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Chapter Text

“ You are a dragon ” 

His father's words echoed through the endless darkness, again and again, they were the same words he had spoken to Aegon as a boy. 

He was a dragon. The blood of the dragon run through his veins, as it coursed through Balerion's. 

Aegon found himself alone in that void, dark and cold as death, where all creatures seemed to have vanished. 

A scent pierced his nostriles, one he knew well, the briny smell of salt, mingled with the heavy scent of brimstone. It was the odor of Dragonstone, the scent of Home.

Home. 

But the familiar scent faded swiftly, replaced by the stench of ash, Aegon raised his hand, his eyes widened as he saw his skin smoldering, the flames licking at him, hungry for the fire in his blood, for life. 

Fire then enveloped him, consuming his flesh, yet he felt no pain. Instead, there was a strange warmth in it, a comfort. 

“ You are a dragon ”

He stared into the eyes of the dragon before him,eyeds like bloodstones , red, bloody. The dragon's scales shimmered, blacker than the deepest shadows. 

He was a dragon, the last of his race, Aegon mused, he was fire and blood. 

The dragon’s throat opened wide, its bloodied fangs gleaming , and a crackling spark ignited deep within, the flame gathering. In a heartbeat, the earth trembled as Aegon was consumed by the molten Dragon's breath, lava swallowed him whole. 

You are the Dragon. 

The flames rose once more, twisting and writhing in the emptiness. From within, a figure emerged, a shadowed girl, her body alight, consumed by the same flames that had devoured him. The air itself seemed to burn with her.. 

Around her small, trembling body , three dragons spiraled, their wings slicing against her unburnt soft flesh. Their roars filled the night—deep, thunderous, a sound born of fire and blood. 

And a red comet fell. 

Aegon stirred, his eyes fluttering open, as the voice, intense, repeating, echoed within his skull. Above him, the roof of the tent loomed high and distant, its heavy fabric as dark as a starless night. Slenders shafts of golden dawn crept in through the narrow seams of the tent, their light falling across his face, soft and warn. He hadn't meant to close his eyes, yet sleep had claimed him for but a fleeting moment. 

His head throbbed with a relentless ache. He was used to it. Aegon could scarce recall the last night he had known a peacful slumber. Such solace had long eluded him. 

He shifted in the wooden chair, Blackfyre still heavy at his hip. The blade had drunk deep. Aegon thought bitterly as his glaze fell into his hands, clad in a black leather gloves smeared with sood and streaked with blood. 

His eyes narrowed, his lips thinned. 

His steps were heavy and slow as he drew his way out of the tent. Oustide, the world was a battlefield still breathing its last. Smoke curled into the sky, pierced by spears of golden dawn. Piles of burned bodies accumulated, twisted and blackened, crisom pools still wet beneath them. 

From afar came the harsh voices of tyroshi warriors, moving among the death, their boots crunching against ash and bone, searching for any pirate whose lungs still drew breath. 

“It's over” Ser Quenton Quoherys, his master-in-arms spoke, from behind, his voice hardly a grasp. His face semeared with blood and ash. “ We are victorious, My lord ”. 

“Is that victory? ”Aegon's lips moved, as his eyes swept over the field, lingered on the corpses of men who fought for him, and who had sought his death. Flesh and blood, now nothing but lifeless husks, all the same in the end. 

“We have cleared the Bloodstones of its various pirates, those who preyed upon on the merchants of the Velaryons and Tyrosh.” Ser Quenton explained as he wiped a streak of blood from his brow “ And this is all thanks to your cunning plan, and the dragons...” 

Aegon's eyes turned to Balerion, one of the last three of his kind in this world.Thick black smoke was billowed from his giant nostrils. As he unfurled his wings to hover over the corpses, his black shadow swallowed the entire field. 

The shrill, desperate scream of a woman drifted through the air, faint at first, then growing louder and louder, Aegon’s gaze shifted, his eyes locked on the source of the cries—a woman, struggling, surrounded by four men, their hands greedily pulling at her clothing. 

“ Are those men of yours? ” Aegon's voice was low, icy. As he turned to Ser Quenton, his gaze sharp, his face as stone. 

“ Yes, My Lord.” Quenton replied. 

“ Constrain them before the others and severe their heads ”Aegon ordered, his eyes unflinching. 

Quenton remained frozen in his stance for a while before he spoke, “When blood is shed, men's blood boils, it stirs hot within them,  they would do such to any with a slit between the th ighs. In fact, it is a common thing after battles. I don't think sever... ” 

Aegon's cold gaze halted him mid-sentence.

Without adding a single word, Quenton leaned back. 

Aegon took two deliberate steps, through the fallen. His boots sinking into blood and ashes. Death and blood, Death and fire.... Blood and fire, Fire and Blood. 

His eyes flicked to the Tyroshi soliders as they hauled the trembeling surviving slaves, dragging them through the bloody mare.

They bound them with tight ropes, their fingers rough and somehow unfeeling. 

The Tyroshis have long traded in slaves, Aegon thought, his gazdistant. Since the days of the Ancient Freehold, when the Dragonlords soared above the world, casting  shadows over all beneath. 

The bellow of the second dragon aloft stirred Balerion to lift his mighty head, his deep-throated roar answered. 

The lesser she-dragon, clad in scales of dim  green, swept her wings sharply. Her talons curled like a reaper’s claw as she descended, sliding to the ground. 

She let out a louder growl this time. 

From the black saddle, his sister swung down . She was clad in a blackened steel  armor that had a cruel elegance, the chest adorned with gleaming onyx stones.About her shoulders, green-golden scales glimmed.

Her brow arched sharply, her lips pressed into a cold, sharp thin line. 

A long braid of silver-gold hair coiled over her right shoulder, catching the faint glow, as her dark violet eyesc, near-black in their intensity, swept over the field. 

She approched him with steady, resolute steps, her valyrian blade at her side, its pommel brushing against the curve of her hip. 

The Narrow Sea wind caught her blood-red cloack, faring it. 

"Why do you not wear your armor?" she demanded, her voice low, sharp and laden  with reproach. "I know you lack the years of battle I’ve seen, but to shed your armor now is a folly, a one that could cost you your very life ”. 

Visenya was the first to step onto the battlefield, Six years before him. At just fourteen, she had led Vaghar and a fleet of ships to crush a pirate scourge. 

Aegon, however, had shown little interest.

Despite their father's relentless urging, he did not take the field until he was seventeen—just two years ago— he entered the field just when there was no longer a choice. 

Yet, the taste of battle is still bitter on his tongue. 

“ After our father’s dragon fell, Balerion alone remains to have seen the glories of  Old Valyria,” Visenya said, her eyes fixed upon the great black beast as he was tearing the flesh with ruthless hunger. She turned her gaze to him, her words biting, “ The death of our father’s means you will take part in every Targaryen raid from this day on. No more lingering in Dragonstone shadows ”

Shadows of Dragonstone was far more to his liking, Aegon thought, his mind drifting as his eyes fell upon the blood beneath his boots. 

There was not much time left until he would go to  Home—Dragonstone. He could almost feel the island's pulse, hear the low murmur of fishermen calling out from the  harbor, the scent of pine mingling with the sharp sting of brimstone, smoke, and salt in the air.

He thought of Orys, his burning eyes , and of Rhaenys, her laughter like music to his ears, her voice a light in the shadows.

It's been eight months. 

Ser Quenton's voice cut through his thoughts like a blade. “ Here she is,”  he said, his tone sharp, as he dragged the woman before him. She seemed almost lifeless, her legs unable to carry her. 

As they drew near, the woman collapsed at his feet, her frail body crumpling to the ground. Her clothes were little more than rags, torn and tattered, barely covering her thin, bruised bodt.

She raised her trembling hands to her breasts , as though trying to shield herself  , while the tears flowed freely down her coal-streaked cheeks. 

Aegon stood still, watching, his eyes hard. 

“ Who is She ? ” Visenya asked. 

"One of the slaves who followed the pirates into their lairs," Ser Quenton said, his voice low.

"One of their whores, then,”  Visenya declared, her eyes narrowing with disdain as she regarded the woman. 

His sister’s gaze lifted, her eyes narrowing as the distant sounds of their men being castrated reached her ears. 

“ What do they do?” Visenya asked sharply. 

Her voice was enough to strike fear into even the bravest of men. 

“ They meant to rape her ” Ser Quenton replied.

Visenya raised an eyebrow. "So, you chose to punish them alone, Ser?" she asked, her tone cold. 

Before Ser Quenton could draw breath to speak, Aegon’s voice cut, quietly yet firmly. “I decided that,” he said. 

His sister's sharp eyes turned to him. 

Aegon tugged his thick red cloack from his shoulders. With a quiet move , he draped it over the emaciated form of the woman at his feet, covering her frailty. 

“ Were those being dragged also of your company? ”he inquired. 

“ Y...Y... Yes.. ” she muttered. 

The Archon’s aim had been plain from the start–to reclaim his slaves and see them returned to the markets, Aegon reasoned. And so, he argued they should not set flame to the Burrows from within, for it was here that some of their own had been stolen by pirates. 

The notion of using soldiers as bait to draw the pirates out was one Aegon would have devised in any case, but here, he found himself a willing instrument in those people  enslavement once more.

How, then, was he any different from the man who drags them to their chains?

“ Take her to your tent,” Aegon ordered Ser Quenton, his tone flat. “ Give her something to ease the dryness of her throat.”

He tracked them with his gaze as they vanished amidst the litter of the slain, making their way to the tents where the men of House Targaryen made their camp.

“So?” Visenya’s voice was sharp as steel, her cold, hard eyes boring into him, her lips curling in disdain. “Have you cast off your cloak now, only to drape it over some whore of those accursed pirates? The same scum who severed our trade routes to Dragonstone and brought our people to the brink of starvation? Are you a fool?”

Aegon didn't answer. 

“What now? Have you lost your tongue?” Visenya sneered. “We did not march here to swaddle the whores of our vanquished foes, nor to grant them warmth. We came to bring them fire and blood. ” 

She was wroth, and he needed only to meet her gaze to know it. 

“ Why do you stand silent by the doom ?” Visenya's voice rang sharp and unforgiving. "Would you dare make the choice to geld your men without the Lord of Dragonstone leave ? Our Lord father would find no satisfaction in such folly from his heir!”. 

“ Men who prey upon the helpless have no place beneath my command ”, Aegon ruled quietly. 

His sister's eyes held him, unblinking, as he stood there in silence, giving her no reply. 

“Our father was a fool to place you at the head of our host , given that your only counsel comes from the dust of books in that wretched Dragonstone library,” She said. “I pray you’ve the wit  to explain yourself when we return ”

She let out a heavy sigh before turning around sharply. 

“ There’s no sense in parleying with a fool like you," Visenya sneered. "I do not fault you.It is all on Father. You are not fit to lead, you are reckless, and your choices are folly. You bear no sense of duty, nor any understanding of consequence ” 

The sound of a laugh sliced through her words, and Aegon knew it well. It was the Archon’s. 

His voice was like the croak of a dying crow. 

“ What a sight! ” he cried, “ Fire and blood! Dragons! By the gods, you are truly the last of the Valyrians! ”

As the Archon drew near, his golden garments clinking with each step. Aegon could see the layers of silks piled upon his bulging  belly, hiding the gluttony beneath. His teeth, blackened and foul, gleamed through a twisted grin, while his pale, purplish beard could scarcely conceal the sagging rolls of his jowls, hanging like bloated sacks of flesh.

He lifted his greedy green eyes towards the two dragons. With a low chuckle, he clasped his hands together, each finger adorned with a ring set with some rare and glittering stone. 

“ It is the last of Valyria’s magic! ” he cried, "How we are blessed to see such rare a sight, to gaze upon them... the last of their kind. "

His voice seemed to bother his sister, who turned to face him. 

"I doubt you have come all this way merely to sing the praises of our dragons," Visenya spoke. 

Thr Archon laughed. 

"A sharp mind, my lady," —he observed, his eyes drifting briefly to Aegon.— "In thanks for your efforts and your upper hand wich you've dealt with the dangers to us, I would extend an invitation to your tent this evening. There, we might speak of the chance to send a letter to your Lord Father in Dragonstone, to entertain the notion of a most profitable alliance. ”

“ A most profitable alliance... ” Aegon muttered. 

“ Pardon.. My lord ” 

“ I would be honored to ” Aegon replied. 

The Archon's smile widened. 

His right hand clasped his left in a languid, ostentatious gesture as he stepped closer. The heavy scent of perfumes, meant to cloak his stench, only seemed to worsen with his approach. He extended both hands toward Aegon, his clammy palms brushing against his skin and spoke in a low, oily voice, “It would please me greatly to discuss the terms of our alliance with you, Aegon Targaryen, the dragons lord ”

The tent was awash with the soft hues of dawn, reds and purples bleeding through the fabric, as Aegon stepped back inside.

He strode to his chest of garments, unfastened the latch, and drew forth a cloak, draping it over his shoulders with practiced ease.

"So, you mean to forge an alliance here, on this desolate, windswept isle, without the knowledge or blessing of our Lord Father?" Visenya's voice cut through the stillness as she entered the tent. 

“ I shall hear him out,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “ That does not mean I have given my consent.”

“ You cannot give your consent,” Visenya noted sharply. “ Such matters rest with Lord Dragonstone alone. And the judgment upon the men—" her gaze hardened, “ —should have been made with my counsel first. I am no mere shadow; I am here as well.”

Aegon remained silent. 

“ Mark my words, brother ” Visenya told him, her tone unyielding. “ This silence of yours will not sield you forever. I am your wife to be, Your Lady of Dragonstone as well —It is my birthright, by blood and by right. You can't turn a blind eye to my words forever. I trust you not need reminding ”

She strode toward him, each step firm. 

“ And I shall be there, with you and the Archon,” she declared, her voice laced with coldness . “ I trust you won’t mind.” 

Those were her final words, biting, before she turned on her heel and stormed from the tent. Her anger crackling in the air. 

Aegon’s gaze lingered on his gloves, heavy with blood and ashes . Slowly, deliberately, he drew them off, the leather creaking faintly with each motion. His eyes never left his hands. 

The last of the Valyrians. 

The words echoed in his ears bitterly. 

He took the gloves and dipped them into a basin of water, the clear liquid swiftly tainting with blood, turning to a murky blackenned red. 

There was wine on the table, its deep red hue beckoning, yet Aegon paid it no mind. Nothing had touched his lips since the day before, and still, the thought of drinking held no appeal. His throat felt tight.

Volantis' ambition was clear — expansion, and the thought of it made Aegon’s brow tighten. They would do more than send pirates to disrupt trade; they would send armies, if need be, to carve their will upon what they believed it was theirs. Their reach would stretch beyond the Narrow sea, and the Targaryens would find themselves standing in their way.

He could not say if his father understood the threat, or if the weight of it even reached him. 

His father was always a one who cast Visenya in a favorable light. Yet, that was his curse, Dragonstone folk, once loyal, had begun to turn their backs. 

A lord may wield power, but without the trust and love of those he rules, his power is naught but a hollow thing. 

Aegon heard the soft footfalls behind him, his hand moving swiftly to the hilt of Blackfyre as his foot turned quickly. 

She was a woman. 

Her head was bowed, golden strands of hair falling loose around her shoulders, and she wore light, flowing garments that left her breasts almost bare. 

Aegon stood frozen for a moment.How had she slipped past the two guards? 

She lifted her green eyes, gaze piercing and deliberate. “ I am a gift sent to you by the Archon, to ease your burdens, My Lord,”  she said. 

Aegon knew at once what she meant. 

"Out," he commanded, his voice cold and calm. 

For a fleeting moment, she faltered, her steps uncertain as fear flickered in her eyes. The sweetness vanished, replaced by a nervous tremor in her movements, and with shaky steps, she retreated. 

The Archon sought to know what kind of man Aegon was. 

Aegon took two new gloves, their leather cool to the touch, and crossed them over his fingers slowly. 

“ My lord ” Ser Quenton spoke.

“ Enter, ” Aegon ordered, his tone firm. 

Ser Quenton’s face was smeared with ash and blood, the once-pure white of his hair now a tangle of filth and sweat, as though he had been swallowed by the very earth itself. 

“She claimed to be an Archon slave, taken by pirates,” Ser Quenton declared. 

His guess, it seemed, had been true.

“And then there is the mercenary band we’ve enlisted... Well, it seems there are a few among them—forty, by the count—who wish to have words with you,” Ser Quenton added. 

“I shall remain here...” Aegon said, his voice cold and firm. “Go on ahead, Ser Quenton, and make sure the guards keep the Archon’s ‘gifts’ well away from the tent. I'll join you and the mercenary band anon  ”

“ As you wish ” Ser Quenton replied. 

So the Archon sought to use them, to save his slaves only to sell them thereafter. The thought of it gnawed at Aegon, a bitter seed of anger sprouting in his chest. 

The last of the Valyrians. 

The words echoed within his mind, growing stronger and stronger. 

He gazed upon the map spread across the table, his eyes tracing the course of the Narrow Sea—from the Stepstones to the Free Cities, and finally to Dragonstone. 

Sooner or later, they would have to face Volantis—the tigers that prowled at the heart of the Freehold’s shadow. 

The last of the Valyrians. 

They were. 

His feet carried him outside the tent , to the field where the dead still lingered, the earth dark with blood, the air heavy with the reek of death. 

His gaze drifted to the jagged coastline, where the sleek ships of House Velaryon lay moored once more. Their silvered sails hung limp in the morning air, and the waves lapped idly at their hulls. Lord Daemon’s pursuit, it seemed, had reached its end. 

The older man descended, his silver-gold hair now streaked with white, his sea-blue eyes keen, his silver armor splattered with the dark stains of blood.

His gaze settled upon Aegon, a smile creeping beneath his white beard. Behind him, the restless shuffle of his second son, Aethan Velaryon, cast a shadow darker than his own, his face gaunt, eyes hollow, and lips cracked. 

Lord Daemon approached, his sword swaying at his side. 

“We shattered their ranks across the east and north isles. Those few that dared to flee took to their boats, retreating into the dispusted lands. I shall see to it that they are hunted to the last ” 

Lord Daemon placed a hand on Aegon's  shoulder. 

“Do you truly think these pirates rode forth on their own, with no hand guiding them?” Aegon’s voice was low. 

“ Of course not,”  Lord Daemon answered, his voice dripping with the usual disdain, “ They are the Volantene, sons of whores, bred in filth and bound by gold.” 

“ Then chasing a band of half-dead pirates into the Disputed lands would only squander your ships, Lord Daemon.” Aegon noted  “ “Then we cannot be sure if Volantis waits for us there.”

Lord Daemon laughed. 

"Who would have thought Velaena's son would come to this ?" He shook his head, a  chuckle escaping his lips. “ I  remember how quiet and distant you were as a boy, always hiding away with your books, avoiding the crowds. Even your father grew angry, furious that his heir refused to show himself among the people of Dragonstone. And now... now, look at you. The Targaryen men, and even mine, would die for you. If your father were here to see this...” 

"Die for me?" Aegon thought, The words tasted bitter on his tongue. 

“ I will withdraw the ships,” Lord Daemon declared, his tone clipped, “ For now, we shall make do with securing the trade routes in the Narrow Sea. It is the wiser path.”

Aegon  nodded quietly. 

Lord Daemon's second son faltered as he struggled to put one foot before the other, his body trembling with each unsteady step. His face was a grim tapestry of blood, streaked and smeared, while his platinum hair now hung matted and dark with humus. 

His father’s eyes bored into him with a deep, disappointment. 

“He doesn't want wars, the idiot,” Lord Daemon snarled,. “As if he’s not of my blood, my seed.”

Aegon’s gaze lingered on the young man as  he crumpled to the ground, gasping for air. 

War, Aegon thought, who in their right mind loves it? 

His eyes swept over the field—blood, death, the stench of it all— there was no sanity left in this world. He told himself. 

"A son need not wear his father's shadow, Lord Daemon," he heard himself say. 

Lord Daemon cast him a fleeting glance. 

“ Who knows? ” he murmured, “ Maybe you're right.”

Aegon’s gaze fixed upon the Velaryon ships, their silver sails billowing in the wind. The waves slammed against the wood with a deep, rumbling crash. 

“ Do you have a means to carry more than eighty souls to Dragonstone? ”Aegon asked with a flat tone. 

 “Yes, I do ” Lord Daemon answered. “But for whom?” 

“ For me ” Aegon replied. 

“ Eighty?” Lord Daemon spoke, “ Who do you wish to transport— the corpses of your men? More than eighty have already been claimed by death .” 

Aegon stared at the corpses. He took two steps forward, knelt down on one of his knees,  his hand reaching oug to touch one of them, and other, and other. 

They were cold, as cold as death. 

Aethan Velaryon stared at him with unblinking eyes, his mouth agape. 

“ Touching them, or hauling them on the ship, will not bring them back to life ,” Lord Daemon said . “ I know they were your men, Lord Aegon, but such is the cruel world. Men die in wars, as they always have.”

Aegon rose to his feet, and made his way toward the body of one of the pirates. Once more, he knelt, his hand hovering over the lifeless form. 

“ Cold flesh, like ice,” he muttered. “ Both.”

Aegon rose, his gaze hardening as he turned to Lord Daemon Velaryon and his son, still crumpled on the ground.

“ I will return my men to those who still live to mourn them on Dragonstone, ” he said, his voice cold as the wind that swept across the sea. “ But what I require from you, Lord Daemon, is not a ship for the dead, but one for the living.” 

Lord Daemon raised an eyebrow, but said naught. 

Ser Quenton had finished his brief words with the handful of men and emerged from behind Aegon. 

“ They wish to speak with you, my lord, ” Ser Quenton said, his voice low and steady, as he stepped aside, his eyes flicking toward the men. 

Aegon’s gaze shifted toward the handful of mercenaries, their faces hardened and streaked with blood and smoke, their swords dark and dripping at their sides. They were men who sold their blades to the highest bidder, bound by no oath, no loyalty, only t. They were strong, that much he could not deny.

But what was the worth of strength when set against loyalty?

Aegon stared at their faces for a long while , his gaze piercing.Then, with a slow step he moved towards them.

Their eyes followed him, unwavering, as they watched the movements of his boots on the ground. 

They were men from different lands, bound together only by the coin of mercenary work. 

Aegon reached a point and stopped. His eyes fell on them. 

One of them, the one who looked to be the leader, stepped forward, his hair dyed a fierce red, a strange, almost ritualistic hue, his posture sharp as a blade. Aegon knew that he was a tyroshi. 

In an instant, he drew his sword, the blade scraping free from its scabbard with a sharp hiss. Aegon’s ears caught the familiar sound of Ser Quenton unsheathing his own blade. 

The mercenary took two deliberate steps forward, then, without a word, knelt at Aegon's feet, his head bowed. 

“My name is Dornazo Tossar,” he spoke, his voice rough, but sincere. “I’ve been a mercenary since I was a boy. In truth, I was once a slave, owned by another. What I say may seem strange, but I seek something more than the blood and coin I’ve lived by. It seems, Lord Aegon, that you offer such a cause. I wish to be your man.”

Aegon regarded him with a thoughtful eye, then shifted his gaze to the others who, one by one, followed their leader and knelt in the dirt.

He seems earnest enough, Aegon mused, but is sincerity alone  strong enough to build trust upon?

He didn't know. 

He studied the faces of the others as they knelt before him, their eyes cast downward, their expressions veiled. They were mercenaries, nothing more. Mere  months  ago, the Archon had hired them, and during the campaign, they had broken from his service and thrown their lot in with Aegon.

He had used them, played them as pawns. That much was certain. And now, here they were, bowing their heads before him, offering their swords and their loyalty, seeking him as their new master.

Can one trust a sword bought with coin?, Aegon wondered. 

They had fought beside him, bled for him, and for that, he could be certain of their worth in battle.

Visenya had a Tyroshi sellsword in her service, a man she had claimed two years past from that same place . In the time since, he had proven his worth a hundredfold, his sword as sharp as his loyalty was unyielding.

“ Gold,”  he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. 

Dornazo Tossar lifted his head, his eyes meeting Aegon's, searching for the meaning in his words. 

“You seek the gold we bled for ,” Dornazo Tossar said, his voice steady . “So you can know , as your men, must know we fight for you, my lord—not for the glitter of coin.”

He's smart. Aegon ruled. 

“ Just so,” Aegon replied, his tone cold and measured.

He would weigh their worth and their loyalty, Aegon thought, his mind calm. Should they prove faithful, they would be his. But let them dare to betray him, and they would find nothing but the dragon's wrath. 

“Take the gold, my lord,” Dornazo spoke, his voice a rasp. “I seek no riches, only a cause. I’ve had my fill of gold. ”

 If he were lying, Aegon thought, then Dornazo would be a more skilled mummer than any who had ever served his sister. 

“ Let it be ” Aegon decreed quietly. “ Ser Quenton, Take them as our men. Teach them  the ways of House Targaryen.” 

Ser Quenton moved closer, his boots against the stones. Aegon leaned in, “ And strike their necks if you see the slightest of treason ” 

Ser Quenton turned towards them, his gaze hard , his battle-worn face a map of blood and scars. His voice rumbled through the cold air.“ From this day forth, you live and die for House Targaryen.” 

“ For Aegon Targaryen!!! For Aegon Targaryen!!! For Aegon Targaryen!! ” 

The mercenaries echoed the words like a chant to seal their fate.

Aegon turned amidst the shouts and clamor, his gaze meeting the astonished face of Lord Daemon. 

“I will hold a council of war.” Aegon said in a calm voice, “I need your councel there, Lord Daemon.” 

Lord Daemon blinked. 

Visenya came upon him seated at the war council table within the great tent adjoining his own.

His gaze was fixed upon the map spread wide before him, the Narrow Sea traced in ink , and he did not so much as lift his eyes to mark her presence, though he could feel her  fury. 

“ Have you at last tired of feigning deafness?”  she said, her voice cold as she stepped within. 

Aegon caught the soft tread of footsteps behind her, and without turning, he knew it to be her grizzled sellsword.

When he gave her no answer , she seized Dark Sister and hurled it with a fierce hand at the map. The blade, still sheathed, struck his crimson cloak with a dull thud, and at last, his gaze rose to meet hers.

“ Who are these sellswords who, without counsel or cause, have been deemed worthy to fight for House Targaryen ? ” 

“They willingly gave themselves to it,” Aegon replied calmly. 

“ Willingly?” Visenya arched a brow, her skepticism plain. “ Do you know them? ” 

“They fought alongside us,” he spoke, “I used some of their comrades as pawns.” he added, his eyes drifting back to the map. 

“ Does this mean they are now your men, then?”  she asked sharply. "Do you place your trust in a rabble of mercenaries?"

“ I don't ” he replied. 

“ Why do I see Ser Quenton parading them before our vassals? ”  Visenya asked. 

“ They are naught but pieces upon the board,”  Aegon said, his voice as cold “ Whosoever proves his loyalty shall earn his place among our vassals, and the traitors shall meet their end ” 

“ You will not bring them into the castle!”  she spat  “ And you best be ready to answer for this before our Lord Father! ” 

She strode toward him, raising her sword from the map , then fixed him with eyes full of anger. 

Without a word, she seated herself across from him, her gaze never leaving his.

These looks held no trace of mercy in them. Aegon thought, Mercy was not something his sister was capable of. 

“Myr and Lys stand on the edge of war, ” she said, her finger tracing the hilt of her sword, the motion slow and deliberate. “ They will both come to us, begging for our allegiance. Our father must choose with care which side we stand with, though I would have us claim them both. What do they think of themselves? We are the true heirs of Valyria, and all its lands are rightly ours.” 

A danger flickered in her eyes. 

Her hand reached for a glass of wine, the crimson liquid sloshing lightly as she lifted it to her lips. "I had meant to discuss this with our father," she said, her voice low and filled with purpose, "but I find I would rather speak it to you. After all, you are the next Lord of Dragonstone, and I shall be your Lady." She paused, her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “ Why should Volantis and its foul tigers lay claim to what belonged to Old Valyria, while we—we—are the last of the Valyrians?” 

The last of the Valyrians. 

“There was wisdom in the Doom,” Aegon spoke slowly, “ Valyria will not rise again. To seek to resurrect it would be folly ” He looked up at her. “ Aurion, the last valyrian emperor had proven it ” 

His sister's words did little to sway him. "Then, you will be like our father," she pressed, her voice sharp with frustration. "On that cursed island, fighting for one free city against another. We are the old blood of Valyria, the golden blood, the last of them. We cannot remain like this."

Aegon’s jaw tightened. No, he didn’t wish to be like his father. 

“ With me stands the Admiral, ” Ser Quenton called from without, his voice firm, “ alongside the commander of our host ” 

“Let them in,” his sister said. 

He had called a war council ere the battle, though his father's men and commanders had shown little care for it then. Yet now, as Aegon looked upon their faces, he saw that something had shifted. 

As they sat across the table, waiting for his words. 

Lord Daemon strode in after them, commanding the room with a presence that could not be ignored. At his side was his second son, Aethan Velaryon. 

Chapter Text

Through the clouds above the Narrow Sea, Balerion's shadow swept across the waves. His black great wings stirring the sky with each beat. The air seemed to tremble beneath them. 

Balerion roared, his voice shook the sky itself. He flung his large wings wide, the wind echoing as they tore through the air, and rose strongly cleaving the clouds asunder. Aegon clung to his saddle, and as they broke free of the churning mists, he gazed upon the vast expanse of blue sky above. 

The black dragon let out another roar. 

Despite claiming his mount at the age of ten, Aegon does not ride him often. This may have fueled his father's anger at him. 

But in those rare moments when he rode Balerion, he could feel it—the truth of what it meant to be the last Valyrians, the last of the dragonlords. 

Aegon spread his arms wide, his hands grasping at the wind as it howled around him. His feet were tied tightly to the saddle, yet he trembled. The wind tore at his face, sharp and cold, and carried with it the scent of salt and brimstone.

It was near now—he could feel it... His home. His Dragonstone.

Aegon gripped the saddle once more as Balerion shifted, his giant body rising sharply, climbing higher and higher until the sky above began to darken. For a moment, they lingered at the peak of the sky , the air thin and cold. Then, with a sudden, terrifying move , Balerion plunged downward. A thunderous roar escaped his maw as he cuts through the clouds and the winds of the Narrow Sea. 

His shadow engulfed the Targaryen ships and the forty others of House Velaryon, as a dark veil.His black, barbed tail, clad in thick scales that gleamed like Valyrian steel, lashed through the air and struck the waves of the Narrow Sea, churning them. The sound that followed was a powerful crash. 

“ tepagon lēda. ” ( Rose a little)

Aegon told his dragon calmly, and so does Balerion .

One great sweep of his tail, he thought ,and the Narrow Sea waves would rise, casting ships into their depths.

There was no sign of Visenya nor her she-dragon; No doubt, she had taken herself far from them. Perhaps it was her anger at his choice to take the slaves from the pirates that had lent her such haste. 

Fury burned in her voice as she spoke with him last night. “What you do now,” she told him... her eyes like fire, “will be the ruin of our house. You will bring an end to House Targaryen.. ”

Aegon cast his gaze downward to Lord Daemon Velaryon two ships that carried the slaves, his eyes lingering on the weary figures. Perhaps the least of them were women and children, fragile and broken. But among them, he knew, there were others with strength enough to serve. 

Fishers and peasants toiled upon the shores of Dragonstone, their labor paid in gold, the remaints of the slaves brought by Aenar Targaryen, his forbear before the doom came to the Old Freehold. Lord Gaemon Targaryen, known as Gaemon the glorious, made a grand promise to his servants: that each would be freed in time, according to the deeds they wrought. It was in those days that the lands around the Dragonmont were half settled, and the people of Dragonstone, bound to the island by their own hands, grew ever less reliant on trade.

They tilled the soil and cast their nets, their bellies filled by their own labor. 

But true to his word, once they finished their work , Lord Gaemon set them free. The past slaves, now free men and women, labored for gold.

 They were gathered and sent to ships bound for trade across the Narrow Sea. In turn, the people of Dragonstone were fed not by their own hands but by the wealth their labor brought. 

In time, the people of Dragonstone began to turn away from the soil to the sea and fishing. The lords who followed Gaemon, neglecting the fertility of the volcanic soil that had once fed them and leaned ever more heavily on the wealth of gold and the bounty of fishing .They grew rich on trade and completely dependent on it. 

It was for this reason that the Targaryens would raid the Stepstones at least once a year, and meddled constantly in the affairs of the east, seeking to expand their influence. 

To put an end to this, he knew he must sever their dependence on the fickle and ever-changing routes of the Narrow Sea. 

His dragon rose high once more, moving its great wings against the winds that whipped through the thick gray clouds. Through the haze, Aegon glimpsed the Sea Dragon Tower, a mere dot, and then, the entirety of Dragonstone Castle came into his view.Higher loomed the Dragonmont, the great volcanic mountain, its peak shrouded in mist.

This time, as they descended, Aegon could smell it all—the scent of salt, smoke, and brimstone carried on the winds, from the waves, from the hearth, and the fresh, smell of pine. 

Balerion spread his wings even wider, then he lifted his great black head, his bloodshot eyes burning like embers as he gazed upon the sky. Then, with a deep, rumbling growl, he let out a light roar. 

But this time, he was answered with another growl, softer. Aegon knew well whose snarl it was. 

Quickly and gracefully, the giant silver dragon descended through the clouds, and Aegon's ears captured the sound of his sister's laughter, very light, very melodic. 

How he had longed for that sound.. How he had missed it. 

His sister's silver dragon circled Balerion twice, her movements swift. Her golden eyes gleamed, catching the faint light as they locked on his mount. She let out a piercing roar. 

Balerion answered with a deep roar. In moments, the two great wyrms were descending together. They spiraled and twisted, —a dance of dragons. 

In but a moment or two, Aegon found himself upon the outer courtyard of Dragonstone. 

“ I won.” His sister’s voice came loudly to him full of joy as Meraxes' wings folded neatly. Her dragon had landed first. 

“ I wasn't racing you.” he answered. 

“You still refuse to accept defeat, as stubborn as ever, my handsome elder brother,” Rhaenys teased lightly. She raised her hands skyward. Then gracefully, she lowered her hands, unbuckling the harness that bound her to her saddle and stepped down. 

She had a bright smile on her face as Aegon followed her. 

Clad in dark crimson riding leathers that clung to her slender form, her silver-golden to her waist, and her wide lilac eyes aglow with life.Her smile, soft and warm, held a charm that could ensnare even the most hardened of hearts. 

She was a valyrian godess, a beautiful one. 

Aegon found himself unable to look away, as though time itself had stopped , and he could have stared at her for hours... forever. 

“Pity poor Balerion,” she said with as she strode toward him, her smile playful this time . “You only call upon him to travel, or to fight. Why not let him race Meraxes instead? Even the Black Dread might enjoy a bit of it ” 

She turned her gaze to the two great dragons, returning to the sky, trading roars as they circled one another in a fierce, playful rhythm.

“They seem to have missed each other,” Rhaenys observed, her voice soft, yet playful. 

Then Rhaenys laughed, before her gaze settled on him once more.

“ You've become more handsome over these past eight months, ”she remarked cheerfully, her eyes sparkling. 

She stood very close to him now. Aegon could not help but think back to the campaign on Stepstones, to the moments when he had found solace in the thought of her, his sweet, playful young sister. He had missed her, more than he could admit , the only one who knew him in ways that others could not. 

“My brother,” she said, “when a woman pays you a compliment on your handsomeness, you ought to respond, not stand there as a stone .” Her eyes twinkled with mischief, her smile deepened. 

Without hesitation, Aegon pulled her into his arms tightly, the warmth was familiar and comforting.

The scents of pine, brimstone, salt, and smoke filled the air, mingling with Rhaenys'. He was home.

“I miss you,” she confessed, her voice trembling ever so slightly as she reached up, her hands finding their way around him in a soft embrace.

Then, before she could say more, Aegon lifted her effortlessly, as he used to do when they were but children playing in Dragonstone Castle garden, then spinning her around, the sound of her lovely giggles fulled the air.  

“It was dreadfully gloomy without you,” Rhaenys said smiling as she slipped her arm through his. Together, they began walking toward the gate door. “If I hadn’t flown every day on my beautiful Meraxes, I might have burst from sheer boredom, while you were off winning glory for our house in the Stepstones.” 

Glory... But what Aegon saw was no glory at all. It was death. Death and blood, heavy and dark and cold. 

Though he smiled faintly. He would not disturb Rhaenys’ joy. 

“What is it with you?” his sister noticed .

“How fares our father?” he replied, deftly turning her question aside with one of his own. 

They had reached the Outer Bailey now, where dozens of servants bustled about, their movements hurry, coming and going, coming and going.. Every eye turned toward Aegon. 

“He is angry and strict, as ever,” Rhaenys replied. “I dare say he would be even angrier if he knew I’d been down to the fishermen’s village not long ago.” She glanced at him “He doesn’t care for the smallfolk, but someone must, don’t you think, brother?”

“Indeed,” he said simply.

Aegon knew well that their father was not one to spare a thought for the smallfolk .That was his mother... But after her passing, it had all unraveled. 

Through the gate and into the great hall he strode, where his father was meant to await him before stepping out to greet the men in the outer courtyard. The stone effigies of the Dragonstone lords loomed on either side — From Aenar, the exile who brought them here, to his father, the man who now ruled. Their stony eyes seemed to follow him. A strange scent lingered, sharp, fire and blood mingled with the damp stone's. 

It was not so different from the days his mother had brought him here. She would carry him in her arms or hold his hand, guiding him through the shadowed gallery. His wide eyes had always been drawn to the statues, tracing their stern faces and their expressions. 

His father used to await for them in the Great Hall, for them in the Great Hall, his eyes were always sharp, his tongue even sharper.

“Is thit what the heir of the golden blood of old Valyria looks like? Is that a dragon?! ” He used to spat.“ How can I place the weight of House Targaryen's destiny on shoulders so frail, so weak?! He stands as lifeless and silent as Dragonstone stones!! Where is the fire?? Myhaps I was a fool to hope for greatness, for more.. Perhaps he is no more than a dullard! Maybe Visenya is the one who will led that House after all!! ” 

“He’s still a child, Aerion,” his mother would say, “But he is a dragon too, my little dragon. When the time comes, he will spread his wings and soar to greatness.” She would press her lips to his forehead, then to his cheek, “ I know this.. I know this ” 

“ Child or not, he is the heir to the dragons, he is meant to a dragonlord not some meek scholar lost in scrolls, we have a maester in the castle and I won't allow my son and heir to be one. He will not stay a child forever, and this hiding among books will not make a great Lord. Such things never have, and never will. ”  

His father's words often made his skin crawl. But in time, Aegon simply ceased to care. Alone, he was free. Perhaps he didn’t want to listen anymore. Perhaps he never had.

Even when he had claimed Balerion, the last living who saw the ancient glory of Old Valyria, Aegon hadn't stayed long enough to acknowledge his father's praise. 

And so, he had grown distant from his father's words. He had never care about the complaints nor had longed for the approval of the man who sired him. 

How strange. His father's words were empty and fleeting to his ears. 

Beyond the red great doors, leading to the Great Hall, they must tread through the gaping maw of the great dragon, where four guards stood. 

Aegon reached for the doorknob,craved in the shape of a smaller dragon, its onyx-black scales gleaming and fire ruby eyes glinting. As his fingers brushed against the warm stone, he felt its heat—and the faint thrum of the magic within.

With a sharp movement, he pushed the door. 

Across the dark shadows of the Great Hall, past the black stones and walls adorned with dragons , Aegon beheld only his sister, Visenya, standing alone amidst the gloom.

Her gaze was still as sharp as Valyrian steel , her mouth a crooked line, and certainly, there was no hint that her mood had softened, in a slight. 

“ Visenya!! ” Rhaenys shouted,her voice shinning, fresh and excited as she stepped towards their sister playfuly, “ I have done it! I have bested him—I have won a race against the last great dragon who ever saw Old Valyria, Balerion itself, astride my dearest beautiful Meraxes “ 

Rhaenys' words didn't seem to soften Visenya's face. 

" Will you cease your screaming? ” Visenya told her “ The castle already has a fool; it needs no second.” 

“ Shall I embrace you, then, Sis ? ” Rhaenys insisted . “ You must have missed your dear little sister—it’s been eight long moons !” 

“ Eight moons without your nonsense has been nothing short of bliss,” Visenya replied. “ And don’t you dare come any closer.” 

Defiantly, Rhaenys approached, “You wouldn't die if I hugged you, would you? And for sure, it wouldn't kill you to admit that you've missed my ever—so-annoying voice! “

“You fool..” Visenya hissed. 

“Where is Father? ” Aegon interjected. 

Visenya's narrowing eyes turned to him, “Fucking his cobbler's daughter, I assume “ She replied. 

The Cobbler... Ser Bastian veroth.. Aegon thought. 

"Well, she was wed six moons past," Visenya spat with venom, her lips curling in disgust. “ Our Lord Father took his claim on the first night, and since then, her fisherman husband has no taste for her. Instead, Father took her from him and placed her with him—the little whore. —her eyes blinked angrily —This time, I will not allow him to sire another bastard. We already have that baratheon whore son Enough is enough! ” 

“ Orys is good ” Rhaenys spoke, “ He is no son of whore, he is our brother ” 

“ Who bade you speak, you fool? ” Visenya snapped, “ What care have I for your opinion? You, the foolish little sister who is doted on her bastard brother and her father's whore, Gaela . What do you understand of the future of House Targaryen? You will never. ” 

Rhaenys lowered her head, but quickly raised it. 

“ You'll have wrinkles on your face before your time if you keep scowling like that, Vis,” She told her. 

“ As I said, you are a fool,” Visenya hissed. Then, turning her eyes to Aegon, she asked, “ Did you leave the ships and your men and the slaves you brought behind, brother? ” 

“ They will arrive within an hour, ” Aegon explained. 

"You needed to see our lord father," Visenya said , “ to fend off the accusation that you brought the Archon's slaves with you, and decided to arrange a meeting with the Archon here , and to take mercenaries from the Free Cities into your service—all without consulting your lady wife-to-be? ” 

Aegon stayed silent. 

“ He would be angry. Oh if you saw his eyes...” Visenya rolled her eyes “His son, the one he loves the most above all others, the son who carries more of his hopes than any other a —revealed as nothing more than a fool . I almost pitied him when I saw the frustration across his face... so much so that he turned to his whore to shield his shame.” 

She spoke to him, Aegon concluded. She arrived two hours ahead of him—her dragon flies swifter than his. 

With a venomous smile curling her lips, Visenya stared at the Great Hall doors openning as the herald’s voice rang out, announcing, “Lord Aerion.”

Aegon didn'y bother to turn, unwilling to glance upon his father dark face as he advanced slowely to them. 

Despite the heavy air, Rhaenys's face brighten, a gentle smile curved her rosy lips. Aegon found himself drawn to her. 

Clad in a heavy black tunic adorned with crimson accents fashioned like dragon scales, each one gleaming as it curled from his shoulders to his neck, and red breeches. Lord Aerion advanced.

“The first time you have been so long away from home,” His father began with a low voice. “and the first time I entrusted you with command of our men without my own hand to guide you.” His sharp, dark violet eyes bore into Aegon “You chose to fight alongside a Free City against another Free City. I had hoped you would prove yourself a worthy heir to this great legacy we bear, to Old Valyria… but tell me, what have you done?”

“ He won the battle, Papa ” Rhaenys replied. "Though he does not seek war, nor does he desire it, he saved this Dragonstone from all that threatened it. He shielded us. ”

His father's gaze fixed on Rhaenys. 

"Who by the doom gave you the leave to speak?” Lord Aerion said. “ And where, pray tell, have you been since the morning? ” 

“ On my lovely Meraxes, Father.I circled the island and flew north across the Narrow Sea, just a little, before returning ” Rhaenys spoke “ The smallfolk in the villages and the harbor grow discontent, for you no longer open your heart to them.”

“ The last thing I care for is if those filthy bastards are content or not ” His father snarled. “ I thought I forbid it, why should you waste your time with those fools in their damned villages? ” 

"Because if I do that, they will have no ears to hear their woes ,” Rhaenys answered . “ A lord must listen to his people, both the highborn and the low.” 

“ You are no lord ” Visenya noticed, “ but you are a lady from House Targaryen, from the blood of Old Valyria, Why would you ou our Lord lower themselves to mingle with those fools in their hovels? There are collectors of complaints through parchments.. ” 

“ Most of the Smallfolk cannot write or read! ”. 

“ Let them stew in their discontent then ! ” Visenya shouted, “ We are the blood of Old Valyria, you think we would care about fishers who can't read nor read ! ” 

“ If you strip your people of their joy, there is no doubt it will turn against you.” Rhaenys declared. 

“ You think I would care! ” 

“ Then you should! ” 

“Only a fool like you would concern himself with the whims of fools! And that's exactly what you are—a fool. ”

“A fool is someone who turns his back on his people.” Rhaenys retorted. 

“ A dragonlord would not stoop to the likes of those filthy wretches,” Visenya hissed. “ You will never understand that , for you are not fit to be the lady of a Dragonlord as the gods make you the youngest ” 

“ The blood of old Valyria runs through my veins just as it runs through yours!! ” Rhaenys said. 

“ It seems it is rather the blood of fishers that runs through your veins,” Visenya sneered. 

“ Silence! ” his father roared, loudly, his voice booming . “Both of you! Shut your mouths! ” He glared at them .“ It seems you forget you are sisters, not enemies. I am the Lord here ! Never forget that!! And I alone shall decide what is to be done ” then he turned to Aegon, “ I was speaking to him, not to you ” 

Aegon, who had been immersed in his sisters' conversation, stared at his father's hard face. 

“ Do you have anything to justify yourself? Your decisions? ” 

Aegon regarded him thoughtfully, yet he held his tongue. 

“ How dare you take the Archon's slaves from him!” his lord father bellowed. “ And then you dare to ask him to ally with us? Are you an idiot, boy? The slaves are his by all rights ! How do you use your dragon to terrorize him and think it will lead to an alliance? ”

His father circled him, the echo of his boots heavy. 

"How dare you act without seeking my counsel first?!" his father thundered again. “ Or even Visenya's? She is your sister and your wife-to-be! Do you think so little of her wisdom? Of mine? ” 

He stopped moving and sfixed his eyes on Aegon's face. 

“ And by the doom, why did you take those filthy bastards of sellswords as men of House Targaryen? ” 

“ As my men ” Aegon corrected. 

“ Pardon? ” 

“ As my men, they swore to me ” Aegon said, “ I gave them why they live, and why they die.” 

Nay, he thought bitterly, I used them, for my own ends. 

They trusted him, even the mercenaries... and what did he do? He set them as pawns, to be slain and burned . His hand trembled. 

"Your men?" his father sneered, “ I am your lord. How dare you take men without my leave? How can you claim men who are not mine to command? ” 

“ Your men are discontented,” replied Aegon, “their loyalty wavers, and their folly raping women as spoils of wars is not conduct I would suffer in the men I command ” 

“ Do you think mercenaries are the better answer? ” his father snapped. “ Men who sell their swords for gold and would just as easily turn them against you for a heavier price? “

"They were a company owned by the Archon," Aegon replied evenly. “ Most of them little more than slaves in truth. I shattered their golden chains, and now their loyalty is mine—or so it has proven over these past eight moons. Yet my trust in them is not without its limits.” 

“ And what will you do if they turn on you? If they betray you? ” his father demanded. 

“ Only blood can wash away betrayal,” Aegon declared. 

“ Their blood will be spilled then..You will do it.. ” his father muttered, sinking into the stone chair with the shape of a dragon carved into its arms. “ Ready to spill blood, are you ? And I thought you had no taste for such things ” 

“ Do you have? ” Aegon asked him. 

His father stared at him silently for a while. 

“ What of your spoils?” he finally spoke, “ The slaves you took from the Archon? ” 

“ I shall send you my plans for them,” Aegon replied. 

His father turned to Rhaenys and Visenya. 

“ As for you, Rhaenys,” his father declared, “ You will never set foot in those villages again! ” 

“ This is unjust!” Rhaenys shot back. “ They are angry, they are miserable... someone must be there for them!” 

“ Someone like you?” Visenya scoffed. 

“And as for you, Visenya,” Lord Aerion’s voice was cold as stone, “you will no longer command our men.I hand over that to Aegon, I’ve seen enough.”

His sister's mouth twisted and her eyebrows furrowed. 

“He does not have my experience, nor does he care for my counsel,” Visenya spat, “He pretends to be deaf to everything but his own thoughts!”

“He will,” their father declared, his eyescmoving to Aegon. “You shall share every detail of your decisions with Visenya. I kept no counsel from your mother when she was my lady wife, and neither shall you.”

At that, Visenya laughed loudly, and in a moment all eyes was on her. 

“She has gone mad,” Rhaenys remarked, her lips curled into an unsetling dreadful smile. 

“Do you find amusement,” their father told him , his dark purple eyes narrowing as he glazed upon Visenya “when I remind your brother that he must heed the counsel of his elder sister, who, by our customs, is to be his future wife and lady ?”

“No, Father,” Visenya replied, “I do not laugh because you’re instructing your beloved son on how to be a husband to me. I laugh because you speak of sharing counsel with my late lady mother, yet somehow you managed to keep secret that you put a child in the belly of one of her ladies. Amusing, isn’t it?”

His father face darkened. But he didn't reply. 

Seeking to steer the conversation away from Visenya's sharp words, his father spoke to him , “And what of your dealings with the Archon? How do you propose that Tyrosh would send a delegation to Dragonstone without my leave ?”

“They are the ones who have need of us,” Aegon answered . “And it was the Archon’s brother who saw fit to send the Pentoshi Master of Coin to you.”

“Harrys Ostys, indeed, The Archon’s brother, Vandero Draezon, sent him. Eight months ago, he proved to be a loyal and efficient man. He replenished our treasures. ”

“By raising taxes on the smallfolk,” Rhaenys interjected. 

“Shut up!” His father barked. “Pity the unlucky fool who will marry you...”

His lord father sighed. 

“ But that was in the agreement nine months ago, when we united with them to expel the pirates from the Stepstones. It is another matter to ally with them now, especially with the possibility that Lys and Myr will wage war on each other soon.” 

The Archon, Aegon mused darkly, was a snake wrapped in silken lies, but his brother—he was worser . Aegon had spoken with both men, and sought the counsel of Tyrosh's elders, They had made it clear—this brother, no matter how sweet his tongue, was a man not to be trusted.

And that Master of Coins... There is no doubt that there is something behind him. 

Before he could consider any alliance with them, he needs to have someone he can trust at least watch his back during the coming war with Volantis. 

But he does not know if his father has considered this. A war with Volantis, the so-claimed heir of Old Valyria. 

“ I will go out, to the port, to recieve my men ” Aegon declared. 

“I think they know the way to Dragonstone Castle well enough ,” his father spoke. 

"Men and commonfolk shall see their lord, or, at least, his heir," he declared before he turned to the door and strode from the hall. 

He had bade Orys, in his final letters, to gather the names of the taxmen and those who collected the grievances of the common folk, to learn how they dealt with them and whether their methods were as fair as they claimed.

His father put his trust in the council's advice, but it was a council of men unworthy of such trust. If he was to bring Dragonstone back into the fold of order, it would begin with cutting off their heads 

“ Aegon... Aegon.... ” 

Rhaenys voice, following him, halting his steps. 

Aegon turned to face her, his gaze drawn to her heart-shaped face, radiant and lightful. Her dark lilac lively eyes and rosy plump lips , while her silver-golden locks tumbled loosely over her shoulders and down her back. 

For a moment, he didn't see his sister. 

“Father will never allow me to ride with you,” she said. “But you, Aegon... you will. I wish to go to the port. I need to see the people, to see the ships.. ”

“You will... some other time.” he told her. 

A flicker of annoyance crossed her features, “ But I want to now,” she insisted, her almost crying eyes fixed upon him with a plea. “ I wish to see how victorious men return from their battles , to witness it with my own eyes, how their fathers and mothers would be proud of them, how the people would be proud of you. I want to be by your side, is that too much for me to ask ? ”

You want to see death, he thought, You were not made for it, you were made for life, for sweetness and for love. 

He stepped closer, his lips brushing against her temple in a soft kiss. He felt her tremble beneath the touch, "What you’ll see now," he murmured, “ will be nothing more than the wailing of bereaved mothers and the cries of orphans.” He paused, his gaze steady upon her. “ You are here to offer them comfort. So, go, and prepare to do just that.”

Her eyes widened, "You'll let me do it." 

“ You will ” 

Someone had to, Aegon thought, someone had to win the heart of the people, for it was their hearts that ruled Dragonstone as much as his father does. And none had ever done it better than Rhaenys.

He found the stable boy, Tom, brushing down a sturdy brown horse in the outer bailey.

 The scent of hay and leather carried on the breeze, mingling with the faint tang of the sea and salt. 

"‘L-Lord A... Aegon,’" the boy stammered, nearly leaping out of his skin. The thick brush slipped from his trembling thick fingers , clattering against the stable floor. “ I beg pardon m'lord... I..d-d-din't n-notice you were here? ”

Aegon bent to retrieve the fallen brush silently. Straightening, he held it out to the dark-haired trembling boy. 

He peered into the corners of the stable and found no traces of Orys. 

His brother had always possessed a love for horses. More often than not, he could be found in the stables. And if not there, then surely at the blacksmith’s forge in the small village perched higher from the harbor. 

As he made his way toward the saddles, Tom stepped into Aegon’s path, his face pale and “I’ve not readied the saddles yet, my... my lord,” he stammered, his eyes full of tears, “Forgive me, I... I am but your humble servant. I’ll see to it at once... and swiftly, my lord, I swear it.”

“ There is no need for it ” Aegon told the boy. To ride a horse is much easier than to ride a dragon, he thought as he lifted himself up to the horse back. 

He positioned himself easily on the black horse's back, pressing his legs to either side of him, the horse's hooves moving in a beautiful rythm as he had done thousands of times before, ever since Ser Quenton had taught him. 

Though the feeling was familiar, he still helding a little love for riding, less for a horse than for his dragon. 

Through the rough stone path he rode, toward the jagged rocks, the light mist in the air, and the giant pine trees that stood . Aegon pressed made his way. 

The village he meant was a place where life moved so swiftly, children chasing one another in the narrow streets, women carrying piles of clothes and going down the stones. 

The sounds of hammers striking iron became loud. 

This village, the closest to the walls of Dragonstone, was where Ser Aelyn Baratheon’s house, where Ser kaeleric Coalmar the Blacksmith workshop stood. 

It was where he met Orys for the first time, they were but lads. It was the day his father saw to create a sword of Valyrian steel for Visenya, a six-year-old. There was no blacksmith in all of Dragonstone who could forge Valyrian metal with spells as good as what they did in the ancient Free Stronghold like Ser Kaeleric Coalmar, a craft he had inherited from his ancestors.And so, Lord Aerion Targaryen brought him here. At that time, he didn't know that the four summers boy, his hair as black as a raven, trying to battle a stone with such fury, was his brother.

Aegon dismounted . At the entrance to the workshop, Ser Kaeleric Coalmar stood, his hands deftly polishing one of the dark steel armors worn by the Targaryen guards, while his son, Selwyn, continued to hammer a sword, its blade glowing red from the heat. 

Before Aegon could react, the old man pounced on him, pulling him into a bear hug so strong , whe he ended, the familiar, calloused fist clapped against his back, still carrying the same force it had in their younger days.

“ Oh boy!” Ser Kaeleric exclaimed, his voice laced with hearty warmth. "How you've changed! A man now, eh? And I hear tell you unleashed your dragon on the pirates in the Stepstones! Your fame has spread far and wide, Aegon! The whole of Dragonstone speaks your name.- He was catching his breath - Lady Valaena and Lord Aerion's little boy... It turned so... I still remember the day you were born, the Dragonmont has began spewing fire... Oh, the rocky paths were painted with lava!! But it did not last long...as if it had happened yesterday. How times fly! ” 

Ser kaeleric's eldest son Selwyn bowed, “ You are most welcome my lord ” as his father was leading Aegon to the workshop. 

“ I know well enough who are you seeking ” Ser Kaeleric spoke, “ I think you should head to the harbor to meet our victorious men. Your men.. ” 

 He nodded to the farthest corner of the workshop, hidden by a black veil. The rang of the hammer striking louder and louder. 

Aegon took steps forward. 

“The fool Aelyn Baratheon is with him, as always, scolding him ” Ser Kaeleric remarked. “Some men never learn. And that what Orys is. ”

As Aegon drew nearer, the voice grew stronger. 

"How many times must I tell you to stay away from that cursed Castle ?" Ser Aelyn's voice echoed. “ Especially when Lord Aegon is not here. Why, of all places, Lord Aerion's study ? What madness possessed you? Do you seek to bring calamity upon us all? ” 

There is no doubt that Orys did it alone. 

“ It's not like I'm going to kill that bitch.” His brother sound came out. 

“ Shh you fool! ” Ser Aelyn hissed, “ Lord Aerion has his birds, do you want us dead, our heads on spikes?! ”

“That bastard whore of a man is busy with Lady Visenya, She was angry, I saw it ” came the sharp reply, “I doubt he even has time to remember me!”

“ He has, and he will always remember you... ” 

"You speak thus because you fear your own death, you witless old fool!“ Orys noted. 

The hammer's clang echoed again. 

“My death will not change a thing in this world!” Ser Aelyn said. “But I do not wish to die upon a spear, nor by the jaws of a dragon!” 

“ What mad dragon would come near you? ” Orys said, “ I would crush him with my hammer!! ” 

“ You'll need three hundred springs, and still, you won't kill a dragon with your hammer, you fool! This is no jest, boy! ” 

Aegon turned to Ser Kaeleric who had drawn a smile on his lips. 

“This is how they have always been, father and son.” 

Uncle and nephew, Aegon thought. 

"Better to die with a jest on our lips," Orys laughed, “ But you, old fool, are too cowardly to dare such a thing.” 

“ Do you intend to kill me?!” Ser Aelyn bellowed, his voice thick “Or mayhaps yourself?! ” 

"Could you hold your tongue and let me work?" came the curt reply.

"By the Doom!" Ser Aelyn spat, stepping back as Aegon moved forth, casting aside the black veil.

Ser Aelyn, trembling, lowered his head. "L... L... Lord Aegon," he stammered.

And the hammer slipped from Orys’ hands, clattering upon the stone. His brother turned, his dark eyes wide.

Aegon knew not how it came to be, only that in the next breath, Orys crushed him in an embrace.

Chapter Text

Clad in a luxerious gown of black silk, its bodice adorned with agate shaped as a dragon, with a belt of emerald about her wrist, Visenya stood beside her father in the outer Baily. 

The villagers would take a very long time in greeting their young lord and mourning their dead, chanting of his victory over the fool pirates of the Stepstones, as though Aegon had risen Old Valyria anew. 

She cast a sharp  glance at her father, his eyes distant, his breath unsteady. 

"He lacks my experience, and yet you set him at the head of our forces," she said, her voice cool, her eyes now drawn to the Gatehouse—two great dragon heads wrought of stone, their eyes gleaming. 

“ You are far harsh for this charge, Visenya “ her father said. “ Our men never held you in their as they do Aegon, Listen to the cheers... ” 

She turned to him, her gaze like cold steel. "Since when you cared for the love of your men?"

“There is much you might do as the Lady of Dragonstone,” her father said. “ You shall have no time to lead men in battle.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “ So, for that, you cast me aside—for your favored son—to hold all control in his grasp? ”

"You know he will not," her father said. "You are to be his wife, his partner in power. Together, you shall rule Dragonstone, as Gaemon the Glorious and Daenys the Dreamer did in the days of old.” 

Rule together..Visenya thought. She did not even know what dwelled within her brother’s gleaming head , ever dancing to its own song.

"Have they not arrived yet?" came the voice of her foolish little sister, Rhaenys, as she descended the stair, clad in a beautiful dress of deep red. A wide smile lit her face, making her bright lilac eyes even brighter. About her neck hung a necklace that once belonged to their mother, and upon her brow sat a circlet of agate, gleaming as did the rings around her fingers. 

Behind her came a dozen maidens—the daughters of Ser Quenton, the wanton daughter of Ser Aelyn Baratheon, and the little Celtigar girl—followed by four singers with their harps and no fewer than ten murmurers. 

And there was her wetnurse, her own mother's handmaiden, Tissa, with her sharp eyes and straight mouth. An old true freind of hers. And the other grey plump woman, Maerya, her brother's and sister's wet nurse's, warmer and brighter, but not a true one. 

Even Gaela was present—the slut her father would fuck at his pleasure after her husband refused her return, following the lord's claim of the first night. 

“Oh, that is not fair, that is not fair!” Rhaenys complained, standing beside Visenya, her lips pursed in a pout. “I want to see how they cheer for Aegon. I want them to lift me up on their shoulders, to see the sky from their arms.”

“Oh, but you often see the sky, my lady,” Gaela remarked with a smile. “You are always on your dragon.”

“Mm, but I would love to know how it seems from the ground—well, not the ground, but lifted, just a little,” Rhaenys mused. 

Her voice was a sharp jerk in Visenya’s ears. How could her sister be so foolish?

“You are too familiar with the clouds,” Gaela teased, stepping closer to beside Rhaenys, her tone warm. 

“You are too close to us,” Visenya cut in coldly, her eyes dark  “Step back. You are but our father's whore, and that doesn't make you fit to stand beside us. Mind yourself, you filthy slut! “

“ Visenya!! ” Their father barked. 

Visenya turned, her harsh eyes meeting her  father's dark face. She didn't flinch, let him rage, she had spoken the truth. 

He stepped toward her, his grip firm as he pressed a hand to her upper arm, “ I am yet here ” he said coldly, “ And I am Lord. Don't ever dare to give commands in my presence again ”. 

 She wrenched her arm freely. Her eyes burning as she looked to him, “ Yes... Father ”  she replied, her voice laced with anger. 

“My lord,” her father corrected. 

“I shall… my lord,” she gasped, swallowing her pride. The taste was bitter. 

“Gaela,” her father commanded, his tone firm. “Return to your place.”

“ Y-Yes, my lord ” Gaela replied confused. 

Visenya fixed Gaela with a dark glare. One day, she would kill her, she almost swore. 

Before she could tear her gaze from Gaela, Rhaenys caught her arm, her fingers gentle, as she drew that bright smile of hers. “  There will be a feast, a great one, Sis ” She told her, “ I don't wish to see you angry there ”. 

She turned then to their father, her eyes wide, “ Oh, shall we dance? Will you allow me to do so? ” She asked, her voice sweet, “ And the villages' children, Shall we give them sweets and alms? They would be ever so happy. They are so fine tailors there as well —I would love to have some new dresses, for me, for Visenya- she turned her eyes toward Visenya's- and for the goodwives of your people. And why not? Some wine and cakes for everyone.. ” 

“ Would you still your tongue?”  their father sighed, “ Once you begin, there is no end to it.” 

The trembling, unsteady steps of the castle steward, Ser Aelyn Baratheon, and the old advisor—the grey man who had served since her grandsire’s day, and mayhaps his brother’s—drew her father’s gaze.

Behind them, the court followed—those mired creatures, the servants, the cooks, the scullions, the stable boys,the scribes, the fools, poets and puppeteers, even the maidens,were gathering on the outer balconies, their hands resting upon the dragon-carved stones,their mouths moving,  whispering, their eyes watchful. 

“ There are poets and singers aplenty here ” Rhaenys remarked with a smile. “ Like hounds at the hunt, they will tear at one another for the right to sing of our brother, Vis ” 

“ They are but yapping curs ” Visenya noticed, as her eyes followed the throng, then fell on Rhaenys face. “ Their words and songs are of no use ” 

“ I think not, Sweet Sister. People have ears.” Rhaenys winked playfully. “ Though I pity the poors who take up the quill, for no poem, no words in the world would do Aegon justice ”

Her gaze grew distant then, her eyes soft, almost lost. 

“ But you would ” Visenya decreed, “ For even the mere sound of his name leaves you lost ”. 

“ I have ever loved beauty, sweet sister ” Rhaenys replied, “ And what am I to do if Aegon was beauty made flesh ? ” 

“ Oh? Is that mayhaps why you hold such fondness for the wretched smallfok? ” Visenya asked coldly, “ Do you find beauty even in filth? You fool  ” 

“ Beauty is everywhere, Vis” Rhaenys replied. “ In the sky, when I soar upon Meraxes, amdist the birds and their sounds, through the clouds, in the salt upon my lips and the sea, endless to my eyes, in brimstone and in pine. In the rough hands of the fisherfolk and peasant on the stone shore. Beauty is where one dares to see it ” 

“ Would you slay the poet that dwells inside of you, little witless fool ? ” Visenya observed. “ We shall have our allies, and envoys as well. And Your sweet verses are of no use before them " 

“ Certainly, Sister ” Rhaenys said, “ Your sharp words are ”

The great gates groaned as they swung open, wide, beyond, the villagers stood, their mouths cheering, louder and louder, hailing Aegon whose face betrayed nothing. “ Lord Aegon!! Lord Aegon!! ” they barked and barked as if he was the only one in the outer baily. 

Aegon rood at the head of the column, solemn, silent, cold, his black mount move slowly. The cheers were around him, yet his dark eyes were elswhere, his red cloack rippling. Is he even there? Visenya thought. 

Behind him, rode Lord Daemon Velaryon, with that proud smile, his silver hair shone as his armor, under the blue cloack. His son, the soft Aethan Velaryon followed, a pretty face indeed, Visenya thought, much prettier than most of the maidens in her appartement. And so, Aethan Velaryon was of that silent kind of men, so wearisome, so dull, Visenya thought as her eyes followed Aegon. 

Aegon was that.

And then, ever at his shoulders, was that dark haired crow, Orys. His black eyes missing nothing, his lips curved. At his flanks , were Ser Quenton, Dragonstone Master in arms, and his two fool sons. And, her Tyroshi sellsword, Dahar, his beard green as summer's grass. 

To Aegon's other side, swaddled in silk, gold, jade, emerlads and agates, bright as a Tyroshi could be, rode the envoy, his oiled beard dyed green, his long curls orange. 

Upon the stone high steps Visenya watched, as Rhaenys smiled widely, as she rose her hands in a smattering, and let out a cheereful, loud cry. 

Aegon swung down from his horse, his steps calm and steady as he approached their lord father, his face unreadable, and then, before the gathering host, Aegon targaryen, her brother, knelt before their father, his lord. 

The world seemed to stop for a blink. 

Her father stepped forward, with a solemn move, he took Aegon by the arms, lifting him, for a moment, they stood thus, father and  son, lord and heir, their dark violet eyes meeting for an instance before her father pulled him into a tight embrace. 

The cries that came after that were louder than Visenya could ever remember, a wild rise of voices, cheering, praying for Lord Aegon, their “ Savior ”, their “ Hero ”. 

The very stones under her feet shook, Visenya took a look on her brother's face, but she didn't find that mirth. 

In the great Hall of Dragonstone, her father gathered his allies, his sworn men and the Tyroshi envoys. 

Visenya took a higher seat, above them all, all of the gathered host were under her feet. In her dark crismon dress, cut in the shape of dragon's wings upon her chest, the black scales embroidered upon it catching the candle's light, about her throat, a dragon shaped agate necklace coiled, Visenya Targaryen felt not merely a daughter of Dragonstone, but its lady. 

All of those fools were there to serve her, to please here, to kneel at her feet and begging for blessing and favor, that bastard Orys, Quenton Quohaerys and his two sons, Aelyn Baratheon the fool, Gaeron their admiral, Valdar Veltherys, that master of coins, the two old adivisors , she was their lady to be, and their lives and deaths were hers to take and give. 

She saw the fear in their eager eyes to win her favor, she saw how they bowed their rotten heads as she passed, in the same way they bowed to her father, and to Aegon. 

Her eyes moved to her brother now, his eyes distant, not even looking to the great table stretched before them, the servants moving slowley around them bearing platters heaped high. 

There were roasted boars, their skin glinting, basted with honey, ducks stuffed with greens, the scent thick in the air. Lamparey pies, they smelled rich as they were mingling with the scent of mulled wine. Bowls of honeyed mussles and cockles steeped in butter and white wine, and blackened hares, their flesh seemed tender, peppers with mincled goat and golden raisins. Calms steamed in broth of brimstone salt, and lemons. For the sweet, they put figs soaked in Arbor gold from the Sunset kingdoms, creamed cakes drizzeled with Tyroshi wine. 

Yet, Aegon did not move his hand, not even to the wine cup beside his hand. 

Her brother, her younger quiet brother, the one who she had been taught to marry since she was but a child, as her father often repeated. She and Aegon, the future of House Targaryen, of the blood of old Valyria, of the line of the last dragonlords in the known world. 

However, as she looked upon his cold face, she found herself not knowing the man beside her. 

“ Your humor seemed to have lightened at least, Lady Visenya ” said Lord Daemon Velaryon as he took his seat beside her, his smile broad. 

“ Who told you it was dark in the first place? ” Visenya replied as she took the wine cup to her mouth. 

“ Girl, you don't need to don that fearless  warrior's mask, not with me ” Lord Daemon spoke, “ I knew you since you were at your wet nurse's teat, do you think I would not tell when a shadow clouds your mind? ” 

“ Knowing me at my wet nurse breasts doesn't give you leave to question me ” Visenya retorted. 

“ But I am not, truly ” Lord Daemon said. “ In the Stepstones, you left your men and vassals restless, all speak of the discord between you and your brother, their commander and lord to be. This will not paint a fair picture, not of you, not of him ” 

Visenya was not in temper to hear another pratteling tongue on the matter, not since her father's. 

She turned her gaze to Daemon Velaryon, " We are the blood of Old Valyria, the last of the dragonlords, the opinions of late slaves doesn't not concern me . Every man in this hall, their fathers, and their fathers before them were but our slaves until Lord Gaemon the Glorious gave them their freedom. And yet, I owe their lives in my hands, to spend and spare as I, and only I see fit. I shall not stoop to heed their murmur” She lifted her goblet, sippling lightley before she continued, “ As for Aegon they worship him, see him their promised savior, as if he was some Valyrian god come to walk among them. And by his return , he decreed that all men, disloyal or who lack the descpline, shall meet their end before we sail home, and so he did. ” 

Lord Daemon regarded her carefully, “ You are his wife to be, Visenya. You two are the future of your blood, of your House. You shall be at his side, to comfort him as your late mother did your father ” 

Visenya then smirked bitterly, “ And what did she gain from it, Lord Daemon? But shame and betrayal, my Lord father bedded half or more of Dragonstone women, claiming them from their husbands with his so-called the right of the first night, all for his own  pleasure and for my mother's shame. It did not stop there, he sired a bastard on that Baratheon whore, even if he didn't want to acknowldge him. We must suffer that pup ” she was looking at Orys then, his eyes gleaming as he laughed on something that knight, Ser Mervyn said. 

“ Aegon is not his father ” Lord Daemon gasped, “ He is a good man, your brother, he will bring you no shame ” his tone turned amused then, “ I only pray you might get him to bed you ” 

"Pray first that he would speak to me," Visenya replied dryly, swirling the wine in her cup. "The man is deaf."

Daemon Velaryon laughed at it, and so did Visenya. 

Her gaze shifted to lord Daemon's son, Aethan Velaryon, his handsome face seemed weary and lost, “ I think he is no different from your own son ” she mused. 

“ Believe me, my lady. That son of mine is of one kind, he won't even to hold a sword ” Daemon Velaryon let out a desparate chuckle, shaking his head. 

As if Aegon did, Visenya thought. She could still remember how much Ser Quenton had suffered to drag him to the yard. And even then, he would fight only if that black pup Orys was at his side. 

Her father entered the hall, and at once, the throng rose to their feet. Lord Aerion loomed in thd splendor of Old Valyria itself, a following robe of black silk, embroidered with twisting dragons in silver thread that shone like molten steel as he moved. Upon his head, a dark Valyrian steel crown adorned with agates rested. 

By his side, the Tyroshi envoy and three of his slave warriors waddled. He was bright and swollen thing. His beard oiled and perfurmed, Visenya could smell it, his doublet striped in garish green and oranges. His smile wide and eager. 

Visenya had always know the Tyroshi to be a greedy folk, theirs is spoken in every corner of the Narrow Sea, but now, she could feel it, in the way the envoy's eyes darted over the feast, over them. 

Her father took his seat beside Aegon's, his eyes swept over the hall. “ Where by the Doom your foolish sister is? ” he asked them, his voice barely heard. 

Aegon didn't reply. 

“ Mayhaps she is preaparing herself  ”Visenya did, “ Or lost in some of her fancy dreams, or it is one of her sweet voiced singers ” 

“ Or in those damned villages ” their father muttered, “ I shall break her legs to bring some sense to her  ” 

“ Go not hard upon the girl, Aerion ” Lord Daemon told him “ She is but seventeen, still more a child than a woman ” 

Her father exhaled sharply, his fingers tapping around his chair's arm. 

In a moment, he flicked his hand, “ Let the feast begin ” he spoke. 

Then he rose from his seat, taking up a goblet of Golden Arbor, “ A toast to Aegon Targaryen, your future lord! ” her father declared with a ringing voice. “ In his honor, we feast this night, to his victory, to our victory, and to welcome life to return to our isle! ” 

The gathered men and knights raised their cups, the hall echoing with their clashes, and of the men's acclaim. 

He lifted his cup higher, his voice stronger, “ He had led our men to victory, shielded our people, and show himself worthy to be the heir of Old Valyria! Our son, our hero! ” 

A greeter cheer rose in the hall, wine spilled, cups clashed over and over, and the name of Aegon Targaryen thundered from a thousands throats. 

"We shall celebrate for days!" Her lord father proclaimed. “ No more shall there be hunger in Dragonstone! With his victory, our people shall know safety, and our land shall know wealth! For Aegon Targaryen, heir to Dragonstone! ” 

The hall erupted in cheer once again.

Visenya caught the look on her father's eyes as he gazed upon Aegon, pride was there, as it never was was before. 

Yet, Aegon himself seemed unchanged by it all, untouched by the cheers,by the feasting,by the lavish words of praise as he was by men screams on the battlefield. He sat as always did, his face calm, silent and watchful. 

As her father took his seat again, Visenya rose, the hall quieted at once, all the looks now drawn to her alone. 

“ A toast..” she declared as she lifted her cup, her voice unwavering, “ To my dragon Vaghar ” her gaze sweeping over the assembled men, knights and servants, “ For she, too, flew over the Stepstones, she too, bathed our foes in fire and blood. This was not merely Balerion's victory, but also hers ”

It seemed that most of those foold didn't grasp her intent, and so they raised their cup and cheered for Vaghar and lady Visenya. Her name echoed in Dragonstone stone walls. 

But her father did, his burning gaze told her all she needed to know. As did Daemon Velaryon whose face was frozen in shock, as much as his son's.The envoy's lips parted, and Tissa stood pale. 

But Aegon didn't so much as blink. He had made no sign that he had heard her at all. He didn't even deign to turn his head, as if she and her words were unworthy of a single glance. As though she were not there at all. 

And that only made her grip curled upon the cup harsher, and her jaw thightened. How she wanted to strike him, to wrench him from that indifference. 

She was Visenya Targaryen, of the blood of Old Valyria, and no man ever dared to took her as naught, save him... The one who should looked upon her with awe, with devotion, the man who would became her husband. 

She swallowed her anger along with her wine, the rich liquid burned down her throat, then she lowered herself back to her chair. 

Shows followed after that, to delight, a dwarf danced in three circles of fire, a lysene  conjurer plucked doves from the very air, a Tyroshi sword-dancer moved like liquid steel , his two blades catching the fire as he whriled and spun. 

A pair of fire-eaters strode as they drank flames, their mouths a glow. And Musicians played. 

Six maidens in flowing crismon dresses followed, moved perfectly, dancing, their silk swirling like flames. At their heart stood another, with long silver-golden hair, loose, dancing as the girl moved gracefully, her dress shimmered like molten moonlight, each thread woven with light strand of silver. Pearls and tiny diamonds had been swen in the bodice in the shape of a flying dragon, Meraxes. 

As Visenya looked into the dancer face, hidden by a mask fit for a Valyrian godess, forged with silver and studded with amethysts, bore the shape of a dragon face, the silver scales delicately etched, the eyeholes rimmed with gold, and through them shone twin darck lilac orbs, bright, framed by the silver-golden strands. 

And Visenya needed no other glance to know was behind it, Rhaenys. 

Her sister laughed, as bright as the sun, the sound soft and smooth. All men's eyes were on her, drawn to her, bewitched by the effortless graceful steps of hers. 

Two dancers, in crismon and golden lifed her up, yet, she did not falter, her legs moved in air perfectly, as she was made for the music, and music itself bent to her will. 

In that moments, Rhaenys was holding the hall in her palms without even trying. 

She spun around herself as the dancers lowered her back to the ground, she lifted her arms, a smile played on her lips, her eyes alight with joy. 

A harp was placed in her hands, and she took it with flourish, her fingers danced over the strings as she twirled upon one foot, laughing, her melody was playful and light. 

The crowd roared, rose in cheers, laughs, men clupped their hands on the tables, eager to know who was that woman who held them in her hands, dancing, laughing, utterly free. 

As Visenya turned her gaze toward Aegon, she found her deep violet eyes fixed upon something for the first time that night, no to someone. Admist all of them, his eyes were drawn to Rhaenys as if all the world around him dimmed, and her alone was in the lights, his expressions unreadable, yet unmistakably , softened.

He looked at nothing before that, not to the men cheering him, not to her and her words, not even to his own father raising toasts to his praise. 

But to Rhaenys. 

Her little, witless, simple, joyful, frivlous sister. 

As Rhaenys stilled, her fingers stopped their dance through the harp's strans, she stood at the heart of it all. Panting, her chest raised and fell with each breath. 

And then, as if it is on a whim, she reached up her mask, tugged it up and let it fall free. A laughter spilled from her plump lips, bright and beautiful. 

The hall roared in answer. They chanted her name, drunk on her light. 

She moved her feet freely and gracefully as the dancers started again, but it was her who they watched. 

Their lord father was still on his high seat, his hand on his forhead, his face hidden as Rhaenys reached for him with the ease of a rosy-cuckled child, then she bent, pressing a swift kiss on her father's cheek. 

“ Sorry to keep you waiting, Father ” she murmured, “ I wished only to charm them ” 

A breath loosed from their father's lips as their corner twitched, “ You have done it very well, you impulsive little fool ” his voice weary as he muttered, “ Now sit ” 

With a carefree move, Rhaenys lifted her chair and set it down where she pleased, not where her father had intented, between Visenya and Aegon's seats, beside her brother's. 

Her father cast her a glance. 

“ Apologies, my lady ” mubbled the head-maiden, Tissa, “ But the seat is not for you ” 

Unbothered, Rhaenys took a fig from the platter and bringing it to her lips, she smiled, “ I would rather sit between my elder siblings, Tissa. Let us enjoy our feast without such tedious formalities. ”

Beside her siblings,Visenya smiled bitterly indeed—what a foolish jest. Beside Aegon, mayhaps.

Rhaenys turned then to Aegon, “ You have not touch a thing, have you? ” she chided while biting the fig with a pleased hum, then her eyes shifted to Visenya, “ And you too, Vis. Oh you two.. ” 

Delighted, she reached for the platters,took a piece of the lamparey pie between her fingers and held it to Aegon. 

“ Here, my handsome brother ” She said, “ For if you don't eat, you shall waste away, and then, who shall stand here, so beautiful, so handsome? Who shall bring us victory? ” She giggled, “ Come now, am I to beg you? ” 

Aegon's eyes flickred, without a word, he parted his lips, and took the offering from her. 

Again, she reached for a fig, and again she held it again to him, “ And of course some sweets ” her eyes were glinting, “ For your jaw does not remain so tight ” she teased. 

Aegon didn't recoil, he took the fig in his mouth and bit it, honey ran down his lips and Rhaenys wiped it with her thrumb, “ There, much better ” 

Visenya stomach churned, how can her sister, a targaryen, a dragonrider, behave so careless, so foolish, in such manner, while all eyes were here. 

Visenya drank deeply, as she exchanged an eye with their father, his anger hidden in his dark violet eyes. 

Rhaenys turned to her with eyes filled with joy, “ Will you not eat? Sis? Or must I put the morsel in your mouth with my own hands? ” 

Visenya's jaw tensed, her face darkened, she knew it as she pressed her hand tightly on her sister's hip. “ Do you take us for toys? With lesser men's eyes on us. Stop being so impulsive, so heedless.”

Her sister's lips curved to a smile, “ Oh, Vis. Must you always scold? It is a feast, is it not? Will you have us all sit still, as the roof's stone effigies? ” 

“ You may make a fool of yourself before them as it please you ” Visenya's grip tightened, “ For what does it matter? In the end, you are but a second daughter, meant to be sent off to some lord or prince to wed, as our great aunt did, to lands far from our own. But I and Aegon, are the future of this house, the blood of Old Valyria and its true legacy rest upon us. We shall rule, and you will do well to remember that all must show us respect we are owed, even you ” 

Rhaenys titled her head, “ A second daughter. Am I? Free to make of myself a fool ” she laughed, “ Yet I ride Meraxes more than you do Vaghar ” 

Visenya eyes didn't soften. 

“ Ah my great solemn sister. Shall you act like you are craved of stone? ” Rhaenys sighed, “ Fear not, I shall remember my place, just as I hope one day you shall emember  how to smile ”

Visenya didn't blink. 

And so her sister drifted her attention to The Tyroshi envoy. The fat man grinned as he stared on Rhaenys, his hair and jewels gleaming. “ Much had I heard of your beauty, my lady, but I swear, no words can capture it true ” 

Rhaenys replied with a beam, “ I thank you for your kindness ” She dipped her head, “ I must say that I have never seen a man as radiant ” 

“Ah! That is our way in Tyrosh! ” the envoy explained, turning to her father “ The Archon had sent many gifts, rare and precious, for only your eyes, my lady. I have no doubt they will bring you joy for the first glance ”

At that, her sister replied courtly, “ I am certain they shall ”. 

Her lord father nodded, “ Of course she will. Our daughter always had a taste for the beautiful things” 

The envoy let out a booming laugh as Daemon Velaryon sezied her sister attention now, “ You have grown so much, Rhaenys. And I can tell, you are the very best of your mother ” he chuckled, swirling the wine in his cup, “ We can say men will be killing themselves for you soon enough. ” 

Rhaenys flushed, “ I was on Driftmark last year, Lord Daemon, alas, you were not there. Vaella and Laera, How I miss them ” she said, “ And little Corlys, he was a fierce little thing , doted on Meraxes, I used to take him with me, I miss them ” 

Lord Daemon laughed, “ I knew they do.” he told her, “ You shall always have a place in Driftmark, you, Visenya and Aegon. We are true freinds, and before that we are bound by blood, your mother, Lady Valaena was my cousin, her brothers, your late uncles, my sworn compagnions, She used to bring you as she oft visited Driftmark ” 

Her mother's name was enough to stir her ghost, her beautiful bright lilac eyes, her soft, warm smile, how gently she would press her lips upon Visenya's brow, and how her arms would wrap around her firmly. 

“ Īlvon daor morghūljagon, ñuha rūklon. Īlvon ēza ñuha prūmia.”- She would tell her every time Visenya withdrew to her bed. 

“ I miss her ” Rhaenys said. 

“ We all mourn her still ” Lord Daemon replied, his voice quieter “ And none more than your lord father ” 

And so he had betrayed her, the thought was bitter as Visenya looked to her father, engrossed in talk with the envoy. 

“ And lord Aethan ” Rhaenys tried to change the talk, “ You have grown so handsome, a most comely man, truly. ” 

Daemon clapped his son on the back, “ When a beautiful lady graces you with such praise, have the sense to return her kidness ”

Aethan's ears turned red, Visenya found it amuzed, “  You honor me, my lady ” he managed. 

“ Gods!! ” Lord Daemon chuckled, “ One might mistake him for a shy maiden ” 

“ I has been four years since we two spoke in earnest. We were close once as children, Aethan. I recall it well enough, you liked Meraxes, as Corlys did ” 

“ Now he is often with me, at sea ” Lord Daemon declared, pride in his tone, “ He is a Velaryon after all, we blongs to sea ” then he reached his son with his eyes, “ And now ”he let out a sly grin, “ Would you share a dance with lady Rhaenys? ” 

“ I would love to dance through the clouds, and why not,eat them, but... It is far from reality ” Rhaenys commented. 

Lord Aethan didn't protest, instead he rose silently, moved to Rhaenys, extanded his hand and inclined his head, “ My lady ” he finally told her. 

Rhaenys' lips curved lightly, slipping her hand into his, and so, hand in hand, they descended where the dancers swayed. 

Aegon's eyes lingered on Rhaenys, dancing, his face stern and dry of emotions. 

Visenya watched him for a while before she nodded to Tissa, who wordlessly  returned Rhaenys' chair to its rightful place. 

“ They would be perfect for each other. Would they not? ” Visenya said, “ Why can Father not see it? She is happy with him. As her sister and lady to be, I would have her remain so. ” 

At last, Aegon turned his face to hers, his violet eyes even darker, “ As you said ” he murmured, “ Father can't see it ”. 

“ Oh but he would, Sooner or later ” she curled her lips, “ He will find a match for her, she was born for it. I can tell no one will mourn her loss more than you ” 

Aegon said nothing, but Visenya didn't miss his grip tightened on his chair. 

Her chambers were dimly light that night, the hearth casting shadows on the dark stone walls, as the Narrow Sea winds howled, and its waves crashes against the island's shores, the voices reaching Visenya's ears. 

Her maidens unlaced her dress, the air was very cool against her bare back. Yet it was somehow cold. 

Visenya hated cold. 

As she stepped in the bath tube, the water was near scalding, but she did not hesistate, instead, Visenya sank slowly until the heat consummated her wholy. 

Tissa stood close, watching as the youngest girls knelt beside the basin, taking her hand gently and cupped it in the water. 

Visenya leaned her head back in the bassin, letting the water lap against her skin. Then, she titled her chin just enough to regard Tissa. 

“ So what is it? ” Visenya asked. 

Tissa folded her hands, “ As the Lady of Dragonstone you are to be, it is only right that you know the expanses of Dragonstone appartements. ” 

“ And you would persume to teach me this ” Visenya scoffed. 

“ I would not dare, my lady ” Tissa spoke courtly, “ I am but your humble servant, at your pleasure ” 

“ It would be my pleasure that you bite your tongue ” Visenya sneered, She had heard enough today.She would not endure that old snake barking “ What expanses are these? Is there aught between your ears but wind? We were at war, for the most the last year. That rests in my lord father's hands. ” 

Tissa hesistated before she lowered her head, “ Lady Rhaenys... ” 

“ What of her? ”

Visenya's hand stirred the water as the harsh unsteady move of the maiden beside her broke  her ease. 

“ Who taught you to handle me so? ” Visenya eyes were blazing, “ You little slut-Get out of my sight! You are dissmissed!! ” She ordered loudly. 

The maiden froze froze between she rose up and fled in terror. 

Another fool, Visenya bited her lips, “ Who by the doom is she? ” 

“ She is new, my lady ” Alla, her other maiden replied, “ She is unsteady those days, she lost her father and only brother in the Stepstones ” 

Visenya sighed, robbing her temple, “ I don't want to see her face in the castle again. Give her enough to quiet her belly, she and whatever wretch she calls kin. ” 

“ As you wish ” Alla said. 

Visenya then turned her face to Tissa. 

“ What is it about our little sister? ” Visenya asked. 

Tissa lowered her eyes, “ My lady, it is not my place to speak ill of the lady ” 

“ Spare me your pretense and say it ” Visenya snapped.

“ S-She had spent the Castle's coins as she pleased in your absence, on the villagers of course, without the Lord's knowledge or constent ” 

Visenya eyes darkened as she pulled her hand away from Alla's. “ Did he know about it? ” 

“ Yes ” Tissa replied, “ I told him myself, yet, he took no action against her ” 

Visenya's blood boiled in her veins. 

“ And who are you to judje your lord for what he does or does not do with his own blood? ” She leaned forward, “ Have you lost your wits, old worm? ” 

The old woman face drained of blood, as her lips trembled, “ If I had such a wish, may my head fall ” she said. 

Visenya mouth curled into a dark smile as she stepped out the bassin, Alla moved, wrapping the towl around her, “ Oh, that could be easily arragand ” She told the old woman coldly. 

Two other maidens stepped forward, drawing a light crismon nightgown over her head. 

As they finished their work, her sharp eyes turned to the parachement laid upon the table. 

Tissa drew nearer, her words slow, “ I speak for your good my lady. If Lady Rhaenys holds the people's hearts, they will see her as the true Targaryen lady, and mayhaps, the true  Lady of Dragonstone itself, not you ” 

Visenya's  voice turned icy, “ The looks of villagers make no one a Lady ” she retorted, “ She is three years my  younger, she will never be the Lady of Dragonstone ” 

“ Yet, my lady, you must act, and silence the tongues in the Castle who wished her in your place. The way she wins over the people, the servants, the maidens, the guards, the men, even the lowest of Dragonstone folk, how she sat between you and your lord husband to be, while all these eyes were on you... ” 

“ What do you seek, old fool? ”

The maid's sound dropped to a whisper, “ She aims higher, your sister, my lady. The way she carries herself around Lord Aegon, is not of a sister ” 

Visenya sighed as she took the goblet of warm milk from Alla's hand, “ She has been with him since they were naught but children. She was the closest to him ” She said, looking at the white liquid, “ He loves her, as a brother should. But I don't believe Aegon is capable of such feeling for a woman. He never even so much as looked on one of the women the Archon sent to his bed ” 

“ But Lady Rhaenys is no mere woman to him ” Tissa insisted. 

“ She is his younger sister ” Visenya's eyes flushed, “ Nothing more ” she replied with a curt dismissal. 

Visenya took a deep draught from the goblet,  the warmth spreading against her throat, “ You have gone so far ” she told the old worm, her tone laced with a quiet venom. 

“ I am your wet nurse, I only care about you, I truly do, as if you were my own flesh and blood. ” Tissa answered. “ It is my duty to speak to you about what I have seen. I.. wish only for your happiness ” 

“ But I am not your own. My mother is dead, I don't wish to have another. And you will speak no word of this again, Tissa, or I will end you with my own hands ” Visenya  threatened her. “ And as for my little foolish sister, you shall not trouble your mind with her. For she is soon to leave Dragonstone, and she shall never return, as did many youngest daughters before her. My lord father will see to it ” 

That was the order of things, the elder marries the the elder, to keep the Targaryen blood pure. 

It had always been them, Visenya thought,  as it had been with Gaemon and Daenys, and Aegon and Elaena before them. She will rule beside him, as his equal, she will continue with him a thousands of years rooted blood, the blood of Old Valyria. 

She drank again, deeply. 

With the first light of the morning touching Dragonstone's walls , Visenya made her way to her father's study. She was draped in a crismon dress, in the Valyrian fashion, its sleeve long and narrow, ending in fine golden cuffs. 

Though it was the very first hours of the morning, her father's study was grim.

She found her father there, seated in his chair, silent, his eyes fixed on Aegon as her brother, who sat nearby was immersed in some book. 

“ It is some secret council? It isn't? ” Visenya asked, her voice calm but sharp. She glanced once more from her father to her brother, then took her place beside him. 

Aegon was lost in the papers and the ink, oblivious to the world around him. 

“ No, it is not ” It was her father who replied, “ Your brother was taken by some tax scrolls. So I was left  with those damned books and your too patient brother for all the night ”. 

Visenya studied Aegon for a moment. It must be another doom to see him doing that for a night. 

Finally, he pushed himself to his feet. “ Pardon me, my lord ” he said, his voice polite, yet distant, as he was preaparing to leave. 

Their father rose as well suddenly, “ Aegon, wait ” he ordered, “ I did not plant my backside through that chair through the whole night so you would run off before you listen what I am meant to say "

Aegon stilled at the words. 

“ I shall speak with the Tyroshi envoy and delegation after another day of feast ” Her father said, “ About trade, we will see to more men, you will be there with me ” he advanced to Aegon, his hands reached forward and cupped Aegon's face, forcefully, roughly. “ You made them see our dragons' power, now they shall my heir's, yours. There will be a tourney  - A tourney, Visenya smiled amused , her brother never rode there before, nor he would do- Knights, Tyroshi warriors will be there, and you will so. Tommorrow, you will ride as Aegon Targaryen, you will fight as a lord does, and you will win ” 

His fingers dug deeper and deeper, making her brother looked at him  “ You are my son, you will look at my eyes as I speak to you. ” Her father growled, “ Do you understand the weight upon your shoulders, Aegon? You must not fail me, you hear? Should you fail this, there will no mercy.I will not tolerate it, Understood? ” 

Aegon's jaw clenched as he raise his own hand, wrenching his father's  from his face with a sharp pull. 

“ Yes... My lord ” he bit up.  

And without a word, he turned  strode from the room. 

Visenya turned her gaze to her father, somehow, the air felt thick. 

Chapter Text

The great hall was livelier this day that it had been the night before.

That pleases her well, for Rhaenys took delight in all things bright and full of life.

The Tyroshi musicians the envoys had brought, were far skilled. The song, a tale of two lovers lost in the Doom was one her mother countless times before, yet, hearing it was a gift. In some point, curiosity got the better of her, and Rhaenys demanded they show her how to do it, and so they did. 

The dancers were too eager to win her favor. They were kind to her, perhaps too kind, their smiles dizzling as their steps. 

And handsome they were, she thought as she spun from one to another, laughing and cheering for them. 

The Tyroshi food was also too tempting to resist, every bite more decadent than the last. She couldn't stop herself, and with each morsel of the honeyed cake, she found herself drift into a waking dream, in a marble castle, with burries and roses and sweets, high above in the sky, with Meraxes, and Aegon.. Aegon was there also. Her darling brother, her closest in Dragonstone. 

She could see his face, craved by the gods. No, Aegon was too handsome to have been merely craved, he was a god himself, in his own right, a Valyrian one. No one was like her brother, not the  dancer, not the lords, not any man. 

Gods, how she missed him, his dark violet eyes, so strong, so striking, so unbearbly beautiful, the quiet, faint smile of him. The silver gold of his hair, his well curved nose.

Even though she was beside him last night, it was not enough, it would never be. It seems she could never have her fill of her elder brother. 

Rhaenys found herself then on the Great hall's balcony, her back rested on the dragons shaped stones, a glass of Golden Arbor resting in her hands. 

But it was not Aegon who was with her. 

“ You are even more beautiful than you were in our days of old, my lady  ”, Said Lord Daemon Velaryon's son. Clad in a fine tunic of deep blue, embroidered with golden threads. “ The lilac of your dress makes your eyes shine all the brighter ”, his voice was smooth, his smile easy- He enjoyed her company, and in thruth, she found herself did as well. 

Rhaenys giggled, “ Your tongue has grown sweeter these last years, Cousin ” she teased. “ Whith honeyed words like yours, you will win yourself a great beauty. —She laughed — Not that you don't deserve it, you are a very handsome man, indeed. And with a gentle heart above all ” 

“ Your words give me such a great honor, lady Rhaenys ” He told her, “ And you speak soo freely my lady, that made me sad ” 

“ Sad? ” Rhaenys rised her eyebrow.

“ You speak as if we have a say in our own fate. As if it is not already penned by our Lord father ” 

“ Do you have a woman you love, Lord Aethan? ” Rhaenys asked curiously. 

“ No ” he smirked, “ Not unless you count my mother, and my own sisters. But unlike you, it has been soo long ago since our House  wed brother to sister. We are Valyrian, but we are no dragonlords ” 

She sipped her wine slowly, “ Don't fret, Cousin” She drew a playful smile on her lips, “ You will find a woman who will cherish and love you yet ” 

“ I can only hope, my lady ” Aethan chuckled. 

“ Now tell me, was Tyrosh that bright and splendid they claim?, And the Stepstones? ” her eyes gleamed, “ I longed to fly there, but my lord father swore he would break my legs if I dared ” 

Aethan let out a light laugh, “ Your lord father had the right of it ”, his glance hardened, “ The Stepstones are a sea of blood and ruin, as much is Essos. Death and blood, blood and fire, pirates, sellswords, exiles. A brother would sell his own brother for a purse of coppers, kill him for gold. And your dragon, would be a great prey for a well-placed crossbowman's bolt ” 

Rhaenys frowned, “ No bolt would ever bring down Meraxes. She is strong, swift and as mighty as Balerion himself! ” She spoke in defiance. 

“ Oh my lady, I don't doubt your dragon's strength ” Aethan Velaryon shaked his head. 

“ Yes I see... ” She insisted and Aethan gave her an amused scoff. 

The sound of horses' hooves, thundering, drifted her attention, and Rhaenys turned, leaned herself over the balcony, her gaze down to the courtyard. 

There they were, her brothers, her Aegon and Orys, racing side by side. 

She only caught glimpses of Aegon, his face striking as ever, his violet eyes and golden silver hair, his unreal face. She sighed, drawing, watching him quietly as he faded. 

“ Lord Aegon seems somehow more alive when he is with that young man ” Aethan Velaryon observed, his eyes watching the race. 

“ He is his freind, his oldest freind ” She replied, leaning back, “ They grew together ” 

He is our brother, the one Father would never acknowldge. 

“ His truest freind, I dare say. For I have never seen Lord Aegon at ease with another, but you ” 

“ Everyone expects something ” She said, “ Or somone ” 

Somehow her voice was calm. 

“ You two seems to get along better than I have ever expected! ” came her father's voice, his was light this time, and that made her confused as she turned her face toward him. 

In a luxerious fire-red cloat, Her lord father drew a rare fine smile as he approached towards them. 

With an easy move, he placed a hand upon Aethan's shoulder, “ You are not shy around our beautiful daughter anymore ” Her father remarked. 

“ We grew up together, my lord. Lady Rhaenys is like a sister to me ” Aethan Velaryon met his gaze. 

“ A sister? Is she? ” her father smirked, “ She already has a brother, and if the last night is of any proof, he treasures her well enough ” 

Her father then withdrew his hand from Aethan's shoulder, instead he slipped his arm through her arm.That made her even more confused. 

“ I beg your pardon, my young lord. But I need my daughter ” he said smoothly. 

Lord Aethan Velaryon didn't object, he merely noded, as he watched them walked away. 

It was rare for her father to show such care and affection, and Rhaenys knew better to believe it was without purpose. Yet, she didn't pull away. 

“ My beautiful daughter ” Her father spoke at least as he guided her towards his steady. “ You have a fondless for lovely things, don't you? ” 

Eyes widened, Rhaenys smiled to his sweet words. 

“ Aye... ” She replied breathless. “ Indeed, I do like beautiful things, Father ”

Since when her father ever cared about what she loves? Oh, Aegon did, her mother did, Orys did, het handmaidens did, her singer Caelo did. But her Lord Father... No.... Never. 

“ I am glad you are charming by nature, and so easily adorded ” her father noted, softly. “Speaking to young men of good breeding is very natural at your age ”

“ Father, you misunderstand it all.. ” Rhaenys replied, titling her head. 

He didn't let her let another word as his hand closed on her arm, so tight, so firm. 

“ Do I? Aethan is a good man, a true and honorable man. With him we secure an ally, a steadfast one. But there is another, one who can gave us far more. A power beyond the Narrow Sea  ” 

Rhaenys arched an eyebrow. 

“ You will speak with the Archon's envoy ” he continued, “ he has so many gifs for you, sent from his master ” 

“ He is dull ” Rhaenys sighed, “ And a very good liar too. I don't want to see him, I barely stand him last night. I have no desire to do it again. ” 

Her father's grip didn't loosen, “ You will do what is required, not what you desire ” 

“ You are the lord, Father ” Rhaenys said, trying to slip from her father's fingers and words. “ What am I compared to you, my lord? You are the one to negociate, to command. Accept the gifts on my behalf, and spare me this farce ”. 

He didn't releasr her, but smiled, though there was no warmth in it. “ Our dear guest must see the joy in your eyes, not mine ”he insisted. “ How the gifts have pleased you. And don't take yourself for a lacking, daughter. ” he reached her hair, twisted a strand of her golden silver hair between his slender fingers, “ You have soo much I don't. I am no young beauty men would gladly die for ” 

She forced herself to smile this time. 

“ That does not made an alliance ” She insisted “ I will have no joy with this liar wrench of a man. And I don't think his master is any better ” 

But her Lord father made no reply. He merely opened his study's door, and walked through. As if he hadn't heard her at all. 

Rhaenys hurried after him, another protest on her plump lips. 

“ Father, I will not endure.... ” 

She  stopped mid_step. 

The Tyroshi envoy stood before her, all bright and silk. His smile greedy, eager, his eyes even more. 

Adorned with heavy golden rings, his hands  clung together. 

Though bile raised in her throat, Rhaenys smiled. She knew it was sweet, she hated it. 

“ My beautiful dragon lady ” The envoy crooned, his voice ooizing flattery. “ It is a great honor that you will accept our master's gifts with your own hands ” 

As if she had a choise, Rhaenys thought. Yet, her smile was well_worn. 

“ A great honor indeed ” her father pointed as he cast her a sidelong glance. 

There were silk, Myrish and Tyroshi. Hues of deep crismon, lilac, and the darkest violet. Some were embroidered with gold and silver, others adorned with gemstones, rubbies, agates, and emerlads, woven so finely in the fabric that captured Rhaenys' breath for a blink. 

Jewels lay in heaps, crowns from the jade sea, she had never seen such things, a Tyroshi crown guilded in gold. Earnings, heavy with pearls, rings, so thick, orenate daggers, their hilts craved from the finest jewels. Perfume bottles of Myrish glass, an ivory box came from Old Volantis. 

Her eyes moved slowly to a Myrish harp, small and delicate, an ibony farme, a larger Tyroshi one, with golden dragons motifs. 

But they were naught infront of her Valyrian harp, Rhaenys told herself, Her mother used to say that it belonged to Daenys the Dreamer herself. If legend is to be believed, it is gold that its strings are spun from dragons' sinew and frame from the dragon's scales. Hers was beautiful, hers was old as Valyria itself. 

“ Oh! The harps, it is very clear you have an eye on them, my lady ” The envoy declared with a laugh. “ I was told you are fond and more than fond of music. And after witnessing your perfermanence last night, I may say you were made for it. Our Archon has a tasetful ear, he would enchanted by your songs, without a doubt. ” 

“ They are lovely ” She remarked as she ran a hand through the fine strings, “ But mine is Valyrian, my lord. And I daresay only a Valyrian ear can truly hear its soul ” 

Unbothered, the envoy chuckled, then turned to anothet box. “ And there, jewels- my lady. The wanders of the world. Fit for a Valyrian godess. And a beauty such as yours deserves nothing less ” 

He stepped closer then, holding up a golden necklace, golden, heavy and beautifully crafted in the shape of a dragon, “ It was made for you, my dragon lady. ” he drew a feet nearer, “ 

Rhaenys' fingers' tightened around the pendant around her neck, the one she always wore, her mother's. “ It is a fine gift. And I would be most honored... ” 

She never got to end it, as her father moved behind her silently, his hand found the clasp. Before she could protest, he unfastened it with a sharp pull. The familiar weight slipped through her throat, leacing her feeling strangely bare. And somehow, it hurted. 

The envoy fastened the new necklace around Rhaenys' graceful neck, heavy with gold, and beautiful. She touched , but didn't feel it. It was hollow. Her gaze drifted pass them, to her mother's, nown resting on her father's study, placed carefully by him. 

“ You shine even brighter now ” The Envoy said smoothly. “ The Archon will be delighted to see it on you in the portrait ” 

Rhaenys' eyes snapped to him, “ A portrait? ” 

“ Of course, my lady, You face is not a one to be burried nor forgotten in Dragonstone shadows ” The envoy replied. 

Her father nodded as his eyes studied her, “ I have commissioned an artist to capture you ” his lips curled, “ You will make such a great painting with that lovely face ” 

Her fingers curled harder on the necklace, a sound in her told her that was a chain. 

Turning to the envoy, her father smiled, a rare sight. “ My apologies, your excellency ” he said, his tone smooth. “ I wish to accompagny Our daughter myself ”. 

The bright man dipped his head, “ Of course, my lord ” he replied courtly, then drifted his greedy eyes to her,  smiling, “ I trust the lady will find the artist pleasant, he is one of the most gifted in Tyrosh ” 

Rhaenys said nothing, she only noded politely as she felt the bile rise in her throat, a knot tightening in her stomach. 

As they left the study, the envoy retreated to the chambers her father saw fit to recieve him and his delegation. 

Rhaenys found herself alone with her father again. 

“ You will make a very beautiful one, indeed ” he tokd her, his eyes on her, almost unfamiliarly tender, soft. “ Since you were a child, you were so beautiful, so bright, so full of life. I always knew it would not be soo long for you to be noticed. Any man with two eyes and a sane sense will fall for your face ” his tone deepened, “ That face of your mother's ”. 

Rhaenys smiled, sweetly though it did not reach her eyes. 

“ I am most happy to see you pleased, Father. ” she noted, slipping from his strong arms “ And I wish that as well. But, there is celebrations today —the boat races, the wrestling matches and I promised my ladies and  freinds to join them. Those are days of merriment, I would see it all, and then—” 

Her father's  grip clamped around her arm, his fingers pressed harshly as he pulled her towards him. Rhaenys' throat went dry. 

“ Boat races? Wrestling matches?! ” he scoffed, “ Those filthy villages again, the fishermongers, the dockworkers! ” he sneered, “ Do you take me for a fool or are you one yourself? ” his voice turned into a dark growl sent a shiver in her skin, “ You are my daughter! My daughter! A lady of House Targaryen! The blood of The last dargonlords is in your veins! There is what is expected of you to fulfill!! ” 

Rhaenys inhaled sharply, his hand was painful, she tried to step back, turning her eyes and hands to his. 

“ Sweets! Celebrations! Flights!! ” he sneered, his other hand came into her cheek, forcing her to face him, “ Is that all what you care about?! You will stop this nonsence, you will stop it, Rhaenys! Do you hear me?! No more childlish dreams and whims! You will act as a true daughter of House Targaryen! As one of The blood of Old Valyria should! And you will do as you are commanded! ” His grip on her cheek grew painful. “ Or I would have you strangled myself. If it is what it takes for you to obey ” 

Looking at his eyes, burning, angry, scornful, Rhaenys swallowed hard, she trembled though she curved her lips as much as she can. “ Then, I suppose I have no choice Father ” she said, her heart pounded. 

The artist her father chose was a young  striking Tyroshi  man, with dark velvet hair, his beard finely kept bright with shadows of red as were his clothes. His green eyes keen as they rested upon her, measuring her. 

Rhaenys sat upon a high—backed chair of  crismon velvet placed in her appartement's balcony in the Sea Dragon Tower. The Narrow Sea winds stirred the looses of her hair of silver and gold on her face and her graceful neck. Drapped in a bright silk  crismon dress, the sleevs and bodice coiled black dragons embroided with golden threads, the hem was yet adorned with more dragons silver and golden, her hair loosed free till her waist and under it, Rhaenys felt no ease. The breeze kissed her cheek softly but it brought her no comfort.

No attendants had been permitted save for Lady Tissa, and Gaela, the new—weded  woman her husband refused to take her after her lord father claimed her for the first night, as her father had decreed. 

The old woman stood near, her hands folded before her, her eyes so watchful, her dry  mouth a fine line. Her face rigid as ever, her grey hair bound back her ears, she worn a severe unadored grey dress. She had been in their household as Rhaenys could recall, but her presence did soo little to soothe her. 

She had always been found of Visenya, Rhaenys thought, never of her, long before her mother passed. 

Beside her, was Gaela, the younger and prettier, her mouth curled into a smile, beautiful and wide. Her red hair woven into braids, a gown of golden clunged to her slender form, the silk shimmered drawing the eyes to her perfect high breasts. 

Rhaenys envied her ease. 

She had given them her word, her maidens, her freinds, Aelera, Haemys, Vaera, Tarya, Marra and sweet Saelys, Lord Celtigar younger daughter,  Caelo and Aran, to dance with them, to laugh with them, to be with them. To break the bread with the villages' children who had clung to her the last time, wide—eyed, begging her not to leave them. 

What was Aegon doing? She mused. Had he bested Orys in the joust? Oh, Orys was too fine a horseman as he was a swordman. 

Or perhaps he had taken in the garden down after the arch of the Dragon's Tail instead, reclining beneath the shade of a pine towering tree. He has always been found of pine trees, of their scent, as he was of her. 

In the days of old, she used to sneak up behind him softly, and suddenly throw her arms around him as he sat under the pine tree, lost in one of the books he often found in Dragonstone liberary. He never pulled her away, never minded her ever playful interruptions. He would let her rest there beside him, silently content as he heared her endless stories, jests and songs. No one helds her as Aegon did, no one ever could. 

She should have visted the villages, dancing and singing with her freinds, playing her harp there so every sad soul knows joy, seeing the children's eager faces, feeling their warmth and hearing their happy, pure sounds. 

She should have gone to the garden, where her Aegon would have waited for her, there, under the trees, they will be just the two of them. 

She would stare at his face,his eyes, her home, forever. Too long he had been far from her, from home. Too brief were the moments she had stolen since his return. 

Yet she was trapped here, being painted, in the finest silks her father had chosen, with jewels gifted by a man she did not know. 

The pose Tissa had instructed her to take was merciless, crafted to display her graceful curves with precision. 

She hated it. And it took her long, too long, before she felt the ache in her haunches and seat. She had never thought sitting would be so uncomfortable? Who would do? 

Every other moment was a hell. And Rhaenys could not take it anymore. 

At last, She let out a sharp deep breath. 

“ Must I sit here till the world's end? ” She asked, her patience fraying. 

“ You will sit here as long it took the artist to end his work ” Tissa repiled in a rigid voice. “ At your Lord Father pleasure ” 

Rhaenys didn't give her an eye, “ Tell me, Can your delicate hands move with a greater hast? ” She drew a smile on her face. 

“ Capturing your beauty requiers patience, My lady ” he answered with a practiced smile. 

“ Your lady's ass requiers mercy ” Rhaenys scoffed, earning a sharp glance from Tissa who gasped, scandalized, “ I will not sit like this forever ”—she ignored her. 

With a fuild move, she defiantly shifted herself, to a position far more to her liking. “ Here ” She said, “ Much better ”. 

“ The artist cannot start anew, my lady ” Tissa protested sharply. 

Rhaenys lifted her chin, “ why do you speak as if it is your hands that must endure it all, my dear old lady? ” she said, “ If he tires, he can retire. You are free to do so as well ” 

“ Are you dissmissing me, my lady? ” Tissa's face flushed red. 

“ Dissmiss you? Gods. No, sweet Tissa ” Rhaenys said smoothly, “ I am only thinking of you. Sitting like that at your age can not be good for your limbs. You should retire, rest your bones ” 

Tissa's face thightened, she was always like this when it comes to her. Rhaenys thought. And that annoys her. 

The old maid nodded stiffly, her mouth a thin line, “ I shall take all of your concern to your Lord father ” she declared courtly.“ No doubt he will be far pleased to hear of his second's daughter kindness”. 

With a final,pointed glance, she turned on her heel and swept from the balcony, then from the chambers. 

“ She didn't seem pleased “ Gaela remarked as her eyes followed the oldest's steps. “  She will carry her complaints straight to your Lord  father ” 

Rhaenys chuckled, “ Has she ever done otherwise? I almost admire her sutbbornness, my father of all men, is not a patient one, but he somehow tolerates her ”

 Gaela laughed softly as she took a sit across her, “ Mayhaps she amuses him. ” She said, “ Even the most fearsome man in the island need something to laugh at ” 

“ It seems my father has found some growing needs these past months ” Rhaenys told her. “Not only for you ”. 

Gaela did not answer, she only watched her calmly. 

“ I don't hate you for it, Visenya did ” Rhaenys continued, her voice softer. “ You have no say in all of this. ” 

Gaela exhaled. “ Women never do. Not in their own fates, were they noble or low. Lady Visenya has every right to do so. She does not know me ” 

“ Oh but I do ” Rhaenys held her gaze on Gaela's eyes “ I really do. ”she insisted. 

Gaela blinked but said nothing. 

“ I hope my father will be happy to hear our women conversations ” Rhaenys turned her eyes now to the artist, who placed a new framework. 

“ A spy then? Is that what my lady takes me for? ” Gaela asked with an even voice. 

“ You were never given a choice in it ” Rhaenys looked at her again, “ So, Spy may be too harsh a word ” 

Gaela did not protest. 

Rhaenys laughed lightly, “ But come. Let us be freinds instead. That way, I will know what my father truly hear of me ” 

Gaela smiled slightly. “ You’ve been too kind to me, Lady Rhaenys. Never think I would carry an ill word on your to your father’s ear.“

Rhaenys let out a soft laugh. "Ill words? I think I’ve been anything but sweet whispers and pleasant dreams."

At last, as evening drew on, the artist set down his brush. Rhaenys, though, lost in the sweet talks with Gaela hardly noticed the arche in her limbs until she rose. She whimpred as the feeling overhelmed her, of her body being split into two. 

“ It is well done ” Gaela declared as she took the painting carefuly in her hands. 

 Rhaenys took a glance on the portrait, she traced every detail with her eyes, it was indeed beautiful. And yet, a sadness lingered in her heart. 

“ You are a very gifted artist ” She said, “ My Lord father will be pleased of your craft ”. 

The artist's brow bowed, “ It is you, my lady, who is beyond beauty. I only strave to capture what is in front of me ” he replied with a respectful tone. “  But even a brush can scarcely do justice to such grace.” 

Rhaenys forced a small smile, “ Perhaps ” she told him, “ But this will serve its purpose ” Her father's. She thought. 

The sky outside was shades of deep red and orange, the last light of the sun would kiss this world with such a fury, she mused as she stood by the balcony, her eyes on the Sunset in the vast horizon. 

It was beautiful, tragic, poetic, there, she could feel free again, she could feel herself again. 

She could be on her Meraxes again.The very thought of it made her gasping, without a word, she turned away. 

Ignoring everything, she moved into her chambers, then to her bedroom.

With hurry hands, she unfastened her dress, letting the fine fabric sleep from her shoulders to the ground. She reached then to her riding leathers, simple and comfortable, Rhaenys thought, the breeches, the tunic, the boots. Those all belonged to her, to Rhaenys, not to the painting her father wished. One by one she dressed, the soft silk replaced bu something harsher, truer. Fastening her belt, she stole a sight of herself in the mirror, No silk, no jewel, no chains. She let out a loud breath and swung towards the adjoinnig room, to the door. 

The Gallery leading to the middle bailey was quiet,save for her soft footsteps.There, in the red shadows Rhaenys found Maerya, her headmaiden. 

Maerya has been always a gentle soul,  better her than another. The old woman casted her with a long knowing gaze, her eyes reaching for Rhaenys' face before a word was spoken. 

“ My lady, forgieve me. Do you intent to take a flight at this hour? ” The maiden asked in a firm voice, yet it was a true concern there “ The sun is setting. And the castle is alive in such special days, your vanishing will not pass unoticed by your lord father. It will not be wise. ” 

Rhaenys offered a fleeting smile, “ Meraxes does not wait on envoys, and neither do I.And  spare me, I’ve no interest in dull-faced envoys droning on about trade and treaties. My beautiful silver lady is waiting for me. ” 

“ Tissa had carried her complaints to your Lord father, wailing about your defiance and frivolity. With lord Aegon nowhere to be found, lord Aerion and your sister have borne the weight of the envoys. He is displeased, and it will not be wise to test him further. For your sake, wait until morning ”. 

Rhaenys shook her head. "I gave my word, Maerya. To the village children, to my ladies, to the dancers—I won’t break it. What harm is there in a little joy?"

She smiled as she brushed a kiss against Maerya's cheek.“ I will be fine, I once flew all  the night when I was but ten. ” 

Maerya huffed, “ And Lord Aerion locked you in your chambers for three days ” 

“ Half a day ” Rhaenys corrected, “ My Aegon came to me before the first night fell. He took me to his chambers, his hands in mine, and said if Father meant to cage me, he would have to cage us both, and so my lord father had no choice. ” She winked lightly, “ Aegon would not let him keep me caged then, and he won't now.For he would find me even if I were buried in the deepest depths of the earth ” 

Maerya sighed. 

“ Poor you, Maerya... ” Rhaenys grinned, “ I can't go a day without a flight ” she told her michiviously, “ Now, if you pardon me, I have kept the sky waiting long enough today ”

She found Meraxes in the wide yard behind the keep, nesteled under the shadows of the Dragonmont. Her great silver girl was lying, curled on herself. Her head settled on her wings, her scales gilimmed lightly beneath the sunset light.

At the sounds of Rhaenys's approaching, Meraxes' golden eyes cracked open. Rhaenys placed her hand on her she-dragon's great snout, then pressed her forhead against the silver scales.

"Nyke jorrāelza ao, sȳz skoros, sȳz jēda, ñuhys gevie dāria.— I missed you, soo much, soo deeply, my beautiful lady —”

Rhaenys smiled as she moved her hand, touching the scales softly, and Meraxes let out a deep growl, her eyes half-lidded as she regared her rider.

“Daorun emagon issare tubis ūndegon belmurī īlvys vējose—Never had been a day without us soaring together— ” Rhaenys mused, her fingers running along the dragon's redges. “"Tabagon kostagon daor sagon vyson —Tonight shall be no different— ”.

With a swift, practiced move, she swung herself to the golden saddle, gripping the reins with an ease, “Jikagon, ñuha jorrāelagon. — Come, my love — ” Rhaenys grinned “ Sōvegon nyke hae sȳz bantis daor jorrāelagon ūndegon īlon. — Take me where the stars dare not reach us —”.

Meraxes groanned loudly, shaking her giant beautiful head before spreading her wide wings, the red golden light of the sunset. And with one mighty beat, her dragon leapt up from the ground, and launched herself skyward. 

The Narrow sea wind, with the sharp scent of salt and smoke, kissed her flushed cheeks, played with her dancing locks of silver and gold. Rhaenys giggled breathlessly, her heart flying as her Meraxes does. 

So high she was, as the vast sky stretched beneath them, all of red and rose, golden and dark blue, warm, boundless, invinting, so unlike the cold halls of Dragonstone, even colder when Aegon would vanish. 

If she could, she would build her castle here, far above the world, with no walls to be closed, with no one to bid her go or stay, she would dance with the winds, play her harp freely under the open sky, and fly with Meraxes wherever she willed. 

She would bring the children with her, the little girls and the brave small boys with fire in their eyes, and love in their pure hearts, she would lift them up in her arms, spin them around. She would braid the girls' braids, chase them through the fields of clouds,  laugh with them as they lay beside her. 

Rhaenys leaned her back on the saddle, titling her face towards the clouds drifting, if she could, she would rest upon one, with none but Aegon at her side, her beautiful Aegon, she would hear his voice, look at his face, hold onto him forever. 

A soft sight escaped her lips,carried far away by the sharp winds as she adjusted her sitting on her dragon's back. 

“ It is beautiful, isn't it? ” Rhaenys murmured, her eyes lost in the endless sky. “ It would be fairer still, if we could share it with whom we love the most ” she sighed. 

She felt the warmth of her dragon under her hand, “ But your Balerion is not here, my sweet love ” She told her. “ Nor is my Aegon ”. 

Meraxes roared deeply, then, with a sudden flick with her wings, she twisted in the air, and turned around herself gracefully. 

Rhaenys laughed freely as her dragon dipped lower, the wind rushed past them. Meraxes circled the Drangomont, before sweeping down toward the castle, its dark stone towers rised high against the sunset sky. Lower still they went, towards the villages that nestled at the foot of the great volcanic mountain. 

She had promised them. 

Rhaenys thought as she brushed the bundle tied at her waist, the warm sweets she had spirited away from the kitchen, past Ser Jonos, the castle's old westrosi cook. He would grumble, but he would let her be. 

She smiled at the memory of his full angry face. 

Meraxes folded her wings one last time as she setteled upon the stones.

Rhaenys slid from Meraxes back, gracefully moving, her dragon's golden eyes watching her. She swept her gaze over the villages, expecting laughters and cheers, songs and dancing, the familiar sweet sounds of her maidens, of her singers. But none of that came to her ears, instead, the cold ring of hammers, and the harsh murmures of men, a wooden platform was raisen by the side of a dirt track,a rare thing in their island. 

A tourney, Rhaenys realised. 

The only children in the sight were whose drawn to the labors, watching the work of the men, wide—eyed, open mouths. But at the moment they spotted her, their gazes lit up, their lips curled widely in happy smiles. 

Their little feet kicking up the dust as they run to her, “ Lady Rhaenys! Lady Rhaenys!! ” they cried, delighted, tiny arms wrapping around her legs. They were warm, full of life, they were everything Rhaenys loved. 

She bended herself to them, embracing them. “ My sweets.... ” she murmured, “ How I've missed all of you! ”, she declared, pressing kisses to their dump forheads, and rosy cheeks. 

“ I brought something for you ” Rhaenys told them as she reached for the pouch at waist, pulling out the sweets within. “ Here, darlings.. ”. 

The children gasped, their hands eagerly moving as she plced the treats in their palms, and they laughed, they chattered, so lovely,so lively, And in a moment, nothing else mattered.  

“ Lady Rhaenys, ”, came the mesured voice of Ser Quenton, the castle master—at—arms and one of her father's oldest commanders. He stood before her, his gaze steady though not unkind. 

Rhaenys rose to her feet, efortlessly lifting up the smallest child into her arms as he curled around her shoulders, humming. 

“ Forgive me... ” Ser Quenton continued, “ But does my lady nit find staying here, unseemly? ” 

“ I am with the children ” Rhaenys replied, her fingers curled around the little boy playful palms, “ And, may I ask, Ser Quenton, where are my maidens and singers? ” 

“ Your Lord father had ordered the festifives to end before the sunset. Thus, I sent the girls and the bards back to the castle ” The old knight bowed his head slightly, “ Forgieve my rudness, my lady, we are preaparing for a tourney ” 

“ A tourney?!! ” Rhaenys echoed. 

“ Aye, a tourney ” he affirmed, “ The Tyroshi have brought their finest warriors, and Lord Aerion is eager to show them the might of his heir ”. 

“ Aegon?!! ” the name left her lips in disbelief. Rhaenys knew her brother well —Aegon had no love for tourneys no more than he had for the clashing of swords, the notion of him, riding before a crowd was nearly absurd. 

“ I misdoubt he shall ever consent to it ” Ser Quenton said, “ Though I set this before his eyes time and time again. ” 

“ Aegon finds no mirth in such sport,”  she told him. 

“ And your lord father finds none in refusal,”  Ser Quenton replied. 

She cast a glance at the children gathered around her. 

So... That's why her brother vanished.. 

“ Shall I send guards to escort you, my lady? ” Ser Quenton asked. 

Rhaenys only smiled, titling her head back toward the great beast behind her. “ I have my Meraxes, ser. No guard could serve me better ” 

She turned then to the children, pulling them close for one last time. “ I will return ” She promised, “ And when I do, we shall have our songs and dances once more ”. 

Meraxes had landed mere moments ago, yet Rhaenys was striding through the postern gallery swiftly, mading her way to the Sea Dragon tower.

Will Aegon be well? The thought pressed on her chest. He was a warrior, no one can ever say otherwise, and he had seen war now, yet, he never wanted it... She mused. War was a mere necessity to him, but this, this was, without doubt a game in vain. 

Those beautiful deep violet eyes like the darkest amethyst ,and hair of silver and gold... It was hard not to think about him, harder still to be apart from him. Yet, in her deeps, Rhaenys knew, her father has his plans for her, and without doubt, they all led her far away from Aegon, from Dragonstone. 

She was to wed some prince or Archon from the Free cities, or a valyrian lord across the Narrow Sea. In the end, Visenya has been right, she was but a second daughter, and nothing ever was for her. 

Even Meraxes, her dragon, her father had always intented the second largest beast for his eldest daughter, yet it was Rhaenys who had claimed her, slipping away in the dead of night. 

Her father had been wroth then, and for the first time, she knew fear of him, his face was drak as she can remember, his voice harsh, as she stood small before her, a girl of eight, not daring to rise her eyes to his. 

If not for her mother, she would have felt the full of his wrath. “ We can not force a dragon's will, my lord ” She had said, steady and soft as Rhaenys hided herself behind her skirts, “ A dragon chooses his own rider. And Meraxes had chosen Rhaenys. Should we not be proud of our daughter? ”

“ Second daughter ” he corrected coldly. “ And what right she had to slink through the dark like a common thief?! Because of the fool she is, her sister, Lady of Dragonstone to be, is left with the smallest dragon while she needs the largest after her lord! That's what she wrought! ” 

“ Second or first, she is still our daughter, our blood, yours and mine. ” Her mother replied, “ And she is a child, Aerion. You can not fault a child for his free deeds ” 

“ A child? ” Her father repeated, “ Who will be a woman one day, a Targaryen lady, and what then?! Will she act on impulse?! With no mind for the order of things?! ”

His eyes fell on her then, sharp as blade. 

If not for Aegon, she might have cried herself through the whole night. He came, quiet as ever, slipping into her chamber once the castle had settled to silence. He didn't say a word at first, just lay down beside her, his fingers find hers in the dark. 

“ You shouldn't sulk yourself ”, he told her at last, “ Father will forget his anger soon enough..” 

 Her brother was never one for sweet, not like her, but he tried, and the way he spoke to her, all of it made her giggle as she curled into him. “ Promise me, Aegon.. ” She said, “ That you will never leave me ” 

And so he did, squeezing her hand as it was the simplest truth in the world. 

He was always there, always near, always knew how to find her over and over. 

“ Rhaenys, Why do you drift through the stones like a ghost?! ” 

Orys' voice came strong, grounding her. 

She lifted her eyes, and there he was, his familliar face, his deep violet eyes, watching her, her Aegon. Something in her chest ached, without thinking, she ran into him, byring herself in his arms. 

Orys huffed, shifting the hare in his hands, “ By the doom, What's gotten into you? ” 

“ Where were you? ” She demanded as she buried her face against his chest, “ It is not fair —you spent the whole day with Orys! ” 

Aegon let out a quiet chuckle as he circldd his arms around her with an ease. 

“ He will take you hunting next time ” Orys teased, “ And better yet, why not ride with him tomorrow? ” 

Rhaenys turned her gaze to him. 

“ What is that look?! ” Orys chuckled loudly, “ You nearly stop my heart just to tell us you want Aegon for yourself all the day... ” 

Rhaenys eyes did not move.

“ All I did was take him hunting.“ He was lost in laugh, “ Seven hells, shall I fall to my knees and beg your mercy? Or will you have me flogged for keeping him from you?... Ah Rhaenys, you never grew up.. Always clinging to him.. ”

“ And you never stop pratteling, Sweet Orys ” She said, “ Mayhaps I will have Meraxes chase you through the castle, to see if you still have breath left to jest ” . 

“ I need Meraxes to roast this... And you shall have none of it ” He declared. 

“ As if you could stop me ” Rhaenys raised a brow. 

Orys barked a laugh, “ You truly think you can steal it?! ” 

“ I have no need for it ” She smiled. “ Meraxes will do it for me ”

“I’ll leave you to her, then,” Orys said with a grin, tossing the hare between his hands  while looking at Aegon. “If I don’t, her Meraxes might decide to eat me instead.”

Rhaenys smirked, folding her arms. “A wise choice, brother.”

As Orys left them to the light of the torches across the long gallery, Aegon looks down at her. “ It is Father, isn't it? ” 

Rhaenys nodded, pressing her head against his chest, “ Yes... ” She replied. 

“ What did he do this time? ” 

Rhaenys rised her gaze to his, and for a moment she forgot how to breath. The firelight flickered over his face, casting shadows and along it, catching the silver gold of his hair, the deep violet of his eyes, making him almost otherworldly. 

In the blink of the eye, Rhaenys did not see her brother.. But a distant, a sweet valyrian god, the one she had always dreamt of while she was but a little girl. 

“ Rhaenys... ” He studied her face. 

“ He had me sit for a portrait ” she said at last, lowering her head, “ For his beloved Tyroshi envoy ” 

Her brother's eyes narrowed. 

“ And... I was sent some gifts from that wretch Archon ” her teeth seething, “ I hate him... ” she curled her fists, “ I know... He meant to send me away, wherever he likes.. Is it not? He... He even took my mother's necklace from my neck for the Archon's gift! ” 

Her brother's hand found her cheek, warm and steady, “ No one will do so if you have not the will for it ” 

“ Truly? ” her eyes were wide as she asked him, gazing up. 

“ Have I ever made you a promise and failed to keep it? ” He asked kindly. “ Have I ever lied to you? ” 

“ Never ” She replied. “ You never have, my love ” she admitted. “ But you do have some secrets... I assume it is what makes you Aegon ”

Aegon chuckled again, a sound so warm that any stranger might doubt it belonged to the stony heir of Dragonstone.

“ Not so many as you think, Sister ” he murmured, his fingers brushing her skin lightly, “And if I do, it is only so you do not trouble that beautiful head of yours with needless worries.”

“ Oh, your tongue can be honeyed when it pleases you ” She teased him. “ You make me eat my own words, for I once thought you knew not how to speak to a lady.” 

“ It can be.. ” Aegon said, a half—smile curving his lips, “ Only for you ” 

Rhaenys laughed before drawing in his face again, longer this time. 

He was different since his return from the Stepstones. Or was it because that she had not seen him in so long that she had spent moons upon moons dreaming of him?

She reached for his larger hands, rougher than hers, yet the touch was warm and familiar, and Rhaenys wanted to clung to him forever. She brought it to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. 

“ And you are in no less peril than I am, my Aegon ” She said, searching for his face, “ Will you ride tomorrow, in the lists I mean? ” 

Softly, his lips brushed her temple. 

“ Fret not,” he murmured, his gaze moving to  her riding garb. “ You need only to rest.”

And so her brother left her in her appartement doors. 

The sun rises so high admist the mist, its golden rays spiling over the glooming Dragonstone. Rhaenys climbed the dais with a graceful unease, praying she was not that late, her dress of deep crismon shinning wherever the light caught upon it, the bodice clung into her slender form with gleaming scales and rubies, she wore her long silver golden hair loose till her waist, a silver headpiece on it while she left her neck bare. 

She had spent the morning dancing with her girls and the children, watching the races, the wrestling, and that will make her father furious.. 

Her eyes sweeping over the familiar and strange faces of the thrung, Rhaenys Targaryen stepped onto the dais. There were her father's chancellors and men, Lord Daemon Velaryon with his bold laugh, his son, lord Aethan with that warm face, the envoys, some Tyroshi important men and merchants. 

And above them all, loomed her father, in a black cloat with golden threads and silver scales clung to his shouders, ten rings in his fingers, and a valyrian steel circle around his silver golden hair, his looks were stripped of  warmth, and that sent a shiver to her spine. 

Beside him, sat her elder sister, Visenya, her sharp eyes took the sight of her, clad in a black dress, simple yet commanding, with rubies around her swollen breasts, her hair was wound into circles of braids. A necklace of valyrian steel circled her neck. 

In her regal sitting, Visenya seemed every inch the lady of Dragonstone she is to be. 

Rhaenys moved with measured steps, she bowed herself lightly before her Lord Father. Rising she turned to Visenya, pressing a soft kiss on her cheek, thought her sister's face and gaze remainded sharp as ever. 

“ You are late, you witless fool, ” Visenya remarked sharply. 

“ I was—” Rhaenys faltered under her sister’s dark gaze, “ I had things to tend to.”

Visenya scoffed. “ Take your place and stop barking. It is Aegon’s turn ” 

Rhaenys swallowed hard, her heart pounding like a hammer in her chest as her eyes drifted to the track below.

"Lord Aegon Targaryen!" the herald’s voice echoed. 

The crowd stirred, all eyes fixed on the rider.

And in that moment, Rhaenys’ breath caught. The man on Aegon’s horse was not her brother.

Chapter Text

His brother's chambers were dark as Orys stepped inside without a word to the door guards who knew better than to question him. 

No sounds were to be heard within save for the faint cracking of the hearth, where the fire cast a flickering light from the gaping mow of the drak stone dragon, while montecors decorate the edges, catching the light. 

Near the doorway to the main chamber balcony, Orys caught the sight of his brother's scullion, a boy of no more than fifteen winters and summers, a thin poor thing with wide green eyes and black hair. Hobb, that was his name as Orys can remember. 

“ Come.. It is Hobb, it isn't? ” Orys asked as he knelt before the hearth, fixing his prey to the iron grates near the fire to roast  “ You look as if you haven't eat in centuries ” 

The boy didn't flinch, “ Forgieve me.. m'lord ” he murmured, not daring to lift his eyes. 

Orys brust into laughter. A lord, how was it fitting! He thought, if his bitch of father or the old fool would hear of it, one of them would well choke on it. 

“ I am no lord, boy ” Orys shaked his head, “ And you look half starved ” 

Mayhaps he was not given enough food while Aegon was not here. Everything is expected from The bitch Aerion Targaryen. 

“ I... I.. It is not my... place to eat while lord Aegon is not here ” 

“ Aegon would not feed you to Balerion for filling your stomach, you witless fool ” Orys snorted, “ Or have you caught lord Aegon's brooding as you serve him? ”

Thinking of his brother, Aegon was even broodier that ever tody. He didn't pay a mind to their races, refused to take up his sword for practice, nor he would swim in the rocky cove where they had once played as boys. Instead of it all, he stood like a stone effigy of Dragonstone late lords before the grave of his fallen men, his eyes were distant and cold, and Orys could tell he even heard him talking to them. 

Only after lingering there for half a day he turned to the slaves he had brought with him, free from the Stepstones. 

Orys exhaled through his nose. Is it war that changes men? 

The boy didn't give him an answer, and that only made it worser for Orys. 

Sighing he said, “ Stubborn little thing, this one ” his eyes were on the flames dancing over the meat to roast it, “ Gave me a good chase ” he then glanced at the boy, “ We ought to give him a name before we put him in our stomachs. What do you think, Hobb? ” 

The scullion was as silent as a corspe. 

“ Have you swallowed your tongue before the feast begin? ” Orys said, “ Best find your voice ” he casted him a side eye. 

Hobb shifted, hesitiated before he spoke, his voice so low “ Harefoot.. ” he stopped himself from calling Orys- m'lord. 

“ By the doom.. ” Orys snorted, “ He is already a hare! ” and he was lost in laughter again. 

That only died by the sound of his brother, at the door of his private chamber, bidding his guards to retire firmly. 

Aegon's face was stony as ever as he stepped into the chambers. At the sight of him, the young scullion trembled and fell on his knees. However, Aegon spends him no glance, instead, he tugged in the fingers of his black gloves, stripping them off slowly. 

“ You bid the guards to retire? ” Orys asked, turning his head to her brother, “ Our great bitch of a lord will be very proud to hear of it ” 

Aegon did not so much as blinck, “ I have no need of guards when you are with me ” 

Orys chuckled loudly, “ Say that to Lord Aerion! ” he said, he gazed the boy, still cowering ln the floor. “ By Valyria! Lift up your head, you witless fool ” he sighed, “ Aegon is no monster as you can plainly see ” then, looking back at his brother, he added, “  The boy is new to your service, I have the mind to give him a fright, but just look at him, you left me nothing to work with with that cold dreadful face of yours  ” 

Orys' gaze flicked to the scullion once more, “ Ser Edmund's son as I can remember, a fine knight your father, isn't he? ” 

“ He is dead ” the boy answered “ The last raid.. On the Stepstones ”. 

Orys stilled, his smirk faded, turning to Aegon, his brother was frozen, his eyes distant as he looked upon the lad. 

“ I am sorry to your loss ” Orys said, his voice softer now.

At least, Aegon continue to pull off his dark red cloack, reaveling a black shirt and moroon breeches, his face seemed darker still as he hung the heavy fabric upon the hook. 

“ Will you die if you stop brooding for a breath? ” Orys asked desparately. 

“ I am not brooding ” Aegon replied quietly as he moved onto the balcony and took his seat, his favourite spot as Orys well knew. 

“ If you are not, then my hair is not black ” Orys mocked, following him, the roasted hare in his hands, “ And you, Come.. ” he casted Hobb a glance. 

The boy hestiated before reaching out. 

“ Take a sit ” Aegon said, to Orys and the scullion's surprise. “ You shall not eat standing ”

Hob glanced at him,uncertain, confused, he blinked twice before he turned toward the doorway to fetch a chair. In his haste, his arm struck a table, his elbow knocked against a vase. It toppled, shattering against the stone floor with a sharp crack.

The boy froze. A shiver ran through him as he dropped to his knees, head bowed low. “Mercy, mercy… m'lord.”

“ It is but a vase ” Aegon said, his voice as calm as ever. 

Hobb pulled himself together, swallowed his fears and hurried to fetch a seat. 

His steps quick and unsteady, he settled between them, his eyes shimmering on the edge of tears, his hands trembling in his lap unsure of his place. 

Orys tore a piece of meat from the hare and placed in the scullion hands, “ Eat ”, he urged. 

The boy obeyed, and if he had not tasted such food in a lifetime, he ate—desperately, eagerly, as though each bite might be his last.

He gasped, caughing before steadying himself and taking another smaller bite, chewing more carefully this time. 

“ Careful ” Orys smirked, “ Or it will be your last ” he told him, “ There’s some wine for you,” –pushing a cup toward the boy. 

Hobb didn't argue, simply, he took the cup Orys offered and drank it down in one breath. 

“ Arbor gold ” Orys explained, eyeing Hobb and his flushed cheeks, “ Finest wine there is, or so the merchants from the Sunset Kingdoms would like to have us believe.”

With Essos torn by war and drawn in blood, the Stepstones and thus the Narrow Sea occuppied by pirates, that whoremonger of lord turned to the Sunset kingdoms for his trade, wine and grain mostly. And for once, Orys finds himself thanking him, for the swill they call wine in the Free Cities is little better than water if it is to be compared to Arbor gold. 

Suddenly, Aegon rose, without a word, he moved slowely toward the edge of the stony balcony, resting his heas on the little  dragons aflight, his eyes, dark and distant, glazed serenly towards the waves of the Narrow sea as The Sea Dragon Tower did. 

Hobb stiffened in his place, his eyes wide and fearful as they darted to Aegon. 

“ He is only being himself, your lord Aegon ” Orys said, offering a smile, “ You will grow used to it soon enough ” he handed another piece of meat to the boy's hands. 

“ So, tell me Hobb, How fares your mother? ” Orys asked, trying to steering Hobb's thoughts elsewhere. 

“She lies in bed, she is ill ” Hobb said, his eyes fixed upon the roasted meat, his voice heavy . “She took ill 'fore the raid’s end. I was meant to stay with her, but Lord Aerion granted me the honor to serve His Lordship, m'lord Aegon... Now, she mourns our father, worser.. and my sister tends to her. I pray she sees to her.” 

Orys looked at him carefully. 

Is that what meant to have a mother? 

Orys wandered, he had never knew his own, yet he could see her everytime he closes his eyes, her face fair, her eyes dark as his were, wide and deep and warm, her hair as raven's feather. In his dreams, she always smiled to him, kissed his face, took him in her arms. 

He was nothing like that bitch Aerion Targaryen, so he told himself it must be her face then. 

The closest thing Orys had ever known to a mother's warmth was Lady Valaena's embrace, the way she had gathered him, Rhaenys and Aegon in her arms, when Aegon, still a boy, had refused to sleep alone, insisted that he would bd by his side. 

The heat of her arms, the scent of her silver golden hair, the warmth in her lilac eyes, so beautiful was her smile, so sweet her voice. That night, in the hush, he had been a son, and she, a mother, if only for fleeting breaths. 

It was not as though Lady Valaena had ever been cruel to him—nor even unkind. But he was not her son, nor she was his mother. He was not Aegon, nor Visenya, nor Rhaenys, he was not her blood, he was Orys, ever the bastard, ever the shame her whore of husband had brought. 

He never belonged to Lady Valaena's arms. 

And now, as Orys looked upon Hobb face, he felt for him.

Had it been his own mother lying ill in bed, he would have carved out the bitch lord’s heart with his own bare hand and run to her without a second thought.

“  I release you from this honor ” 

Aegon voice came sharp through the still night falling, his dark violet eyes fixed on the scullion, cold. 

To his surprise, Hobb fell to his knees, his brow pressing hard on the floor. 

“ Please, m'lord, ” he said, his voice low and brocken, “ Have mercy on me, if I ever have failed you, if I ever been false in my service, have mercy on me — I beg you... ” 

Orys lifted his eyes up to his brother who had already turned his back to be lost in the waves and the dark again, then he looked down to the trembling boy. 

“ By the doom! Stop sniveling! ” Orys told him, his voice harsh, “ Up with you! He is not casting you. ” 

Hobb looked up to him with wide and wet eyes, “ Truly.. Ser? ” he said. 

“ Aye ” Orys replied, his tone rough yet somehow sure, “ Your lord is no madman to toss a boy for a broken vase or trembling hands.. ” 

His brother has always been a riddle, no one ever truly know what was within him, save perhaps him and his closest, Rhaenys. 

Orys stood, “ Come, ” he ordered, “ You’ve done no wrong worth a whipping, and you finished your feast, now I have use of you. ” 

His feet, fragile and trembling obeyed in silence, carrying him after Orys as he strode back to the chamber, shadows dancing on the stone dark walls. He crossed to the coffer beneath Aegon's study, Orys knelt and drew forth a small leather pouch plump with coins, the gold clinking softly. He then turned and swept from the room. 

At the end of the Aegon's appartement, stood two guards, with black helmets and steel armors. 

Orys stepped before them, “ Take this boy ” he commanded, looking at the eldest of the pair, the lowborn knight who was watching over Aegon since Orys could remember, with his crooked noise and kind eyes, “ Ser Addan. See him to Ser Quenton’s daughter, Haemys. Tell her she is to look after the boy’s mother. She’ll know what to do.”

Ser Addan noded as he clapped a hand on the boy's thin shoulders. “ Aye, I will ” he said. 

Hobb looked to Orys once more as he pulled the pouch to his hands. “ There it is, boy ” Orys said, “ You can buy whatever you wish and want, you, your mother and sister ” 

“ And Lord Aegon? ” The boy asked,  confused, his brow arched. 

Orys let out a soft chuckle. “It is Lord Aegon’s will,” he explained, leaning in a little. “When your mother heals, you may return to your service. But until then, don’t deny yourself of anything you need. Whatever it takes. You have his leave.”

Hobb's eyes flickered to the pouch in his hands as they tightened around it, his face still unsure. Orys gave a small nod to ser Addan, his eyes soft, even for the slighest breath. 

And so the two left. 

“ You near killed the boy ” Orys remarked as he returned to Aegon's chamber, his brother was still stood on the balcony, his back to the room, staring at the endless waves and dark sky. “ Was it that hard to speak with him gentler, my stone lord? ” he approached him. 

“ I've already killed his father ” Came his brother reply, short and deep. 

Orys paused for a moment, his eyes swept on Aegon's back. He was frozen and still, cold and dark, “ It was war, Aegon ” Orys' voice softened, “ Edmund was your man, you were his lord, his commander, he laid down his life for you, and he was proud of it, he died in the field, as a warrior, for a man he believed in, you did not kill him. ” 

“ Did he? ” Aegon asked, his voice distant as though he was talking to himself , “ Did I? ”. 

Orys took a slow step forward as he strode tood beside his brother, “ Never doubt it ” he replied, “ You saw how the men cheered for you, how the people called your name even if it was your first time in war, they believed in you.You are our lord to be, and gods be good, you are not the like of the bitch Aerion, everyone will be eager to serve you, to fight for you, to die for you, myself included. Our lives are yours. ”

Aegon’s eyes hardened as they met Orys', dark violet, “ Never say such things again,”  he replied, his voice low “ I do not want anyone’s life, especially yours.”

Orys didn't flinch, instead he laughed and turned his back to lean against the stone of Aegon's room balcony. 

“ Let us not speak of death ” Orys grinned, “ I have no wish to die in my first battle, truly. I have yet to earn my first scar, I mean to live long enough for songs to be sung at me, at sixety at least, old and grey, but a warroir no less, with a sword in one hand and smile in my lips. A warroir death, fit for Ser Orys Baratheon.Or do you want to taste glory alone, Aegon Dragonlord?! ” he teased. 

Aegon lips curved very lightly. 

“You ride with the dawn, don’t you?” Orys then  asked, casting him a glance. “Ser Quenton’s men were mustering by the cliff. Lord Aerion wants the Tyroshi to witness the might of his heir.”

“They shall not see it,” Aegon murmured.

“ You mean to defy him so? ” Orys rised his brow, “ Our mighty lord will burn Dragonstone to glass in his wrath before he suffers your will to overmatch his. It would be an insult, to him and to your glory and the image of the commander of forces he set you in. ” 

“ I want no glory ” Aegon said quietly. 

“ Then you were born in the wrong house, in the wrong time ” Orys folded his hands. “ And you will yet have to face Lord Aerion, you are his heir ” 

Aegon said nothing in response.

Orys sighed, desperate. “ If it is ” he spoke, teasing, “ Let lady Visenya ride in your stead. Gods know she'd make a fine terror. ” 

Yet he meant it half in jest, yet it helds some truth in it. Visenya Targaryen, for all her cold eyes and sharp tongue, wielded her blade with ease more than half the knights twice her age, any man who'd face her in the training yard kew it, and Aegon, above all, knew it. 

Yet his words did less and lesser to bring light to his brother dark face. 

“ Rhaenys was... uneasy this eve ” Orys said, mayhaps that would drive Aegon's regard, “ Strange for one so light in heart ” he continued, “She likely hated whatever plan the bitch of a lord spun for her. ” 

That turned Aegon's gaze. A flicker of concern stirred in those violet depths of his eyes. Rhaenys had always held that place in him, and Orys knew it well enough. 

“ He will do naught she doesn't consent to ” Aegon ruled at last, “ I will see to it ”, his voice was quiet, yet so cold it sent a shiver through Orys. 

Rhaenys was the second daughter of the lord of Dragonstone, a Targaryen lady, with the blood of Old Valyria and Dragonslords in her veins, Aerion Targaryen would use her to his very ends, and Aegon certainly knew it. 

However it would be a stab to his brother's heart to lose the very sister he cherished the most above all else. As if being bound to Visenya Targaryen was not enough.

Perhaps Aegon's brooding was not a mere overshow of mood. Should lord Aerion cast Rhaenys into some cold marriage bed, save for him, Aegon would be left utterly alone, with cold bows and fake smiles of the courtiers.Their words were a sweet poison, their daggers ever closer to Aegon's back. 

The smallfok were found of his brother, that much Orys could not deny. He had seen it plainly, how they cheered for him in the port  and the fishers' villages. And for the men who rode with him to war in the Stepstones, they followed him into fires with steady hearts and no turning back. There was a quiet pull to his brother, some found it scary yes, but some were drawn to it. 

But within these cursed walls, another song is sung, trust was traded as coins. Orys could see through them, they would gladly feast of his brother like crows if it serves their wicked ends. 

“ When this farce is ended ” Aegon said, his voice low, his eyes on the dark horizon where the sea kissed the stars, “ There are things I shall see done, things I shoud've seen done long ago ” 

He then turned his face to Orys, the firelight made him seems sharper, distant. 

“ But let us not speak of deeds undone and times already fled ” Aegon added, softer, “ I will need you before it's through ” 

“ The taxes collectors?Or the slaves you brought ?” Orys asked. “You’ve posted sellswords to watch them. You’d put faith in men who sell their swords to the highest purse?”

“ I use them. Trust is winds ” Aegon replied, “ It blows one way by dawn, another by dusk. I trust none in this but you. So I need you closer, Orys. Closer than ever, closer than my own shadow. ” 

With those words, Aegon made his way to retire. But before he stepped to his room, Orys' voice called out. 

“ Aegon! ” 

His brother stopped, not turning. 

“ I thought those cursed bloody Stepstones had taken the boy I grew up with ” Orys let out a heavy breath, half a laugh, “ Thought war had swallowed him whole, but you are still here, and that is more of a comfort I care to admit. ”

Aegon didn't say anything. 

“ You are still my brother ” Orys said, “ That's all, and I will stand by your side, till my end ” 

And so, Aegon vanished into the dark of his chamber. 

The morning breeze bit at Orys' cheek, sharp and chill, carrying with it the smells of brimstone, smoke and pine. 

The tourney's dais was rised near the stone path, the one that wound between the humble village where he chased the goats and cheeps in his days of childhood, where he first took to the hammer in Ser Kaeleric's workshop, and the looming fortress at the foothills of the Dragonmount, where lines of smoke poured from the dark peak. 

The course had been laid true, fit for the hooves to thunder upon. As a boy, he’d crept away from his uncle Ser Aelyn’s watchful eye to crouch by the rails, eyes wide with wonder, dreaming of the day he’d ride there himself.

He'd ridden in tourneys before, aye, but all his rides were against merely green boys  unsteady in their saddles, lads that he undhorsed with no more than a shove. 

But this field, this day, were different. Never had he tilted in a match of true weight, not in a gathering such as this, where the eyes were keener, the stakes higher, and every blow could be remembered. 

Lord Aerion had seen to it that his heir’s first tourney would be a spectacle, one for men to and women to whisper about for years to come.

And yet his brother would not ride, and so the bitch lord desires will go unfullfilled. A bitter joy bloomed in Orys' chest, sweet as summerwine. 

As far as the eye could see, tents sprawled, another sea of colors and flapping banners.Orys made his way through the throngs of children who had claimed the edges of the list as their own playing grownd, through the shrieking laughters and the clatter of sticks. Orys had barely noticed them, his eyes were on the weapons. 

They were everywhere, dornish golden spears, shields of steel painted with strange sigils,  a rack bearing sabres from Tyrosh—long, thin blades with jeweled pommels, gleaming in the light ray of sun. One axe had twin crescent headsand and a haft carved with ibbenese script, too heavy for most knights he knew. Straight long sword with bronze hilts, Myrish crossbows, daggers from Pentos.

There were slender dueling sabres from Volantis, razor-edged and etched with gold, and thick-bladed cleavers from Qohor, and Orys find himself drawn to all of these strange arms. 

The men who bore them were no less strange. Giants, most of them. Warriors from the free cities and beyond , their arms thick, traced with old scars, one of them had a necklace of ears,  another bore tattoos across his brow in blue ink, their chests bare save for the rings of steel and gold. 

Orys was tall for his age—Ser Quenton said so often, but even he felt so small besides these beasts. Those weren’t the green boys he’d sparred with in the yard or small tourneys, these were men who killed, who fought real battles, earned real scars. 

From around came the sound of life before tge song of steel and the bloodshed with it, laughter, groans, barking, Some men sang, some bickered over dice or ale, and some were quieter, speaking low or muttering prayers to gods strange and old. It was no wonder, by the end of all it, some of them would lie broken, others would bleed to death. 

Death hung just beyond the next tilt or swing of the sword, and so they sought what pleasures they could before it came. 

The sounds of moans and the smell of Tyroshi perfumes clung to the air as Orys moved forward, from behind the canvas the loud and unmistakable rythm of flesh meeting flesh and gasps came, a half naked girl stepped out from a tent as he passed by, wiping her mouth, panting and laughing while the man inside tightened his grip around her feet and pulled her within. Orys stopped for a moment,and the moans of her went louder. 

Orys pressed on, his boots crushing over the stone, searching for a face he knew. 

“ Orys! ”  The voice was low, dry and amuzed. Ser Mervyn. 

He turned to find his uncle's knight standing near a tent pole, two years his older, his face was sharp as always, yet his green eyes were glinting with mischief. 

“ So? ” the knight smirked , stepping closer, “ Do you you want one of the whores the lord brought for the warriors? They say the Tyroshi girls can work their tongues better than the maesters work their studies”. 

“ Don't take me for a bitch ” Orys snapped back as he folded his arms,“  And you? What are you doing here? Does my cousin know of it—or do you sneak like a rat? Just picture Aelyra hearing you’d been rutting with whores.”

Mervyn was shocked for a blink. 

“ I was not ” he retorted at last, though the flesh in his cheeks betrayed him “ I came to teach the green boy you are. You’re the only one of the castle youngbloods who’s yet to lay with a woman ”. 

“ I see ” Orys remarked, “ That's why you are so flushed, Ser. Seems you’re no better than me. ”

“ Your tongue is sharp, too sharp ” said Ser Mervyn. 

“ You know that well enough “ Orys answered, his lips curved in a half—smile, his eyes went lower to the knight's armor. “ Will you ride too? ” he asked. 

“ Do you take me for some great knight? ” 

“ No ” Orys replied plainly. 

“ Then why should Lord Aerion spare a glance for the likes of me in his grand tourney? He’d sooner let the dogs ride than waste a saddle on me.” 

“ The armor? ” Orys rised his dark eyebrow. 

“ I would be guarding the heir of house Targaryen?, isn't that an enough honor to me? ” Mervyn told him. 

“ Aegon? ” Orys blinked. 

“ You speak the young lord’s name too freely. You two are close, I know, but tread carefully. This could bring trouble.” 

“ Shall the elder bitch take my head for it, then?” Orys said, “ And why you? Aegon has the most skilled guards on this island ” 

“ To enforce them “ Ser Mervyn spoke, “ Today is no common gathering. ’Tis a great event with  the heir of House Targaryen in its midst, who knows whose dagger seeks his ribs? “ 

“ The bitch lord could spare Aegon the whole of it, were he not so intent on pageantry," Orys muttered, his voice low. 

Ser Mervyn sighed, “ I’ll see to Ser Quenton. He’ll be in his son's tent, for the heir of house Quohaerys will ride today. After, we’ll make for Lord Aegon’s tent ” 

Even that fool, Quorren Quohaerys will ride. 

“ I will came with you ” Orys said firmly. 

Lord Aerion would sooner see the Narrow sea frozen than allow Orys a place in Aegon's shadow while all eyes were on him, let alone grant him the honour of the lists. Such favors were not for bastards. 

And so, as ever, he had to take what was not given. 

The path to that worm Quorren Quohaerys' tent was longer than he thought, winding as well. Along it, Orys caught sights of familiar faces. 

Gaeron, their admiral, his light blue eyes wide and his mouth a fine line, proud and silent he stood. Bastian Veroth, that fat cobbler who cast his own married daughter off to the whore Aerion Targaryen's arms after what they called the first night, the woman they call the red bitch in the port brothels, his face was swollen, his red hair turning white, by his side was Orryk, his son, a newly knight though he was a dog more than a warrior . Their  intentions were clear, securing a place for that rat in Dragonstone's army, and why not, becoming a commander in his own right. 

Two mutts sniffing at court favor, hoping for a rise in rank through what lay between the legs of their own blood, daughter and sister. Orys ruled as he glanced them sharply. 

“ Shameless sons of whores ” he muttered as he spat to the ground. 

“ Some climbed with swords, others with shame ” Ser Mervyn replied. 

Another huge shadow of a man loomed near Quorren Quohaerys tent. Ser Valdar Veltherys, Orys knows him, or rather had seen him, he’d once watched the man tear through two foes on the field after unhorsing them, cutting them down with a calm, merciless ease that chilled his blood then. 

As a boy, he had feared him, many still do, most of them were Dragonstone children, for the man's face was ruined, his flesh seared by an old blade, and his eyes, gods, they looked straight through a man. 

Would he ride? Or does the bitch made him to guard Aegon? If so, could he be trusted? 

As he looked to his eyes again, he found the bitter answer. He will never leave Aegon's side. 

“ He will ride,” said Ser Mervyn, ending Orys’ musing with a shrug, “ None would match him. Not unless Lord Aerion sets it so. He'll not risk his precious son.”

As Aegon would ride, Orys smirked. His brother had no taste for it, none at all. But he does, and oh, he will never taste such a thing. 

The tent of Quorren Quohaerys was deep green, stood near the stony lower cliff, cast in the shadow of an ancient giant pine tree. Aegon would take ill to the sight, Orys reckoned, his brother was always fond of pines. 

Two guards stood at the tent's outer flop, stern and steel-clad,

“ How many times must I warn you? ”, the sharp voice of Ser Quenton echoed from within. Orys needed none to tell him what was going, the worm, Quorren Quohaerys made some folly, and the wroth in ser Quenton's voice told him it was no small misstep this time,but a griveous unforgivable one. 

Ser Mervyn casted Orys a glance. 

Orys stepped forward, “ Ser Quenton.. ” he asked, his tone low, “ May I..? ” 

“ We have no need for the Baratheon crow here ” Quorren spat before Ser Quenton could reply, “ I have half mind to kill a bastard whelp in the like of this day ” 

“ And I have half mind to crack your balls open and spill your guts, Quorren the brat ” Orys' lips curled in scorn. “ “I asked Ser Quenton — no one bid you bark ” 

Quorren draw a breath as though to retore but Ser Quenton’s voice rang out like a whipcrack. “Silence, boy!” he then sighed, “ Orys, you may enter ”

And so he did. 

There, sat the horse-face cunt Quorren Quohaerys, his one foot propped on his knee, playing with the edge of his sword, the silver of his hair still damp, his dark eyes locked on Orys, sharp and resentful. 

Ser Quenton, standing nearby, spoke first, his tone almost apologetic. “I’m sorry…”

Orys didn't flinch. “ You don't need to be ”,he said, his eyes were on Quorren, “ If not for you, I’d have cut off his cock and fed it to his  horse-faced cunt of mouth.That’d shut him up fast enough.”

With a sudden jerk, Quorren leapt from his seat in fury, his hands on his sword reaching for Orys, but Ser Quenton was quicker as he slammed the fool to the ground.Orys stood unmoved, his expression a mask of cold indifference as he watched the spectacle.

“ Do you have a shred of shame? ” Ser Quenton's voice was a growl. “ You’ve consorted with thieves in my absence, bedded a married woman, and now you dare provoke one of my men?”

“ A married woman? What if it? ” Quorren laughed, “ Many did so. Didn't lord Aerion fucked my mother, your wife on your wedding night? Why didn’t you raise a voice then?”

Ser Quenton's reply was a swift kick on Quorren's back that make him scrowl.

“ What sins have I committed, ” Ser Quenton thundered, his voice hoarse with fury, “ that the gods see fit to curse me with such a wretched son?! ”

He then turn silently, his jaw tight, his hands trembled slightly at his sides. 

Without a word more, Ser Quenton, his master at arms stepped out from his son's tent, the heavy flap fell after him loudly. 

Orys cast a disgusted sideways glance at the fool sprawled on the ground, and followed Ser Quenton out. 

Not far from the tent's mouth, two fools had came to blows, shouting, shoving at one another. Ser Quenton gave them but a fleeting eye before turning to Orys.

“ It is time,” he said, his tone sharpened by duty, his eyes were on Ser Mervyn, “Lord Aegon is in his tent—we must see the guard there doubled at once.”

Ser Mervyn's reply was but a short bow. 

The tent Lord Aerion Targaryen had set for his heir was a spectacle unto itself, its crimson-and-gold canopy loomed high above the lesser tents like a dragon over the mortal men. The winds played with its silver edges, drawing all eyes, a clear herald of the blood that dwelled within.

Orys eyes swept over it carefully. The enterence to the great tent was flocked by a dozen guards in mails, their hands never far from their swords. 

There was not only the men of war there, women and girls, fishers' daughters lingered too, salt in their hairs, bare feet, blushing cheeks and wide eyed. They were here for his brother, Orys could see it in their giggles and blushes, all bewitched, as if Aegon would spare them a glance. 

Orys found it amuzing as he lightly smirked. 

“ They all pray that lord Aerion draws his last breath soon, so Lord Aegon will have his —first night —with all of the maidens there ” came a voice beside him, cool and cold. 

Orys turned, startled. 

Lady Haemys Quohaerys stood there, slender and pale, no more than sixteen, her blue eyes deep and sharp, striking but distant. 

“ How long have you been standing by my side ? ” he asked. 

“ Long enough ” she did not smile, “ Some fools split themselves open playing . I thought to lend a hand… though soon it’ll be a field of bleeding, screaming fools. Men. It’s always men ”

She held strips of linen and crushed herbs, green and brown staining her fingers, Orys noticed. 

“ Your brother will be one of them ” Orys scoffed, his voice low. 

“ Aye ” she said, “ He will ride against Lord Aegon Targaryen, what a fitting ride for a fool! ” 

Orys studied her then, suddenly silent, he  really looked at her—those sharp blue eyes gave nothing away. So that’s why Ser Quenton was shouting at him, he thought. 

“Lord Aegon is worth ten of your fool of a brother,” he spoke, “ No, hundred “

She did not flinch. “Lord Aegon is the mighty heir of House Targaryen. Even Quorren knows that. Lord Aerion will cut off his balls if he dares a folly.”

“As he could,” Orys said with a mocking twist to his lips.

“I don’t want my fool brother to become a eunuch,” Haemys said plainly.

“He won’t,” Orys replied. “He won’t survive Aegon.”

“ You have so much trust in your brother, ser,”  she said, watching him with those cold, unreadable eyes.

“ And you are far too brave, my lady. Many wiser men would not speak so to my face.” He tilted his head, gaze fixed on her. “ Your tongue is sharp. Too sharp, mayhaps.”

“ Not sharper than yours, Orys Baratheon,” she answered, meeting his stare without a flicker of fear. Then her tone softened. “ The boys’ mother—she is well now. I saw to her myself.”

“ I never doubted you would,” Orys said, his voice low.

“ Yet the gold you sent was not enough to make her stand on her feet again, ” Haemys added. 

“ I will send more,” Orys replied at once, his jaw tightening. “ She will not want for coin, nor care.”

“ Orys, It is time ” Ser Mervyn spoke to him, cutting their exchange. 

The moment frayed and fell away. Orys gave the girl one last look before turning to follow.

Through the guards, the murmuring women, and the pressing throng of smallfolk, Orys strode toward the great tent, the fabric rippling like a war banner in the sea breeze.

Ser Quenton stood at the flap, tense. “Do you allow it, my lord?” he called within. 

“ Come inside ”, came his brother's voice, calm yet strong. 

And so they entered. 

The splender within was no lesser, rich  tapestries adorned with fantastical beasts, from beyond the Jade Sea. Candlesticks of gold, silver, and gilded dragonbone cast a warm, flickering light over tables carved with Valyrian runes and laden with goblets of hammered silver and glass. 

At the heart of it all, sat Aegon, his brother, clad in a light black tunic and dark red breeches, his dark violet eyes were on Orys. 

Beside him stood Ser Kaeleric Coalmar, the old blacksmith of Dragonstone, his stance was taut with unease, and the flicker of the sun ray betrayed the fear on his bear face. 

And behind them loomed the suit of the armor, no common steel it seems. Black as obsidian and polished to a mirror sheen, each plate had been etched with curling Valyrian runes that shimmered faintly when the light struck them. The pauldrons bore the visage of dragons mid-roar, their eyes set with tiny rubies. Gold threading traced along the gauntlets and greaves. 

Orys was drawn to it for a breath. 

"My lord, if you wish for guards with the tent and along the track—" Ser Quenton began. 

“ I will not ride ” Aegon spoke, cutting him with a quiet finality. 

A silence followed. Ser Quenton exchanged a quick, uncertain glance with Kaeleric Coalmar. 

“ And I have no use for more guards ” his brother added. 

“ Lord Aerion will be furious,” Ser Quenton said, the words edged with warning. “ Are you willingly seeking his wrath?”

Outside, the murmurs had died. Even the sound of boots on gravel fell away. Orys turned his head toward the entrance. He knew that hush. That charged silence only came when he approached.

No one else quieted the world like the bitch Aerion Targaryen. 

And he was not wrong. As the flap openned, he saw the face he loathed above all others. 

It was the face of the man who sired him, no matter how Orys hated it. And that somehow, made it cruler. 

It was his father's face. The father who had never been a father.. 

The bitch lord face was as sharp as ever, chiseled and cold like a blade freshly drawn. All heads bowed at his entrance, save for his, and Aegon, who only rose in silence, calm and composed as always.

After the dragonlord entered Aelyn Baratheon, his uncle, the closest he had to a father, and Orys only remembered he ought to bow his head when those black eyes of Ser Aelyn's locked on his. 

Lord Aerion moved slowly toward Aegon, under the weight of all eyes, he laid both his hands upon his elder brother’s shoulders. There was pride in his voice, thick and cloying like sweetened wine gone sour.

“The day is yours, son,” he said. “You will show these sheep what it means to be a dragon. And as Balerion soared above all, so shall you.” 

Aegon gave no reply, he stood there, his eyes on their father's face, distant, almost dead. 

Neither him, nor Aegon knew what to have a father. Orys ruled as he followed Lord Aerion's steps leading out of the tent. 

“ He valued your words above all of others,  Orys ” Ser Kaelric Coalmar turned then to him, “ Bid him not to defy his Lord Father, Lord Aerion is not one to forgieve so lightly ” 

Orys didn't answer at once, his eyes settled on Aegon's. 

“ I will not bid him wear a face that is not his,” Orys said, “He finds no joy, no mirth in the feats of arms, and he never will.”

“ It will be a scandel ” Ser Quenton sighed. 

“ It will” Aegon murmured, “One that force the council to stir—when I struck from where none had thought to look.”

“So, you’ll stand beside your lord father ” Ser Quenton said quietly.

Orys cast him a long look. Easier for your boy, he thought, he won’t have to face the heir of Aerion Targaryen.

Orys pictured the moment plainly in his mind—Lord Aerion’s proud, sharp face contorted in rage as the truth unveiled itself. A cruel smile crept upon his lips. 

From the back flap of the tent, Aegon’s voice cut through the air.

As they moved, Orys paused, his gaze drawn to the gleaming black armor. He studied it for a moment. 

“What would wound the bitch more?” he thought, his eyes narrowing.

Chapter Text

Vaghar's green wings beat as one. With a hiss of wind, the smallest she—dragon in Dragonstone wheeled once, then came to the ground in a swift move, striking the earth in a rush of dust. 

Visenya Targaryen dismounted freely from her saddle, her boots firm on the ground, her braid of silver and gold glinted in the dawn's light. 

Atop the isle, the air was cool with a sky of shifting clouds, the sun itself a pale coin veiled of mist. 

With the almost calm blister of wind, came the sharp  scent of salt and smoke, as it ever did on that grim isle.

Without sparing a glaze, she threw her riding gloves to the stableboy—a pudgy, dull-eyed wretch named Tom who fumbled to catch them.

“ Try not to lose them, fool ” she warned, her voice a blade, “ “Else I’ll have that wretched head of yours spiked on the gate.” 

And with that, she strode toward the keep, her red cloak snapping behind her. 

She found Raezhar, her Tyroshi swordshield waiting in the gallery to The Sea Dragon Tower. His dark violet hair, oiled and curled in the Tyroshi fashion, was near-black in the gloom that pooled within the halls of Dragonstone.

Visenya did not deign to look at him as she strode past towards her chambers. 

 Her chambers were dim even as the first pale light of dawn crept through the windows. The coals in the brazier smoldered low to his death, casting faint shadows on cold stone walls.

Visenya rose swiftly from the steaming bassin, warm water trailing down the fullness of her breasts, the swell of her hips as Alla, her maiden stepped forward, worldless, winding a towel about her body in swift, practiced movements, not daring to meet her eyes. 

“ Is the lord at his leisure now? ” Visenya asked Tissa, standing there, watching, her face still as stone. 

“ Indeed my lady ” Tissa replied formly, “ He speaks in length with the Tyroshi merchants who came with the delegation.” 

When Ella stepped back, Visenya dressed in a light gown of soft black silk. She broke her fast, bread still warm from the ovens, a wedge of sharp cheese, and a goblet of dark red wine. She ate standing, her thoughts already turned to the day’s coming dealings. 

As her meal was done, Visenya set the wine cup aside and made her way to the red sofa beside the great bed, the carved piece that was sent to her lord father from Qarth, its cushions stuffed with fine goose down and its fabric dyed the deep hue of blood. 

Alla approched her from behind and began to comb her long silver golden hair, the damp strands falling till her waist, shinning in the maiden's hands as molten gold and silver. 

With her ever deft fingers, Alla parted and wove, braiding the hair into small brides, then circles. 

Soon, other maidens entered the room reverently, each bearing fine dresses laid across their arms. 

Visenya studied them carefully, a gown of dark velvet, its sleeves flaring las wings, lined with smoky quartz beads that caught the light. Another, of midnight-blue silk, the neckline edged with fine Myrish golden lace. A crimson dress gleamed with gold-thread dragons across the bodice, a pale red , soft as moss, with flowing sleeves and a braided belt of twisted gold wire. A golden tyroshi gift, bold and gleaming. 

Her dark eyes danced over the silks, cold and sharp. She was Visenya of House Targaryen, from the blood of old Valyria, and on this day , she will be clad such. 

“ Fetch me the black one ” she commanded at least as Alla withdrew her hands from her hair “ And take these rags from my sight.”

The handmaidens obeyed at once, and so Visenya dressed in her black dress, simple yet commanding, with red rubies around her bodice gleaming in the morning's lights. Along her sleeves, red dragonwings sewn from garnets unfurled. 

Once they finshed, Visenya took her sight in the mirror, catching her image in the glass. Her high cheekbones, bloody red lips, dark purple eyes. 

Her lord father meant for Aegon to ride in the tourney, yet Visenya could see it plainly, her brother was not made for the clashes of arms. 

Even in the Stepstones, where he loomed above their foes on mighty Balerion, there was no spark of joy in his eyes, only that distant cold. 

She took one last sip from her cup, it was a fine wine they have in the sunset kingdoms. With silent steps, Visenya made her way towards her chambers' doors, and beyond them, her father's solar. 

As Raezhar, her swordshield flung open the heavy doors of her appartement, Visenya's eyes fell on the trembling ragged girl curling on herself. A cruel sneer flickered at the corner of her mouth as she cast a cold glance at Raezhar.

“ She is insisting on waiting you, my lady ” Raezhar said gruffly, “ I bade her leave more than once ”. 

Visenya's eyes were sharp as they fixed on the maid, “  I thought I had dismissed you last night, little slut. ” she told her coldly. 

“ Y.... y” the maid stammered then crawled to Visenya’s feet, head bowed low, tears washing her face, “ But my mother’s lost her wits since my father’s death... She swears she’ll kill me if I return dismissed... ”

“ Didn't I gave you and your whore of a mother enough gold? ” Visenya's voice cut through the air, “ Now she sends you. As if such pitiful tears of her whelp will be beneath my notice.”, she swept the girl's hands aside her dress with a disdainful gesture. “Does she scorn our judgment —her lady to be's judgment — so, that her greed still gnaws at her?”. 

“ No, she does not want gold,” the girl broke, crying, voice trembling.“The dismissed maids will be ashamed… and I remain unwed…” She sobbed, “I will not bring shame upon her. Please, my lady, I ask for nothing more. Let me serve you—I’ll sleep with the horses, with the hounds, I'll do whatever you command.”

Still, Visenya didn't soften. “ Did you just say your bitch of a mother scorns my gold? Mine?”, she asked coldly. 

“ No... ” the maid shivered, “ No.. N.. No... She went mad... A.. After my... My father died....” 

“ A mad woman doesn't need our graces, nor do you, you ungrateful bitch! ” Visenya ruled, “ No gold for you, your mother, or your sisters. The brothels are everywhere along Dragonstone’s shore —there you’ll find your place if you needed some. And should you dare set foot near me again, I’ll see you fed to Vaghar.”

“ Please... Please... I did not mean.... I did not mean.... Ah.... My... M.. My lady.... ” 

Visenya didn't spare her another glance, she strided sure, swift, her heels echoed along the  dragon stone gallery as the maiden's weeping trailing behind her, a sob, then a whimper, then nothing at all. 

“ My lady, I beg your pardon.. ” came Tissa's voice behind her, calmly. 

“ What? ” Visenya stopped. 

Then she turned to meet the old worm's face. 

“ To deny a widow’s daughter her keep… when her mother’s lost her wits… it may seem unkind in the eyes of the smallfolk.... And your image.... ” The old maid did not dare to continue. 

Visenya turned fully, “ May it? ” she said coldly, “ Since when are you charged with weighing mercy and justice? ” 

Tissa didn't reply. She would not. 

“ You withered old worm... ” Visenya hissed “Speak again out of turn, and I’ll see you drink poison myself just to still that fucking cursed mouth of yours! ” she sighed then, “ If you pity her, give her your wages, or go!.. weep beside her. Or better still, stoop and serve in one of Dragonstone's brothels!! You may spare her, though I doubt even the rankest dockside brute fishers would suffer the sight of you. You’d sour their cocks.”

It took no look for Visenya to read the old maid’s face—she knew the look well enough. She could hear ther sound of her low rattle. Why, she wondered, did fools insist on spewing filth before her today? 

“ Her mother will end herself soon enough. Many widows do.” Visenya spoke, “ I’ll not squander gold on madness and mewling.” 

Tissa looked at her eyes. 

Visenya stepped towards her, “ I shall not take her back ” she said, “ A lady's word is an arrow, once loosed, it does not return. Let her be a lesson to whom would dare think Visenya Targaryen forgives a slight.”

Her father's solar set deep within the Stone Drum, the central keep of their castle, its red great doors were craved in the mow of a greater dragon of black stone. Each time Visenya approached it, she felt those stony eyes upon her, lifless, yet watchful. A dozen men-at-arms, clad in dark steel, stood guard before the dragon’s maw. 

Visenya lingred there for moments, unmoving, before she took a deep steady breath. 

“ My lord ” She asked, “ May I? ”

“ Enter ” 

The air within was still and cloacked in shadows as the light from the narrow windows slanting across the walls. Her lord father sat reclined in a high-backed chair of black oak, grabed in a red velvet robe. His pale silver—golden fell to his shoulders, his eyes closed, head tilted back while his youngest sequire —Perkin if she could recall his name — pressed careful fingers to his temples. At his feet, another servant knelt by a wide steel basin, pouring warm lavender water. 

Nearby was Valdar Veltherys, that ghost of a man, his ugly twisted face held no expression. 

The red bitch Gaela was not there, it seemed her father had no taste to fuck her last night. Visenya hated her, hated how her father allowed her near, hated him all the more for it. 

As Visenya entered, Perkin, leaning too close as his gaze followed her,his hands pressed firmly upon her father's bow.

“ You clumsy bastard! ” Her father cursed harshly, looking up. The boy stilled then feel to his kneel, beceeching. 

“ Mercy... ” 

“ Begone before I drag your soul from your body! ” her father growled. Then with a sudden move, he yanked his feet from the basin sending a bash of water on the boy's face. “ Can’t a man have a moment’s peace with such idiots ?” he spat, sliding his feet into worn slippers. “ Is there no end to fools in that cursed keep?! ” 

To that, Visenya could not agree more. Indeed, Dragonstone was full of fools, her frivilious sister,  brooding Aegon, always lost, always distant, that mad black-haired whelp Orys, her father's council. Every corner of the keep, it seems, houses one. 

Gathering the basin and the soiled towel in haste, their head bowed, never daring to meet her father's gaze, they slipped from the solar like mice, mindful not to spill so much as a drop of water upon the cold stone floor.

 Her father exhaled sharply before he moved to the heavy table and took a cup of wine in his right hand. Visenya saw her mother's necklace there, does her father take it from foolish sweet Rhaenys? 

“ Has Ser Quenton Qoherys sent word of Aegon’s preparations for the tourney?”  he asked. 

“ Not yet ” The old commander replied curtly.

“ He is settling the tents ” Visenya spoke, “ I flew over the tourney grounds on Vhagar not an hour past.He was with the squires and stewards, preparing.”

Her father didn't look at her, his eyes were drawn to the red liquid as he was gripping his cup. Suddenly, he set it down with a harsh clash, a dark splash of wine bled across the table, “ That damn bastard! That bloody bastard! ” he said, “I warned him, the fourteen flames know how many time I did! ” he breathed harshly as Visenya fixed her eyes on him, “ Since Aegon was but a lad, I told him to harden him, to teach him how to be the heir of House Targaryen, but look at what I have now as my heir! A brooding shadow who is too proud,or too afraid to ride for his own House's name!! Have you ever heard of such thing before?! No!.. I thought the Stepstones would forge him! They didn't! I thought war would change him! I thought a celebration would wake something in him!! And ah, they didn't  ” he looked up  to Visenya. “How will the men look at him ? Their commander, their future lord who dares not tilt a lance before his own? What strength will they see in that? ” 

“ You put him on their head in your feast ” Visenya reminded him, “ You said his men, our men, hold him in their hearts more than they do me, or they ever will ” 

“ I know what I've said ” he snapped, his eyes were sharp now, “ I said it  because it was true then, and it still is. Yet, men hearts are fickle things, what they love today, they may scorn tomorrow.” he turned to a scroll on his study, “ If your subjects see you weak, that will spur them. Those with old hidden wounds, those with hungry eyes will always be waiting to strike, to feast on you if they had the chance. Aegon must be seen as a warrior, feard as much as he is lover. ”

He at least sat, his eyes flicked over the scrolls. “ Ser Quenton's son, the first list ” he said. 

Visenya's eyes lingred on him for a time before she openned her lips, “ You knew, Aegon would never ride ” 

“ That time he will ” Lord Aerion's jaw thightened , “I will drag him to the lists myself, if need be. ” 

“ It is not that he lacks skill in arms. If that was so, he'd have long been dead. ” Visenya move towards her father, “ He simply never had passion for such feats, just as he had none for me ” 

She meant every word, Aegon was a fine warrior, he was able to fell men from the very first stroke of his sword, he commanded their men through the last raid on the Stepstones. He burned their enemies as fiercly she did. Yet, they were different, Visenya bore that thurst, that fire he never did. 

And distant he was, though they had been meant for each other since their youth. She once thought he feared her in those days, but now she knew better—she had never truly known what stirred within him. 

In the raid, within the camp tent, behind Dragonstone's cold stone walls, and even at the feast.. Aegon, her youngest brother, her husband-to-be, was never truly that close to her.

Yet she was always told that she is to wed Aegon, her brother, her father insisted on it. It was the Valyrian way of things, much older than Dragonstone castle itself, a brother is to wed his sister, the eldest to the eldest, so that the blood of old Valyria remains pure. 

“ There is some Tyroshi brutes and free cities bastards in the lists too ” her lord father growled shifting the speech, “ You know well what to do ” he was speaking to Valdar Veltherys by then, “ Fail me and I will have your balls fed to my dogs ” 

“ Yes I do, my lord ” came Veltherys' reply, empty. 

That man, was no novice with a blade or a tourney, Visenya thought, he was her father's man since she was able to remember, yet there was something strange in him, behind that ruined face and pale scaring eyes, something she did not quiet to name. 

“ And you, ” her father declared, “ You shall stood as the lady you are born to be. Let everyone upon this island remember it well  . We will remind those low creatures who their future lord and lady are, so they will never dare to forget it for a slight breath.” 

They will, she promised herself, no one would ever forget Visenya Targaryen. 

“ My lord ”  Ser Aelyn Baratheon spoke from behind the door, “ I beg your leave to enter... If it pleases you, of course. ” 

Her father's hand rested on his front, “ That bitch.. ” he muttered, “ Yes, Enter.. ” he ordered. 

The castle's  steward entered quietly, between his hands was a cloth—covered portrait. Ser Aelyn bowed curtly. “ It is done, my lord ” he said. 

Her father cloudy eyes rose up as he extented a hand. Ser Aelyn placed the frame gently between his lord's hands, avoiding to look into his face. 

“ Now get out ” Lord Aerion commaned gruffly. 

The steward inclined his head and turned to leave without protest. 

“ Baratheon ” her lord father called again. Ser Aelyn halted, his back straight, “ Don’t let me see your little whelp sniffing near my son—especially not today.”

A thick silence fell between them before ser Aelyn noded and left. 

He looked then, firm and unblinking, to Valdar Veltherys, who moved to follow Ser Aelyn from the solar. 

“ He's been a stick in my throat long enough. I can toss him crumbs, but I will not having him sniffing near his betters ” her father murmured as he reached for the cover draped over the portrait. 

Visenya could not say for certain if he spoke of Ser Aelyn or Orys.If it was the bastard, then her father would have a harder time than he thought. Aegon had kept Orys close since they were but boys, closer than he had ever kept her. 

“ And that hoary old bitch of yours had to rattle my sleep over this! ” Her father voice was stolen as he pulled back the cover, “ The Tyroshi did a fine work here! ” 

It was her sister Rhaenys there. Of course it would be fine, Visenya thought . Paint Rhaenys with ash and it always turn fair. 

“ What is that for? ” She asked. 

“ I imagine you already know  ”. 

“ Of course I do ” Visenya replied cooly, “ Using your sweet lovely daughter would never escape a man like you, my lord ”

“ Don't make me out to be some heartless beast, ” his voice was softer, “ She was born for this. She is my second daughter, and such is her duty to serve House Targaryen. I will see her wed, sooner than later. ” 

“ The Velaryons, aren't they? ” 

“ Daemon would like it, and Aethan is a good man ” he was rubbing his jaw, “ But he is a  second son, a spare, not the heir. And I know less of his elder brother, Daemon's heir. And the Velaryons, old and proud they are,aye, yet they offer no real path for a greater game. “

“ The Archon then? ” She smirked, “ For an end in the free cities, I assume, though I pity my foolish sister if it was the case. The match with sunch toad faced man would kill the joy out of her ”. 

“ Not the Archon ” her father said, “ Her brother “ 

“ Oh that! ” she studied him again, “ Who by the doom is he? ” 

“ The man who gave us half his fleet in our last raid on the Stepstones ” he replied, “ And lent us gold and soliders ”

“ That legion from the slave pits? ” 

“ Aye. He was the one who send us that Pentoshi banker, Harrys Ostys to breath gold into Dragonstone dead lungs ” 

“ And for that, you would give him Rhaenys, ” Visenya's eyes narrowed, “ Her dragon, the largest after Balerion, her dragon blood, let his seed mingle with hers and claim their own hatchlings. So one day our children, our heirs, mine and Aegon would not find only cousins across the Narrow sea but rivals, mounting dragons!. ” 

Her father didn't move his lips. 

“ We are not so rare a wonder ” she continued, “ If another house across the Narrow sea breeds dragonriders from our blood. What would set us apart?.The Velaryons, at least, are our kin, they are Valyrian, the last of them just as we are. But that man? He is no more than a greedy merchant prince with coins and hungrier still for power .Would you trade Rhaenys for that? Would you let dragonseed take root in the free cities, and one day will rise against your own, mine? ” 

She would not suffer any others to claim over dragons. Those are fire made flesh, theirs and only theirs. And as Rhaenys had stolen Meraxes that night, Visenya could stomach her wedding only to a Velaryon, there is no future for her sister save in a Velaryon bed. At least, their blood was closer. Still, every egg Meraxes lay shall return home, to Dragonstone. No child of her sister would cradle an egg, there would be no dragons for them. They will be Velaryons, to the see they will belong. 

“ What do you take me for? ” her father spoke. “ A fool? ” 

“ Only a fool would trade his house magic for coins ” she stepped closer to him, “ I'd sooner choke than give a mongrel the blood of Old Valyria  for his seed ”

“He will have none ”

“ Do you hand him Rhaenys and bid him not to fuck her? ” Visenya lips curved, “ Believe me he would take in every way a man can take a woman, and for sure his seed shall have its roots within her womb. What will you do then, my lord? ” 

Visenya might well poison her own sister’s womb, if it came to that. She would suffer no dragonseed beyond that island. 

“ As he said, he would have none ”

“ How would you see that done ? ”

“ Rhaenys' marriage to him need not to last so long ” her father declared, his voice low and somehow dangerous, “Only the bedding matters. Once their marriage is consummated, she’ll be his in the eyes of gods and men, and by law, his holdings pass to her, to us .”

His hands reached for a small box from under his study, he openned it slowly, then draw forth a silver hair cilp, barbed like a dragon's wing, Meraxes'. 

“ I've commissioned this for that end ” he continued, his fingers brushed the hairpin “ On the feast day after the bedding it would be done. Oh don't fret, I know what stirs in that head of yours now, the fool won’t dare harm her. He covets her blood, needs it. A child born of her would be dragonseed. He’ll keep her safe… at least until he is sure his child is between his arms ”

“ So you'd gamble with Rhaenys' life, casting her to a Tyroshi mongrel just to end him ” Visenya concluded, her tone flat, “ Using her as a piece you move on your own board, as you’ve done with all of us when it suits your game. That what you are, what you have always been, Father ” she smirked, “ Does your heir know of that scheme? He is found of his little sister, too found for a man like Aegon. I have no doubt he would burn Tyrosh into ashes and blood if she so much as wept. ”

Her father face didn't soften. 

“He knows what he must,” he said at last. “And what he need not, he will not.” 

He then rose from his seat, his steps were heavy as he came to stand before her. 

His eyes were on her, and that really distrubed her. 

“ You want it. Don't you? To cast her away? ” he asked, his voice cutting , “ At least your own betrothed would dote on you, not her. You’d rather see your husband look at you the way he does at her. That the The thorn in your pride, isn't? ” 

His hand settled on her shoulder, not gently.

“ You would’ve poisoned her if I let you. To keep our blood untainted, to keep the dragons bound to your line alone. I’ve seen it in your eyes, Visenya.” His mouth curled into a grim smile. “You’re no better than I am. No, daughter… in truth, you’re worse.”

She pulled away from his cold grasp. 

“ I would do anything to keep our House strong ” she said, “ If I ever poisoned a womb, it would be because you left me no other path.”

She looked up at him, unflinching. “So no—I am not worse than you. I am what you made me.”

Her father  smiled. “ You should be in the dais by now ” he said, “ Go—see your lord husband to be ride in the lists ”

But that was not Aegon. 

Visenya moved her eyes around the dais. Everyone was stanned to silence. Her father councilmen set rigid, their faces clouded, the Tyroshi merchants, their envoy blinked at the list, Lord Daemon Velaryon who told her he was too eager to witness his cousin first tilt,  leaned forward with a frown, his foolish son stood by his side, had gone still as a stone. 

Her gaze drifted to Rhaenys whose lips were parted in silent, eyes wide in disbelief, then to her lord father who loomed over them all, his eyes were darker, colder than Visenya had ever seen them. He was angry, of that she was certain.

At last, she met Raezhar's eyes before she turned back to the lists. 

For it was not Aegon. 

It was Orys Baratheon. Orys the Bastard. 

Her bastard brother, Aegon's bastard brother, his closest freind. 

There he sat, on her brother's seat, horse, in his black armor, the armor her father comissioned for Aegon. He was steady as any highborn knight should be, and that made it worse. 

The herald stood frozen, his scroll between his hands, not daring to speak. Beside him, Ser Aelyn Baratheon's face was drained of all colors. 

Across the lists, facing the bastard astride his brother’s steed, sat his foe—Quorren Quohaerys, son of Ser Quenton, no less shocked. 

Rhaenys turned her face to Visenya, her lilac eyes wide, questioning, confused. 

What? Visenya thought bitterly. It should be I staring at you with such vacant eyes—

The murmurs grew thicker and harsher. 

“ Oh Lord Aerion.. ” The Tyroshi envoy spoke at least, laughing, “ Is your herald blind? Or simply unlettred? ” he laughed loudly, his face was red, “ How can any man mistake Lord Aegon's name for this... ”

“ My sword ” came Aegon's voice, quiet, cutting through the envoy's breathless laugh before he speaks further. “ He fights for me ”

Another wave of silence swept over the dais as every gaze fell upon Aegon Targaryen. 

Her brother's eyes, dark violet were unflinching, speaking louder than any word could, the weight of his presence stilled even the murmurs far in the common throng. 

Their lord father looked at her brother, though his face was as calm as he could be, Visenya saw the fire behind his eyes. Anger, maybe—though if it stirred him, he wore it well.

“I loosed my hound, Valdar Veltherys, in the first pass,” he said smoothly. “He fared well enough against your bellowing Tyroshi giants. Now we shall see what our son's dog does.”

With steady strides, Aegon crossed the dais, drawing all the eyes, and somehow he did not seem he knew it. In her foolish flutter of impulse, Rhaenys moved towards him, her eyes wide with a child's gleam. 

He took his seat, disatnt, away from Visenya's, and Rhaenys, of course, took hers beside him, her glances betrayed more than she knew. 

After him, Ser Quenton entered. 

Dragonstone's lord swallowed his ire. Scandal would serve no purpose here. Instead, he stood, every gaze was on him by then. 

“ Let the lists begin! ” He declared. 

Visenya's eyes swept once more to the field. She saw how ser Aelyn Baratheon stood unsteady, his hand trembling slightly beneath his sleeves, how his face was soo pale.

Then the herald stepped forth  “ Let the lists restart with the blessings of our Lord! ” He declared, his voice loud. 

The throng erupted in a thanderous cheers, their voices echoing. Hooves struck the earth furiously, the charge has begun. 

Visenya knew this sound, it was war. She knew it since her fourteen summer. 

The first clash was brutal, rang out as thunder, final. A heartbeat, Quorren Quohaerys was unhorsed. Even from the dais, Visenya could see that he had held his lance wrong, too loose. Fool. 

While the bastard's was true, too true for a sport. With a sickenning crack, Quorren Quohaerys' mount went down, the horse's neck twisted, the foolish green boy himself was drawn in dust and dirt. He would not rise, Visenya assumed from the way he lay. 

And if he did, she doubted he would meet sword with sword. He’d lost before he ever began.

And as she expected, men-at-arms hurried to the fallen knight, lifting him gently under his father, Ser Quenton ashamed gaze. Quorren Quohaerys raised a hand in taken for surrender. 

The crowd gave a loud cheer. 

“ We have a victor! ” from the center of field, the herald voice ranging! “ Ser Orys Baratheon, champion of Lord Aegon Targaryen!” 

There was a moment’s pause before the cheering swelled again. 

Orys was still on his horse, Aegon's horse, the mount knew him well enough it seems. 

“ Oh, lord Aerion ” the Tyroshi envoy said with a chuckle, “ Lord Aegon's dog is a fine beast, a fierce warrior. Isn't he? ” 

“ Orys is no dog! ” 

Rhaenys' voice came deep, sharp and sudden, cutting through the envoy's words  as she stood without thinking. 

Silence followed after. Every head turned. Her father's eyes found her, dark and hard. Even Aegon, sitting besides, shiffted to look, yet said nothing. 

Fool, Visenya thought coldly. Will you never learn to keep still?

The envoy blinked, then smiled, “Forgive me, my lady. A poor jest. You’ve a kind heart to speak for him. I’ll call him no such thing again.”

“ You best don't ” she snapped.

Realising too late what she'd done, her cheeks flushed as she returned to her seat, her eyes on the ground. 

Their father let the silence hang a moment longer before breaking it, voice low and dry.

“A girl’s heart indeed,” he said. “Even the lowest creatures win her tenderness. A rare jewel, this daughter of mine ”

“Indeed, my lord,” the envoy said, inclining his head, “We cherish such shining jewels most dearly in Tyrosh.”

The fat Tyroshi earned a fine measured  glance from Aegon then. Visenya caught it, and she knew...Her brother understood the game their father was playing. 

The tilts followed, swift and fierce, one after other. Blood and dust, hooves and steel clashing, so loud it was. Visenya drank more than was seemly, her goblet near empty and her temper near full.

Another clash, Visenya drank deeper, her blood was hot, calling for a saddle and a spear. Gods, why had she been born a woman? 

Below, Orys the bastard had proven his mettle. He unhorsed three of all. One a great Tyroshi warrior who drew his sword when thrown, only to fall harder in the dirt. The other two were knights of their own household, proud and sharp, but they broke like any man when faced with the bastard’s charge. 

Ser Quenton had taught him well, Visenya thought. He did not have a choice though. Had Orys the bastard not been there to spar, to press him, to bleed with him, Aegon would never have touched steel at all. 

There was another worth of watching, her father's own dog, Ser Valdar Veltherys. He had unhorsed no fewer than five challengers. the last of them atower of a man, one of Meereen’s pit-born slave-warriors by the look of him.

The giant didn't take his own fall easily. Roaring in a strange tongue , he lanced his chain ball, his teeth bare. Ser Valdar yet manahed to move quickly and smartly, And then, in a flash, he caught the chain, twisted it round the slave’s thick ankles, and yanked hard.

The slave fell down again, but still trying to rise. Ser Valdar gave him no chance, his bled was soon burried in his jaw. The sword slid through the thick flesh beneath the jaw and up—until its point burst forth from the slave’s eye in a sickening spurt. He gave one last, shuddering breath, blood pooling beneath him. 

“ One death ” the envoy said, “ Yet it was worthing to watch ”. 

Rhaenys had gone all pale as milk, her wide eyes fixed on the dead slave below. Aegon reached with a quiet firmness and turned her face from the field.

“Look no more,” he murmured, low and stern. 

Visenya smirked. Was he shielding her from a truth the world would show her soon enough ?

Another tilt, and once more Orys Baratheon cast the helpless knight from his saddle, his pig noise grinding to the dust. 

The final tilt of today was upon them. Only two challangers left, both sworn to Dragonstone. Her father's dog, Ser Valdar Veltherys against Aegon's, Orys Baratheon, her baseborn brother, though it raised bill to her stomach to think of him so. 

A fitting end, Visenya mused. 

She reached to signal her guard more wine, but it was not him who answered her. 

“ May I? ” Lord Daemon Velaryon stood there next to her. His robust form shadowing her. 

“ Yes ” she replied, watching him as he poured. “ Though I wonder, what brought you ti my side?, Lord Daemon, You were just now seated with your son ”

“ Spare me that son ” he said as he took his seat beside her, “ Lady Rhaenys has more spirit than he ever did. When he saw the giant slave fell dead, he stormed off. He did, saying he would not waste another blink seeing men killing eachother for nothing. Am I cursed?! By Old Valyria and its glory! Do men not kill each other for nothing every day, across the world?’’

Visenya let out a free laugh, her first since the dawn. The sound was so honnest she forgets she was on the dais. 

“ I would say Aegon is blessing comparing to yours ” She declared. 

“ I told you before ” Lord Daemon Velaryon himself laughed as he drank, his eyes drifting down to the tiltyard where Ser Aelyn Baratheon still lingered, pale  “That man, he trembled each time Orys Baratheon took the field.”

“He raised him as one of his own,” Visenya said, her voice quieter now. 

“ He had to trumble ” Daemon Velaryon told her, his eyes on the field where the older knight was fastening his armor. “ The man Baratheon is about to ride against is a true beast ”

Visenya noded. 

Lord Daemon glanced sidelong at her, “ Your father.. ”

 “ No, he never thought of him as a son,” Visenya cut in flatly “He would not flinch if Orys Baratheon died in this tilt. On the other hand, Aegon would never allow it.”

“ Yes ”  Lord Velaryon said after a moment, “ I suppose he is too dear to him. Isn't he? ”

“ Their marriage would fare much better than ours ” She spoke suddenly, then let out a wild laugh, almost mad. 

Lord Daemon Daemon looked at her, her lips moved, she knew what he is about to say... And she... 

“ If you're about to lecture me about Father and my late mother’s union,” Visenya said before he could speak, “Save your breath. I know it well. And I will have none of it ”

Daemon Velaryon said nothing after. 

The herald raised his voice above the restless throng:

“ The final tilt—Ser Valdar Veltherys, champion of Lord Aerion, against Ser Orys Baratheon, named champion of Lord Aegon!“

The cheers that followed were louder than any time before. 

Hooves pounded the earth again and again, The first clash of spears rang out harshly, yet neither man fell. They turned at the lists’ end, circling back. A second pass—then a third—then a fourth, each of them was still firmly on his saddle. 

Each time, the crowd leaned forward, breath caught, eyes wide and looking for whom would fall first. 

The fifth pass struck far hursher,while both men rocked in their saddles, their armor groaning. The sixth came swift behind, fiercer still, and in that breathless moment, both spears shattered. 

It was the seventh strike that felled Valdar Veltherys’ steed, a cunning blow from the bastard aimed a sensetive spot at the horse’s foreleg. The beast stumbled, letting out a very startled neigh that echoed through the lists.

And so Ser Valdar Veltherys was on his feets. 

Valdar Veltherys caught another spear as he rose, turning to face Orys Baratheon’s mount. Yet the commander did not aim for the rider in his saddle. The spear stuck into the earth instead—the horse’s hooves too swift to be halted. And so the foundling was cast down upon the dust.

There they were. A man to man, a fighter to a fighter. Now it was swords that would pass judgment between them.

The initial clash of steel was fierce and quick, moving so fast that even Visenya found it too hard to track.

Ser Valdar Veltherys aimed to topple his adversary with a sudden kick, but Orys was faster, he struck the knight with a powerful headbutt, and the old man faltered, collapsing onto the ground. 

However, that doesn't seem as the end of it. 

Orys closed in, sword poised to strike or demand Ser Valdar's surrender, awhen suddenly the commander’s dagger flashed—piercing Orys’ thigh. The bastard hissed in pain and crumpled to the earth beside his fallen foe.

Veltherys seized Orys’  fallen sword from the dust and pressed its cold edge against his throat. But two paths lay before the bastard now: yield or meet death.

But that was Orys Baratheon Visenya was speacking about, above all, he was never an easy prey. 

Grasping the sword tightly, he pressed its keen edge against his bleeding palm. As Veltherys sought to force him down, Orys drove a heavy boot between the man’s legs with a savage kick.

Their commander collapsed onto the dirt, the air thick with laughter, curses, and stunned whispers. Orys Baratheon, his steps faltering  stood tall and pressed his own blade's tip sharply against Veltherys’ neck.

Veltherys was left with little strength to walk, much less to fight . After a moment of silence, his hand rose slowly in surrender. 

“A victor we have! Lord Aegon’s champion, Ser Orys Baratheon!” the herald cried. 

The cheers were ringing. 

Panting, Orys Baratheon fell again, yet his face was satisfied. 

Truly a bastard, Visenya smirked. She would not turn to see her father's face. She already knew what she would have. 

“That man...” Lord Daemon observed, voice low, “he hesitated...”

“He lost,” Visenya corrected “I would wager my lord father’s already pondering a new dog.” 

As she rose, her eyes met Aegon's. 

Chapter Text

His father strode into his solar like a storm, loud as the door cracked behind him, full of wrath.

His father's scullion, Aegon never recalled his name, needed no word, no gesture, bowing again and again with his trembling head and feet,his plae scared face,then vanished in a breath. Fled. 

Aegon stood there, alone, still, with no one but his father and his anger. It was that same evening after the tourney his lord father had sent for him,for he spent the afternoon with some matters with the envoys and the delegation of Tyrosh. 

As a child, his father's eyes filled him of dread, Aegon Targaryen would shrink from that gaze. 

But he no longer does. 

That hard wrathful face was enough to make brave men soil their breeches, yet, now, it didn't move him. 

How strange was it! 

He met those eyes with his own in silence, and it stirred nothing in him. 

“ Are you mad?!! Are you mad?!! ” His father roared, his voice echoed through the solar, “ You dare meet my gaze after the disgrace you brought upon this house, upon me! After the scandel you have wrought?! You left me bare! Bare! To every eye on that damned dais! By the doom! Speak! Are you mad?! ” 

Aegon did not flinch. 

“ Damn the day you were born to me! ” Lord Aerion sneered as he seized a goblet and flung it to the stone floor sharply. 

He turned to Aegon again, “ Usless wretch! ” he sneered, “ Did you even grasp what you have done?! You humiliated me! Me! Lord Aerion Targaryen! Your fucking father and lord! What crime did I commit to be cursed with a son like you?!” 

Still, not a word passed Aegon's lips. 

His father closed the distance between them suddenly, seizing Aegon by his collar, dragging him close till their faces were an inch apart, “ Don't play the deaf with me ! I have no patience left for your silence! ” his hand was steel on Aegon's throat, “ I don't know what schemes you are plotting, but I knew their end. I can see through you, I can smell it.You are the second doom and the last! You will bring House Targaryen to its end! ” 

He shoved him then. 

“ You stole the Archon's slaves! Stole them as if we were common brigands. You have taken mercenaries as your own men and hided them in that cursed village behind the Dragonmont, gods know doing what! You’ve ignored your sister, your betrothed, your wife to be, your lady to be! The match that was to bind this House together! And then you vanished!! —vanished in my meeting with the Tyroshi merchants, leaving me to host them like some old fool.” 

He spat the words, took a deep breath. 

“ And now!! After summoning half the island there so they, and the men you are to lead can see the strength of your sword arm, you! Their lord after me! The man they would march behind into fire and blood! Under the eyes of our allies and the envoy himself, you hand your place to that.. dog! ” 

A pause fell between them. 

“ Your son, ”Aegon said at last, his voice low, calm, unshaken.

His father laughed, maddly, loudly, bitterly, his grip slackened though the rage yet his gaze didn't dim. “ You.. You are my son, my only son, my heir.” He spat, “ He is the waste of a spent lust, a squandered drop of my seed. And you, you would raise him up, place him where you should be, give him that honor?! How can you be so blind? ” 

“He bears no blame for your fleeting lusts,” Aegon said, steady as he moved his father's hand away “He is my sworn sword now, he draws it at my command. I chose him. ”

“ You.. chose him? ” Lord Aerion growled, “ Do your ears even hear what your fucking mouth spits? ” He took a step back, “ Chose him? After all I've done for you?!. It was your place to ride that morning in the tourney, your duty to show every man there the mighty heir of House Targaryen. Ah, what you did? Let me remind you, Aegon Targaryen! You let a bastard taking your saddle, riding in your place, winning those damn lists! And now Dragonstone is full of murmurs. What an heir you are! What a son! ” His voice faltered lightly, he sighed. “ A bastard in the place of the rightful heir! How was it fitting! ” 

Aegon knew it, he let it be. His brother had a thirst for the feats of arms he himself never had. 

He had let Orys ride in his stead, and he will had his end of it. 

“ When he has healed, I will knight him,” Aegon said quietly, “As my swordshield.”

“Do you think I will give my blessing to such folly?” Lord Aerion spat. 

“ If you would cut off every would-be traitor who might use him against me,” Aegon answered without flatering. 

It was not as though he had ever doubted Orys. But he needed him close—and this was the most effective way to keep him so. Away from enemies and traitors, from their lord father, Orys would not be merely a dragonseed nor a baseborn brother who shared his youth with. Now, he would have him closer than he ever was, his swordshield, his shadow. 

His father looked at Aegon's eyes for a time before he turned to his study. “ It seems you would be the end of me, as well as House Targaryen's. Begone, I have no wish to see your face again this day! And be thankful I’ve not taken your bastard’s head for the disgrace you’ve laid at my feet.”

As always, Aegon give no reply. He simply turned and walked out. 

It was draker out. 

Ser Quenton stood at the far end of the gallery that leads to Lord Aerion's solar, pale and quiet. As Aegon approached, his master—at—arms' eyes searched for hid face with the same worry he would worn years ago whenever Aegon came with a bloodied face from the training yard as a boy. 

“ What did your Lord father say? ” he asked. 

“ Words and winds ” Aegon replied, his steps didn't slow. 

Ser Quenton’s brow furrowed. “Do not press him so, Aegon. Say you were weary, say the raid left your limbs too stiff to joust. Let the council chatter if they must.. it buys time to strike , and you won’t lose your father over a single day’s defiance.” He warned, following him now “ Don't gumble with Lord Aerion's wrath, Aegon. One day, it will spill over. And when it does, he may cast you aside, strip you from your name or claim, or even disown you. I know what you seek. You would see Dragonstone scoured clean, the leeches in his council stripped of titles and tongues. You seek justice. Yet.. Don't start a war you can not win. Your father is no man to play with. Do you hear me? If you are to change anything, aye, you would find me by your side. But, we have to move as shadows... ” 

“ Have you seen your son yet? ” Aegon cut  off. 

The question was sudden. Ser Quenton flatered, his mouth open then shut again. His breath caught in his chest as Aegon could plainly see. 

“ No... Not yet ” He replied at last. “ Orys unhorsed him. I don't think my face would ease his shame if he had any, nor bring him the comfort I doubt he needs. ” 

“ Go to him ” Aegon told him, “ No father should stay away when his son lies in pain ” 

Ser Quenton looked at him a moment longer before he spoke again, “ I think you say true ”. He told him before he turned away, his boots fading to the gallery's darkness. 

Aegon stood still until the last echo of the footfall was gone. Only then he reached into the deep fold of his sleeves and draw out the small thing he had took from his father's solar without his leave. 

His mother's delicate necklace, Rhaenys'. He turned it over between thumb and finger, his face unmoved. 

Rhaenys had told him their father had taken it from her with those beautiful sad eyes. Aegon saw her portrait hung there in the solar , their father's doing. And he knew of what end. He did not need to ask. 

Rhaenys' face was too lovely for tears, her laughter the sweetest sound he ever heard, and that light in her eyes. How dare they dim it? Her skin was too soft, softer than the finest silk, and no hand, had the right to lay claim to it. He would cut it off, burn it to ashes. 

She was not made for grief. She was made for song and sky, for dreams and flights, for sunlight and sweet. And no one would take that from her. His jaw clenched. No one. 

Ser Addan stood stiff as a pike at the doors of Aegon's quarters. Flanked by two other guards in their mails and black cloacks, all the three bowed their heads as Aegon passed, none spoke a word. 

 He made his way through the dark chambers and the grim carridors, for the chamber where Orys lay in healing. The torches fixed to the stone were forged like dragon-heads, mouths agape, belching fire that flickered along the carved walls like the restless ghosts of his ancestors. 

It was Dragonstone's maester whom Aegon found by the door to his brother's resting chamber. Grey and bent, Maester Lymond bowed low, his chains clinking softly with the motion, these were forged in the citadel of Oldtown, far in the sunset kindgoms. His sire kept two maesters in the castle, as did his grandsire before him, and Lymond was the elder of the pair. 

“ The wound is not grave, my lord. The gods were most graceful ” Maester Lymond spoke smoothly, though Aegon said no word, “ A moon's rest should mend it well enough. We only fear the rot that came after. I cleansed it proper, and Lady Haemys brewed an herbal draught to ward off any decay, Yet Ser Orys —he sighed — he will not take it, too stubborn, that one ” 

Two guards stood firmly at the door, and another pair kept their watch across the gallery. An unusual number, Aegon ruled, and plainly the work of his father.

“ Make another cup ” Aegon ordered at last, “ I will see to it ” 

“ As you wish, my lord ” came the maester reply, short and quiet. 

Aegon halted before the heavy door, caught by the sharp voice of Ser Aelyn Baratheon, his lord father's steward from within. 

“ Have you truly lost your senses ?! ” Ser Aelyn Baratheon thundered. “ To don the rightful heir's armor and ride in his place?! ”

“ Aegon minded it not, neither did I !! ” Orys cut in, his tone ranging. “ I rode as I willed, and I don't regret it ”

“ You can't be that blind! ” Ser Aelyn cried, “ Your Aegon is not yet Lord of Dragonstone— nor will he be, so long as Lord Aerion still draws breath and sits the stone throne! ” 

“ If it is the bitch, ” Orys said harshly, “ Then may he choke on his bitter wroth!! For the very sight of his face when I rode brought me more joy than any triumph.”

“ Still your tongue boy!! ” Ser Aelyn barked , “ You are a fool beyond reckoning! You could have been beheaded! Do you hear me?! You could have lost your head for it?!! Do you hear me? Do you? ” 

Orys gave a short, bitter laugh. “And yet my head remains where it was, atop my shoulders.”

“ Does your life mean naught to you?! ” Ser Aelyn bellowed, “ What of mine? Ah, what of my children's?! Would you drag us all to Lord Aerion's wrath, to ruin with that hare-brained folly of yours? What are you? What do you take yourself for?!! How did you think yourself fit to ride against Ser Valdar Veltherys, one of Lord Aerion's oldest Commander of Dragonstone and his own sworn sword ?! Do you truly believe Lord Aegon would rise against his own sire on your behalf? That he would risk his claim, his very name, for naught but a baseborn brother? A bastard brother?! How many time must I to remind you of your place?! A bastard is not a son! And never shall be! To Lord Aerion, you are naught but a stain, no more than the leavings of a moment’s lust. No more than a baseborn pawn for Lord Aegon to move as he wills! Why can’t you see it, Orys?!”

“ If the burden of me weighs so heavily—your own sister’s bastard—then be done with it! Cast me out! I never begged for a place under your roof! Go! Cast me out! ”

It was then that Aegon entered the chamber calmly. His presence feel hard on Ser Aelyn whose back went straight. 

Orys' burning eyes shifted at once to him, his tongue stilled at the sight. 

And behind him, Maester Lymond moved slowly, his soft steps unheard upon the stone as he slipped past Aegon to ready the draught. 

Ser Aelyn turned, Aegon could see the dread in his eyes. Yet he did naught but bowing so low. 

“ My humblest appologies” he said, his voice stiff, “ For creeping to your chambers like a common thief. Yet, I could not wait to see—”

“ I do not care what you could bear!” Orys bellowed. “Get you gone, coward ! Leave this room, or I’ll rip your heart from your chest with my own bare hands!”

His brother was furious. Aegon saw it plain. He knew it was not the wound that kindled such anger within him. No, it was the harsh words of Ser Aelyn doing. 

Ser Aelyn Baratheon was his brother's foster father, the man who had raised him under his own roof,alongside his own children, broke him his first bread, all — certainly —by the grace and command of their Lord father. 

To hear himself called a mere baseborn from the lips of the very man who had stood as father—surely, it was a bitter blow.

Aegon cast Ser Aelyn a glance, ordering him silently to leave. 

Seeking to keep the air from souring further, ser Aelyn showed no protest. Bowing stiffly again, he took his leave with what grace remained to him, the Maester following close behind. 

With the great door groaning shut, sealing the room in a steady quiet. Aegon turned where Orys lay, half_sat on the bed, his hip wrapped in clean bandages. 

He studied him for a second. 

“ You lashed out ” Aegon declared at ladt with an even tone. 

Orys' eyes were sharp. “He’s a coward, that’s what he is. Always toeing his tip  around Aerion like a whipped dog.”

“ He feared losing you ” Aegon said, his tone unchanging. “ And still does “ 

“ I am no babe ! ” Orys snapped, “ Yet he keeps barking as if I were one. He doesn't  stop talking about my head falling from my shoulders! By the gods, he even thinks you were some monster who uses me against my will, with no thought that I might mean aught to you. He must rid himself of such wild fancies.”

Aegon held his eyes on Orys for a beat, then two. Was he not using him, truly? A thought stirred deep within, bitter —was he not, after all?

“ He knows not what binds us ” Aegon explained, “He must carry doubts. He does not know me.”

“Few ever have, Aegon,” Orys answered, then sighed, “ I am sorry ” he told him. 

Aegon drew near with quiet steps, his eyes fell on the linen wrap around his brother's hip. He meant to ask about his hurt, but no word would come out. 

“ Tis little more than a scartch.” Orys replied without needing to hear it, “ yet it is the first true wound I've taken... the first I've earned in full, against a true warrior... True warriors, not some green boys with soft hands "

There was a look of pride in his brother's dark eyes, even a tone of something near joy in his voice. 

Was it truly possible for a man to find such joy in the shedding of blood, in the dance of steel and song of arms? Aegon could never answer that. 

“ And you, Aegon Targaryen, brother.. ” Orys lifting his fierce eyes to meet his brother's. “ You claimed your victory as well. None pressed you into that mad lists. Is that not what you wanted?! ” 

He had wanted more, Aegon thought. He had let Orys rides in his place in the lists, bleeds for him, takes bruizes and wounds meant for him..... Just to keep him beside him. 

He needed him. He needed his brother. 

He needed someone to trust admist all of this. 

Someone who was not all light and pure as Rhaenys was, nor all steel and cold as Visenya. 

Someone rough, fierce ... And true. 

But.. 

Had he ever truly wished to see his brother in bandages ? 

“ This is but my begining ” Orys promised, quietly, “ Next time, I’ll ride at your side in your wars, Aegon. And the time after that. And the one after that still. I think I’ll be there until the end of my days… Aegon Dragonlord.”

Aegon regarded him, not sure what to say. Finally , he turned to the table where the maester had prepared the draught moments earlier.

“ So? ” Orys asked with a  half-smirk, “ What did our mighty lord said to you? ”

Aegon didn't look up as he poured some of the lequid into the cup. “ You shall be my swordshield ”, he spoke. 

“ Oh! He decided that!! ” Orys gave a bitter loud laugh,“ Tell me the Narrow Sea has run dry, and I might believe that sooner!” 

“I've decided it,” Aegon said simply, offering him the silver cup. 

“Is this thy first lordly toast, then?” Orys drawled,  “While the whore who sired us yet live? ”

He then took the cup in a single long draught, only to break into a fit of caughing soon after. 

“ Damn it!.. ” he wheezed, pounding a fist to his chest. “Was that the Maester’s poison you fed me, you cold-hearted brute?!”

“ It shall keep your wound from rooting ” Aegon explained coolly, “ Else you’ll be a stump of a swordshield, fit for naught but scaring children.”

“ Damn you! ” Orys growled, wincing. “ Damn you!! I shall kill that worm of a Maester and that mad daughter of Ser Quenton!  ” 

However, it took him but a moment to find his calm again. He stared now at the cup in his hand, dark eyes steady, a rare stillness upon him.

“Valdar Veltherys,” Orys said at last, the name heavy on his tongue“...I did not truly best him. He hesitated.”

He had seen it then, Aegon ruled, Valdar Veltherys had not struck when he might’ve. How could he not? It was him he faced. 

In truth, Aegon knew well what to came. Their lord father would never abide their shame, he would never accept his old commander to be bested by a green boy. And not any green boy, the very bastard he ever sought to keep far away even as he gilded his rising, the baseborn son he barly claimed in the same lists he ordered to be a power show for his true—born heir. 

The old knight, his father swofnshield, would be cast down, stripped of that honor for sure. Mayhaps banished, mayhaps sent to the headman's block. 

Aegon thought to speak, to offer some words, any words Orys needed, but as ever, his own tongue failed him. 

He only watched. 

The heavy door openned, its cracking sound spared Aegon that reply.

He turned at once, gaze drawn sharp—who dared enter unbidden, so bold? 

It was Rhaenys he found there. His little sister, his little shinny, joyful sister. She stood there in the doorway, her silver-gold hair falling loose to her waist, glimmering in the torchlight, brushing the light rose silk of her dress. Her eyes—those lilac eyes—gleamed brighter than any jewel Aegon had ever known, and her smile, beautiful, warm, enough to melt this keep's walls. 

Aegon was lost for a blink, as the world had gone still around her. She was the only that matters at that moment. 

Only her sweet voice, laced with that laugh of hers, called him back. 

“ I am most sorry to burst in so ” She said freely, “ I know it is too late.. ” her eyes danced, “ but I come bearing something for our gallant Orys, for the valor he showed in the lists.”

Orys perked up, his eyes lit up as a child, “ Food? ” 

“ And more ” she stepped in the room, the light seemed to follow her steps “There’s sweetbread, too. Lampery pie, the one you always beg the cooks for. If Aegon allows it, of course…” She turned her bright eyes to him. 

“Of course he does,” Orys cut in, already shifting on the bed as if to welcome a feast. “He nearly poisoned me with the Maester’s draught. Rhaenys, I think you might be a goddess, come to save me in my dying hour.” 

Rhaenys burst into laughter, bright and bubbling. She laughed with her whole body, her head tipped back, her hands over her belly. 

“Oh,  poor Orys,” she gasped between giggles, “slain by a draught and saved by pie a godess gave you. The pie godess and the starving knight! What a song that shall make!”

Yes, she was a goddess, Aegon thought.Too light for this world, and too good for them all. 

Other filed in after her. Rhaenys handmaidens, though Aegon can scarcely recall their names. They came bearing silver platters of food, lampery pies, cuts of grilled goat seared, and honeyed wine. 

The room after was full of life. His sister's maidens gathered there,  their laughters blooming, their voices rising and rising. 

Aegon lingered but a breath longer, watching as Rhaenys tried to bring a spoon of soup to Orys' lips, laughing softly while chiding him for wanting meat before broth, naming him a babe —then turned. It was time to take his leave.

Rhaenys would take care of Orys better than he ever could. 

The hallway was cloacked with darker shadows now. Night had fallen hardly on Dragonstone. Aegon thought to accompany Rhaenys to her quarters, nearby, her guards stood, watchful and silent، yet he would not leave her to them. 

The nights on Dragonstone held a deeper dark than any he had ever known, Aegon found as he passed through the high window, its edges as dragon wings, it was thicker, heavier, older. His eyes fell to the Narrow sea, restless with tides, its waves cracking like drums. 

“ Aegon.... Aegon! ” Rhaenys called after him, her voice urging.

Hurrying after him , her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed so sweetly, she looked at his face. “ Why did you vanish just so? ” She said, “You haven’t eaten, and I had the best cook in the kitchens prepare something just for you. It's all warm still, and very fine.. ”

He watched her then, slowly, so slowly. Every curve of her lips, every sparkbehind her lilac eyes.At that second, he thought he might follow her anywhere she led.

“I have orders to tend to,” was all he said.

“ what duties claim my dear lord brother in the night? ” She pouted, approaching him. Even  her petulance bore that sweetness. And to him, she was the most radiant thing he had ever laid eyes upon. 

“ Ahhh!!.. Just say it! ” She huffed, “You don't want my girls eyeing your most noble, handsome face, is that it? Mmm... If that be your worry , I shall cast them off. They're half-asleep anyway.” 

Aegon looked at her then as she spoke, truly looked at her, as if to take her in all at once. 

Then, without any sound, his hand rised, thumb brushing soft against her skin. He bent his head and placed his lips on her temple, gently, the way he always had.

"You know that gentleness, though sweet it is, will not make me leave you to starve ," she said, voice softening. 

"I am full," he answered, gaze fixed upon her, . "Take your ease. When you’ve done, I shall see you safe to your chambers."

His own chambers stood at the far end of the quarters, the last to reach, and the grandest by far. The doorway was craved into a gaping miw of a dark dragon of stone, its red agate large eyes catching the torchlight as fire, and blood. The handles too, bore that mark of dragons, two coileded wrought iron little wyrms, while the frame was etched with curling tails, wings, and monticors. 

Thirteen guards stood by the archway and the hallway, The Tyroshi were still within the walls, and their lord father would suffer no lapse in vigilance. Not with foreign eyes upon his stone.

Aegon entered the gloom of his pirvate rooms, the heavy door closing behind him. Only one torch was burning, though half spent it was, throwing long shadows across the floor.

The air was thick with the scent of brimstone and pine—Dragonstone’s breath—and the staleness of old heat.

The door to the adjoining sleeping room hung open, the balcony beyond it thrown wide to the sea. He could hear the song of the Narrow sea as it hurled against the shore. 

Aegon drew the necklace from the folds of his cloack, the chain glinting so beautifuly in his palm. Rhaenys' lovely scent stilk clung to her, he thought as he brought it to his lips without thinking. A ghost of Rhaenys smiling as he will hand it to her danced in his mind. Glowing she was, so warm, so fair he would burn the world to see her again. 

The faint crackle of the hearth stirred Aegon from his own thoughts. His free hand flew to Blackfyre at his hip, his fingers curled around the hilt, ready for what to came. 

But this was no foe creeping though the shadows. His scullion, that scared boy stood by the hearth, frozen.

Aegon's eyes lingered on him too, and for a time, neither spoke. The boy lips parted lightly as to offer an apology, yet  none came. 

And no words left Aegon's mouth too, what there was to say? 

Orys had pressed coins into that scullion's hands the night before by his orders, told him to see his mother safe and warm, fed well, kept from begging, and bided him to stay near her, yet there he was. 

His sire was one of Aegon's bannermen, sworn to House Targaryen, one of many he had lost to the last ride in the Stepstones, one of many who laid cold under that isle dark, cold ground. 

Was it when Aegon sprung his trap upon those pirates, forcing them out their hovels? Not many perished in that fight... but the boy’s father was among them.Aegon had not meant for him to die. But dead he was, all the same.

Or was it before? He couldn't tell, and that made it worse. 

Had he forgotten the men who died beneath his banner?

Had he forgotten one who had given him his life? Too many did. Men with children. With wives. With voices and dreams. With fears. Men of flesh and blood. Men no different than he.

Aegon's hands trembled so slightly on Blackfyre. 

“ I beg your pardon, m'lord ” the boy said, bowing. 

Aegon exhaled, slow and quiet. “You ought knock,” he said coldly, releasing the sword.

The young scullion gave no spoken response at first,  only stepped forth, and dropped to his knees before Aegon, pressing his brow to the stone at his feet.. 

“ Ain't no words good fer thankin'ye, m'lord. ” he said, “ Lady Rhaenys came to us, brought all manner o’ help. Said it were from you. If not for the Tyroshi leeches and that gentle lady with her potions... my mother, she’d be gone. You saved her, you did! ”

Aegon gaze held fast upon him, unmoving, frozen. 

No… it was not he who had saved her.It was Rhaenys. 

Not long after, Aegon moved, he knelt to the ground, took the scullion gently by his shoulders, rising him up. 

What could he say?! 

“ It is Hobb? Isn't it? ” Aegon asked. 

The lad scullion gave a nod, his eyes damp. 

“ You shall be with your mother ” Aegon told him. 

“M'lord Aerion would whip me if he knew I was… not tending to your service,” Hobb muttered, looking down again.

“ None shall rise a hand to you ” Aegon declared, quietly, “ From this night forth, you serve no man but me.” 

Hobb stared at him then as though he had never seen him before. Not truly. 

“ You are free to go to her ” Aegon said, turning to his own desk, his fingers moved, drawing open an iron coffer, pulling off a pouch heavy with coins, pressing it to the boy's palms. 

“When it runs short,” he declared, “come back to me.”

His bath lay beneath his chambers, two of his oldest guards were on its door. It was hewn to the stone, steams curled, rising from the hot waters, rich with the scent of brimstone. Pine leaves floated gentle upon the surface, lending their sweetness to the air. Here, and only here, Aegon allowed himself to close his eyes. 

The water was near scalding, yet it wrapped him like a second skin, Aegon sank deeper, the breath leaving him in a long, quiet exhale.

The portrait, Tyrosh, the envoy with his greedy yellow smile, the jewls.... They cherished such jewls in Tyrosh... Rhaenys.. Rhaenys... And their father looming across them all... 

All of them rised, and danced through the stillness of his mind. 

Was it the Archon himself? No... the man was much older, with children of his own, and wives beyond counting. His father would never have given his daughter to such a one.

Or was it his brother, the one with those cunning eyes, that merchant prince who sent the legion of pit slaves under his father’s banners? That cunning man, eager to seize the seat of the Archon for himself.

Or was it some other grasping Tyroshi merchant? Aegon could not tell for certain. Every prince and merchant there would kill for a pure Valyrian bride, for her blood to his seed. 

And Rhaenys, above that all, was a dragon rider. Thus, to take her was not to claim only Valyrian blood, but a dragon, the largest after his. 

Aegon opened his eyes to the gloom above. There, the stone craved dragon sprawed with his large wings, firy red eyes glaring down through the dark, his riders was of the same rock , gazed into nothing, and the sword in his hand was risen as to strike. 

Was his father blind to that all?! 

No... A voice echoed in Aegon's head. No. 

The parachements Orys had gathered, taken under his orders from the ledgers of their sire's own men bore little fruits. There was no seal of treason from that Master of coins, nor a hint of some secret deal with that merchant prince, the Archon's brother who gave the man to his Lord father. Only the swollen tolls and cruel levies of overbold taxmen, men whose reckoning would come soon enough. 

Aegon's eyes passed over the scrolls as he settled into his study's chair. 

Their names were bitter and well-known to the common folk in the fishing villages, the harbor, or at the foothills of the Dragonmount. Renn the Red, a taxman from a line of once–favored slaves to Lord Gaemon the Glorious, Harrag Slynt, and Okyver Slynt. Heads that had always been corrupt while collecting taxes. Their blood was spilled, either his father agreed or not, Aegon thought. He would grant them no merciful death.

Soft hands, warm and smelling of sweet lavender covered his eyes, blocking the firelight to reach them, casting them in the dark. A ringing laughter came after, Aegon knew it very well. 

She had done it oft in their childhood, this little game.

“Guess who?” she whispered, though he had known the answer long before she touched him.

“ Lady Tissa. ” Aegon said straightly. 

Rhaenys collapsed into ringing laughters. He caught her by the wrists before she could flee away, and with a tug, brought her down into his lap. She went easily, so easily, still laughing, her hair spilling like silk across his chest. 

“ Oh brother! Gods! ” She sighed so loudly, “ Is your mind so clouded you no longer know your sister’s hands? Gods, what tragedy! ” 

She lifted up a hand to his cheek, fingers light and gentle, her lilac eyes looked up  “ You smell of pine! ” she declared, “ Sweet and clean... Have you bathed? It is a lovely scent! ”  Before Aegon managed to reply, she slipped from his lap, “And look at you, nose deep in those dull scrolls. I’ve disturbed something dreadfully important, haven’t I?”. 

“ You haven't ” he replied. 

Rhaenys spun around herself, and he only stared at her, the gost of her warmth still on his cheek. 

There was no one like her. There never would be. 

“ These chambers of yours are twice bigger than mine! ” She cried, her arms flung widely as she turned around her self, “ That is not fair! ”

“ I am the elder. ” Aegon replied. 

“ So that why you keep the largest quarters here! I hadn't thought my brother so greedy! ” She said before jumping into his bed , “I want one just as large, and thrice as soft. And so adorned too, but not so bleak, silver hangings would suit me better.” 

Aegon rised slowly from his chair, his eyes never leaving her. 

She threw her head on his bed, huffing softly, her arms wide and moving, her hair spilled like moonlight across the dark linens. 

“So you would cast me out of your grand bed, would you? Greedy elder brother Aegon!” she pouted so perfectly. 

Aegon stopped as he reached the edge of his bed, his lips curved so lightly. 

“ I have something for you ” He said.

 Rhaenys lifted her head, adjusting herself on the bed childlikely , her eyes wider now, with the gleam of curiosity, “ So, What might that be, my sweet Aegon? ” 

She rose to her feet now, studying him, waiting. 

“ Close your eyes ” He ordered. 

“Why must you always make it more difficult?” she protested but slowly obeyed, letting her lids fall shut.

“ Now, Turn ” 

She did , though a soft giggle escaped her lips. Aegon drew forth their mother’s necklace, kept close in his pocket, and gently fastened it anew about his sister’s pale, slender throat.

“ May I open my eyes now? ” She broke the silence eargerly. 

“ You may ” he answered softly. 

Rhaenys blinked, then sighed deeply. In a swift move, she turned and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him. He lifted her effortlessly.

“Aegon! Aegon!” she whispered, her voice trembling with joy “How can I ever thank you? I feared I've lost it forever! Thank you... thank you!”

He held her closer, her rosy cheek pressing on his neck, her arms warm, and all of Aegon's thoughts fell away. 

When her surprise had quieted, Rhaenys loosened her hold, her arms slipped from around him. And he let her go by his turn, though slower. She stepped back, her fingers touched the pendant with reverance. A moment passed in silence before her voice rose again, hushed and careful, not looking at him now.

“Does our lord father know of this?” 

“ He doesn't ” 

She looked up at him. “ He took it... ” 

“ And I take it back ” He assured her, his hand steady on her shoulder, “Do not be afraid. He will do nothing. He is already too burdened with other matters.”

Night had fallen full on Dragonstone when Aegon Targaryen took his younger sister by her arm, leading her quietly through the winding carridors of The Sea Dragon Tower. The keep slumbered in hush, save for the gleaming torches and the weeping voices of the sea. 

“ He ate well, Orys ” Rhaenys said as they walked, “ Just let him rest, he will be fine, stronger. Haemys said so, she is very gifted in her crave. ” 

She clung harder then to his arm, her step along his. “ I do speak too much. Don't I? ” She murmured, “ Tell me if I weary you... ” 

Aegon did not slow. “If you did,” he said, “I would not be here with you now.”

“ You know... You haven't been near me for too long, Aegon. War stole you away, and I don't fault you for it, But I have had so little of you, dear brother. And I don't know when you would vanish again, War will come calling, or Father will wed me off to someone who suits his games. I will be eighteen soon enough... I think my days here are.. ” 

She did not dare to continue, and he didn't dare to hear it either. And yes, war will call again.. Of that, he was certain. 

But not of letting her go. 

“ You shall not be bartered. I told you so before, I remember it well ” he said. 

Rhaenys smiled, it was a brittle thing, “ You will not let Father send me to Tyrosh, will you? He’ll choose another soon enough. And when he does… what then, Aegon? ” 

Aegon couldn't tell her. His jaw was tight, his mouth dry, his eyes fixed ahaid. 

“ But fret not, Lord brother ” Rhaenys proclaimed, “ I shall visit you and Visenya oft, she is to be your ladywife, and if my husband dares deny me that, I’ll have him fed to my Meraxes ”

My husband, Rhaenys' husband... the words caught in his throat like ash, each letter searing as it passed.

“ Let us not speak of roads not yet taken ”, that was all what fled his mouth. 

Rhaenys grinned, “ Are you truly so worried your little sister might be wronged by some foolish man?”

He glanced at her, knowing his eyes were dark  “If any man dares such thought,” he said, voice low and cold, “I’ll flay the skin from his bones, with my bare hands, and place it at your feet, so you might decide what’s to be done with the rest.”

 “I would prefer something nicer as a gift, dear brother.” She teased, “ That's why your poor scullion trembles at the mention of you. You’re frightful at times, Aegon, truly terrifying.”

“So  you cared for him and his kin… in my name,” Aegon said. 

“ Of course I would ” she smiled, “ You are far too stern. I feared you'd frighten the boy so badly he’d never look you in the eye again, nor trust you. Servants do love you, yes, but they fear you too.They shouldn’t fear you more than they love you, If they do, they’ll change their cloaks at the first hint of hope. Fear keeps men in line, but it doesn’t keep them loyal and true. Never when the winds turn cold ” She grinned up at him, “By the Fourteen Flames, don’t you dare become another Visenya.”

They stopped before her chamber doors as her words lingered in the air, heavy and true. 

One of Rhaenys' maids was waiting by the doors , Ser Aelyn Baratheon's daughter, with  black curls and eyes, and a solemn face. She bowed her head to Aegon in curtsy before turning her attention back to Rhaenys. 

“ Lady Rhaenys ”said the Baratheon's girl,stepping closer “ we found one of Lady Visenya’s maids near your door not long past. She was weeping.”

“Visenya’s maid?” Rhaenys blinked, surprised. “Why would she be here?”

“ Aye ” the maid nodded, “ I know her well enough, her father was a knight in my father's service, and her brother in Ser Quenton's, both were slain in the last raids. And now… Lady Visenya’s dismissed her from service. Word is, the poor girl’s mother went mad with grief and swore to kill her if she ever stepped foot back home from her service ” 

Another dead by his own hand. Aegon tasted the bitterness of it on his tongue.

Rhaenys looked troubled, yet her lips parted quickly,  “You gave her what she needed—food, water, shelter? ”

“I did,”

“Then so long as her mother would see her dead, she’ll have a place with me,” Rhaenys declared. “I’m coming, I will see to them both, the mother and her daughter, Aelyra.”

Not long after the Baratheon maid left them, Rhaenys turned to him with a little huff, lips curled in a pout. “Ffff… I’m sad to leave you, Aegon,” she said, her voice sincere. “I always want a little more time with you, sweet Aegon. You know, it never feels enough.”

She didn't let him form a reply as she took him in a tight, warm embrace, resting her head briefly against his chest, then, she rose and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“Thank you for the necklace,” she whispered, drawing back with a soft smile. “Sleep well, brother. … and dream gently.”

And Rhaenys, his little sister, left him. 

The night was dark and drakened still in its last breaths as Aegon drew his way to his father's solar, 

His boots struck the stones fast and firm, faster than he intended—faster than he thought himself ever could.He did not slow, nor did he care whether his father waited within or not. And that, was unlike him. 

He entered without a second thought, still was it, and there, on his father's study, was that portrait, Rhaenys'. It was clear his father had intended this image for certain hands to see and Aegon would never allow it. 

Aegon drew the cloth from the frame quietly, revealing Rhaenys' face beneath, he touched it... How beautiful was hers, too fair by half for the eyes his father meant it for. His gaze lingered on the painted smile.. He could hear it. 

Mayhaps he had gone mad. 

The hearth crackled low behind him.Aegon did not pause. With a stillness, he carried the portrait to the flame.

Yes... He had. 

Slowly it caught, the painted lines curling, darkening, burning. Her lilac eyes turned to ash. Her face blackened and shrank into cinder.He watched until nothing of her remained, silent. 

He laid the wooden token he had fashioned that very night carefuly in the same balance,then folding it within the clot. 

Drawing forth his father's Valyrian steel dagger, its handle carved from dragonbone, and pressed it into his palm, it went deep, and cold and biting. Drops of his own blood poured from the wond to the token. 

That was the gift he meant to give them... Blood, and soon after... Fire. Fire and Blood.

The first faint light of dawn crept through the gray clouds as Aegon depated the solar. There, at the door, stood Ser Aelyn Baratheon, red faced, his eyes locked in silent watch.

Argon meet at his eyes for a while. Then, with a slight bow, Ser Aelyn spoke, “A rare hour to see you here, my lord,”. 

Aegon didn't reply. 

Ser Aelyn gasped before going back to that small balcony in the corridor, where empty wine cups lay scattered, he was drunk... 

“How fares Orys? That foolish boy!” he exclaimed , eyes searching Aegon’s face.

Aegon gave him but a chilling silence.

“Well, you need not reply, my lord. I take it you heard me tell him you were using him in your own spiteful schemes against your father… is that not so?” he laughed and laughed, and.. cried, “ I’m the coward... just... just... if only I were less of a coward, none of this would have come to pass. I am the cause of his very existence and his misery. He’s the bastard, the dragonseed who made the  Lord of  Dragonstone show me and my house mercy... I’ve bought my survival with nothing but disgrace..shame..I am truly a son of a bitch...Tell me... tell me... how can I ever tell  him? He’ll strangle me with his own hands... ah...He hates me..... And Oh... He love you.... And you, you my lord... Why did you let him ride to fire? Don't you know your own father?! Why did you cast your brother to his doom so easily?”

“I’ll not be lectured on how to tend my own brother, ser ” Aegon’s eyes narrowed, “ And you are wrong, he does not hate you.”

Ser Aelyn's wet eyes clung to Aegon's face as the light of dawn stretched broader through the hallway.. and further. He stood, watching.. He didn't grasp what Ser Aelyn's meant, he would never. Yet he was certain of one thing, this man infront of him... This was not the polite, kind steward of Dragonstone he had known since childhood. This was a man undone. 

Aegon intented to reached out , about to bid the man to rise to his feet, when a voice cut in. 

“Lord Aegon, Lord Aerion orders your presence.”

The summon hung in the air, how unwelcome it was. 

Chapter Text

The council chambers on the lower floor of the Stone Drum were lit by the hearth and the flickering breaths of the dragons-shaped torches set on the walls. The shadows danced upon the stone columns and fell on the watching valyrian sphinx in each one's end. 

Her lord father had called his council that late hour of night. All his swornmen, his advisors, his leaders were there, silently exchanging glances. Visenya sat beside him in the long dark table, her fingers pressed to the craved dargon wings and tail that curled around her chair. Outside the winds groaned, restless, and the silence made it sounds worse. 

It might seem but a common council, yet Visenya knew better her father's purpose. To reclaim the honor Aegon had so fooly, so thoughlessly tred on when he let his bastard brother in his place at the last lists. 

The scullion poured the wine in silence, first for her lord father, then for her, and at last for the men seated round the table. Her father’s face was set in shadow, his eyes darker still, Visenya's gaze turned to him. No, his fury had not left him, it was colder, it was darker. 

His eyes passed through the men, unblinking, angry, his hand didn't find its way to the cup next to him. 

“ It is time I had a swornsword fit to guard my back ” he said at length, “ A dog bested by a green pop is no protector worth of keeping, less a high Commander of the garrison. What say you, sers —shall we take his tail, his balls, or his head?”

No one dared to breath a word. 

Her father slammed his fist upon the table, the sound echoeing like a war drum, “ I have my full of silence! ” he barked, rising half from his seat,  “Shall I slit his throat, or geld one of you in his stead? For none here has the balls to speak plain to my face, yet behind my back you murmur like worms in the rot!” 

“ Far be it from us to speak behind your back, my lord ” said old Councillor Rohqan, bowing his head. “Men of humble station such as we would not dare... ” 

“ Silence!! You worm!! ” her father snapped, “ Say another word, and I’ll have your withered cock hacked off and stuffed down your mouth —bite by bloody bite.”

Visenya saw how the old's man hands shook lighgly. 

“ So, our brave admiral, Do you have a say? ” the lord of Dragonstone growled, turning to others, “ Ser Quenton?! Our fierce second commander, Ser Rohgar, our third commander, Ser Lorent, our forth, Ser  Alester ?! Our oldest councillor, Ser Nyros Vehssar ? The commander of the castle watch, Ser Brandor Vehssar? Our keeper of the seals and maker of laws , Ser Tolan Elorys? Come, let us hear your wisdom, if you still remember how to speak.” his eyes fell on Ser Aelyn Baratheon pale face, “ Or should I ask you, Baratheon? ” he said, then brusted, “ Speak! Be a man, just once in your miserable life!!— he sighed —Gods, how can I even ask such a thing of a creature like you?  ”

Ser Aelyn swallowed hard. 

“So, none among you dares speak a word on what is to be done with Ser Valdar Veltherys—the beaten dog ?” He swept his gaze over them, eyes hard as steel. “Must I seek counsel from the scullion next? Mayhaps he’d offer sounder words than this gathering of mumbling fools ever did and ever will! ” 

“ Losing in the lists doesn't strip a knight of his worth, my lord ” at least declared Commander Rohgar, his tone mesured, “ The field of tourney is a far cry from the fury of true battle. Yet, if your lordship deems him no more fit for guarding your back, the choice is yours and yours alone. We, as your ever loyal servants and subjects, can but entreat your mercy. ” 

“Commander Rohgar speaks with truth and sense, my lord,” came the reedy voice of old Councillor Nyros Vehssar. “ Ser Valdar Veltherys had long served Dragonstone truthfully, since the days of your own raids, he had stood a faithful servant to your lordship, That he was unhorsed by a green boy's lance, by chance or failing, ought not—by your grace—be the measure by which his head is taken. ”

Her father's eyes lingered on both men. 

Yet Nyros Vehssar went on, “To strip him of his place at your side would be shame enough, my lord ” he paused, “ And Orys Baratheon is of Dragonstone too, your man, my lord, to have such a fierce youth among our ranks would serve us well enough. The time has come, I say, to send him forth as a knight of Dragonstone, not to the lists, but to the battlefield, where true men are forged.. ”

Visenya studied the old man's face, his eyes, his wrinkles, his mouth, that was not what he meant.. Send him to the battlefield—and see him slain there, if ever you fear he might prove a threat to your son, your heir, Aegon. She could hear it. Best he died in the mud and blood of war, no one he will ever doubt you if it was the case. He was saying. 

“ He would not ” Ser Quenton cut in, “ He is no knight yet ” Mayhaps the master of arms had grasping what between the councillor words. She thought. 

“ He shall be, and soon enough. Ser Quenton ” the councillor replied softly, “ He bested our own first commander, was it merly luck or not, there is no denying it. Our most gracious lord will see him knighted, sooner rather than later. He shall serve House Targaryen well, as did his uncle Ser Aelyn… or better still.”

At those words, Ser Aelyn’s face drained of all color, leaving him pale and hollow-eyed.

“It was a mere stroke of luck,” Ser Quenton snapped. “Orys Baratheon is little more than a boy—he is—”

“ Eighteen ” the councillor interjected calmly, “ Many of our knights had earned knighthood before such an age, and had gone to war besides. There is always a first time, Ser Quenton. Let the boy serve his lord, Lord Aerion, and prove that his victory was no trick of luck, as you claim.”

“He is Lord Aegon’s sworn swordshield,” Ser Quenton said, his voice firm, refusing to yield. 

“Aye, yet he is Lord Aerion's man,  isn't he? ” the councillor answered, cool and swift.

“He belongs at Lord Aegon’s side,” Ser Quenton pressed on. “To stand as his shield, and draw steel at his word.”

“So,” said Commander Alester, his voice rising as he cut through the mounting quarrel, “Lord Aegon’s men are no longer Lord Aerion’s, is that what we’re to believe,Ser Quenton? That those who serve the heir owe no fealty to the lord? . Is that why Lord Aegon keeps to the shadows of Dragonmont, harboring mercenaries, hidden blades and slaves where none may see him? He has not set foot in this hall for once after his return from the Stepstones —his gaze fixed on Ser Quenton—You are his master-at-arms, are you not? Tell us—when does your young dragonlord mean to rise against his lord father? And when the blow is struck… where shall you stand? “

Visenya could feel the blood boiling in her father's veins, his eyes had gone darker than shadows. The hall fell to silence. Even Commander Alester seemed to hear at last, the weight of his own words.

No man dared to lift his voice then, no  whisper stirred in the air. None rised his eyes, not even old Nyros Vehssar. 

And her father moved. He did so deliberately, slowly, far too slwoly for a man full of wrath.  The sound of his boots on the ground sounded like the toll of a distant war drum. The room helds its breath, watching.... waiting... 

The lord of Dragonstone only came to pause behind Commander Alester's chair. 

“ My lord ” Nyros Vehssar began, “ The Commander only spoke... ” 

“ Silence!! ” her father thundered. 

Visenya turned her gaze to Commander Alester’s face and looked away just as quick. So much for a commander, she thought, his cause was already lost and he knew it. 

Silence fell once more. Visenya could hear it all now, clearly. She could hear the strained breaths of man, the faint patter of dew dripping from the stones, the breezes curling in the chamber, and heavy was it , dark was it. 

Then, another sound, harsh, loud.It cracked through the stillness like a whip.Her father's hand came down, striking the commander full across the face. The blow sent Alester reeling from his seat, crawling on the floor. Still, her father was not done with him. It was as though all the anger and fury he had held since her return from the Stepstones had came to surface، seeking...needing release. 

He set upon the commander with his fists, striking him again and again. Flesh met flesh, the sound echoed, until blood stained his knuckles, once, twice, thrice, and more. At one point, Visenya was certain he'd forgotten the man beneath him entirely and was beating the very floor itself.

It was long, too long before he ceased, his fury spunt itself even if not fully .The air was thick with the scent of blood. No one dared move. The council watched and only watched, their faces pale and drawn. At last, old Nyros, grey and bent, rose unsteadily to his feet.The guards entered moments after.

Lord Aerion Targaryen stepped back, casting a look upon the ruin at his feet. Then, without turning, he spoke. 

“ Take him ” he ordered, his voice cold and low, “ Take this son of a bitch, this traitor!! — he breathed harshly— Cut off his hands,then his feet. Tear out his tongue, and his cock  with it. Draw his bowels and string what remains upon a stake above the main gate. Let the crows feast, and let the people see what becomes of traitors.”

None moved for a heartbeat. The guards moved in silence, the rest of the council sat frozen, and the only sound was the drip of blood upon stone.

Her father's palms were soaked, the red now drying, darkening at the lines of his hans. His eyes were darker still, wild, shadowed with fury. 

“ No man shall breath beneath Dragonstone's roof without my leave! ” his voice was thunder, “No one! Remember that—remember it well!! —before you dare speak of me, or of my son!” he looked at them, his eyes like a blade, “ Out. Be gone!! All of you!! Leave this hall!! … lest you find yourselves beside that son of whore! ” 

Perkin, the young scullion, knelt before her  father, his fingers trembling as he gently dabbed the bruizes on his lord's knuckles, his head was bowed low, and his touch cautious. 

Visenya remainde where she sat, unmoving though the rest of thr council had fled, in terror. Only her, and that old grey snake, Nyros, whose years of service stretched back to her grandsire, and his brothers before him. The man who had served three lords before her own father. 

And her father... His eyes were fixed on Visenya. And this really distrubed her. 

 “What would you have me say?” she asked at last, her voice steady. “You’ve left nothing worth saying.”

“ Blame that fucking heir I have ” he spat. “ And that bastard of him!! ” 

“ That bastard of yours.”  She corrected. The words cutting sharp. 

His eyes flashed bloodred, burning, and for a moment she felt a chill creep down her spine—but still, she did not stop. 

“ You knew he would never ride in a list ” She said, “ You knew he was not made for wars, nor fit to lead your knights and soliders. Yet you chose him to do so, and cast me aside, me..me!! Visenya Targaryen who rode to battlefield before her fourteenth namedy.I am the ond who was by yourside, the one who fought for you, the one who bled for you, when Aegon hid behind the shadows of the castle library, drowned in scrolls and dusts. All of it, and still it won me nothing with you. You chose him.. ” She sighed, “ I warned you when he stole the Archon's slaves, you let him raise a refuge for them. I warned you when he filled his ranks with sellswords, what have you done?! You turned a blind eye. You made him the commander of your forces! Saying men love him, would follow him, deceived by the screams of fools who would turn theor cloacks by the first chance. You gave him, your precious son, everything! Your favor, your trust, even your hope! So do not feign surprise now that he strays from the road you set before him. He never walked it to begin with! ” 

She did not know how the words escaped her—only that they had. Even her father, for all his anger, remained silent, staring at her as if he was somehow struck. 

“ Lady Visenya speaks true, Aerion ” Old Nyros spoke, calling his lord only by his name as her father was not but a lad to him, “ It is you who has allowed the council and the smallfolk alike to believe lord Aegon acts on his own. And truth be told, you granted him such freedom to do what he wants that it seems now as though he plots against you.It is no wonder men whisper about a rebellion..” 

“ Still your tongue, you old worm! ” her father snarled. 

“ Or what? ” Nyros snapped back, “ Will you kill me? Hang me? Do it then! I've served your father and his two brothers before him, I’ve lived long enough to know the look of a people who have turned their hearts from one lord to his heir. ”

“ I said.. Still your tongue!! ” Her father bellowed, surging to his feet, the scullion froze. His voice echoing, cutting off the old man's voice. 

“ You've been a mess since boyhood ” the old councillor said, “Never able to face the cost of your own deeds, ever ready to silence those who dare speak the truth of them.. How pathetic! I asked you to see to Orys Baratheon when he was yet a babe in his cradle. But no!! you are not your father!! You lacked his resolve! You let the boy live. Worse, you let yourself be snared in Aelyn Baratheon’s trap, and granted the whelp a  dragonseed and the privileges that came with it ” he breathed, “ Let me say this, those lists didn't shame Aegon Targaryen, they did you. He gave his bastard brother his place, named him his sword, and let him strike down your own champion. That was no boy’s whim, it was a real defiance. Open your eyes, Aerion!!  You are the one who has lost. Lord Aegon  knew what storm it would stir, and he stirred it all the same, to give himself time,  while you rage and slaughter, he moves.”

Visenya turned her gaze from the grey man's ashen face, to her father's. Aegon had brought this on himself, she thought, he always did. He listened to none, tursted none, kept his own councel, kept it burried deep in him... Mayhaps even from those who were the closest to him, though she has never been this. 

She could not defend him now, she could not speak for him... She could not. How could she?.. How could she speak for a man who never let her know him?. 

Even if he was to be her lord. Even if he was to be her husband.

Her father was still, frozen, mute, and that unnerved her the most. No word, no strike... not even a slight glance. His eyes were not dark anymore, but empty...

Had she been the Lady of Dragonstone, and one of her council men spoken thus, she would have had him bound and thrown to her dragon’s jaws, alive. 

Yet, her lord father was not known for his forbearance. Patience was never a virtue of his, nor forgiveness his habit. 

So why? Why was he so quiet?? 

Without asking leave, without so much as bow, Nyros Vehssar turned and left. 

Visenya turned to face her father, her blood seethed in her veins, her fists curled.

“ How could you let him go so? ” She said, harshly, “ You should have flayed him and thrown what remained to your hounds.“. 

Her father only exhaled, slow and long, then eased back to his seat. 

He said nothing. 

“ He humiliated you! ” she pressed on, “ Even in private, even with his age, his long years of service—he should be punished. Must be.”

“ I would have a new swornsword ” her father declared, trying to steer away from the sharp edges of their dialogue. 

“ And who might replace your old dog? ” She raied an eyebrow, “ He was a fierce swordman, none can deny that.” 

“ Ser Orryk Veroth ” he replied. 

The name hit her like a blow, and the world seemed to tilt into shadow and darkness. 

“The cobbler’s green boy!” she spat, “Your whore’s brother!” 

“ Visenya! ” her father shouted, “ Lady Gaela Veroth is under my own protection until that fool of her husband dares take her back. After I’ve claimed my right of the first night. I spared him once, give him time to retreat at her pleadings, before I would have his head cleaved from his shoulders and give her to another.”

“ She is under your cock you mean! ” Visenya snapped, her voice angry, “And now you’d have that bitch’s green brother—who couldn’t even dare enter the lists—be your sworn sword? By the fourteen flames! Stop thinking with the worm between your legs!! You disgrace your name, our name!! House Targaryen’s name!!The very name you claim to bleed your whole life for ! And now you drag it through the dirt for whom?! Stop shaming our late mother's memm.. ” 

She could not finish. His hand, bruised and cruel, struck both her cheeks, held fast, fingers digging into her flesh.

She could not move. 

“ Who are you? ” he hissed, “ “Do you think I bend to your leave? You are nothing!! ” his thumb pressed thighter to her high cheekbone. “ I am the Lord. And you’d best remember that before you dare open your fucking mouth again. You, your brother, your sister—all of you are dust beneath my heel! ”

Her heart pounded, sudden and strong. 

“ My blood, aye.. But lesser. Do you understand me?” he growled, eyes dark again as shadow. “Or must I crush that proud little head of yours to drive it in?”

He wrenched his hand away so sharply she thought her flesh may tear woth it. Still, she smiled, though bitterly and coldly. 

“ It seems,” she said, “that one must be an old grey councillor to speak so boldly in this hall... and live to see the next breath.”

To that, her father gave no answer. Wordless, he rose once more. 

“ Guards!! ” He barked. 

One stepped forward from the door, his eyes lowered behind his dark hemlet.

“Find Lord Aegon,” her father commanded, his voice cold as stone. “Tell him his father awaits him… in the training yard.”

Visenya's gaze followed him. What is he planning now?

She found herself upon the high stone balcony that overlooked the trainning yard below. Its borders carved with a hundred small dragon wings. 

At her side stood Raezhar, her swornsword from Tyrosh. His hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, his eyes fixed, too long, on her cheek. 

“ Stop staring” Visenya breathed, “It unsettles me.”

He turned his gaze at once, saying nothing.

But she knew what he had been seeing for that long. The marks her father's hand had left were plain, faint but red. 

They were not alone on the balcony though, her father had summoned others to witness whatever to come. His capitains, his commanders, and his guests, lord Daemon Velaryon, cloacked in sea-green, and the Tyroshi envoy drapped in the colorful silks of his city. 

There was something else about that man that needled her, beyond his yellow smile and serpent’s voice, his stench. Though he drowned himself in those exotic perfumes, like his Archon, no scent could wholly hide the rot beneath. If anything, it made it worse. 

“ Lady Visenya Targaryen ” he started, his voice smooth, “You shine brighter than the summer sun in Tyrosh.”

She might have retched, had she not swallowed her disgust.

“ And your scent,” she replied cooly “is the most memorable thing about you.”

He caught the barb she meant —no doubt—but played the courtier still.

He smiled, his eyes gleaming, “ Then when next you grace our city,” he told her,“ I shall gladly escort you to the market where I found it”. 

I’ll see you choke on your own rancid silks before that day comes, she thought.

But she only smiled, “It would be an honor,” she said sweetly. “A great honor indeed.”

In the yard, her father stood alone, clad in a light linen shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbow, and black breeches tucked into worn boots. In his hand, he held a blade, long and dull edged.The wind played with his silver golden hair, now most silver. 

Visenya watched him too long. 

If this was meant to prove his own strength before his own men, it bordered indeed on a fool's farce. The lord of Dragonstone can not stoop lower. Unless...Unless this was not about him at all.... He had summoned Aegon. 

Was it to challenge him? Here and now?  Was this some spectatle? To show the envoy, his captains, his commanders, his allies that his heir was not all brooding silence? Not a coward, as some of them had whispered—a boy who fled the lists, too afraid to break a lance?That he could hold a blade, take a blow, strike back?

Or was it simply to stir Aegon from his own world. 

She could not tell. 

But still... was this the way? To drag his heir into the yard like this? Exactly when talk of treason and even rebellion thick in the air. If Aegon wins, they will say it proves the rumors true, that he is plotting to claim what is not yet his.

And if he loses, they’ll call him a coward all the same, a weak man unfit to lead, unworthy to follow.

There was no victory to be had in this yard. 

“ Lord Aerion Targaryen is a great warrior, I can smell it.” The Tyroshi broke the silence again  with his yellow smile, “Would you not agree, my lady?”

She turned to him, slowly, her eyes cutting. “ He is ” she said. “ As a Targaryen ought to be. No weak man ever rode a dragon, your excellency. You’d do well to remember that.” Surely not your Archon, nor his brother. She thought. And if her father’s scheme failed, Visenya would act. She would not sit idle while fools pulled at the roots of House Targaryen.

“And Tyrosh,” the envoy added with a painted souring smile, “would be honored to count such great men among its allies.”

And as the whispers around her fell to nothing, Visenya knew her brother was here. 

Aegon stood tall and silent, as he so often did. He must have known, of course he knew what his father intended. He wouldn’t have worn the training breeches otherwise, he never did without reason. 

Did he truly mean to fight? 

But then... what choice did he have?, Refuse, and let them whisper coward. Accept, and they’d whisper still, ambition, defiance, treason even.

The people of Dragonstone loved her brother more than they did her father. That much was plain. He had never sought their love, and that was perhaps why he had won it. Still, love alone never made a lord. If it did, Rhaenys would have held Dragonstone all her life. 

The councilmen, the commanders who never served under his wing, they never knew him. Then again, who ever had?

Even as a child, Aegon was a shadow, quiet, watchful. He was not kind, nor was he cruel. He gave little and demanded less, yet somehow the air around him since the Stepstones raids bent to his will.

If that was a thing, it would be a curse. An heir who might bend the will of men, even against their own lord... aye, a curse indeed.

And Aegon, the smallfolk loved him, his men who fought alongside him loved him. He had punished the unruly in their last raids, and that, of course, reached these leeches og councilmen. Such men are never content with order, nor fond of the hand that lays the rod.

But.. What did her brother really want? 

“ So this is how Lord Aerion and his heir train each morn.. ” The envoy said with a laugh too pleased with itself, “ A fine sightv, truly... To see dragons made flesh, face to face. ” 

Visenya didn't say a word. Had it not for these cords of alliance, she might have tossed the man from the balcony herself. She smiled, though her smile was brittle. 

Sighing, she turned her gaze to the yard again, where both of her father and brother stood. No words passed between them, no words were needed. The air seems to draw breath in that moment, both had drawn their swords, steel gleaming beneath the morning sun. Visenya knew one thing, this would not be mere training.

Just as she expected, her father was the one to move first, his feet glided across the yard gracefully, seeking an opening to batter down Aegon's defense. 

And he found one, their swords danced and met with a ranging clash. Aegon gave ground, two paces back, but not stumbling. 

Her lord father pressed harder now, his steos quick and merciless, trailing her brother with the hunger to test, to best, and to break. He hunted for more opening, and so he found one. He lunged, once, twice, again and again, until the savage song of swords was the only sound to be  heard. 

But Aegon held, more than that, he was adapting, for his sword was rising to match below for below. Each time her father moved, Aegon was there, as though he’d read the strike before it came. And now, she could see it, her brother was not just reacting.

She anticipated her father’s next move—but Aegon, it seemed, had already anticipated it.

The clash was stronger. 

Aegon, too, was reaching for a point. Visenya could see it now, so tight was it, her eyes narrowed, there... 

His sword darted sure, swift, angling for her father’s neck, the steel was close, so close it might’ve been a kill had it landed true. Her father recoiled, stepping back for the first time, breath caught. 

Aegon had struck, and well. 

Her father looked even more shocked. Yet, he struck again, faster. He lashed out with a sharp blow of his elbow, but Aegon met it cleanly with the hilt of his blade.

Her lord father's blade swept in a wide arc, aiming for Aegon's throat, but the heir of Dragonstone stepped back just in time. 

Lord Aerion's face twisted in disbelief. He’d thought his son untested, but no longer could he deny it, Aegon was no lesser fighter.

The fight dragged on, and neither of them had the will to yield to the other. Both were trading blows, each time one sought a blind spot, the other slipped away. 

Does Aegon truly wish to win? Visenya's eyes went from father to son, then from son to father, for if he could best his father, his lord... then what would that mean?

Such thoughts fled her mind as Aegon spun sharply around his father, his blade darting low toward the back of his knees.

He had him by a blink blind point, she ruled. Her father dropped to his knee. Aegon’s boot stepped over her father's outstretched hand, then kicked the sword away with force.

In the next breath, Aegon’s blade was at his father’s throat.

All eyes were on them, all mouths were shut, none dared to speak, all faces were frozen. 

He.. he had bested his own lord father.

And it was by a fleeting lapse... She knew well. A smallest opening her father had left unwatched. And her brother had seized it. 

How dangerous Aegon truly was... 

It was not soo long before her father's guards rested on their hilts. Yet Aegon's blade was still on his father's neck. Her brother didn't flinch. 

What manner of man was this…? Visenya pressed her teeth to her lip.The silence was heavier now. 

It was her father who shattered the stillness with a sudden laugh. It was so clean, so ringing, so vivid it startled her. 

That..That was a voice she had long forgotten belonged to him.

“ You've grown so much to best your own father, you stubborn shade.. ” Lord Aerion said, his voice lost its edge, was almost soft, “ Now take this blade from my throat or...—He smirked— Or are you truly willing to end me? ” 

Slowly, Aegon withdrew his sword from his father's neck. Lord Aerion rose to his feet, brushing the dust from his breeches. “ By Old Valyria and its glory! ” he declared, his voice carrying across the breezes for all to hear, “ The winner of this morning practice trial ’twixt lord and heir is none other than our dragon heir!”. 

Visenya's eyes held fast upon Aegon. You have struck down your own lord... She thought, how will you bear its weight...All the fire that follows? 

To the shock of all, and hers mostly, her brother dropped to one knee before their father. He bowed his head in silence, speaking no word. Her father reached out, grasped him by the arms, and lifted him to his feet.

The last feast her father laid before his guesrs that evening was no less splendid than the first he gave his heir. 

At the high table of Dragonstone's great hall, the spread could amaze the ancient lords of Old Valyria. There were hunches of aurochs, basted in honey and dusted with red pepper until the glaze shone like molten gold, bowls of black-shelled crabs, steeped in saffron broth, sky-eel, silver and glistening, had been seared in lemonwine, fire-pepper lamb bled juices onto trenchers of dark barley bread, rounds of pale moon-cheese beside plates of pickled dragonfruit. For the sweets, sugared plums stuffed with almond paste, delicate honey cakes in the shape of dragons wings. Pitchers of spiced arbor gold and deep smoky dragonwine made the air thicker. 

Despite all, Visenya found no hunger in her belly. She let the plates passed by her untouched, content only to her cup of Arbor gold, heedless of that cursed maid Tissa's words about strong wines. Perhaps she had drunk too much already; the heat in her cheeks told her so, yet still she drank.

Her eyes caught her father at the head of the table admist his guests, the Tyroshis and the Velaryons. A god he was, a targaryen god, clad in a tunic of deep Valyrian crismon, the silk shimmering like fresh blood while black agate had been worked into the likeness of an ancient dragon upon his sleeves and cuffs. Its wings were jagged and wide, its jaws forever open. In the shifting torches'  lights the stones seem to move...As if the dragon might slip free from her father's cloth. 

Or was it her head that felt too light? 

Aegon was nowhere to be seen, as always, she told herself as her hand, drifted, unbidden, to her cheek. The skin still ached where her father had pressed it, it was a small hurt, nothing compared to the pain a sword leave.. Yet, somehow, they were worse. 

Visenya lift her silver cup and drank deeply, again. The Arbor gold was warm in her throat. She heard the Tyroshi's laughs cracking across the hall, shrill and cloying, she heard Lord Daemon's rolled after, so smooth it was. 

Around her father, eyes glimmered in the torchlight, the forgein lords, the captains, the commanders, and flatterers... Each waiting for the smallest morsel the last dragonlords in the world might deign to toss their way.

Her gaze slid away, settling on her younger sister. Her ever foolish, frivolous little sister. 

Rhaenys was all shimmer and shine. Clad in a dress woven in the Valyrian fashion, threads of pale myrish silk shot through with fine scales of silverplate, Rhaenys turned around herself, barefoot, her hair, unbound, falling in a moonlight cascade of silver and gold to her waist and what under it. Golden dragonwings hung in her ears. 

Her laughs was soft and ringing, drawing to her every foolish man in the hall. the Tyroshi singers with their painted nails and harps, her own minstrels and ladies, and dozen of knights witless enough to let themselves be where her lord father might mark them.

Mayhaps they forgot for a breath the wrath Aerion Targaryen can loose on them by the mere sight of his daughter. 

She looked again at her sister. 

So dearly loved she was... Yet what a bitter thing. At the end, Rhaenys would be no more than a piece her father would move in the great board yet to be set. 

Visenya took a slow sip from her cup, perhaps, she ought to pity her, after all. 

The Archon's brother.. She smiled. How fare her father would dare to go? If they took a hold in the free city of Tyrosh, would they then seek to wrest back all that once belonged to their motherland, Old Valyria?

For they, and only they are the true heirs of the ancient freehold. 

The thought was fleeting as dust on the wind.. Her brother's words on their last raids... There was a widsom in the doom, and all fell down. 

She was to marry him, Aegon Targaryen.. But who was her husband to be? The lord of Dragonstone to be? 

She knew the answer would never come. So she had rised her cup once more, drinking deeper, as if the wine could scour her mind clean of all thoughts. 

From afar, Rhaenys laughed as she moved gracefully, dancing. Visenya's heavy_lidded eyes were drifted shut, until they caught upon Lord Daemon’s son… Aethan Velaryon.

The young man stood in a shadowed corner of the hall, draped in the sea-blue of house Velaryon, with golden threads along his coat. He was handsome as any man of Valyrian blood could be, of that, Visenya could never pretend otherwise. 

She looked at him, carefully, his gaze.. clear, intent.. belonged wholly to her sister, to Rhaenys. 

So it was not only Aegon whose gaze would be drawn to Rhaenys, a light laugh escaped her lips.. How could she fault him for it now?.. Visenya rose from her seat, pouring wine to a second cup before she took a step forward. 

All eyes were on her, on the dark bloody-red of her gown, its high collar and fitted bodice edged with black dragon-scale embroidery. Long sleeves fell open from the elbow, their inner lining a pale, glimmering silver. 

As she stopped beside Aethan Velaryon, the murmurs dulled, then, one by one, every curious eye that followed her turned to its plate and goblet. 

She extended the cup toward him. 

“ The Arbor Gold ” She said, “ You will not taste its equal elsewhere ”. 

Aethan's fingers brushed the rim as he accepted it. For a moment, he studied the wine in silence. 

“ Tis not like our cousin to think I poisoned his cup ” Visenya commented, her lips curved, “ Surely you had heard the villagers' tales of their merciless lady ” 

He looked upon her, eyes wide, “ Nay my lady ” he replied politely, “ Never did such thoughts enter my mind.”

Visenya smiled. 

“ I would agree with you.. ” She said, “ One thinks not of poison in wine while already drunk on our sister’s vision , my lord.”

Aethan Velaryon froze... his eyes unblinking. 

“ Our sister is indeed a vision ” Visenya continued, “I do well understand your captivation,  my lord. Yet to claim her shall not come so easily… She is our father’s cherished pearl.” His most cherished piece on the board... She corrected to herself. 

Lord Aethan Velaryon only sighed. 

“As her elder sister, and her lady to be ” she said, her gaze steady, “I shall be content only when I see her truly happy… Wedded to the man who cherishes and loves her.”

After her father would play his hand, Visenya would gave Rhaenys to Aethan Velaryon. The Velaryons were of Valyrian blood, yes, but even so, they would never lay claim to their dragons.. 

Rhaenys' children will have no dragons...They will be only Velaryons... She will be certain ot it. 

Lord Aethan smiled, a slow, knowing smile. 

“ Indeed my lady, ” he replied, “ Lady Rhaenys is beautiful, very beautiful.. Any man would slay himself to have a look upon her. At the end, she is the blood of old Valyria.. Yet.. Yet… I would be glad to see Lady Rhaenys with one who truly loves her. ” 

He drank lightly. 

“It is not that I don't admire her ,” he declared, “ I do, I really do.. I cherish her… from the very depths of my heart. We were so close as  children. Lady Valaena would bring her to Driftmark each time she visited. Yet still, I have always seen her as a sister and I always will. And not in your Targaryen ways. ” 

 Visenya felt her throat tighten. That green shy boy... he spoke with such certainty, and truth..... 

That made her blood boils. 

“So… Lord Daemon had no intent to bind our families,” she said.

“ I am but a second son, not the heir of Driftmark. Yet I would not have Lady Rhaenys suffer the fate my brother would bring her. That man… he cannot even love himself, much less her.”

His brother... 

Before Visenya could speak, her eyes found a face she knew all too well.. that little wretch. The same bitch she had cast from her service but two days past. 

Her teeth clenched. 

How in the Fourteen flames had she found her way back into Dragonstone castle ?

The bitch maiden bore a tray of wine cups, her steps faltering as she neared Rhaenys. When her gaze caught Visenya’s, she wavered, uncertain, before stopping at her sister’s side.

She offered a cup to Rhaenys, then to the Tyroshi poet with her, and her sister smiled in gratitude. 

It was her... Rhaenys... the very one who had dragged that wretched little maid back into the castle and hadn’t even seen fit to tell  her.

Visenya's blood went cold. 

She set the cup between her fingers aside to one of her maidens that followed her sharply and strode toward her sister. As she drew near, Visenya felt her blood burning as hot as Old Valyria's volcans. 

Rhaenys' mouth curved in that familiar smile of hers, yet that did little and less to ease Visenya as her hand gripped her sister's arm so fiercely, the wine glass slipped from her hand, crashing to the floor and staining Rhaenys’ gown.

“Visenya… what is this?” Rhaenys gasped, her eyes betrayed surprise. “You’re hurting me.”

“ That little whore! ” Visenya's voice thundered across the great hall, “I cast her from my service… I threw her from this castle! And now I find her here, in your service? What does it mean?!”

Her anger spilled over.. All eyes were on her. 

Rhaenys startled, her lilac eyes shook, “Her mother… she—”

“ Oh spare me!! ” Visenya cut her off, “I care not for what that wretched woman does. I dismissed her!! I did!!  without so much as a word to me! I… your lady to be!”

Rhaenys’s brows drew together, her eyes hard. She yanked her hand free with a sharp motion that took Visenya with surprise. 

“You are my lady to be... I know that well enough, Sister,” Rhaenys said “But you are not my lady now, nor the Lady of Dragonstone. She is my maiden , not yours. You have no say in where she serves, or to whom. That choice is mine!”

Visenya froze. Her mind was reeling. Shock kept her silent… In front of all those who served her, that frivolous, foolish little sister of hers, she had dared to speak back. To her.

Her hand moved almost of its own accord, reaching toward Rhaenys’ face.

Another clamped down on hers. Her father's. 

“It seems your lady has drunk too much,” Lord Aerion said evenly.. “She no longer knows the faces of her maidens. That is why I counsel restraint.”

 The weight of his voice settled over the hall, and the tension ebbed.. 

Visenya leaned against the narrow stone balcony of the Windwyrm, her fingers tracing the worn edges.The Narrow Sea burned before her, molten gold in the dying sun, ships drifting like black specks across the waves.

The castle was calm now, the guests had departed, and her father had personally seen each envoy safely to their ships. When she had offered to follow him, she had only received a harsh slap across her face.. For the second time that day, her face tasted his  hands. 

Her hand lifted toward her sister’s face almost unconsciously.. Yet Rhaenys' words burned in her head.

That wretched maiden.. How dare she return to the castle? How dare she?.. She would tear that wretch’s heart from her chest with her bare hands! She would kill her and feed her to Vhagar! 

And that fool Rhaenys!! She would be sent, sooner rather than later.. She is to be married to some fucking lord or a prince and never return!! 

And she is to be the lady of Dragonstone... She is to be! 

Visenya felt the anger again, in her chest, in her ears, in her head, in her mouth, in her throat.. Her hands slammed hard against the cold stone, the impact echoing harshly. 

“It is better that we return to your chambers in the Sea Dragon Tower ” her sword, Raezhar spoke, “You are weary.”

“ Shut your fucking mouth!! ” she screamed, her voice cracking. “You are not to give orders to me!”

It was then that she turned back and found him there.. her brother, Aegon.. standing there in a dark crismon cloak, the wind tugging at its hem. He had climbed the western stairs of the tower, proof that he was outside the castle. He made no sound as he moved toward the door, intent on leaving.

“ Perhaps it would be better to say something when you’re fucking me once we’re wed,” she spat.

Her brother halted. 

Raezhar's face was red, burning, yet no word escaped his lips. 

Aegon at last faced her, his dark violet eyes lingering on the side of her face where her father’s hand had struck not long before.

“ It is father ” he said evenly, his voice calm.. He already knew it. 

“ Who else would dare lay a hand on Visenya Targaryen?” she shot . “And you… where have you been? Plotting your rise with the slaves and sellswords you brought?”

His gaze lifted to the darkening sky.

“The night grows cold,” he said quietly. “You should return to the castle and take your rest.”

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving her questions unanswered.

And oh yes... The night was cold.