of nobles back in the Great Hall, waving down a servant to pour their goblets.

 Aemond glanced around nervously. He did not wish for Lord Ormund to see him, knowing his cousin would not take kindly to his son fraternizing with a bastard. So caught up was he in scanning the crowd, that he nearly jumped when Lyonel shouted.

“Ser Paxter!” Lyonel called out from across the hall. He pulled Aemond along to meet the man in question. “I thought that was you!” He clapped the man on the back. He was a bit older than Lyonel, with a thick mane of red hair and a mustache. Paxter smiled back, greeting Lyonel in kind.

“How could I refuse Lord Jason’s invitation when I heard you were coming? I’d not wish for you to show me up,” Paxter laughed.

Aemond felt a bit uncomfortable and unsure whether he should still be standing here, awkwardly off to the side. That was until Lyonel turned to him, beaming. “Aemond, this is Ser Paxter. He fostered in Oldtown with me, we got up to quite some mischief.”

The man sized him up quickly, taking note of his silver hair and the eyepatch that made no doubt of his identity. If he held any reservations regarding his bastardy, it did not show on his face.

“Well met, my lord,” Aemond greeted curtly, hesitant of Lyonel’s intentions in introducing the pair.

Evidently, Paxter seemed just as confused. His eyes darted to his friend and back to Aemond. Lyonel jumped to steer the conversation, “Aemond here is quite the prodigy with a sword.”

“Is that so?” Paxter questioned.

“Trained by Ser Criston Cole and currently serving under Prince Daemon himself,” Lyonel boasted. “We ought to find the time to spar before the festivities are over.”

Paxter shrugged, unconvinced. He looked to Aemond, eyes wandering over him in judgment. “If you do not mind my asking, how does a bastard come to serve the prince?”

Aemond thought about his answer carefully. “I’ve spent most of my life training, serving the crown, and doing my duties, and I’ve sacrificed much to do. I suppose the gods smile on those who put in such effort.”

The knight hummed, intrigued by the answer. “I suppose they do, sometimes.”

Lyonel beamed at Aemond, even if the boy wasn’t quite sure why. Quickly, his cousin bid farewell to his friend, with promises to meet him for a sparring session tomorrow. Aemond barely had time to question why Lyonel wanted him to meet Paxter before Lyonel had called over to another friend of his.

From there, it was a whirlwind. Lyonel seemed keen on introducing him to as many nobles as he could, pulling him every which way in the Great Hall. It started as friends from his time in Oldtown, then turned to friends of those friends and beyond.

Lyonel was personable and charming, it was a sight to see him shift on the fly to accommodate each person. It reminded Aemond a bit of Aegon, although Lyonel kept himself more proper, as befits the future Lord of Oldtown.

Aemond met the heir to House Frey, a drunken lad who couldn’t seem to decide if he loved or hated Lyonel and so did both in equal measure. Then, there was an ironborn heir to Blacktyde, a man with thin, stringy hair and an interest in visiting the Citadel in Oldtown. Aemond was surprised to meet Lady Caron, her father’s only child and thus the heir to Nightsong. She was tall and burly, having known combat experience in the Dornish marches. There was plenty more besides but Aemond could not keep track of all of the names in his head.

To each of them, Lyonel always, eventually, guided the conversation to focus on Aemond. His cousin talked of his diligent work in the City Watch, his prowess at swordplay, and, of course, the Dragonmont story. He must’ve told it a dozen times that day alone, each more animated and exaggerated than the last.

“Ah, yes. I saw the Bronze Fury at my castle when I was but a boy,” Lord Dondarrion reminisced.

“I assure you, Vermithor has only grown larger and more wild, more dangerous, in the years since the Old King passed. Imagine him, inches away from your face, jaw opening, mouth turning bright, hot orange and sizzling the air around you, prepared to burn everyone you love to a crisp,” Lyonel went on.

Aemond tried to keep up, despite his lack of skill in this particular arena. He bonded with a knight of House Reyne who appreciated his commitment to his duty as a gold cloak and made plans to spar later with a knight from House Strong.

One noble mistook him for his brother, thinking Aemond was the Knight of Rats. Lyonel did not correct them so neither did Aemond, as they thought it was impressive how far he made it in the lists on his first tourney.

It was odd and uncomfortable at times but nice, in a way. With Lyonel at his side, speaking highly of him, they looked down on him less for his bastard name. They saw more of his true accomplishments, the valor that he had cultivated over years of dedication and exhausting work.

It made Aemond’s chest swell with pride, knowing all his efforts were starting to mean something. Perhaps, for once, his deeds outweighed his bastard name and he was finally shedding the ghost of his father.

Still, he could not help but wonder about his cousin. “Why are you doing this?” He questioned after they bid farewell to the heir to House Plumm. “Helping me,” he clarified.

Lyonel grinned with a perfect charm that made it difficult to know how true it was. “It is as I said when we spoke in King’s Landing. Not all of us Hightowers are cunts. You are family and I would not wish to see you, or your siblings, suffer any further.”

The mention of his siblings reminded Aemond abruptly that it was well past the hour he had promised Daemon he would be gone. He should head back, check on them, Aemond knew.

But then, Lyonel beckoned him to the next lordling, and Aemond found himself too tempted to resist. There were no incidents that he’d heard of thus far, so his siblings were well in all likelihood, Aemond reasoned.

He took a sip of his cup of wine and smiled as he shook the hand of the next noble, listening to Lyonel as he launched into the Vermithor story once more.

Aegon threw up over the side of the balcony, the bile scratching at his throat. The pounding in his head was all too familiar. He coughed and coughed, his eyes watering, getting the last of it out of his system. For the moment, at least.

Gods, he was fucked.

Aegon sat down in the corner of the balcony, trying to catch his breath. He reached for the goblet of wine he’d discarded moments ago, when he felt his stomach lurch, and took a long drink, cursing the vile liquid as he did so.

He wished he could blame his current predicament on Matthos Mertyns. His house had joined the queen’s procession on the way to Casterly Rock and the man quickly found he had a taste for Aegon’s Valyrian features. Aegon had spent many nights in his company since, so long as he had the coin to pay.

He could fault Matthos for always having a pitcher of expensive Arbor gold at the ready. Or his companions, a rowdy bunch, who coaxed him into joining them as their drinks all sloshed around, inviting. Truly, he could fault the servant for putting it in his hands if he so liked. Aegon knew the truth, however.

It was the intoxicating taste of Matthos, the hints of the wine left on his lips, and the permeating smell of it in the camp that drove him half-mad. He had one drink, reasoning that it was a celebration. He could surely afford to be a bit lax during the festivities. One turned into two, then he’d spent the whole night drinking with Matthos.

That was last week, before they arrived at Casterly Rock. He had tried to return to his goals after he split with Matthos, drinking the occasional goblet of water, but it was difficult. Too much to bear, at times. It felt like he had missed a handle climbing and despite all the steps he had taken upwards, there was nothing solid to grab onto and halt his fall.

He was torn from his thoughts, noticing the goblet in his hand was empty. He tossed it lazily across the balcony and hummed when it cracked against the stone. Lord Lannister probably would not miss it, he justified.

Aegon sighed, running a hand across his face. He was tired and aching, part of him was tempted to take a nap there on the floor. 

In truth, he was hiding. The queen was probably looking for him at this hour. The sun was high in the sky, dipping into the afternoon. Sweat formed on his brow and he found himself growing thirsty again.

Perhaps he’d been a bit hasty in tossing the cup. But then, he had no energy to get up and find another. Aegon leaned back against the wall, bringing his knees up to his chest, and tried to sleep.

With any luck, he could hide out here until the dinner feast began. But then, the gods had never often smiled upon him. Before he could drift fully off to sleep, a familiar voice cleared her throat next to him, pulling him back awake.

Rhaenyra stood tall, looking every bit as regal as usual. The queen peered down at him, studying the disarray he was in. “A long night, I take it?” She questioned, her features betraying no amusement.

Aegon shrugged, avoiding looking her in the eyes. “What does it matter to you?” He said back, without any true bite behind it.

Rhaenyra sighed. After a moment, her eyes caught the glint of metal in the corner and she stepped slowly over to where he had thrown the empty goblet. Cautiously, she picked it up off the ground, a chunk of it falling off as she did so, and they both watched the last few droplets of wine drizzle out onto the ground.

“That’s none of your concern,” Aegon told her before she could say anything about it.

“Perhaps not,” Rhaenyra replied, her tone unidentifiable. She took a tepid step towards Aegon. “I have been searching for you all day. I’ve a meeting set with Lord Jason in less than two candle marks. ”

Aegon winced, knowing her implication. He bit his tongue and turned his head away from her. “Best hurry to it, then.”

The queen was undeterred. “Did you find any further information on him, as I asked?” She asked plainly.

Aegon fiddled his fingers together, scraping at the skin around his nails. “No.”

There was a heavy silence between them that drove Aegon mad. It was clear what the situation looked like to the queen. He had slacked in his duties, indulged too deeply, and cost her the piece she needed to keep the realm together.

He had disappointed her.

But then, what could she really have expected from a drunkard and a whore?

He shook his head to himself. What did he care what the queen thought? He was not her servant to order about as she pleased. If she placed the fate of this important meeting in solely his hands, its failure was no one’s fault but her own.

“Aegon?” Rhaenyra questioned. Her tone was full of concern, not anger, seeing her half-brother retreat into himself in a way so unlike the boy she was familiar with. His knees were pulled up to his chest and his attire was in a dire state of disorder.

It only aggravated Aegon more. “I don’t have anything for you,” he said.

“I thought I already told you that you can talk to me, Aegon. What is bothering you?” She could see there was something deeper going on, he was not acting as himself.

“Nothing,” he replied, too harshly. “I don’t know.” There was another beat of silence. Aegon gritted his teeth and saw the discarded cup out of the corner of his eye. Before he knew it, he felt a sting at the back of his eyes, and cursed himself for it. “I fucked up.”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “It is no trouble. I’ll make do without it, I’ve tangled with smarter men than Jason Lannister.”

“It’s not about-” he began then cut himself off. The rational part of him reminded him that he wasn’t a sap who would pour out his soul to Rhaenyra because they’d been friendly a few times. Unfortunately, he was also quite drunk at this point, dulling that part of his head. “You said I did well and you put your trust in me.”

Rhaenyra’s features softened. She spoke hesitantly and with slight amusement, “I wasn’t aware my opinion meant so much to you.”

Aegon rolled his eyes as he wiped them free of tears. “It doesn’t . It’s only…” he trailed off. “I’m not good at a great many things. My own brother thinks I’m an embarrassment.” Aegon let out an involuntary, bitter, dry chuckle at that. “But I could do this. I could do something right. Yet, I ruined it all.”

Rhaenyra reached out, thankful when he did not recoil from her touch on his shoulder. “Aegon, you have done well. The information about Lord Ormund and Lord Bulwer is more than I could’ve asked for. And there will be more opportunities, if you wish for them.”

“I’ll mess those up too, like as not,” Aegon muttered. His eyes wandered to the forgotten cup. “Aemond was right. I never learn, I can’t help myself.”

“Aegon…” Rhaenyra began softly. “I have seen you struggle these past months. I know you’re trying. A mistake does not mean it was all for naught.”

“ A mistake,” he repeated mockingly.

“However many mistakes, it makes no difference. You must keep trying,” Rhaenyra insisted. “You know that we are here to help you, yes? Your mother, your siblings, me.”

Why do you even care? Aegon wanted to lash out at her. She barely knew him despite the months of his servitude.

Aegon knew the answer to his own question, though. She’d told him many times over, he simply never heeded her words before. They were family, bound by blood.

He’d been a horrible brother to Aemond, Aegon thought. Horrible enough to push him away for seven months and counting. Even knowing that, Rhaenyra wished for him to be her brother and to help him despite all he’d done.

Aegon took a shaky breath before he turned to look at her directly. He could see the family resemblance, her violet eyes looked near identical to Helaena and Aemond’s.

“Let’s get something to eat, all right? I still have some time before I need to meet with Lord Jason,” Rhaenyra offered with a kind voice.

Aegon nodded silently and she helped him back to his feet. He was able to lean on her as he took drunken steps through the halls and the queen kept him steady. It reminded him of the nights Aemond would drag him back to the castle without one word of complaint.

The two sat down at the feast, a queen and a bastard, and the former evidently did not care for the insulting remarks lords would surely make over the sight. “Thank you,” Aegon muttered sincerely as they ate, and an understanding passed between them that it was for far more than just the events of today.

Aegon thought idly that he could grow used to thinking of Rhaenyra as his sister.

The Lord of Casterly Rock poured two goblets of wine, a special spiced honey vintage made in Lannisport. It was one of the lord’s favorites and he often indulged in it greatly whenever he visited the port to see his paramour.

“I must say it again, Your Grace, but it is an honor that you came to the wedding,” Lord Jason complimented, handing the second goblet across the table to the queen.

Rhaenyra hummed in thanks, taking a small sip before placing it off to the side, hiding her disgust for the taste. “It had been too long since I visited the Westerlands,” she told him. Wisely, she did not bring up the last time had been for her tour to find a suitable husband, a tour only necessary because she had firmly rejected Lord Jason’s offer. “Casterly Rock is more grandiose than I remember.”

“Yes, I’ve done my best to enhance it as of late,” Jason explained. “My father was a very frugal man. But the Lannisters are among the wealthiest houses and we ought to reflect that.”

“You’ve done an excellent job,” Rhaenyra smiled. She hated courtesies, truth be told, but found the value in them. Jason was a proud man and stroking his ego would do her well.

They were interrupted as the door flew open. Turning, she saw Jason’s wife, the Lady Johanna, strut inside, looking rather aggrieved. “Your Grace, pardon my tardiness,” she said, shutting the door behind her as she went to sit next to her husband.

Jason chuckled nervously. “Dear wife, I thought you would be tending to our guests.”

“I am,” she answered. “Our most important guest, the queen.” The two laughed together at that, the tension clearly thick in the air as they pretended nothing was amiss.

Rhaenyra acted as if she did not notice as Jason leaned in close to whisper into his wife’s ear. “I can handle the queen alone.”

Her lips curled in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes when she hissed back, under her breath. “I let you handle the guest list alone and you invited your whore for all to see. Forgive me if I do not trust you.”

“You ‘let’ me?” Jason seemed aghast, trying to control his petulance so the queen didn’t notice, blind to the fact that she could hear everything they were saying.

“Your Grace,” Johanna broke their private conversation to focus back on the matter at hand. “I hope you’ve found the festivities pleasant thus far. If there are any issues, we’d be happy to sort them out.”

“None at all,” Rhaenyra said, brushing past their bickering. “If we could move on to the matter at hand…”

“Of course,” Jason said. “It was quite a shock for us to receive word that you accepted our invitation, admittedly. I cannot help but be curious as to why, not that I am displeased by it at all, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra smiled placidly. She measured her words as she started, “Your brother has served me faithfully thus far in my reign, as he did my father before me. I’ve always counted House Lannister as a true ally of the crown.”

“It is an honor to serve,” Johanna replied.

“I would consider my visit as a show of my gratitude, for your leal service,” Rhaenyra told them. “And, naturally, if there is anything the crown can do to repay its debt to House Lannister, I would consider it thusly.”

Jason and Johanna exchanged a glance, their expressions moving in a silent conversation. “Your graciousness is very appreciated, Your Grace,” Jason began. “However, we would not wish to burden you more with such a heavy weight on your shoulders already-”

Johanna interjected. “But we would not wish to appear ungrateful for your most generous offer, as there are indeed quite a few issues plaguing our lands.” She eyed her husband, trying her best to glare at him without making it seem as such to the queen.

The Lord of Casterly Rock chuckled nervously, looking between the queen and his wife. “My wife and I need a moment, if you would be so kind, Your Grace.”

The two stood and strode to the other part of the room, behind a divider to hide their conversation from the queen. Unfortunately, Rhaenyra could not hear it this time. She sighed and waited for them to be done.

Jason chastised his wife, “Many houses have gathered here to air their grievances about Rhaenyra’s reign to each other and siding with her so publicly will not bode well for our house, if war should come.”

“ If ,” Johanna emphasized. “In twenty some years, perhaps when it’s time for Jacaerys to ascend the throne, after we could be long dead. We have pressing matters to deal with.”

“The Hightowers are an important ally of ours, for trade and keeping House Lannister’s influence,” Jason argued.

“More important than the queen herself?” Johanna questioned. “I care not what the Hightowers promised. It’s been decades and they’re no closer to any true prize.”

Jason grumbled. “Tyland said he was yet unsure how trustworthy the queen could be. We should delay.”

“Is Tyland the Lord of Casterly Rock?” Johanna raised a mocking eyebrow. “We must do what benefits our house, here and now.”

Jason’s features flickered with conflict for a few moments. With a quiet groan, he made up his mind and guided his wife back to their seats, across from the queen.

“There is a matter you can help us with, as it happens,” Jason decided. “The ironborn.”

“What of them?” Rhaenyra inquired.

“The new Lord Reaper of Pyke, Dalton Greyjoy,” Johanna explained. “He has been sending his reavers to pillage towns along the coastline, ever since the king’s death.”

“He thinks I am weak,” Rhaenyra figured easily. “He thinks my ascension is a sign the realm will soon fall to chaos and he can get a headstart.”

Jason nodded. “The ironborn have never been good at sticking to their own lands but it’s gotten particularly bad as of late. In the last two moons, they’ve attacked villages near Kayce, Faircastle, and the Crag.”

“If, my queen, you would be so kind as to lend House Lannister aid pushing this scourge back into the sea, we would be in the crown’s debt,” Johanna spoke respectfully.

Rhaenyra hummed, pretending to think it over. Dalton Greyjoy was barely more than a boy, seeking glory but without truly knowing the cost of his skirmishes. The crown had more than enough power to deal with it adequately, between the Velaryon fleet and their standing army. Even one dragon could do the trick, she could send Daemon to bring them to heel and he’d likely have it done before the moon turns again.

If such was the price of the Lannisters’ loyalty, it was a bargain easily struck. With a powerful ally lost to their cause, Rhaenyra had little doubt the Hightowers’ plots would be swiftly dealt with and forgotten, and peace would be restored to the realm.

Daemon’s fingers dug into his palm as he clenched his fist tightly. Gazing out over the crowd, the most shameless display was before him. Not the boys lusting after the comliest maidens or the lords fawning for just a moment of the queen’s time. No, the disgusting sight before him was Lyonel Hightower.

An uppity boy with lofty ambitions too big for him to achieve. He thought himself clever, Daemon was sure. But his gambit was transparent to the Rogue Prince, who had spent a lifetime around court and had seen better and more clever men than Lyonel have all their plans crumble to dust.

Daemon could see through the lordling. Where his family wrote off Otto Hightower and his miserable whelps of grandchildren, even his own father, Lyonel saw potential. The heir and his great uncle surely hatched this plot together. No one would spare a glance towards Aegon, naturally, but the second son had promise.

A born warrior and leader. He was dutiful, honorable, and entirely too naive for his own good. Most importantly though, he looked like a Targaryen. Rhaenyra was well established as ruler at this point but her son, just a boy, was already controversial for the rumors that surrounded him. In a battle of bastards, Aemond Waters would be preferred to little Jace.

Daemon subtly watched as Lyonel paraded Aemond around the Great Hall like a prized cattle. Any lord discontent with Queen Rhaenyra and her heirs would find what they were seeking within Aemond. With the Hightowers at his back, the idea of changing the succession did not seem so ridiculous.

The story of Aemond and the Bronze Fury quickly landed on the lips of every gossipping lord in the hall. With some theatrics and embellishment by Lyonel, who had a natural wit and charm, it was not difficult to make it seem like a daring act of heroics, practically tailor made for the singers to spread like wildfire.

Daemon sent one of his gold cloaks to spy on the Hightowers. They listened to Otto and Lyonel as they whispered to each other and reported their conversation back to Daemon.

“You grow too bold. If the queen hears of it-” Otto chastised.

“She will hear of nothing more than the future lord of Oldtown wanting to reconnect with his bitterly estranged cousins. That is not a crime,” Lyonel countered. “You had twenty years to do it your way and you failed spectacularly. It seems to me a more aggressive approach is needed.”

“Aemond is not an imbecile. If you push too hard, too quickly, and he realizes our intentions before he is ready to accept his fate as king, we could lose everything again,” Otto continued on.

“You worry too much, old man,” Lyonel taunted. “If you worried a bit less and acted more, we would already have our family on the throne.”

Daemon huffed when the knight reported the words to him, clenching his jaw and flexing his fingers to relieve the urge to lash out.

The whispers were not prevalent yet. It would take time for the idea to fester in the minds of the lords, but the seeds were being planted and alliances forged. They were in no rush, it seemed, the Hightowers surely had plenty of time to wait before Ormund perished and his son could take his control of the full might of House Hightower. If there must be a bastard on the throne, the Hightowers seeked to make it one of their own design, not Prince Jacaerys.

Aemond had little experience with this world of politicking and nobility. He had isolated himself away when he was a boy and learned a more practical skill for his station as a bastard, fighting. Daemon had learned this quickly after becoming more acquainted with him. It was this weakness that the Hightowers sought to exploit, to turn him into their pawn.

It would be an uphill battle to convince Aemond to pursue his claim but Daemon had no doubt Lyonel was up to the task. He charmed half the nobles he spoke to with a remarkable ease and had already made himself seem as a trusted friend of Aemond with nothing but his best interests at heart. With his estrangement from Aegon, Aemond stepping over him seemed of little consequence, perhaps with a small guarantee of his safety.

That was why Daemon had to crush this rebellion in its crib.

Luckily for him, they were in the perfect place to do so.

Across the Great Hall, Daemon could see a coat of arms worn by a lord of the Riverlands, that of a black toad and a white lilypad on green. The sigil of House Vypren.

The brothers, Jon and Lucas Vypren, were surely here somewhere in the castle. It would likely not be long until they heard of Aemond’s presence here as well. His nephew acted unshakeable but Daemon knew had never truly gotten over the boys who took his eye from him and walked freely even now.

With that information, a plot of his own brewed in Daemon’s mind.

Chapter Text

Aemond recalled the many times he’d had to fetch Aegon from the pleasure dens he frequented. It was uncomfortable at first, leaving him feeling uneasy in his stomach and disgust at what Aegon got up to. Over time, he had grown more numb to it. It was just who Aegon was, he fucked all sorts of men and women in whatever way he could and did so unabashedly.

Which was to say, even all that did not particularly prepare Aemond for the sight before him.

Lady Samantha Hightower, the wife of Lord Ormund, was quite drunk. She had greeted him kindly enough, “I’ve heard so much about you, Ser Aemond. I still remember that lovely trick your brother pulled back at the tourney. Truly, I thought it was delightful.”

“I’m not a Ser,” he had quickly corrected.

That was hardly the issue though. What had surprised him the most was how close Lyonel was with her. While Ormund mingled with the other lords, Lady Sam had sat noticeably too close to Lyonel. The two laughed and whispered to each other and their dance together seemed too charged with tension. They were only a year apart in age, yes, but Lyonel was her stepson.

With so much wine in her system, she barely noticed that Aemond still sat nearby when she leaned in close to Lyonel and whispered, loudly, in his ear. “I heard the maester of Casterly Rock brewed several large pots of moon tea for the festivities.”

“Is that so?” Lyonel said back, his tone laced with something deeper than intrigue.

“He left the bottles in his office and said they were free to take for anyone in attendance, no questions asked,” Sam continued.

Lyonel took a heavy breath, his eyes never wavering from Sam’s. “As it happens, I heard Lord Ormund will be late returning tonight. He is tavern crawling with his companions.”

“Well, isn’t that fortuitous?” Sam teased.

Aemond coughed loudly, wishing they did not speak so loud. Remembering where they were and that they were not alone, Sam jumped back and Lyonel awkwardly downed his cup of wine.

A few seconds passed in tense silence. “I think I shall find Lady Beesbury,” Sam said. “She wanted to tell me about her new grandchild.” With that, she slipped back into the crowd.

Lyonel avoided eye contact with his cousin, picking at his half-eaten plate of food. “I don’t know how much you heard-”

“None of my concern,” Aemond interjected, hoping to move past the issue altogether. There wasn’t much one could say when they learned their friend was trying to fuck their own stepmother, after all.

Lyonel nodded curtly. “Let us speak of something else. I was disappointed to hear the royal family left their dragons at home.”

Aemond had noticed how much his cousin loved to talk about dragons. “Feeding them would’ve been a hassle, I imagine.”

“And quite the sight to see. Alas, perhaps another day,” Lyonel lamented. “Have you ever been close to a dragon, besides your encounter with the Bronze Fury? I’ve always wondered what their scales felt like. Their breath must stink, no?”

He shook his head. “You’d be better off asking my brother and sister. They are close with the princes and Prince Daemon’s daughters. I’ve no inclination to face a dragon.”

“None at all? They are the greatest magic left in the world,” Lyonel spoke wistfully. “And you are among the few in the world with the blood to control one.”

“That matters little when the queen would never allow a bastard to claim a dragon,” Aemond noted.

“Of course,” Lyonel agreed, hiding his expression beneath his goblet as he took another sip.

Aemond thought for a moment and hummed to himself. “I used to be fascinated with the creatures, when I was a boy,” Aemond told his cousin. “I spent hours in the keep’s library, pouring over every book they had on Valyria.”

“What changed?” Lyonel asked.

“I realized it did little to change how my father viewed me,” Aemond said. “Not all the knowledge in the world would open his heart to us.”

Lyonel nodded, his expression turning solemn. “Fathers will let you down every time, I’ve come to learn,” he mused. “That is why we must be better than they ever were. Their names shall be lost to time while singers write of us for centuries to come.”

“That is quite a bold promise.”

“Greatness requires being a bit bold,” Lyonel replied.

“I’m afraid few will remember a bastard in time,” Aemond continued.

“You’d be surprised how high a bastard can rise in the world,” Lyonel argued. “One could be a knight of honor and integrity, a gallant hero that the singers will adore. You could reach the Small Council and influence the crown for generations to come. You could make your own house, or your son could if he is trueborn and all, with a plot of land, a small keep, and a name of your own making to carry through for all time. The possibilities are limitless if only one has drive, guidance, and a little ambition.”

Aemond let the corner of his lips curl upward slightly. He had contemplated his future many times but he could hardly ever imagine it stretching beyond his family and his work in the City Watch. He could not deny the ideas appealed to him though, to be remembered in the histories as more than just a dishonorable addendum to King Viserys’ reign. 

“Thank you,” Aemond muttered and his cousin nodded in recognition.

Lyonel downed the rest of his wine quickly. “We shall talk more later, I promise. For now, I should find Lady Sam before the night passes us by.”

Aemond grimaced at the thought but bid him farewell. He took a swig of his wine as well to try to forget what he’d just heard. Standing up from the table, he set out in search of his family to ensure nothing had happened while he was distracted.

He could see Aegon with the queen, standing next to where she sat at the head table. They spoke in hushed tones and Aegon was dressed in a black and gold doublet that was surely too expensive for him to have bought on his own.

Aemond brushed it off, averting his gaze. He was more keen to find his mother or Helaena, to know they were unbothered by the leering nobles at the party.

Aemond had barely begun making his way through the crowd before he was grabbed roughly from the side, an arm swinging around his neck. “Nephew! There you are,” Daemon greeted, his words half-slurred from wine. “I’ve been looking for you.”

You found me quite quickly, Aemond noted in his mind. A tad too quickly.

“I’ve been enjoying the feast, as you suggested,” Aemond explained.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Daemon grinned. “Come! There’s much more to do!” He spun Aemond around in the opposite direction that he was going, guiding him through the crowd with a destination seemingly in mind.

“I really should check on my family,” Aemond protested.

“They’re perfectly well, I’m sure,” Daemon assured him. “You’re not their father, stop worrying so much.”

“I just worry,” Aemond tried to continue as they walked. Helaena was still with that boy, last he saw, and Daeron was with a handful of squires he didn’t know. It was natural to be concerned after all they had endured as a family.

“Worry less,” Daemon stated flatly.

They waded through the sea of nobles with Daemon practically dragging Aemond along. Aemond grabbed Daemon's arm around his shoulder and forcibly pulled it off to halt their movements. “Let me go,” he insisted.

Daemon turned to face him, annoyed. “You are no fun at all, nephew.”

“You’re drunk,” Aemond knew. And he’d had enough of drunk fools bothering him for a lifetime. Aemond turned to head back the way he came. What he did not notice was the way Daemon’s eyes flickered, noticing someone behind Aemond.

In a split second, as Aemond turned, a leg jutted out to trip up his movements. Aemond panicked but could not stop himself from tripping over. He knocked into a person nearby clumsily and they both tumbled to the ground, catching the attention of the group of people surrounding them.

“Apologies, my lord,” Aemond muttered on instinct, raising himself back up.

The person groaned in pain but shook it off. “We’re all a bit unsteady this late into the night,” he laughed.

The voice nagged at Aemond’s head, familiar in a way he couldn’t place.

Only when Aemond raised his head to look at the hapless fellow did his blood run cold. He had unmistakable brown curls and was dressed in the green and black of his house.

Lucas Vypren, a face he refused to forget.

As the noble boy turned to him, he seemed to make the same realization. Recoiling, Lucas jumped to his feet hurriedly. He was at a loss for words for a few moments as Aemond, too, stood back up.

“Aemond,” was all he could manage, gaping. They stared at each other silently as the crowd around them seemed to move on, unaware of the weight of the moment.

Aemond had thought of it before, of what he would say if he was ever face to face with the boy who stole his eye from him again. It seemed like all his thoughts floated away though when faced with the moment, he was just as unprepared as he was all those years ago when he started that fight.

“Aemond!” Daemon called out, taking the steps to return to his side. “Are you well? Who is this?”

“Lucas Vypren, my prince,” Lucas found his voice, shaky and unsteady in nervousness around the prince.

“Vypren, where’ve I heard that name before?” Daemon wondered aloud. Aemond huffed. He had told his uncle about the Vypren boys and what they did to him. It was just his luck that Daemon forgot it in his drunken stupor.

An awkward beat of silence passed as Daemon looked between the two expectantly.

“He was the boy who put out my eye,” Aemond told him, his eyes never wavering from Lucas. He had at least had the decency to look ashamed of it, his features twisting in guilt.

“I was a boy, back then, and afraid,” Lucas murmured.

“So was I,” Aemond spat.

In his intoxication, his uncle chuckled to himself. “My apologies for bringing up old wounds then.” Slowly, he backed up, content to watch the two from the sidelines.

Aemond’s scar itched beneath his eyepatch and his features contorted in anger.

After another long silence, Lucas was the one to break. “Aemond, I know it may be too little too late for you but-”

“ Might be?” Aemond mocked. He took a dangerous step closer to Lucas. His hands flexed at his side.

“I am sorry,” Lucas said. The world around them seemed to fade away. “I am sorry, Aemond,” he repeated. “I was trying to protect my brother and everything happened so quickly, I-” he sighed, trying to find the right words.

Aemond tried to process what he said. He watched Lucas’ features shift in regret and nervousness. Worst of all, Aemond could see sincerity in his eyes and in his voice.

Without thought, Aemond lunged forward, he grabbed Lucas by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the nearest pillar. “You’re sorry?” He hissed out, anger boiling over, as Lucas grunted in pain. He could hear the crowd of people shuffle away, fearful at the sight of a fight brewing.

Six years Aemond had lived without his eye. Six years of aches and pains and mockery from the other knights. He remembered the nights after he lost his eye, he would spend hours in the training yard struggling with even the most basic of maneuvers. Tears were shed and anger bubbled in his heart but he couldn’t let any of it out. He was a bastard and any step out of line was dangerous.

His own father disregarded the entire incident. A regrettable accident, nothing to be done, he said. He blamed Aemond for starting the fight in the first place, for which the boy had never forgiven his father. All these years later, the only thing Lucas had to say for himself was that he was sorry?

That wasn’t good enough for Aemond.

“I am, I’m sorry, Aemond,” Lucas insisted. “I wish I could take what happened back, I really do.”

“If you were sorry, you would not have scurried away to hide in the Riverlands,” Aemond spat. “You’re craven.”

“Luke!” A voice came from the crowd. Pushing past the bystanders, all watching the encounter with equal parts intrigue and worry, Lucas’ elder brother, Jon, hurried forward. “Get the fuck off my brother!” It took him barely a moment to recognize Aemond, his face immediately turning from anger to worry.

“I can handle this, brother,” Lucas told him. Aemond turned his head just enough to glance at the elder Vypren. He shared his brother’s brown curls and had the beginnings of a beard growing on his chin.

“Leave him alone, Waters,” Jon demanded. “You’re wroth about your eye, yes? I’m the one who started that fight, not him. I brought the knife.”

Aemond chuckled darkly. “You shared the steel, you’ll share the blame.”

“Aemond,” Lucas hurriedly said, recatching his attention. “You may not believe me to be sincere, but I am. I have regretted that fight for many years. If there were a way to set things right, I would do it.”

Suddenly, Aemond yanked him forward just to shove him back, harsher, so the back of his head slammed against the pillar. “Silence!” He ordered.

Only now, face to face with him, did he have the decency to apologize, Aemond seethed. Before, he was surely content to forget it ever happened and never see Aemond again. A mere apology was not enough for the ruin they made of Aemond’s life.

Aemond wanted justice, not platitudes.

I want you to put out your eye as payment for mine.

He couldn’t say it, much as he wished to. He was a bastard and in no place to demand such. Still, the idea burned in the back of his mind. It was the one thing that would make it right. No apologies or false shows of goodwill could equal it. Blood must be paid with blood.

“Aemond,” Lucas tried again, his voice quiet and weak. “I’m sorry.”

The features on Aemond’s face twitched and he took a shaky breath. This wasn’t right. The apologies gave him no satisfaction.

He knew there were dozens of nobles looking on at the spectacle, each holding their breath in anticipation and ready to gossip about whatever happened. He knew what he should do and yet the thought of letting Lucas and Jon slip from his grasp lit a fire in his heart.

He saw Daemon out of the corner of his eye, watching on with something resembling pride. “Do it,” he whispered to himself, not audible to Aemond but he could see the words from the movement of his mouth.

Aemond’s fists clenched and he gritted his teeth. He needed no more encouragement than that.

With a swift strike, he slammed his fist into the side of Lucas’ jaw once, then punched him a second time with the other arm for good measure. The crowd recoiled back in an instant and Lucas went reeling to the side, towards his brother.

There were a few shouts, some calling the guards but Aemond didn’t care to hear them.

“You fucking bastard!” Jon yelled, prepared to meet Aemond in kind. Aemond raised his fists, ready, but Lucas recovered quicker than he expected.

In an instant, Lucas turned around and started grappling with his brother. Aemond was caught off guard for a moment, watching on in confusion.

“Stop it, let it go,” Lucas demanded, stopping his brother in his tracks from the fight.

“I don’t care about any damn declaration the queen made. That bastard-” Jon insisted. Aemond hadn’t even remembered that the queen decreed an attack on his family was tantamount to an attack on the royal family.

“Enough, Jon!” Lucas insisted, breathing hard. He turned to face his attacker, putting himself between Aemond and his brother.

Aemond studied the blood pooling from Lucas’ jaw, his hands twitching to bloody it more. Yet even now, Lucas did not fight back. He only wanted to end the conflict.

Another long silence passed, Aemond itching to disregard Lucas’ goodwill. The punches had felt more gratifying than a thousand apologies but it still wasn’t enough. Jon squirmed to be released from his brother’s hold, less willing to forget the attack.

His mother’s voice echoed in his mind, urging him to let it end. Aemond knew how she abhorred violence, how she would weep to herself if she saw him next bloody and bruised. Aegon was the one who made her fret time and time again, the horrible son who did whatever he wished with no care for who it affected.

Still, it was a tempting prospect. Just a few more punches. A little more blood spilled for his eye.

He huffed and lowered his fists, dissatisfied. “We are not even.” He told the brothers. “It will never be right, what you did to me.”

Lucas nodded. “I know.”

Jon said nothing, still thirsting for a fight as much as Aemond was.

Reluctantly, Aemond turned on his heel, unwilling to look at the pair anymore. He marched into the crowd, willing himself to disappear.

He needed wine, he decided. Lest he dwell too much on this matter and change his mind about letting the two go.

Daemon grinned to himself, sipping on his wine. It was an act played to perfection, he complimented himself.

It would’ve been nice for Aemond to get a few more hits on the lordling but it sufficed just as well. Such a public spectacle was not like to be ignored by the nobles at the party. Already the conversation shifted its focus.

None of that horseshit about a young boy facing a mighty dragon to save his family. All they heard now was an uppity bastard attacking a noble for his sincere apology. Stories were well and good but no one had actually seen this supposed dragon encounter, meanwhile a full crowd of nobles witnessed the altercation.

“A horrifying sight, I think he broke poor Luke’s nose,” one lady lamented.

“He’s a dangerous and stupid boy. What else could we have expected out of a bastard?” A lord said of it.

“Perhaps the dragon simply didn’t want a rotten meal,” a younger man joked as he drank.

Daemon sent one of his gold cloaks to spy on the Hightowers once again, not being able to resist hearing Otto Hightower’s reaction to his plan going awry.

“You were supposed to keep an eye on Aemond for this exact reason,” Otto hissed at Lyonel.

“I had other duties to attend to. I am still the heir to the Hightower, I cannot devote all my time to this,” Lyonel defended. “I would not wish for my father to catch wind of all this. He doesn’t want anything to do with these bastards.”

“You had other duties?” Otto repeated mockingly. “With Samantha, I expect.”

“Perhaps you should’ve been watching him, old man,” Lyonel snapped back. “I’ve been doing all the work while you risk nothing.”

“There is more to our cause than fanciful stories and making lords laugh. Proper alliances are forged with the wisdom that I possess,” Otto told him. “You ought to remember that, boy .”

Lyonel scoffed indignantly. He shook his head, averting his gaze from his great-uncle.

“There is still plenty of time for us to change course,” Otto whispered. “If they do not accept Aemond, they may accept someone else.”

Lyonel squinted at him. “And who would that be? Daeron is the closest of friends with the princes, we would be hard-pressed to convince him to turn against them. And Aegon,” he laughed mean-spiritedly, “The lords will not follow a whore who’s had half of Flea Bottom shove their fingers up his arse.”

“As always, you lack sight of the full picture,” Otto remarked.

“Aemond is still our best choice, I believe that,” Lyonel challenged. “Stories like this, they fade quickly. Give them something else to gossip about and it’ll be forgotten before sunrise. If Aemond continues his good work, competes in tourneys, befriends nobles, and the like, we will still prevail. At our most desperate, we can take him to Dragonstone and give them something really gossip about. There are years yet until Rhaenyra passes, this is nothing but a minor hiccup.”

“It never hurts to consider all of our options,” Otto argued.

“Do what you will, Ser Otto. But I am to be the lord of our house and we will proceed as I see fit,” Lyonel commanded. With that final word, he stormed off, tired of great-uncle’s presence.

“Insolent pup,” Otto muttered, agitated, before he slipped back into the crowd.

Daemon laughed to himself, raising a cup to a job well done, when his agent reported back. Anything that could make Otto Hightower fume was worth it, in his opinion.

Aemond was off somewhere sulking, Daemon was sure. He’d get over it soon. Or he wouldn’t. It didn’t make much of a difference to the prince, truthfully.

The matter of Lyonel’s further plots could be saved for another day, he resolved. He waved a servant over, getting a refill on his goblet of wine and ordering a large plate of food be brought to him. Perhaps he’d find a woman for himself down in Lannisport, the prince mused.

He had more than earned a night of revelry and pleasure, he thought.

Alicent and Aegon sat and ate together on a bench in the Great Hall. It was a rare occurrence, in truth, for the two to spend time alone with one another, but Alicent was glad to rectify it. Her eldest son had seemed solemn all day, to which he told her about his conversation with the queen the day before.

It twisted Alicent’s heart to know her son was in such anguish and she had not noticed it until now. It hurt her more to think that she wouldn’t have been able to handle it half as well, if Aegon had indeed come to her instead. Rhaenyra was a natural mother and caregiver, already she was better with Aegon than Alicent ever thought she could be.

She tried her best to comfort Aegon all the same, pushing those thoughts aside for now. They ate quietly and made small talk. Menial but it kept Aegon occupied which was helpful enough. “This is a new doublet,” she noticed. At least, she did not recognize it.

Aegon hummed. “It was King Laenor’s, though it doesn’t quite fit him anymore. Her Grace gave it to me.”

“That was very kind of her.” Alicent chastised herself internally for not knowing what more to say. There was always some unspoken distance between her and her eldest son. In the past years, it had grown into a chasm and she always struggled to cross the gap to reach him.

Aegon nodded, blinking rapidly for a few moments. “Yes, it was.” He coughed then and shoved more food into his mouth.

She opened her mouth to inquire after her son’s well being but was interrupted by the clanking of armor, a knight walking up behind them. “My lady,” Ser Harrold grabbed her attention and she turned to face him. “The queen sent me. There’s been an incident with your children.”

“It wasn’t me this time,” Aegon said defensively.

Alicent was a tad ashamed to say she was not particularly surprised to hear the knight’s words. She was worried, of course, and she jumped to her feet, asking to know what had happened and where they were at once, but she was not surprised. The gods gave her challenge after challenge with seemingly no end in sight.

Bidding Aegon farewell, she was led through the crowd towards her second son and Harrold explained the situation in full. The business with those awful Vypren boys had reared its ugly head, it would seem. “I don’t believe anyone was hurt too badly. I hope that brings some relief,” Harrold told her.

Alicent nodded her head. She couldn’t truly believe that until she saw it with her own eyes, however. The pair found Aemond floors below them, near the gold cloaks’ quarters, among the myriad of knights and squires. He was not harmed from the fight, thank the gods. He stood on the outskirts of the crowded room, alone while many of his fellow members of the City Watch drank and sang loudly, off tune, together.

Harrold, seeing his work was done, nodded and turned to make his way back to the queen, while Alicent approached her second son.

“Aemond,” she called out, getting his attention. His eye was unfocused, blinking a few times as if to see her better.

“Mother, I thought you’d already retired for the night,” Aemond said. His cadence was off-kilter, his words slurred, in a way she recognized all too well. He wasn’t fully drunk, she expected, but he was getting there. “I’ve been making sure Daeron stays out of trouble.”

Following his gaze, she saw her youngest son playing with the younger squires on the far end of the hall. She didn’t recognize them by name, but they had the sigils and colors of minor houses.

“It is not Daeron I was concerned about,” she told him. Her youngest had always stayed out of trouble, unless beckoned by Aegon.

Aemond’s features turned to shame at her implication. “You mean that encounter with the Vyprens?”

“What were you thinking, Aemond?” She asked. “Do you have any idea the consequences you could’ve suffered?”

“‘Twas an accident, running into them,” Aemond brushed off. “Besides, Lucas will not pursue any action against us.” He hummed, fidgeting with his eyepatch. He muttered to himself, “The cravens know I was in the right.”

“That is not the point,” she interjected. “Your actions reflect on the whole family and on your reputation. It puts you and your siblings all under further scrutiny that we do not need.”

Aemond was silent for a few seconds, she almost wondered if he even heard her, until he nodded. “I lost my temper. I apologize, it won’t happen again.” His voice was quiet and stiff in an odd way. He took a shaky breath. “But they deserved it, Mother,” he whispered.

“Aemond…”

“They did,” he insisted. He flexed his fingers absentmindedly and turned back to watch Daeron.

Alicent’s heart ached at her boy’s simmering anger. She knew how it pained him that he never got justice for his eye. All the same, she did not want to risk any further danger befalling him. No revenge was worth the cost to him.

“You must promise me you will let this go,” she begged him. “I could not bear it if anything happened to you or to your siblings.”

Aemond hesitated but he knew what his answer would be all the same. His mother had suffered so much, he could not fathom the thought of adding even a drop more to her anguish. “I swear,” he promised.

Alicent nodded and was prepared to leave it at that, when a loud voice called from across the room. “Aemond!”

The pair turned to look and Alicent’s heart sank at the sight of Daemon Targaryen.

“Nephew! We got separated earlier, it was a shame.” The prince, in contrast to her son, was well and thoroughly drunk. He hurried closer to them, a thoughtless grin plastered on his face. “I just spent the most lovely time with a woman named Tyene.”

Aemond grimaced and took a step back from Daemon, displeased from the stink of his breath. “Always a pleasure, uncle.” Daemon and Aemond whispered to each other briefly, too low for Alicent to hear. When they separated, Aemond sighed and fixed his posture upright. “I’m off to get more wine, it seems. Farewell, Mother.”

Daemon laughed sheepishly. “Those damn servants cut me off,” he justified, his words growing ever more sloshed together. “But I know my own limits and I’ve far from reached them!”

Aemond rolled his eye but set out anyway to fulfill the request, leaving the pair of them alone.

“Prince Daemon,” Alicent greeted, as kindly as she could manage, with a curtsy. She truly did not what compelled her son to befriend the prince or vice versa. She was wary of Daemon, knowing how much he disliked her family, but chose to say nothing. Perhaps he’d truly changed his ways after Rhaenyra’s repeated lectures, she could not discount it. It had been a long time since Aemond had a friend he could rely on. For that, she could be grateful to the prince.

“Lady Alicent,” Daemon smiled, equal parts lazy and bitter. “How I’ve missed your presence. I hope you’re enjoying the festivities.”

“The Lannisters have outdone themselves,” she agreed.

He smiled placidly. “I went by your chambers the other night, to find Aemond. You weren’t there.”

“I must’ve been up and about,” Alicent shrugged off.

“It was quite late,” Daemon noted. 

Alicent kept her gaze neutral, trying her best not to give away any signs of something to hide. If he knew she was staying in the queen’s chambers…

“I do hope you’re keeping out of trouble. It’d shatter poor Aemond’s heart if something happened to you.” Daemon’s voice ventured on the edge of warning.

“As I would if it was him,” Alicent responded.

“I’m sure,” Daemon said. “There is nothing in the world one loves as much as their children.”

Given what tales she had heard from Laena about her husband’s neglect of Rhaena, she doubted he was sincere in his words. She’d rather not dwell on it though, any longer spent around Daemon was tiresome.

“If you’ll excuse me, my prince. The hour has grown late,” she told him, then turned towards the exit of the room.

She made it a few strides before Daemon’s voice called out. “Do give my niece my regards!”

She froze in her step, unwilling to turn around to face the prince directly, lest her expression spill all her secrets.

“If you happen to run into her before I do,” he added casually, as if he meant nothing by any of it.

“Of course, my prince,” she said back and hurried out of the room.

As soon as she was out of sight, she took several large gasps of air. He doesn’t know, she assured herself, he couldn’t. Laena and Laenor would not betray her trust and Aegon definitely didn’t tell him.

He’s trying to get under your skin, she reminded herself. Thus far, it seemed he was succeeding in that.

It could be worthwhile to tell Rhaenyra all the same, she figured. Heading up the flights of stairs again, she found herself in the Great Hall. The queen knew her uncle well, far more than Alicent did. Perhaps some words of confidence would put her mind at ease. But then, she supposed, Rhaenyra always did have a soft spot for him.

She ran through it in her mind, weighing the possibility of telling Rhaenyra. If Daemon did know and he was getting ever closer to Aemond, it did not bode well for her son. She had to protect his safety above all. Or, she then argued against herself, it could only serve to drive a wedge between Aemond and the first friend he had made in years. He was already an isolated boy, it would be cruel to do that to him.

Perhaps she should ask Laena before-

“Alicent.”

Alicent stopped dead in her tracks when she heard her name, the voice so familiar to her that it sent an icy chill down her spine. Every other thought of Daemon and Aemond left her in an instant. She turned, instinctively, and saw her father staring down at her.

“I’d been wanting to speak with you,” he said calmly.

In an instant, it seemed, she was a child again. Her father looked like he had barely aged a day since she was fourteen. His permanent grimace and the shaggy beard were just the same as they were then.

“I thought you might go to the king. Offer him comfort,” he suggested, all those years ago.

Alicent felt the urge to pick at her fingers, bloodying them until the pit in her stomach was replaced with an ache in her hand. She blinked twice before she met her father’s gaze and nodded.

“It’s been too long, Father,” she managed to say.

“That it has,” he agreed. “Much has changed since last we met.”

Alicent’s mind was moving too fast. Her thoughts went to one change in particular. But he couldn’t know that. No one else knew of her and Rhaenyra’s relationship. He was a thousand leagues away. 

He couldn’t know, he couldn’t.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she answered.

“Aegon,” Otto spoke. “He’s the queen’s assistant now, so I hear.” Alicent felt like a fool for not thinking of that immediately.

She nodded. “It’s been an excellent opportunity for him. He’s learned much in the past months.”

“Better late than never, I suppose. For a… boy like him.” The disgust for Aegon was clear in his tone. It made Alicent flinch even as she tried to control her body. “We spoke at the tourney of our usual work. Are you still close with the queen?” Her father inquired.

A wry laugh escaped from Alicent’s throat unbidden to relieve the tension in her body. Are we still close? Alicent spoke with her every day, shared her bed, and knew what her lips tasted like. It was closer than he ever expected, in all likelihood.

Would he even care if he knew, Alicent wondered? It was against the Seven, a sin beyond anything she’d ever done before, but it would work well for his plans. That was all that mattered in the end to him.

“A paramour should suffice just as well,” he had decreed and so it was done. Her whole future, torn away in an instant to cling to whatever sliver of power Otto wanted.

“Alicent?” Otto broke her out of her thoughts by grabbing her hands. “You’re shaking, daughter.”

She hadn’t even noticed. Alicent took a deep breath, then another, and yanked her hands away from her father for good measure.

“The queen is not her father,” she told him, her voice wavering often. “You will not find easy influence over her.”

“Everyone has a flaw,” Otto said confidently. “Viserys’ was lust. We merely need to poke further and find the queen’s.”

“To what end?” She asked. She didn’t want to be his little spy again. If she could convince him to cease this need for control…

He squinted at her, confused. “To what end?” He repeated. “The same end as always. Our family will prevail. The realm will prosper.”

“Father-” she choked on her words and started again. “If the queen wants just the same. Should we not simply trust her on this matter?”

Her father’s face remained blank at the suggestion, disinterested.

Alicent pushed further, “She has been nothing but kind to me and to my children. She is a wise and judicious ruler, there is no need for subterfuge.”

He sighed. He took a step closer to her and Alicent felt like she shrank. “I understand your worry and your fear. But our plans will bear fruit in time, I promise.”

“Father…”

“Rhaenyra showed her judgment the day she sired those sons and claimed they were Laenor Velaryon’s. She can be as wise as the conciliator but it does not change the fact that her reign will lead to ruin when it’s time for her son to ascend,” he explained.

She shook her head absentmindedly. She barely knew Jace personally but she’d heard so many stories from Rhaenyra. He was a diligent and curious boy, he attended lessons unfailingly. He would be a good king for the realm and there were no other options.

“Not unless we take action to guide them,” he insisted.

She remembered his plan that he spoke of at the tourney. “What you speak of is treason. You would throw Aemond into some senseless war and get him killed.”

Her father’s features contorted for a few moments with unreadable emotions. He shook his head and raised his hand to cup her face even as she recoiled a bit from his touch.

“I do not seek to usurp anyone, not anymore. Lyonel, the foolish boy, thinks of glory and battle, direct solutions. But Aemond has shown he does not have the temperament for it,” he told her. “Your children would not have to be in any danger.”

Alicent furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?” Surely he would not wish for Aegon or Daeron to be king.

He hesitated in his words. With a deep breath, he continued, “Nothing so violent is needed. Your children are close with the queen’s, yes?”

“Daeron and Helaena are, yes.”

“Then, they are already where they need to be,” Otto said. He put a thin smile on his face, placid, like Alicent was a child who needed to be guided to the solution. “Jacaerys will be a man grown soon enough. And he’ll be in need of a wife.”

Alicent’s face fell in an instant.

“Your daughter may yet succeed where your sons have faltered. She’ll need help, she’s an odd sort of girl and not very personable, but I believe you are up to the task. You say the queen is reasonable, if Jacaerys were to insist upon the match then-”

“You wish for me to send Helaena to-” Alicent could barely get out of the words. “ Seduce the prince.”

“Nothing so drastic yet. They are still young,” Otto assured. “But encourage her to spend more time with him, draw his eye. When he grows and begins to think of ladies, ensure that it is Helaena who he thinks of.”

Alicent was frozen for a handful of seconds, processing her father’s plan.

Quieter than a whisper, Alicent managed, “Helaena is fourteen.”

I was fourteen.

“As I said, they are still young. But if we endear her to him now, it will be all the easier to convince the royal family to make the match. Then, we will guide Jacaerys as he rules and our blood will sit the throne in time,” Otto explained.

Alicent didn’t hear a word.

“You’ve been a great comfort to me, these past months,” the king had said so many years ago. That’s all it was, she tried to convince herself for months beforehand, an innocent friendship to help the king in his grief.

“And if-“ she took a shaky breath. “Helaena fails in this task. What then?”

Otto paused briefly. “I’m certain you two are up to the task.”

Alicent took a step back, letting her father’s hand fall limply to his side. “You are fond of your elaborate plots. Contingencies within contingencies. If not Aegon, then Aemond, and if not him, then Helaena. If she is not to be Jace’s bride, what is your plan then?”

A sinking feeling sat in her stomach, gnawing at her. She felt as if she knew her father’s plan but needed to hear him say it.

“My daughter,” he tried to calm her but, for once, she did not cow to his gaze. 

She raised an eyebrow, awaiting his answer.

“If a bride is out of the question…we must ensure our plans live another day,” Otto began tentatively.

“You wish to start it all again,” she figured. “You want Helaena to be his mistress.”

“It is not worth dwelling on,” he hurried to calm her. “We will succeed and she will be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms-“

“So you promised me, as I recall,” Alicent spoke.

“A paramour should suffice just as well,” he had proclaimed, without so much as an argument or a second thought.

She imagined her little daughter, sensitive and kind, thrust into such a position. She would never shed her bastard name as she so dearly hoped to. Instead, Helaena would be met with ridicule and scorn, perhaps more than Alicent ever did.

Jace would have a true wife of his own, a family to always prioritize over Helaena. Another shameful secret, another sin to hide away from the histories of House Targaryen.

The rest of her life would be just the same as Alicent’s had been. Cold, miserable, and so, so lonely.

In the vortex of misery, one voice echoed louder than the rest. The queen’s.

“It’s not your fault, Alicent. Nothing that happened was your fault,” she had promised her. Alicent hadn’t believed it fully then, so Rhaenyra had told her it time and time and time again. She had been the brightest spot in Alicent’s life after so long, bringing her back from a lifetime of sorrow.

Alicent knew there was not a bone in her body that could ever betray Rhaenyra. And she knew, truly now, that she was right.

The truest guilty parties were Viserys, dead in the ground, and her father. And she would not let him terrorize her daughter’s life as he did hers.

Wetness filled her eyes at the thought, shining as she looked at her father directly.

“No,” she told him flatly.

“Alicent-“

“I will not see it done,” Alicent refused, finding her voice.

“I understand your squeamishness,” her father said, trying to make his voice soft and loving.

It did nothing to quell the rising tide within Alicent. Twenty years of resentment came bubbling to the surface.

“You made a ruin of my life with your schemes. I will be cold in my grave before I allow you to do the same to my dear daughter,” Alicent hissed.

“A ruin? Alicent, she would be the Queen Consort,” he insisted.

Alicent laughed wryly. “ If you succeed. You have such confidence for one who has failed in this task already.”

Otto’s face twitched. His features hardened, growing angry now. “Twenty years we have worked at this. If you blink now, it will all be for naught.”

“It already is.”

“Not yet,” Otto shook his head. He sighed and tried to reach for her hands but she took another step back, out of his grasp. “I have regrets about all that has happened, I admit. As I know you do. But, daughter, we cannot give up now. Any suffering or pain will be worth it a thousand times over. All the horror, it will mean something, it has to.”

Alicent’s eyes stung and a lump caught in her throat. She once hoped there was some greater purpose in her heartache. That she had to suffer for her children to live better, yet she had seen more than ever as of late that it was a fool's hope.

Her children’s bastard names had only ever been a burden. That it was dragon’s blood in their veins made no difference. There was nothing they could do but accept the cold truth that her father had denied for twenty years.

“You lost, Father,” she told him. “Your plot was over the day Viserys commanded he was not to marry again.”

He grimaced. “No, Alicent, we-“

She interrupted him. The barest hints of anger seeped into her voice. “You cling so tightly to your dream that you cannot even face reality. Legitimizing Aegon, Aemond as king, Helaena as queen, you think there is some way to win back the prize you feel is owed to you but there is not. And there is no reward in the end that is worth all that you’ve brought to my family.”

Otto clenched his jaw, at a loss for words, for once.

“Go home to Oldtown,” she said. “Do not ever talk to my children again. If you do, I shall have to inform the queen of what you’ve said to me here today.”

“Alicent,” he warned. “We are not done. Do not walk away.”

He reached for her wrist to halt her but she yanked her hand away.

“Alicent.”

She did not listen. Alicent spun on her heels and let herself get lost in the crowd of people around them.

“Alicent!” He barked after her.

She wiped her eyes, letting her tears fall now that she was further away, even as she regretted spending the energy on him.

It was late and Alicent hoped the queen had already retired to her chambers. She had no energy to mingle about or speak with anymore lords. She only wanted to collapse into the arms of the queen and soak up her warmth and comfort. She needed Rhaenyra to help her chase away all her regrets and sorrows.

After tonight, she would not waste another tear on her father, she promised herself. Not ever again.

Helaena hummed to herself as she packed the last of her bags into the carriage. The week had passed by far too quickly and it was already time to leave Casterly Rock behind. There were hundreds of people buzzing about, preparing for the royal procession’s departure around her.

She would be glad to be rid of the crowds of people, she thought. The Lannister castle was decadent but her home in King’s Landing was safe and familiar to her. She simply regretted that she would be leaving behind friends as she traveled back home.

Elyana was to leave for Silverhill on the morrow, now a woman wedded and bedded (the latter rather disappointingly, according to her.) Jeyne would be the same by the end of the year. She was returning to her own family’s keep before heading down to Castamere for the wedding in a few moons. And her newest friend, Gareth, had to go home to Ashemark as well.

She was surprised and gladdened that Gareth had sought her out the day after they met, still keen to spend time with her. He didn’t think she was too odd, or at least he didn’t seem to mind it, not even her dragon dreams.

Helaena had found a centipede on the ground the day before. Most people thought insects were gross, only Baela ever truly indulged her interest, but Gareth did not mock her for it. He was frightened by the creature and his hands were shaking, but he let her place the bug on his palm all the same, listening to her ramble on without complaint.

She was not like to see him again after she departed for King’s Landing, she knew, but she was glad to have known him all the same.

Helaena pulled herself out of her thoughts, knowing she had little time left to say goodbye to her friends. She walked tepidly through the crowds, hoping Elyana would be at the front gate.

Along the way, she saw her brothers. “I heard you got into some trouble. With those boys-” Daeron asked hesitantly.

Aemond shut it down quickly. “It was nothing.”

“Mother was upset about it.”

“It was nothing,” Aemond repeated, firmer. “She overreacted. There’ll be no more trouble from them.”

Daeron grumbled something but shook it off. He changed the topic quickly, speaking instead of the servants and squires he’d befriended over the course of the week.

Where Aegon was, Helaena didn’t know. She hoped he managed to evade trouble.

Helaena also spotted the queen. Though she was clearly trying to keep her voice down, it looked like she was chastising Ser Criston. Curious, she eavesdropped.

“It was your duty to watch the Lady Alicent, to ensure Otto Hightower did not bother her, was it not?” Rhaenyra asked.

“It was, Your Grace,” Ser Criston answered, forcing himself to keep emotion out of his voice. His posture was stiff with his arms folded behind his back and he did not meet the queen’s gaze directly.

“And yet, Alicent came to my chambers, weeping, and speaking of an encounter with her father. Does that sound like she was protected?” Rhaenyra rhetorically continued.

“No, Your Grace.”

“Where were you?” She demanded to know.

Criston hesitated for a brief moment. “I had retired for the night. I was abed, Your Grace.”

“Abed? You retired before Alicent?” She hissed. “Instead of doing your duty as I commanded it?”

“I apologize, Your Grace. It was a lapse in my duty, it will not happen again, I swear,” he promised.

“I’m sure it won’t. You’re dismissed for the rest of the day, Cole,” she told him flatly.

Without further protest, Ser Criston gathered his sword and departed with a bow to the queen. Helaena kept walking, lest they realized she was listening. 

She idly wondered why her mother had gone to the queen’s chambers so late. She had hugged Helaena tightly when she first saw her that morning but gave no explanation. Helaena did notice, however, there was a lightness in her mother’s features that morning, like a weight had been lifted from her. Unfortunately, she had not the time to dwell on it.

Hurrying forward, Helaena saw her friends gathered around. “Helaena!” Rohanne waved her over.

Elyana was dressed in her new house’s colors, a pale cream with dashes of green and blue. She was hugging Alys tight when Helaena stepped closer. “...do not let that cunt Senelle push you around in gossip circles,” Helaena overheard Elyana advising their friend. “And stay away from married men.”

“That was an accident,” Alys retorted, chuckling. “I’ll miss you, Ely.”

“Likewise, Aly.”

Rohanne and Elyana’s goodbye was even more drawn out. Helaena had always known Rohanne to be confident yet now, she saw her friend’s eyes well up in tears as she hugged Elyana farewell. It was not a pretty sight as Rohanne started sobbing and heaving fully.

Meanwhile, Jeyne walked up to her. “Sorry I called you Waters so often,” Jeyne said before Helaena could get a word out. “I meant to say that forever ago, but never found the right time before.”

Helaena wordlessly stepped forward and put her arms around Jeyne. They were never the closest friends of the group but she would miss her dearly all the same.

Jeyne embraced her back. “You’re an odd one, Helaena,” she spoke fondly. “I’ll write to you when I get home, I promise.”

Once Rohanne and Elyana finally separated, the former Lannister turned to Helaena. “I will miss you,” Helaena croaked out, surprised at how her throat clamped up. She blinked her eyes quickly, batting away tears.

“It will not be forever,” Elyana promised. “When next I’m in King’s Landing, we’ll raid the wine stash again.”

Helaena laughed. Elyana opened her arms, inviting, and Helaena accepted the hug. She could still remember how lonely it was when she was barely more than a girl, a bastard in the keep with no one but her brothers as company. Elyana and Rohanne accepted her eagerly when she was assigned to be the Lannister girl’s handmaiden. Even if they weren’t always the best, she would never forget what they did for her.

“Thank you for being my friend,” Helaena mumbled into Elyana’s shoulder.

Her friend smiled softly and pulled away. “I’ll always be your friend. You’re a wonder, Helly, never forget that. You’ll land on your feet, I know it.”

Helaena didn’t know how Elyana could be so certain. She would have to be assigned to be a handmaiden for someone else when they get home. Helaena didn’t like new people very much. Even if she got used to it, they’d go off and get married soon enough as well. Helaena had no such prospects.

Still, the bright smile Elyana offered made her believe in the idea just a bit.

They had to separate soon. Helaena, Rohanne, and Alys needed to find their carriages for the trek home and Elyana and Jeyne needed to find and say their farewells to Rhaena. Reluctantly, and with another quick hug between Elyana and Rohanne, their friend group split in two and went their separate ways.

For now, Helaena reminded herself. Not forever.

There was a full future ahead for Elyana and Jeyne, with their husbands and their future children as ladies of important houses.

Helaena could only dream that a future of equal safety and happiness awaited her.

Chapter Text

Twelve years before the death of King Viserys…

When the sun rose, there was no escaping what Laena and Daemon had done. They were joined beneath the moonlight on the beach in a blur of sweat and passion. It would be a scandal and fury would awaken if, or when, the truth came out.

They could certainly flee on dragonback, they’d be gone before anyone was the wiser. Laena, however, was not one to hide away in fear of consequences, nor was Daemon. She had made her own choice to marry Daemon that night and she intended to honor it. She would, however, prefer to do it with honor and grace, not subterfuge.

In the Great Hall, they stood before her father and spoke their intentions plainly. “I mean to take your daughter to wife in the traditions of Old Valyria,” Daemon said, not asking for permission.

She heard a few chuckles in the back of the hall, thinking it was a joke, but none of the high lords were laughing. Her mother’s eyes met hers, suspicious and searching for answers, meanwhile her father clenched his jaw as he glared hard at the Rogue Prince. He’d spent too much time and money preparing for this marriage and did not appreciate the prince’s attempts to interfere.

Rhaenyra and Laenor sat together at the far end of the table, both caught off guard and baffled by this turn of events, yet they watched with intrigue all the same.

Lord Otherys stood to his feet, towering over most men, and bellowed his disapproval. “You grow too bold, Daemon. Laena is promised to my son and that is the end of it.”

“I am a prince of the realm, you should address me as such,” Daemon spat.

“I am not of this realm. Now, scurry back to your brother and we shall forget this transgression,” he told him, his tone firm. Laena glanced towards Galeo, who stood off to the side. He seemed unsure what to make of the two and their declaration, though his hand fiddled with the hilt of his sheathed sword.

Daemon laughed at his threat, he too was reaching for his sword. Laena stepped forward, intending to stop this before blood was shed. “Daemon is of pure Valyrian blood and the king’s brother, this is a good match, Father,” she explained. 

Appealing to her father’s practicality seemed the best course of action. Rhaenyra’s position as heir was still uncertain. She didn’t wish to usurp her friend, of course not, but if the worst should happen and the lords were to decide a woman cannot inherit, it would make Daemon the king of Westeros, and her, the future queen. That was surely enough to sate her father’s ambition.

She did not think it necessary to tell him that she had already given Daemon her maidenhead and could already be with his child. Her father was like to be wroth enough already.

“Quiet,” Lord Otherys snapped. “I think you have done quite enough.”

Her mother certainly didn’t appreciate that outburst. “Perhaps we ought to consider this in private, ” she urged.

Lord Corlys could see the sense in that. A scene like this was helping no one. Unfortunately, such a spectacle was exactly what Daemon wished for.

“I think not,” Daemon interrupted. “We’ve a wedding to attend on Dragonstone and we must be going.”

“Do not think about leaving these halls so recklessly, my prince,” Corlys warned. To emphasize his point, guards lined up at the main doors, spears at the ready. “Our business is not done.”

“That is not necessary, Father,” Laena begged. “I want to marry him. Please, allow me the chance to explain.”

“Your betrothal is already set,” Lord Otherys argued. She saw his gaze turn briefly to his son, still frozen in his spot and silent through this affair. “It will not be unmade.”

“And how do you intend to stop us?” Daemon inquired. Just outside the keep, Caraxes’ shrill roar could be heard, making most of the attendants jump in fear, followed by Vhagar’s deep bellow. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.” Featherlight, he took Laena’s hand and started leading her towards the exit, still blocked by guards.

She pulled her hand back and whispered to him, “We must speak to my parents. I’ll make them understand.” Leaving like this would do more harm than good.

Before he had the chance to respond to her, a new voice joined the chorus. “Unhand my bride, Daemon!”

Galeo, it seemed, had finally found his courage. At the worst possible moment, she sighed.

Daemon cocked his head to the side with a smirk. “No.”

“She is promised to me, the ink is well past dry,” Galeo demanded. “Leave, if you must, but you shall do it alone.”

The prince seemed amused by the Sealord’s son. “She’s promised to you, yet she came to me, practically begging for an escape.”

Galeo took a dangerous step forward, as did Daemon. “Enough!” Laena yelled at the two. “I am not some prize to be fought over. I will marry Daemon, that is my choice.”

At the head table, she saw her mother’s features soften. She remembered the story well from her youth. Rhaenys’ father had asked her opinion on the matter of her marriage and she had chosen the Sea Snake as her husband. It was not often women in this world got a choice, but they were dragonriders of Valyrian heritage.

Galeo and Daemon glared at each other, their gazes cold. She saw Galeo’s fingers twitch near his sword hilt, while Daemon raised his chin, appearing more confident than ever despite the chaos of the moment.

“Do it,” Daemon whispered, only loud enough for the three of them to hear.

“Galeo,” she tried. “Let it be.” They did not love each other, they barely had one conversation where they even got along. It was better for both of them, she thought, to break the betrothal now than to suffer their lives together.

Her mother whispered something to her father and he seemed to nod in agreement. “Enough of this. We will all discuss this in my council room,” he reasserted with all the strength and authority of the Lord of the Tides.

Galeo huffed but lowered his hand back to his side and Laena let out a sigh of relief. She lightly nudged Daemon towards the back of the hall and started walking in the direction herself. On the way, she met Laenor’s eyes. He looked at her in confusion, wanting answers for why and when she had planned all of this. She only hoped the look she gave back conveyed that she would tell him everything after the meeting.

Lord Otherys clearly was unhappy, gripping the edges of the high table tight. He glared down at his son, who pitifully avoided his father’s gaze. With a grunt, he moved to follow her mother and father to their council chamber.

She glanced back only once to ensure Daemon was following her. All she saw was him leaning close to whisper something to her former betrothed. After that, the Seven hells seemed to break loose.

The relative quiet that had settled over the hall was suddenly broken by the harsh scrape of steel being drawn. She widened her eyes as Galeo leveled his sword at Daemon. Almost immediately after, too quick to be unplanned, Daemon drew his own sword, Dark Sister. The whole hall erupted into yells and screams as people panicked to get away from the fight.

“Daemon!” She called out but was held back by the guards from running to interfere with the fight.

“Prince Daemon! Galeo! Enough!” Her father ordered, but his words did not reach them.

“Does the little brat have some bite after all?” Daemon mocked.

“Silence, cur!” Galeo yelled. With no further words, Galeo swung his sword with both hands at the prince, who avoided the blow with ease. He slashed again and the clang of their steel swords together sounded through the whole keep.

“Daemon! Galeo! Stop this!” She shouted, trying to be heard over all the noise.

“Stay your hands, both of you!” Her father demanded, again to no avail. Lord Otherys said nothing, watching the fight in grim silence.

Velaryon guards attempted to break up the fight but Daemon pushed them off with ease. She noticed none tried to restrain Galeo but didn’t dwell on it with chaos of the moment. Years later, she would wonder if it was House Otherys’ guards that kept the Velaryons from stopping Galeo.

In hindsight, the gambit seemed clear from Lord Otherys’ view. Between Daemon and Galeo, Corlys would undoubtedly choose Daemon as her husband. That is, unless Galeo were to slay the prince in their fateful duel.

Galeo raged and swung his sword time and time again. As if taunting him, Daemon always avoided or parried the blow but scarcely retaliated. Galeo was able to get the upper hand briefly when he pushed Daemon back far enough to run into one of the tables. He kicked Daemon’s legs out, as Rhogar had done to him, then grappled with the prince, slamming his head against the table.

Though the Sealord’s son scrambled for his sword, he was not quick enough to finish the job. Daemon hit him square in the face with the hilt of his blade and escaped any further harm to himself. Galeo, however, had blood gushing from his now misshapen nose.

“Stop it! Please!” She begged. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. She did not wish to marry Galeo but that did not mean she wanted to see him hurt, or worse. 

Galeo had always struggled with swordplay while Daemon was one of the greatest fighters in Westeros. It was plain to see the outcome to anyone. Galeo was a breeze trying to fight a hurricane.

Tiring of their fight, when Galeo slashed with his sword and missed, Daemon took advantage of the opportunity. Pushing his arm away, he managed to raise his sword against Galeo’s neck.

“Daemon!” She yelled and this time, it seemed he heard her.

“Yield!” Daemon ordered, the side of his sword stopping just short of being plunged into his neck.

Galeo spat in Daemon’s eye then delivered a harsh punch to the prince’s jaw. “I will not suffer your disrespect, prince. I am the heir to House Otherys!” Galeo shouted. “If you do not wish to finish this fight though, I will gladly do it for you.”

Daemon snarled and swung his own sword, fighting in earnest now. There was the ferocity she’d heard stories about from the Stepstones. Daemon thrust his sword at him over and over again, never letting up. Adrenaline took hold of Galeo, allowing him the swiftness to keep himself alive amidst the onslaught.

With another swing, Galeo raised his sword to block the blow, locking their steel together. The two pushed against each other, the swords scraping in a harsh whine, neither willing to give an inch.

“‘Heir to House Otherys’,” Daemon mocked. “You are nothing. A measly brat. Yield!”

Galeo gave his answer by slamming his knee into the prince’s stomach and pushing him back. He rushed towards the prince, his sword pointed forward, as Daemon reeled from the blow.

Laena gasped, nearly letting out a sob in fear.

Galeo’s poor aim made him narrowly miss plunging his sword into Daemon’s stomach. Instead, it grazed Daemon’s side, cutting through his clothes and leaving a thin cut.

Daemon winced all the same, clutching his side. Galeo turned to face him again but the prince was thoroughly enraged at this point. The Sealord’s son clutched his sword tight and raised it against the prince, a blow which Daemon parried almost effortlessly. 

Grabbing Galeo by the neck, the prince forcefully threw him to the ground. Before he had any time to recover, the Rogue Prince sliced his sword up from Galeo’s ankle to the back of his knee. 

Laena and the crowd gasped in horror. The boy cried out as blood spurted out, discoloring the blue and silver carpet within moments. Galeo could barely rise to his hands and knees as he whimpered in pain, grasping futilely at his wound. He was unused to the injuries of battle, she could tell, and his winces made him sound younger than his years.

A silence fell over the hall then, or perhaps it only felt like it to Laena. Galeo gasped and heaved, one hand soaked with blood and the other still tight around his sword. His eyes met hers in the crowd and all was still.

“Yield,” she whispered, hoping he could read her lips. Their maesters were well trained, at worst he would be left with a limp.

Yielding, however, meant surrendering his betrothal outright. It meant admitting defeat to Daemon and letting his father down. The son of a Sealord, unable to leave more than a scratch on his opponent. It meant humiliation before the eyes of everyone as his bride was stolen out from under him.

All the same, she pleaded. “Yield.”

Galeo took heavy breaths. She saw him clutch his sword tighter yet at the same time his eyes softened. 

He opened his mouth to speak, his eyes somehow both full of rage and despair, and he said-

A sword erupted from his throat at an awkward angle. Blood gushed out liberally and the crowd around them started screaming in panic. Behind him, Daemon pulled his sword out of the boy, wiping the blood off, victorious.

Laena suppressed a shriek, covering her mouth, but her eyes were locked on the scene. She could only stand and watch as Galeo collapsed to the ground. She may have been imagining it, the sounds of the hall making it impossible to hear anything, but she would swear for the rest of her life that she remembered this moment, clear as day.

Galeo, gagging and choking on his blood, as his one free hand pawed uselessly to cover the wound. His face was contorted, silently wailing in a pain she could hardly imagine. His eyes were searching desperately but unable to focus on anything. Not a moment later, he was motionless, lying in a pool of his own blood.

The next moments passed in a blur to Laena. Lord Otherys shouted for justice while Daemon insisted it was a fair duel, Galeo knew the risks. Laenor and Rhaenyra had rushed over to her, ensuring she was well. The words said were lost to her within moments, she could hardly focus on anything but putting one step in front of the other.

Lord Corlys conceded that it was a fair duel, that Daemon had won her hand in marriage. Besides, Lord Otherys had no other sons to take Galeo’s place. Though it was what she wanted, what she still wanted, the bloodier path taken than intended soured the news to her.

It was ruined further when the ravens came from King’s Landing. They had enjoyed but a few days of respite on Dragonstone after their wedding in the Valyrian traditions. The king had gotten wind of the news and insisted Daemon must be punished. No one, not even princes, could go around absconding with noble ladies and killing their betrotheds, after all.

“Exile to Essos,” Daemon read from the letter, his grip on it so tight that his knuckles were turning white.

Laena took a shaky breath, reeling from the news. She would have to leave her parents, her brother, and her home . She would not get to be here when Rhaenyra delivered her child, she feared. Essos was a foreign land, a fate she had only just escaped.

It was a royal decree though. They had no choice as they saddled their dragons for the ride across the Narrow Sea.

“It will not last,” he promised her. “My brother is fickle but not one for long grudges. All will be well in time.” He pressed a lingering kiss to her lips as they mounted their beasts.

Vhagar roared, its cry twinged with sorrow, as they took flight on a foggy morning.

It was a long flight to Essos. Much, much too long.

Eleven years before the death of King Viserys…

Laena panted heavily, every inch of her body aching. The servants patted her head with a cold washcloth, wiping away the sweat. She could hear the soft whimpers and cries of her babies as the midwives wrapped them.

Babies , she repeated to herself. Twins . Gods, she was barely prepared for one.

“Your daughters, my lady,” the midwife said, carefully handing them to her one at a time. Though she was sore and exhausted beyond what she ever thought possible, she did not hesitate to rise and take them. 

She let out a choked sob as she cradled them both close to her. They looked so much like her, she could already see. Laena stroked the little tufts of curly, silver hair on their heads, the sheer weight of the love in her heart overwhelming her.

Barely a moment later, the door burst open and her husband marched in. As soon as his eyes met hers, they softened. He hurried towards and, with a tenderness she never thought possible from him, took one of the babies from her arms.

“You’ve a healthy pair of daughters, Prince Daemon,” the servant complimented.

Daemon brushed the older daughter’s cheek softly and his lips curled upward in a smile. The children let out quiet whimpers and breaths, squirming in their blankets.

Laena rocked the younger twin, pressing a kiss to her forehead, while Daemon did the same to the elder one. She met her husband’s gaze briefly, her own violet eyes shone with tears.

It had been a difficult year in exile. They traveled often, moving from city to city as they outstayed their welcome with certain lords and wealthy merchants. Being pregnant with the twins sapped most of her energy in those months. And she missed her family, so dearly. Rhaenyra just had her child, a son, a few moons ago, she heard, and Laena wanted nothing more than to go home and meet her nephew.

Holding her children in her hands, however, made it all feel well worth the struggle. She leaned over and kissed her husband, then leaned back against him as they got comfortable laying on the bed with the twins.

“They are wonderful,” Daemon mused and Laena nodded easily.

You’ve done well, Laena could imagine her mother saying if she were here. She couldn’t wait for the day she could show her parents their grandchildren.

“They should have names,” Daemon said. “Any thoughts?”

Laena hummed. “I know you wanted Baelon for a son,” she recalled. “Perhaps Baela?”

Daemon thought for a moment before agreeing. “Baela is very good,” he smiled down at the elder twin. “What do you think of Rhaena?”

Laena’s heart twisted at the name so like her mother’s, but she thought it was fitting. A piece of Daemon’s lineage and a piece of hers. Memories to hold on to while they were alone in Essos.

“Baela and Rhaena,” Laena repeated aloud and decided easily that she loved the names.

Daemon spoke in High Valyrian, “They are beautiful. You’ve done well, my wife.”

Laena grinned up at him. “I love you.” She kissed his jaw, overwhelmed with emotion, and he held her tight as the four of them cuddled together.

Laena closed her eyes and savored the moment with her family. For all that had happened, she was truly happy. To think, it was only the beginning of her life with Daemon, and they would make so many more adoring memories like this.

Ten years before the death of King Viserys…

Laena had sent a raven across the Narrow Sea to her family to tell them of the wonderful news. Laenor lamented that he could not introduce the twins to their cousin, Prince Jacaerys, and her father kept suggesting ways for her to return home without Daemon, if only so he could meet his grandchildren. Laena was fond of the idea, truth be told, but she knew any trip home would have to wait until Daemon was allowed to return as well.

Her mother sent her a letter that stuck with her. She said to cherish the early years with her children for they would fly by in a hurry. “Before you know it, they’ll claim dragons of their own or wed princes and princesses. Never waste a moment with them.”

Her mother was quite wise but in this case, Laena had to admit, she was sorely mistaken. The next years did not pass quickly, they were an ordeal. Every few months, Daemon and Laena had to uproot their home and travel to somewhere new in Essos, as any lord they stayed with would quickly find them and their dragons bothersome to house.

Though Laena wished to remain close in the Free Cities, Daemon tempted her to explore further and see the wonders of the world. They visited the pyramids of Meereen for a moon and the island of Naath for three. Yunkai, Astapor, New Ghis, the Summer Islands, even Vaes Dothrak for a day, the places all quickly began to blur together. It was exhausting though, she never felt like she could settle in any one place, and she thought that the twins could feel it too, young as they were.

The nights were long. Baela was a bit of a terror, awaking most nights to scream and cry about whatever she needed, which inevitably woke her sister. Daemon helped on rare occasions but for the most part, it was up to Laena to awake from her much needed sleep to care for the twins.

The most notable incident occurred while they stayed in Qarth. Baela and Rhaena had awoken again in the night and forced Laena from her slumber. Daemon mumbled something in his sleep but she couldn’t be sure what he said in her equally tired state, so she brushed it off.

She tried her best to soothe both, feeding Rhaena while bouncing Baela on her knee, but it only succeeded in rattling them further. Baela wailed so loud she feared it would wake the generous patrons that were letting them stay in Qarth. It took a candlemark to finally calm Baela but her sister was a separate story.

Laena simply could not figure out why Rhaena was crying. She didn’t need to eat or use the chamber pot and no amount of rocking back and forth ever seemed to soothe her. “Please, please, go back to sleep,” she whispered to her daughter. “I love you, you are safe. Please.” She sang a lullaby in High Valyrian that her own mother had taught, which had little effect.

Eventually, after much heartache, Rhaena tired herself out and let herself be comfortably set back into her crib. Laena was aching with exhaustion when she finally crawled back into bed. She tried to stay quiet but her movements must’ve roused Daemon a bit. 

He turned in the bed, his eyes still shut, and mumbled, “‘s about time. Thought they would never stop shrieking.”

Laena bit the inside of her cheek, knowing she should let it go. They were both tired and Daemon likely said it without thinking, not meaning to hurt her with the words. Her weariness got the best of her in this instance, however. After a difficult night, the last thing she needed was to hear her husband and his thinly-veiled insults.

“If you had come to help me, perhaps they may have gone back to sleep sooner,” she snapped at him.

He hummed, taking a moment to notice the anger seeping into her tone. Daemon opened one of his eyes, peering at her. “They don’t calm with me.”

She scoffed. “That is no excuse not to assist me.”

“Do you really wish to argue about this? Now? ” He inquired.

She only stared at him, her lips twisted into a frown.

Daemon groaned, pushing himself to a sitting position to look at her fully. “You are better with the children. An excellent mother, as you said you would be,” he complimented.

Laena had no need for his flattery. “Do you think it is easy?”

“I think you handle it well enough.”

“Well enough?” She echoed. “I have not slept properly in months. Meanwhile, you, of course, drink with your companions without a care in the world.”

“Laena, that is not-” he tried to interrupt.

“If you are going to tell me that is not true, then you’d be better off going back to sleep. I don’t wish to hear your excuses,” she snapped.

There was a tense silence as Laena took deep breaths, rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes.

Daemon shuffled closer to her on the bed, “You did not speak to me of this sooner…”

Laena rolled her eyes. “You would claim ignorance in the matter of your own daughters’ care?”

Daemon held up a hand, surrendering. “I only mean that I didn’t know you were suffering so.”

She sighed, anger dissipating from her with the weight in her chest growing heavier. “I have nothing in this place, Daemon,” she whispered. “No friends and no family but you. I cannot do this by myself.”

Her husband raised his hand to rub her back lovingly and pressed his forehead to her shoulder. She leaned into his touch against her better judgment.

“You should not have had to do this alone,” he whispered, so quiet like he didn’t want anyone to hear his vulnerability. “It won’t happen again.”

Laena brushed her cheek against his, believing him fully in the dark of night. He pressed a kiss to her lips that reminded her of their wedding night, perfect and pure, and she surrendered to a night of joy, secure in the knowledge that everything was just as it should be again.

Five years before the death of King Viserys…

Vhagar landed in the sand with a thunderous slam, making the grains explode outward around them. Laena’s dragon let out a roar, the last of her energy, as Laena patted her neck.

“Ēdrugon, Vhagar. Ao gūrogon ziry,” Laena spoke calmly, encouraging the beast to rest after their long flight. She should’ve returned sooner so as not to overexert Vhagar in her old age, but Laena couldn’t help it. Four moons they had been staying with an irritable merchant in Lorath and it was making Laena antsy to spread her wings. Daemon was fond of the fellow, however, so here they stayed for the time being.

She used the rope ladder to descend Vhagar while the dragon planted her head in the sand to sleep. With a last stroke against Vhagar’s gnarled scales, Laena headed back to her temporary home.

Lorath was an odd sort of place, on its own island far north of most of the other Free Cities. Laena had been intrigued to see the intricately crafted mazes around the area, their purpose shrouded in mystery after they were built thousands of years ago, but they quickly lost their luster.

The city used to be a Valyrian freehold, which Laena supposed was why it fascinated Daemon so much. Beyond that though, Laena found little to enjoy. The magisters that ruled the city were all self-serving and pompous. Several of them had even attempted to buy her daughters’ dragon eggs from them, to which a harsh cry from Caraxes shut them up quickly.

Seven years in Essos had given Laena an appreciation for the vastly different cultures and peoples she had met, though none matched her home. She started to forget what the halls of High Tide looked like and the handmaidens she used to have.

Laena steeled herself though. It will not last, she recalled Daemon’s promise. In the meantime, she had her children to raise and they brightened every day beyond comparison. Baela was brash and fierce. She idolized and tried to emulate her father. She even wanted to train with a sword once but Laena flatly rejected that idea, as the girl was only five. Rhaena was quite the opposite, quiet and patient. She clung to Laena often and shied away from the boisterous bickering that the lords they met were so fond of.

“Mother!” Laena heard a yell echo through the halls. She recognized it easily as Baela’s voice.

“I’m here, love,” Laena called back. She quickened her pace, weaving around the few servants walking about to climb the stairs towards her daughters’ chambers.

She found the twins huddled around the fireplace with her husband leaning over them, all three of them peering at something between them. Despite the open window and chill in the air today, the room was unusually warm, Laena couldn’t help but notice.

“Mother, come! Come see!” Rhaena beckoned, waving her hands furiously.

Laena chuckled to herself, striding across the room to kneel by their sides. She widened her eyes when she saw the object of their focus, Baela’s dragon egg. 

It had started stirring as of late, every movement sent Baela into a frenzy of preparing for the hatchling to arrive. Laena thought it was adorable. Her daughter worried if the dragon would like the same foods as her and if it would feel lonely without other hatchlings to play with. Today though, it was clear the hatchling was getting restless. The egg shook every few seconds and when they were all silent, they could hear the patter of its claws against the shell.

“Can I help it get out?” Baela asked her father.

Daemon smiled and shook his head. “They’ll know their way out. Give them a moment, tala. ”

Baela grumbled but did as her father told her. She stared intently at the egg, not wanting to miss a second of the hatching. Rhaena was perhaps equally as focused. She held her own dragon egg tight in her hand, though it had yet to stir at all. Perhaps she thought that her dragon would hear Baela’s and it would encourage them to want to come out.

Laena clasped both of their shoulders, squeezing them encouragingly. The whole family watched in gleeful anticipation and time flew past before they knew it. 

Near half an hour later, the first cracks started to show in the egg. Baela gasped, holding back a shriek of delight. The next moments were followed by more cracks, then a piece of the egg’s scales shattered and fell to the floor. Laena held Baela back from peeking her eye directly into the new hole, lest she get poked by the dragon’s claws. One by one, more holes started to crack together, until at last a hole was made big enough for the dragon to crawl through.

From the egg, a tiny head popped out. The dragon was a light gray and green mix to match the egg’s coloring, with a little fin over their head. Baela looked to her mother and father for permission before she reached over to touch the dragon, which they both granted. With a cautiousness that Laena did not know her daughter was even capable of, she pressed a finger to the hatchling’s head.

The dragon quirked its head to the side, letting out an odd squawk, before it climbed out of the egg fully and into Baela’s waiting hands. Her eldest daughter could not contain herself then, letting out a high-pitched laugh and cheer and she cradled the dragon close.

Laena could not believe how small the creature was. She hadn’t been there for Syrax’s hatching and Laenor had claimed Seasmoke after he already grew a bit. Knowing how large and imposing Vhagar, Caraxes, and Meleys were, it seemed impossible that they too could’ve once been this size, enough for her six year old daughter to hold comfortably.

“I love her!” Baela squealed, standing up straight. “My dragon!”

“Careful, Baela,” Laena encouraged before Baela could take off running with the dragon. “She’s only just born. Take it easy with her.”

Baela nodded with a sudden seriousness. She had waited all her, admittedly not that long, life to meet the dragon and she was not about to mess anything up. She deferred to her father for tips on raising it.

Daemon grinned. “Well, first, she needs a name.”

“Moondancer!” Baela declared, without a second thought.

“It’s an excellent name,” Laena encouraged.

“Next,” Daemon said. “She’ll be hungry, I expect.”

As if on cue, Baela’s stomach rumbled. It was past midday and Laena guessed her daughters were too preoccupied with the egg to get food. “We’ll get lunch together!” Baela decided and marched off with her dragon in tow, the creature’s head turning in every which way as she inspected her new surroundings. Daemon pat Laena’s shoulder before following after their daughter.

Laena looked down at her younger daughter, still clutching her own egg. She gazed at it longingly, hoping for even a twitch to come from inside it. “You must give it time,” she told Rhaena.

Rhaena pouted. “But why did Baela’s hatch and mine didn’t?”

“Sometimes it is the way of things,” she shrugged. “Sometimes they simply take longer. Have patience, my love.”

She helped Rhaena to her feet, stroking her cheek adoringly, and helped her place the egg back in its heating pot so they could join Daemon and Baela for lunch.

Over the next weeks, it became evermore common to see Moondancer join them at the table. Baela could hardly be separated from her dragon for even a moment. She would cut up tiny pieces of meat for the dragon and use them as incentive to train her.

“Dracarys, Moondancer!” She ordered.

Daemon laughed, patting Baela on the back. “She cannot breathe fire until she grows more,” he told her.

Baela looked disappointed at that.

“Try ‘demās’ ,” he told her. “It means sit.”

“Demās!” Baela tried again, holding the piece of meat out of the dragon’s reach and pointing downward to indicate what she wanted the dragon to do.

Moondancer only tilted her head to the side and let out a tiny cry for food. Her daughter, too kind, gave the dragon the food anyway despite her failure to follow directions.

“Perhaps we might save the dragon lessons until later?” She said to her daughter. “The dinner table is no place for Moondancer.”

“Mummy!” Baela whined. “Moondancer would be sad if she couldn’t eat with us!” The dragon let out a tiny yelp, seemingly backing up her point.

With her daughter’s beady eyes, Laena had to admit she was quite tempted to relent.

Before she could though, Daemon spoke up. “Come, Baela. Let’s take our lessons outside.”

Baela stuffed her face full of as much food as she could before she rose from her seat with her father and the two hurried off, Moondancer in hand. Rhaena squirmed in her seat next to Laena, restless but she stayed seated.

Rhaena was happy for her sister, of course. She wanted to watch every lesson that Baela did with the little dragon but Laena saw the way her daughter’s eyes fell with every subsequent day. Her dragon egg had yet to move an inch and Daemon spent more time with Baela than ever before.

“It will hatch soon,” Laena promised her daughter quietly, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

Rhaena could only nod placidly and eat quietly. Laena sent a quick prayer to the gods to grant her daughter the gift of a hatchling. The longer it took to hatch, the further ahead Baela pulled from her and the less time Daemon spared for his younger daughter.

Laena knew all too well the feeling of being left behind and wished dearly for her dear Rhaena to avoid that fate.

Four years before the death of King Viserys…

“Can I say it?” Baela asked, bouncing on her heels.

Daemon squinted at her. “I’m not sure, did you follow all the steps?”

“There’s plenty of empty space around her. We’re surrounded by sand and water, just in case. Moondancer’s focus is entirely on her food,” Baela listed.

A good distance in front of the pair, Moondancer nipped lightly at a slab of raw meat.

“Can I say it? Please?”

Daemon pretended to think for a moment. “Hm, are you sure you’re ready?”

“I am! Please, Father!” She begged, using her wet, violet eyes to her advantage.

Daemon grinned. “Alright.”

Baela cheered, turning to face her dragon. “Moondancer! Dracarys!”

It took a second for the words to register to the beast, who then proceeded to rear back her head and spew out searing flames on the meat. Once she was well and satisfied, the dragon dug into her meal happily.

Baela watched the scene with awe. She had seen her parents’ dragons spill fire from their mouths countless times and she felt a swell of pride at her step to becoming as skilled at dragon riding as they were.

Across the shore, Laena lounged with the younger twin. “Excellently done, Baela!” She called out to her daughter, clapping.

Rhaena was quiet, prodding at the sand to make shapes with her finger. She was bored and jealous of her sister, despite her attempts to hide it. Though Laena enjoyed their quality time together, Rhaena wanted nothing more than to join her sister in dragon training with their father.

A year after Moondancer’s birth, her own egg had still failed to hatch. Her daughter was determined and a little desperate, Laena could see. She pushed more than ever to try to get her egg to hatch.

It spent its days in the heating pot and its nights next to Rhaena as she curled up with it in bed, clutching it tight. They had gone all the way to Asshai where Rhaena thought a magister might know the secrets to making a dragon egg hatch, to no avail. Laena recalled how one merchant remarked that, even if it turned to stone, it was worth a heavy price in gold and Rhaena had kicked him in the shins for that. She didn’t want gold or a fancy looking stone, she wanted a dragon.

Laena found her by the fire one night, holding her egg out near the flames. “Careful,” she warned, not wanting her daughter to get burned.

Rhaena retracted her arms only a bit. She remained silent, staring at the flames and the scales of the egg as if she could will the creature inside to move.

“Half of them never hatch you know,” Laena told her. Much as she wanted to encourage her daughter’s hopes, she also knew when it was time to face reality. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“It will hatch,” Rhaena muttered. “It has to.”

“Darling…” Laena reached out to stroke her hair.

“Baela’s hatched. Why wouldn’t mine?” She argued, petulant.

Laena’s heart broke as she pulled her daughter into an embrace from behind. “Sometimes the gods have other plans for us. You could claim a dragon when we return to Westeros, wouldn’t that be nice? Your father and I will take you to Dragonstone.”

Rhaena grumbled. “Father ignores me. He prefers Baela.”

Laena furrowed her brow. “That’s not true, love.”

“It is. He trains with her all day.”

Laena hesitated briefly, searching for the words to comfort her daughter. “Your father just…he doesn’t know quite what to say at times. But he does love you.”

Her daughter looked down at her egg, running her palm over its scales in consideration. “He would spend time with me if I had a dragon. So, my egg has to hatch,” she decided.

“Rhaena-”

Her daughter pulled herself away from the embrace, scooting closer to the fire with her egg held securely in her arms. She curled herself around it slightly, like trying to warm it with her own body heat.

She didn’t cry or yell, Rhaena only stared into the fire, waiting and praying for the day that the gods would grant her the boon she so desired.

That day, as Daemon began to settle into bed for the night, Laena went to confront him. “Our daughter thinks you don’t care about her.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he said, so quickly that she was barely sure he heard what she said.

“It is, and yet she believes it,” Laena continued. “She’s driving herself mad trying to get that egg to hatch for you. And now she believes you favor Baela.”

Daemon opened and closed his mouth, unsure of what to say. “I don’t favor Baela.”

“Let her know that, then. Spend more time with her and let her know it does not matter if she has a dragon or not,” Laena explained. “Gods, I should not have to explain this to you.”

“I am doing my best, Laena,” he defended.

“You clearly are not if our own daughter thinks you do not care for her.”

Daemon sighed. “Rhaena is so different. Baela and her dragon, I can understand and connect with. You know how my mother and father were…” The words caught in his throat. “I know little of how to do this.”

“You do not have to be perfect, Daemon,” Laena told him. “But you must try. You must let our daughter know that she is loved and cherished as much as Baela is.”

A weight was lifted from her shoulders when her husband nodded his agreement. The following day, he did just as she had asked. He and Rhaena went for a walk around the city, seeing the wondrous sights of Tyrosh. A few days later, he took for a ride on Caraxes, which Rhaena raved about for hours until she wore herself out.

Laena was glad to see her daughter relax more and focus less on hatching her egg. It was only a small hurdle, Laena reasoned to herself. An easy enough fix and their precious family was just as strong as it ever was.

(Weeks passed, Laena could not help but notice that the time Daemon spent with their younger daughter was waning again. Baela and Moondancer once again became his priority. However, she argued to herself, it was not as if he was ignoring Rhaena entirely. They still spent a bit of time together and she was sure Daemon would correct it in the following weeks.

Three months after that, Laena found Rhaena sitting by the fire again, her egg still not growing warmer.)

Three years before the death of King Viserys…

Dearest sister,

I write with joyous news, Rhaenyra’s labors came and went without issue, we have a new son to care for on Dragonstone. Joffrey Velaryon, as Rhaenyra was gracious enough to let me choose the name this time.

The boys are overjoyed with their new brother. They have spoken of nothing else for weeks and they picked out his dragon egg the other day. Luke even tried to hold him once but that was surely a disaster waiting to happen.

I do so hope you will come to meet him someday, sister. I should like to meet my nieces as well before they’re too grown.

Enough about me, however. How is Volantis treating you? Qarl said he was on a trading ship that visited there once but you know him, scarce on details. The city sounds incredible from what I’ve read, does it live up to the stories?

Are Baela and Rhaena adjusting well? You wrote last that Baela was heartbroken to leave Myr and I was concerned. I remember the fit Luke had when we visited the Vale last year, he missed Dragonstone terribly and cried for days. I hope your family has not been plagued with the same.

With love, your brother,

Laenor Velaryon

Laena’s eyes flitted down to the bottom of the page where there was more writing, tiny and in a much different, distinctive hand.

If you could, tell Daemon to answer my letters. Twice now I’ve gone without a response. I had a very important question for him.

I shall write to you properly as well soon.

With love,

Rhaenyra Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone

Even further down, Laenor’s handwriting returned.

Feel free to not oblige her. She wants to know the truth of an embarrassing story Mother told us to mock him.

Laena chuckled to herself, imagining Rhaenyra hijacking Laenor’s letter and their fond bickering. It had been too long since she last saw them. Almost a decade now, which terrified her upon the realization.

How quickly the time had passed her by and yet, it also felt like so much longer. She sighed, trying not to dwell on her heartache and pulled out the next letter in her pile.

Sweet daughter,

I am glad to hear you made it safely to Volantis. Baela and Rhaena had no trouble with the journey, I trust? I know you’ve said Vhagar has taken well to them but I cannot help but worry. She is an enormous beast that can scare even the fiercest of children.

I recall when you and Laenor were their age, he was mighty terrified of Meleys. As was your father when we first met, but he’ll deny it if you ask him.

I must confess that my life isn’t half as exciting as yours. I help your father with his ships and Lord of the Tides’ business, but it really is quite dull. I never thought I’d miss the endless wheelings and dealings of court but at least days in King’s Landing always brought something new.

Your father wished me to ask if your children have gone sailing yet. I told him they were Targaryens, not of salt and sea, but he was insistent on the point. ‘Sailing is in their blood. They can be masters of the sea and the sky, if they so wish.’ I fear he’ll want to go on a tenth voyage with them when you return to Westeros.

And I dearly hope that day comes soon. I miss you every moment.

Your mother,

Rhaenys Targaryen

Laena batted at her eye, chasing away any wetness as she held the letters tightly. I miss you too, more than you could know, Laena thought and wished they could hear.

Essos was a beautiful place. Every city had a story as rich as any kingdom in Westeros and it had been a wonder to behold all the grand palaces and structures made, from the Titan of Braavos to the city of Qarth.

But it was not home.

Home was half a world away, with her mother and father, her brother and his sons. She wondered if she would even recognize Laenor and Rhaenyra after all this time. She had changed and grown much in the past ten years, surely they had as well.

More than anything, she wanted her daughters to see her home. She wanted to show them the little nooks and crannies that she and Laenor used to hide in when they didn’t want to attend lessons. She wanted to hear her father tell them the same stories of his voyages that she’d heard a thousand times before. She wanted them to stand in awe of the Iron Throne as she did the first she saw it when she was five years old.

Every part of the East had lost its luster for her. She now felt only anguish at every subsequent day spent here.

She rose from her chair and made an easy decision. It was late at night, the halls were only filled with servants and the cats their current patron was so fond of.

Baela and Rhaena were fast asleep in their chambers, or perhaps they were only pretending to be while secretly staying up to chat under the blanket. Regardless, she moved to find her husband instead, knowing precisely where he’d be at this hour.

Their patron’s library was vast, filled with tomes on the history of Essos. He was also particularly fascinated with Sothoryos with an entire section dedicated to it. His son had sailed off to the country a lifetime ago, and never returned. She suspected he never got over that loss.

Daemon was lounging in the corner, his head lolled to one side as he read old Valyrian tales of the Fourteen Flames and dragonlords.

“Husband,” she called to get his attention, lazily admiring the collection of books.

He made a noise of acknowledgement, pulling his eyes away from the book.

She pressed a brief peck to his lips then settled in the chair next to him, which was not nearly comfortable enough to read in, in her opinion.

“I got a letter from my brother. He and Rhaenyra have another son,” she told him,

“Did he say if this one also bears a striking but entirely coincidental, I’m sure, resemblance to the head of his wife’s household guard?” Daemon asked mockingly.

“He seems to have left that part out,” she deadpanned. Even from a different continent, it was hard not to hear the gossip.

The heirs to the throne are bastards, they said. Some only looked for mindless gossip, as the affairs of the Seven Kingdoms had little and less effect on them. Others wondered if it signaled an opportunity and if it indicated the Targaryen dynasty would not stand tall forever.

Laena always shrugged it off. They had dragons, whispers were of no consequence.

“Regardless of his appearance, Laenor speaks fondly of him. They are his sons in bond, if not blood,” Laena reminded him.

Daemon hummed but said nothing.

“Daemon, it is past time we went home,” she said earnestly. “I would like to meet my nephews, spend time with my family, and show our children their home. Don’t you wish that?”

Her husband sat still for a moment. Cautiously, he closed the book on his lap to set it on a nearby table as he spoke, “It is not up to us to decide when we go home.”

“It could be,” Laena pressed further. “Write to your brother. I’m sure he only needs a gentle push to allow it.”

Daemon scoffed. “Grovel at my brother’s feet and beg for his charity? No, I’d rather not.”

Laena held back a scoff of her own at his insufferable pride. “I can send a message to Rhaenyra, she’ll advocate on our behalf. A show of remorse from you is all that would be required in all likelihood.”

“Remorse?” He repeated. “That miserable twat drew his sword first and I won that duel fairly, even your father assented to that. I’ve nothing to regret.”

“It’s been almost ten years , Daemon,” she emphasized. “I don’t care if you have to lie through your teeth but it is past time we went home, where we belong.”

There were brief seconds of silence as Daemon’s features flickered, conflicted. “If my brother wished for me to come home, he would’ve written already. He’s weak willed like that.”

Laena grew fed up quickly, nostrils flaring in anger. “It is a fucking letter, Daemon. Damn your pride and your brother’s. This is what’s best for our family, our daughters.”

“What’s best?” He echoed with an odd, incredulous tone.

“Please, Daemon,” she begged him. “If not for yourself, then for me. Let’s go home.”

She clutched his arm tight, gazing hard at his violet eyes. He wavered under her direct focus, averting eye contact as he grumbled to himself. “He will not accept.”

“He will,” Laena assured him. The king allowed him home after he nearly rebelled against the crown and started a war in the Stepstones without their leave, then again once he was caught taking Rhaenyra out to brothels on Dragonstone. There was no reason for this incident to end any differently.

Daemon relented. “I’ll write to him.”

Laena breathed a sigh of relief. She raised his arm and pressed a kiss to his hand, thanking him. His lips curled in the slightest smile at her as he brushed a strand of her curls out of her face.

It will be different, better, once we’re home, she promised herself. Any resentment towards her husband will be left in Essos. Perhaps they might even give Baela and Rhaena a younger sibling, wouldn’t that be grand?

With a new spring in her step, she returned to her chambers for the night. Daemon wished to read for a while longer but promised to send the letter first thing next morning. And indeed, when she awoke, Daemon was already up and about.

A fortnight, at most. That was how much longer she had to endure, she told herself. They didn’t tell the girls yet, Daemon said he wished for it to be a surprise, but Baela did note the difference in her mother’s demeanor.

“Are we moving soon?” She guessed. “I never liked this place anyway.”

Laena chuckled, her eyes glancing around to make sure their patron at the moment did not overhear her say that. “We are lucky to be in Volantis, Baela. Try to enjoy it while you can, hm?” Not a rejection of her question to move but simply changing the conversation. It worked quite well to distract her eldest daughter for the moment.

There was no word from Westeros for twenty days, enough that Laena was starting to get anxious again. It should not have taken this long, she figured. Unless perhaps the king wanted to arrange a feast for their arrival, and thus wait to inform them, she guessed, but even she was unconvinced of that.

Were his councilors pushing back on the idea? Ser Otto was still Hand of the King, she knew, and he had feuded with Daemon for as long as Viserys had been king. If he and his allies at court were trying to persuade the king against lifting the exile, that would explain the delay.

Laena’s mind was flooded with possibilities but there was nothing she could do but wait. That was, until the day she walked into her chambers and saw her husband standing over the fireplace.

He held a piece of parchment in his hand, tightly clinging to it, enough that his knuckles turned white.

“Daemon?”

Her voice broke Daemon out of his thoughts. In an instant, he cast the letter into the flames with a huff. Laena moved at once over to his side of the room, trying to catch a glimpse of the letter but it burned quickly, turning to ash.

“What did that say? Was it from your brother?” Why didn’t you let me read it before you burned it?

“It was,” he confirmed. His tone was bitter and laced with anger as he spoke, “He does not believe my regret to be sincere. My exile stands.”

Laena furrowed her brow, shocked. That didn’t make sense to her. Galeo was no one to the king and House Otherys of no consequence to him. Why would he be so steadfast in this?

Daemon grabbed his sword from the desk and began marching to the door.

“Wait, Daemon!” She called after him. “We’re not done. I could write to Rhaenyra, get her to advocate on your behalf-”

“It is done,” he barked. “He does not want us back. Let him have his throne. There’s plenty more for us to see in Essos.”

She could get no more words in before he slammed the door behind him, off to the training yard to let out his frustration. Laena was left alone, only able to find comfort in the sheets of the bed as all her hopes came crashing down.

Fate had denied her and she would not be going home any time soon.

Two years before the death of King Viserys…

“Prince Daemon, Lady Laena, it is an honor to have you here,” Prince Reggio Haratis greeted the family on the outside of his manor. 

The city of Pentos was luxurious and comfortable, they’d stayed there several times over the course of their exile, and now, the prince of the city was offering them long term lodging at one of his estates. He was a friend of her father’s, as Pentos was a frequent trading spot for the Velaryons after they had built their initial fortune off her father’s voyages.

“I assure you, the honor is all ours,” Laena greeted as warmly as she could manage. Baela and Rhaena walked in between their parents, gazing out with wonder at the size and extravagance of the manse.

The prince was insistent on giving them the full tour. The extravagant gardens and expansive courtyard were certainly impressive, not to mention the view overlooking the city, but Laena found little joy in any of it. They’d stayed in Pentos twice before on their journeys across Essos; it held no intrigue for Laena anymore.

It did for the girls, however, thankfully. They must’ve asked a thousand questions about their new home before the tour was over, which Reggio always answered with glee. “Is there enough space for Moondancer? She’s growing larger by the day,” Baela questioned.

“Certainly, my lady,” Reggio told her. “We wouldn’t want the hatchling to grow grumpy, after all. She’ll be able to fly over the city to her heart's content and we can import any food she might need.”

“And for my dragon? When she hatches,” Rhaena asked timidly. She had her egg clutched in her arms, still without so much as a twitch from inside after years of waiting. Laena had tried to be a bit more honest about her chances, as there was a slim possibility of the egg hatching after so long, but Rhaena kept up hope. She wanted the dragon so desperately and Laena had not the heart to crush her dreams.

“Of course,” Reggio patted her shoulder. “Anything you will need for them. We are glad to host all of you.”

Reggio had a feast laid out for them when they arrived in the dining hall. Daemon sat at the head of one end while Reggio was on the other. The prince of Pentos toasted their arrival, though Laena was sure he was more excited about the arrival of their dragons. Vhagar and Caraxes in one place made Pentos all the more powerful and terrifying to their enemies, especially as there was renewed fighting in the Stepstones.

“We thank you for your hospitality, Prince Reggio,” Daemon raised his cup to their host politely. “This is a wonderful manse.”

“Thank you, my prince,” Reggio said. “I always strive to give our guests nothing but the best. The Sealord of Braavos himself was here last moon, he said it was the finest place he’d ever been.”

Daemon chuckled to himself. “Meaning no offense, let us hope the Sealord does not return while we are your guests. The blood between us has run hot in the past.”

Laena tensed a little, clutching the silverware harder than necessary. The sight of Galeo gagging and writhing as blood pooled out of his neck was burned into the back of her eyelids.

“So I’ve heard. It was quite the gossip back in the day,” Reggio mused and sipped on his goblet of wine. “You’ve no need to fret though. Lord Otherys perished a few years ago and Lord Antaryon was named the new Sealord. Truthfully, House Otherys has lost much of his influence in the past years. The late lord’s daughter now succeeds him as head of house.”

Daemon hummed. He whispered to her, “It is a good thing then that you were not shackled to that family.”

Laena smiled and hummed without any feeling behind it.

The feast was mercifully cut short with Baela and Rhaena growing tired after their long flight here and all the excitement. Reggio gladly showed them where they would be staying and bid farewell for the night. He was not the worst patron they had suffered in their time in Essos, she supposed. Still, she doubted she would find any fondness for him.

Once the twins were safely tucked into bed, she and her husband retreated to their own quarters. It was spacious and luxurious, as every room in the castle was. Reggio had laid out books for them based on the histories of Old Valyria which Daemon flipped through mindlessly as they settled into bed.

“This will be good for the girls, I should think,” Daemon mused aloud. He sat upright against the pillows, meanwhile she was laid down, blanket covering her, half attempting to find sleep yet kept awake by her incessant thoughts. “A more permanent residence, not always moving from place to place.”

Laena did not wish to act any longer. “I don’t think you even believe that yourself.”

Daemon did his best to hide it but he couldn’t fool her. She saw it in the way he stared longingly out over the Narrow Sea, the way he never indulged in any of the virtues of the cities they visited, and the smiles that never reached his eyes. He was restless and lonely, just as she was. He simply was unwilling to admit it.

“This is a wonderful place, Laena. And Prince Reggio is renowned all over for his hospitality,” Daemon told her, though his tone did not indicate he felt particularly strongly about any of it.

“We are meant for more than this, husband,” Laena said.

Daemon sighed. He turned to place the book he was barely reading on the desk nearby. “I do not know what you expect of me. I am doing what is best for our family.”

“I want to go home. Allow me to write to Rhaenyra and Laenor. They will speak to the king-”

“The king has made up his mind,” he told her firmly. “Our family is to remain where we are and our exile stands.”

“ Your exile,” she muttered.

He turned to her fully. “What?”

“Your exile,” Laena spoke louder. “Me and mine are not bound by it.”

There was a tense moment of silence between the two, her words hanging in the air. If she wished to, she could take the twins on Vhagar and fly home. There would be nothing Daemon could do to stop her.

It was a bluff, of course. She would not rob her daughters of their father. It rattled Daemon enough though, as he huffed and blew out the candles in their chambers, prepared for a silent, lonely night.

The nights after were hardly any better. The longer they stayed in Essos, the more distance there seemed to grow between her and her husband. She could not force herself to try to mend the gap, much as she felt compelled to. If Daemon was less prideful, if his brother were not so stubborn, and if he hadn’t killed Galeo as he did, they would not be in this situation.

One night, Laena shifted in the bed, uncomfortably. The blood of the dragon often ran hot, so it was said, but that was not always for the best. It was supposed to be winter but one could hardly feel it in Pentos, even in the dead of night.

Daemon returned late from a training session, keen to stay sharp in his skills despite the lack of foes they had encountered in Essos. She was still awake when he slipped into bed next to her. The two were still for a while, she thought he had gone to sleep until he broke the silence of the room.

“We will make it through this, Laena. As we always have,” he promised her, words muffled against her shoulder as he pressed his front to her back.

Laena reached up to clutch his hand, a simple gesture of affection that she hoped would begin to mend their gap. She did not like being angry at him or their circumstances, in truth. She tried to relish in his embrace, the comforting warmth of being surrounded by him, as she did when they were younger yet it was not the same. Laena couldn’t identify why.

“Some good may still come of this,” he suggested.

“Hm?” She prompted further.

His free hand traveled down her side, caressing the outline of her dress and landing at her rear. “If we are to stay in one place, perhaps we might have an opportunity to expand our family. The twins are over ten now, it is long past time.”

He gripped her body enticingly and Laena could not deny the prospect tempted her. The twins had mentioned on occasion that they would be glad for a little brother or sister and Laena missed the feeling of a babe in her arms as they grew older.

She shook her head though. If she was to have another, she wanted it to be back in Westeros, at home, surrounded by her family. Her heart ached to think of the nephews she had never met, as she knew it pained Laenor and her parents likewise that they had not met the twins. She didn’t wish to have another child cause them grief for being born in Essos, separated from their family.

“Not tonight, Daemon,” she told him.

“It has been a great while since we last had each other,” he whispered in her ear.

“Not tonight,” Laena repeated. After a beat, Daemon relented. He rolled off of her, turning his back to her in the bed.

Laena sighed and tried to drift off to sleep. She pulled the blanket tighter over her, feeling the winter chill at last, and dreaded the days to come in Pentos.

One year before the death of King Viserys…

Laena tried to put on a brave face for her children. She didn’t want to appear ungrateful to Prince Reggio either, as he was a decently kind man when he wasn’t talking about dragons. She bared her predicament as best she could, finding what little comfort she could.

Letters from her family were a treasure more precious than ever. She clung to the words on the page, imagining vividly the stories they told. Jacaerys and Lucerys ran along the coast of Dragonstone with their little dragons bounding after them, learning to fly on their own. Her father and mother took a lovely trip to Dorne to meet with Prince Qoren, recalling a time of their more adventurous youths. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra recovered slowly but surely from the loss of Ser Harwin and Laena wished desperately she could be there to help her through her grief.

While everyone else continued on, living and loving, Laena was stuck in Pentos. Piece by piece, she noticed the fractures in her bond with Daemon.

He came to bed late most nights, with the excuse of training or reading. “You don’t sleep,” she confronted him, concerned.

“How can I, with you haunting my every waking moment?” He snapped at her and stormed off.

Daemon would spend days with Baela, reading to her of ancient Valyrian history or training with her dragon, but Rhaena was neglected more and more. She would sit by the fire every night, her egg held out like the licks of the flames might reignite the stillborn creature inside.

Laenor and Rhaenyra asked time and time again for her to speak to Daemon, to convince him to write back to them. He’d ceased all contact with his family in Westeros for a reason she could never understand, drowning himself in amber wine. She had nothing but hollow excuses to give the pair.

Every day was another chip at their relationship, another argument or snide comment. He isolated himself further and further, not living anymore than she was.

One day, the last day Laena truly thought she loved Daemon, Laena got too curious for her own good. 

Daemon had not come to bed for the night, again. It was expected at this point but for some reason, on this night of all nights, Laena could not find rest without him. It is as if the gods themselves guided my feet, she would recall to herself the following day.

At the hour of the wolf, she stepped out of their chambers, a cloak wrapped around her for warmth, and explored the manse in search of her husband. He was not in the library nor the training yard, which left her at a bit of a loss for further ideas, as he rarely spent time elsewhere.

The servants she asked had little idea either of where her husband had gone. Laena trailed through the halls, up the different floors, to no avail. She had almost given up and gone back to bed when she passed by the servants’ quarters.

Sounds pricked at her ears, panting breaths, slapping skin, and the creaking of wood. Laena’s heart sank, wishing to forget what she heard already, but turned and faced the source of the noise all the same. She had to see the truth with her own eyes.

She was not oblivious to the way Daemon’s eye wandered nor the way his touch lingered a second too long on some of the servants. Yet, fool that she was, it seemed, she had trusted Daemon to have more decency than that.

Laena pushed the door ajar, quiet as can be, and peered within the room to find exactly the sight she expected. A handmaiden, her hair a shade of blonde so bright it was blinding, laid on her bed, legs spread apart, while her husband thrusted into her with abandon.

Not a moment after she saw what she needed to see, Laena spun on her heels and started walking without direction.

You should turn around, the back of her mind insisted. March into his quarters, yell and scream at him. You are the blood of the dragon, he ought to be reminded of that.

Yet, her body would not obey. She didn’t think she could find the words even if she had the strength to confront her husband. There was a fire in her heart, a deep rage, but there was also shame and regret and despair. I should’ve stayed in bed, another part of her thought. It would’ve been better not to know.

She did not think she could return to her chambers now, however. The mere sight of Daemon would give away the truth she knew and Laena was ill-equipped to have that conversation. She would not burden her children with this either.

After a few moments of consideration, Laena knew just where she needed to be.

She hurried through the halls, uncaring of any strange glances she got from servants who saw the clear anguish she was trying desperately to hide in her features. Striding out of the manse, Laena made her way down to the beaches of Pentos, where a low rumbling was sounding through the air.

Laying in the sand was her beloved Vhagar, whose golden eyes fluttered open as if she could sense Laena’s approach. Laena settled next to Vhagar’s head, stroking the mighty beast’s scales and feeling the heat below. Her dragon let out a content growl that made Laena smile slightly despite it all.

Laena sank and turned to sit, her back leaning against Vhagar’s snout. She recalled a lifetime ago when she first claimed her dragon, the freedom and exhilaration of flying high above the clouds, the whole world below her. Not even her mother’s chastisement had been enough to dampen her spirits and, before long, her father had sent her a raven celebrating the news.

“You’ve claimed a legendary mount, daughter. I could not be more proud of you,” he wrote.

Her future was hers to decide, she believed then. She was closer to gods than to men, a true Valyrian. The blood of dragons and kings thick in her veins.

Laena was the most powerful dragon rider in the world and-

She coughed, blinking away the wetness pooling in her eyes. To little avail, as once the tears began to sting, there was no holding them back. She laid back against Vhagar’s warmth, taking shallow, quick breaths.

None of who she was mattered. Daemon had made her the biggest fool of all.

Here she was, a world and ten years away from her family, weeping on the beach with just her dragon as company. She had no true friends in Essos, nothing to show for her time there. She only had her daughters, acting as chains to keep her tethered to Daemon forevermore.

Was it all a trick? She wondered. Surely not, Daemon must’ve cared for her at some point, for their family used to be so happy. Yet, he cast her aside so easily.

She tried to retrace her memories, thinking back on their happiest days. The birth of their girls, flying together over the seas, and the nights of quiet, true love they shared. 

She could find not a hint of the man who would treat her as he had the last years.

Laena brushed Vhagar’s scales, wondering further about her past. Would she be happier in another life with a different husband? Had she simply made a horrible, wrong choice somewhere along the way?

Viserys, her father’s choice, could’ve accepted her match. She rejected the idea quickly, however. The man had a permanent paramour of his own, as Daemon was keen to hear about and mock. In near twenty years, he had never wed her despite his widower status. Not a man she could trust to treat her kindly, she figured.

Galeo, she dwelled on for longer. He was curt and unkind to her all those years ago, but then, they were still young then.

She tried to recall the melody he played for her on the balcony and the stories he told of his mother. They were lost to time, she feared, but the vague recollection made her curious.

If she had rejected Daemon’s proposal that day, would she and Galeo have ever worked? Laena tried to dream about it, raising children in Braavos and being able to visit her family often. He might have taught them to sing while she taught them to fly on dragon back. Maybe she should’ve had faith in her father’s match and listened less to the fanciful tales of their ancestors…

She trailed off. Or perhaps Galeo would not have changed. He could’ve easily stayed as he was, ignoring and resenting her. She couldn’t say, she supposed, as she hardly knew him. 

Perhaps it was better not to know. It was possible she would've been just as miserable anywhere, with any man, as she was now.

It didn’t matter. The deeds were done and the ink long past dry. 

She could follow through on her threat to Daemon, she idly dreamed. Take her children and return to Westeros, unbound by Daemon’s exile. Her daughters would never abide it though, they’d kick and scream, not wishing to leave their father, and Daemon would hear about it long before they arrived at the shore.

She could defy his wishes and send a raven to Rhaenyra and Laenor, asking for them to plead the king on their behalf. But she doubted removing the exile would do much. If Daemon was insistent on saying then stay they shall, he would hear no more of it.

Laena’s ideas floated away with the wind, no closer to a solution than when she started. She hated to feel so helpless but no matter what she did, she would hurt her daughters or herself. Staying was poison for her but they would be loath to leave.

Vhagar grumbled next to her, seeming to note her inner turmoil. Laena was welcome for the brief distraction, calming Vhagar with strokes on her snout.

“Thank you for being loyal and true, Vhagar,” she whispered to her dragon in High Valyrian. Without thinking more about it, Laena clambered up the side and onto her beast’s saddle. She could not leave but flying always helped clear her head.

Vhagar lumbered to her feet, getting a running head start before she took off, wings clapping like thunder in the sky. Once the mighty dragon leveled out in the air, Laena leaned back in the saddle.

She felt her hair flow back, wildly and free, in the rushing winds. She took her hands off the saddle and spread her arms as if she herself could fly. Unbidden, Vhagar let out a loud roar, likely waking most of Pentos but it made Laena smile to herself all the same.

It wasn’t true freedom, she knew. She would have land eventually. But for an hour or two, she chose not to dwell on it. Laena focused on the heat beneath the saddle contrasting the coolness of the air and the rhythm of Vhagar’s flight.

Laena closed her eyes and imagined she was two and ten again, with not a care for men or marriage or exiles. She could relax after dinner with her brother and her parents, her father telling his outlandish tales and her mother sneaking the two of them away to give Meleys her dinner.

Gods, how I want to go home.

The death of King Viserys…

The raven came on a day like any other. Laena received it first, seeing and understanding the words on the page yet they didn’t feel real. She trailed through Reggio’s palace as if on a puppeteer’s string. How can I tell Daemon? She asked herself. What words could there possibly be? She imagined if it was her, if it was Laenor who the raven was about, what would she want to hear? But then, Daemon was so different from her. Perhaps she’d never understood her husband at all.

She found him drinking on the rooftops, staring out over the sunset. He noticed the solemn look in her features immediately and the letter clutched in her hand. “A raven came…from Rhaenyra,” she told him. “Concerning your brother.”

He wordlessly took it from her hands, his touch delicate like he was afraid the parchment would wither and turn to dust. It was all she could do to watch as he absorbed the news on the page, pressing a hand to his shoulder to offer any comfort she could, if he would accept it.

Dear Laena and Daemon,

There is no easy way to write this. My father is dead. He passed in the night, due to the illness that had been plaguing him these past years. I was lucky to be in the city at the time and my family shared his final meal with him.

I have spoken with the council. Though I am not officially queen yet, my voice carries the same weight. Daemon’s exile is lifted, as it should’ve been long ago. I wish for you both to come home and to attend the funeral and coronation. It is a difficult day for us all, but I know it would gladden both mine and Laenor’s spirits to see you both again, as I hope it would gladden yours.

There is no need to send word ahead, simply arrive as quickly as you can. Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys are already on their way to King’s Landing and will hopefully be here when you arrive.

I cannot wait to see you both again.

With all my love and deepest condolences,

Rhaenyra Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone

Bitterness dampened her joy at the news. They were going home but too late for Daemon to reconcile with his brother. Much as her heart had hardened against her husband, she did not wish to see him in such anguish.

He blinked rapidly and his lip quivered in the most subtle way. He held back his emotions, as he always did. She wanted to reach out, tell him that he did not have to remain strong at this moment. It was okay to let himself feel grief for his brother. He recoiled slightly from her touch though when she reached for his hand.

“I should prepare the dragons,” he muttered, his tone so different and devoid of the sorrow peeking through on his features that it caught her off guard a bit. “See that they are ready for the journey home.”

Laena nodded reluctantly. “I’ll see to it that Rhaena and Baela are packed and ready to leave at first light.”

“And Prince Reggio, he’ll need to be told of our intentions to leave,” he reminded himself. He took a shaky breath, glancing out at the city of Pentos, as if he was deciding whether it was truly right to leave. In that, Laena knew there was no debate. “To King’s Landing, then.”

Laena held Rhaena tightly to her front as Vhagar flew through the air, every movement lurching them up and down wildly. Baela was with her father on the even more erratic Blood Wyrm. They sailed over the clouds covering the Narrow Sea, passing by ships and tiny islands on their way.

Laena could’ve wept upon seeing her homeland again, far in the distance, but she kept her poise in front of her daughter. Rhaena only looked at it in awe and wonder, like Westeros was a mythical place from the fairytales of her youth.

“There are more dragons in the city, aren’t there?” She asked her mother.

Laena grinned. “That there are. More than half a dozen of them, ready to claim for anyone with enough daring.”

She could not help but linger slightly as they soared above Driftmark. She saw the ports her father would bring her to and the splendor of High Tide. Oh, how she wished to land and explore it all again, but there was not time for that yet.

“I’ll take you there,” she promised Rhaena. “I’ll show you every corner of my home.”

For now, they pushed on. They touched Westerosi soil again at the Dragonpit of King’s Landing. This time, Laena did, in fact, weep when she slipped off Vhagar with her daughter in tow and her feet hit the ground for the first time in over a decade. Her daughters looked at her inquisitively and a tad worried but she could hardly contain her emotions. Her composure fell entirely when she saw her family waiting for her.

Her mother reached her first. “My little Laena, how you’ve grown,” Rhaenys said in a broken voice before enveloping her in the tightest hug that Laena reciprocated in equal measure. Her daughters gravitated over towards their grandfather who knelt down to their level.

“You both look just like your mother did at your age,” he laughed, pulling them into an embrace. They had a thousand questions for him, asking the truth of the stories Laena had told them. He had explored Essos thoroughly as well and it was the only home the girls had ever known.

It was no sooner after she and her mother finally separated that Laenor practically tackled her in a hug. Even as the soon-to-be King Consort of Westeros, he had absolutely no sense of decorum, but Laena was glad for that.

He looked so different, she could not help but note. The toll of having children and a crown now weighed on him, his features looked mature even as he acted as easygoing as ever. “I scarcely recognize you,” he agreed without having to know her thoughts before they pulled each other into another embrace.

Rhaenyra and Daemon approached each other as well. They hugged in silence, no words to understand the grief they were both feeling.

After Laena reunited with her father and Rhaenyra, she then introduced her daughters to her family. They took quickly to their grandmother and their cousins, Jace and Luke, who Laena was overjoyed to finally meet.

The next hours passed in a blur, almost too quickly to comprehend. Together, the united house of the dragon was shepherded back to the keep to prepare for the funeral. They had nary a moment to waste as they bathed and changed into appropriate black attire. Her daughters had never been to a funeral before but she knew they would behave themselves accordingly. She had certainly not forgotten to teach them their proper manners in Essos.

The funeral itself was a short affair. Rhaenyra had the honor of lighting the pyre with Syrax. The king’s body caught fire in an instant, the smoke filling the air as he turned to ashes and scattered to the winds.

Next to her, Daemon stood rigid, as quiet as ever. Cautiously, she reached out to take his hand and he did not pull away, meeting her gaze for a second before getting lost in his thoughts again.

Perhaps, she hoped, Westeros would be a new beginning for the pair of them. They could leave their baggage behind in Essos, the fights and his affairs. Start all again like it was when Laena first fell in love with him. Wouldn’t that be grand? She dreamed. Yet a part of her also knew it was a fool’s wish.

Laena felt little watching Viserys burn. She hadn’t spoken to the king since that day he was offered her hand in marriage, a lifetime ago. So, she put her effort instead in comforting her husband, Rhaenyra, and her nephews who had all been closer to the man.

They would need it for the following day, she figured.

After the sun set and rose again, it was time for the grand coronation. The smallfolk were ushered into the Dragonpit and Syrax flew freely above the city, signaling to all who this day was honoring.

“The king is dead! Long live the queen!” They cheered.

Rhaenyra looked as regal as ever, draped in a black Targaryen dress with gold lining. She carried Blackfyre and the conqueror’s dagger on her belt to complete the look of a proper Targaryen monarch. She had pushed down the misery of yesterday, showing only strength and poise as she walked through the crowd, flanked by guards who created a path for her, and stepped onto the main stage of the Dragonpit.

It is a historic day, Laena thought. Rhaenyra was the first ruling queen of the Seven Kingdoms. With no trueborn siblings, none could challenge her claim, save the family that was all around her, supporting her on this day.

The septon ordained her in the sight of gods and men, then it was Daemon’s turn to play his part. As the only potential rival to her claim, the council thought it would be a good show for the lords to see Daemon crown Rhaenyra personally, a sign that the whole of House Targaryen stood behind her as ruler.

Once King Jaehaerys’ crown, then Viserys’, was now placed on Rhaenyra’s brow, shimmering in gold in the midday sun. “Let the Seven bear witness! Rhaenyra Targaryen is the true heir to the Iron Throne!” Daemon yelled loud enough for the tens of thousands of smallfolk packed within the pit to hear.

One by one, everyone on the main stage bowed to Rhaenyra. First it was her councilors, Ser Otto, Ser Tyland, Lord Jasper, Lord Commander Westerling, and the Grand Maester, then Laena’s mother and father. Laena and Daemon came next, before finally Laenor bowed his head to her.

The septon shouted above all, “All hail Her Grace! Rhaenyra, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!”

Laena was among the few lucky enough to sit at the head table during the feast afterwards. Rhaenyra sat in the center, accepting pledges of fealty from every lord who attended the coronation.

Remarkably, each lord was more exhausting than the last. Jason Lannister couldn’t resist the chance to speak of how grandiose Casterly Rock was and stroke his own ego at recalling how he once vied for Rhaenyra’s hand in marriage. After that, Borros Baratheon blundered his way up, poorly hiding his distaste for the queen behind grumbled words.

Lord Larys Strong came next, slowly climbing the stairs with his cane. “Apologies if I cannot sink to one knee, Your Grace. All the same, I, Larys Strong, Lord of Harrenhal, swear my loyalty to Queen Rhaenyra, the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.” He bowed his head as low as it could go without falling to the ground.

Rhaenyra waved a hand so he could stand upright again. “How is Harrenhal, my lord?” She asked idly to be polite to the lord.

“Much the same as always, which is to say, quite dreary and lonely,” he shrugged. “I’m afraid to say my brother would’ve been much more suited to lordship than I am.”

Laena glanced across the table, watching Rhaenyra’s features flicker at the mention of Harwin.

“He spoke about you often, you know,” Larys mentioned. “To have my brother’s complete trust, that is how I know you will be an excellent queen.”

Rhaenyra cleared her throat. “Thank you, Lord Larys. Ser Harwin was a good man.”

“That he was, Your Grace,” Larys agreed. He smiled in a way that unnerved Laena. It towed the line between sincere and mocking but without any true feeling behind it. With another bow of his head, he took his leave.

Not long after him came Ser Otto Hightower. After he made his oaths, he rose to his feet to speak to the queen. “I must say, Your Grace, that was a coronation that would’ve surely made your father proud. You wear the crown with dignity.”

“How kind of you, Ser Otto,” Rhaenyra recited without any feeling in her voice, which Otto picked up on quickly.

“It was always his wish for you to succeed him. He upheld that steadfastly and now, look at you. You’ve made history,” he complimented.

Rhaenyra evidently tired of his flattering quickly. “If you wouldn’t mind, Ser Otto…” she gestured to the other lords behind him waiting to make their pledges.

Awkwardly, he nodded. “Of course. I only wished to say that I have served your great-grandsire and your father for many years. I hope we will do great work together as well, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra did not dignify that with a response, waiting for him to turn and walk away of his own accord.

“Miserable cunt,” Daemon muttered, taking a drink from his goblet of wine.

Rhaenyra chuckled. “He has no shame at all.”

“Perhaps it is time for a change,” Daemon suggested. “He was your father’s Hand, not yours.”

Rhaenyra hummed, swirling the wine in her cup. After a second of deliberation, she decided. “I cannot trust him. You may be right.”

Laena watched out of the corner of her eye as Daemon moved a bit closer, whispering to Rhaenyra. The two discussed something in low voices, Laena could only assume it was about the position. Daemon had always coveted it, she knew. Much as she loved her husband, it was plain to see to anyone that he was not suited to the duty. The fact that he’d spent the past twelve years away from Westeros and was far behind in its affairs only added to the reasons against him.

When Daemon left briefly to visit an old friend of his from the City Watch, Laena leaned over to her cousin. Some might call it disgraceful, against the gods, to plot against one’s own husband. Laena would call it pragmatic and for the good of the realm. And it wasn’t plotting, she defended herself in her own mind, it was a mere suggestion.

“If you are looking for a new Hand, might you consider my father? He is one of the most renowned lords in history for a reason.”

Rhaenyra hummed, her eyebrows raising, intrigued. “It may also smooth over some old wounds,” she remarked to herself. Laena didn’t know the full story of how her father reacted to Rhaenyra’s children, but she can’t imagine it was pleasant.

“Something to think about,” Laena said simply.

The feast continued on for hours with many and more lords Laena didn’t recognize passing by. She could not help but think about Rhaenyra’s wedding, held so many years in this exact hall. It was a lifetime ago, all the faces she recalled from back then drifting away. Everything was familiar, just as she left it, yet it felt almost wrong.

She’d been away from Westeros for too long, she knew. It would take time to adjust to being home, to being around her family again. She hoped Baela and Rhaena would handle the change well. Jace and Luke were already showing them around the castle, bounding with energy, and they seemed to get along. They hadn’t had many friends in Essos, growing up constantly moving. It would be good for them, she figured.

Perhaps the idea would be good for her as well. Laenor and Rhaenyra knew her from twelve years ago. There was a deep love there but they didn’t quite know her as she was now. New people to connect with and to know her without the baggage of her long absence might lift her spirits, she figured.

It was a possibility to dwell on, at least.

Days later, Laena had sequestered herself in the library. She needed a reprieve from all the lords welcoming her home and trying to flatter her husband. There were still a few lords who thought Daemon would press his claim on the throne, a worrying thought, but Laena believed her husband was sincere in his commitment to Rhaenyra’s reign.

The bells tolled in the city and there were shouts coming from the courtyard below, dull background noise as Laena read a book on the history of the Riverlands. It was a bit of a bore but she was almost glad for it. She’d have enough adventures for a lifetime.

Her time alone was interrupted as the door was pushed open, a man carrying a stack of books surely too tall for him. His white robes and the chain around his neck signaled to her quickly that it was the Grand Maester.

“Greetings, Grand Maester. Orwyle, isn’t it?” She asked.

He startled slightly, not noticing she was there. “Apologies for the intrusion, my lady.”

“None needed.”

There was a beat of awkward silence as Orwyle placed the stack of books on a desk. He grabbed one at a time, moving them back to their proper place in the library’s organization. Just as she was about to continue reading, Orwyle asked a meaningless question to fill the void.

“Are you glad to be home in Westeros, my lady?”

Laena hummed. “Essos got old quickly, I must admit. So many cities, each with their own culture and customs and most hate the others. It got quite exhausting to keep moving.”

“I can imagine. Though, such a rich continent surely holds much knowledge we don’t have here. It intrigues me, at least,” Orwyle admitted. He shuffled around more, putting the books back on the shelves.

“Have you never studied Essos yourself?” She inquired.

“I’m afraid not, my lady. I focused on healing and herblore when I was a novice. And I haven’t the time to pursue my studies these days, naturally,” Orwyle explained. “However, my mother was from Essos, she told me a few stories when I was a boy.”

“Was she?” Laena said, intrigued.

“Indeed. She hardly spoke the common tongue but came all the way to Oldtown because she heard it was the greatest city in Westeros. She thought I might make something of myself by becoming a maester but I daresay she did not expect the position of Grand Maester was in the cards. An advisor to the king personally, it is still hard to believe myself at times.”

Laena smiled at the story. It was simple and quaint compared to the life she’d lived. A common born boy rising so high in the ranks of the Citadel, it was a nice story, she thought.

“Were you close with the king?” She continued, curious. Even with her family’s letters, she knew very little about the man.

Orwyle hesitated for a moment. “I tended to his illness and helped to stop the spread of most of it. I sat on his council for years. But we were not any closer than that. He preferred to turn to the Hand or the Master of Coin for advice. Unless he needed a raven sent or a pot of moon tea brewed, that is.”

Orwyle put the last book on the shelf then. It seemed that was the end of their brief talk but an idea nagged at Laena’s mind. Something had bothered her for years and, with the king dead, she thought no one would hold the answers she sought. But perhaps the answer was with Orwyle. It was worth a try.

“Grand Maester, did the king consult you for all his letters?” She prompted further.

“Yes, my lady. Especially in the later years of his life, after he lost his fingers and his penmanship grew shaky, I was tasked with rewriting them, alongside sending them. One of my assistants keeps a list of any and all letters sent by His Grace,” Orwyle explained.

She hummed then. “Do you recall a letter sent by the king some years ago? It would’ve been to Volantis, to his brother.”

The Grand Maester appeared confused. “What were the contents of this letter?”

“I had asked my husband to petition his brother about seeing his exile lifted. We’d been away from Westeros for near a decade at that point which seemed like punishment enough, in my opinion. Regardless, His Grace sent a raven back denying the request,” Laena explained. “There is no changing the past, I suppose. Yet it has bothered me all the same these years, did he tell you why he made that choice?”

“Some years ago to Volantis,” Orwyle repeated, deep in thought, seeing if he could recall the letter by memory alone.

“It is only…the king had forgiven my husband’s past transgressions many times over. I fail to see why he cared so much about Galeo’s death in particular, enough to condemn us to exile.”

“My lady,” Orwyle began tentatively. “Forgive me, I may have to check the archives, but as I recall, the king never drafted a letter to Volantis.”

The maester’s words sat in the air for a few moments, neither person sure what to say next.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“We send very few letters to Essos as it is, outside of trade requests and imports. I could check if you’d like but I simply cannot recall any raven sent to Volantis, much less to the king’s own brother. I keep track of the ravens personally so I do not think the king could’ve done this without my knowing.”

Laena blinked once, then twice, the realization setting in. “Did you ever receive a letter from Prince Daemon?”

“Not to my knowledge, my lady,” Orwyle spoke sympathetically.

“Oh,” was all Laena could manage.

Another tense second of silence passed.

“I could check the archives if it would ease your mind. My memory may be failing me-”

“No, no,” she waved it off. “That is all right. Thank you, Grand Maester.”

Orwyle seemed tempted to say more, watching her with pity, but instead he simply bowed and left the room.

Once she was alone, Laena let out a laugh, dry and humorless. She tossed the book on her lap to a nearby desk. Laena buried her head in her hands, taking large, heaving breaths. A sting in her eye brought her back to reality, standing up straight with jarring speed.

She’d shed enough tears for Daemon Targaryen, she decided.

What’s one more lie? She told herself. You already knew who he was.

Still, this betrayal buried itself deep in her. For years, she languished in Essos because of his deeds and all her tears and begging apparently weren’t enough to convince him to send one fucking letter home to end their punishment.

So self-absorbed in his own pity and stubbornness that he would’ve condemned them to never see Westerosi land again if that was what it took to avoid admitting his mistake. His betrayals had once brought her despair but now, they brought fury.

Laena was home and free, at last. It would be different here, she decided, though not the way she imagined back at the funeral.

She met her husband for dinner that night but she did not tell him what she now knew.

“You’ll never believe who came to visit me,” Daemon boasted, chuckling. She didn’t care to hear but Daemon pressed on anyway. “Alicent Hightower. My brother’s little whore still thinks she has a place here.” He laughed and sipped on his goblet of wine, talking then of how it was a proper drink unlike the kinds in Essos.

As if she was seeing him with a clearer mind, Laena ceased to find any enjoyment in his japes and quips. All she could think of was the lie he’d told and how little he cared for her feelings to have done so. She thought of the anguish Rhaena was in every day, begging for a dragon to make him proud, and the whores he ran off to fuck the moment Laena pushed back on him.

Vhagar soared in the sky outside, stretching her wings and reminding Laena again that she was no longer alone. She was home with her family, her loving mother, her proud father, and her stalwart brother. And, of course, Laena had her dragon.

She was the grandest dragon to ever live and she had chosen Laena as her rider, a fact which meant more to Laena than any vow Daemon had ever sworn to her.

She went to sleep that night with hope in her heart and a plan in her head. Laena would never again be bound by Daemon Targaryen. She was freer now than she ever was and her future was hers to decide.