Chapter Text
A sense of exhilaration coursed through her as she gripped the scaly hide of her mighty red dragon, her heart pounding with the usual mixture of excitement and trepidation. With a powerful thrust of its wings, her Meleys surged upwards, ascending into the endless azure expanse above.
The rush of air whipping through her hair and the sensation of weightlessness filled her with a sense of freedom, a feeling she could not feel when land-bound. Her son whooped and hollered, and gripped at her tightly, his silver Mane of hair whipping at her hands as they flew.
“Adere, muña,” her son screamed at her, his voice had gone hoarse due to the screams he was unleashing. “Jaelan naejot renigon se vēzos.” Her hatchling begged her, and who was she to deny him? She whipped her beloved she-dragon at her hard scales, and sent her command through their bond, and her dragon roared her assent, and flew even faster than before. Faster, mother, I want to touch the sun.
She heard a juvenile roar, and her son shouted positive commands and cheers at his own hatchling. SeaSmoke still has a few years left before he could handle her Laenor on his back. Hence, the dragon is flying alongside them with King's Landing. She and her aunt Gael did not let her son ride at the hatchling's back. He and his dragon are not ready for such large distance travel yet.
She heard another scream, this one distant and muffled, and she and her son tilted their heads to their side to catch a glimpse of another dragon's magnificent form, its scales shimmering in the setting sun like a Valyrian Steel blade.
She saw her aunt closing her daughter's mouth with her single gloved hand as she gripped the handle bar firmly with the other, and she gestured to her aunt an ‘is everything fine?’ and she gestured back her assent. Laena must be disturbing her yet again, her fiery daughter.
She holds back a laugh when she spies her aunt yelp, and releases her daughter from her firm hold. She must have either licked her hand or bitten it. “Muña,” her daughter screamed at her, “Jaelan iā vīlībagon,” she nodded her head at that, and whipped her she-dragon once more, urging her through their bond to go faster. Mother, Let us race.
Race? Fly? Fast? Her dragon sent her emotions through their bond, and she sent back a resounding Yes, and her dragon responded by beating her blood Red wings, flying faster than Silverwing could ever dream. Her son shrieked in glee, and they tore through the skies in vicious speed, leaving behind Silverwing.
Her dragon climbed higher and higher, the air growing crisp and thin at the higher altitude, and soon they were enveloped in a veil of wispy, cotton-like clouds. Her son reached out a tentative hand, and she watched him marvel at the ethereal wisps that danced around his fingers, cool and ephemeral to the touch. Her she-dragon navigated the cloud layer with effortless grace, her wings cutting through the mist like a hot table knife through butter.
“Mummy,” her son whispered to her. She couldn't hear him, her aunt’s mufflers protecting them from the ambience of the skies. She did hear a thundering roar, and tilted her head back to see Silverwing emerge from the cloud cover. Her eyes widened, when she saw her aunt and daughter flying above them, the Silver She-dragon more than twice the size of her own.
Friend? Elder! Her dragon sent her questioning emotions through their bond, and she rushed to send her affirmative response. It seemed her aunt had taken a shorter route to King's Landing.
It is not strange for her to know these routes, for her aunt, this past year, travelled back and forth a thousand times on Dragonback between Dragonstone and King's Landing, to handle the affairs of the capital and run the Red Keep, until her cousin Aemma learns to do so herself.
Soaring high above in the sky, she looked down to see the sprawling city across several miles, well defended by the tall walls and heavy doors, protected by portcullis, and armed by dozens of guards.
The small-folks' chatter died down as a shadow swept overhead, drawing all eyes upward, gasps of awe and wonder rippled through the gathered crowd. They craned their necks, shielding their eyes against the sun's descent, and watched as the dragon's great wings beat the air with effortless grace, its movements powerful and elegant as it navigated the shifting currents.
Soon, her she-dragon reached the huge dome of the Dragonpit, and she urged her bonded to slow down and descend to the lands. She spied her aunt doing the same, Silverwing's haunting roars that echoed in the skies reached her, and she raced to see who would land first.
She smirked as she and her dragon reached the land first, but looked confused when her aunt continued to glide through the evening skies. She patted her she-dragon, and removed her harnesses and did the same for her son, Seasmoke soon joining them at the ground.
Her son jumped down at the first chance he got, and her poor heart stopped beating for a moment, when he jumped from the seat and slid down her dragon's wings to embrace his much smaller hatchling. She calmed down her fierce dragon, who gave a deep roar when she sensed her fright. No worries, she sent to her dragon. Hatchling making mischief.
Her dragon snorted, the sound scaring her son awake to look at her finally, and she gracefully slid down her she-dragon’s red wings, and landed smoothly at the base of her dragon's wings. She gave one last pat to her bonded, her dragon sending her own feelings of hunger, before dragon keepers came out of the building with staffs in their hands.
She knocked hard at the crown of her son's head, and gave him an annoyed look. Her son remained silent, but he had the grace to look sheepish. “I'm sorry, muña,” he said, “I just wanted to embrace mine own Seasmoke.” “Never do that again,” she rebuked her son, tone firm. “What would I do if you had broken your bones?” She asked her son, and he bowed his head, little Seasmoke chirped at her behind her son, before knocking her son from behind. Her son grinned, and embraced his dragon once more, leaving her to roll her eyes.
“Worry not, muña,” her hatchling said to her after a moment, laying beneath his dragon. “I shall be careful next time.” She crossed her hands, but left the matter rest, for she would not be able to correct him now, distracted as he was with his dragon.
She turns back when she hears the sounds of footsteps, and she sees dozens of Dragonkeeper Acolytes and an Elder walking towards them. Meleys grunted at them, unwilling to leave for the DragonPit, and she sent soothing feelings towards her beloved She-Dragon. Her son stands up, making SeaSmoke whine at him, trying to get his attention and partly succeeding, as her son turns towards his dragon. She clears her throat softly, and that manages to straighten him up, and he looks towards the upcoming dragonkeepers.
“Dārilaros,” the elder spoke to her, and she inclined her head towards him, “zȳha sȳz naejot emagon ao arlī.” Princess, T’is good to have you back.
She nodded at them and she spied a few of the younger acolytes timidly approaching her dragon, and her beloved grunted at them one more, the sound making them quake at their feet. She once more sent a calming wave of emotions towards her dragon through their bond, patting at her Blood Red Scales as she did so.
“Bisa iksis ñuha tresy,” she introduced her son to the elder, as had not done so before now, as it is her first time in almost a decade in Kings Landing. It is also her son’s first time stepping into this cruel cesspit. “Laenor Velaryon.”
She turned to her son to see him already bowing, hands behind his back, likely intending to emulate the regal courtesies of the Dragon riding prince, one of the few things that they have from the days of Old Valyria. SeaSmoke cocked its head once, before trying to bow to her son, mimicking her son's body language. She almost smiled, but her many years of lessons in propriety did not allow her to.
This is my son, Laenor Velaryon.
The Dragon Elder smiled at him and his dragon’s antics, and replied, “Sȳrī rhēdan Laenor, tresy hen Rhaenys” he bowed back to him, a full bow, the acolytes behind him full on kowtowed, as they do not have enough experience or authority to not show their respect to a dragon rider. Well met Laenor, son of Rhaenys.
“Nyke kessa henujagon īlva zaldrīzoti isse aōha capable ondos.” she says to him, and bows once more, a touch lower this time, and lifts up her son and takes her leave. I shall leave our dragons in your capable hands.
She hears SeaSmoke chirping at her son, sounding dramatically abandoned. She tunes the dragon out, used to its antics by now. Her son has not developed immunity yet, it seemed, as she spied his tears on the corner of his lavender eyes. “You will see him soon enough, son of mine,” she said to her son, and he nodded his head, quite adorably if she said so herself. “Now let us meet with your sister–,” “and aunt Gael,” her son interrupted. “Your aunt Gael as well.” she smiled at him, her purple eyes glittering with mischief.
Soon they got into a fixed wheel-carriage that was stuffed to the full in pillows and cushions. She would have preferred horseback riding to the red keep, but her hair is all over the place, and she is not yet settled in placing her feet in land, lightheaded as she is, after so long in the skies. Her son is the same, and thus they had to contend with this stuffy carriage, with dozen knights and men-at-arms escorting them back to the Red Keep.
The maids in the carriage gave her a once-over, and soon before she knew it, they were re-braiding her hair again, and she let them weave their magic. She also wanted to change to a more appropriate court dress, but the time would not allow her to. She would most likely be asked to meet and greet her Uncle in front of the whole court, and she wants to be passably good looking for the occasion.
The ride was smooth, and soon, they were at the centre of power, the Red Keep’s walls welcoming them. She placed her feet at the well cleaned land, the dark black and deep red in-laid tiles were clean and spotless, and she could not smell the city filth and nasty smell that could be found in the deepest parts of the city proper.
Her son was at her side at once, being helped by a maid wearing the new uniform for the maids of the Red Keep, that were specifically assigned by her aunt to give the maids and man-servants hierarchy in the keep. The maid wore a deep red kirtle that showed her status as one of the highest maids in the Keep. She did not know what others wore, but the uniform was well made, and the quality of the garment was fine, almost better than what most of the ladies wear in winter years. It was also practical, made of durable wool and had a very modest neckline, but still left for room to breathe.
She saw her cousin Aemma, and gods, the woman is pregnant yet again. Why does the buffoon have this much free time in his hands? The poor thing just came out of an abortion five moon-turns ago, and is already once more pregnant. She feels the slightest hint of sympathy that she ruthlessly squashed and let her inner dragon-fire burn it into ashes. It would not do to feel pity for a hopeless woman.
“Red Keep welcomes you, Princess Rhaenys,” the poor woman started, and she raised her brows. It seemed her aunt’s lessons did not go into deaf ears after all. The poor lady and most likely future queen consort of the Seven Kingdoms did an excellent job in welcoming a Princess of the Blood.
The maids and Man-servants bowed deeply, and the lady looked to her side to see another maid bringing a platter made of gold, with Bread and a silver bowl of salt. “Please partake in the Bread and be Welcome within our halls, princess.” she gave a slight curtsy and continued, “The Red Keep always welcomes it kin.”
She did not give away what she felt at that, but tore a piece of bread and a pinch of salt and took a bite, and then gave the same to her son, when she felt nothing was amiss. “Where is Princess Gael, if I may dare ask?” she questioned the pregnant lady, and she blinked at that in reply. They both went inside the grand halls of the keep, tuning and climbing the steps when it is required of them to do so. The Keep is gigantic, but she grew up in these very same halls, and she knew her way inside out.
Her son was walking beside her, holding her bodice. She let him hold onto her, as this is a new place, and he is young enough to not be judged by the courtiers for holding onto his mother’s skirts. Though it would not be long before he will be embarrassed of his mother, and stop doing precious actions like these. She will enjoy these as much as she can.
“The princess usually lands Silverwing inside the Red Keep, just as the late queen once did.” Rhaenys raised her brows at that.
“Does anyone else do the same?” she inquired further, just as they came to stand at the doors of the throne room. She inhales a deep breath, not yet prepared or composed for the most likely scene that will wait for her inside the chamber. The guards of the Red Keep bow as they walked, and the herald took notice of them.
They both waited as attendants entered the chamber, most likely to inform her uncle that she is here. She subtly spies for Laena, as she could not yet enter without her daughter with her. Though she believes she will be safe, with her beloved aunt and her most favourite kin.
“Vhagar is gigantic, and stays inside the Dragonpit, and the same goes for Caraxes, when my good brother bothers to show his face in the city.” she replied.
She had heard from her aunt that her other cousin stays in Dragonstone with her. Her uncle had tried to send him back to the Vale countless times, but as her cousin is a Dragon rider, he usually stays in the Isle, and her uncle could not do anything, as he is overworked to the bone. Her aunt had made sure he was drowning in parchments and courtiers.
From the moment her aunt had come to finally know of his affections for her, she had moved without mercy, and made sure to never be alone with him at any moment. Either her grandsire, Daemon or even little Rhaenyra will always be found at her side. She also made certain that her mindless beast of an uncle would not have free time to harass her. Either he would be called to a small council meeting, or she would arrange a tourney with her festive-loving cousin, or she would leave with her other cousin Aemma to attend to the charity works the late queen had left behind. She also has taken to never leaving the Old King’s side, as her uncle would not dare to misbehave with the king by her aunt's side.
Daemon has also taken to spending even more time of his day with their aunt, something she did not think was possible. He had made sure to become her shadow, and followed after her with a lovelorn look of longing, and she had to contend with spending time with him when she had to speak with her aunt.
“Muña,” she heard her daughter’s voice and turned to see her spitfyre of a girl running towards and, she steeled herself to her daughter launching at her with full force. Her fiery daughter did so, and she twirled her around at once, her daughter’s laughter chiming in the air, her hardened heart softening a touch when she gazed at her pearl.
“Nyke se ñuha sȳrje riña ērinagon.” her aunt said in lieu of greeting, and her daughter cheered in her arms. Her son scoffed, and rolled his eyes. She knocked at his head, for it is not good to show one’s emotions in face so transparently, especially in these shark infested places such as Red Keep. Her son did not whine, but that unseemly sound almost escaped his mouth, but he kept it on a tight leash. I have won our race.
She gazed at her beautiful aunt, who is still unwed at such an old age. Septons and Septas have already begun to crow at her, tutting and shaking their heads at the fact that she is still an unmarried maid even at her one and twentieth name day. She looked as beautiful as ever, and none can say otherwise.
She sees her aunt has yet to change into court wear, as she's walking around wearing Dragonriding clothes. Her cape, which is the perfect shade of silver, billowed dramatically as she walked. She still does not know what magic she pulled this time, to make such a beautiful cloak. Her aunt has the best of the best seamstresses in the whole of seven kingdoms.
The cloak is pinned with an extremely well made dragon themed pin, also made of silver, and it shined brightly in the sunlight, further accentuating her aunt's beautiful wavy silver locks that somehow only was slightly undone, and made her look divine. Her dragonriding boots were not the least bit muddy, and the leather work is one of the best she had seen.
Her leather gloves also were embroidered, designs of Silverwing etched into it. She also was also currently the only Dragon riding princess that was allowed to wear a tiara. Her uncle Baelon had given her his assent, and as she is also at present the only remaining daughter of the King, that is not exiled, she remained herself, she is The Princess of the Targaryens.
All together her aunt looked like she went out for a jaunt in the gardens on a slightly windy day, and not like she had gone for a flight in the skies, and raced her very own Meleys and won, and somehow looked the better for it.
She could see where her male kin’s obsession had stemmed from. If she looks this gorgeous now, then she does not even want to think what she would look lik—
“T’is good to have you back in the capitol, my favourite niece,” her aunt whispered in her ears as she was embraced, and she did not blush, as her aunt kissed her cheek and did the same to her son. He pouted at her, but did not speak as a maid had come to make sure they were prepared to enter the court room.
Her aunt gave her a soft smile and a nod, before giving her a wink. She nodded back at her aunt. Now is not the time to get distracted. She composed herself, and soon, they were escorted into the court room, and she looked straight at the Iron Throne.
Her pig of an uncle sat at the throne, looking every bit the King her father was supposed to be. He does not have any right to sit there, but her rightful inheritance was stolen away from her, and she could not sit at the Throne made of a thousand swords of Aegon’s fallen enemies. He wore a small circlet, that is allowed for an heir of the Iron Throne, and gods, it stung, for a decade ago her father wore the exact same circlet. He had wanted to give it to her, before he took to his last flight, but she did not want to get it from him, as he was representing the King’s voice in the mission, and he would need his circlet.
He did not have Blackfyre, that soothed her heart, but he would, soon, she knew. T’is only a matter of time. Her grandsire has already placed one foot in the grave, and he would leave this mortal coil soon enough. ‘He only has two more years’, her aunt had said bitterly, and she knew not to question her in these matters. She must have counselled with the dragonstone maester.
Her cousin Viserys, wore his own tiara, and stood to his father’s right. Daemon was at the feet of the Throne. He looked more kingly than her witless cousin, but she knows he is no Kingly material. He only looks that way, and as long as he does not open his mouth, everyone would think he is so.
She gave a slight curtsey, and watched Aemma do the same. Her aunt did not follow after them, but to her silent astonishment, none of the courtiers so much as blinked at the breach of etiquette. Her children did as she had previously taught them and they both bowed and curtsyed appropriately to their station.
The herald had by now finished listing their names, and the hand of the King and Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms stood up from the Throne, and all the courtiers straightened their backs at that. He slowly walked down the steps of the throne, and walked towards them with all the pomp and grandeur expected of a prince. It stings, that for all she says he does not deserve the Throne, her uncle does have the courtly comportment fit for a king.
“Be welcome, Princess Rhaenys,” her uncle boomed, “Mine own niece,” he embraced her, and gave her a peck on the cheek, appropriate for the situation. The court cheered, and the claps of the courtiers echoed throughout the chambers. He stepped away from her, and looked to her son. “My son, Laenor Velaryon.” She introduced her son. He nodded at that.
“A fine knight, he will be.” her son bowed, and by the gods, did that not send a pang at her heart. Mayhaps if her father had lived, it would be her uncle bowing to her son. He moved to her fiery daughter. She curtseyed, and he extended a pale hand to her daughter. She placed her own small, fragile hand at that, and he placed a small peck at hers.
“My daughter, Laena Velaryon.” her uncle hummed at that.
He gave her daughter a shallow bow, and her daughter let out an involuntary giggle, blushing prettily. The court ladies simpered, few let out loud sighs, and few fanned themselves. “Well met, my lady,” he winked at her daughter.
He turned to her, “Mayhaps she would like to see mine own granddaughter, Rhaenyra.” he said, and she wanted to roar like a dragon, and she could feel Meleys poking a curious head at her through their bonds. He wants her daughter to be that little spoilt princess's lady-in-waiting. He may not have intended it, but that is what he is certainly implying.
It should have been the other way around. She should have been the queen, with her daughter the heir, and little Rhaenyra, her daughter’s lady-in-waiting. But the gods are cruel, and she had to live with her lot.
She gave her uncle a nod, not showing her fury one bit. He would not see her lose her composure. She would not show weakness, not this soon after she entered the capitol. Her uncle next turned to her aunt, and by the gods, she wanted to fling her dainty slippers at him. With the face he is making, one step away from a drool leak at his chin, it is a wonder how the court had not noticed his obsession with his sister. Mayhaps they had thought him still in love with Alyssa, for he had remained unmoved at Viserra’s seduction attempt at him.
“Hāedar,” he began, and she was impressed by her aunt’s court mask. If it had been her, she would have sooner asked her guards to behead him in front of the court.
Baelon kissed her aunt’s cheek, a slip away from giving a kiss at her lips, and his lips stayed there for a moment too long, before her aunt moved back from him. He had the gall to be disappointed. How had no one noticed such misbehaviour in the court?
Daemon coughed loudly, the sound such a high decibel, that it is a wonder how he had not started coughing blood from his throat. Her uncle turned back to give him an annoyed glare, before dismissing him entirely.
He once more turned back to face her aunt, who by now was smiling sweetly, but she observed her eyes, and it had turned such a shade of frosty blue, that made her shiver slightly. Her eyes showed what she felt, and she knew her aunt was furious.
“The halls of the court have dimmed in your absence, and you were solely missed,” he started, before taking her pale hands in his and kissing the back of her palms once more. His purple eyes did not leave her face as he did so, roving all over her face, taking her in. Her aunt shook her head, her smile turned a touch wider, seemingly genuine.
“I would like to announce a tourney–,” he announced, loudly, eyes still not leaving her aunt’s. “to honour the return of my niece to the court, and her children.”
The noblemen whooped and cheered at that, and ladies chittered, starting a commotion. Her uncle placed a subtle hand by her aunt’s waist, bringing her closer to him in the commotion. No one seemed to notice the shift, but her aunt placed her hand by Baelon’s chest, intending to move him away. The idiot seemed to ignore it, as he only smiled wider at that, his eyes turning a darker shade of purple in the evening light.
“The hour is dismissed.” her uncle announced and began to take his leave from the court, his hand still at her aunt’s petite waist, taking her away. The white cloaks followed after the pair, with dozens of maids taking their leave to go after their mistress. Guards and gentry made a silent march to make way for the Crown Prince and the Princess Gael, and soon they left the court chambers.
She embraced her children, with half a dozen guards that her aunt had left for her earlier, protecting them by making a circle around them, covering her, her children and Aemma, whom she just noticed was completely ignored by her uncle Baelon.
Soon, they too left the roaring court room, to the safety of her private quarters. She silently commanded the guards to stand outside, protecting her bed-chambers, and asked for the maids to prepare a hot bath for her and her children.
Corlys would arrive two days later, as he will only leave DriftMark on the morrow, and arrive at Kings landing by the ships two days later. The earlier commotion and the dragon riding before that must have tired out her children, for they already seemed exhausted and rubbed at their eyes when they entered the quarters.
She wanted to bathe with them herself, but she is exhausted, and she wants some precious private moments for herself, before she will be inevitably called to a supper, to dine with the King and her Kin tonight. As such, she will bathe, and prepare herself. She wills herself to stand, taking strength from her bond.
“Princess,” she turned to see Aemma visibly gathering her courage, blatantly showing her inexperience, and walked towards her. It must sadden her greatly, for her good father to ignore her entirely.
“Does this happen every time?” she asked. Her cousin blinked at her, before letting out a soft what?
“Does Baelon ignore you like he did today, in front of the entire court?” she further explained. Her cousin gave her a bitter smile, before shaking her head.
“It does not matter, princess.” she replied. “You are invited to the supper, by the King himself, and you are expected to arrive at the private family dining halls, two hours from now.” she said, and continued, “you will be given an escort, and the maids will show you the way.”
She does not need the escort, as she knows her place around the keep, but it is a matter of respect for her station, to be given guards and maids to follow after her. So she gives her poor cousin a nod. She smiles back, before taking her leave.
Rhaenys sighs, placing a calming hand over her heart. She does not like what she sees. Her family is splintering apart, with Viserys being what he is, and everyone ignoring Aemma. Rhaenyra is but a babe, and from what she has heard, the tension between the father-son pair of Baelon and Daemon has only grown in the year. Her Grandsire is a dead man walking, and she had heard he had stopped attending court sessions and small council meetings altogether.
Her aunt Gael is taking special care of him, and he moved back to Red keep from Dragonstone a sennight ago. Her uncle runs the realm, and with her aunt taking charge of the red keep and Dragonstone, she is one of the most powerful individuals currently alive.
Her Grandsire, her uncle and her cousin Daemon, all three of them listen to what she says, and witless Viserys listens to good advice and counsel from her aunt from time to time, when he is not sucking up to his new Hightower friend.
She will have to write a letter to her uncle Vaegon later today, and inform him of the matters of the Red Keep. He will certainly like what is happening here, his dark humour letting him derive dark pleasures from knowing their family tearing each other apart, and he would delight in the misery and misfortune of this family.
At least, someone in this god’s forsaken family is happy.