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Chapter Text

Baelon

He loved dueling. With a sword or a mace, it made little difference. Baelon could work away the stresses of his royal life with a good sparring partner. How fortunate for him that his wife was much the same. They had been fighting in the high walled training yard for at least a quarter turn of the sun, the repeated striking of metal evidence of their presence.

With a well placed thrust he struck Alyssa across the shoulder sending her sprawling into the wet mud of the training field. The spattering of rain surrounded them both, threatening to turn into a deluge and churn the practice yard into mud. Alyssa did not seem to particularly mind regardless.

She laughed so hard that she was having trouble getting up. “Did you have to strike me so hard?” She asked with a smile. She looked so beautiful when she was smiling. Baelon reached a hand down and dragged her back to her feet.

He pointed a finger at her. “You’ve hit me just as badly in the past.”

“True, but don’t you know I’m a delicate woman.” She contorted her face into what she must’ve thought was demure. Baelon raised a silver eyebrow waiting for the expression to drop.

Alyssa’s expression broke into one of uproarious laughter. There it is, Baelon thought as he began chuckling. If it hadn’t pissed off their father as much as it did, he would be happy to support Alyssa in leaving all the ladylike behaviour behind. As it was, she was forced to be both herself and what she needed to be. Virtually any setting that required a formal bodice and dress was a day which guaranteed some sort of escape later. Baelon fondly recalled the time she had thrown a shoe at him when he had laughed at seeing her in a dress for a ball. Alyssa’s laughter continued unabated before a guttural roar carried across the training yard. The roar carried across the entirety of the keep creating vibrations in the air.

Both turned upwards at the sound. “Did anyone inform you that they were riding today?” Baelon inquired, receiving only a slight shake from the muddy head next to him. “I was not told either. Shall we?” He asked gesturing to a nearby staircase carved into the rock of the castle wall. Many such staircases existed to ensure those on the inside could man the walls in case of a siege.

Both climbed up to the wall gaining a superior view of the city below. King’s Landing. A city both prosperous and messy. It had expanded haphazardly and until the last decade or so, had none of the needed infrastructure to keep the people who lived there passingly safe. The city watch itself was no great source of order, and his elder brother Aemon had long petitioned the court to reorganise it. However, despite its faults, Baelon loved this city. It was his home, warts and all. Alyssa’s too.

On this particular occasion however, his appreciation for the view of the city was muted by shock. This was not unusual to Baelon who had found his threshold for shock had risen to further heights, especially now he was a father of two. What was truly unusual was Alyssa’s shock. He could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her openly shocked, although in this instance it was certainly justified. “That isn’t one of ours.” Alyssa said quietly, voicing what they were both thinking as they stared upwards.

There was a great dragon above the city easily larger than many of the young ones in the Dragonpit. It was a bright green, with a large frame for its wingspan, much like the oft-called Black Dread. Worse still was that it was not any known dragon. Even among the wild dragons, only the Cannibal surpassed this size and his scales were as black as the night was dark. Baelon darted into action, sprinting down the wall, and calling for a horse to be prepared. If this new dragon was as hostile as the Cannibal, they would need to get to their own dragons with speed. The attendants below him, who had been looking to peek at the dragon above, raced into action quickly untethering his stallion. He heard Alyssa following behind him for a moment before she ran past him in a sprint and jumped upon the horse. She was always faster than him. Baelon arrived a moment later and leapt onto the horse behind her.

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Valerion Qoherys

Valerion could feel the wind brushing past his face, keeping his long hair flying behind him. While sat upon Jadewing, he had decided a spectacle for his arrival was in order. After all, it wasn’t every day a man returned home.

“Naejot, Zēatīkun!” he roared over the wind in his mother tongue. As if repeating the instruction, the dragon roared in response before flying right over the Red Keep. Then Valerion pulled the reins following the boundaries of the city. From here he could see several notable features including a great domed building lying upon an equally great hill. For the moment, he paid it no mind. A monument perhaps or something equally grandiose but unnecessary.

Bells rang below. Valerion could only laugh as the noise was drowned out by the rush of wind cascading over him. If he had wished, he could have attacked the city. Bells would have made little difference to the outcome.

He brought his attention to the city below once more. Before he could have any serious thoughts, another great roar shook the sky and not from the dragon he was on. From the gentle bank around the city, he could make out the faint silhouettes of two other dragons. One surpassed Jadewing in size - though if he were to guess, also in age. Though even on the front of age he could not be certain. After all, he did not know when his mount had hatched.

“Vhagar,” he whispered to himself. That or the Dread, though he expected the Dread was more intimidating still. His eyes caught the other. This one was smaller, but judging by its approach, alarmingly fast. The two dragons were nearly the same size to him meaning the smaller was rapidly approaching. No doubt, it would reach him in but a few moments. “Let us not keep ours hosts waiting.” He turned the reins and directed Jadewing away from the city, he doubted the Targaryens would take kindly to Jadewing crushing one of its districts. He could not make out much of the landscape in the rain, barring the Blackwater Rush. The river was so wide that it was easily visible from above, even in a near deluge of water. He followed the rush briefly until he spotted a clearing a short distance from its banks, and descended.

Jadewing’s landing was not smooth. Heavy framed as she was, she typically landed with force. This time was no exception. In the process, she trampled a few trees which were unfortunate enough to be nearby. Valerion had expected a moment to catch his breath but was robbed of it with the arrival of the nimble wyrm which landed some 50 feet away, only a handful of seconds later. Their proximity allowed him to confirm the dragon had bright scarlet scales and several horns which protruded at the joining of the head and neck, appearing as if a crown.

The rider appeared to be wearing training gear- a leather jerkin and breeches. They had long, silver hair – definitely Valyrian heritage, dragon aside. From this distance he could not make out more defining features, the rain preventing a detailed assessment. The wind was much calmer on the ground, though the rain was worse. Valerion began releasing his straps and buckles, releasing himself and lightening the straps on Jadewing. Jadewing herself was still poised as if to take off again, and intently staring at the other dragon. “Zēatīkun, gīda. Gīda.” The Valyrian rolled off his tongue, but Jadewing did not calm easily. She simply remained on edge for the moment. Certain she would, at the very least not attack the other rider, he turned away from Jadewing. He assessed the other rider as much as he could given the stormy conditions.

Valerion’s boots struck the mud of the clearing, compressing it beneath his weight. The opposing rider had dismounted more quickly and had already begun advancing across the clearing, with no signs of stopping. Valerion only had to take a few steps before he was within shouting range.

“You're slow!” The other rider—a woman, apparently— shouted in Westerosi, making Valerion frown.

“So it would seem”. He returned in the same language. He stomped forward, the mud trying to suck down his boots, before saying; “Though it would seem I was still faster than your companion.”

The woman seemed to squint at him as the wingbeat of a third dragon battered the clearing.

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Baelon

After dismounting and marching as fast as he could across the clearing, Baelon quickly reached his wife and the stranger. There appeared to be very little exchange between them so far. Many may have been relieved but not Baelon. He could see Meleys’ agitation and knew Alyssa felt the same. 
He internally agreed with Alyssa- the stranger was certainly concerning. He was tall – though only slightly more so than Aemon. The stranger had wide shoulders and looked to be muscular. Baelon had to presume as such, due to the man being suited in an intricate set of armour. Black scales edged in red gold were interlaced atop one another making the stranger look like a walking mountain. From what Baelon could see in the growing rain, the stranger was Valyrian in descent, with a sharp face and silver platinum hair. 

“As Prince, under the authority of the royal household of Westeros I demand to know your intentions, Dragonrider!” Baelon broke the tension by shouting when within hearing range of the stranger. None of the humans spoke for a moment, the shuffling and heavy breathing of 3 dragons the only sound besides the pattering of raindrops against metal.

Baelon could see the man’s Valyrian-violet eyes, which turned their focus from Alyssa to himself. They looked cold as the Wall was said to be. They appeared to be assessing him for a moment, before the figure dropped to one knee. Baelon furrowed his brow and looked to Alyssa, who seemed equally uncertain.
Still kneeling the stranger spoke in a deep but melodious voice, with an Essosi Valyrian accent. “Apologies, my prince. My name is Valerion of the House of Qoherys. My great-great grandfather fought for the Conqueror, and I have returned to do honour to my ancestors and pledge that service to your family again.”

“That is a bold claim. Not least since the last member of your supposed house died near 50 years ago.” Alyssa remarked, clearly sceptical.
Qoherys stood, and though still serious he seemed confident enough in his claim to keep speaking without the leave of the prince. “I am aware. In truth, I have only one thing as proof of this claim.”

“Oh? And what do you have that can verify you, as a member of a long dead house?” Alyssa asked, taking a step forward. Behind her, Meleys snorted and took a step as well.
In one fluid motion, Qoherys withdrew a dagger.
Baelon immediately tried to get between his wife and the stranger. Alyssa could defend herself, but it would not hurt for him to do so himself.

Qoherys bared his teeth in what may have been intended as a smile, then flipped the dagger, offering the handle to Baelon.
Baelon took it.
“Subterfuge, which my family has had since before the Doom.” Qoherys said, almost pleasantly. “If I recall my histories correctly, it has been used in aid of the Targaryens since before you were… royalty, shall we say.”

Baelon turned over the dagger in his hands. On the end of the hilt, there was a gemstone skull wreathed in a band of gold crafted to look as if a ring of fire, in place of the maker’s mark. The hilt itself was obviously rewrapped in leather more recently than it was made – he could see the signs of the hilt beginning to age, whereas the leather still smelled somewhat fresh. The blade itself was Valyrian steel, artfully twisted. Looking upon it, Baelon could not help but feel that the blade lent itself well to being slipped rather painfully in and out of someone’s ribs.

He handed it back.

“Anyone could have a knife. Baelon just held it – that doesn’t make him a member of a dead house.” Alyssa pointed out, circumventing Baelon blocking her and standing beside him.

Qoherys stopped smiling and was watching her with a carefully blank face. “Is my dragon not proof as well, your highness?”

Alyssa scoffed. “There are any number of dragonseeds on Dragonstone. If I remember my histories correctly, the Qoherys family were never riders before.”
Qoherys tilted his head. Baelon wanted nothing more than to drag Alyssa back, before this snake should choose to strike.

“No, we were not so lucky as the Targaryens to be dragonlords of old, and I imagine that the eggs after the Doom were carefully monitored so as to not fall into the wrong hands. So to speak, of course. In truth, my Valyrian heritage comes from my mother, herself a daughter of Gargon Qoherys. I take my family name from her side.”

“And your father?” Alyssa asked.

“A Volantene noble of a prominent family, one of the old blood, though it is nothing compared to your Valyrian heritage. Alas, he passed away while I was young, and my mother was left to raise me herself. I take the name Qoherys to… honour her.” Qoherys responded quickly, but still smoothly. Always so smoothly.
Alyssa opened her mouth, doubtless to say something that Baelon found charming, and that Valerion Qoherys would not.

“The rain is getting worse, and I believe that our father and brother will soon seek us out if we remain too long. Would you like to put your dragon in the Dragonpit and stay with us? Our father permitting of course.”

Qoherys frowned. “Dragonpit? I am sorry, I don’t believe my Westerosi is very good. What is this Dragonpit?”

“Your Westerosi seems very proficient to me.” Alyssa jabbed with a smirk. Baelon silently prayed his wife would succumb to a fit of tact.

“Ah yes. While I must thank you on the compliment, I simply have not had the time to learn new… How to say this…? Colloquialisms.” Though he smiled, Baelon felt like he was staring into a mask. He did not want to see what was underneath in an unmarked clearing stood between 3 dragons. “Nonetheless, if I might return to my initial query, what is a Dragonpit?”

“It is… something of a compromise. My father deemed it necessary to assuage public opinion and ensure that while our dragons remained close, they were not constantly putting the smallfolk on edge.” Baelon explained, waiting for a reaction.

“Mmmm. Well, it would it seem your father is a man of wisdom. Who am I to suggest otherwise?” Qoherys bared his teeth again in another all too perfect imitation of a smile.

“What did you s-” Alyssa stepped forward, eyes narrowed and hand on her sword hilt.

“ENOUGH!” Baelon roared so loudly one may have mistaken him for a fourth dragon. Indeed, the 3 dragons were drawn from their staring contest and Qoherys' dragon stared straight at Baelon, head slightly tilted in interest. Qoherys turned as his dragon shifted around, tail knocking into some trees that had survived her landing. Baelon did not like to shout, but this man was getting him worked up.

“Apologies, your highness. I meant no offense. I simply have never spoken to such esteemed company. In truth, I am concerned that Jadewing does not have the right temperament for such an environment as you describe. I think it best to keep her separate for now. No doubt your family will send riders to check on you. I may have to impose upon one of them, to accept your kind offer about depart this horrid rain.” He spoke firmly keeping his eyes on the emerald scaled drake before him. As if in understanding, Jadewing lowered herself to the ground, her posture more submissive even with the other dragons nearby.

“If you feel it wise, then I expect that can be allowed, if only temporarily. Though you will have to explain this to my father and his counsel also.” Baelon felt the tension in the clearing dissipate a bit as the emerald dragon closed an eye and seemed to ignore the other dragons. Despite this, he signalled a ‘Stop’ motion to Alyssa while Qoherys' back was turned. His beautiful, impulsive sister still had her hand on her sword hilt, and was sizing Qoherys up as though she could strike him through and end a potential threat.
He loved her, so much. He just didn’t agree with her at this moment, as while Jadewing had one eye closed, the other one was unblinkingly fixed on him.

Chapter Text

Aemon

He wasn’t entirely sure if his father was fully aware of the tapping. It could have been seen as a tremble, an infirmity of age—but his father was still hale and strong, and everyone knew it. Oh, his father loved to play the harmless wise king, the doting grandfather, but everyone knew that he was the rider of the Bronze Fury for a reason. Likewise, when Aemon was a child, his father had told him that a king can never show fallibility, can never be weak, especially at court. It took him years to realise that what his father had meant was… well, whatever had happened with poor grandfather Aenys.
All this to say, Aemon’s father was tapping his fingers absentmindedly.

It was meant to be a normal day at court. The rain echoed off the red brick and marble. Hopefully it would wash away some of the smell of Kings Landing. Regardless, the sound of the petitioner – Lord Tarly, if Aemon remembered correctly—was meant to be the main sound.

Nearby, Aemon’s mother was embroidering something –red thread on black cloth, oh what could it be— and did a much better job of feigning nonchalance than her husband. They had all heard the other dragon. All of theirs had been accounted for. And his sweet little Rhaenys had come running up to him, Jocelyn struggling to keep up with her, and had said that the dragon was green. Now, Vhagar was ostensibly green. Dreamfyre, in the right light, could technically be called green, if one was squinting. But Dreamfyre had no rider at the moment. More to the point, the rain was at a point where no Targaryen dragon could be said to have green scales, and the drizzle earlier would not have cast Dreamfyre in such a light.

The inescapable truth was that there was a dragon in the city and it either, did not have a Targaryen rider or was wild. Another truth was that Alyssa and Baelon had been reported as flying after it, and yet Aemon had to sit in the chair of the heir and pretend to listen as Lord Tarly complained about Dornish incursions. They had been operating small scale raids for years across the red mountains. This had left Lord Tarly a fearful wreck of when the next would come. Still, none had been serious since the last Vulture King.

Aemon could see his father out of the corner of his eye, tense and coiled as if to spring into action at a moment’s notice. And yet, the citizens of King’s Landing had no idea that their great wise king was truly a dragon in human form. A dragon, with two children under threat.

Lord Tarly continued to drone. King Jaehaerys continued to tap his fingers as if he was merely bored. Rain continued to fall. It would have been almost hypnotic if Aemon hadn’t been on the edge of his seat, ready to go.
His mother began humming a hymn. A plea to the Mother above to bring one’s children home.

With that, Aemon found himself standing. Lord Tarly had finally stopped talking and was now staring at him. “I think it time for a ride.” Aemon said, forcing a smile. “It’s perfect weather for it.”
Everyone was now staring. It was not perfect weather for anything.

Thunder boomed and roiled overhead. Aemon tried to keep smiling through the lightning illuminating the throne room. He forced himself not to think about Vhagar, slowing and bulky. About Meleys, swift yet so very fragile.

Septon Barth cleared his throat. “I believe we should give your siblings some time, Your Highness. The… situation surely calls for diplomacy?”

Aemon stared at Septon Barth. “If that’s true,” he began slowly. “Should I not then aid my siblings? I don’t believe Alyssa has ever been described as particularly… diplomatic.”

His mother gave a strangled sound. “My pardon, the rain must have stirred up some dust.”

“I believe what the queen is attempting to convey is that our son has a talent for understatement.” Aemon’s father said drily.

Septon Barth sighed. “The prince and the princess need time to return to the Red Keep, slowed by the rain, perhaps without their dragons. Adding Caraxes to a situation with three dragons, one of whom witnessed the Conquest, may be… volatile. I only counsel patience, Your Grace.”

Lord Tarly began sputtering. Aemon vaguely wondered why he was still there. Surely, he understood by now that no one was going to attack Dorne? It was, of course, very sad that his great-grandmother had died and so on and so forth, but Aemon had never met her, and he had no desire to introduce Caraxes to Dornish scorpions to avenge a woman long dead. The skull of Meraxes was displayed partway down the throne room a stark reminder that the Dornish did not take kindly to trespass.

There was some hubbub at the door to the throne room, and Lord Tarly was once again ignored in favour of more interesting and pertinent matters.

“Announcing his highness, Prince Baelon, her highness, Princess Alyssa and… the Lord of the House, Valerion Qoherys.” The herald said loudly, echoing across the marble floors. Indeed, there was Alyssa, who nearly slipped bouncing happily into the room. There was Baelon, who righted her, and was rewarded with her smile, and there was… the third person. A dragonrider, apparently.

Aemon felt his worry disappear into thin air. Safe. They were safe. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed everyone else relax as well as his father leaned back in the Iron Throne.
Viserys, who had somehow evaded a nursemaid or two and gotten into the room, ran towards his parents. “Mama! Papa! You back!”

Alyssa swept him up into a hug. “Oh, there’s my little dragon! Did you miss us?”

“We weren’t gone long, 'Lyssa.” Baelon said.

Alyssa stuck out her tongue at him as Viserys giggled. “I’m sure we were gone long enough.”

It would have been a very sweet, if typical picture of the family’s domestic bliss if Aemon’s eye hadn’t been drawn by the stranger. This so-called Lord Qoherys, who was staring straight at Aemon’s father.

Baelon held out his hand, as if expecting something from the new arrival. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Lord Qoherys, may I pass along your proof of identity to my beloved father and his counsel?” Qoherys broke his stare for a moment before passing along a small, sheathed dagger to him.

“Come little one, let us sit down” Alyssa said, carrying Viserys across the room to their mother. She, in turn, had slowed her embroidery, clearly delighted to see her grandson.  Alyssa sat down with Viserys on her lap, who himself seemed excited to be here with his parents.

“I am not little. Daemon little.” Viserys pouted as they walked by. ‘Oh, gods’ Aemon thought. He knew the look on Alyssa’s face. She may have been holding her son, and thus smiling, but every time she glanced at the stranger, her eyes held unabated anger. Whatever his intentions, he had already gotten on Alyssa’s bad side.

Baelon walked in line with Lord Qoherys before peeling off and standing next to Septon Barth. He seemed to quickly whisper something to the man, passing along the blade to him.

Valerion Qoherys continued to walk slowly down the hall, as if measuring each of his steps, which trailed mud upon the stone floor. With every step, his gaze flicked between the room’s occupants, though he mostly stared intensely at Aemon’s father, the King. Lord Qoherys stopped near 10 foot from the first steps of the throne. His armour clinked heavily as he knelt to one knee before the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Aemon found himself breathing another sigh of relief.

“Your Grace.” Lord Qoherys spoke, offering nothing more than a recognition of the figure atop the throne.

“I suppose you are the one who saw fit to place the city into a state of panic? Such action requires an explanation.” Though he had initially relaxed upon Aemon’s siblings returning, Aemon could hear the core of annoyance to his father’s words.  

“Your Grace…” Lord Qoherys looked to say something but stopped himself. “In truth, Your Grace, I wished to see my ancestral homeland as only those of Old Valyria can. I have returned to Westeros to claim my family’s seat, thus serving the crown.”

Many in the room bristled at this. It was no secret that the Qoherys family had been the first family to rule the ruin of Harren's castle. Not least among those offended was the aged Lord Bywin Strong, who was in the capital representing his family, the current lords of Harrenhal.

“Rise, Lord Qoherys.” Aemon’s father motioned him to stand. “I suppose I more than most can understand the beauty of the city from above.” Jaehaerys spoke “However, Harrenhal already has a Lord. Why do you desire it so? Beyond a distant family connection.”

Aemon observed Lord Qoherys a moment as he waited for the response. He had now returned to a standing position and was seemingly in thought. ‘Perhaps he simply wishes to make us wait.’ Aemon considered.
“I would think that connection to my family is a clear enough desire.” Lord Qoherys finally said.

“It is not. Perhaps the better question is why do you deserve it? Why should I dare to turn out Lord Strong’s family based on your whims?” Aemon’s father continued. Lord Qoherys narrowed his eyes ever so slightly.

“Your Grace, I would not just haunt the halls as another ghost. I would restore it, which my family had so far failed to do. Lord Strong has had, to the best of my knowledge, years to implement plans to repair the castle. Yet, he continues to live in a burned-out ruin. He has, if I may say, neither the initiative nor the funds to do anything but live in the husk of a once great castle.”

“You may not say.” Aemon’s father said coldly.

Lord Qoherys shrugged. “As you command. My apologies, Your Grace. My tongue got away from me it would seem.”

“Is this often a problem for you? Your tongue moving faster than your head?” The King asked.

“I believe not, Your Grace.”

“Hm. As it stands, how would you propose to claim the funds needed to rebuild Harrenhal? It was originally built as a monument to the arrogance of Harren the Black, and the Riverlands ran red for it. How would you propose to make as much money as a reaver turned king? What do you have to your name, Lord Qoherys?” Aemon could tell his father did not believe this man. The way he had announced himself to the city was brazen enough, but to claim the rights to a castle already occupied by a noble house was outlandish.

“Where to begin with such an answer?” Lord Qoherys looked up as if in a great deal of thought. “I served in the disputed lands for over 6 months before I convinced a band to travel beyond Draconys, along the ruins of the Summer Lands. There we came across the old city of Oros.” Aemon found himself wondering if this answer were more a children's tale than fact. It named many a place but gave little substance. Nonetheless, mention of Valyria was compelling enough for much of the court to forget the initial question. Aemon could tell that Viserys, for example, was a moment away from asking a loud question, and Alyssa wasn’t much better.

“Fascinating,” Aemon’s father said dryly, cutting off Alyssa and Viserys in the process. “But you have not answered my question.”

Lord Qoherys smirked. It settled far too naturally on his face, clearly an expression that he was used to making. “Ah, but Your Grace, I am explaining where the funds I already own, have been sourced. Not only relics from a bygone era. Nor merely a wild dragon whose bond ensured my survival. I have a ship laden with treasure already sailing from Pentos to the city. Among the treasures they carry are several damaged but readable tomes detailing a scant few of the construction techniques of Old Valyria. My expectation is that only the surviving knowledge of the ancient Dragonlords can turn the misshapen towers of Harrenhal to purpose again.”

“Careful, my lord, lest I assume you wish to buy your title.” Aemon’s father said. While the tone was soft, the sound carried across the room.

Lord Qoherys frowned, his cheeks colouring slightly with anger and embarrassment.

Aemon’s father continued. “The crown wishes you to remain in the Red Keep temporarily. We will be able to better care for your dragon here than anywhere else in Westeros, save Dragonstone. I believe that some of my children and grandchildren will also want to hear more of your travels… especially since we were given to believe that Valyria – any part of Valyria—was dangerous.”

“For lesser men, perhaps.” Lord Qoherys said.

Aemon’s father leaned forward. “Lord Qoherys, do not make light of this. My niece ventured to Valyria, and when she was dragged back by Balerion…” He trailed off, looking at Viserys. Viserys looked back, with wide violet eyes. Aemon’s father sighed. “The point remains that no one in my kingdom is permitted to venture to Valyria. In the family, it has been banned to attempt flying there, and by royal decree all are forbidden from sailing The Smoking Sea on pain of exile.”

“It is lucky then that I walked, Your Grace.” Lord Qoherys flashed his practiced smile again, before it dropped. “In truth, much of my journey can be attributed to luck, and to the fact that I kept to the very outskirts of anything even remotely considered the shattered islands of Valyria. I do not mean to disparage your niece, and I would be glad to stay here for the foreseeable future.” 

King Jaehaerys clapped his hands together. “Excellent! Then I hope that you will submit to a bath before meeting the rest of my family. A cold one, I think.” Aemon shivered slightly. He knew what that was for and wished he did not.

“While I would welcome a bath—” Lord Qoherys began.

“You misunderstand. The cold bath is the only way that I will trust you in the Red Keep around my family, or my kingdom.” Aemon’s father said, before rising and making his way down the throne. He stopped, looking to the side. “Lord Tarly, I understand that you have come a long way, and I would hate for you to have to return home feeling unheard. We will return to the topic of Dorne tomorrow when there are less… distractions, so to speak.”

As Aemon’s father begin to depart the throne room, he turned to one of the 4 Kingsguard clad in white armour. “Lord Commander, you will escort our guest to his examination.” He commanded before Lord Qoherys was forced to depart.

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Rhaenys

Rhaenys was pretending to do embroidery. She wasn’t very good at it yet, but that was alright, since she was only mumming at it whenever the septas looked her way. Aunt Saera wasn’t even doing that much – she was sitting there, clearly very annoyed at having to be with the septas and the babies. Rhaenys did not think much of being around her cousin Daemon, who liked to bite, and her aunt Gael, who was very quiet. Rhaenys would have preferred to be with Aunt Saera and Aunt Viserra, but the septas liked to watch all of them together. Something about how Aunt Saera couldn’t run off that way.

Rhaenys was saved at having to mum at making the second dragon’s head again by Aunt Alyssa coming back with Viserys. Rhaenys rather liked Aunt Alyssa – she told the best jokes. Of course, Aunt Viserra was the most interesting aunt, being as she was only three years older than Rhaenys herself. Rhaenys badly wanted Aunt Viserra to acknowledge her.

Daemon perked up when Aunt Alyssa came in. Apparently, he had not noticed Viserys leave in the first place, or he would have tried to scream the Red Keep down. Daemon did not do well without Viserys. He scooted away from the soft dragon toy that the septa had been pretending to fly around him and rose up on wobbly legs to toddle towards Aunt Alyssa.

Aunt Alyssa put Viserys down and knelt. “That’s it, my baby dragon! Come to Mama!” Daemon gurgled and took three steps, before giving up and toppling onto his hands and knees. He then began crawling at a frankly alarming pace towards Aunt Alyssa. Rhaenys had not known he could move that fast.

“Mamamama!” Daemon babbled as Aunt Alyssa swept him up, nuzzling their noses together.

“Yes, my baby dragonet!” Aunt Alyssa cooed. “Mama’s here!”

Aunt Saera scoffed and looked out the window. “Gods, Alyssa. Can’t you do that somewhere else?”

“Yes, Alyssa.” Aunt Viserra said, looking mostly at Aunt Saera. “Go away.”

Aunt Alyssa raised an eyebrow and put Daemon on her hip. “Don’t let Mother hear you talking like that in front of Gael and the grandchildren, lest they catch it. Mother may wash your mouths out with soap.”

Aunt Viserra made a face and looked away. Aunt Saera snorted and looked directly at Aunt Alyssa. “Maybe she might finally let me out of the Second Hell, surrounded by other people’s unwanted babes.”

“Saera!” Aunt Alyssa snapped. “That is too far.”

Aunt Saera stretched herself out like a cat that was sunning. “I suppose. It’s not like you ever do anything with your two. You just hold them and then hand them off when they cry or shit or need anything. Then on the other hand, Mother treats Gael like a doll, it’s frankly embarrassing. At least Rhaenys can talk and not shit herself, though I imagine that’s considered to be a remarkable achievement in this room.” This last part was directed at one of the septas, who flushed and scowled at Aunt Saera.

Aunt Alyssa scowled as well and shifted Daemon to her other hip. He began babbling angrily at Saera, presumably picking up on the sudden tension in the room.

“Don’t let Father hear you, lest he have to deal with two catastrophes in one day.” Aunt Alyssa huffed out.

Rhaenys sat up a little straighter. Surely this was about the dragon, the green dragon that no Targaryen had! Maybe it was the Cannibal? Surely it wasn’t Sheepstealer, someone would have said if Sheepstealer was bright green and bigger than Meleys. And this dragon was bigger than Aunt Alyssa’s dragon, Rhaenys could tell from afar. Father had taken her seriously when she told him, that’s how real and true it was!

“Oh yes, what was it? Some peasant children flying a kite in the rain?” Aunt Viserra snarked, looking to Aunt Saera for approval.

Alas for her, Aunt Saera frowned and tilted her head. “Who would fly a kite in the rain?”

“I don’t know! Peasants! They’re-they’re simple.”

“They’re not that simple.” Aunt Saera pointed out. “No one’s that simple.”

“Daella is!” Aunt Viserra said quickly, before wincing and looking at Aunt Alyssa. Aunt Alyssa had been annoyed before, but now she was downright angry.

“You’ve been speaking to Vaegon?” Aunt Alyssa said coldly. “Perhaps he needs another lesson in basic decency.”

Aunt Saera scoffed. “We’re all idiots to Vaegon. I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought Septon Barth no more than a second court fool. He’s rather pretentious like that.”

Somehow, Aunt Alyssa relaxed a bit. “He is a bit, isn’t he?”

Daemon sensed that he had lost his mother’s attention. He shrieked, and flailed his little baby hands angrily, smacking at Aunt Alyssa’s cheeks. He didn’t succeed in doing much besides getting himself all muddy. In the corner, Viserys giggled uncontrollably at Daemon’s antics.

“Ah, I suppose I’ve got a muddy little dragon!” Aunt Alyssa said to Daemon. “Looks like you need a bath!” Daemon shrieked again, though Rhaenys couldn’t tell if it was in outrage or happiness. Daemon’s opinion on baths seemed to oscillate wildly depending on the day.

“And you probably need one too, lest you just get him all muddy again.” Aunt Saera said with a wrinkled nose.

Aunt Alyssa conceded this point and kissed the top of Daemon’s head before handing him off to a waiting wetnurse. “Be a good little dragon while I’m gone, alright? Mama loves you.”

Daemon babbled a response and Aunt Alyssa left. As soon as she was gone, Rhaenys pulled a crumbling lemoncake from her sleeve, and beckoned Viserys over. “Alright, so what did you see while you were in the throne room?”

“I'm not sure.” Viserys reached for the lemoncake. Rhaenys held it out of his reach.

Daemon, noticing that while his mother was gone, his second favourite person wasn’t, shrieked and kicked his chubby little legs until the wetnurse let him down onto the floor. Daemon immediately began crawling at his greatest speed towards his brother. Rhaenys ignored Daemon. She had deployed Viserys to act as a spy for her, and now was the time to witness the fruits of her labour. Grandmother said that she would be queen one day, and Grandmother was always right. That meant everyone had to listen to her, Rhaenys, and that she should have a competent spy network. The problem at hand was that Viserys was not very competent, but no one else was willing to go down to the throne room and be her spy, so she would take what she could get.

“Who was there?” Rhaenys asked Viserys patiently.

Viserys screwed up his little face in thought. “Gran’father, Gran’mother, Mama, Papa, Daemon—”

“No, you’re just listing family members. Daemon wasn’t there. He was here.” Rhaenys said. Daemon, meanwhile, had reached his target, and began chewing on Viserys’ hand.

Viserys giggled and pulled his hand away. “Daemon, that tickles!”

“Who was there?” Rhaenys asked patiently.

Viserys pondered this life-altering question, before answering, “I don't know.”

“Try.” Rhaenys ordered. “Lemoncakes are for good spies.” Viserys stared at the lemoncake. Rhaenys waited patiently.

“Lord Qo… Qo… Qoqo?” Viserys tried.

Rhaenys sighed. That was good enough for Viserys. She handed him the lemoncake and then brushed any remaining crumbs from her sleeves. Viserys immediately set about gnawing on it, which drew Daemon’s attention. Clearly, if someone else had something, he should want it as well. He reached his sticky baby fingers up.

Viserys noticed this and stomped away. “Daemon, no! This my lemoncake! ‘Nys gave it me!”

Daemon followed, and Viserys stomped in a circle trying to evade him. Daemon continued to follow, like a hound on the scent. Viserys began to eat his lemoncake as quickly as possible, stealing glances behind him to see if Daemon was still following. He was. He always was. It was a miracle he had not noticed Viserys leave earlier, which had been aided by Rhaenys giving poor Aunt Gael a soft toy. Daemon had promptly toddled over and grabbed it, leading to tears from Aunt Gael and a flock of confused and upset septas. (Said toy was now lying abandoned, as Daemon particularly liked things when other people had them.)

At long last, Viserys had gnawed away at most of the lemoncake. Daemon had thought they were having great fun as he chased his brother, and clearly none of the adults cared about actually taking care of the babies. Viserys handed Daemon the slobbery remains of the lemoncake. Daemon immediately began to eat it. Rhaenys made a face. Babies were gross. Thank the Gods she didn’t have any. 

**************************************************************

Lord Commander Gyles Morrigen

Gyles shadowed the new arrival closely. Never more than a sword thrust away. ‘Not that it will do me much good while he’s wearing that armour.’ He thought silently. Still a sword stroke to the head would achieve the same result if needed.

Lord Qoherys had not spoken a word since they had departed the throne room, seemingly enjoying no satisfaction from the stir he had caused. Still, Gyles could not help but wonder if everything said and done up to this point had been calculated. Regardless, this so-called Lord Qoherys was disarmed. The dagger, the only weapon carried on his person, had been passed to Septon Barth. Then from Barth to Gyles, though Lord Qoherys tracked its movement at every turn. The blade itself was dark with whorls running through the metal. Gyles was no expert in metalwork, but he knew Valyrian Steel when he saw it. He would also stake his life that Lord Qoherys’ dagger wasn’t the only bit of Valyrian steel the man had – his entire suit of armour shimmered the same way, like sand being stirred up at the bottom of an otherwise clear pool at night.  

The procession of maesters and kingsguard came to an abrupt stop. “We’ve arrived, my lord.” One of the attending maesters said haltingly, apparently the most junior one. The others seemed scared shitless of Qoherys, which even Gyles thought was a bit much, even if the man seemed like a snake coiled to strike while masquerading as a human. No, not a snake, maybe. Gyles tried to feel bad for Qoherys – after all, the man, boy really, was probably full of those terrible worms that Princess Aerea had been infested with. It was a bit harder to feel for Lord Qoherys than that poor girl though, so Gyles did not devote himself to it overmuch. No need to make it feel forced.

They had arrived at a small room with a plain, woven screen for a modicum of privacy, or perhaps the illusion of it given their grim task. The room was near featureless, holding no windows and only a shabbily built table and an equally shabby tub, already filled with cold rainwater and being filled with large amounts of ice. On top of the table were a variety of implements – knives and forceps, things that made Gyles hope for the boy’s sake that they found the worms quickly. The room was only dimly lit by stray candles, likely an attempt to avoid raising the temperature.

Gyles filtered in with the rest, the door locked behind them. Among the attending maesters were several younger individuals, including the poor lad who had the grim task of announcing their arrival to the boy-lord, and two wise old men. The Grand Maester himself was of course present, but the lead was taken by maester Olyvar, who had performed this medical service once before.

“If you would be so kind as to take off your armour and your clothes, my lord.” Maester Olyvar wheezed, more focused on the temperature of the water and his ‘tools’, if they were needed. His hands shook gently, and one of the younger maesters handed him a knife, almost in anticipation.

“Indeed. I am afraid the armour is intricate. I shall require a second set of hands. If possible, I will also require a second set of clothes. The gambeson beneath is hardly suitable for court.” Lord Qoherys said, sounding incredibly nonchalant. Gyles was unsure if he found it brave or arrogant. Perhaps simply stupid – perhaps the boy had not picked up on the fact that this was no ordinary bath despite the fear of those around him. Perhaps the boy had a plan- ah. Gyles stepped forward quickly, he did not put it past this boy-lord to strangle a maester with his own chain if it would stop this.

“I will assist with your armour and ensure its safekeeping. One of the maesters may find something for you, once your examination has concluded.” Gyles said, eyeing the boy-lord’s hands in case he tried anything. Lord Qoherys’ eyes darted back towards Gyles, resting on him as they had been almost the entire walk there. His eyes were striking, almost more intense for the lack of light in the room. His face remained impassive as if a wall of stone was being built to shield his intentions. Brave, then, though it didn’t quite rule out stupid in Gyles’ book.

“Very well,” Lord Qoherys acquiesced, stepping behind the screen as though the assembled men weren’t going to see his cock shrink in the water anyway. The armour was indeed intricate. Morrigen would have thought it needlessly so, if not for the surprising lightness of it. It clearly needed to bound tight to the wearer to remain firm against an incoming stab. It took over 20 minutes by Gyles' measure, for the full set to be removed, each piece laid carefully on the ground. The boy-lord wouldn’t need it with the worms bursting out, but it was nice to pay one’s respects to the dead when they could appreciate it. Lord Qoherys continued to disrobe until entirely nude. Gyles stopped laying hands on him the minute the armour was off, letting the boy undress himself. He stepped back, as much as he could in the small room, and nodded to the little maester who had announced their arrival. Olyvar didn’t notice, his hands still ghosting over his knives and whatnot, as if remembering the purpose of each.

“We are ready when you are, my lord.” Olyvar wheezed out, wetting a sponge that had heretofore gone unnoticed. Lord Qoherys strode out from behind the screen, rendering it truly pointless at last. He got into the bath with minimal wincing, which Gyles respected. Even a dragonlord in top form didn’t like their baths colder than a strong heat, let alone when infested with demon worms. Gyles was not one to stare, given his vows, but if the term ‘warrior physique’ need ever be applied it was to this man. His muscles were clearly defined which combined with his wide shoulders would have made him a formidable fighter indeed. He probably didn’t actually do much fighting though, there were no battle scars that Gyles could see. It was a shame Lord Qoherys would likely never fight again, even if he seemed perfectly healthy. Gyles would have been hard pressed to find any aspect of his physical health that was deficient. ‘This is why I’m not a maester’ He thought to himself.

The sloshing of water and a suppressed hiss from Qoherys marked the beginning of his examination. Olyvar began cleaning the skin, sponging him all over. “Would you like me to do that, maester?” The boy-lord asked.

“No, no, has to be me.” Olyvar said, staring at the spot on Qoherys’ elbow that he was rubbing with a single-minded focus. “I must examine every nook and cranny.”

Qoherys’ cheeks pinked. “Surely there are some parts that I can wash myself, maester?”

Olyvar stared him down. “Do you think I’m doing this to fondle your bits, boy? Do you think I want to be here? No. Settle down and be grateful that the water can’t go cold.”

Grand Maester Elysar coughed suspiciously from the corner where he was taking notes. Olyvar then produced a glass lens from deep within his robes and used it to make sure that he missed absolutely nothing on the Qoherys lord. He scoured every piece of skin meticulously looking for any abnormality. Any break or rupture, no matter how small, could be a sign of infection. As the minutes passed on and the candles melted away, Gyles saw a maester give a yawn, and then another. He was beginning to believe that the worms would never burst out.

While the junior maesters seemed to be falling asleep standing up, and the scratch of Elysar’s quill was ever-present, Olyvar seemed to be growing frustrated. As his examination continued, he would huff and grumble, as if the presence of infection eluded him out of spite. Thankfully this marked the end of his assessment. “I must say, my lord. I’ve no idea how you have managed it, but you appear to have ventured from Valyria unscathed.”

“Thank you, Mae-” Lord Qoherys began to speak.

“You misunderstand, my lord.” Grand Maester Elysar interrupted. “You are entirely unscathed. No significant scarring or marks. No stretching or tautness of the skin. It is as if you are a slate upon which no work has begun.”

Lord Qoherys shrugged. “I am, as I believe I told the king, very lucky.”

“I see…” Elysar sounded sceptical to say the least. “Well, nothing is wrong with you to our knowledge and while this is certainly unusual, we will give the King my recommendation that you are indeed safe. We shall leave you to dress yourself.” The Grand Maester swept over and unlocked the door. Olyvar collected the instruments and departed the room with the others. The junior maester ducked back in shortly with a plain shirt and breeches, as well as a clean set of braies.

“I shall remain outside to escort you to His Grace’s solar.” Gyles declared as he laid the lord’s dagger on the now empty table. “I will also ensure that your armour is kept safe and secure in the white sword tower until you wish to retrieve it.”

“And if I should wish to take it with me?” Lord Qoherys said.

“Why would you need to see the king while armoured?” Gyles raised an eyebrow. “I assure you, as soon as the king gives his leave, you may be armoured again. I will send you a squire myself.”

“I appreciate that.” Lord Qoherys said as Gyles moved to exit the room, hand on the handle. “Ah, before you go, what shall happen to my old clothes?”

“I believe that they have already been burned.” Gyles admitted.

Lord Qoherys took this in, then exhaled sharply. “Mmm, that seems unnecessary. Regardless I shall be out momentarily.”

Gyles left the room and settled outside. Everything had been perfectly well after all. In some ways that made him even more worried. Perhaps the maesters simply were not looking deep enough. Perhaps the true threat that this lord posed was not as simple as mere worms.

**************************************************************

Alysanne ‘the good queen’

The solar was bustling with activity as servants and handmaids rushed to prepare a private meal. Jaehaerys was currently meeting with the Grand Maester and Septon Barth leaving her to oversee the preparations for their family. Her dear husband had not intended to have a guest for dinner, but it was the easiest way to gather the family in one place and make introductions. ‘Besides,’ she thought ‘the easiest way to catch a man in a lie is at dinner.’ Alysanne remembered her mother telling her and Rhaena that, back before her father passed.

She had been silent on the matter since the scene in the throne room, but she was certain something was off about Lord Qoherys, and not in the way that everyone else seemed to think. She had seen Aerea, unlike most of the Red Keep. Lord Qoherys was not the same, incoherent and writhing in pain. No, Lord Qoherys’ problem was distinctly different. He was far too confident for his age. ‘Much like Aegon before…’ she let the thought fade before completion. She did not like to think of her older brother, especially unkindly. That which was lost and could not be changed. ‘At least he is with the gods.’

“Lyra?” she asked turning to one of the many who attended her on daily basis. In the chaos of the preparations, it would appear her attention had been diverted, if only briefly. Alysanne surveyed the swarm of servants before spotting Lyra in conversation with another septa. Her name evaded Alysanne’s mind, she would have to find out later. For now, she wove her through the throng making various suggestion or giving gentle reminders to others who need hurry with their tasks.

As she approached the two septas, she heard the end of their conversation. “-ra keeps slipping out!” The unknown septa exclaimed, biting at her nails in anxiousness. “I don’t want to disappoint the queen—what if I am sent back to the sept?”

“Not to worry, I shall relay this to her parents in short order- it will be better coming from me.” Lyra patted the other septa’s shoulder under the guise of flicking away some dust. The younger girl looked to be visibly relieved.

Lyra noticed Alysanne’s arrival, then said, “Now attend your duties, Masha.” Ah, that was her name! Masha, the seventh daughter of a poor family, given to the sept as a sort of tithe. Masha ducked away as Alysanne approached, bobbing a curtsey. Alysanne smiled at her, watching her dart away back to the pack of other septas.

“She seems nervous, Lyra. It isn’t me I hope?” She chuckled. Lyra gave a polite smile. Lyra had smile lines upon her face, which Alysanne had personally seen carved over their years together. Alysanne knew when Lyra was truly happy to see her, and when Lyra was trying to sweeten bad news.

“Of course not, Your Grace. It is only…” Lyra stopped a moment considering how to phrase what would come next. “Saera has become quite wilful, Your Grace. The younger septas are struggling with disciplining her, especially since she is a princess and they cannot command her.”

“Is it something that requires Jaehaerys’ special attention?” Alysanne asked, her mind flitting through scenarios, each worse than the next. Saera, drunk in the Red Keep’s wine cellars. Saera, sneaking off into Flea Bottom. Saera, dressing as a boy and sneaking into Flea Bottom, and then getting caught by unsavoury people. Saera playing with fire and committing to small acts of terror.

Lyra quickly saw where Alysanne’s mind was going. “My queen, please don’t worry! It’s nothing like what you think, she just… her tongue can be as sharp as Prince Vaegon’s, shall we say? But please rest assured, the moment that her behaviour escalates beyond insults and japes, I will tell you immediately.” Lyra bobbed a curtsey of her own, much like Masha had.

“So be it. Please fetch Saera and Viserra. Oh, and Rhaenys too, I think. From what I hear she would relish the chance to eat with her grandparents.”

“What of the babes?” Lyra tilted her head slightly. It was unusual for Alysanne to omit even the smallest from the family get-togethers.

“Not today, Lyra. We have a new guest and today has had enough excitement, I think.” Alysanne smiled thinking of how much havoc Viserys and Daemon could wreak upon the dinner. It would have to be another day.

“Including Princess Gael, my queen?” Lyra tilted her head.

“Ah, yes. Gael will of course be with me.” Alysanne said immediately. “I just meant that Viserys and Daemon can have a private, brotherly dinner.” The kind where Daemon could wear his food with pride, as he often did. Alysanne loved her grandson dearly, she just wished that he would grow out of this phase where he preferred to slam his hands into his food and smear it upon his face rather than eating it. Sometimes, she wondered where he got the food he needed to grow if he never managed to get it in his mouth. Other times, she found herself wishing that maybe Viserys would not find his brother’s antics quite so funny, as it only seemed to encourage Daemon.

Lyra curtseyed again and swept away.

Alysanne had a few scant moments alone in the chaos before Jaehaerys arrived. Judging from his slight, almost imperceptible scowl, he remained unhappy with the events of the day. He flicked his eyes around the room before spotting her. His eyes shined just a little more when they made eye contact, and he made his way to her side.

“Am I to presume from your expression that our guest will not be joining us?” Alysanne quipped, quickly re-evaluating the preparations.

“I wish it were that simple.” Jaehaerys sighed, taking her hand in his.  “The Grand Maester has informed me that our young dragonlord is in perfect health. Suspiciously so, he believes.”

“Let me guess, Barth has begun to read all he can so that you may enjoy a night with your family?” Alysanne grinned up at him.

Jaehaerys sighed and smiled almost indulgently. “Is it that obvious, my queen?”

Alysanne cupped a hand to his face, revelling in the texture of his short, neatly trimmed beard. “Dear, everything about you is obvious to me.” She got a more genuine smile for that, so continued. “Come, let us sit. Our family and guest will be joining us shortly.” Alysanne dropped her hand to Jaehaerys’, curling their fingers together.

They both turned and made their way to the long table in the middle of the room – long, made of one solid piece of dark oak, but still intimate enough for family and the odd guest only. It was allegedly a gift from Orys Baratheon to their grandfather, part of a twinned set matching the small council's table. Unlike the pristine small council table this one was filled with the nicks and scars of several lifetimes of family dinners.

The table was flanked by 2 substantial walkways so that servants could manoeuvre platters of food with ease. Currently the various cutlery and goblets were being placed appropriately. The food would be placed a little after everyone had been able to settle in.  As the table was laid many of the servants left, their tasks fulfilled or to wait for the courses to be served. Two of their Kingsguard knights stood watch at the door of the dining hall – Ser Ryam Redwyne, his red hair a beacon against his white armour, even across the room, and Ser Clement Crabb. Ser Ryam appeared to be in the middle of telling a joke about a particularly buxom milkmaid to an unamused Ser Clement. Ser Clement saw Alysanne looking and gave her a grimace, clearly pleading for her to release him from Ser Ryam’s presence.

“—and the maid said, ‘cow? What cow? I told you ser, the milk came from my father’s farm!’” Ser Ryam cackled.

Ser Clement’s grimace deepened. “That is foul, Ryam.”

“Isn’t it just?” Ser Ryam continued to laugh. “The real joke comes from the reactions of the people around you. Go forth and tell it yourself!”

Ser Clement’s grimace deepened to the point that he seemed more frown than man. “If we weren’t in front of the queen, I would strike you.”

“Bold of you to think I would let you hit me, Crabb.” Ser Ryam beamed at the other knight. Fortunately for both of them, any further japing was interrupted by the sound of another armoured figure entering the room.

The Lord Commander had arrived with their guest. Alysanne had purposefully disguised her interest in the conversation at the throne room and thus deemed it necessary to assess Lord Qoherys with her own eyes. Now she could see he was a young man with a heavily built upper body who was… wearing very plain clothes indeed. Practically sackcloth.

“Your Grace.” Lord Qoherys gave a perfunctory bow to her husband, almost impertinently high for a landed noble, let alone an unlanded one. He then immediately straightened himself. Out of the corner of her eye, Alysanne noticed Jaehaerys frown.

Ser Gyles approached the royal couple with their unwanted guest.  “My queen, my king.” He bowed slightly to each in turn. “I apologise for the state of the young lord. It appears that he did not bring a change of clothes with him.”

“No matter, it will suffice” Alysanne said. The man was not sat at the dinner table as naked as his name day, at the very least, and anything else could wait. Ser Gyles relieved Ser Ryam of his post and he departed the room to rest and go off shift. Ser Clement visibly settled.

“Come my lord. Sit. The family is on their way, and I am certain they will wish to hear everything about our guest.” Alysanne gestured to one of the chairs at the far end of the table, away from her and Jaehaerys’ spots. She was mildly worried that the man would put Jaehaerys off his food.

“That is kind of you to say, Your Grace. Alas, I fear my presence here is more complex than a mere dinner curiosity.” Lord Qoherys said as he took the offered seat. Alysanne relaxed into her usual position, next to the head of the table where her husband sat. Aemon, when he came in, would sit across from her. Perhaps sensing Alysanne’s mistrust, Lord Qoherys continued. “However, I will indulge in any question you or his grace deem appropriate.”

“Why are you here at dinner if you are not here to be a guest?” Jaehaerys asked.

“I did not believe I had any choice in refusing.” Lord Qoherys replied smoothly. “You have yet to offer me bread and salt, after all.”

“Are your dietary needs so simplistic? If you wish to have bread and salt, you may certainly eat it for your supper. If you wish to eat alone, you certainly may do so.” Jaehaerys said in a similar tone. Alysanne laid her hand on Jaehaerys’ arm and squeezed gently. He was getting worked up over nothing. Jaehaerys laid his free hand on top of hers and squeezed back.

“Of course, we would like to offer you bread and salt, but we would also like to hear more of your travels. I’m sure you would love to tell some stories?” Alysanne asked. “Such as your time in Valyria, maybe?”

Lord Qoherys’ face darkened. It was strange, even off-putting to realise just how blank his face had been before.  “I prefer not to talk of it, Your Grace. The spectre of Valyria is best left in the past. I would not have mentioned it before the throne at all if not absolutely necessary.” His words were carefully chosen but Alysanne could sense something deeper there.

“I quite agree.” Jaehaerys responded off-handedly, though his hand squeezed Alysanne’s gently. She could tell that he was thinking of their poor, brave niece. Their poor, foolish niece. And what’s worse, Rhaena’s cries of anguish when she had arrived on Dreamfyre too late to see her daughter cremated. Those would haunt Alysanne until the day she died.

Alysanne did not let her smile fall. She would play the part of the hostess, just as she had always done. The mask she wore was more a second skin at this point. “I understand, my lord. Unfortunately, both of you may need to prepare yourself to do so regardless. I do not think Rhaenys will be so accommodating.” Alysanne chuckled to herself thinking of her granddaughter and her wilful desire to draw information out of anything dragon related. She forced herself to continue thinking about Rhaenys, with her wide smile and black hair, and—Rhaenys was her niece too. Her mind stuck on this for a moment, and then she remembered Rhaella, playing at being Aerea, playing at being an adult, begging them to save her. Rhaella’s hair had been black at the end as well, when they burned her too quickly for a shroud. Despite herself, Alysanne shivered.

Lord Qoherys seemed not to notice, or his mask was just as good as Alysanne’s. He had his genial somewhat off-putting blank smile back, as if he was mumming at being human. “As you say, Your Gra-”

“Grandmother!” The pattering of feet was accompanied by a head of black hair running into the room and straight to Alysanne. She clung to her side. “Did you hear about it?”

“Did we hear what, little one?” Jaehaerys asked, leaning down and rubbing her head. She shook her head from side to side likely attempting to fend him off but only succeeding in messing up her hair further.

“There’s a new dragon here, and it’s big and it’s green!” She held arms as far apart as she could in an imitation of dragon’s wings. “And it has a rider! Aunt Alyssa didn’t say who the rider was—”

“Rhaenys, pay attention.” Saera snapped as she entered the room. “You look dim-witted.” Both Saera and Viserra were entering the room behind their niece, accompanied by two Septas. One of them was holding Gael, who remained silent when given into her mother’s arms. Alysanne buried her face into her daughter’s hair, holding her in place with one arm while she inhaled deeply and tried to calm herself. The septas curtsied and departed.

“Saera!” Alysanne huffed out, Gael not having fixed her temper entirely. There was no need to be rude to Rhaenys, especially in front of others.

“It’s true. She knows better, and she is playing up her childishness right now.” Saera said as she walked towards the table, trying to move as if she had no cares in the world. Alysanne resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Saera was very trying at this point, and Alysanne had every hope that she would grow out of it soon enough.

Saera, meanwhile, had noticed their guest and her father’s mood. Instead of sitting down on Alysanne’s other side, as she knew she was meant to (in order to keep her out of trouble) she sat down in what was usually Baelon’s place next to Lord Qoherys. Viserra, of course, followed and took Alyssa’s place across from Baelon’s seat. This would not endear Lord Qoherys to Alysanne’s children. Saera smirked at her mother like she had done something impressive instead of sitting next to a man dressed in sackcloth and vaguely annoying her siblings, who weren’t even there yet. Alysanne raised an eyebrow at Saera, then squeezed her husband’s hand, noticing him tense. Him telling her off would only encourage her.

“My lord, are you perhaps a Velaryon?” Viserra asked.

“No, but I am a Valerion.” Lord Qoherys said. “Valerion Qoherys.”

Jaehaerys gave a suspicious cough, then cleared his throat. “Pardon me.” Alysanne glanced at him. Well, at least it wasn’t Ser Ryam’s awful jape about the milkmaid.

The young people ignored him, except for Rhaenys who reached over and patted her grandfather’s hand, the one that was holding Alysanne’s. “Feel better soon, Grandfather.”

“Thank you my dear, I will.” Jaehaerys said. Rhaenys beamed at him, and then went to her own seat. It was two down from Jaehaerys, and usually it was next to Baelon. Saera glanced at her niece, then turned back to her goal of attempting to anger her parents.

“Lord Qoherys, where’d you get the dragon?” Rhaenys asked, craning her neck around Saera. “And why are you dressed like that?”

“I was given these clothes by the maester, and she is from Valyria. All dragons are.” Lord Qoherys said smoothly.

Rhaenys wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t ask about all dragons. I asked you where you found your dragon.”

“Don’t be rude, my little fawn.” Aemon said as he entered with Jocelyn, pressing a kiss to Rhaenys’ hair. Aemon then held out Jocelyn’s chair for her next to Rhaenys and took his own place across from Alysanne.

“Papa, I’m a dragon not a fawn.” Rhaenys said, rolling her eyes in a passable imitation of Saera.

“Oh? Mayhaps, a winged fawn?” Jocelyn said with a smile. “Or an antlered dragon?”

“Mama, dragons don’t have antlers. They have horns. Dragonkeeper Aelyx told me that the difference is that antlers can be shed, whereas horns are made of bone, and built into the skull.” Rhaenys said very seriously. She then turned back to Lord Qoherys. “So, where is your dragon from? Um, my lord?” Rhaenys tacked on at the end, glancing at her father.

“Valyria.” Lord Qoherys repeated.

Rhaenys exhaled, clearly annoyed, then said, “And what is your dragon’s name?”

Lord Qoherys smiled at being given a different question. “Jadewing, in the common tongue.”

Rhaenys brightened at not being given a roundabout answer again. “And how old is she? She looked really big when you flew over the city earlier! Almost as big as the Black Dread!”

“Maybe as big as Vhagar, sweetling.” Jocelyn said. Rhaenys pouted but nodded at the correction.

Lord Qoherys thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I haven’t actually asked her.”

“Lord Qoherys, you’re silly.” Rhaenys announced.

“And how would a renowned keeper of dragonlore like yourself ascertain her age?” Lord Qoherys asked.

Rhaenys' eyes twinkled, as if she had led their guest into a trap. “Dragonkeeper Aelyx said that there’s a secret way. He said that if you count all the ridges on a dragon’s tail, and divide it by two, you can tell. But he also said that most dragons are always moving their tails or lying down in ways that it’s hard to see them. But he tested this with the Black Dread and said that he was older than the Doom!”

“Well of course he is,” Saera said, rolling her eyes. “Everyone knows that.” Rhaenys glared at her aunt, who wasn’t looking at her at all.

“I shall keep that in mind.” Lord Qoherys said diplomatically, before rolling his eyes upwards in thought. “…somewhere in her seventies, I should think. I haven’t counted.”

“It can be difficult.” Rhaenys nodded knowingly. “Dragonkeeper Aelyx says it’s hard work telling the dragon’s bottom from the tail in terms of where the counting ridges start.”

“Rhaenys, don’t talk about dragon bottoms at the table!” Viserra whined.

Rhaenys stuck out her tongue at Viserra, then surreptitiously hid her mouth behind a linen towel provided by the servants when her mother looked. Alysanne chuckled to herself – Rhaenys’ deception may have worked better if they had already been served the first course.

“If not for the rain, I would have…” Alyssa was saying as she and Baelon entered the room. Alyssa cut herself off as she noticed Lord Qoherys. He smiled and waved at her, seemingly carefree.  Alyssa’s eye began to twitch, and Baelon, who peered over his wife’s shoulder, looked as if he had aged ten years. This certainly would be an interesting meal.

**************************************************************

Saera

The courses had been served and yet Saera was as bored as ever. Her family were so controlling. They forced her to be with the idiots they called children. ‘That isn’t even the worst of it.’  Saera thought. After all she was all but sat next to a peasant. If it had not annoyed her father so much, she would not have done it at all. Still, it gave her a good opportunity to enjoy the Arbor Gold un-watered. She had not really been following the conversation much only offering whatever commentary would annoy her parents the most. ‘Especially mother, that bitch’. It was exceedingly dull, for the most part. Her parents guest was seven-and-ten, raised in Volantis. Truly pointless talk unworthy of her attention.

“So, my lord. You mentioned earlier today that you had served in the disputed lands. How old were you when you did this?” Aemon said, craning around his wife, daughter, and then sister to look at their guest. The rest of the family stopped their idle conversation to listen in, like the nosey fucks they all were. Saera took a sip of her wine and tried to pretend she wasn’t also listening. Lord Qoherys paused his eating as Saera lowered her goblet.

“Who cares?” She commented loudly. Clearly the man was just going to dodge the conversation again. She did not think much of it before she heard a chuckle from Lord Qoherys. She looked at him and saw a wide toothy grin. If nothing else, he was attractive to look at. That said, she was still confused by him and she preferred men who made sense.

“My lord, what is so funny?” Baelon asked, perhaps the most on edge Saera had ever seen him. Lord Qoherys forced himself to stop laughing which took a few moments.

“It is only… that is the first question the Princess Saera has asked at the table. It is pleasant to not have it thrown in my direction.” He responded bringing a linen towel to his face, ostensibly to tidy it but mostly to try and hide the smile. He was better at it than Rhaenys but his eyes still shone with mirth, instead of looking half-dead and blank. His eyes up until this point had reminded her of a shark that had washed up in Blackwater Bay after a storm. Saera had seen it when she and the family had gone down to the waterline to inspect the damage.

“I do not see how that is funny.” Alyssa stared at him, how long had her eye been twitching for? That could not be healthy.

“That does not surprise me.” Lord Qoherys continued to hold his smirk. Saera had taken a sip at the exact wrong moment, causing it to slosh out of her mouth and goblet.

“Oh, Saera. I think that’s enough for tonight.” Saera’s mother sighed, clearly disappointed and not bothering to hide it. Nor her condescension.

“Here, princess.” Lord Qoherys passed his linen towel to her which she quickly took to dab at her face. Once done she set it to one side and prepared to begin eating again.

“Saera?” Her mother called to her, expecting a response. Saera rolled her eyes and looked at her mother. Her mother had an eyebrow raised, a clear signal of her opinion on the matter. Saera would usually challenge it, but she just wanted everyone to move past her…mishap.

“Very well.” Saera sighed. She turned to Lord Qoherys, he did not seem to care either way, simply observing the family exchange. Saera decided it was best to get this over with and apologise. “Thank yo-” Or at least she had intended to but she got caught up in something. His eyes were so intense, the light reflecting off the violet like the finest amethyst she had ever seen. She had seen her favourite Beesbury from this close before and Perianne and Alys, but these were something else. Their eyes did not reflect the light as gemstones in the sunlight. Her father said something. She couldn’t discern it, distracted as she was. “Your eyes are so… beautiful.” She voiced absentmindedly.

“Saera!” Her father snapped. She turned on instinct to snap back. What did the old man want now?

“What?” She spat back as venomously as she could.

Immediately, Saera realised two things. Firstly, she was being sent to more childminding sessions – where the septas insisted she was a child to be minded. This was her parents’ favourite punishment lately. Her father looked furious; her mother resigned. Her older siblings looked various shades of aghast, while Rhaenys and Viserra seemed mostly confused. Gael, the stupid baby, was ignoring all of this entirely. Secondly, Saera realised she had just made the remark about Lord Qoherys’ eyes aloud, in front of her overly protective and restrictive family. By the gods, it wasn’t as if she had complimented his cock. Her father went to say something but before she could she had bolted out of her chair and left the room. Where to, she did not yet know but she was not going to hear what the old fuck had to say.

She heard someone call out for her as she ran as fast as she could. In her shoes, made for lounging around the Red Keep, she could not go exceedingly fast. She kicked them off and hoped that whoever followed would trip on them. The person kept calling for her — it was either her father or Aemon. They sounded very similar from a distance. Despite not being especially fast, over a decade of adventures had taught her the hallways and tunnels of the Red Keep well. She could feel tears of frustration welling up. ‘Its not fair. It is not fair. They're going to ruin my life over one stupid compliment!’ Eventually she came to one of the small, secluded gardens which dotted the Keep. It was relatively hidden so she should be safe here for a moment. Various species of well-tended to plants framed the walkways through the courtyard. Saera wanted to smash them just to make a point but the noise might draw attention. She just stood there staring at the plants while the events of the dinner played out again in her mind’s eye. ‘It doesn’t matter. I am better than all of them.’

“My my.” Lord Qoherys’ voice pierced her thoughts like a dagger thrust through plate. Saera jumped and looked at him. Dressed in those rags he had no right looking as collected as he did. He was leaning against one of the stone pillars forming an arch into the courtyard, wearing his signature ‘smile’. She felt heat rise to her face and looked away.

“What do you want?” Saera said, baring her teeth. Unlike him, she made it clear that it was no smile at all.

“Your family all went to search for you, barring the little ones of course. I supposed an extra set of eyes could be of assistance.” He stopped before chuckling to himself. “Especially if they’re beautiful.”

Saera’s temper flared again. “So that’s it? You’re going to drag me back to them? Just so that the king will be oh-so-grateful and grace you with his presence? What was it you wanted, then?” Each word became more filled with hatred as she slowly got closer to him. As she approached, he straightened but the smirk never left his face. It sat there, almost inhuman. By the time she finished they were no more than a step apart.

“That depends, I suppose.” He said as his face became blank again. If nothing else, that calmed her ire slightly, strange as it was.

“On what?” Saera asked tilting her head slightly. She could still feel the path her tears had taken down her face.

“If you need, or desire, an ally. Someone to help you get out from under the thumb of, how did you put it, the oh-so-grateful king.”

“I already have friends who’ll help me.” Saera said. Why did she feel like she was trying to convince herself of something? “Besides, why would you even do that for me?”

“You’re funny.” Lord Qoherys shrugged. “Consider it payment for making dinner just that little bit more interesting.” His smirk returned to his face, although this time it sat a little more naturally. Gods, he looked good. She really wanted to say ‘no’ but even as she felt the word rising to her mouth she hesitated. There was a long silence as she turned over the offer, staring at him the entire time.

“On one condition.” Saera said holding up a slender finger. “I want to go flying, I want that freedom. Prove you can give me that and we’ll be… allies,” She fluttered her eyes slightly, making the implication clear. She did expect some colour to seep into his pale face, Beesbury and Connington always did. Lord Qoherys did not react at all.

“So be it. A flight it is.” He said looking up to sky. “But first I think you shall need to return to your family, lest they wake the entire keep.”

“Very well.” Saera sighed. “Lead the way, oh handsome jailer.” She gave a little laugh at her own joke. As did he.

Chapter Text

Alysanne

Alysanne had found the last few days had been shockingly normal following the dinner incident, the immediate fallout of which was the most tumultuous she had seen in a while. Jaehaerys was furious at the improper conduct of their daughter, more so the running away and being alone with their guest than the comment. He had sentenced her to be contained in her rooms for the foreseeable future, with only septas and family members to speak with her.

Aemon and Baelon had both spoken to their parents of their concerns regarding the new arrival. Alysanne was inclined to agree with her boys, given Lord Qoherys’ comportment at dinner. He hardly gave a straight answer and seemed entirely self-absorbed. Despite that, his escorts around the castle had informed her that he had done nothing out of the ordinary, spending most of his time at the Red Keep and venturing into the city on only two occasions. Once to acquire some clothes, and the other to visit a brothel. 

Alyssa proved by far the most enraged, saying that he was an omen which would bring doom to their family. She had a propensity to be dramatic at times but Alysanne wasn’t willing to ignore the possibility either. In any case, nought had changed for the most part and the realm continued to turn as it ought to, with most none the wiser about the discord that the ruling family had been thrown into.

Alysanne found herself at the finely carved oaken door to Saera’s bedchamber. As per Jaehaerys’ ruling, Saera had remained within her chambers. As per Saera’s ruling, she had refused to emerge from her bedchamber at all, and no one particularly wanted to waste time and energy pulling her out. Alysanne had had a long talk with Jaehaerys while she held Gael, which had finally led to him rescinding Saera’s punishment. Alysanne sighed, wondering how Saera had grown to be so unruly, even by comparison to Alyssa. She tapped on the door gently, a moment later it was opened by a septa.

Alysanne walked into the quite spacious chamber filled with a 4-poster bed and various decorative pieces of furniture. Saera was lounging on a silk and hardwood couch. She did not seem to be doing anything in the moment beyond enjoying a glass of Dornish red, swirling her cup idly as she studied the dregs. Alysanne had no idea from whence she had acquired it. Saera’s face soured as she saw her mother.

“Oh. It’s you.” Saera spat.

“Leave us.” Alysanne addressed the cadre of septas who were all still watching Saera like hawks. Or perhaps, more accurately, like a flock of chickens watching a hawk. They all quickly departed the room.

“What do you want?” Saera asked, despite turning away, refusing to look at her mother. Alysanne waited a moment, deciding whether she should challenge Saera’s behaviour. In the end she just sighed, knowing any comment was likely to double her daughter’s resolve. Gods above, even Vaegon was less of a trouble.

“Your father and I have been talking…” She began. Saera continued to refuse to look at her, so Alysanne continued. “We are going to allow you to wander again. Starting tomorrow.” Saera turned to her with a slight twinkle in her eye at last. Alysanne privately wished that she saw her daughter happy more often.

“Does this mean I can go into the city?” Saera asked, almost shockingly fast.

“I don’t think…” Alysanne could already see that little sparkle fade slightly. “Maybe. I will speak to your father about it.” She felt terrible suddenly.

“No then.” Saera said, returning to ignoring her. Alysanne wanted to talk more but Saera seemed determined to shut her out. Alysanne found herself sighing again, disappointed that they couldn’t just talk as a mother and a daughter, the way that she herself had been able to do with her mother. She departed the room and instructed the septas, who had flocked in their chicken-like way just outside of the bedroom, to give Saera a few minutes. Alysanne also instructed them to find Perianne Moore and Alys Turnberry, perhaps her favourites — within reason, not that concerning Beesbury boy — would cheer her up.

**************************************************************

Valerion Qoherys

It had been 5 days since his arrival in the capital and Valerion already found it was not what he was expecting. He had been received into the guest quarters and given a modest space, his treasures and meagre possessions from Essos had arrived and he had spent the last half week meeting the members of court. Yet he still felt himself drawn back to the Princess Saera and their conversation in the courtyard. For all his life he had only thought of Harrenhal. His family's seat. His home, his mother had said to him. Now that he was finally here however, he found himself less interested in a ruin compared to the allure of Saera Targaryen. At first, he thought it was a simple matter of not getting his cock wet, but he had visited a brothel two days ago and remained vexed.

He had seen little of her since the end of their eventful dinner. When they returned to the solar the royal couple had promptly dismissed him. Baelon had approached him the day after, seeking to learn what transpired in the garden. Valerion simply said he had found her there and they had talked. It was, after all, the truth. After that, he had managed to steer clear of the royal family, beyond Rhaenys asking him a question about Jadewing any time they happened to pass by. Given the way he had heard armour clanking, and the exertion on the faces of her guards, Rhaenys was taking every opportunity to seek him out.

Valerion had taken to distracting himself in the training yard, especially after the brothel failed satisfy him. After the rainstorm had abated the weather remained quite amiable, allowing him to practice frequently. While several of the girls of the court had taken to watching him training, they did keep their distance. He was grateful for small mercies. While they were comely he had little desire to deal with wroth fathers and the like. Annoyingly, he had already received several challenges from the knights of the court. Usually, they were wise enough to withdraw that request after a strike or two. One however was proving particularly bothersome, Ser Braxton Beesbury a knight of seven-and-ten. He clearly thought that their shared age made him an equal to Valerion. Beesbury was loud, obnoxious and while skilled, still managed to be overconfident.

He had challenged Valerion once each day for the last 3 days, each time receiving the same answer. “I do not fight boys who pretend at war.” (Ser Gyles Morrigen had had a coughing fit nearby when Valerion first said this, but it was probably old age and the dust of the training yard catching up to him.) At first, Valerion believed that Beesbury simply saw a challenge in him but something told him that there was a deeper motivation. Something to investigate later.

As he prepared another bout with a training dummy he was interrupted by a cough. Unlike Ser Gyles and his coughing fit, this cough was slight and gentle, more to draw attention than clear the lungs. He turned to see a maiden. One he recognised, but whose name he could not place. She had dark curly hair and wore a fine, amber-coloured dress. He was certain that this was not Prince Aemon’s Baratheon wife — he had seen her once or twice with Rhaenys. This maiden also seemed too young in truth. The girl was holding what appeared to be a note in her hand, which looked somewhat out of place. It was not the gentle, perfumed letters of ladies that the knights sometimes boasted of but rather a scrap of torn parchment. “My lord, I have a letter for you.” She spoke, though not with any great confidence.

“Oh. And who has sent me such a letter?” He asked bluntly, not taking kindly to the interruption of the only source of stress management he had found in the last week. She simply held out the note waiting for him to collect it. It was not just torn, but also folded, as though it would keep eyes off its contents. He rolled his eyes before taking the letter and tucking it away.

“Are you going to…” The lady began to speak though she halted when his glare intensified. “Apologies.” She muttered, quickly walking away towards some of the other spectating girls.

Valerion sighed, knowing that the note at the very least could not be ignored. It was the first time he had received a direct missive via parchment at the Red Keep. He left the training ground briskly and returned to his quarters. Once inside, he read it;

Valerion

I am being released from these suffocating confines tonight. I expect my condition to be met tomorrow.

Your future ally

He could not help but chuckle to himself. As if he needed the reminder at all. He had been itching to return to the sky and was more than happy to annoy the king in the process. After all, it was terribly dull merely wandering the halls of the keep and speaking to those who treated him as a mere curiosity. Still, these walls had ears of their own or so he had heard. He took the note and tore it up, then stoked the fire and burned it scrap by scrap to ashes, obliterating any eligibility of the words therein.

Now all he had to do was wait. Still perhaps he could turn the wait into something productive. Valerion began pouring through the treasures which had arrived from his expedition. Ancient coins bearing long dead dragons, intricately crafted sculptures, damaged and fragmented pottery were only some of the things he had discovered, although they were not what he looked for. Opening one of the travel chests which contained no fewer than 5 battered manuscripts. Each manuscript seemed at risk of falling apart if not handled carefully. In addition, each was bound in hard leather, baring one which was encased in black Valyrian Steel covers, with any further detailing having faded in the Doom and its aftermath. Valerion had taken to studying these tomes when one of the surviving passages, which contained evidence of old Valyrian construction, had caught his eye. However, even these masterworks were not his focus.

Instead Valerion turned his attention to the sixth ‘book’, though calling it such a thing did the other grand artifacts a disservice. A small loosely bound collection of papers barely the thickness of a blade. The notes themselves were written erratically in a near untrained, spidery hand. Valerion had spent much time deciphering little from the archaic and faded script. Despite this, Valerion knew exactly what they depicted; magic. Or at least, a madman’s interpretation of magic. Valerion recited the few words he could read under his breath, understanding their importance if he was to succeed here. Despite himself, he shivered.

**************************************************************

Saera

Saera left her room for the first time in near a week, smiling and almost skipping down the halls. While her septas may have thought that she was simply enjoying her returned freedom, she was elated for a different reason. She was going to fly today. Well, that was the main reason. She had also enjoyed her ‘practice’ session with her friends yesterday, which had not been possible for the last few days. Pretty Peri may have been a bit nervous, but she had plenty of fun later.

She made her way to the training yard; it was always good fun to ogle the men as they fought. Saera made note of the weather, which was sunny but overcast with the occasional cloud. A pleasant time to take to the sky. She found Peri and Alys stood together watching Jonah and Red Roy practicing. Both were passably skilled at arms, but could not compare to Ser Braxton Beesbury who was also with them. He was already famed for his skill at arms which had earned him the moniker ‘the stinger’. Privately, Saera was hoping to find out if that was the only reason for his nickname, or if he had some hidden talent that she had not seen during their time together, once against an armoury wall. Then again, 'the prick' didn't sound as good.  

“Greetings, Princess.” Alys said, curtsying slightly. They may have been friends, but Saera still enjoyed the formalities. She was still royalty, after all.

“Sweetberry,” she said before leaning in, to whisper in her ear. “Do you see anything you like?” She winked as they turned their attention to the practice yard. Alys blushed fiercely but her eyes darted over to Roy. Saera turned to her other friend while Alys composed herself. Peri was watching the boys still not paying attention to her. “Well?” Peri jumped slightly and saw Saera.

“Oh um…He got it.” Peri might have been less of Idiot than Alys, hence why she had been trusted to deliver her message, but that wasn’t exactly saying much.

“And?” Saera pressed growing more impatient.

“He put it away and left the yard afterwards. I didn’t see him for the rest of the day.” Peri smiled like she had achieved something grand, as opposed to the bare minimum. Saera could see Beesbury admiring her from the yard, but she opted to ignore him in favour of her search. The yard was full of knights, squires and footman of all kinds but Saera only wanted to find one.

She found him practicing by himself against a training dummy, although perhaps 'practicing' was a generous term. Valerion was repeatedly striking his target with such force that splinters of wood were coming away from his training sword. Saera found herself wandering away from her companions and drifting across the yard until she was comfortably within earshot of her knight. She was vaguely aware of her friends trailing behind her. She simply admired his form for a moment while he was engrossed in his imaginary battle.

“You know, it would be much more interesting if it could hit back.” She found herself smirking. He stopped and turned to her. He was glistening and flushed, she could see the outline of his muscles through his linen shirt, under the boiled leather. While he seemed to have retained his special armour, he was not wearing it in the yard. It was probably best not to tempt the lesser knights, after all.  

“I do not think a living person could withstand the force.” Valerion said wiping away some of the sweat from his brow. “Though if you think that would be interesting to watch, then I suppose I understand.” He shrugged, placing what remained of his practice sword away and closing the distance between them. He stopped a few steps away from her, close enough to touch.

“Are you very… forceful then?” Saera bit her lip, drawing it between her teeth in a practiced manner. As expected, Valerion Qoherys’ eyes watched the movement. She had perfected that trick some time ago, and was pleased that even he was beholden to it.

“Judge for yourself, princess.” Valerion said.

Saera stepped forward. “Oh, Lord Qoherys. I would love to take you up on such an offer.”

His eyes flicked to her mouth again and he swallowed, then he resorted to clearing his throat. It didn’t work – there was still a husky tone to it when he spoke. “Unfortunately, if I agree to what I believe you are implying, your family truly will have cause to murder me and I imagine you will be kept inside until the day you die.”

“Why not give me something to live for, then?” Saera purred.

Valerion Qoherys raised an eyebrow and smirked at her. “And what about that ride I am to give you?”

“I didn’t know you would be the one underneath me. If not, then can you really say you are giving me a ride?” Saera chuckled. Valerion was apparently about to reply, when a training sword was thrown at him, hitting him in the face. Both of them turned to look at the assailant.

Beesbury was standing there, spitting mad, with a sword of his own. “Pick it up.” He snapped.
Saera wrinkled her nose at him. He was being frightfully dull right now—couldn’t he see she was busy with Lord Qoherys? He could pursue his mannish thoughts of fighting later.

“I already told you today I wouldn’t fight you.” Lord Qoherys sounded bored. “I thought you would come back tomorrow to be told no a fifth time.”

“Pick it up, coward.” Beesbury snapped. “You’ll soon find that there are rules here to be followed.”

“What, and you make them?” Lord Qoherys crossed his arms.

“Pick it up, or I’ll tell everyone that your mother was the bastard daughter of Gargon Qoherys, and that stupid knife you’re proud of was the payment your grandmother received for lying with him. If it’s even true that she knows who your mother’s father was.” Beesbury snapped.

Red Roy and Jonah had wandered away from their own targets at some point, escorting Alys and Peri. Clearly, they were as interested in this dick-wagging as Beesbury was. The boys also looked more serious about it – idiots. As if her father would just let Beesbury murder Valerion in the training yard. Regardless, Beesbury’s little tantrum had drawn the attention of several footmen and worse, Ser Aeryk Scales. Though he had not yet intervened he was certainly watching closely. Saera rolled her eyes, why did everyone ruin her fun.

“Braxton stop…” Saera had intended to enforce her authority. This intrusion was not to be tolerated, and she would have seen it end. She was the princess. They had to listen to her. She was, however, interrupted by her ally.

“Princess,” Lord Qoherys spoke with a gravitas that caused her to ignore the insult of interruption. Looking to him she could see fury brimming within his eyes. “I think it best if you step back.” Saera took some steps away and returned to her companions. Men truly were fools. By the time she made it, Lord Qoherys had already picked up the training blade and both men were circling each other.

Saera may have not known much of martial matters, but she had seen the boys fighting often enough. Valerion was taller by half-a-head and seemed the stronger. Despite that she had no idea if he had ever been formally trained whereas Beesbury was a renowned fighter. Her assessment was cut short by the first crossing of their training blades. Beesbury attempted a slash which had been unconventionally deflected. Beesbury was quick to recover and threw flurry after flurry at Lord Qoherys. Peri gasped, because she was dramatic like that. Saera, meanwhile, kept her eyes keenly on the fight. Maybe there would be some blood to show for all of this. Lord Qoherys may have seemed aloof at first but was clearly fighting on the defensive now.

“Stingers got this.” Jonah said confidently. “Ten stags on him.”

“You always say that.” Red Roy replied. “I like the look of the newcomer myself.”

“Jonah’s always right.” Peri noted. Saera glanced at her. Peri flushed but didn’t take it back.

“Shut up.” Saera snapped before Alys could intervene as well. If she wanted commentary from these four, she would have asked for it.

The last 30 seconds had been nothing but Lord Qoherys fending off Beesbury’s relentless assault. Just when she thought Lord Qoherys’ guard had dropped, he did something unexpected. Lord Qoherys grabbed the training blade with his offhand and headbutted Beesbury with such force she heard a crack. She vaguely hoped it was Beesbury’s skull – he deserved it for ruining her conversation. Everyone around them – this little fight had apparently drawn other spectators from across the yard – began muttering, ignoring her order to shut up.

“Bastard!” Beesbury shouted holding his bloodied nose a moment. The insult was likely unintentional but did nothing beyond further stoking Lord Qoherys’ ire. “You cheating fuck!” Beesbury continued. Saera smiled – he sounded a bit muffled now. Just what he needed, really.

“All’s fair in war. You would know that if you’d ever fought a real battle, Ser.” Lord Qoherys’ injected enough venom into the last word to make it seem an insult. As he did so he wiped the blood from his forehead away and readied his guard. “Try again, if you think you can.”

Beesbury screamed bloody murder, though what he was trying to say was lost on Saera. Instead, he just attempted to overpower Lord Qoherys with a serious of hard, fast blows. Once again, Beesbury’s attacks seemed to overwhelm Lord Qoherys who was quickly thrown on the defensive. Again, once he was surely overwhelmed, he went for Beesbury’s blade. This time however, ‘The Stinger’ was true to his name, feinting under Lord Qoherys’ arm and striking his blade from his other hand. Even as his training sword dropped to the ground, he trapped Beesbury’s sword between his arm and his body, pulled his dagger from his belt and using raw strength forced its fine edge to Beesbury’s neck.

She was certain that for a moment she would see Beesbury fall to the ground his neck split in two. She would have even been looking forward to it if she didn’t know that Ser Aeryk would immediately go running to her father. She could still see the fury in Lord Qoherys’ eyes, his self control hanging by a thread. Whether he wished to kill Beesbury or not quickly left that control as Ser Aeryk Scales forced them apart. Beesbury scampered back slightly getting out of Lord Qoherys’ reach.

“You’re insane!” Beesbury shouted. “And you better stay away from her!” Saera could only roll her eyes. Beesbury had disappointed her enough – he was dull, and she didn’t like dull things. Peri and Alys were exceptions, because they were fun in other ways. Beesbury was simply stupid and annoying, like a persistent bee in the garden.

Lord Qoherys hardly seemed to be listening as he sheathed his dagger and quickly departed the yard, headed inside. Saera did not run after him – princesses do not run after knights – but she did dispatch Peri and Alys to do so as she could not keep up with Valerion’s stride. Indeed, he seemed flummoxed enough with Peri and Alys trying to stop him that he ground to a halt after marching down a few corridors.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Saera demanded as she walked up. Brave little Peri was trying to bodily block Valerion Qoherys – her arms and legs stretched out as if she was in Saera’s bed during practice. She also had the same intense look of concentration. Unfortunately even simple instructions were sometimes too much for Peri. Alys, vaguely smarter, had grabbed hold of Valerion’s arm. A look from Saera got her to stop that quickly.

“I agree, where do your ladies think that they’re going?” Valerion Qoherys asked.

Saera lifted her chin. “I did not dismiss you.”

Valerion narrowed his eyes at her, then swept a bow. “Then may I be dismissed, my lady?”

“No. You two are.” Saera snapped her fingers and nodded at Peri and Alys. Alys then dragged Peri off. Saera stepped closer to Valerion. It was a rarely used corridor, sunlight from windows piercing through and showing dust dancing in the air. It was the perfect place to get away.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Saera repeated, voice low and husky.

“I don’t know. My princess has not given me leave to be dismissed, it seems.” Valerion continued to glare at her. It sent a small thrill through her. His princess.

“Why are you angry with me? I didn’t do anything.” Saera ran her fingers along his shoulder as if brushing off a bit of dust.

Valerion raised an eyebrow at her. “No? And that lummox out there doesn’t belong to you?”

“As of today? No. I’ve found someone more… interesting to spend my time with.” Saera said, smiling slowly as if they knew a secret.

“Oh? And how long until I am once again forced to fight for your amusement?” Valerion asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Mm, never. I think it’s rather dull, men hitting one another with sticks. Of course, you livened it up a bit with Valyrian Steel in the training yard.” Saera did not bother to keep the excitement out of her voice.

His face began to relax, clearly deriving some enjoyment from the sparring of their words. “And surely, your family would disapprove of such behaviour from me?”

“Oh, I’m sure they would. Father would frown ever so dreadfully.” Saera feigned pouting.

Valerion bared his teeth to her in his wolfish grin. “And we can’t have that.”

“Oh no, by all means, please let’s have that.”

He barked out a laugh at that. Saera smirked. He had shoulder-length hair, most of which was tied back. However it had become loose during the fight, and one or two tendrils had completely escaped.

She reached up wrapping a lock of his hair around her finger. “Of course, speaking of me saying please… I believe you promised me a ride?”

“Princess, I don’t believe you said please for that.”

Saera made her eyes go big so he could see them fully. “I’m saying it now, ser. Please will you take me out, as you promised?”

He paused for a moment, his eyes searching hers for something or simply considering something himself. Finally he said, “Well, who am I to break a promise to a lady? However, I have no idea how we would get out of here without your father, brothers, sisters, hangers-on, septas, and Gods know whoever else finding out.”

Saera released the tendril of his hair but stayed close. “Don’t worry, I can handle that.” She leaned slightly closer and he tensed. Apparently he believed she was about to kiss him. She parted her lips slightly, as if in anticipation, then pushed the loose stone that revealed the nearest passageway. He jolted, as he had been leaning near its entrance.

“A lady of secrets indeed.” He chuckled, after regaining his footing.
Saera giggled. “Truthfully, I only know about them. Great-Uncle Maegor was the one who actually put them here. All over the Red Keep. Now come, this one lets out near the throne room, then we should be able to take another to just beyond the gate. The guards shouldn’t see us there.”

“Lead on my princess” Valerion faked a bow, letting Saera guide them through the bowels of the Red Keep.

**************************************************************

Valerion

Valerion found Princess Saera a person of hidden talents. She had long memorised the intertwining tunnels and corridors of the Red Keep as if she had a hand in crafting some of them herself. Indeed, it did not take more than a short time before they found themselves in the city proper. Not needing the attention of a very well-dressed lady in the city itself, he had quickly ‘borrowed’ a steed and they had ridden out via the Mud Gate. The guard of the city was not particularly disciplined and as such it was an easy thing to leave the city proper.

The princess was sat on the horse in front of him and he had to reach his hands around her to hold the reins. More than once, the gait of the horse pushed her further against him – at least, if it was the gait of the horse, which he himself found remarkably surefooted – and he could swear her hands were not where they were meant to be on the saddle horn. Her right hand seemed to be on his knee. Apparently, secret passages were not her only talents – she was a talented rider, to deal with such distractions. He could swear on more than one occasion her hands ‘slipped’. While her somewhat poorly hidden pawing was a source of distraction, Valerion was fortunately a passable rider in his own right. It did not take much movement of the sun before they were off the road and into a cluster of trees near the clearing.

“We will have to walk from here, my princess.” Valerion dismounted the horse some distance away. Best not bring the horse directly to Jadewing lest she think it a snack. The princess was looking down and eyeing him from the saddle. She was beautiful, something she surely knew. Valerion placed both hands on Saera's waist and lifted her down.

“So far this ride has been terribly mundane.” Saera pouted, though her purple eyes spoke with an amusement which betrayed her excitement.

“If that is the case, we best not keep our mount waiting.” Valerion held out his hand which Saera took. “This way, princess.” Valerion said, walking slowly to match pace with her. While they walked, Saera did not speak seemingly concentrating to ensure she did not ruin her dress. Valerion found himself admiring the pale red garment and how it clung well to her slender body. Gods, what was he thinking? Why did he care? It went beyond just the idea of tupping her – though that was, admittedly, very appealing. The whore who had taken his ardour the other day could attest to that.

He had never cared about anyone else before. Even his mother had been an afternote to the castle he had never seen, and his sister... a matter for another day. He had fought wars and risked The Doom of Valyria to get to this point. Why was he risking what little station he had on this… oh shit. She was looking at him.

“Well?” Saera repeated this time turning her head slightly.

“Apologies, princess. Your Westerosi crone saw fit to steal away my thoughts for a moment.” Valerion could not help but admire her face. It certainly was a fine thing, even when it was scrunched up in some peculiar way. Perhaps more so then. He wanted to see her make more expressions – delight, anger, underneath him while he chased away all thoughts from her head… no. That way lay madness and scandal. More so than he was already risking.

“It does not do for you to ignore your princess.” Saera proclaimed boldly. “You will have to… assist me as recompense.” She smirked before turning and continuing. Valerion quickly caught up, knowing that they were getting closer. What few trees remained were had thin and more of the sunlight broke through the canopy of branches revealing the rather titanic green scaled form of Jadewing.

It appeared that in his absence she had curled up into herself resting upon the earth and dirt. Several charred and burned bones served as evidence of that which had encroached upon the clearing and not been eaten whole. Though it mattered little to Valerion, the clearing was not near any settlement therefore if human bones were among the piles, then the fault lay with them. As he began to enter the clearing, Jadewing regarded him with one open eye. She then shifted and unfurled. Her saddle, a somewhat homemade thing, borne of whatever little crafting skill he had was still attached to her. Her molten bronze eyes settled upon the woman with him. Jadewing rose her head, emitting a low growl at the perceived intrusion.  

Saera had been walking confidently towards Jadewing before the growl, at which point the princess froze and looked to Valerion with wide eyes. Valerion had not seen her frightened before, although he supposed it made sense in this context. Turning away from Jadewing a moment, he stepped in close to Saera. “Are you perhaps scared, my princess?” He breathed into the shell of her ear, almost touching.

She shivered. “Of course not.”

“Fear not, Princess. I will protect you.” He said, twisting a loose strand of her hair around his finger as she had done to him earlier. She gasped, not expecting the sudden sensation. He released her, tucking the hair gently behind her ear. He reached for her hand clasping it gently. She looked at him for a quiet moment and Valerion could swear he saw a little colour upon her cheeks.

“Of course you will. You know there will be… consequences if you don’t.” She said, looking past him to the dragon. Valerion approached Jadewing, holding Saera’s hand. Jadewing was still not entirely comfortable in the presence of humans, especially not others. Despite this, she begrudgingly accepted the interloper as it was clear her rider had. She brought her head low any residual rumbling ceased, and awaited instruction. Valerion brought Saera’s hand clasped in his own to Jadewing’s snout. Even through his princesses’ hand he could feel the heat Jadewing emitted. 'Fire made flesh, indeed', he thought to himself.

He let his own hand fall leaving Saera alone touching Jadewing. “How does she feel?” He asked. Saera chuckled slightly to herself before removing her hand.

“Are you asking me, or the dragon? To me, she’s very warm.” Saera said, placing the same hand on his chest. Valerion found his breathe catch in his chest again. “Though I confess, I enjoy touching you more.” She purred, leaning into him slightly. However a loud exhale of warm air from Jadewing interrupted the princess’s game, causing her to roll her eyes. Valerion could not help but grin. He was vaguely aware that his smile had changed since returning from Valyria, caught sight of the teeth in a looking glass once or twice before looking away. Princess Saera did not seem to mind his smile.

“Shall we?” He said as he began to climb onto Jadewing. Once situated he held his hand to Saera. She did not need to respond with words, as a wide grin plastered itself on her face and she reached for his hand, quickly finding herself situated behind him on the saddle. “I advise you strap yourself in, princess.” Valerion said, handing her the straps which he used to secure himself on other flights.

“What of you?” She asked as she took them and attached herself to the saddle securing the straps against each other.

“I will be well. Besides, I prefer to know you are safe.” Valerion said matter-of-factly.

“Oh. Really?” She responded, placing her hands along his waist.

“Of course.” He grabbed onto the reins causing Jadewing to snap to attention and begin to shuffle awaiting the inevitable command. “Now, where do you wish to fly? If anywhere.”

Saera thought for a moment. What thoughts ran through her head then were her own, but Valerion could guess that she was grappling with the freedom she found herself with in this moment. “I have always wished to see the Dragonmont from above.”

“Dragonstone it is then.” He chuckled. Of all the places it was painfully obvious. “Sōvēs.” he commanded in Valyrian.

Jadewing began to beat her wings, causing the wind to rush around them, and after a few steps to gain momentum all three of them tore off the ground together.

**************************************************************

Aemon

Ever since Valerion Qoherys had arrived, Rhaenys had been more and more interested in dragons. Well, in fairness, she was interested in dragons anyway, but this seemed to be a turning point for her. She wanted to know more about Jadewing in particular, having memorised information about every single Targaryen dragon who had existed up until this point. Aemon was sure that she could recite Meraxes’ specifications in her sleep – which, naturally, meant that he and Jocelyn could as well.

So, to keep Rhaenys focused on Targaryen dragons, and not strange ones attached to stranger men, Aemon had been taking his little princess up in the air more and more often. Caraxes snorted smoke and grumbled a bit, but Aemon knew it was mostly for show. Aemon could swear the dragon had seemed almost worried when Rhaenys had tripped in front of him once, sniffing her and looking at Aemon as if he would explain the situation. Caraxes had a big heart, Aemon just knew it, despite everyone telling him that Caraxes was a misshapen wyrm. Hopefully, Caraxes would one day bond with another dragon and have eggs of his own, then everyone would see how good he was. Or hopefully, when Aemon passed, Rhaenys would ride Caraxes herself and take care of him. She certainly loved riding with her Papa though she was also aware, in no uncertain terms, that she was not to try riding Caraxes alone. Caraxes was good and Aemon knew this, but he also knew that Caraxes mostly tolerated Rhaenys for Aemon’s sake.

At the moment though, Aemon and Rhaenys soared above the stink and filth of King’s Landing. Rhaenys was laughing, full of joy as they soared the winds. Caraxes gave a strangled roar, similarly full of delight. Aemon smirked to himself before turning the reins, flying them through a cloud. The cloud parted in a haze of mist and water causing Rhaenys to cough a little, having inhaled some of it.

“Are you well, Rhaenys?” Aemon asked.

Rhaenys turned around a little in her seat, grinning. “Yes, Papa! It was just a little cold!” Aemon himself laughed. Nothing could go wrong on a day like today.

Caraxes beat his wings, then dove slightly, passing through another cloud of his own accord. Rhaenys didn’t have her mouth open for that one, at least. Aemon could see the city stretched below, hunched up on the side of the Blackwater like a line too closely stitched bunching the fabric. Silverwing or Vermithor roared in the direction of the Red Keep, presumably answering Caraxes’ earlier call.

The problem was that Aemon noticed Jadewing taking off from wherever Qoherys had stashed her in the Kingswood. Caraxes was still high above the city, and above the recently elevated Jadewing. The sun bore down upon them, and it no doubt concealed Caraxes' more lean and limber nature. Jadewing began to beat her wings and rise further. As she did Caraxes drifted closer, curious. Aemon felt his grip upon the reins tighten and his blood flow through his veins. He could see Qoherys, of course, but someone else as well – with long, white hair, that waved and snapped in the wind like a banner. Jadewing showed no sign of banking to fly around the city, as she had done before. Instead she turned north-east, passing over the open water of the Blackwater.

“Embrot, Caraxes!” Aemon called sharply.

“Papa!” Rhaenys cried out. “It’s too early!” Caraxes did not listen to her and sharply dove, landing sharply in the dragon pit. He slid upon the earth a bit with the force and grunted, clearly unhappy with it. Aemon quickly started undoing the straps on Rhaenys.

“Papa, what are you doing?” Rhaenys demanded.

“I think Lord Qoherys has taken away someone in the family. And I worry about that, not least because this is the only saddle I know of built for two.” Aemon said, before whistling for the Dragonkeepers. They came running as he began to unbuckle Rhaenys from her place on the saddle. “Send word to the Red Keep. Ready Meleys and Vhagar for Alyssa and Baelon.” Aemon ordered.

“And what about me, Papa?” Rhaenys said. “Why are you taking my straps off?”

Aemon did not know how to say that he felt that Qoherys may have gone too far this time. He did not know how to say that he never wanted Rhaenys to witness, let alone be in, a dragon battle. That he had no idea how this would be resolved without bloodshed, the kind that he had heard of from his parents regarding the death of Uncle Aegon. “Do you trust me, my little princess?”

Rhaenys twisted around to look at him. “Papa?”

Aemon kissed her forehead. “Be brave for me.” He lifted her off of Caraxes, and pushed her into the waiting arms of Dragonkeeper Aelyx, who was used to having to keep Rhaenys amused.

Aemon clicked his tongue. “Caraxes, sōvēs!” Caraxes straightened and launched himself into the air.

“Papa!” Rhaenys screamed after him. “Come back! Papa!” Aemon had no time to comfort her. Qoherys had almost definitely taken one of Aemon’s sisters – Saera, most likely, she had the impulse control of a gnat. She would have gotten on the dragon in the first place and flown off.

Aemon banked Caraxes to follow Jadewing who had continued north-east. He was fortunate he could still see her on the horizon. It didn’t seem very long before Alyssa caught up, giving him a hand-signal that they had worked out years ago – communication on dragon back was very hard otherwise. ‘What is happening?’

Aemon signalled back, ‘Enemy. Dragon. Non-combatant. Chase.’

Alyssa was probably frowning, Aemon could just see imagine it. ‘Dragon. Non-combatant?’ She ended it with the round motion that signalled a question, but that might have been her slowing Meleys to keep up with him.

‘No. Dragon, Enemy. Sister, Non-combatant.’ Aemon signalled back.

‘Sister. Enemy?’ Alyssa signalled. Aemon sighed. Well, she would probably see it that way, and it was easiest to describe her in the sign language that they had created.

‘Maybe. Unsure. You, Chase. Me, Fall back. Give information.’ Meleys could catch them. Caraxes couldn’t.

‘No. Parent. Unsure. Parent. You. Land. Repeat. No. You. Me. Chase.’ Alyssa signalled. Aemon personally thought that there were some limitations with the language but could understand her intentions. She was most probably communicating that their parents did not know the sign language and would have to land with him to have an explanation of the situation. She was saying that they should continue as fast as they could – not entirely unreasonable.

‘Yes. You. Chase. Fast. Me. Chase. Slow?’ The reality of the situation was that Meleys was simply faster than the other dragons.

Alyssa signed back ‘Yes’ before Meleys shot forward. Aemon believed he could see a smile on Alyssa's face, she was relishing the chance to utilise Meleys to her fullest extent. Meleys was always the fastest of the dragons, and Aemon had no doubt that Meleys would outpace Jadewing.

Hopefully, Meleys and Alyssa were faster than whatever wickedness Qoherys had taken Saera for.

**************************************************************

Saera

Saera may have been the one strapped down but she still felt like she was in a more precarious position compared to Valerion. He seemed to shift and move in tandem with the dragon beneath them, almost as if they were one. Saera had wrapped one arm around one of the straps and another around Valerion’s chest. And yet, regardless of any potential accidents, she was the happiest she had ever been. The smile on her face was so great that her cheeks were beginning to ache although, mayhaps that could be the wind whipping her hair around them. Even the Blackwater seemed more beautiful beneath her. In truth, it was not the only thing she could see that she wanted beneath her.

Valerion pushed Jadewing hard as it took only a few hours, judging by the sun, before the island of Driftmark and then Dragonstone were in sight. Shortly after that, they were lazily gliding around the island banking this way and that. Saera silently prayed that she would never have to walk the land again.

“Is it everything you imagined?” She heard Lord Qoherys ask her. She had to strain her ears to hear him and she was certain he had to raise his voice to make himself heard.

“Oh yes. I shall have to reward you for this.” She said adjusting herself to get as close to his ear as possible.

She heard him chuckle slightly. “Well in that case I-". Whatever he had been saying was sharply cut off as something slammed into Jadewing. The sound was heavy, as though the offending object was truly titanic. Saera felt her stomach drop, though that might have been the sudden movement opposed to her panic. Her vision was thrown into disarray, the only things she could see were the blue of the sky and Valerion in front of her.

Jadewing was being forced upwards from the blow by something huge – Saera glanced down seeing green and black scales underneath them, and one giant, green eye fixed upon them. Saera could not make out any further details before a giant claw tore Jadewing’s side. Jadewing screamed, Saera brought her hands to ears to rid herself of the horrid sound. She could feel them careening out of control, trying to keep out of the other dragon’s reach.

Saera screamed, and having failed to blind out the sounds around her wrapped her arms around Valerions chest. Saera squeezed him tight using him like an anchor to right herself in the midst of a terrible storm. Some distant part of her thought, ‘FUCK, it’s the Cannibal.’  Of all the things to ruin her fun, the one thing that wouldn’t listen to her. The Cannibal reached past them, and tried to bite at Jadewing’s neck. He was trying to grapple her, while she attempted to push him away. The gleaming black teeth and molten green eyes snapping open and closed rapidly in ravenous anger, until they found their mark. Jadewing roared in agony and writhed, desperately trying to dislodge the teeth in her neck.

“We’re going to die! We’re going to die!” Saera screamed louder than she had ever done before. 

“Not yet!” Valerion shouted – both to her, and to the Cannibal. He took the dagger from his belt and jammed it into the interloper's snout barely a few inches from his torso. Barely a few inches from her arms, she realised in a rush of dread. Perhaps more out of surprise than any form of pain, the Cannibal reeled back, releasing its prey for a brief moment. Valerion tugged the reins in the other direction and Jadewing quickly distanced herself from the Cannibal, a haze of dragons blood falling from her wounds.

Saera could hear the Cannibal’s wingbeat follow them closely. She felt the rush and heat of its fire as it tried to force Jadewing to the ground. It was working – Jadewing was losing altitude quicker than Valerion would have liked, given the swearing that Saera could hear. However, she did not dare look behind her. Saera squeezed her eyes shut and clung to Valerion for dear life.

“Zēatīkun, vēzot aderī!” Valerion shouted. Saera could not believe what she was hearing. Would getting her higher even work? With the best roar she could muster, Jadewing began to beat her wings harder and attempted to rise higher. Saera cracked an eye open and realised it was working. It wouldn’t work for long though – she could see the toll it was taking on Jadewing.

“We need to land! We need to get to the castle! They’ll be able to drive him off!” Saera shouted, a roar from The Cannibal confirming he had fallen ever so slightly behind them. Valerion did not seem to hear her as they flew towards a small cluster of clouds undisturbed by the turmoil unfolding below them. As they passed through Saera was shocked to feel the cold and wet that it carried stuck to her.

“Do you trust me, Saera?” He asked in the brief calm of their climb. If she were not about to die, she may have found it touching.

“Obviously!” She snapped instinctively. He flipped one of his legs so he side sat upon the hovering dragon, the only thing keeping him aboard the dragon was its precarious horizontal position and his white-knuckled grip on the reins which he held out to her. His other hand clutched the Valyrian steel dagger, stained with the Cannibal’s blood.

“You shall need to release me and hold onto these. Once we drop, you need to land us. My life will be in your hands!” He explained it an almost painfully calm manner. He seemed no more emotional than he had in the courtyard. Perhaps even less so. Saera latched onto the reins, silently thankful she was strapped in.  He nodded at her, then turned to Jadewing’s head. “Zēatīkun, embrot!” He screamed.

Jadewing dropped towards the cloud right as the titanic head of Cannibal flew out of it, his jaws wide and ready to snap closed faster than Saera could blink. With the cloud as cover however, he was a moment too late. His jaws snapped closed, devoid of prey, as they fell past him. Valerion’s body, carried by the fall, fell off Jadewing his arm still gripping the reins the only thing saving him from a terrible fall. The dagger he was holding snagged the Cannibal, the momentum alone cutting him from his snout to his eye. The Cannibal roared in anger, and it was so loud that Saera could feel it in her bones. She nearly lost her grip on the reins, but ground her teeth and held on so tight that her knuckles turned white. A second later they were diving for the ground, the Cannibal somewhere above them. ‘Please let this work!’ Saera thought.

“Keligon!” She shouted as they neared the ground, shouting her will into the command. Stop. Whether listening to her, or to instinct, the injured Jadewing slowed but landed heavily. Dirt and stones flew up around them. Saera was jostled by the impact and lost sight of Valerion as he lost his grip and fell out of her vision. Jadewing came to a stop breathing weakly with blood running from the wounds upon her neck. Still at least they were-. 

Saera felt the impact of the heavy form of The Cannibal as it struck the ground no more than 30 feet away. Saera could see the gash around his eye, which had been carved into his skull. Her breath caught in her throat, as his maw opened and she saw the brewing green flame prepare to engulf them. Even as she expected to burn, something red and fast slammed into the Cannibal, throwing his flame wide. Saera resisted the urge to rub her eyes – that was Meleys. That was Alyssa.

Meleys had used the element of surprise and now had the Cannibal grappled, her claws on the underside of his neck. The Cannibal shook his great head, throwing Meleys off. Freed he bellowed in outrage before quickly launching into the air. Unlike Jadewing his wings had not been impacted. Meleys hissed and tensed as if to follow, but the Cannibal did not use the vantage point to attack again instead flying further away - retreating. His head swung back and forth – looking at Jadewing who was on her side, Meleys who was ready to attack, and the direction that Meleys had come from. Perhaps he could see something that Saera could not. Perhaps he deemed this meal too much trouble after all. Either way, Saera realised one thing; she was not going to die today.

She laughed uncontrollably between quick breaths. Even as she did so Saera began to try and undo the straps. Alyssa, meanwhile, had already dismounted. Unlike her usual braid when she was riding, her hair was wild. Her armor was half-missing, as if she had been getting ready for something else when called here.

“Let me down!” Saera called to her, gaining control over her laughter.

Alyssa ran to her and climbed up Jadewing’s side, searching for the ends of the straps. She was fumbling more than Saera would have expected; with a jolt, Saera realised that her sister’s hands were shaking. The straps fell, along with the saddle – Saera squawked as she tumbled backwards. Then she looked at Jadewing, who was keening and lying on her side. Something like regret filled her, just for a moment. She spotted Valerion laid upon the earth, unconscious but seemingly uninjured.

Alyssa helped her sister up, then grabbed her by the shoulders. “What were you thinking?!”

“Stop it!” Saera said.

Alyssa shook her. “You almost died! You almost made me watch you die!” Tears were streaming down Saera’s sister’s face, and she didn’t realise why her vision was blurring until she realised that she was crying too.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” Alyssa shouted.

“I didn’t plan for the Cannibal to get involved!” Saera shouted, pushing Alyssa away.

Alyssa grabbed at Saera again, this time pulling her into a hug. “You idiot! You moron!”

“Let go of me!” Saera said, though she didn’t push Alyssa away.

There was a roar and another loud noise as another dragon landed, and Alyssa finally let go of Saera. Aemon was dressed for dragon riding. He slid off of Caraxes with practiced ease and approached his sisters. “What in the seven hells happened here? Why is Qoherys lying on the ground unconscious?”

“Th-the Cannibal—” Saera wiped at her eyes with the back of her arm.

“For fuck’s sake, how are you alive?” Aemon demanded, before pushing past his sisters to prop Valerion up against Jadewing. “No scars…” Aemon muttered. Indeed, despite one arm being covered in boiling hot dragon blood and the man himself being unconscious, Valerion seemed in fine health. There were no scars or burns on him. Aemon slapped Valerion in the face. “Wake up, asshole! You kidnapped my baby sister, what do you have to say for yourself?!”

Valerion’s eyes flew open, and he winced taking a moment before responding. “I was under the impression that Gael was your baby sister?”  

“Fucker.” Aemon snarled. “If you had a sword on you, I’d kill you, right here, right now. As it stands, my father and the Bronze Fury are on the way.”

“Do you expect Jadewing to be in any condition to fight?” Valerion slowly got to his feet, and went around to Jadewing’s head, patting it softly. “Rāpiriī Zēatīkun, rāpiriī…” He murmured to his dragon.

Aemon remained tensed but came around to Jadewing's side, assessing the damage. “The bite to the neck is rough, and the damage to her side… but I suspect that the Cannibal was intending something other than a meal, or he would have disabled her wings first and foremost.”

“What’s that?” Saera asked.

Aemon didn’t look away from Jadewing. “Well… no one could say that the Cannibal is a gentle lover.”

Valerion glared at Aemon. “There was no courtship dance. Don’t you dare say that she in any way encouraged his attentions—”

“Peace, Qoherys. I would not advise you test me further. Besides, that’s not what I said. I suspect that the Cannibal, who has never known love, has no idea how other dragons go about things and simply… latched onto the nearest unattended female.” Aemon frowned. “I don’t know how we’ll get her off of Dragonstone, but it’s something to discuss with my parents.”

“What do you mean, get her off of Dragonstone? And why call for peace if you clearly want me dead?” Valerion demanded.

Aemon glanced at him. “Jadewing deserves better than to be raped by the Cannibal and injured in the process. I don’t like you. This is not her fault.”

“He saved my life!” Saera interjected.

“No, that’s what I did. He’s the moron who brought you to the Cannibal’s side of the island in the first place! He’s the one who endangered you!” Alyssa snapped.

Before Saera could reply, two other dragons landed – Vermithor and Silverwing, who had apparently kept pace with one another. Saera felt her frustration rise as her parents both dismounted their dragons in near synchronisation. She had rarely seen her father wield Blackfyre before and never outside of a ceremonial purpose at official functions, but he drew it with purpose as he strode towards their group. Saera’s mother seemed stone-faced. Vermithor hissed and rose up, while Silverwing took careful steps closer and nudged at Jadewing, taking a careful sniff around the wounds.

“You want to blame someone so badly? Blame me, like you always do! He didn’t kidnap me; I left!” She shouted, ignoring her parents for the moment. Valerion didn’t seem to react much to the brewing argument, mainly looking into the eye of Jadewing. Jadewing gave another drawn out exhale as Silverwing leaned over and licked at the wound on the back of her neck.

“They’re right, Saera. If I had not let Jadewing fly, no danger would have found you, regardless of my lack of awareness of such a creature on this island.” Valerion said in a painfully flat voice.

“Well. It’s good you recognise that.” Aemon said awkwardly.

This did not curb Alyssa’s temper. “Are you upset about almost getting eaten by the Cannibal, or about the fact that we definitely would have caught you and forced Jadewing to the ground ourselves?”

“In the name of the Seven, what has happened?” Their mother demanded as she pulled Saera into a hug of her own. Saera allowed it – her mother had not hugged her in some time.
Saera’s father did not stop, did not look Saera in the eye as he strode past them all.

“Your Cannibal happened.” Valerion muttered continuing to rub the unevenly breathing Jadewing. Saera’s mother paled further and gripped her tighter. Saera could feel her mother’s nails digging into her as she was held in place. She was also aware that Alyssa had turned to follow their father – no matter what he did next, she would be there to help.

“How dare you.” Saera’s father snarled. He seemed more angry than Saera had ever seen him, though it wasn’t Alyssa’s quick-burning temper. This wasn’t the stoked inferno Saera had seen before. This was cold as ice. Everything he did from here on out was thought through. No longer was this her father. This was the King of the Iron Throne, Jaehaerys the first. “How dare you kidnap my daughter. How dare you fly her into the range of the Cannibal. How dare you imply we had anything to do with it. And how dare you betray my hospitality thusly.”

Valerion slowly turned away from Jadewing. “Do you want an answer as to how I dare?”

“No.” Jaehaerys bit out. “I expect it will only bring me into a rage and your head will be off before I think the better of it.”

“Father…” Aemon began. “What are you going to do?”

Her father planted his sword in front of him. “That depends entirely on Lord Qoherys here.”

Valerion’s eyes flicked from the sword to Jaehaerys. “On what exactly? Do you want me to kneel? You need only say, Your Grace.”

Saera saw his gloved hands tighten their grip about Blackfyres handle. “Did I have to say, ‘don’t kidnap my daughter’? Did I have to say ‘don’t take her on dragonback without explicit permission’? Did I have to say ‘don’t leave King’s Landing’? Did I have to say ‘don’t fly into the Cannibal’s territory alone’? Tell me, Lord Qoherys, what else I need to say. Pull up your breeches in the morning? Breathe?”

Valerion’s face was even more devoid of emotion than Saera had ever seen it. “Do what you will.” He just stood there, waiting for what came next. ‘

What the fuck is he doing?’ Saera thought. She was about to wrench herself free. she was not going to allow this, whatever this was, to happen.

She tried to pull away, but her mother held her fast. “Don’t look, sweetling. Don’t look.”

“Mother, let me go!” Saera snarled, pushing at her mother.

“You don’t want to look!” Saera’s mother snapped back. Her hands felt like claws now, grasping at Saera. Her grip was iron, if not Valyrian steel. “And your father won’t want to let you see it! It will be over in a moment sweetling.”

Whatever was going to happen was interrupted by Vhagar landing. She was old and massive, but graceful as she did so. She released a mighty roar. Vermithor roared back, and Silvering and Meleys made sounds of acknowledgement. Jadewing let out a pitiful cry. The whole family was gathered, save the babies and the dragonless.

Saera used the opportunity to squirm out of her mother’s grip. Her mother finally let her go, looking pale and worried. Her mother seemed more fragile than ever with her arms empty. Her father had Blackfyre hefted into one hand – clearly he was about to strike before Baelon made his entrance. In the interim, he turned slightly, and dropped his arm back into a neutral position.  
Valerion Qoherys still stood strong and tall, defiant in what would have been his last moments.

Aemon took the opportunity to step between Valerion and their father while everyone watched Baelon dismount. “Father, we cannot kill him.”

“Explain.” Her father said coolly. “If you are worried about witnesses, don’t be. Everyone who is here is related to us and will lie for us save him.”

“What about me, Father?” Saera asked coldly as she pushed forward to join Valerion. “Am I expected to lie for you?”

“If you don’t, you will be locked in your rooms. The official story will be that you went mad after watching the Cannibal eat your alleged lover.” Jaehaerys his tone sharp as his blade.

Saera’s mother drew a sharp breath of her own. “Jaehaerys… you can’t. She’s our baby.”

“Woman! I have given you enough babes that one of them can be considered mad!” Her father snapped back.

Aemon, Alyssa, Saera and Baelon all tensed. Their mother, however, did not. She calmly stared at her husband. “If you drive our daughter mad, I shall never forgive you. If you declare her mad, I shall never forgive you. I will take Silverwing, my remaining daughters. I will fly far and fast, where you shall never catch us. You would not be my husband if you do such a thing. You would be my uncle.” And then she spat upon the ground at the word ‘uncle’.
Saera saw her father's face pale.

Aemon chose this moment to interject. “And, for the record, I believe that we may still need Lord Qoherys’ help in handling Jadewing? She can live, free of injury, if we get her back to the Dragon Pit. She deserves that much, it was not her fault.”

“She was ridden by a madman.” Jaehaerys snapped at his son.

“So was Balerion, yet he still lives.” Baelon said as he approached, looking at his wife. Keeping his hands by his side, Aemon began making hand movements – the sign language they all shared, that they never bothered to teach her because she wasn’t a dragon rider like them.

“It’s not the same!” Alyssa snapped, stepping forward. “Balerion has been raised in our family for generations. If his rider died, he accepted it and took another! This dragon is a mystery. If anything happens to her rider, foolhardy as he is, she may act unpredictably! We should kill him now while she can be contained.”

“And what, kill her as well?” Aemon demanded.
Valerion stayed quiet throughout all of this.

Saera squeezed his hand, and then said, “Do you all think I am some sort of sheep to be led about on a string? I demanded that he bring me to his dragon. I demanded that we ride together. I demanded that we go to Dragonstone, and I failed to tell him about the Cannibal nesting in the cliffs on the western shore. Stop blaming him for the crime of flying a dragon, and then sacrificing himself to save me! If for the first, you shall all have to line up to go under Blackfyre’s blade, though I certainly can say that no one else has done the second!”

Alyssa gasped in outrage. “I flew Meleys directly at the Cannibal’s side for you, you little ingrate! And your idiot lover is alive! There isn’t a scratch on him!” Saera could swear she sounded just a little pleased beneath her anxiety and anger.

“Are you well?” Baelon asked her. “Is Meleys?”

Alyssa waved him off. “Yes, but that’s not the point! The point is that Saera cannot stand there, cry about being unloved like some poor little orphan from the streets of Flea Bottom, and get away with this!”

“But should a man die for Saera’s behaviour?” Aemon demanded.

Baelon however seemed to stare quite intensely at their father. “Did he kidnap her after all?”

“It would appear not.” Aemon answered for their father. “Though he has accepted responsibility nonetheless.” Aemon seemed on edge also. Judging by his reaction earlier he was angry but not enough to commit to summary execution. Baelon was silent for a moment, clearly thinking about how to tackle this situation.

“It’s kidnapping of a kind.” Jaehaerys ground out. “Young, unmarried women are under the purview of their father and brothers. They are meant to be protected. I would sooner cast aspersions onto him rather than either of you for failing to protect her.”

Aemon drew himself up to his full height, and took a deep breath. “Forgive me father, as Master of Laws, I confess that I do not believe that is how that works. Saera has accepted her role in all of this.”

“As has Lord Qoherys.” Jaehaerys sneered.

“Father…” Baelon’s voice was heavier than Saera expected. “Not to cast doubt, but Lord Qoherys has been our guest for only six days. I doubt he had any awareness of what lies on the island.” Baelon moved to stand alongside Aemon.  

“Saera herself said that she did not tell him.” Aemon agreed.

Jaehaerys narrowed his eyes at his three children. “Do you think me a fool?”

“No, Father.” Aemon said. His siblings nodded. Valerion remained as still as a statue.

“Do you think that I believe Lord Qoherys a simpleton?”

“No, Father.”

“Do you think that I believe he intentionally attempted to throw Saera into the jaws of the only feral dragon around, and just so happened to apparently jump off of his own dragon himself?” Jaehaerys’ voice was soft. Saera shivered.

“…No, Father.”

“Then the reason I am angry with him is not that he took your sister into the jaws of danger. I am angry with him because he took your sister in the first place!” Saera wanted to believe that her father was trying to force himself to stay calm, and rational. She wanted to believe that her father was trying to talk himself out of a beheading. She squeezed her eyes shut.  

“Who chose Dragonstone, sister?” Baelon asked, looking across at her.

“You know I—” Saera began.

“I did.” Valerion spoke for the first time. “I saw it on the way into King’s Landing, and I wanted to go there. I saw the active volcano, and thought that it was a good place for Jadewing. I spurned your offer of the… Dragonpit for it. Saera – Princess Saera – only wanted to fly. She lied earlier to protect me.”

Everyone stared at him, then at her. She could lie. She should lie. He had chosen to lie for her. She could let him take the punishment and return to her life. So why did she hesitate? Why did she struggle to do it? She thought back to how brave Valerion had been. He had fought for her, more than once today. He deserved to be rewarded, not punished.

“No! I did. He did nothing but protect me! He even gave me the straps to tie myself on!” She angrily wiped at her eyes, feeling them begin to sting again. Her life could be truly over this time. She’d surely be sent to the Faith like Maegelle.

“Oh, now she’s crying!” Alyssa huffed. “Father, do something! She’s trying to manipulate you!”

“You have red eyes.” Baelon pointed out. “You were clearly crying.”

“That’s because my little sister nearly died in front of me!” Alyssa snarled at him. “Shut up!”

Saera watched her father’s face. It seemed carefully blank, masking any understanding of his intent. Saera almost failed to notice her mother approach, who proceeded to lay a careful hand on her father’s shoulder. Jaehaerys jolted and looked at her. “Have you come to say your goodbyes?” He asked, almost trembling.

Saera’s mother moved her hand to cup Saera’s father’s face. “No, my love. I meant… when I said that before, I meant that as a worst-case. I would not leave you unless you went down a path I could not follow. This is… this is a mess of a situation, true, but I don’t think you wish to kill the boy either. It sounds as if it was a moment of youthful indiscretion, and that all of our fears have been heightened by the Cannibal coming into the mix unexpectedly. I think that we should take the night to rest and address the issue tomorrow.”

“He is the most disrespectful—” Saera’s father began.

“My love, he is ten-and-seven. He is annoying, self-righteous, self-absorbed and presumably eats more than Vermithor. He does not think with the head on his shoulders. He is not the mastermind of our dynasty’s destruction. He is not here to steal our daughter away in the night – as you can see, it is daytime, on an island that we control. If he did intend mischief, he has done so in the stupidest possible way. He should not lose his life for it and we should not lose Saera for it.”

Saera’s father sighed, and dropped Blackfyre, putting his arms around his wife’s waist. “I am so angry, ‘Sanne.”

Her mother leaned forward and put their foreheads together. “I know, my love. I know. We’ll talk about it later, but not here. Not in front of the children.”

“Please don’t leave me.” Saera heard her father almost whisper.

“Please don’t scare me.” Her mother said back, as if they were two oft-repeated refrains between the two of them.

Aemon cleared his throat, and turned to his siblings. “We shall stay the night on Dragonstone. Alyssa, go to the castle and get a sail and some rope. We’ll use this as a test to see if it is strong enough for Jadewing to be carried. Tomorrow, if all goes well, we will use it to fly her back to King’s Landing.”

Alyssa frowned. “What do you mean, fly?”

“We’ll load her onto the sail, have the other dragons carry her.” Aemon said calmly, crossing his arms. “Vhagar on one side, Vermithor and Silverwing on the other. They’re the only two that will tolerate another dragon being in their flight space for that long.”

“Why are we taking her back to King’s Landing?” Baelon asked.

“Because we’re taking Lord Qoherys back, and they need to stay together, because I don’t want another uncontrollable dragon on my island.” Aemon said. "I also don’t want him on my island. So King’s Landing it is, because that’s the only other place in Westeros with the ability to care for dragons.” 

“And you’ll inter her in your… pit?” Valerion said.

Aemon turned to him. “Do you want her to die of something treatable? Because if you want your dragon to die, I will take up my father’s sword and give her a quick death right now rather than see her linger in agony. Yes, we’re putting her in the pit. Stop looking down your nose at it, she will have all the space she needs, a roof over her head, and will be fed. Don’t speak to me without assent again – I may not wish you to die, but I remain angry with you.”

Valerion held up his hands as if in surrender. “Of course, Your Highness.”

“Alyssa, get that sail. Baelon, Mother, Father, stay here. I will escort Saera into the castle, and then return to oversee Jadewing being loaded up.” Aemon said. Saera’s father looked proud when he saw Aemon. Something burned inside Saera – he had never, ever looked at her that way.

She turned away, looking back at Valerion. Valerion glanced back at her. It was hard to tell what he was feeling in that moment; anger, sadness, frustration or something else. Whatever it was, Saera vowed to find out later that night.

Chapter Text

Valerion

Valerion was ‘gifted’ a guest room within the Stone Drum. Being the central tower of the castle, it was made to entertain the highborn guests who would come to petition the prince or his sitting castellan. The room, as with all rooms in the Stone Drum, was made of black stone. The torches on the walls were held with dragon claws and the door itself was framed with dragon’s teeth. The room had been decorated with a fine bed, desk, wardrobe and a small chest set at the foot of the bed. The hour was late and the statues of basilisks, shaped from stone, sat in the upper corners as if watching him. (Valerion was honestly surprised that the freehold had not gone with yet more statues of dragons, but perhaps that was where they drew the line.) Any other day, he may have been fascinated by the design of the castle and assessed it more closely. Not that day. He was too emotionally drawn, in truth. After he had cleaned himself, been fed and the door to this chamber had closed, he simply sat at the desk with his right arm resting in front of him. He repeatedly opened and closed his fist while staring at his arm. It was in perfect condition, but the act of slashing a dagger downward through a dragon’s face should have shredded every muscle in it, to say nothing of the burns the dragon’s blood should have inflicted.

He had ignored it for far too long, but Valyria had certainly changed him. There was something in him which had changed when he… He stopped his thoughts in their tracks. No. He didn’t need to think about it. It didn’t really matter why, only that something had changed. He sighed, and collected his thoughts on the day’s events. Namely, the absolute madness his actions had caused. He did not typically stay in one place often enough to see the consequences of his actions, but he saw them today. In truth, he did not care for the consequences for anyone who had been on that outcropping except two. Jadewing and Saera. Jadewing was being consigned to a prison of her own for this bullshit. He hated it, but if it meant she could recover, then so be it. Saera was likely dealing with her now somewhat justified, yet overprotective, family.

Valerion could not help but notice he had failed to assign himself to the list of people whose consequences he cared for. He chuckled at the realisation, allowing himself a rare sign of self-pity. Someone, he forgot who, had called him self-absorbed at the landing site but he knew better than anyone else how little he meant. His mother had spoken often and loudly about how little she wanted to be a mother, only having him to continue her quest to recover Harrenhal. In a way, it would have been better if he had never left Valyria. His thoughts were distracted by the wide chamber door opening, a maid walking in. Valerion presumed that she was going to stoke the fire and turn down the bed, and turned to watch her. She did not, but rather she closed the door and then stood still, her head bowed slightly so that the head covering disguised her hair. It mattered not – he could see some white peeking through. Likely some distant dragonseed.

“Aren’t you going to ask me to do anything, milord?” She asked. Ah. He knew that voice. Well, at least she would distract him from thoughts of Valyria.

He left the desk and strode over to her. Saera looked up at him, a smirk playing around her lips. She curtseyed deep. “Is there anything I can do for you, my lord?”

Valerion grinned at that. “That depends. If I should kiss you, will your father come through that door and attempt to skewer me with Blackfyre?”

“No, and don’t talk about them.” She pouted. “No one knows that I’m here besides the two of us. But if you’re scared, I can always leave.”

He stepped into her space, causing Saera to back up against the door. Valerion placed his hand on the wall next to her head and leaned over her, closing her in. “I’m not scared, princess. Am I correct in assuming that you came here to seduce me?”

She ran her tongue over her lips. “Yes.”

With his free hand, he tilted her chin up. “If you’re mumming at being a maid, you should do a better job. Would you like to repeat that?”

“Yes, my lord.” She added, drawing her lower lip between her teeth.

Valerion felt his eyes drawn to the motion. “And what would you like me to do to you?”

“Fuck me.” She stared him in the eye, daring him to contradict her.

Valerion smirked. “Well, who am I to refuse a request made to me by a princess? Off with your clothes, unless you want to return them covered in cum.” She pulled her costume off over her head. She was not wearing smallclothes, the filthy little thing. His smirk widened as he appraised her body. Slender and smooth, with full breasts and an alluring curve to her hips. She would do very nicely.
“Look at you.” He murmered, taking one of her breasts in his hand, running his thumb over her nipple. He tightened his grip, causing her to gasp as his nails dug in for just a second. That would definitely leave a mark.

Her face contorted in pleasure. “I’d prefer to look at you, my lord. It’s only fair that both of us disrobe.”
He raised an eyebrow but acquiesced, releasing his grip and quickly throwing his clothes away. She spent a moment leaning against the door, eyes tracing his form ravenously. Apparently she liked what she saw, judging by the growing smirk she had.

He interrupted her looking by grasping her by the waist and guiding her over to the bed. She pulled him down on top of her, their lips meeting in a passionate kiss. Valerion proceeded to bite at her, pulling one of those round lips between his teeth, making her gasp and pull away.

“Do you wish me to stop, princess?” He purred.

“No.” She moaned. “Keep going.”

Valerion moved his lips to her ear. “Only say the word, and I’ll stop…” He nibbled on her earlobe.

“I’m ordering you to keep going! Peri and Alys have done more than this.”

He pulled back and raised an eyebrow. “My, my. You’ve been quite naughty, haven’t you?”

She flushed and he loved to see it travel down to her breasts. “Maybe so, but I still have my maidenhead.”

“Well, there’s other things—” He began.

“Which I want to lose. Now.” She interrupted, twisting her hand into his hair and pulling, forcing him to meet her eyes.

He grinned, knowing it was a wild, feral thing. “I see. Well, if that’s what my princess desires, who am I to disagree?” He pulled her against him, then put her legs on his shoulders. She shrieked in surprise, and he winked at her. “Say the word, princess.”

She frowned at him. “Do you want me to refuse?”

“No, of course not.” He said. He bit her thigh, and she screamed. He manoeuvred so that he could lick at her – she was already soaking wet and they were only three bites in. He sucked on her clit, making her gasp and clutch at the blankets. When that failed, she buried her hands in his hair again, applying pressure to keep him buried.

“V-Valerion…” She moaned, bucking her hips to get his tongue deeper.

“Yes, princess?” He pulled away easily.

“Put it in.”

“Put what in, princess?” He ever so gently scraped his teeth around her clit and she shrieked again.

“Stop teasing and give me your cock.” Saera whined out.

Valerion could help but lick at her clit before speaking again. “And what do you want me to do with it, princess?”

“Fuck me. Please.” She begged.

He slid one finger into her and curled it making her whimper. “Hmm… a tempting offer. Why should I?”

“Please.” She repeated. “Please fuck me.” She ground her hips against his hand, as if the satisfaction she craved was just beyond her reach.

“Well, since you begged so sweetly…” He said, before dropping her legs. She looked up at him in confusion, before he parted her legs, lined himself up, and thrust, though not as forcefully as he could have. She shrieked, digging her nails into his back as she wrapped them around him. “Should I continue, princess?” He whispered into the shell of her ear, before scraping it with his teeth.

“Yes. Please.” She sounded on the verge of tears. She also locked her ankles around him, as if that could stop him. He smirked and began to thrust. She threw her head back, the sound of her moans echoing off the black stone walls. He then dipped one hand down, the other pinning her to the bed with a possessive grasp over her breast. The lower hand began to play with her clit.
Her eyes flew open. “Th-that’s not fair!”

“Ah, my mistake.” He said, grinning.

She realised what she said. “Don’t you dare stop!”

The grin widened. “Of course not, princess.”

Her eyes rolled back. “H-harder.”

“Are you sure, princess? You were a maiden until now.”

“Stop asking if I’m sure and fuck me.” She demanded, clearly sensing he was holding back, if only slightly. Who was he to deny her? Without another word, he put her ankles on her shoulders, folding her in half, and pinning her in place. Valerion began thrusting down harder, taking immense pleasure in claiming more of her cunt. She brought her fist up to her mouth and bit down, trying to keep the increasingly loud moans in.

“None of that, let me hear you, princess.” Valerion said.

She glared at him, but removed her fist bunching it up in the blanket as he bottomed out in her. “Fuck, that feels good.” She whined.

“As good as you thought it might?” He asked.

Saera blinked up at him. “What will it take for you to lose control?”

Valerion stopped a moment to look at her more earnestly. “…I don’t know if you’d necessarily want that.”

“I thought I told you to stop telling me what to do.” She snapped. “I want to make you absolutely lose control with me.”

“What about next time, princess?” Valerion bit his lip and furrowed his brow.

“I want it now.” She whined, grinding her hips up against his. It should not have been as attractive as it was. She looked up at him with big violet eyes, and all he wanted was to make her scream in ecstasy. He moved her legs back down to his waist and moved into a kneeling position, releasing his grip on her. She frowned, confused.

“Sit up. I’m going to fuck you against the wall.” She sat up as quickly as she could, bouncing in his lap. He bit back a groan. “Unless you’d prefer to ride me?” He said, sliding his hands under her, taking two handfuls of her ass as he helped her up.

She grinned at him. “That doesn’t sound bad to me.” She raised herself up placing the tip of his cock to her cunt as she climbed on top of him. With no patience, she slammed herself down forcefully, before finding a good rhythm.

“Are you sure you’re a maiden?” He murmured, gripping her tighter as she rode him.

“Oh, no.” She breathed in his ear. “You made sure of that some time ago.”

He pressed her flush against him, pulling her into a rough kiss. She made a squeak of surprise but continued riding him. He stopped kissing her, only to bite into the meat of her shoulder. Fuck, she was making him lose control. He just wanted to mark her, bite her, love her. Meanwhile, she gasped and moaned, drowning out the clapping of their skin. He pressed a kiss to the bite then bit into her neck, making her whimper. He enjoyed finding out the symphony of sounds she could make for him.

“You said you’d fuck me against the wall.” Saera murmured between her gasps and moans.

“Next time, I promise.” He said.

“Next time?”

He pulled back slightly, tilting his head up to meet her eyes. “Are you telling me you won’t let me fuck you again, my princess? Now that just breaks my heart.” While he was sure it sounded playful to her, he could feel the edge on the last statement.

Her face was flushed, her eyes wild. “You haven’t made me cum yet.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Liar.”

She narrowed her eyes as she bounced on top of him. “I’m not!”

“Liar.” He murmured into the crook of her neck. “I can feel you trembling. Tell the truth, or I’ll pull out right now and won’t let you have another.”

Her eyes widened at that. “I came.” She admitted.

“Mmm, louder?” Valerion pressed with a grin.

“I came!” She huffed.

His finger flicked over her clit and she bit back another moan. “And what do you want from me?”

“A-another.” Saera said, her voice becoming desperate again.

“Say please, you greedy little thing.”

“Please let me cum again.” She begged. For what reason he did not know, but that made him lose control.

“Gods, I love you.” He muttered into her ear, before grabbing her hips and throwing her underneath him. He thrust into her, hard and fast, while she screamed underneath him. “You’re so tight. So hot and wet and so fucking tight.” He murmured in her ear while he thrust. “You could take anything I do to you, couldn't you? As if you were made for my cock.”

Her hands scratched at his back, pulling him closer, while her legs closed around him. “Don’t stop.” She whined. “Don’t stop.”

Valerion began thrusting harder, the clapping of their skin growing ever louder. “And what if I cum in you? Fill you up, like the little slut you are?” She shivered and grew tighter. He pulled back slightly, smirking. “Oh, you like that idea, do you? Like the idea of me filling you up? What a little slut you are.”

“Did you?” She asked, opening her eyes. “Did you cum yet?”

He pulled out, and she whined attempting to keep him against her with her legs. “No.” He said simply.

She glared at him, clearly unhappy at no longer being harshly taken. “Cum in me.”

Valerion made a show of looking about the room. “And where are you hiding moon tea, my princess?”

She scowled, then scrambled out from under him. Instead of going for her clothes as he expected, she got on her knees. “Fuck my mouth.”

He stared at her. “You want me to fuck your mouth? …I must say, hardened whores charge extra for that.”

“Which I’m certain will be useful knowledge should I ever become a whore.” Saera opened her mouth for emphasis.

“And this isn’t you sucking my cock, this is me fucking your mouth?” Valerion repeated, shifting so that he was standing tantalisingly close to her.

“Do it, before I change my mind.” She threatened.

Valerion did. He put his cock in her mouth and gathered her hair in his hand. She gagged slightly but began to suck in earnest. She had presumably had enough time to acclimate to his size. He pulled her head to him, forcing his way past mouth and into her throat. She gagged again but sucked harder.

“Gods, you’re too good to me.” He groaned out. “How am I supposed to leave King’s Landing without you?”

Somehow, despite having her mouth full, she managed to lick a stripe up him. He hissed feeling that he was getting too close. He pulled out abruptly, causing her to whine, right before he came all over her face and chest. As he caught his breath she scooped up his cum with her finger and popped it into her mouth, moaning in satisfaction. Then she smirked up at him, as if he hadn’t just had her screaming in his bed.

He scooped some up on his own finger and she opened her mouth, obediently sucking it clean. “Is that how you intend for me to clean you up?” He asked, his felt his cock twitching at the sight.

“It depends. Would you prefer for me to go back like this?” She looked at him with those eyes again, a smirk playing around her lips.

“What, naked?” His cock twitched again. Gods, she did things to him he had never felt before.

She licked more cum off herself in response. “Mmm. You taste good.”

He ended up fucking her twice more – bent over the bed and on the desk – before they, both drenched in sweat, had agreed that she presumably needed to get back.

“I’m surprised that you haven’t been saddlesore from riding.” He commented as she cleaned off with the cold bathwater and dressed.

“I’ve been riding horses for a while.” She replied. “Dragons aren’t too different.”

“Except, of course, in all the ways that they are.” He told her.

She laughed.
Even that made her sound like she was from the finest of dreams. “I said something that you didn’t reply to, Saera.”

“The idea of leaving King’s Landing? I thought today proved that was a bad idea.” She stuffed her hair under the maid’s cap.

Valerion felt his throat go dry before he spoke. “No. The part where I said I loved you.” Gods! Saying it out loud like that made him cringe. He had never said it like that before. Hells, before tonight he had never said it at all. At least, not to the living.

She laughed. “I thought that you were talking to my cunt.”

Valerion could feel the weight in his chest growing heavier by the moment. “Well, more the person it was attached to but yes.”

She laughed again. “I’m glad I could make you so cuntstruck.”

He didn't laugh with her, instead doing his best to appear composed even as his heart hammered inside his chest.
Saera abruptly trailed off. “It’s been six days.”

“An eventful six days.” He said, leaning on the wall. “But say the word, and I’ll never bring it up again.”  He knew how it sounded. It sounded stupid, like some helpless puppy chasing affection, the one thing he wished never to be. He just had to press it though. Like an itch he needed to scratch until it bled. It was something he could feel buried deep inside him that he needed to exhume. Saera just stared at him with a confused expression, not quite saying anything.

“It is nothing, leave it.” He snapped, feeling entirely too defensive. He took a step back and turned away from her.

She exhaled deeply. “You forget yourself, Lord Qoherys.”

He closed his eyes. “As if we weren’t just lovers, Saera. My, you are quick to be cold once you have gotten what you wanted.” He heard her take a step, whether forward or backwards he could not say. He didn’t wish to look, just in case it were the latter. Whatever he was feeling was quickly turning to rage, though at who, he struggled to know. Presumably himself, for being so stupid and cuntstruck to declare himself in love with Saera to her face.

“Princess.” The maelstrom of emotions whirling inside him was proving difficult to contain and his voice was harsher than he had intended it to be. “You should go. It would not do to be caught.” He waited until the door to his chamber opened and closed before looking back. She had not said another word, leaving him alone again but for his thoughts. He attempted to contain himself for as long as possible, which amounted to enough time to get his breeches on, before he turned his rage on the nearby chair. He punched and kicked before throwing the chair at the door reducing it to a pile of splinters. After that he collapsed on the bed, feeling drained, and quickly fell into sleep.

Valerion felt himself awaking. As his eyes registered the black stone above him, he knew something was wrong. His entire body felt like it was on fire. He began twisting and flailing on the ground before looking down at himself. He was dressed in a burned and twisted metal breastplate which had fused itself together at the joints. His right arm was a warped, burned mass, his muscles immovable and indistinguishable from one another. He could not see his hand or what it had become, if it was still attached.  He was aware of his own laboured breathing, surely a sign of his body failing.

‘Not again.’ He thought before he propped himself up on a broken wall and took stock of his surroundings. The black stone manse whose entranceway he darkened was familiar. The settlement before him was a blasted heath with only a few scant buildings scattered around, mumming at being shelter from the elements. Those which were no longer even that had been reduced to rubble, large chunks dotting the plains and large bits of gravel to mark them further. There were half-melted dragon statues everywhere, looking as if they were bleeding and screaming. Many of them were half sunk into the ground, as if they were being eaten by some horrible thing. This was the home of the dragonlords. This was Valyria. Feeling blood pooling in the back of his throat, he spat it out. He watched the far too bright liquid begin to sizzle against the stone.

“Did I not escape this place?” He said to no-one but himself. Maybe he never did. Maybe he had dreamed everything. Maybe his dying mind had attempted to sooth him with a dragon, a legacy and a woman’s touch, only to bring him back to reality at the last moment. Valerion tried to stand, wincing as the molten metal on his legs peeled away from his flesh. The mansion’s outer walls showed signs of significant damage with many decorative elements worn away. A lone banner, which had somehow survived flapped overhead – a red three-headed dragon on a black background, torn and faded in the wind. He squinted at it. That shouldn’t be there. The dragonlords bore no banners. On the wall, he could just barely make out a mosaic that had once depicted the Varezys black dragon on a yellow background.

The heavy door next to him had been knocked off whatever fixture had once fixed it in place. He stumbled his way inside. His vision blurred so greatly that he could barely register the ancient decorations which were now either aged beyond repair or buried beneath thick layers of dust. He passed down a wide corridor to a slightly ajar doorway, framed by statues of horrid monstrosities. Some were the melted dragons in agony that he had seen already, some were greater horrors with too many eyes and tentacles that his gaze did not linger on for fear. Others he passed too quickly to look, lest they turn and follow him. Entering, he saw what once must have an expansive open domed room. The dome had long since caved in leaving the room far more exposed than initially intended.

Valerion spotted a table to his left only a few steps away. The old table was covered in implements which he didn’t understand. There was an emaciated corpse dressed in a gleaming set black scaled armour, its face set in a horrid rictus, yet somehow seeming satisfied. Hate burned through Valerion, his blood boiling as he observed the skeleton. Though these pieces of information seemed strangely familiar, Valerion was convinced something was wrong due to the green dragon laying nearby, watching him. It reared its head up and stared at him – stared through him, it seemed like.

“This isn’t right.” Valerion murmured, growing more confused by what he knew was inconsistent information. “I know this isn’t right. She wasn’t here. She refused to get within a mile of it.”

“Isn’t it?” The green dragon spoke. Its maw moved to approximate the human speech in a way that could not have been possible. The voice was so familiar. It sounded like… “You are a fool, and you know it. Why would you believe that anything other than that fact is true? After all, you never came here to complete your task, did you boy?” The voice of his mother rang at him. Valerion felt himself taking a step back towards the door, as he turned to run he found only a black stone wall. “Fleeing again, Valerion?” The dragon cooed, all false sympathy and softness.

Valerion felt his heart throbbing in his chest, and inhaled deeply. “Be silent!” He turned back to the horrible combination of Jadewing with his mother’s voice. “I came here because of all the shit you put on me. To be your perfect legacy.”

“Ah, blaming me for your mistakes. How typical of you, Valerion. Did you know, I wept when you left? I wept for days, until I had no more tears left. I was all alone in the world. You abandoned me. No wonder I was dead when you returned.” Jadewing tilted her head. “Though I suppose that the loneliness is your true inheritance, rather than a knife you stole in the dark along with your mother’s tears. How are you going to pay your penance for this, Valerion? Will you join me? Will you pay the mourners for my funeral? Or will you always come back just a day too late, and consign me to a pauper’s grave? Over and over? You always fail.”

Valerion felt his jaw tighten at the scolding. “I don’t! I made it through Valyria, that is more than anyone else can say!”

“Ah, but Valerion, I know you. I know my son. I know what you took that night. You took a dagger and the clothes on your back. Nothing else. Not a water skin or some dry rations. You intended to die out there, like it would mean anything but a windfall for whoever stumbled on your body and your ancestral dagger. It wasn’t even yours to take! What a stupid, thoughtless boy you are.”

The dragon made a low guttural sound which was reminiscent of a laugh. The dragon’s voice then shifted into something softer, lighter, happier. Saera’s voice. “You see, my lord, it was rather inconvenient for everyone around you when you lived. Who is supposed to care for you now? You’re a bit amusing, I suppose, but your charms quickly wear thin.”

Valerion gritted his teeth. “But I did live. If it wasn’t the will of someone divine, whose was it? It wasn’t mine! Why did I live, then? Why did I get to choose to leave?!” His shouts echoed off of the broken dome. Valerion heard the shifting of something behind him, a presence that exuded malice.

“You never did, Lord Qoherys. Your body left, but your mind never did. You will be here until the day you die, and even then, you won’t be able to leave. You’ll simply be another ghost of the Doom, wandering the wastes.” The dragon opened its mouth, but this time it wasn’t to speak. He could see the fire beginning to rise in its—in her—throat, bright as the sun.

Valerion wanted to move, but his feet felt stuck to the floor. He turned away – and there was the grinning skull of the sorcerer, Varezys, his hands firmly planting Valerion in place. “A life for a life, ah boy? Don’t worry, your life will serve a much better purpose this way!” He chuckled and wheezed, as if he was still that too-old man who Valerion had met. His skull grinned, and grinned, and grinned.
Valerion turned to Jadewing again as she blasted him with flame. It bathed his body in fire. He felt every inch of him roasting, burning, becoming naught but ash.

Valerion shot upright, drenched in sweat. He breathed heavily and looked around, trying to find something to anchor him to reality. He was on Dragonstone – and gods above, dragonlords only had one style of decorating, but at least he could tell he was safe. He was on Dragonstone. There was the desk, there were the stupid basilisk statues because they did not want to have too many dragons. There were his clothes from the day. There was the tray he’d eaten off of. The room smelled vaguely of sex and dragon’s blood. It was the same room he had been in for the past night. From the noise outside he could guess it must have been early morning, just before dawn with servants bustling about before the lords arose. He looked at his right arm, uninjured and unburned. Whatever this curse was, he had to purge it. He had to remove this magic which flowed in his veins. And maybe, if this Westerosi Stranger was kind, it would burn away the pain of his memories of Valyria, his mother and Saera, granting him peace in death.

**************************************************************

Saera

She lay awake for the remainder of the night, sometimes catching herself rubbing her legs together. She had never felt so wet. Walking had been hard, but she had steeled herself well. No one would know. And when she was forced to clamber up onto Meleys, she’d say that she was just… saddlesore from Jadewing. It was a perfect plan.

It absolutely did not account for Valerion Qoherys’ feelings. Which were mad! That was a mad thing to say! And she had been gracious enough to offer him an out. She was well aware that she was irresistible, and that she simply had this effect on men, but really. She had met him roughly a week ago, and it wasn’t as if they had spent every waking moment together. No, she would keep him as her lover, and ride her own dragon (well, dragonlord) until she grew bored. No feelings would come into it.

…it absolutely did not matter that he had been prepared to die for her. That was nice but unnecessary. She probably would have survived. She rolled over and screamed into her pillow in frustration. How fucking dare he. How dare he bring feelings into what was some very good sex. He had not been her first, she had lied about that. Her first had been Braxton behind the armoury a few weeks before Valerion Qoherys ever came to King’s Landing, and it had been painful and blessedly short. She had had to burn that dress afterwards, and she had liked that dress—wait. No. She was getting angry at the wrong person.

Say what you would about Beesbury, but he knew full well she didn’t love him. He didn’t expect feelings from her. And what? Was she just supposed to ignore that he had said it? That was a level of rudeness that Lord Qoherys – fuck it, Valerion, she wasn’t going to let this ruin their future sex and intimacy – didn’t deserve. He had, after all, been prepared to die for her. Like a moron. It did make her feel satisfied though. He would have died for her. He was deeply in love with her, apparently. That was a new record for how fast someone had fallen for her. She could have just lied about loving him, really. She had lied about her maidenhead.

But, just like outside, something had stopped her. Something had made her be the better person, which was disgusting. She had never once been the better person in her life, and she wasn’t about to start now. Did this mean that she did care about him? Maybe. He did keep trying to protect her, like an idiot, and he was unfairly handsome. Perhaps she did want to keep him but that was it. She certainly wasn’t in love with him (only idiots fell in love! Evidenced by her parents!) after a week of being locked in her room for complimenting his eyes.

…she did begin daydreaming about a babe with his eyes, but really. She was very tired. Besides, how in the seven hells was she to know if it was love anyway? (This was why she was so much smarter than him.) In any case, that decided things. She would tell him that he wasn’t in love and neither was she, but they could keep fucking and be fond of one another. Who knows? That might be love anyway.

Satisfied, she rolled back onto her back and closed her eyes. And then opened them again. She was far too tightly wound to sleep. Stupid handsome Valerion Qoherys. She’d let him know how much he annoyed her next time she saw him.

Her thoughts were rudely interrupted by a knock at the door. “Saera? Sweetling, it’s time to wake up.” Her mother called, slightly muffled by the oak. Apparently, it was later in the morning than she had realised.

“What do you want?” Saera said, doing her best to sound as if she had just woken and was annoyed, as opposed to tightly wound up. There was a brief pause at the door.

“I’ll be sending in some maids shortly; your father is gathering everyone before the trip back to Kings Landing.” Her mother said. She had at the very least only come to bother her about important things.

“Very well, send them in.” Saera groaned, rolling out of her bed and preparing for the gaggle of women to fawn over her. Usually, she would be happy to let them tell her how beautiful she was, and pamper her, but now she had a mission. She had to prepare herself for seeing Valerion Qoherys and not just by telling him he was an idiot who tried to ruin their sex with feelings. That would not have gone over well in front of an audience. The maids entered. It didn’t take them long to style her hair and dress her in a crimson velvet dress. It wasn’t hers, and it was somewhat out of fashion, but it was clean and fit well enough. She supposed she wouldn’t take issue with it. …it was probably poor dead Aunt Rhaena’s. Out of respect, she would not complain until she got back to King’s Landing. Thankfully, she had stuffed the stolen maid’s clothing under the bed, so no one was the wiser.

She departed with the lone septa that her parents had scrounged up from the huts of the smallfolk on Dragonstone – an aged crone with a face like she was constantly smelling something sour. She may have been a remnant of poor dead Aunt Rhaena’s time on Dragonstone too, though it was unlikely. Aunt Rhaena had liked pretty women. Septa Sourface brought her to the room of the painted table, saying nothing. She curtseyed and left as soon as they arrived. Maybe she was mute? It didn’t matter. Saera immediately forgot her. Aemon was sat on the big chair, playing at being their father. She didn’t think he would do that while their father was alive and in the same place. Mayhaps Aemon did have balls. Probably had to, with his ugly misshapen dragon. Someone had to be brave enough to ride that thing. It made enough sense for him to mum at being king here, on ‘his’ rock. King Aemon of the sour faced septas, barren rock, and awful dragons. Long may he reign.

The rest of her family were all there as well, standing around as if they had been waiting for her. (As they should have been. Everyone knew the most important person entered last.) Stupid Valrion was also there, staring at the table as if he had never seen a map before. She took special care not to glare at him or rub her thighs together.
“You wanted to see me?” Saera asked.

“Good morning, Saera. How are you, Saera?” Alyssa said pointedly.

“I am doing wonderfully, thank you.” Saera said. Alyssa was still dressed in her clothes from yesterday. Apparently, Aunt Rhaena’s leftovers had not been offered to her. Unfortunate.

Their mother clapped her hands together. “Let us not start this early in the morning. Aemon? We’re all here.”

Aemon cleared his throat, clearly not expecting to be addressed. “Ah, yes. …Lord Qoherys, you requested this meeting.”

She swung around and stared at Valerion, trying to communicate by eye contact alone that if he told them all, she would hunt him down in the middle of the night and gut him. He did not look at her. This rendered her eye-communication largely ineffective, so she tried to stare at him until he looked at her.
Stupid idiot Valerion put down the token for the Black Dread that he had been playing with, placing it around the God’s Eye. It was not supposed to go there, and she could tell this irritated her father.

“Speak, boy. When one has a king waiting on their words, it is best to be prompt, especially when that king is still debating justice be done upon them.” Saera’s father barked out.

“Of course, Your Grace, though I thought the matter had been settled yesterday?” Valerion smiled in a way that did not reach his eyes.
Saera attempted to bore a hole in his stupid skull by eyesight alone.

“You did not call us here to discuss that.” Her father growled. She was just glad that while angry, he was very clearly her father again, and not the king from yesterday. That icy rage was gone, replaced with his usual quickfire temper.

Valerion shrugged languidly, like it did not matter to him at all. This was because he was very stupid, and very lucky that she liked him anyway. He still seemed perfect and unblemished physically, but there seemed to be something lurking under the skin. Yesterday seemed to have affected him more than she had thought. He did seem slower, more tired – that was probably because he got no sleep, which did make her feel satisfied – but she was unsure how much her family could see.

“It’s very simple, Your Grace. I lied to you. All of you.” He said.

What the fuck was he talking about? Presumably he wasn’t talking about their night together, but who knows. He could have been leading into, ‘I came here to seduce your daughter, and I did. Bye’. This did seem like a worst-case scenario though, and she was under the impression that he had been disgustingly honest last night. He looked at each of them in turn but seemed almost afraid of looking at her. She rolled her eyes. ‘Men are such fools.’

“Boy. Get on with it.” Saera’s father grumbled. “I don’t have time for your dramatics. Get to the point.”

“When I stood before the throne six days ago, I told you that I had escaped Valyria without a scratch. That I was ‘simply lucky’, but I lied. I nearly died in Valyria, by my own design.” He paused for a moment seemingly concentrating on something. Saera could see him rhythmically opening and closing his right fist. “I survived not by my own will, but because something has cursed me. It keeps me hearty and hale, which is why I have no scars, nor bear any wound.”

Saera had thought she knew exactly what this was about, but now she furrowed her brow in confusion. Why was he even telling them this? Maybe he was just trying to get back at her for last night. Why did all men have to ruin her fun?

“Would poison work on him?” Alyssa muttered to Baelon, who shushed her.

Saera’s father sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Enough, Lord Qoherys. I confess, I believe you find me simple-minded. Of course, we noticed inconsistencies with your story and your physique. Ser Aeryk Scales said that you fought like an experienced man. Ser Gyles Morrigen said that you had no scratch nor scar on you. I trust both of them implicitly.”

“However, thank you for your honesty.” Saera’s mother interrupted. “May I ask what prompted it?”

“As I said, it is a curse. And given recent events I wish to finally see myself rid of it.” Valerion said, staring at the Balerion figurine as if it had the answers. Saera did not even have the heart to tell him it was not the original – Aemon had apparently broken it as a very young child and her parents had had to replace it. She was still annoyed though – why was he thinking about curses when there were far more pressing matters at hand? Or, well, hands had been one of the least involved parts, but still. He sounded like the silly peasants who whispered about Harren’s castle. Perhaps he would enjoy a sermon with the sour faced septa.

Saera’s father sighed as if he had the weight of the world on him. “Since you refuse to elucidate further, let me tell you what I am going to do. I cannot risk you spreading this curse to my family or children. We have known for days that you were probably carrying something from Valyria, and our previous attempts to treat it have gone unsuccessfully. Unless you have another idea, we will place you somewhere that you cannot harm anyone, and give you a very, very large dose of sweetsleep. It will at least be peaceful.”

“It is not worms, Jaehaerys.” Saera’s mother hissed.

“It is not not worms.” Her father huffed back. “I realise the boy is seven and ten, and it’s very sad, but I absolutely cannot stand having him near the family anymore and putting them at risk. Think of the children.”

Her mother grimaced before responding. “…can’t we send him to a Stone Men colony or some such?”

“Excuse me, my king, my queen, but it is not worms. I am not contagious as far as I’m aware.” Valerion interrupted.

“That’s what you’d say if you were contagious!” Alyssa accused.

This was quickly spiralling out of control, and Saera had not had any sleep or breakfast. “Everyone shut your mouths! He wasn’t done.” She nodded at Valerion, who looked at her with wide eyes before nodding back.

He took a deep breath, visibly steeling himself, before kneeling before her father. “My king, I would like to try and transfer this health and invulnerability to the dragon Balerion.” 

There was a brief pause as all eyes turned to her father. “You want to curse a dragon?” Saera’s father asked, aghast. “You want to curse the symbol of our dynasty?”

“No, of course not!” Valerion sounded somewhat emotional for the first time that morning, instead of just flat. “I would—I hope it would burn the curse out of me in the process. You yourself must know that a dragon’s mind is made of fire and magic, and nothing short of a true bond can contain it. It would, to the best of my understanding, be a mutual aid.”  His tone was once again flat and emotionless. There was no desperation in his assertion. It was more like he was stating a fact.

Alyssa barked out a laugh, and crossed her arms. “And you, oh wise maester, know so much about dragons, and Balerion in particular. Tell me, have you even seen him, or are you too disgusted by the dragon pit?”

“’Lyssa, that’s not helpful.” Baelon sighed.

Alyssa rolled her eyes. “Nothing about this man has ever been helpful, ‘Lon. Why should I do anything less than reciprocate the respect he has given us?”

Valerion cocked an eyebrow at her but did not give an immediate response. Instead, he rose to his feet, and addressed Saera’s father directly.  “I've the knowledge to try at least. Notes collected from my time in Valyria that speak of attempts to deepen the connection between man and dragon. I know you don’t have reason trust me. Hells, I wouldn’t trust me, but I know I can do this. If not, then I would prefer you throw me into the Blackwater, so I need not live with this any longer.”

“Would drowning manage to kill him?” Alyssa asked Baelon.

Baelon looked incredibly tired. “It’s the Blackwater. Presumably, it will turn his lungs into wounds and then infect them. That should kill him before the water itself.”
Aemon drowsily shushed both of them. 

Saera could feel her anger building as her nostrils flared. Who did Valerion Qoherys think he was? He didn’t get to decide what he did and didn’t get to do. She did. He was hers. She just needed to find the right time to make her will known, when she wasn’t surrounded by her family. For the moment she just glared harder at Valerion, making her anger clear.

“What you suggest is truly madness.” For the first time in her life Saera found herself agreeing with her father. What had this world come to? “However, so long as it only your life you risk, I see no reason to object. Be aware, however, that if we suspect Balerion is in danger for even a moment, then we will interfere, and the consequences will be… severe.”

Nevermind, Saera’s father was an idiot. Valerion was also, tragically an idiot. Many people were idiots, including everyone in her family, who were all nodding and agreeing like this was reasonable. Saera turned her glare on her father, King Idiot of Moron Rock. He was not going to ruin this for her. No one would.

Baelon, who momentarily seemed to have a modicum of sense despite being married to Alyssa, turned to stare at their father. “Father, you cannot allow this to pass. The ruin brought to Valyria is proof that what was lost should stay there.”

“Yes!” Saera voiced her agreement, everyone turned to stare at her. She narrowed her eyes. “What? Baelon has made an excellent point. It was high time too – the last points he made were Viserys and Daemon, and they have yet to prove interesting.” There. That would set the cat amongst the pigeons, and then everyone would start shouting about the amazing abilities of her nephews (Daemon, for instance, was able to put his entire foot in his mouth) and forget this stupid curse-nonsense. Curses were for peasants and simpletons, and they were all very loud about how they were neither. Instead, her father just narrowed his eyes back at her, and ignored her. How awful. Saera had never been ignored on purpose before, and she did not like it.

Before she could open her mouth to speak further, and tell them that they were all idiots, and so were her niblings, her father continued. “The Black Dread was wounded by something of Valyria … perhaps only something of Valyria can restore him. Lord Qoherys will be escorted to Balerion’s tunnel and watched while he performs this ‘ritual’. If he succeeds, so be it. If not, the sword. In the worst case, we’ll brick them in together and contain this curse.”

Saera could not believe this. Well, she could. Her mother seemed vaguely reassured but also vaguely discomforted, which was normal. Aemon was leaning on his chair in a way that suggested he was fighting sleep. Perhaps that was why he sat down in the first place. Baelon was nervously watching Alyssa, who seemed genuinely annoyed. It was all pretty typical, except for Aemon's tiredness, but these were special circumstances. Her mother and brothers did not seem interested in fighting her father about this. Alyssa did, only because she always had to have the last word. (Very vexing for Saera, who also needed the last word.)

“I’m sorry, we’re just listening to the madman—the possibly cursed madman—now?” Alyssa demanded, pointing at Valerion as if there was another cursed madman about.
Maybe the ghost of Andrew Farman was still about? Ghosts were different from curses. Everyone knew ghosts existed.

Valerion shrugged, as if they had been discussing the weather. “You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Didn’t you yourself name Balerion as the symbol of your dynasty, Your Grace? It cannot be good for that symbol to be weak, aging… collapsing under its own weight.” How dare he be funny when she was angry at him!

“You be silent, you’ve done nothing but cause problems.” Saera’s father said before turning to Alyssa. “We all must go to King’s Landing anyway and I have the final say. I am not just your father and your goodfather, but your king. No matter what you wish, my word is law. Now, go to your dragons!”

Saera was swept out of the room with the rest of her family, sparing one final glare for Valerion, who was a fierce challenger for her father’s title of King Idiot of Moron Rock. He didn’t even look at her. She would get him for that.

**************************************************************

Balerion

The Dragonkeepers were guiding someone else in. Balerion raised his head, vaguely intrigued. The only adult dragons out should be… ah,yes. Silverwing and Vermithor. He was having a rare moment of clarity and could smell the others all around. He breathed deep. A hen, not one of theirs, an adult… fairly big, judging by the steps. Injured, by the smell of blood.

“Foul humans!” She hissed and snapped. They could not understand her. They continued to use hushed voices, like falling leaves, trying to soothe and cajole her into position.
Caraxes, Vhagar, and Meleys slipped into their places.

“What’s happening?” Dreamfyre fluttered her wings nervously from her cave. “What are they doing?”

“The humans are trying to help her.” Caraxes said. Balerion puffed out smoke. That much was obvious. Were they all meant to be as empty-headed as Dreamfyre? No one else said anything.

“How… did she become injured…?” Balerion creaked out. There was the smell of alarm from the other dragons. Fools. Did they think he had died in his sleep?

Vhagar, his old war companion, and the most sensible of all, responded first. “Her human flew her to Dragonstone. The egg-eater tried to… I am not certain. It could have been a courting dance, could have been an attack. Her human took offence.”

Balerion pondered this. “How big…?”

“Is she?” Dreamfyre said expectantly. “I don’t know.”

“No.” Balerion snapped. The humans heard the rumbling of his annoyance and began to give off scents of vague panic and dread. Which was true, but annoying nonetheless. He wasn’t trying to scare them, he was trying to exist. There was a difference. “How big… has the egg-eater… gotten?”

“A good size, I’d say.” Vhagar settled in her cave next to his. “Bigger than her. About as big as me.”

Balerion narrowed his eyes, his breath coming in quick bursts of smoke. They should have dealt with the egg-eater long ago. The humans had wanted to prioritise burning other humans, so he had listened, but he should not have.

“If anyone cares,” Meleys began before trailing off. Balerion tilted his head in interest.

“Oh, go on then.” Caraxes said from his cave. “I’ll tell them if you don’t.”

“My human made me slam into him – the eggeater I mean.” Meleys said. “…my snout hurts.”

Balerion could not see any of his fellow dragons, but he could feel the comforting warmth of Vhagar on the far wall, and he could just picture Meleys – Meraxes’ red little baby, hatched for Aegon’s tiny granddaughter who had died in the cradle. He and Vhagar had sworn to themselves – and each other, for what it was worth- that they would protect Meraxes’ one remaining fledgling. A final nod to their once war comrade among all these other, younger dragons. Balerion himself felt great regret and disgust for killing the other one, but what could he do when his human ordered him?

“Your human should not have done that.” Vhagar said flatly. “You are smaller than the egg-eater … but you are blooded in true battle now, which is more than can be said for my eggs.”

“I hope the new dragon is worth it.” Dreamfyre said. It seemed incredibly earnest. Balerion did not like her, and did not like that she was most of his company.

“We weren’t just going to let Alyssa’s sister die.” Meleys said, almost defiant. It was very easy for these young dragons to be defiant when there were walls between them.

“We…?” Balerion mused.

“Alyssa?” Vhagar spat, clearly following the same line of thought. “You call your human by her name?”

Caraxes came to Meleys’ defense. “Why shouldn’t she? She loves her human, and her human loves her back! It’s as it should be!”

“Humans die.” Balerion pointed out. “Riders… come and go. Even if… Alyssa… lives for centuries upon centuries… which she won’t... then it won’t matter. You will have… another rider someday.” It was the most he had spoken in some time.

“I don’t want another rider! I want Alyssa!” Meleys roared. There was a sound from her cave, as if she had struck the wall with her tail.

“You are an eyas, crying for meat.” Vhagar scoffed. “You know nothing of the world.”

Meleys snorted at them. “I was blooded today, you said as much!”

“It is not as if it was a great battle. It is simply more than Silverwing, Caraxes, Dreamfyre… who am I missing from my clutch?”

“Vermithor.” Dreamfyre provided.

“Ah, yes. Vermithor.” Vhagar said. “Well, Vermithor is very lucky that he has not been blooded.” There was a sharp rasping sound, the equivalent of a draconic chuckle. Vhagar had been looking forward to seeing her brood after Maegor died. However, there was apparently every possibility that Vermithor would have fought Balerion at some point. According to Vermithor, anyway.

Balerion believed it. Dragons were quick to temper but Vermithor’s temper was shorter than others. Balerion is glad that it did not come to that. Vhagar would never have forgiven him, and she knew exactly where all his aches and pains were. He did not put it past her to bite him when he wasn’t looking. His tail ached at the mere thought of it. Fourteen Flames, he hated this wet, cold place. Silverwing once mentioned to the others who actually lived in the pit, that she had been flown somewhere where the rain froze, and then her human tried to spur her past a wall so cold it was made of ice.

Privately, Balerion thought that there was no such thing and that Caraxes was telling tales. It would be just like Caraxes to make out that his clutch-mate was a liar. The humans finally succeeded in coaxing the newcomer into the empty cave next to Balerion’s. His nostrils flared at the very idea. The humans had intended that to be Meraxes’ cave. How dare they impugn his comrade like that.

“Oh let it go, Balerion.” Vhagar sounded so old and so tired. (Was this what he sounded like now?) “I can tell how annoyed you are through the wall. Meraxes would never have liked living in a hole in the ground anyway and I doubt there’s much room in one of the other caves for the hen while she recovers.”

“I speak for myself.” The newcomer hissed through the wall on Balerion’s other side.

He tilted his head, fascinated. Every dragon he had met had speech patterns tied to him and his rider’s people. Daenys – you never forgot your first rider, no matter what they had just told Meleys to do—had been shaped by the western island. This dragon wasn't. He’d place her from… the Summer Lands, maybe? He hadn’t had contact with a dragon outside of the family for over a century. Even the egg-eater was believed to be a lost egg that hatched on its own and grew up wrong. Maybe hidden by a stupid human child who never came back for it.

“What’s wrong with your voice?” Dreamfyre asked.

“Nothing’s wrong with her voice!” Caraxes snarled, because of course he was sensitive about that sort of thing. May the Fourteen Flames save Balerion soon from fledgling dramatics.

Balerion thumped his tail against the wall to remind them of their composure. “Summer accent. I have not heard that … in some time.”

“I didn’t realise I would have an accent.” The she-dragon sounded a bit embarrassed.

“It is … not a bad thing.” Balerion wheezed out. “Ignore the eyases.”

“Oh? I thought that they had definitely fledged. You must allow me to thank you, Meleys. My human… I think he would have died there if not for your intervention.” The newcomer said, sounding a little sly, turning into genuine relief and gratitude.

“I’m glad we got there in time.” Meleys said.

“As am I.” That sounded very genuine.

Was that how they bred them in Oros now? The Summer Lands seemed so close. Balerion could see it now – the silver city, with marble pillars, the cries of the dragons. Oh, Daenys, they were going home, home—no! He tried to claw his sanity back. Valyria was gone. Gone. Daenys was gone. The last time he had forgotten that, that poor girl… (Daenys? No. She wasn’t. Was she? Daenys? Where did you go?) Who was he thinking about? Daenys? Wasn’t he meant to go home with her? Where was she? Where was his rider? Where was he? Why were his claws so big? Balerion keened like an eyas, waiting for his mother or his rider to come for him. They would come as they had promised. Where then? Where were they?

“What’s happening?” A hen said through the wall. What? The walls? Where was his mother? The hen had the accent of the Summer Lands – was he in Oros? Why was he here?

“Never you mind.” Another hen said through the other wall. Wait, that one had a west island accent. She sounded older, but she wasn’t his mother. Had she broken into their nest? Where was his mother? Where was his rider?

“I mean, we could tell her, warn her—” That was a tiercel. How many dragons were here, in this hole? Pit. It’s a pit. It was where the Targaryens put their dragons – no, no, why would they do that? There was a lovely estate on the West Island and there were many volcanoes back home. Balerion had hatched in one, his rider picking him out of his mother’s clutch, and naming him, and-and … she wouldn’t just leave him.

Balerion called again, a hatchling’s cry for a mother that wasn't answering. He called for Daenys. The other dragons around him were so, so quiet. Where was he? Why would no one come for him?

**************************************************************

Valerion

The different dragons had been escorted to their individual tunnels per the instructions of the king. Valerion had found himself observing the Dragonkeepers as they escorted the wounded Jadewing away. He had very little enthusiasm for the pit and what it represented, but the armoured wardens were clearly well trained. They had relatively little trouble guiding Jadewing within, despite her temper. Although it could be her injuries were simply muting her ability to make her will known. He felt a little pang of guilt for that. If he had been less … reckless perhaps her wounds would not be as severe. Then again, perhaps they would be worse.

Valerion had been waiting for permission to enter the pit proper and begun to simply gaze out at the roofs of the city of King’s Landing – many rows of brick and tile. It was a place bustling with life, much like Volantis. Volantis had been a place where the individuals simply became part of the crowd, like trees in a forest. Maybe that was why he had despised the free city so much; he valued his solitude. Still, he was not alone at the moment. The royal family was observing him very closely.

Saera had not stopped glaring at him – even while they were on separate dragons on the trip back to King’s Landing, he had felt the force of her gaze. Clearly she had not taken last night’s conclusion well, as he had suspected. She probably never wanted to see him again. Either way, he doubted she would have to suffer him and his idiocy much longer. After all, Jaehaerys seemed determined to see this done and resolved, before they returned to the Red Keep. No doubt his patience had run thin after yesterday.

Valerion silently turned over the preparations in his mind. The notes that weren’t aged to nothing and had been swiped before Valerion left the ruins of the Varezys manse, written by… him… had proven somewhat difficult to decipher. Valerion had attempted to do so when arranging travel across the Narrow Sea – had forced himself to, really – but the spidery, faded handwriting gave him a headache. He simply could not be certain how to control the ritual. He had never deigned to gleam the higher mysteries before. One of the Dragonkeepers, perhaps a more experienced individual, approached the king. Maybe this was the much-awed Dragonkeeper Aelyx.

“Your Grace.” He bowed slightly, likely restricted by the thickness of the plate he was wearing. “We do not recommend entering the Black Dread’s chamber. He is… having an episode.”

The king took this in and gave a short nod. “A pity. We shall have to wait then. Inform the Red Keep when his temperament improves.” Valerion did not know if he had more time. Last night had been the worst his sleep had been since he had left the Valyrian Peninsula.

“No. I would do what needs to be done now. There will never be an ideal time to do what I intend.” Valerion said.

The king slowly turned and looked at him. “Did I ask for your opinion?”

Baelon stepped forward clearing his throat. “Father, far be it from me to support this, but Balerion’s health has been declining since I was young. Lord Qoherys isn’t wrong that it may never be a good time. Is it not best to have this be done? One way or another.” The prince likely just wanted to see this done and go home to his children. Baelon's father listened to his son, which was probably what fathers did. Valerion wouldn’t know.

“Very well.” The king sighed, turning back to the Dragonkeeper. “Prepare to open the tunnel.”

He then turned to those of his family who had ventured to Dragonstone. “Aemon, I know you wish to ensure Rhaenys is well. Take Saera and return to the Red Keep.” Prince Aemon, who looked almost more tired than Valerion felt, simply nodded and moved to Saera.

“It is time to go. I’ve been away from Jocelyn and Rhaenys long enough.” Prince Aemon said, his exhaustion seeming more obvious by the moment.

“No.” Saera said, crossing her arms and glaring pointedly at him and then her father. It made her look very enticing. “How am I to know you simply didn’t take Lord Qoherys’ head and blame the ritual? I will witness what happens with my own eyes, since they seem to be the only thing I can trust.”

Saera's father sighed and looked up towards the sky, as if the Westerosi gods would come down and grant him strength and mercy. The queen laid her hand on his arm. “Jae, we talked last night about allowing her access to the pit anyway. Perhaps giving her more responsibility will make her act more responsibly?”

Saera chuckled dryly. “How amusing. I thought I was barred from this place because I’m just a little child.” She said, proving yet again that despite everything, she had a way of cutting through the shit her family seemed to throw her way.

The queen turned to her. “No, you were barred because you ripped Daella’s dress on purpose. After that there was never a span of good behaviour where we would have been able to be comfortable rescinding it. Understand, this is not meant to be a reward for you.”

“The idea is that if you simply must go flying off on dragonback, you will take an experienced family mount. Dreamfyre presumably.” The king said, patting his wife’s hand with his own.

Saera had been stopped cold. “I … you … you want to let me have a dragon?”

“We expect it will be an inevitability.” Her father said, before tilting his head. “You and Rhaena would have gotten along. Dreamfyre should bond with you well enough. You’re welcome to try while we all stand around watching Lord Qoherys and his supposed curse.”

“No, I will be there.” Saera said firmly. “You won’t buy me off.”

“Buy you off…” The king repeated, shaking his head slowly. “Gods, have you been reading sordid novels? Where did you get that? ‘Buy you off’… Gods. Come then. Alyssa, Saera is your responsibility.”

“What!” Alyssa exclaimed. “Why do I have to look out for her?”

“Because you’re the closest in age to her, Baelon is needed in case Vhagar is necessary to calm Balerion, and because I’m your father and I said so.” The king said calmly.

“As if she’s intelligent enough to do so.” Saera muttered to herself. Hells, he couldn’t laugh at that right now, no matter how funny he found her. Saera's father sighed again, which was the only acknowledgement he gave the comment. He waved some Dragonkeepers over to escort them into this yawning pit. Two of them stuck close to Valerion as they were all escorted below. Valerion had to admit that he was impressed; by some trick of architecture, the inside appeared larger than the outside. The stone benches lined near the entrance must have been designed to house thousands of people, if not more.

The group descended into the main atrium, which itself was connected to different doors – each tens of feet tall and made of thick iron. The Dragonkeepers directed the group over to one of the central doors. Inside, Valerion could hear something large moving around, and a piercing wail. He was careful to note the shifting glances between the king, his wife and Prince Baelon who all seemed a little on edge at the muffled sounds. Two other armoured keepers were stood by to open the doors, apparently giving them a moment to rethink this. The king nodded to them and they began the process in earnest.

Opening the door itself took several minutes, the size and weight proving to be greatly challenging. It would have to be to contain a dragon, Valerion supposed. The noises of thrashing and rocks falling came in waves, several of which occurred as he waited for the process to be complete.

“You are the one who wished to do this, Lord Qoherys. I suggest you get to it.” King Jaehaerys said, gesturing to the open tunnel. The tunnel was dark, pierced only by the light carried over from the atrium. Only the entrance and the first few feet were lit – it was as if he would be swallowed by the shadows if he took a step further. The whole room was swelteringly warm, which would probably become worse the closer he got to an upset adult dragon.

“I will require a torch, Your Grace.” Valerion turned to the nearest keeper. The king simply waved in assent, resulting in a torch being produced from a keeper’s belt and lit. It was handed to him, and he nodded at the dragon keeper.  

“Prepare to seal the tunnel if something goes awry. Await my command.” Valerion heard the king mutter to one of the attending Dragonkeepers. Valerion ignored this, and marched into the dark, ready to meet his fate, one way or another.  He walked for close to a minute before looking back. To his secret relief, the royal family were following approximately 30 feet behind him with several Dragonkeepers illuminating their way.

His eyes caught Saera who seemed to be studying him but she quickly turned it into a glare once she noticed. Sighing, he turned back to the task at hand. Fortunately, the Black Dread was not being quiet otherwise he may as well have been invisible in the darkness. Unfortunately, he was the source of the keening wail which had made the hairs on the back of Valerion’s neck rise. He could not see all of Balerion. His titanic form pushed the boundaries of even this gigantic cavern. Being here could not have been good for his growth.

Valerion halted his advance some distance away. Balerion was agitated, his great tail sweeping out and knocking bricks and rocks from the wall. Valerion handed his torch to a Dragonkeeper – he would not need it for the moment. He proceeded to pull Subterfuge from its scabbard and tested the Valyrian Steel edge against the palm of his hand. His skin resisted the blade, but a thin cut of blood occurred nonetheless. He had supposed that spell-forged metal may still affect him from the notes he had deciphered. He had hoped it would still affect him, at least. He returned the dagger to its scabbard, no need to give King Jaehaerys further justification for violence.

Taking the blood from his palm he marked each of his fingertips, his other palm and two locations on his forehead. Apparently, fourteen points were needed for the ritual, no doubt something to do with fourteen flames of Valyria. This done, he picked up the torch again and passed a few drops of blood over the flame. All Valyrian magic was of fire and blood. The fusion of it was a necessity. Now for the tricky part.

He stepped closer to the thrashing behemoth. “HERE!” He had to raise his voice as loud as possible to draw the dragon’s attention. He was forced to repeat this twice more as he approached, before Balerion’s head turned to face him. A great eye the size of a carriage wheel stared at him. Even from here it looked to be glassy, as if looking at something behind him. From this distance Valerion could see the scars the dragon bore. Some so great that only something truly horrifying could have been responsible.

Valerion laid the torch between them, not looking away from the dragon. The dragon did not move to strike, nor away in cooperation; instead, it continued to stare elsewhere, only vaguely aware of his presence. Valerion placed one of his hands under his shirt and upon his chest. With the other, he moved to slowly touch the underjaw of Balerion. Already on edge, the dragon reeled back and tried to face him in earnest.

Valerion stood still, making sure to keep his hand outstretched as if Balerion had not moved at all. Balerion brought his snout close to his hand sniffing it, deciding if it should touch him. Valerion made no sudden move and left this to the dragon. After all, this would only succeed if the Black Dread was a willing participant. After a pause, in which Valerion did not take a breath, Balerion brought his snout to contact with Valerion’s hand. Whatever had made the Black Dread agree to this was beyond Valerion’s knowledge but the moment he did he felt a connection form between them.

Valerion could tell this was not a dragonbond. The bond between rider and dragon was as if two worked in concert. This connection was not of two, but one. Valerion could feel everything the dragon had, and in that moment, he pressed upon their shared heart.

They were one and the same. They were in Valyria, the great sphinxes stood tall, a city full of life. They were in Valyria, dead and empty. They were on a ship, Daenys’ hand on their head, as they sailed away and the older Targeryen dragons wheeled overhead. They were in Volantis, coming back to a mother dead and buried and nothing else there.
They were in the Dragonpit, surrounded by Targaryens and Dragonkeepers.

Valerion and Balerion breathed in at the same time. If Valerion went to speak, Balerion went to open his mouth. For the time being, they were simply Alerion. Alerion dove back into the memories, trying to separate their pasts back into their respective bodies. And there, there was Aurion Varezys. He was just how Alerion remembered him – taller than anything, short and hunched, young and able, old and decrepit.

“You’re losing yourself.” Aurion said, not in the young voice that he had had the day that he came to ask Daenys’ father for her hand for his son. It also wasn’t his wheezing cackle that Alerion remembered from his time in Valyria.

“What would you know about it?” Alerion demanded, flames shooting out of the side of their mouths.

Aurion, young and old, both and neither, cocked his head. “Oh, stupid boy. You don’t know? You really, truly thought that I did not succeed when I wanted to take your youth and virility? You think I didn’t just decide it would be easier to have your body, as it is?”

“You stole vitality before.” Alerion said. “I can smell it on you. You ate a dragon.”

“Yes, that would be Āeksionperzys. You would know her as the mother of your Zēatīkun. She was the last egg hatched by House Varezys before the Doom, and she remained very close by until she served me in death.” Aurion Varezys said patiently, as if explaining to a child.

Alerion bared their death. “Murderer. How dare you consume a dragon’s essence. You worm. You nothing!”

Aurion smirked. “Oh? And what are you doing right now?”

“I am trying to heal…” Alerion could not say it. There was only Alerion left. The dragon and the man did not matter. There was only Alerion.

“You’re both being eaten.” Aurion clucked his tongue. “No matter. Once it is done, I shall simply remain to take control. And may I just thank you, boy? Your Targaryen girl will be a fine mother for a new empire. A Varezys empire.”

Rage flared within Alerion. He was trying to take Daenys! He was trying to take Saera! He would have neither. Alerion would eat him first.

Alerion stepped forward – the soft step of a human, the boom of a dragon. “You cannot have her.”

Aurion, foremost dragonlord of Valyria, only dragonlord of Valyria, regarded Alerion coolly. “And what are you going to do about it? Nothing can be done while you consume the other.”

In another life, Alerion had leapt forward, and bitten Aurion Varezys’ hand for daring to try to take Daenys away. He had just barely been pulled off, and Aurion Varezys had sworn that no Targaryen would ever be so blessed to have a Varezys suitor again. In another life, Alerion had leapt forward, and driven a dagger between Aurion Varezys’ ribs, twisting until he was sure that he was alone.

Wait. He? Had they not always been Alerion? Surely, they had been.
But.
They had not been. Their mother was Gēlionrongon, who had nudged them out of their shell and into the sun. Their mother was Valaena Qoherys, who had been born a daughter of a lowly Valyrian family, lesser even than the Velaryons in the strata of Valyria.

Alerion had heard the Doom from half a world away.
Alerion had seen the aftermath of the Doom, walking through it. Walking, not flying.
Alerion was a dragon.
Alerion was a dragon rider.

Alerion opened their mouth wide and breathed in. They would eat Aurion Varezys. Not as one, together. Balerion and Valerion. They would consume him, and the others that he had eaten would be avenged. Daenys and Saera would be safe.

Daenys was dead. She had died long ago. She had died in her bed, old and withered and he had not even been able to go to her. He was too big.
Saera was safe. Even if a monster wore Alerion’s – no, Valerion’s face, she wouldn’t want it.
They were safe.

Alerion inhaled again, in tandem. Two hearts beating the same rate – a dragon’s heart beating much, much faster than it should. A human’s heart beating much, much slower than it should. They did not have much time.

“What are you doing? Stop!” Aurion Varezys ordered.

"I am Alerion, made from Balerion." Alerion roared.
"I am Alerion, made from Valerion." Alerion sneered.

They did not listen to him. They had never listened to him. They inhaled again, catching him on their teeth – and swallowed.

No more Aurion Varezys. For now, at least. Alerion remembered. Alerion remembered everything that had ever happened to either of their halves. Alerion moved their halves to create a whole, removing the jagged remains of Aurion Varezys keeping them from being one whole Alerion. They smoothed the edges and fit them together. That half of Alerion did not need so much, which had undoubtedly not been theirs to give in the first place. That half of Alerion did not need so little.

“I think we need to leave each other be now.” Alerion said. “I think I might end up eating you.”

“I don’t think you’ll eat me.” Alerion replied. “I think we are going to fall together. No more me or you, just us.”

“There is no us. It is neither of our natures.” Alerion snapped.

“I don’t know what I can be without you.” Alerion confessed.

“You do. You remember who you were before, the things you felt. Don't you?” Alerion asked.

“I don’t want to.” Alerion said.

“I’m leaving now. Whether you accept it or not.” Alerion said.

“Don’t go.” Alerion said.

And then they severed, and there were two wholes again. Balerion let out a roar.
Valerion turned to see Saera safe, only to feel himself falling forwards, his vision fading away.

**************************************************************

Baelon

Baelon’s footsteps rang against the polished stones of the Red Keep’s interior, each step causing Lord Qoherys to shift slightly in his arms. The man was completely unconscious. He breathing was so shallow, and his skin somehow paler than before. They had thought him a corpse as he turned from Balerion, only for him to collapse.

The Targaryens had followed Baelon as he took Lord Qoherys on the fastest horse possible to the Red Keep – well, second fastest. The fastest of all had been taken by a Dragonkeeper to ready the maesters. The family had caught up with Baelon, and were customarily arguing – though Baelon had turned his mind away from their words, and could not hear them. His focus was entirely on Lord Qoherys.

He had no love, nor even much respect, for the man in his arms but he did not wish to see him dead. Even if Lord Qoherys may not have agreed. Lord Qoherys had his own reasoning for wanting to heal the Black Dread. From the moment Lord Qoherys had proposed the idea, Baelon had not found it entirely altruistic – Lord Qoherys was, after all, not proving to be a man of altruism – nor borne of a desire for penance.

In fact, Baelon had been observing Lord Qoherys more and more, especially as he carried the man deeper into the Red Keep. A thin scar as if a wound long healed, which was not present previously, rested across his forehead. The scar was small and faint but noticeable from a close distance, mainly because it cut against the edge of his left eyebrow. In addition, his right arm appeared to rest at an awkward angle which indicated a serious wound indeed. Baelon had only seen such behaviour when a soldier had his arm shattered blocking the blow of flail which had broken his shield. The mans screams had stuck with him for a long time indeed. Perhaps it was pain that had made Lord Qoherys unconscious. Though the Black Dread had not harmed Lord Qoherys and the fall would not have impacted him like this.

Baelon barrelled into the Grand Maester’s chamber and laid Lord Qoherys out on the table. His body proved difficult to manoeuvre especially as Baelon attempted to avoid further twisting Lord Qoherys’ arm. Once Lord Qoherys’ body was somewhat laid out Baelon turned to assess his family.

Alyssa almost seemed in shock, an expression he saw rarely. She had not been subtle about her belief that this ‘ritual’ was yet another attempt to hurt their family. Clearly, she was being forced to rapidly re-evaluate the situation given the self imposed consequences of Qoherys’ actions. No manipulation would be worth the state Lord Qoherys was in now.

His father rapidly tapped his fingers against the desk in the room, agitated by the turn of events in the Dragonpit. No doubt Balerion’s vigorous demeanour as they departed was on his mind. The Black Dread’s new lease on life would have to be assessed, especially as he had not been contained in the Dragonpit until his ill-fated flight to Valyria. His mother was deeply nervous, though if he were estimate it was more to do with the sole person that Baelon had not turned his attention to in the room yet – Saera.

Saera was silent in her anger, which Baelon had not often seen from her. Her hands were balled into fists and she shook off any attempts for someone to approach her. She had always had a temper of course, and she often showed it in her snide words and demanding behaviour. However, she was rarely quiet and angry. This boded very ill.

Since the groups departure from the Dragonpit she had offered not a word, only glaring at anyone and everything that drew her attention. She seemed especially angry at the almost-corpse which lay on the bed. With a jolt, Baelon realised that it was their father’s anger. Quick and hot for small infractions, but for something big… a towering inferno of icy rage. One that demanded recompense and dissuaded all attempts at reconciliation. Baelon had only ever seen it a handful of times in their father, including the previous day, and never in another.

Grand Maester Elysar hurried inside with a servant carrying several of his medical instruments. Baelon had never had the talent for the healing arts and simply stepped aside while the Grand Maester investigated Lord Qoherys. No one spoke for a moment, except for the Grand Maester ordering another tool as he checked Lord Qoherys.

“Father, what now?” Baelon finally asked, turning away from the very, very still body. He had not had any time to discuss the ramifications of the most recent event with his father.

“We await Elysar’s assessment. The best course of action will be dependant on that.” His father answered matter-of-factly. Baelon felt ill at ease. Lord Qoherys had potentially given his life for their family – he was not some interesting tome or map to be regarded like this.  

“And what of the Black Dread?” Alyssa spoke. “He seemed more … lively than any have suggested he was in many years.” Alyssa may have been blunt but she did have a point. Balerion’s containment was by no means a guarantee, if he decided he wished to leave. Even if he wished to stay, any increased activity would necessitate a great increase in food needed.

“That is a job for the Dragonkeepers to determine.” Their mother spoke. “Besides, that should hardly be our concern.”

Baelon could not help a little nod at his mother in this moment. Finally, someone who understood his concerns. His mother had a kind heart and kinder soul. Despite all that had occurred in the past day, she was perfectly decent about the matter. She always cared.

“Saera…” His mother reached for Saera’s shoulder. At the slightest of moment of contact her cold glare snapped from Lord Qoherys to their mother. If looks could kill, the Kingsguard would have had to arrest Saera for matricide.

“Don’t you dare touch me.” Saera said, shrugging her mother off. “I told you all not to do it. Did you listen? No. Fuck off and figure out the accounting for the Black Dread’s meals – which, if you were worried about, you should have thought about sooner.”
Baelon’s mother opened her mouth to reply.

“Interesting.” Grand Maester Elysar interrupted, apparently not having paid any attention to the squabbling Targaryens. Baelon dearly wished he could do the same.

“Speak plainly, Grand Maester.” His father said, stopping the tapping. “We have had enough dramatics to last until next Summer.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Elysar croaked out, turning away from Lord Qoherys as quickly as his aged body would allow. Baelon fought the urge to fetch the man a chair. Grand Maester Elysar continued in his long drone. “The young lord’s body has sustained significant damage. What is strange is that the wounds have, for the most part, healed already. As if accrued along the slow and meandering path of life. As your grace is aware, visual signs of scarring and wounding were not present a week ago, when seen by Ser Morrigen, the other maesters, and myself. Fortunately for Lord Qoherys, despite the rapid shock to his body he remains alive.” He went to return to his patient.

“He’s alive?” Saera asked, sounding as if something had broken through her shell of anger.

“Indeed.” Elysar answered glancing over at Saera to make his annoyance at the interruption known, but quickly centering his attention back to their father. “His body has entered the Deep Sleep, Your Grace.” The Deep Sleep. Baelon knew of it but cases of it were not terribly common. Typically, those who entered it did so through chance and against frightful odds.

“When will he recover?” His mother asked.

“It is impossible to say, Your Grace.” Elysar began supporting Lord Qoherys’ arm and placing it into a sling of some kind. “With the proper care, his body should heal at a near ordinary rate. However, many maesters have testified that the mind is the more active regarding the sleep. For someone to waken, it is said they must wish to do so. Many simply do not emerge from the Deep Sleep. Those that do … tend to do so at varying times.”

“Very well, Grand Maester. I leave the young lord in your care. Ensure you relay any developments at the small council meetings.” His father had returned to tapping the desk again. “Alyssa and Baelon, ensure Saera is returned safely to her chambers.” Baelon nodded and moved over to Saera, this would certainly be a great challenge.

“No. I shan't leave.” She demanded, wilful as ever. Baelon heard his father sigh for the twenty fourth time today. Presumably there had been more while Baelon’s family had been on dragonback but they were carried away by the wind.

“Yes, you will.” Their father’s patience had long since worn thin. “You do not know anything that will help the Grand Maester. In fact, you will be in his way. You are not a midwife or camp follower, medicine is not the purview of a well-bred young lady. And may I remind you that by your confession, you persuaded a young, stupid nobleman to fly you to Dragonstone? Whereupon you were both attacked by the Cannibal? Did you think we would just let you off with a slap on the wrist? No. We’re all to leave the room now.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Saera snapped. “Hate me all you like.”

“Very well. Ser Morrigen? Would you mind restraining my daughter for me?” Their father asked coolly, calling to the open door for the waiting Kingsguard. Ser Morrigen entered and apparently did not like this anymore than Saera. That being said, it was a small space and he was in armor. She was not. He corralled her and then marched her out of the room. Baelon’s family followed.

“Let me go!” Saera screamed, trying to turn around and claw at Ser Morrigen’s face.

“Ser Morrigen, if my daughter gives you any trouble, feel free to pick her up and toss her over your shoulder. Though I would ask you avoid the busier areas of the Keep so her comportment does not further embarrass the royal family.” Baelon’s father said.

“Yes, my king.” Ser Morrigen sighed.

“Everyone, return to your duties.” Baelon’s father said.

Saera screamed wordlessly and tried to flop to the ground so that the Kingsguard would drop her. He did not.

“Please, princess, let’s not make this any harder for both of us.” Ser Morrigen said.

Saera began to try and throw herself to the floor harder, repeatedly screaming, “Let me go!” Perhaps she was trying to wake poor Lord Qoherys with her shrieks. Whatever she was doing, it was not working. Ser Morrigen eventually picked her up and put her on his shoulder, as if he was carrying a bag of flour and not a young woman who was doing her damnedest to kick him. It was not going to work. He was in plate and she was in soft slippers.

Baelon privately wondered why she wanted to stay if she was so angry but folded that thought away for later. For now, he simply wished to see his sons.

**************************************************************

Saera

Ser Gyles sighed harder as she continued to scream and rail against him. Let him. Let him think she was bringing shame upon her illustrious family. She wanted to claw his eyes out, and was not shy about letting him know this.

“We've arrived, princess.” He said, depositing her inside her rooms as the flock of septas gathered like storm clouds. “Your royal father will be along soon. Please, for your own sake, can you listen to him? It may let you out sooner.”

“You don’t care about me.” Saera sneered at him, itching to slam the door in his face at the very least.

“Princess, I do care.” Ser Gyles said. “I was outside the room when you were born. I was one of the first people, especially outside of your family, to hold you. I have watched you grow up. Please, I understand that you are very angry with your royal father. However, if you scream at him, he will simply keep you locked away until you do as he says. You know this.”

“And what should I do then? Act contrite?” Saera scoffed. “I don’t regret anything. You know this.”

“Princess…” Ser Gyles began. “You and I both know you’re a better mummer than that. Please, at least, do not attack your royal father. By hand or word. Just … ice him out. Don’t react.”

“Fuck you! I’ll react if I want to!” Saera screamed.

Ser Gyles tilted his head and looked at her. “It won’t change anything. It will just make things worse.”

Saera did not want him to look at her like that, like he saw her. “What do you know, old man?” She turned away from him and made for her room. Then she threw herself down on the bed and stewed, angry tears streaming down her face.

How dare Valerion Qoherys go and get himself killed before she had a chance to talk to him?! How dare her father allow this?! How dare that stupid old man Elysar not fix Valerion?! Elysar could fix almost anything, she knew it! He was doing this just to spite her! And how dare Ser Gyles try and offer advice, as if he knew anything?! She wasn’t doing this for attention! She wasn’t doing this for her father! She was doing this because her stupid family had taken away the only person who had ever cared for her, as Saera and not the princess of the Targaryen family.

She sobbed into her pillow. Stupid pillow. It should be softer.

Chapter Text

Alysanne

48 hours. 2 days since the family had returned from Dragonstone. They had been the quietest days Alysanne had experienced since the early days of her marriage on Dragonstone. Over 30 years had passed since then, and yet they remained the simplest of her life. The days after Maegor’s cruelty and before the burden of the realm.

Lord Qoherys showed no signs of waking, according to Grand Maester Elysar, meaning that no new surprises were waiting around the corner, at least as far as Alyssa was concerned. There were some hopes for a new royal child or grandchild, but Alyssa had bled on schedule, and Jocelyn had always had odd patterns. One may have thought that the quiet nature of the last two days was something of a comfort to her but unfortunately, a queen’s work was never done. Neither was a mother's.

Gael had been teething and wanted comfort, while also having a tendency to bite anything put in her mouth. Viserra had had a breakout of spots that, while completely normal for her age, was apparently the bane of her existence and ruining her life. Aemon was trying to codify all of the laws of the First Men, a long undertaking that would no doubt last even under his own reign. Daemon liked to hit things, and Alyssa encouraged this while Baelon despaired.

Most pressingly, a raven had arrived from the Eyrie, Daella was rapidly approaching the end of her pregnancy, and growing more scared by the day. Alysanne had planned to take to the skies and be with Daella well ahead of the birth of her grandchild. As it was, she had a little over a month before the maesters expected the child. Alysanne had meant to go previously, but there was always one thing or another to keep her in the capital.

Daella had always been her sweetest baby and Alysanne had been very concerned when her pregnancy was announced. After all, Daella was only eight-and-ten, far too young to be forced into any marriage. Alysanne herself had chosen to be married young, and it was a normal thing to occur, but Daella was much more vulnerable even at six and ten.

Now Alysaane was not sure if she would have the chance to go at all. Saera had proven increasingly problematic the last few days. Not uncommon, in and of itself, but usually such trouble would be in the form of some drinking or sneaking out of the keep with her friends. Some form of disruption that would ultimately culminate in an angry reprisal, either from Jaehaerys or her victim.

However it was the entire opposite as of late. Saera had refused to leave her rooms or communicate with any of the individuals who visited her. According to the servants, she had not even requested the Arbor Gold she typically drank when forced into seclusion. The ladies she had spent the last year sharing her life with had been shut out also. This may have been for the best, though Perianne Moore had openly asked what they were meant to do now. At least the other one had the sense not to make that Alysanne’s concern.

Alysanne had visited Saera the previous day, letting her know that she had spoken to her father and that she was no longer being restricted to her rooms. They had decided that the Cannibal was enough of a punishment, in his own way. Given how fiercely Saera had fought poor Ser Morrigen, Alysanne had expected her most wayward child to leave almost immediately, but nothing had changed. Saera remained stubbornly isolated with only the occasional delivery of food and drink for company.

With one daughter shutting her out and another in dire need of her presence, Alysanne felt like she was being torn in two. What was she to do when both needed her? Certainly not occupy her time with more concerns laid before the small council.

Realising her thoughts had caused her to drift, she refocused on Grand Maester Elysar who was presently talking. “-the raven specified that both would be attending, Your Grace.”

Jaehaerys nodded. “Very well, it will have been much time since Vaegon has set foot in the capital. I should like to know the man he has become.”

“The ships that make port at Oldtown are sturdy and strong. They will carry the entourage well to Kings Landing. I would expect them to be at Highgarden by the end of the morrow. At Highgarden there are some readily available barges which can carry them to Tumbleton.” Lord Manfryd Redwyne proclaimed. The man was, as always, perfectly competent, if not a bit droning. In the corner, his son, Ser Ryam, looked to be struggling to keep his eyes open. Ser Clement nudged Ser Ryam, who jolted and glared at his sworn brother.

“The summons was urgent. If their journey lacks any difficulties we should expect them to arrive 5 days hence.” Septon Barth, offered a more concise estimation of the trip, not paying attention to the Kingsguard shift in the corner. Jaehaerys picked up a note, clearly something that had come via raven and the meeting continued on as they tended to do. It was a full hour later that the members departed about their various duties.

As Jaehaerys stood up to leave Alysanne moved to him. “A word, husband?” She smiled, trying her best not to let the concerns on her face show.

Jaehaerys turned and reached for her hand, clasping gently. “For you, anytime. What is it that vexes you, my love?” He asked with a gentle smile.

Alysanne found herself calming as she looked at him. “I feel… thin. Stretched. There’s too much to do, and too little of me to go around. Saera does not wish to see the world, for the first time since she learned how to walk. Daella is on the eve of birth, and she is so scared...” She stopped and sighed. “I wish to go to the Eyrie and support our daughter, but I cannot leave Saera alone either.”

Alysanne felt Jaehaerys’ hand tighten around hers slightly. “Saera is not alone here. She may struggle to see it, but our family is here for her. Daella…” Her husband stopped and considered his next words. After all, it had been his command which had meant she need marry so quickly. “Daella needs your support. The realm can manage with you in the Vale.”

Alysanne smiled a bit more genuinely now. She had needed to hear that. “Very well. I shall depart today. I have already delayed long enough. Before I leave however, I will see if I can convince Saera to at least look at another face.”

“Send a raven when you arrive.” Jaehaerys kissed her hand before departing about his day. Now she had to prepare for someone who was far trickier.

**************************************************************

Saera

Saera stared up at the ceiling, just as she had done for the past few days. Apparently, Peri and Alys had tried to stop by – doubtless they thought that she was being punished, or perhaps this was some sort of new game.
It wasn’t. Games were when she was bored. At that moment, Saera was just angry, which had hardened into something sharp and painful over time.

When Valerion Qoherys woke up, she would kill him herself. And if she never saw her worthless, piece of shit father again, it would be too soon. How dare he drag her off and lock her up like this. And for what? Making a scene? Having emotions? He’d better not show himself to her again or—she cut herself off abruptly. She had had enough time to think about revenge on her family while she waited to hear if Valerion would die of stupidity or by her hand. She was getting bored of the idea of revenge, at least so far.

“Saera? I’m coming in.” Someone interrupted her musings.

Saera rolled over, still in her nightdress from a few days ago, and glared at her mother from the pile of blankets she had cocooned herself in. “What do you want?”

Saera’s mother clasped her hands in front of herself. “I am going to the Vale soon. I wanted to let you know.”

Saera narrowed her eyes. “You’ve let me know. Now leave.” Saera’s mother took a deep breath. She looked every inch a queen. Saera hated her a bit.

“I just wanted to let you know, in case you needed me.”

Saera hated her mother a lot, actually. “Why would I need you?”

Her mother stared at her a moment before responding. “Because you’re my daughter, and you’re hurting."

Saera barked out a laugh. “And when I was hurting before? When I was locked up for my heinous and despicable crimes of taking from the kitchens and playing pranks? When I was banned from the Dragonpit, as if I was not a Targaryen? Where were you when I decided that Valerion Qoherys was my best chance to take to the skies?”

“You never asked.”

“You would have never said yes.” Saera growled. “I’m not your perfect gooddaughter Jocelyn. I’m not Alyssa. I’m not pious Maegelle, a gift from the gods. I’m not a cute little baby like Gael or a lackwit for you to nurture like Daella. I am an inconvenience, isn’t that right, Mother?”

“Saera, please don’t speak like that.” Her mother begged.

“Why not?!” Saera demanded, bursting out of her nest of blankets and pillows like the Black Dread. “It’s what you and Father both think! Saera, the inconvenience! Saera, the embarrassment! Well, if you’re only going to remember I exist on your terms, then you can just fuck right off! I don’t need your pity!”

“Saera!” Her mother snapped. “Don’t speak that way!”

Saera threw a pillow at her mother. “Leave! Now!” Her mother let the pillow collide with her. Even that did not make her less the queen apparently. Her mother opened her mouth to say something and then stopped for a moment glancing out of one of the windows. Saera glared while remaining stock still awaiting the inevitable retaliation.

“I don’t know exactly what is causing you to hurt this way, Saera. But if you need me gone to work that out…” She stopped a moment and sighed. Another fucking sigh. Always with the fucking sighing. “…then I will leave.” Her mother made her way to the door stopping before opening it. “Your grandsire struggled until he bonded with a dragon. Maybe it would help you too.”

“Just go.” Saera said, sick of the condescension from this bitch. Her mother left the room once again leaving Saera with her thoughts. The audacity to compare her to Aenys. Was that how her mother saw her? Weak, spineless and pathetic. If that's the case, then she would gladly prove her idiot mother wrong and she knew exactly how to do it. Saera glared out of the window for several hours until the silvery dragon of her mother flew into the sky, a sure sign of her departure.

Then she jumped into action, opening the door to her chambers and catching the eye of one of the servants moving about the corridors of the keep. “You! Find some other peasants and tidy me up.” The idiot girl looked like a deer preparing to flee from the hunters. She attempted to speak but repeatedly tripped over her words. “Are you simple?” The girl looked even more scared now and simply stopped speaking altogether. Saera felt a little smirk on her face again, she had missed this. “Just find someone who can speak and get them to follow my commands.” Saera said rolling her eyes before heading back inside.

Judging by the small group of handmaids and septas who arrived a short while later, the girl was either a talented mime, or capable of talking after all. Saera paid them little mind as she was made presentable for what little remained of the day, far too focused on her intent to visit the Dragonpit.

Once she was outfitted into an elegant looking sunset-coloured dress that tapered into leggings underneath and a matching pair of slippers, she departed the Red Keep. As she visited the stables, she addressed several of the footmen and demanded their services. It would not do to be interrupted on the ride through the city proper. No doubt someone would tell her piece-of-shit father, but he was the one who told her to go and get a dragon a few days ago. The ride was mercifully short, she hated being around the peasants and their filthiness. At least the commoners at the keep had to remain clean.

“Princess.” Saera turned as she finished dismounting her horse to see one of the armoured Dragonkeepers approaching her. “May I ask, why you have seen fit to visit us today?” He was bold indeed to question her, but she would prove him wrong just as much as her parents.

“If you must…” She did not have patience for anything that got in her way. “…I am here to claim a mount, as my royal father suggested several days past.” She did not wait to answer the pointless question but said it as she strode past the keeper and entered the pit. The air was warm and heavy in here. It was a pleasant sensation at the very least.

“Ah. Um. Of course, princess.” Saera rolled her eyes at his obvious nervousness. This man worked with dragons, surely, he had more of a spine than this. “I shall prepare for the doors to Dreamfyre’s tunnel to be-” He went to say.

“No.” She stopped dead in her tracks and glared at him. Even behind the black steel visor she could see him sweating slightly.

“Princess?” He sputtered out in confusion.

“You will order Balerion’s tunnel be opened.” She commanded, puffing herself up and maintaining as firm an eye contact as she ever had before.

“But the Black Dread is more…active than normal. He is now longer as passive and is substantially more dangerous.” The Dragonkeeper remarked clearly hoping to convince her out of her course of action.

Saera decided to change tactics slightly and smiled at him, people always found it hard to resist her smile. “Mmm. Remind me. Am I allowed to choose which dragon I will bond with?”

“Of… of course, princess.” The Dragonkeeper said, perhaps slightly more at ease.

Saera let her smile drop into her best approximation of a murderous glare. “Then open Balerion’s tunnel for me.”

They obeyed and Saera walked down the tunnel alone with a torch to guide her. The air was thick with the smell of dragon. It was not as long of a walk as it seemed when she had been watching Valerion toddle towards his doom – she came to Balerion’s den far too quickly for her liking.

He was awake, quietly watching her approach, one eye fixed on her torch. Saera did not look back. Looking back was for cowards, and Balerion respected strength. She was alone here, just as she had been the last two days. None of them would follow her here. Balerion let out a puff of breath and extinguished the torch, leaving them surrounded by only shadow.

Saera stood her ground and dropped the unlit torch, there was no purpose to it now. She heard Balerion's form shifting slightly in the dark and walked forward, hand outstretched in front of her. She quickly met warm scales, most smoothed by age. Another puff of breath blew back her hair – she was touching Balerion’s nose.

Saera took a deep breath and spoke the next words in her sternest tone. “Dohaeris, Balerion.” Balerion let out a growl and moved his face away from her. She was alone again in the dark.

Saera moved forward and hit his bulk. Balerion gave a little growl, a warning no doubt. One that must go unheeded if she were to succeed. Saera reached out and began the climb. Her slippers, soft and comfortable proved unhelpful at scaling his body. She kicked them off, not hearing them hit the ground over Balerion’s continued, now rising growl.

Balerion had no saddle. No doubt it had been taken off him decades ago. Saera had no straps to guide her way, nothing to pin her into place as she had with Jadewing. Balerion let out another exhale, and Saera nearly lost her grip in the ensuing wind. The dragon had turned his head and was following her movements. Saera grinned to herself. If nothing else, she had gotten Balerion the Black Dread to pay attention to her. She cut her hand on a sharp scale or a spike, and hissed a curse to herself, but continued to climb. She would not stop. Not here, not now. To stop would mean that she was more Aenys than Maegor.

Balerion inhaled sharply, smelling the blood. His head moved to the side curling himself towards the joint of body and wing.  She held out the injured hand to – to what? Hold him off? She ended up painting his snout in blood. “Dohaeris.” She said, her voice shaking. Aemon and Baelon and Alyssa had all been taught how to speak to dragons properly. While Saera had grown up speaking High Valyrian, she still did not know how to speak to dragons. But she was a dragon herself with the purest blood of Valyria, and that was all that mattered.

Balerion mouth opened, rows of razor-sharp teeth the size of swords splitting apart. She could see the fire rise in the back of his mouth, black with swirling flecks of deep red. Saera froze for just a second, but then began to climb as quickly as she could, hand slippery with blood. If she died, she would die on top of Balerion the Black Dread. She would do something, something that her siblings had only dreamed of.

Balerion positioned himself so that he could follow her movements and kill her at any second no matter where she went. She could just see the tiny spot of her blood above his maw, the roiling inferno awaiting its target. Fire and blood she thought, her breathing heavy as a wide grin plastered itself on her features.

With another few moments of climbing she made it to the top, the heat of his internal fire building to its zenith. Now astride his back she stared at him, as he did her. Only two paths remained now, her death or his submission. She held that eye contact until her eyes began to sting from the heat. Perhaps Balerion recognised her stubbornness, or simply stopped caring, for he shut his mouth and plunged them into the darkness again.

Had he accepted her or was he merely tolerating her? Saera was not going to have it end like this – Balerion doing nothing, the Dragonkeepers coming to her and pitying her as they helped her down. No one was ever going to pity her again. Saera took a deep breath. “Dracarys.”

Apparently, Balerion had not snuffed the fire in his mouth completely, as he surged forward causing her to shift and nearly fall from his back. Balerion moved down the tunnel and passed the open gate, letting his dark flame loose as they came into the atrium.

Brick and tile rained down upon them, as did some of the fire from Balerion. Saera covered her head, one hand – the bloody hand – on a spike along Balerion’s spine, trying to keep her seat. The roar of the fire drowned the panicking of the Dragonkeepers below her.

“Dracarys!” She screamed again. Again, Balerion threw a further jet of fire at the ceiling of the Dragonpit. The black flame melting the edges of a the small gap formed in the roof widening it to be more sizeable. Mayhaps sizeable enough for Balerion himself. The other dragons began to make noises all around them, but all Saera could see was that there was space for them to get out. She was free, they both were. “Sōves.”

The Black Dread, a creature who had brought an entire continent to heel, twice, who was the only living creature to witness Valyria as it was at its height, whom had laid in the Dragonpit for more than 25 years, took to the skies once more.

**************************************************************

Baelon

The late afternoon air was brisk and chilly as Baelon looked out over the balcony at King’s Landing. It had been a long week to say the least, but at least the day had been quiet. His mother had departed for the Eyrie, leaving both himself and Alyssa to ‘look after their father’. Truthfully, their father seemed to be much improved since the news of Vaegon and Maegelle’s departure from Oldtown had arrived.

Baelon heard the agitated bemoaning of Viserys from within the adjoining chambers. “No, Daemon. You can’t have it. It’s Papa’s, not yours.”

Baelon chuckled at his children’s antics, turning from the city skyline and peeked inside. This side room, which he had turned into an office some time ago, was quite spacious with the two boys presently under his oaken desk. Daemon had, apparently unbeknownst to anyone but Viserys, pulled a series of missives to the floor. Although it is more likely to say he hit the table until they fell nearby. There was a servant about, but she was desperately trying to clean up an ink well which had also fallen. Daemon was aggressively trying to eat one of the pieces of parchment.

For his part, Viserys was desperately trying to pull it from his baby brother’s iron grip. The brothers settled on a compromise of tearing the parchment into two halves. Baelon wandered over and began picking up the other pieces of parchment before they sustained further damage from Daemon. Upon catching sight of their father, both boys forgot what they were doing. Viserys quickly ran over with his half of the parchment, holding it out to Baelon. “Papa, I'm sorry. Daemon is still little.” Baelon hid a smile and took the parchment from him.

“It is to be expected, Viserys. Thank you for trying.” He rustled Viserys’ hair before briefly scanning the surviving half of the notice. At least it was not another receipt for one of Rhaenys’ dolls, which Daemon had acquired a habit for breaking. There was no way he could afford to keep replacing them. The parchment had been a report regarding the needed addition of more livestock for the dragon Jadewing. He would have to rewrite it later.

Daemon began bawling as he was not receiving attention from any of his favourite people. Even this stranger was ignoring him. Baelon picked Daemon up and held him propped him up on one arm, he was getting heavier by the day. Daemon ceased his grizzling and began to chew on Baelon’s overcoat. Baelon placed his other hand on Viserys’ shoulder and guided him to the balcony, if only to give the servant a chance to clean in peace.

“Papa.” Viserys was looking over the balcony at something.

“What is it, Viserys?” Baelon said feeling at ease for the first time since Valerion Qoherys had come to the city. Nothing could ruin this.

“What’s that?” Viserys asked pointing in the direction of the Dragonpit. Baelon followed his finger. From the Red Keep it was difficult to see but it looked as though part of the Dragonpit’s roof had collapsed. Smoke billowed forth as if the dome were aflame.

“What would-” Baelon began to wonder out loud before his question was answered and his words died in his throat. The titanic form of Balerion rose from the ceiling of the Dragonpit and began blotting out the entirety of the northern side of the city.

“Whoa, is that Balerion? Daemon, look!” Viserys pointed at it as if Baelon was having trouble seeing it. Daemon babbled his agreement.

Baelon’s mind spun into action. The second time in approximately a week he had to deal with a runaway dragon. Who would even...? A name immediately popped into his head. The same culprit as the first incident, Saera. Of course she would, but why? Baelon knew he would have to find out.

“Back inside Viserys.” Baelon directed his eldest back into his chambers and passed Daemon to the servant. “Take them both to my father’s solar. Inform anyone there that I have taken Vhagar and to leave it to me.” The servant quickly took Daemon but looked at him confused. It was no matter, it would become obvious what he meant rather quickly.

“M’lord?” she asked as he began striding to the door. “I’m just a chambermaid m’lord, I don’t know nothing about no babes-”

“No time to explain, I’m afraid. Please do as I ask.” He turned to leave before remembering something and turning back. He picked up Dark Sister from its place upon the nearby mantle. “Viserys, take care of Daemon. I love you, son.”

Baelon ran out the door, barely catching the “I love you, papa” as he did so. Needing every second he could get, Baelon darted through the different lords, courtiers and servants which littered the grand hallways and staircases of the Red Keep. Many looked at him in confusion and he heard the whispers from those he passed. It only took him a few minutes to reach the front courtyard, which also served as a training yard.

He saw Aemon in the middle of an intense bout with Ser Ryam Redwyne. No doubt it had served to distract him from the terror flying above the other side of the city. That said, even the two clashing knights had begun to notice the irregularity of the men lining the castle walls. Baelon did not have the time to wait and simply burst through the yard at a full sprint.

“Brother? Brother?!” Aemon shouted as Baelon ran past, quickly breaking away and chasing after him. “What is it, brother?” Baelon did not stop until he reached the nearest horse and mounted it as fast as he was able.

“Someone has taken the Black Dread!” Baelon shouted over his shoulder as he took the reins in his hands.

“Who-” Aemon began to ask before he cut himself off. “Saera?” He hissed.

Baelon simply nodded and stowed Dark Sister safely. “I suspect so.” Baelon held the reigns as the horse began to shift beneath him, sensing his tension. Or perhaps, sensing the Dread above.

Aemon stepped forward. “I will join you.”

“No, Aemon.” Baelon held a hand up to stop his elder brother. “Check on the family and ensure everyone else is accounted for.”

“I am the eldest, it is my responsibility.” Aemon continued to argue, although he did not approach.

“And I ride Vhagar. If there is any dragon whom the Dread may at least hesitate to attack if ordered, it is her.” Aemon nodded to which Baelon immediately urged the horse into a gallop and rode out into Kings Landing. As he rode down Aegon’s Hill he could see the Dread flying off to the north of the city. Baelon silently thanked the gods for the clear weather, it would assist in helping him keep track of Balerion.

Reaching the centre of the city, he was forced to weave through the crowds of folk who had halted their day to witness the sight of the Black Dread. He quickly turned to the Street of Silk where he saw various patrons and whores of the brothels leaning out of their windows to observe the commotion. Baelon spurred his mount forward, quickly arriving atop Rhaenys’ hill in front of the Dragonpit.

The Dragonkeepers were in a state of disarray with several of their members carrying rubble from the collapsed roof outside. Baelon saw at least one of the keepers being carried by his comrades, his leg at a worrying angle. Baelon dropped from the horse and retrieved Dark Sister. He was approached by one of the Dragonkeepers whose helm had been removed at some point. He had a young Valyrian appearance, if Baelon remembered correctly, his name was Aelyx. It might even be Rhaenys’ favourite Dragonkeeper.

“Your Grace, it was Princess Saera.” He said in a panic. Baelon began his march into the pit and immediately began to make his way towards Vhagar.

“Understood. Open Vhagar’s tunnel.” Baelon commanded. Dragonkeeper Aelyx signalled to some of the others, and they began to pull open the heavy iron door to Vhagar. Baelon could hear several of the younger dragons shifting and screeching. They were more on edge than usual, which was understandable. Their home had been blasted open.

As the iron door creaked open Baelon could already see Vhagar. Apparently, she had shifted towards the end of the tunnel, likely trying to follow Balerion’s movements from before. The bronze-scaled she-dragon noticed him and immediately lowered her head, knowing why he was here. Baelon climbed up onto her back, her saddle still readied from the previous flight, and attached the safety straps. Speed was of the essence so the moment he was strapped in, Baelon urged Vhagar into the atrium taking care not to cause more damage than had already been done.

The damage to the roof was fortunately not enough to cause a significant collapse. That said it was substantial, creating enough space for Balerion to pass through. At least that meant he could follow. “Sōves, Vhagar.” Vhagar let loose a great roar and after taking one or two steps launched herself up awkwardly, climbing through the hole in the roof. Baelon scanned the sky for Balerion. It took him a moment to spot the dragon who must have flown several miles north-east following the coast of the blackwater. “Tolī Balerion, Vhagar.” Vhagar roared again in acceptance, clearly, she agreed. It was time to go after the Black Dread.

Baelon was fortunate in many ways. Vhagar may have been slower than many of the other dragons the family rode but not Balerion. Not the one she was chasing. Additionally, Balerion was not flying straight, but instead periodically veered to the right before righting himself, or perhaps being righted, to his original course. Along with the clear weather Baelon found himself catching up as they flew above the Crownlands. Baelon could mark the castles as they passed them by; first Rosby followed by Duskendale. It was as they passed over the small castle of Rooks Rest and the coast turned marking the beginning of Crackclaw point that Balerion’s flight path changed.

Balerion let out a roar which carried to Baelon and Vhagar some distance behind. Vhagar roared back, which shook her head a bit from the force. Balerion began to bank, dropping altitude and landed by the water on a nearby beachhead. Baelon bid Vhagar follow, and she landed gently upon the shifting sand. If Baelon did not know better, he would say that Vhagar landed more perfectly than Balerion as some sort of point of pride.

Baelon could already see Saera, dressed in a sunset-coloured dress descending from Balerion. The colour of her dress had begun to match the horizon itself, as the hours had ticked by during their flight. Baelon dismounted to meet her, reaching the sand first due to her mount's enormous bulk. He elected to take Dark Sister but saw no need to attach the blade to his belt, holding it by its scabbard. Baelon trudged through the sand but stopped between the two dragons. This was not to be a scolding, and he did not want to present himself as a threat. While he waited for Saera, Baelon found a large stone and sat himself down upon it, all the while watching Balerion.

Saera walked over to him, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. Somewhere along the way she had lost her shoes. Baelon really hoped that they had not whacked some poor peasant in the head on the way down. Balerion for his part stayed on the ground, but began to use his wings and legs to bob around, smelling the dune grass and the hill tufts. He seemed very surprised when he nearly snorted a rabbit, which Vhagar seemed to find amusing in her own way, the bond humming bright in the back of Baelon’s mind. As the distance between Saera and her mount grew, Balerion took off beginning to fly in circles over the sea. Vhagar took off a second later leaving the Targaryens alone on the beach.

Saera at last got close enough to talk comfortably. She crossed her arms and pointed to the sword and scabbard resting against the rock. “Good to know how much you trust me.” She scowled at him as if he were something disdainful.

Baelon didn’t say anything for a moment, simply observing Balerion and Vhagar fly around each other. Both would occasionally dive to the water and scrape their claws looking for a catch. “I’ve never seen him fly, you know? I was not certain what to expect. Something ... tired and sluggish that would show his age I think. He is more impressive than that.” Baelon smiled and looked to her. She still wore the scowl but did not offer a retort or a quick word.

“What now, brother?” She ground the word out as if it were contemptable. Baelon did not lose his smile, he simply did not wish for this momentous occasion to be spoiled.

“What indeed?” Baelon then thought of something that made him chuckle. “I suppose I will have to put up with Alyssa’s complaining about this for quite some time.” That earned him the honour of a quick chortle and a far less adversarial Saera.

“Don’t you have to do that anyway?” Saera said.

“Oh, it varies from moment to moment. This, I expect, will be one for the history books. Congratulations.” Saera looked almost stunned at his words, if such a thing could exist. Her expression quickly changed to one which resembled contemplation, or at least had less contempt.

“Are you going to take me back then?” She almost whispered.

Baelon laughed a little at the question. “As if I could. Even if I wanted to, I imagine the Black Dread would have words about it.” He gazed back out of the rolling waves. “Father will want to know you are safe, of course. However, I suppose what matters in this moment is what you want. So what do you want, sister?” He asked the last question with sincerity. It had been many years since Saera’s wants had been simple and she had always been clear that her family did not understand her.

“I want…” She began to respond almost immediately, likely with a quick retort or insult but for reasons only she could know she stopped mid-sentence. She sat down on the rock beside him, the silence only interrupted by the distant shrieks of the two singing dragons and the roll of the waves. Saera sighed heavily beside him. “I thought riding Balerion would make me happy.” She said solemnly.

Baelon turned to look at her again. “Did it not?” She shook her head and looked out over the water.

“When I flew on the back of Jadewing, I felt exhilarated. It was the most exciting thing I had ever done. It was terrifying … and fantastic. Riding Balerion was good … amazing even! But it felt hollow. Like something was missing.” Saera looked as if she were trying to work her way through something far more complicated than he would typically be able to help with.

But he was her brother, surely he should try? He thought he knew how. He remembered her cold fury in the Maester’s chambers, almost entirely directed at the one person not quite present. It made him wonder if Saera's wants could really be that simple?

“Maybe it wasn’t the flying that made you feel so.” He said lightly. Saera looked at him now, almost like he had said something unthinkable.

“Maybe. But how can I know for certain? This feeling seems such a silly thing.” She sounded almost desperate for an answer, one Baelon knew he could not give entirely.

“You never know for certain, Saera. That is what makes it so terrifying, but its also what make it fantastic. If it works.” Baelon did his best. In truth, it was not something that was easy for him to say, he had always known who he was going to be with.

“That’s not helpful at all. You always knew the path that you were following. It was made for you. But how do you choose it?” Saera looked out over the Narrow Sea in thought. Baelon saw no need to interrupt her. It was rare for her to be quiet after all. The two dragons, perhaps tired of a meagre catch, returned to the shore and laid flat upon the sand, beginning to groom one another. “I wish it were easier.” she said at last.

“If it were easy, it wouldn’t be worth doing.” Baelon thought back to Alyssa. They had disagreed sometimes. Gotten into a fight once or twice. But they were always there for one another, regardless of their disagreements. Perhaps they were sometimes there because they disagreed. They made each other better. “It is getting late, Saera. I desire to see Alyssa before the day is well and truly done.” Baelon stood and picked up Dark Sister in one hand. He extended the other to Saera.  “Will you fly back with me, sister?” Saera grabbed his hand and pulled herself to her feet. “Oh right, the shoes. Do you know where you dropped them? Do you want them back?”

Saera glanced down at her feet before responding. “Yes, and not especially.”

Baelon shrugged, then noticed that the hand that she had given him was covered in dried blood. “Are you… well?”

Saera looked down, clearly seeing the concern plastered on his face. “Oh shit!” Saera quickly looked at him, possibly expecting some reprisal for her language. Baelon just shrugged and smiled, he had heard it all. She seemed well enough.
Saera slumped her shoulders, relaxing again. “I actually think I need to go in the opposite direction.” Baelon raised an eyebrow. Saera put her hands on her hips and stared at him very intensely. “I need to go to the Eyrie. I have something I need to ask mother... and Daella.”

Baelon was certain if she just flew Balerion to the Eyrie, poor Daella would have a panic attack. Not something that was ideal when one neared the end of their pregnancy, or so he had been told. “If you think it necessary, I won’t stop you. Just…be gentle with Daella, please?”

Saera screwed up her face as if the next words were going to be a challenge indeed. “Very well.” She sighed.

Baelon just nodded in appreciation. “I’ll let everyone know where you’ve gone but expect Father to have some choice words for you when you return.” He said as he turned and began walking to Vhagar.

“What? Because I damaged a roof?” She shouted after him. Baelon sighed at his sister’s talent to ignore the consequences of her action. Saera was still Saera at the end of the day.
Baelon turned and narrowed his eyes at her. “You hurt people when you departed. Do not expect it to go unanswered.”

He heard Saera huff behind him. “Oh. That.” She said. “They’re well enough. They were still moving when I left.”

**************************************************************

Rodrik

Things were finally going … not well, but better. Winter was ending, he was going to have a new child soon, and Daella had been soothed a bit by having her mother there.
Rodrik pointedly did not think about the very large dragon curled around the Eyrie. Queen Alysanne had assured him that Silverwing would behave herself, and at least his son Ronnel was a man grown and not easily taken in by the idea of flying. Rodrik forced himself to focus on the positives. Silverwing was a good dragon. She was not like Vhagar (or, Gods forbid, the Black Dread). They probably scared the Mountain Clans.

And Daella was so happy that her mother was there. She had shown her mother all the sights of the Eyrie – the Moon Door, the mountains of the Vale, and then the Moon Door again. There was not a lot in the Eyrie, it turned out. Regardless, Daella was happily burbling to her mother and stepdaughters in his office while he did paperwork.

“And then Amanda gave me this dear blanket for the baby!” Daella said, pulling out an Arryn blue blanket that had probably been made for one of Ronnel’s children.

Amanda waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, Daella, don’t worry. It’s a family tradition.”

Elys gave an awful little snort. Daella went quiet. “I … I thought it was nice.” Daella said.

“It is nice.” Amanda said, staring her older sister down. “We want to be nice to Daella, don’t we, Elys?”

“I just don’t see the need for the fuss. She’s not exactly the first woman to have a babe.” Elys said, stabbing her needlepoint aggressively. Rodrik looked up sharply glaring at his daughter. He could already hear the telltale sniffles that would lead to sobs and rose from his desk to be by his wife’s side.

The Queen held out a hand to her daughter. “Hush, sweetling. All is well.”

“I-I’m re-really not trying to f-fuss…” Daella sounded as if she was trying to hold back sobs.

“Oh, sweetling, don’t worry. When I had your brother Aemon, I was either crying or raging at all hours. It’s the way of things.” Queen Alysanne said, before turning that sharp Targaryen smile on Elys. “I don’t suppose you would know that though, would you Elys? How many babes have you birthed?”

“None, Your grace.” Elys stabbed her embroidery again.

“No babes, I see.” Alysanne clicked her tongue. “Well, that can’t be helped. I suppose you must simply speak to your lord husband about such matters.”

Elys flushed. “I have no husband, Your Grace.”

“Ah, yes. It’s good that you have a father who wants to keep you home. You’re what… two and twenty?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Elys bit her lip hard to keep from saying something.

Daella, meanwhile, cried harder. Amanda took Daella’s other hand. “Oh, Daella, don’t worry. Elys is Elys, you will be well. Just ride it out, like a falcon on the thermal vents.”

“It-it’s not that. Wh-why did Father want m-me gone so bad, Mother?” Daella asked before being wracked with sobs.

Rodrik knelt in front of her. “I cannot speak for the king but I must believe that he did so as you were too great a treasure to leave in the Red Keep. It was an act of selflessness.”

“I w-wish he would be selfish.” Daella whispered.

Rodrik wiped away her tears. “Well, we can be selfish enough for us then. What can I do for you? What do you want from me, Daella?”

Daella looked at him, just barely holding back her tears. “Hold me?”

“Of course.” Rodrik stood and pulled Daella into his arms, and she sobbed into his shirt.

The queen was staring into the fire in thought. Amanda cleared her throat. “For what it is worth, Your grace, I am nine-and-ten.” Rodrik glanced at her. His Amanda was such a good girl – truly As High As Honor. She had taken in her stepmother, younger than even her, and had begun to treat her as she would a younger sister. Even then, she did not abandon Elys.

“Hm?” The Queen looked away from the fire. “I am so sorry; I did not quite hear you. Come, tell your grandmother what you said again?” Elys left the room in wordless disgust. Rodrik glanced after her as she left, dark hair swinging over her shoulder in a braid.

Amanda smiled. “Nothing, Your Grace. Nothing at all.”

The Queen smiled her sharp Targaryen smile. Rodrik’s sister had once written to him of how kind, how gracious, how wonderful this woman was. And she presumably was all those things. But she was first and foremost a dragon, who had somehow found herself with a dove chick, which she then handed off to the falcons at the first opportunity.

Rodrik pulled Daella closer and willed himself not to be angry at the queen. It wasn’t her fault that she knew how sad and scared Daella was and had not visited until now. It was… something else. The weather maybe.

Luckily, Rodrik’s musings were interrupted by a page running in. More specifically, his nephew Alyn, who had the dark hair of most of the family, and was a late baby of Rodrik’s sister. Alyn’s father had sent him to the Eyrie to be a page and cupbearer. He was Daella’s favourite page, mostly because he was a sweet little fellow, and thought she hung the moon and stars, probably because she was very generous with her sweets.

“Uncle!” Alyn slid into the room, almost running into a wall. “Aunt Daella!”

“Alyn, please mind your manners in front of the queen.” Rodrik said.

“…As you say. Anyway, Uncle, there’s a dragon.” Alyn said, immediately ignoring the chastisement.

“Yes, my dragon Silverwing is nearby.” The queen said.

Rodrik did not look at her, and kept his eyes on Alyn. Surely, he wouldn’t ask to go flying? Surely, Queen Alysanne would not take another Arryn chick high from the nest? The fact that Ronnel Arryn survived that flight with Queen Visenya was not the issue in his mind. The issue was that Arryns were never meant to fly, despite their sigil. No one took their sigils as literally as the Targaryens, after all.

But Alyn ignored the queen. “No. Another dragon. A big, big dragon. A black dragon.”

Daella turned from Rodrik. “That sounds like Balerion. Have I told you about him?”

“A bit.” Alyn said, beginning to search the room for pastries. “Anyway, he’s coming here.”

“How funny.” Daella said. “He’s so old, he doesn’t leave the Dragonpit anymore. I wonder what’s drawn him here? I had thought he was dying of old age.”

Queen Alysanne suddenly looked very, very pale. Alyn, meanwhile, had found a pastry that Rodrik had hidden for later and bitten into it. Cherry preserves spilled out of his mouth, red like blood.

“Your Majesty, are you well?” Rodrik asked, looking away from Alyn.

“I am.” Queen Alysanne said. “…coming here, you said, lad?”

Alyn rolled his eyes. Rodrik did not chastise him for it, because he also wished he could roll his eyes at his goodfamily and did not have the excuse of being eight. “That’s what I said.”

“Alyn, you should be nicer to your aunt’s mother.” Daella said gently. “Please apologise.”

"If you say so, Aunt Daella. Sorry.” Alyn said, not sounding very sorry at all. Still, it was better than Rodrik himself would have gotten. Alyn really only listened to Daella, his mother and occasionally Amanda. His father despaired of him and then Alyn showed his own despair by playing wicked pranks on his father, like putting frog spawn in his bed. Alyn was always very good and gentle with Daella though and Rodrik loved him for that.

“Alyn, how soon will that dragon be here?” Queen Alysanne asked.

Alyn shrugged. “I dunno. Uncle Rodrik, do you have any more pastries?”

Rodrik thought of the secret back-up pastry he had hidden in a drawer in his desk in case the first one was found and eaten by Alyn. “No.”

Alyn clearly did not believe him, but also knew better than to go looking for it in front of Daella. Then came a roar that shook the mountain. Rodrik closed his eyes. Alyn and Daella had only ever known peace with the dragons. Any histories of blood and fire were just that to them– history.

“Mother? Mother, what’s happening?” Daella asked, her voice shaking. Alyn ran and clung to her, his hands staining her dress red. “Rodrik?”

“All will be well, Daella.” Queen Alysanne said.

Rodrik glanced at her, then turned to his wife. “Don’t worry, love. If Balerion is attacking, there are pathways out that we can take. We will evacuate the castle down to the Gates of the Moon, and then if we need to, down to the Bloody Gate.”

“He’s attacking?” Daella asked, eyes wide.

“I don’t know.” Rodrik said, taking her hands in his. “I don’t believe so, though. If he was, your mother would look much more concerned. Balerion has no reason to attack. If he has no rider, why would he come here? And if he has a rider again, why would they want to attack us? We have only ever been leal subjects of the realm. You remain protected.”

Daella took a deep breath. “If you say so. I trust you, Roddy.”

“I love you, my little dove.” Rodrik leaned his forehead against hers, and pressed his hand to her stomach. The baby’s heartbeat was strong and true, and it calmed both of them.

“Blegh.” Alyn said. “Grown ups are so gross.” He had apparently taken the moment to surreptitiously look at Rodrik’s desk, despite his apparent fear of an unknown dragon.

“Alyn.” Rodrik said. “Come away from there.”

“Do not fear, Uncle Rodrik.” Alyn beamed at him. “I can’t read.”

“Alyn. You can read.” Daella said.

Alyn made his eyes go wide. “I can?”

“Yes, I’ve seen you do it.”

The boys face lit up mischievously. “Wow! That calls for a celebration! Like a tart made with the last of the peach preserves!”

“How did you know it was made with the last of the peach?” Rodrik asked.

“I conducted a scouting mission earlier, like any good general.” Alyn said, giving up the pretense of being good, and actively opening drawers. At least he wasn’t pausing to snoop, thank goodness for small mercies.

Daella turned to him. “Oh, Rodrik, can’t we let him have it? Peach preserves are his absolute favourite…”

They’re my favourite too. Rodrik thought, but he crumbled in the face of his wife. “Top corner drawer on the right. Please don’t get anything on the papers.”

Alyn gave a whoop of joy. “Thank you, Aunt Daella!”

“What about your uncle?” The queen asked.

“What about him?” Alyn asked, carrying his prize over to the chair next to her and digging in. Then he looked up at her. “Oh, did you want some?”

The queen smiled gently at him. “If you’re offering.”

“I’m not. There are no peach preserves left.” Alyn took a large bite and chewed. “I was just seeing if you wanted some.”

“Alyn, don’t speak that way to the queen.” Rodrik said.

Alyn shrugged. Queens were as foreign a concept to him as dragons – something that existed but lived far away and generally had nothing to do with him.
Queen Alysanne was saved from having to respond – well, truly, Rodrik was saved from Alyn having to apologise—by arguing outside.

“I want to see my mother!” A girls voice shouted, muffled by the door.

“Your Highness, your mother is busy—” One of his household guards responded.

“Stop telling me that, just tell me where she is. I’ll handle the rest myself.”

The voices drew closer as his guard attempted to stop the new arrival. “Your Highness, her royal majesty is currently with the Lord and Lady of the Vale in the Lord’s Solar—”

“Good. I’ll find it myself. Is it that one over there? You look scared. I assume it is.” The stranger said.

Daella turned pale and began to tremble. “No, no… not her… anyone but her…”

“Who—” That was the only warning before a girl swept into the room.

She was obviously a sister of Daella’s – she looked like a very feminine version of Rodrik’s goodfather. All sharp lines, white hair and purple eyes. She was wearing an inappropriate dress for the weather, her hair was windswept and she was barefoot. She could not have been older than six and ten, five and ten at the most likely, but she carried herself as if she were the queen, not her mother already sat in the room.

“Oh good, I was right.” The girl said, before shutting the door behind her. Rodrik could just see the anguished face of the guard before the great oaken doors slammed shut.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Rodrik asked.

The girl looked at him, her eyes sharp as a blade. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not here for you. Not yet, anyway. "Gods, it’s rather cold here, isn’t it? You should do something about it.” Those same eyes sought a new target, snapping to Daella.

“S-Saera, what are you doing here?” Daella managed to get out.

Princess Saera rolled her eyes. “I already told you, I’m not here for you. I’m here for Mother. You should run along.”

“I am so sorry.” Rodrik began in a tone like ice. “But you cannot speak to the Lady of the Vale that way.”

Princess Saera tilted her head at him. “Why are you still here? I thought I told you to fix how cold it was?”

The queen sighed. “Saera, can you please not antagonise Daella and her husband? What brought you here, anyway?”

“I wanted to talk to you.” The girl said it as if it were obvious.

“Saera, the last time we spoke, which was two days ago at best, you told me to fuck off.” The queen said.

Saera draped herself over a nearby chair. “Well, now I want to talk to you.” She fixed her gaze on Alyn. “You can leave though.”

Alyn raised an eyebrow. “You can’t possibly be related to Aunt Daella. Did she suck up all the goodness in the womb and leave none for you?” Alyn had just earned himself at least two more tarts when the peaches came back.

Saera narrowed her eyes at him. “Listen here you little shit—”

“No.” Daella said.

Everyone in the room turned to look at her.

“What did you just say to me?” Saera asked.

Daella was still trembling and looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but there. Still she repeated herself, “No. You’re not going to speak to my nephew like that.”

Saera barked out a laugh. “Your nephew? I didn’t know he was one of ours.”

“He’s not. His mother was an Arryn. I am of house Arryn now.” Daella said. “A-and House Arryn doesn’t want you here. Leave. Go away. I never want to see you again.” Tears were already beginning to fall, and Daella had to clearly push herself through saying it, but Rodrik had never been prouder.

“Daella…” The queen began. “That’s your sister.”

“I’m sorry, I did not know that you could speak for House Arryn, Your Grace.” Rodrik said. “If my wife does not want the princess here, then the princess should be escorted out immediately.”

Saera scoffed and leaned back against the chair. “Well, I have a dragon. I’ll just burn down your stupid, cold castle. What then?”

“Saera!” The queen hissed. “Do not jape about that.”

“Who said it to was a jape?” Saera stared straight at her sister. "If she doesn't want me here, I should show her what I want."

Daella wiped at her eyes. “I don’t care that you have a dragon. You don’t get to talk to Alyn that way. You-you don’t get to talk to me that way. Go away. I already told you, I never, ever want to see you again! You’re the worst sister in the world and I hate you!”

“Daella!” The queen gasped, as if Daella standing up for herself was the same as Saera threatening to burn down a castle.

Saera stood. Rodrik desperately hoped she was not going to rain fire down upon all of them, though he was so proud of Daella. “If you ... insist. I shall speak to Mother outside.” Saera said, before smirking. “Who knew all it would take for you to grow a spine was some man’s cock in you?”

“Saera!” The queen squawked. “Outside. Now.” She got up and pulled Saera out of the door, slamming it shut behind them.

Saera waggled her fingers goodbye. Once the door closed Daella nearly collapsed against Rodrik, who helped her to her preferred chair. “That was the scariest thing I’ve ever done in my life.” Daella confessed, full of tears.

“I hope that all her socks are wet.” Alyn said solemnly. He had a way of making such things come true. Daella sniffled, but smiled.

“My brave, brave dove.” Rodrik kissed her forehead. “Words cannot convey how proud I am of you right now.”

“I’m going to put cow shit in her bed if she stays here overnight.” Alyn said, eating the last of his peach tart. “Maybe even cow shit in the shoes she’s going to ask for.”

“How do you know she’s going to ask for shoes?” Daella asked.

Alyn shrugged “She’s cold, ain’t she?”

“Alyn, isn’t.” Rodrik corrected.

Alyn shrugged. “Isn’t she? She’ll ask for shoes, and we’ll have to give them to her. Cow shit in the shoes. Simple.”

“…Rodrik?” Daella said.

“Yes, love?”

“I don’t want to share my shoes with her. Growing up, she would always take my things and she always ruined them. I don’t want to give her my shoes.”

Rodrik could tell that another round of tears was coming. “Sh, I won’t let them give her your shoes. Alyn, go run and get a pair of the ugliest, yet warmest shoes you can find that will fit the princess. Quickly now. Before someone offers her your aunt’s shoes.”

“And stuff them with cow shit.” Alyn said knowingly.

“No. Stuffing them would be obvious. You need to put enough in to make an impact, but not enough that she can tell before putting them on. Off with you.” Rodrik ordered. Alyn looked impressed, which meant at least one of Rodrik’s pastries in the near future would be safe out of the modicum of respect that he had gained in Alyn’s eyes.

Daella laughed as Alyn ran out of the room. “Thank you, Roddy.”

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Of course, love. Anything for you.”

**************************************************************

Saera

That horrible urchin barrelled into her as he ran out but she very kindly and generously did not make a fuss.

“I’m here, Saera. What do you want to talk to me about?” Her mother asked as if Saera was a great chore. This was funny, as her mother did not have any chores, being as she was a queen.

“You could be a little happier to see me.” Saera knew that she sounded childish, even to herself, but her mother did not comment on it.

Her mother crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Saera, I saw you recently. You know you scare Daella, and she’s delicate right now.”

Saera rolled her eyes. “She’s having a baby, not made of glass. Besides, she’s haler than I thought possible. She even grew a backbone. I suppose she had nothing else to do up here, besides sex with Lord Arryn-”

“Saera.” Her mother said. “That is enough. Do not think that you are not so old that I will not wash your mouth with lye soap for such nasty talk.”

Saera shuffled her bare feet. It really was frightfully cold here. Horrible place. Maybe her parents hated Daella to send her here? Or – gods, if this is where they sent Daella, what would they do to Saera herself? At least, if she had not claimed a dragon? She shivered a little and her mother’s expression changed. Her mother took the shawl she was wearing off of her shoulders and wrapped it around Saera’s. Saera snuggled into the warm, pink wool.

“Silly girl, didn’t you know it would be cold in the Vale in winter?” Her mother asked, sounding somewhat fond.

“I was excited. I tamed Balerion.” Saera declared.

“I gathered that. It is a momentous occasion and I am glad for you.” Alysanne gathered one of Saera’s hands in both of hers. “A dragon is a special bond that you will have all of your life and I am so, so happy that you have this. I’m sure your father is just as proud.”

“Yes.” Saera said, thinking about how she had left before seeing her father. “So proud.”

Her mother did not pick up on the obvious lie. “So, is that all that you came to speak to me about?”

“How did you know you were in love with Father?” Saera blurted out.

Her mother blinked, and stepped back. “Ah. Where is this coming from?”

“Nowhere, I don’t know.” Saera said crossly. “It is nothing, leave it.”

Understanding passed over her mother’s face. “I see. Well, even if it’s nothing … let me have a moment to answer. I don’t think that there is a time that I didn’t love him. We were married so young, and at the time it all seemed such a grand adventure. He was the only person who I felt I could trust in a world that had killed our father and brothers. Our father by marriage was trying to seize power and we both felt so powerless. That’s the story of how we became wedded.”

“I didn’t ask for the story of how you were wedded. I know how you wedded.” Saera snapped. “You married in secret on Dragonstone, and when Grandmother came to fetch you back the Kingsguard stopped her.”

“Yes. But the fact that we were wedded is tied to the fact that I came to love him.” Saera’s mother said, smiling softly. “I don’t know when it happened but sometime between then and the birth of your brother Aegon, I fell in love with him. He was my protector, my king, my world. He still is.”

“You said you’d leave him.” Saera said, remembering the utter calm with which her mother had spoken that day. “On Dragonstone.”

“I did say that because if he killed a man in cold blood and declared you mad for it, he would not be the man I married.” Her mother said. “You see, in the early days of our marriage, I was … scared. We were both scared. We lost so much to your great-uncle Maegor and there were whispers that your father was more like him than our father. I cried myself to sleep thinking that I would end up like my elder sister. So, your father promised me that he would never become our uncle. And I promised that I would not leave him for anything less.”

“Would Maegor have really killed Valerion and locked me up?” Saera privately thought that adults were very dramatic about the whole thing.

“Oh, without a doubt. He wouldn’t have even needed to think about it. To him, other men were obstacles and women were objects to be used at his whim.” Her mother said simply. “He probably wouldn’t have had you declared insane but that’s only because he would not have needed a reason to lock you up forever, like his poor wives.”  

Saera grimaced. Her mother nudged her, smiling. “So, when did Lord Qoherys become Valerion?”

“When he saved my life on Dragonstone.” Saera snapped.

Her mother just smiled. “I see. Well, I may not have had the opportunity to sigh after young knights and the like when I was a maiden like yourself, but I watched your sisters do it.”

“Even perfect Maegelle?” Saera could not imagine perfect Maegelle sighing after anyone.

“Oh yes, she had a small fantasy of marrying Lord Baratheon and becoming lady of Storm’s End before settling on the faith.” Alysanne giggled.

Saera pulled a face. She was saved from having to reply by the return of the urchin with a hideous pair of shoes that smelled a bit off. At least they looked warm.

“For you, princess. From House Arryn.” The urchin said, bowing low and placing the shoes on the floor.

“Help me put them on.” Saera ordered.

“Of course.” The urchin said. He slipped one shoe onto her foot. It squished unpleasantly.

“What was that?” Saera demanded.

The urchin feigned innocence. “What was what, your highness? Are the shoes not to your liking?”

Saera withdrew her foot. There was something brown and sticky and vaguely warm in the shoe, and now on her foot. Slowly, in horror and rage, she met the urchin’s eyes. “You.”

The urchin beamed at her, and promptly turned tail and ran. Saera pursued, but as she had no shoes, a shit-covered foot and the urchin knew the castle better than her, he escaped. Saera loudly complained until someone came and washed her foot, then complained until Daella agreed to see her the next day. She did later see the urchin sneaking into the guest room that she was given and went in to follow him, but he had somehow disappeared and left more shit in her bed. She complained vigorously about this too and ended up sleeping with her mother like a babe.

The next day, the Arryns had not offered Saera any new clothes or shoes despite her appearance. She could not fit something from her mother’s clothes and so remained dressed in the clothes from King’s Landing. Daella, however, was in a new Arryn blue dress that suited her, her hair immaculately braided. She was positively glowing from the pregnancy. Her stupid Arryn husband hovered around her like a mother hen with a chick.

Saera made this observation, sat down across from her sister and her goodbrother, in that horrid room with a door leading to the open air. The door that led to nothing was barred closed because they did not want to have her throw the urchin through it when she found him, which she found very boring. Nonetheless, she’d be leaving soon anyway.

“I’m so sorry that you are jealous of your sister, Princess Saera.” The Arryn said.

Saera stared at him. Her? Jealous of Daella? “Is your husband always so good at japes, or is this new?” Saera asked Daella.

“I don’t have to talk to you.” Daella said forcefully, as if it was something she rehearsed. “Say what you are here for and leave.”

“Yes, yes. You don’t appreciate my sense of humour.” Saera rolled her eyes. “Anyway, how did you choose him?”

“That’s—” The Arryn broke in.

“I wasn’t talking to you. It was a legitimate question. Why him?” Saera demanded. “You could have had any man in Westeros. He has three adult children, all of whom are older than you.”

“Four.” Daella corrected. “Ronnel, Ryam, Elys, and Amanda. That’s four.”

Saera fought not to interrupt her sister. “I know how to count!” 

“You always said I didn’t. I do.” Daella stuck her chin in the air like she had made a good point.

Saera waved her hand dismissively. “Regardless. Answer the question.”

Daella laid her hand on top of her Arryn’s, then looked up at him. “He was kind. He is kind. He always gives Alyn the pastries when I ask, protects me from everything and explains things. I matter to him. I’ve never mattered to anyone before.”

Saera’s throat felt thick. “So, is it… is it love then? You love him?”

“I would say so.” Daella said. “If it isn’t love, I don’t know what it is. I certainly like him very much.” The Arryn looked down at her, and gently squeezed her shoulder. Saera saw Daella squeeze back.

“How do you… how do you find someone that thinks you matter? I’m not—I’m not being cruel, I just…” Saera trailed off, unsure of herself.

Daella tilted her head at her, confused. “Did you feel that way with Mother and Father too?”

“No!” Saera said, far too quickly, even for herself.

Stupid Daella believed her though. “I don’t know why you’re asking then?”

Saera bit her lip. “Maybe I do then. Did. …do.” The admission felt like it was wrenched from her.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Daella offered. “…don’t come near me, though.”

Saera rolled her eyes, the balance of the world restored. “I won’t, gods. I just wanted to understand how you knew you were in love, that’s all.”

“Oh, that’s easy.” Daella said. “I knew when I woke up one morning and Roddy had a cloak made for me out of imported furs from the North, even though it was summer. I didn’t even say anything about being cold, he just knew.”

“You shivered all the time, little dove.” The Arryn said, pressing a fond kiss to Daella’s hair. “It was no hardship to make sure that you were happy, and your needs met.”

Daella looked up at him and smiled. “But you see, that’s it. I didn’t even say anything and you knew. That’s more than anyone else has ever done for me. I know now that you love me Roddy but I didn’t then. Now I do. And I will always love you back.”

“Well, this has been disgustingly sweet.” Saera said, rising. “I need to get back to King’s Landing. It's far too cold here and everything smells strange.”

“That’s the absence of shit.” Daella said happily. “Bye Saera! Never come back!”

Saera walked to the far door but briefly turned back to the beaming Daella. That smile could not be healthy. “I won’t but thank you.” She said the last part under her breath.

“What was that?” Her Arryn asked. Saera just ignored him and walked out.

**************************************************************

Vaegon  

For whatever reason his father had called him and Maegelle there from Oldtown, Vaegon found it highly irritating. The family, such as it was, was currently arrayed around the dinner table, where their parents/aunt and uncle liked to play happy families and pretend everything was normal. Maegelle, usually his most sensible sister, was trying to help Daemon eat porridge and cooing over how adorable their double-nephew was. This was presumably preferable to eating the food of the Red Keep – while everyone else seemed to have been given a creamy fish soup, Maeglle and the babe had been given a porridge lightly seasoned with leeks.

Vaegon looked over at the baby. “You have two great-grandparents.” This was stated factually, because it was a fact. Two plus two plus two plus two should not equal two. That was not how math worked. The math was never wrong, therefore Daemon was wrong.

Maegelle glared at him, as if he was the problem. “Vaegon, remember how you promised not to bring up your… thoughts… while we were here?”

“I did no such thing. I said that I would not bring them up first and I haven’t. I have simply stated a fact. If I wanted to bring up my thoughts…” Vaegon trailed off meaningfully, raising an eyebrow.

Maegelle glared at him and spooned more porridge into Daemon’s mouth. Daemon, pleased with the attention or possibly just a rude child, banged his chubby little baby hand on the table and attempted to upset the porridge bowl. There could be no doubt he was Alyssa’s son.

Their father, the illustrious King Jaehaerys and the man who had never once considered that if Vaegon were to marry it would not be his sister, cleared his throat. “So, what do you think we should do?”

Vaegon leaned back in his chair. For some reason his knowledge as a Maester, even if he was only training, had been sought out. Apparently, the matter he had been summoned for was that of a foreign dragonlord who had fallen into the deep sleep. That and the fact that Balerion the Black Dread was no longer Balerion the Black Dead. Unfortunately, Vaegon’s second-favourite sister had apparently taken Balerion for a fun jaunt to scare a baby out of Vaegon’s second-least favourite sister, at least according to Baelon.

And his family, inbred as they were, were apparently all very stupid. He was not a typical Maester and he thought that they knew this before calling him here. Apparently not. His observations on the matter of Valerion Qoherys were as good as Baelon’s, regarded by Vaegon as one of the stupider members of the family. He married Alyssa after all. And got two children on her. Very strange, stupid decisions.

“About which matter?” Vaegon asked, simply because everyone was looking at him. Vaegon did his best not to let his exasperation with this family meeting reveal itself, maintaining a stony face of impassive observation.

“About Valerion Qoherys.” His father-uncle elaborated.

“Oh. We should kill him.” Vaegon said. For all he had heard about how the family was against Valerion Qoherys and that he was a cunt of the highest order, there were a lot of shocked faces around the big wooden table.

“Vaegon!” Maegelle snapped. Daemon continued to slam his little hand in porridge.

“Are you angry about me saying it in front of the children? They don’t understand.” Rhaenys, Gael, and Viserys had the same blank looks to their faces that Daemon had. At least they understood, somewhat, that there was no need not to be practical about the thing.

“Are you such a coward that you would kill an unarmed man?” Alyssa snorted.

Vaegon looked at Maegelle then turned to his father. “Why is she talking to me? I was specifically told that she would not talk to me.”

“I think what your sister means is that you have not met Valerion Qoherys. What could he have done for you to condemn him to death?” Vaegon’s father-uncle asked calmly. He did not seem against the idea of killing Valerion Qoherys.

“Killing is a sin.” Maegelle said.

“So just don’t give him water and let the Gods decide his fate.” Vaegon told her, before turning back to their father-uncle. “It’s not about Valerion Qoherys. I’ve never met him. I don’t care about meeting him one way or another. My reasoning deals with what the man possesses. He is a dragonrider, the only rider who falls outside of our house. The entire purpose of the Indoctrination of Exceptionalism—”

“Doctrine of Exceptionalism.” Maegelle corrected primly.

“…Indoctrination of Exceptionalism,” Vaegon continued as if she had not spoken. “The point is that we do not marry out anyone who carries Targaryen blood, because this risks the possibility of other houses having dragons. We are so close to the Velaryons that it does not matter there but any other house cannot be allowed to have dragons. If they did, what is to stop them from toppling us? What is to stop the possibility of a savage and brutal conflict in which dragons are forced to kill one another? To prevent this outcome, we all marry our own sisters and pretend it’s wonderful. Therefore, to keep your marriages from being pointless, we kill Valerion Qoherys. Especially if his dragon is capable of clutching. We would not want a rogue individual to be in possession of a substantial number of dragon eggs.”

They all continued to look shocked. Vaegon was getting the very worrying thought that they all just really wanted to bed their own relatives. Personally, he blamed their parents. They bonded through terrible trauma and trying to justify Grandfather Aenys’ poor actions. Then they needed to validate this by marrying their children to their closest available relatives. Hells, they had to validate it by creating a complete religious doctrine to justify their practice in the eyes of the realm.

“That is not the point of the Doctrine of Exceptionalism.” Vaegon’s father-uncle finally said.

Vaegon stared at him. “Yes, it is. The point is we have dragons. They give our family the means to remain above the other great houses and we want to keep the dragons in our family. That way we maintain royal authority.”

“You say it so clinically.” Alyssa made a face. “You truly have no concept of love in your soul.”

Vaegon stared at her. “I don’t need to. None of us need to. I'm sorry, did none of you know this? We are royalty, we are not meant to fall in love. Our marriages are meant to unite kingdoms and consolidate political power. Do I really need to explain this to you?”

“What Alyssa means is that we have found love with one another.” Baelon said.

Vaegon tilted his head, trying to understand his brother. “…would you have still fallen in love with her if you were married to someone else? Like Daella. If you were married to Daella, would you be in love with her?”

“Daella is wonderful. You are the most miserable man I have ever met.” Alyssa pointed her spoon at Vaegon.

“Because… I don’t want to bed any of my sisters?” Vaegon looked at Maegelle for help.

Maegelle sighed. “I think we should let the topic lie.”

“No. Actually, it seems like Vaegon, once again, thinks he’s better than us.” Alyssa said.

“I am better than you.” Vaegon agreed. “I don’t want to have sex with my siblings and I didn’t intend to grin and bear it to do my due diligence to the line. For one thing, too many Targaryens means too many potential dragonriders with royal authority. What’s to stop Viserys from deciding he has a better claim than Rhaenys? You should all stop having children.”

Alyssa glared at him. “Viserys would never usurp his cousin.”

“Actually…” Vaegon’s only father and comparatively most troublesome uncle began. “Rhaenys would… ideally… become queen by virtue of marrying into the position.”

You could have heard a pin drop. Or well, you could have – except Daemon shrieked with outrage realising that no one was paying him obeisance and continued to slam his dirty little hand onto the table as if calling a war council. Vaegon slurped his soup obnoxiously, Crownlanders really couldn’t cook. Hopefully they could go home soon. Maegelle glared at him and kicked him. Vaegon glared back and assumed it was about the soup slurping, so he stopped. Then he took three more bites of his soup and swapped his bowl with Maegelle’s. It was Crone’s Day, after all. Just because they weren’t in a nice place to eat didn’t mean that they should let their weekly routine fail.

“Father,” Aemon began. “I am your heir.”

“Yes, of course. That was never in doubt.” Vaegon’s father-uncle agreed.

“And Rhaenys is my heir.”

The leek porridge thing wasn’t that bad, but it was indicative of the quality of the food in the Crownlands in general. Maybe the water was just better in Oldtown?

“Well… until you have a son of your own.” Their father-uncle continued to dig himself deeper. Vaegon smacked his lips, tasting the porridge. Salt? It seemed to need salt. His sister was a septa, not an invalid.

“She is my eldest child. She will inherit.” Aemon said calmly.

“By marrying her eventual brother.” Their father-uncle said, just as calmly.

Vaegon’s head shot up. “So, we agree then. It is about consolidating power. Can we stop pretending it is deeply romantic now? All… Florian and Jonquil? It isn’t even that pragmatic. It affects fertility, meaning that we all have to churn out more babes to have less children. Then if they do survive, there is the issue I mentioned earlier of rival claims.”

“What would you suggest?” His father asked.

Vaegon pointed to Daemon with his spoon. “Night’s watch.”  Viserys. “Kingsguard.” Viserra and Gael. “Septas.” Alyssa. “Moon tea.”

“How dare you!” Alyssa seethed.

Vaegon slurped his horrid porridge. It was getting cold.

Aemon was staring at him. “So, you agree with Rhaenys’ claim then?”

“I don’t know. Don’t ask me about it.” Vaegon snapped. “Get someone else to decide, it’s naught to do with me.” This was quickly becoming one of his nightmares - enthusiastic dinner conversation. He stared up at the ceiling and began internally reciting prime numbers to soothe himself. 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23…

“Where’s Jocelyn?” Maegelle broke in, presumably more cheerful now that she had been given better food than porridge that made a beggar’s crust of bread look appealing. Daemon was smarter than he looked, having chosen to wear it instead of eat it. The math still did not work for him though, so Vaegon would not look at him lest it annoy him unduly. Vaegon, truthfully, had not even noticed that their aunt-goodsister was not there. There were too many Targaryens, and Targaryen-adjacents, this also upset the math. 

“She’s… ill.” Aemon said. “It’s a good thing we have so many maesters about. Anyway, Father, what’s this about you denying Rhaenys’ claim?”

“Oh Aemon, don’t.” Baelon sighed. “Mother said that ‘Lyssa and I were to keep the peace and look after Father.”

“Mother also said that Rhaenys would be queen one day. Are you trying to make my mother a liar?” Aemon pointed his own spoon at their collective father-uncle.

All of the siblings’ heads swivelled to stare at him, even Gael’s. Even Vaegon’s, spoon halfway to his mouth. Daemon shoved a full fist into his porridge, then began smearing it across the table and himself. Maegelle, by association, was covered in cold, poorly tasting porridge. She hadn’t even had a chance to eat her mediocre soup. This was what she got for holding babies. Vaegon had never held with the practice himself.

“Your mother does not understand the way of the world.” Their father-uncle said, which was far worse than calling her a liar. It was calling her a Daella. Screaming would no doubt ensue soon. Vaegon did not care for that idea.

He clapped his hands together and stood. “Propriety dictates that I thank you for having me, but I am not overly grateful. All of that could have been summarised in a raven. In summary, to continue to maintain some thread of logic amongst yourselves, I recommend leaving Lord Qoherys to his fate. As for the Black Dread, if he has the capacity to fly at the speed Baelon claims then he is likely in excellent health. I suggest you all treat him as such. I will not say it has been nice to see you all, it has not. Maegelle, are you coming?”

“Where?” Maegelle asked, gently trying to clean porridge off her clothes.

“Back to Oldtown? I hate this place. You hate this place.” Vaegon pointed out. “In any case, I will return to Oldtown shortly. If you need any further advice, I will be in the library.”

“No, no, no. You stay. Father just called Mother an idiot.” Alyssa said.

“Yes. That has nothing to do with me. I want to have plausible deniability if Father dies of some sort of apoplexy.” Vaegon said, before turning to Rhaenys, the nibling that the math hated the least. “You should leave. Probably take the other children with you. I don’t know. Things are about to get loud.”

With that he swept out of the room, leaving Maegelle to her cooling soup and dirty nephew. It was every Targaryen for themselves, and he had done a nice thing already by not consigning her to the same meal as Daemon was modelling for the family. Vaegon shook his head slowly as he left the room. The poor family. Making him miss Oldtown. Horrendous, really.

He was able to soothe himself in the library for a least a hourglass turn until Barth came in and more or less forced him out. Oh, the old man didn’t mean to but the library was very poorly managed. Some madman had filed the tax reports regionally instead of by subject matter, forcing the man to constantly venture up and down. Very annoying.
Vaegon picked up some new books on Essosi mathematics – the things the Iron Bank was doing! Revolutionary! – and fled, hoping to find safety in his room.

Alas. His father was waiting for him in the hall. Vaegon went very still, as if his father-uncle was some sort of predator animal and would not see him if he did not move. There were stories about ancient dragons being evaded that way, weren’t there? No, wait, dragons had an incredible sense of smell.

Regardless, it did not work anyway. Some not very distant ancestor had furnished the Red Keep with dark oak from the Stormlands at every opportunity; apparently the library doors were made from one massive piece of wood. Probably planted by Durran Godsgrief or something. The end result was that Vaegon stood out like a beacon with his white hair. A very stupid beacon that kept drawing the Ironborn to them despite him telling the Hightowers that it was stupid—

Vaegon’s father cleared his throat. “May I speak with you?”

“I suppose.” Vaegon said mulishly. “You have until I get back to my room. You can walk and talk with me.”

Vaegon’s father inclined his head in acknowledgement. They took roughly three steps before he asked, “When did you stop thinking of yourself as part of the family?”

Vaegon was so caught off guard that he dropped the Braavosi mathematics paper. “Sorry?” His father looked incredibly sad. He also did not bend to help Vaegon collect it from the floor. Kings were above such things, even king-fathers. Vaegon’s father waited until Vaegon had collected himself, and tilted his head, waiting. Vaegon suddenly felt very defensive. “I… never said I wasn’t.”

“You didn’t say it. But I do like to think I know you, Vaegon. I held you in my hands right after you were born. I watched you grow up. You are my son. You also very clearly drew a separation between us and you, possibly allowing Maegelle into it.” Jaehaerys conceded.

Vaegon took a deep breath and thought about it. “You know I don’t like most of my siblings. They are… loud. Brash. They don’t understand me and I don’t like having to make an effort to understand them if it’s not met. It’s not… it’s not about that.” Vaegon felt very uncomfortable as he continued. “You and Mother have your favourites. I don’t know why you had other children after them. We can never measure up. None of us. It’s not pleasant to try. And I am very far away, somewhere that I am not constantly seventh born. You don’t write, you don’t visit. I prefer it that way and I thought you did too.”

“Vaegon—”

Vaegon continued quickly, because he needed to get this out while he was doing so, or he’d never say it. “So I don’t know what this ‘I know you, I saw you grow up’ nonsense is. You don’t. You never did, not really. You saw Aemon and Baelon and interpolated that experience onto me.”

The two of them stared at each other. “That’s not true.” His father-uncle finally said.

Vaegon looked at his father. “You think not? Very well, what’s my favourite dessert?”

“…lemon cakes.” His father guessed.

“Maegelle.” Vaegon said flatly. “Would you like me to give you another try?”

“Frangipane tarts.”

“Daella. It’s Dornish spiced biscuits.” Vaegon said flatly. “My favourite colour?”

“Red? …grey?” His father changed his answer after Vaegon’s wilting look.

“My favourite colour is oxidized copper – not red, not black and not grey, I don’t wear this out of enjoyment. Should I also ask you what my favourite childhood story was? No, you’ll get it wrong. My favourite childhood story was Bran the Builder. Congratulations. Now you know more about me than you did a moment ago.”

“Your mother knew all of it.” Vaegon’s father said, as if that absolved him of anything.

Vaegon flicked his eyes over his father. It was a cruel irony – most of them had round, sweet eyes. Like a calf for slaughter, their poor mothers inheritance. Vaegon had his father’s cruel, sharp eyes. A remnant of the Conqueror.

“Did she also know that I have the Dornish vice?” Vaegon asked, poisonously sweet. “Or is that just something else that you never got around to asking?”

“I… don’t believe she did.” His father said slowly.

Vaegon shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t matter. You have your precious Aemon and Baelon to have babies and all that. I don’t expect you knowing to change anything anyway. You’ve had years to ask for my thoughts, after all.” He made to turn, and then remembered something. There was something that his parents had done for him. “Your Majesty?”

His father jolted, which ruined his image of being an old, wise statue. The man was in his forties for Seven’s sake. Didn’t even bother to bend and pick something up for his son. Annoying.

“Thank you for sending me to the Citadel, Your Majesty. May I take my leave now?” Vaegon asked with only a hint of sarcasm. Maegelle couldn’t even be angry at him – it wasn’t as if he had shouted his father down in public. Baelon and Aemon might have been able to get away with that, but not him. Never him.

**************************************************************

Saera

Saera had not had an easy flight back to Kings Landing. As if nearly being struck by a stray bird were not enough, she had been caught in a brief storm while crossing the mouth of the Trident. Fortunately, the weather the following day had been easier and she had been able to make a clear landing in front of the Dragonpit by the afternoon. Many of the Dragonkeepers refused to address her when she climbed down from Balerion but that did not matter. She left her dragon in their care, such as it was, and made her way by horse to the Red Keep.

When she arrived at the main gate, four of their household guards had escorted her inside saying her father had demanded to see her upon her return. As if he had any right to demand anything of her. She was taken through the labyrinth of the Red Keep and was directed to her father’s solar. He was stood outside of the main corridor to the library with a man dressed in long grey robes with a small chain. Some acolyte he was consulting, though she could hear the faint sounds of the rest of the family in the distance. It was only after a moment of observing his silver-white hair and short beard that she recognised the maester properly.

“Vaegon ‘the dull’.” Saera interrupted whatever needless conversation they were having, smirking at the nickname she had been circulating in the last few months. Her father looked at her and straightened himself. No doubt he was upset with her for causing some minor property damage.

Vaegon turned to face her. His angular features rested neutrally, as always. “Saera.” He did not add anything else before returning to their father. Saera’s smirk dropped into a frown. She was not to be ignored, especially by someone who was not a dragonrider.

“How many people have you annoyed today?” Saera said.

Vaegon once again turned to her, this time sighing loudly. “Most of our family members. Viserys and everyone younger than him are too young to understand anything, Daella is in the Vale, Mother is with her, and I may have accidentally revealed a minor succession crisis waiting to happen. However, I did not sleep in a bush last night, so I think I am doing better than you.” His dispassionate gaze flicked over her, from her bare feet to her unkempt hair.

Saera smirked. “Impressive! Is that a new record of yours? Are congratulations in order?”

“Oh, surely. What prize do I win?” Vaegon drawled. “Is this some sort of summer fair, where I may burst into fits of joy at having the fattest piglet? Am I a village farmer with overly large produce? Oh, do I get a whole gold dragon? All for me?”

Their father quickly realised how dangerous this was as her smirk widened and Vaegon's voice grew more inflective.

“You need it, you might be able to buy yourself some new clothes.” Saera said.

“Dearest sister, please keep your coin for yourself. You need it more than I.” Vaegon said, faking sincerity despite the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“I insist! It is good for a princess to do charity.” Saera retorted.

“My word! Am I in the presence of a princess? Someone should have told me. How lax the service at the Red Keep has gotten.”

“Well, you know how it is. It’s hard to find good help these days.” Saera waved her hand dismissively.

“Yes, apparently you’ve dropped a roof on them.” Vaegon chuckled.

“If they didn’t get out of the way, that’s really their fault, isn’t it?” Saera said.

Their father cleared his throat. “This has been a lovely sibling reunion, but I need to speak to Saera in private. We will speak later, Vaegon.”

Vaegon tried to make his eyes go wide and guileless. It did not suit him at all. “Oh, of course. Am I dismissed, Your Majesty? May I take my leave?”

Their father sighed deeply, and waved a hand for Vaegon to leave. Vaegon ran off as if their father would call him back if he hesitated, clutching at his scrolls. Probably something about mathematics, those were always his favourite. He did not spare her a glance, and Saera felt a bit of a pang at that. He used to read to her and do the voices. She had thought they were on better terms than she was with most of the siblings.

After Vaegon had left, her father turned to her. His gaze was sharp and condescending. After all she had achieved, still condescending. “With me, Saera.”

He walked her away from the library and to his private office, which was near enough. The room was well made of red stone, polished to a shine. Several pillars delineated walkways on either side of the room and made the room wider than it implied. The room itself was painfully ordinary, having a simple table and chairs, desk, small case for books and scrolls. If her father were to receive guests on business, this would be the place. She still felt impossibly small and dirty for a princess of the royal blood, especially now. Her father sat at his desk and motioned to the opposing chair.

“Sit.” His voice was measured, seemingly calm but underneath she could sense his anger. Apparently Vaegon had not managed to soothe their father’s temper. This was King Jaehaerys. Saera considered refusing but she needed to talk to him anyway, so she sat and waited for him to speak. He did not, simply shuffling papers and the like.

Very well. She could get through this bullshit one more time. “Since when was Vaegon here?” She asked as politely as she could muster.

Her father simply stopped fiddling with the things on his desk and looked at her properly. “I invited Vaegon and Maegelle before you departed the city on dragonback.”

“Vaegon, I suppose I understand. He is a wit. But why Maegelle? What would you need her here for?” Saera knew Maegelle deeply hated the capital and rarely spoke with the family unless it was important.

“She is here for you, Saera.” Saera immediately felt her pulse rise in a panic. “I am seriously considered sending you to join the faith in Oldtown.” She was not going to be some cloistered obedient idiot like Maegelle.

“What?!” Saera bolted up from the chair and leaned onto the desk. “You… you can’t!”

Her father stood up leaning over the desk as well. His extra height caused him to bear down on her significantly. “Why not? You damaged the only means of containing the dragons within the city, flew away without so much as a word and worst of all, injured twelve of the Dragonkeepers. One of them is crippled, Saera. So, it no longer matters what you have to say on the matter. You have proven yourself wholly unworthy of the legacy of our family.”

Saera could feel the tears begin to form in her eyes. She had achieved something, and it still wasn’t enough. It would never be enough for her father. She didn’t care about this family. She didn’t care about the poor stupid Dragonkeepers who weren’t fast enough to get out of the way and she didn’t care about her punishment. There was only one thing she cared about and she had to see him. Saera’s first instinct was to shout and fight; to protest her punishment and protect herself but she suppressed to urge to destroy the old man with words. Instead, she would play a part to get what she needed, regardless of the cost.

Saera slumped back into the chair and looked at her father keeping her face as neutral as possible. “Very well.”

Her father’s brow furrowed as if attempting to work out what trick was being played. As if he could figure it out. He still didn’t understand Alyssa and she wasn’t exactly the smartest. “What did you say?”

Saera sighed. “I said, very well. Send me to the faith or leave me on a street to rot somewhere. At this point there are only two things I need to do.”

“Oh? What might that be?” Her father returned to his seat and began an infuriating tapping on the edge of his desk.

“I need to ask you a question. A… strange question. Depending on the answer I may need to do something else.” She stared at him blankly. If her father had the capacity to change his mind, he would never do so for her. So, there was no point in pretending to try and get out of the hell he wished to invite upon her. She’d handle that later.

Her father rubbed the bridge of his nose, clearly not happy with the way this was going. “Just ask. Then it is Oldtown for you.”

Saera chose to look at the oaken door which led to the rest of Red Keep. The whole world out there. All her life she wanted to make the world her own. With Balerion she could have, but she came back here because she had to know. “If you think you love someone, is it worth trying?”

Her father fell oddly silent. The question itself was not complicated but the implications of it certainly were. Saera had always thought love was for idiots, like her parents, like Baelon and Alyssa. Like Daella. But it was Baelon who had noticed what no-one else had. Her mother and Daella who had found protection with someone who understood them. Maybe having that feeling, that safety, was worth the risk of being a bit of an idiot. Especially if it was the right person.

Her father interrupted her thoughts. “Yes. Yes, I believe so. Everyone should try, if the opportunity presents itself. Of course, such things should happen in the proper way but…” His answer faded out.

Saera turned to look at him. He had a strange expression on his face. Not anger, nor happiness. It sat somewhere in the middle of understanding and concern. Maybe he had finally figured it out. This seemed unlikely. She was fully of the opinion that her intelligence – and perhaps Vaegon’s, he could be funny sometimes - was an exception, not the rule. The vast majority of the family were very stupid.

“But, what?” She said feeling her anger growing. He wasn’t even going to give her a straight answer now. Just stop to save himself from having to be honest with her.

“Love does not always care for the proper way of things. It was not so simple between me and your mother at first.” Her father spoke in a measured way, as if not wanting to startle her.

“I should at least try, then.” Saera got up from the chair and looked at the door, which suddenly seemed very foreboding indeed.

“Would you like me to escort you?” Her father stepped out from behind the desk but made no move to block her.

“What about Oldtown?” Saera glared at him. No doubt his escort would only be to ensure her containment after.

Her father rubbed his beard in thought for a lengthy moment. “I think this may prove to be a finer lesson for you. Certainly, it is one that seems to have…matured you somewhat.”

Saera rolled her eyes but said nothing, silently thankful she had somehow escaped the clutches of the crone Maegelle. “I’m going alone.” Saera made her way to the door and opened it. She thought she heard her father say ‘good luck’ before she made her back through the corridors of the Red Keep. That was ridiculous though. Her father would never say such things to her.

Saera made her way toward the rookery, the Grand Maester's chamber lying just beneath it. The chambers themselves were threadbare compared to the rest of the keep with a few rooms designed for storage, the room in which the maester himself resided, and a medical room. Saera made her way in unannounced. The old man, El-something, was startled by her entrance.

“Princess, it is-” He began to speak but she held up her hand to stop whatever tangent he was going to go down.

“Get out.” Saera could hear the annoyance in her own voice. He was not why she was here. The old man wrinkled his face.

“I must protest.” The Maester huffed.

“Just. Get. OUT!” Saera screamed. The old man wilted but just huffed more saying he would “bring her father” as he shuffled out of his quarters. Now alone in the horrid squalor of these rooms she made her way into the small adjoining room. Lying on the raised table was Valerion. His right arm had been put into a sling but otherwise it almost looked as if he were sleeping. Though, he was dressed in threadbare sackcloth which was wholly unfair to him. He had a little growth of facial hair which was patchy and uneven. He looked a little gaunt compared to the man she had met nearly two weeks ago.

“I hate you, you know?” Saera started. “I hate that you aren’t here, that you chose not to be. You should be awake. You should be with me. So, wake up.” Saera could feel the tears beginning to build up in her eyes, blurring her vision. “Just… wake up.” He remained still but for the slight rise and fall of his chest. “WAKE UP!” She screamed as loud as she could muster. He should be listening to her since he loved her. He had said as much on Dragonstone, so why wasn’t he awake? Saera let the tears flow down her face and collapsed on a stool near him.

“I know you can hear me. So, if you never wake up again… I will never forgive you.” Saera sighed and went over to him. She placed one of her hands on his face. “I… care about you. I’ve never had that before. I’ve never cared about my family of idiots or my stupid little ‘friends’, but you... you see me as I am. You don’t want to change me or use me. Well, only in the fun way. In fact, I think you are the first person to like that I am the way I am. I… love the way you are. I love that you don’t give a shit about all the petty little things people use to control us. I love that you choose to defend me even if I don’t ask you. I love your eyes. I… love you. I want to try and build something with you.”

Nothing. That didn’t work either. He didn’t react or waken in any fashion. He remained as the sleep had claimed him. Had he even heard her or was he simply lost to her?  She sat with him, for how long she could not say but eventually she heard the door to the chambers open and the shuffling of footsteps.

“Oh, princess.” One of the junior maesters said.

“Out.” She growled.

“…I am very sorry my princess but I must give him water, lest he die.” The maester said. Saera waved at him dismissively – this gave him the go-ahead. He moved forward, picking up a little bowl of water and opened Valerion’s mouth. He gently poured in a bit of water, stopped, massaged Valerion’s throat, and began again. It was a painfully slow process.

“Why are you doing that?”

“I am encouraging him to swallow, princess. So that he does not drown.” The junior maester said.

Saera approached Valerion’s other side and stared down at him. There was no change. “When will he wake up?”

The maester glanced at her, then carried on with the water. “I cannot say, princess. Strictly speaking, I could be here caring for him for the rest of my life. Lord Qoherys has done something that no one else has done in centuries, if ever. We simply don’t know what the consequences might be. It could even be that the dragon Balerion has Lord Qoherys’ consciousness, though that is speculation I suppose.”

Saera scowled at him. Balerion was hers and not just because Valerion wanted her. This maester would not take away her victory. However, he did not seem to know what he had implied and would probably go to her father if she made a fuss. She kept quiet about it for now – he was keeping Valerion alive.

“How do I wake him up then? I ride Balerion.” She pointed out.

The maester shrugged. “I would not recommend that you try… whatever he did to heal Balerion. It is entirely possible that you would fall to this state instead. …it is a good sign that he has not died yet. That he is able to breathe on his own.” He offered it as if it was a consolation.

Saera waited until he had turned his back to get more water before hissing in Valerion’s ear, “Maziōrās.” He wanted to be like a dragon? She’d treat him like a dragon.

“Princess, what are you doing?” The maester asked.

Saera ignored him. She rode Balerion. She would not be cowed by a sleeping man. “Jenten ao! Maziōrās, Valerion!”  

**************************************************************

Valerion 

Valerion heaved the hulking block of black stone. His shoulders and legs burned but the work would not be completed if he stopped. He had to keep going. He had to. Only then would his name mean something. Only then would he be worthy of love. The five great towers of Harren’s castle loomed over him, its decrepit walls and leaking rooms abandoned. After all, who would make residence in a burned-out ruin. No one had a purpose here, except for him. He would always be here, so long as there was work to be done. He heaved the stone to one of the more collapsed sections of the outer wall, the clear weather making him sweat as he did so. At least he assumed it was clear – it wasn’t raining, it just was.

Valerion did not know how long he had been working, how many pieces he had placed, only that he must continue. He lined the stone next to its counterpart and cut his hand allowing the blood to flow and mark the stone, red on black. Harren’s castle had been built with the blood of men once, surely his blood would serve also, as mortar if nothing else.

He unleashed the ropes from the stone and collected them before turning away from the castle walls which loomed above him, the whispering of the ghosts within following him. Whispering? Valerion had not heard another voice since he began his work, whenever that was. The whispers were faint and likely held meaning to each other, but they mattered little to him.

He turned away and leashed the next stone dragging it with him. He could not afford to stop. His mother was watching him from whichever of the hells she had fallen to. She had haunted his every step, she would haunt him at this cursed place also, until the last stone was placed and Harren’s castle was restored. He could feel her eyes behind him always, spurring him to further action. He lined up the next stone and drew his mother’s dagger slicing another line across his palm. The network of cuts, running from his palm up his arm, burned as another was added to their fold, a scant few drops of blood consecrating the new stone.

“W..e .p” A ghost whispered, briefly legible over the cacophony of others. That voice was familiar, Valerion could swear it was. Who was it? Valerion stood at the edge of the wall listening for anything else. The voice shrunk back into the rest, a droning whisper at the back of his mind.

Why had he stopped? He shouldn’t have stopped. He had to work. Another stone. Followed by another. The work stretching out forever, it could not cease. It would not cease. One man rebuilding Harren’s castle alone? It was laughable. If nothing else, he might run out of blood.

“. l..e .o.” Valerion halted again. That same voice soaring over the vortex of ghosts which screamed at him to continue. Who was that? He could swear he knew that voice. It was not his mother, nor his sister long dead. He could feel his heart beating, his arm burning from the network of wounds which lay upon it as rain began to fall upon Harren’s castle in earnest. He would have to work harder. Now that the rain had begun, it would be harder to move the stones. He turned away to-

“Wh.n ..ll .e w..e .p?” There. There it was again, a little clearer this time.

The other voices were smaller, lesser. They seemed insignificant in comparison. The voice, it was coming from within the castle, but not from the towers. Valerion abandoned his work, the ghosts be damned. His mother be damned. This was more important. He followed the whisper of the voice’s words past the hulking slate roofs of the stables, walking beneath the great stone bridge adjoining the Widow’s and Kingspyre towers, such names he had learned from traders and gossipmongers.

“..w d. I w..e h.. up …n? . ..de Bal..i.n” There was the voice again, it was far too intentional, deliberate. Much closer, louder. There was meaning to be found here. It drew Valerion as he stumbled into the woods, contained inside the curtain wall. His arm burned as if it had been claimed by a great fire. Valerion clenched it with his other hand and pressing forward. He could not continue his work until he understood the voice’s meaning.

Within the forest he stumbled past trees of oak, birch and elm eventually coming to a stream, the water marked by the droplets of rain. There was an image in the water, but the droplets were obscuring it. Valerion furrowed his brow trying to make out the image. A series of finely polished stone, with a set of lit sconces hanging from a wall.

“Maziōrās.” The voice was directly against his ear. He could feel the warmth of breath as clear as the brightest of summer days. ‘Stand up’. Valerion furrowed his brow, further feeling the stab in his arm as if it were limp. He was already standing, wasn’t he? He moved his hand from his limp arm to his ear attempting to block the warmth upon it, to no avail.

“Jenten ao!” The voice was as strong as before. It was commanding him. No, she was commanding him. “Maziōrās, Valerion!” He reached his functioning arm to the water recognising the voice at last.

“Saera?” He asked, his eyes snapping open.

Chapter Text

Jonos

Jonos didn’t truly want to be there, but alas. As the most junior maester around, he got stuck with the odd jobs and the dirty grunt work that no one else wanted. It was ordinarily simple. His patient thus far was quiet and therefore well-mannered. Sponging the man down was no hardship, nor was writing down a list of all the scars that he apparently had. Scars that Jonos himself had seen weren’t there previously, when they made poor Maester Olyvar bathe him, and scars that Jonos had witnessed slowly appear before his very eyes.

It was clearly all magic related, but there was no maester possessing Valyrian steel links around, not even the Grand Maester. Perhaps most qualified by birth was Acolyte Vaegon who didn’t actually like magic. Apparently, it didn’t make enough sense to him, which Jonos found exceedingly fair. The entire point of magic was that it made no sense, hence the official name for it being the higher mysteries. Otherwise, it would just be scientific thought.

Even if others had wanted to, no one had the power to order Acolyte Vaegon about, as he was going to be an archmaester when one of them died. This would be soon as almost all of the archmaesters were old. The archmaester of mathematics and accounting was especially elderly and it was known to be Vaegon’s coveted position. Of coruse, Acolyte Vaegon being a prince of the royal blood probably factored in also. Oh, everyone said it didn’t matter but they also said that everyone was an equal upon entering the Citadel, so it was one of those lies.

Regardless, no one really tended to Valerion Qoherys except for Jonos, and now apparently one of the princesses. Jonos got the distinct impression that the others were all quietly hoping that Lord Qoherys would die without any fuss. Apparently this would not be the case, as he had woken up.
Strange that it was because the princess had spoken to him. In Valyrian.

Even the thrill of getting to see Acolyte-Prince Vaegon was not worth this headache. Jonos had been looking forward to a nice glass of cool water, a warm dinner and reading the latest treatise from Myr about a process of making coloured glass with different types of sand and the effects. It was a dry subject, but sand in general was. Unfortunately, that never got any laughs when Jonos said it aloud either. Now this was happening.

“Valerion?! Valerion!” The princess demanded.

“Saera…?” Jonos’ patient weakly asked. “What're you… doing… here?” It was very nice of Lord Qoherys to give Jonos the princess’ name – he did not actually know which one it was. There were a lot of princesses.

“Waking you up, it would seem.” Jonos said, before he realised that he had said that aloud. The princess glared at him and Lord Qoherys slowly turned his head. Oh, please let him be sent back to Oldtown for this. Please. Jonos held back his sigh and walked forward. “Lord Qoherys, you have been asleep for roughly a week. The King summoned his children from Oldtown with the utmost haste to see you well.” This meant ‘please don’t die with only the princess and me as witnesses, because I will be sent somewhere like the Fingers or the Wall if you do.’

“You left me! How could you do that to me?” The princess demanded while Jonos tried to get Lord Qoherys to track his finger’s movements. Who knows, perhaps being asleep for a week concussed someone. It’s not like anyone else knew what was happening medically.

“I didn’t do it to you on purpose.” Lord Qoherys said, turning his head to look at her. This was largely unhelpful for the purposes of checking if he had a concussion. Jonos decided that he didn’t, because the alternative was to get involved in this, or to grab Lord Qoherys’ head and turn it.

The princess leaned in far too closely to his patients face. “Well, you should have thought about that before you put yourself to sleep!”

Lord Qoherys seemed to have fire in his eyes as he took a deep breath. “What do you care, anyway?”

“Well, she did say she loved you before I came in.” Jonos said, because she did. He hadn’t been about to walk in when she was ranting. Again, that probably should have remained in the confines of his mind. It was so much easier to be on rookery duty – the ravens didn’t care if you gave commentary. These people clearly did, given the way that they were staring at him.

Lord Qoherys turned to look at back at the princess. "You do?"

The princess meanwhile stared daggers at Jonos. “How dare you.” She snapped. “Were you spying on me?”

“No, I was coming to make sure he didn’t die while I was in the privy.” Jonos said. “That would have been bad for my future and making sure that I don’t get sent to the Iron Islands, or somewhere else windswept and cold. I would prefer not to die like that.”

The princess simply continued to glare at him. “Would you prefer to die being dropped from dragonback?” She demanded.

Jonos thought about it. “…do you want me to rank my top ten death scenarios?”

“What dragon?” Lord Qoherys rasped.

Jonos gave him a waterskin, and went to massage Lord Qoherys’ throat automatically. They both gave him a look of derision before returning to their own conversation.

“I ride Balerion now.” The princess said primly.

Lord Qoherys seemed to wake up a little more at that. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Now, back to you being the biggest moron in the kingdom—no, wait, my father. The biggest moron in Westeros who isn’t aged—no, wait, Alyssa. The biggest non-Targaryen moron to ever exist! How could you do that? You didn’t even ask me for permission!”

“I wasn’t aware I needed to, princess.” Lord Qoherys sneered.

“You’re doing a very good job of facial expressions for someone who was asleep a candle mark ago.” Jonos commented. Neither of the nobility paid him any mind.

“Of course you need to ask me! You don’t get to show up and make me feel things and then try to leave again!” The princess growled.

Jonos thinned his lips. “This is why the most attractive member of your family is Acolyte-Prince Vaegon.”

The Princess' head snapped in his direction. “What?”

“What?” Jonos repeated back innocently.

“Perhaps you could go tell the king I’m awake?” Lord Qoherys suggested.

Jonos scoffed. “I don’t believe it would be wise to leave you two alone in a room together. What with all the confessions of love and whatnot.”

“My arm is in a sling and I have only just awoken from a week of being asleep. What trouble could I cause, maester?” Lord Qoherys pointed out.

Jonos shrugged. “I shan't imagine anything good. It seems like a scandal waiting to happen and I don’t want the king to be angry with me. I’m certain that I have said why.”

“You should be more concerned about me being angry with you.” The princess snapped.

Jonos blinked at her. “No, I shouldn’t. The king has actual power and would not consent to you pushing me off a dragon. That’s a very public kind of death, I would need to have done something much worse than annoying you for him to justify it to the realm. Meanwhile, the king can get me sent somewhere awful where my reading will never be done, if I give him reason to do so. I am far more scared of him than I am of you.”

The princess crossed her arms in frustration. “You’re not saying I can’t push you off of a dragon.”

“I’m sure that you physically could. All I mean to say is that you cannot take such action without being labelled a tyrant. …though I think a tyrant is someone in power.”
Jonos and the nobles stared at each other for a moment. Jonos, for his part, was trying to figure out the etymology of a tyrant who had no real authority.

The princess sighed as if deeply set upon. “I will go get someone to tell my father and then come back. This is not over.” She said, before leaving the room. Jonos breathed a sigh of relief only for the princess to turn back into the room a moment later, pointing at Lord Qoherys. “You stay awake.”

**************************************************************

Jaehaerys

Jaehaerys was not hiding. A king did not hide, least of all from his children. He was simply waiting in his study, remunerating over the recent fractures developing in the family. Hopefully, Alysanne would be back soon and get them all in line. He put them all in a list to deal with by age.

Aemon needed to accept that Rhaenys would not be queen. It just wasn’t feasible for a woman to be the sole ruler, especially with other heirs in the form of Daemon and Viserys. What next? Women in the army? Women having men’s jobs? Madness. Women could certainly be intelligent, but there were certain... requirements to rulership which favoured men. No, he needed to nip this in the bud. This was clearly the worst problem facing the family.

Baelon and Alyssa were as they should be. Perhaps Alyssa could give Jocelyn advice about having sons? Perhaps it would help. Then this inheritance disagreement could be put to rest – it continued to rotate in his mind, like a wheel upon a road. Baelon would never go against Aemon and Alyssa would not go against Baelon. If nothing else, she was a dutiful wife.

Maegelle was easy to understand. Her place in the faith both served the family and herself well. She was visiting for the first time in some time it was nice to see she remained kind. He had never been very close with her, but hopefully he would find something to do with her being here if Saera was not going to go to the faith.

Vaegon was… it didn’t matter that Vaegon had the Dornish vice, it wasn’t as if he had a marriage to uphold it just… made Jaehaerys uncomfortable in a way that he could not explain. He was also well aware that they had apparently failed Vaegon at some point – oh, very well, he had failed Vaegon. Alysanne would have known all of those things and combatted Vaegon’s disrespect easily. Vaegon made Jaehaerys uncomfortable mostly because he shamed him and Jaehaerys preferred to think about how wrong Aemon was instead. Vaegon, unfortunately, was very hard to argue against. Presumably, he would forge his next link in debate and logic.

Daella needed to hurry up and have her baby, that was what Daella needed to do. She was Rodrik Arryn’s responsibility. When she had her child Alysanne would come home, and everything would be as it should be.

Saera… gods, Saera. Ideally she would somehow come out of all of this a functional adult. Jaehaerys despaired of her. Where had his little girl gone? The one who smiled and laughed so sweetly, who had loved the ponies and falcons he had gotten for her. Maybe Vaegon was right and he simply had not been paying attention. Seeing what he wished to see. If she had only been a son, what a son she would have been! Alas, she was a daughter and possibly in love with Valerion Qoherys. Jaehaerys wasn’t completely sure if he believed it – Saera would say she was in love with a hat if it gave her the time of day. Young girls were so fickle and changeable like that. But it gave her something to be controlled with which would serve well enough.

Viserra needed to stop complaining about her skin or he would send her off with Maegelle. No one in the faith had to worry about their skin. Saera had clearly been a bad influence on her.

Gael was… there wasn’t much to Gael. He was vaguely toying with the idea of betrothing her to Daemon, but Alysanne had said before she left that pairing would not be happening. Something about Daemon being ‘mean’ to Gael. Jaehaerys did not think that Daemon was truly cruel – he was just playing, a strapping lad like his father with Alyssa’s more mischievous sense of humour. One day, he and Gael would be happy together, just as he himself was with Alysanne. Of course, that was far off into the future…

Perhaps there was a way to handle his main issues at the same time. A means to tie down Saera, to manage the inheritance crisis brewing, and prove Vaegon wrong about the interest that Jaehaerys took in his children. But what? Alysanne would know. (Daella had better finish up soon. How long did it take for her to have a babe?)

A servant interrupted his musing. “Your Grace, Lord Qoherys is awake.”

Yet another complication. He should have listened to Vaegon, now it was too late. Jaehaerys rose from his desk and followed the servant to the maester’s tower sedately, as though he had not been fervently wishing that the Seven would rid him of this troublesome would-be lord. As he went, he thought through the thorny issues his children had presented him with. Qoherys, bad parent, inheritance… ah. He had it.

He would marry Saera off to this penniless lord as payment for services rendered. That would handle Saera neatly and prove to Vaegon that he did listen to his children. Then he would no longer feel uncomfortable about the assertions that Vaegon had made. His other children might see this as a bad idea, but by then Saera’s future would be decided. It would no longer be Jaehaerys’ responsibility that Saera made poor decisions, and if she continued to do so then he could place the consequences on Lord Qoherys. If Rhaenys had no brothers, she would be married off to Saera’s eldest son. It must be a Targaryen on the Iron Throne, not some landless, half-bastard Qoherys. None would support the grandchildren of an essosi man as the future king, removing the issue of Rhaenys.

The one remaining problem was that Saera would automatically oppose any plans that Jaehaerys put forward, seeing as how she had apparently developed into a talented contrarian. He would have to be cunning about this.
By the time he reached the Maester’s tower, he had a plan.

**************************************************************

Valerion

Valerion’s body felt as if it were on fire, especially his right arm which had been placed into a sling. No doubt the manoeuvre against the Cannibal, which should have devastated his arm, was having some lingering effects. In a strange way it was a relief to know he could be hurt again. Whatever the presence nestled within him truly was, be it a true curse or Aurion Varezys, it had been expunged at last. The maester, whatever his name was, continued to uncaringly move around the room, clearing away various instruments. No doubt he was tactically waiting to interrupt again.

“My father will be here soon. Now, back to you being a complete idiot.” Saera declared, re-entering the room and seating herself next to his table. She set her features as neutrally as possible, attempting to demonstrate her frustration at him. It was unbearably enticing.

Valerion resisted the desire to smile at her, surely she would see it as a challenge. “I… I won’t apologise for what I did, Saera. However, if I had known that you felt for me, I would have discussed it with you first.”

Saera narrowed her eyes at him slightly. “I don’t just blame you alone, though you’re definitely going to have to make this up to me.”

Valerion chuckled under his breath, Saera was relentless as always. It was taxing, but he found it to be immensely fun all the same.

“I will do my best, princess.” Alas, he would not be doing so anytime soon if his body had anything to say about it. Even turning his head was a challenge, his muscles burning from a lack of use. Valerion would be damned if he remained still for any longer than he already had done. Valerion flexed, feeling the burn in some of his muscles before using his good arm to move himself into a sitting position.

“My lord! You should rest.” The young maester said rushing to push him down.

Valerion used his one good hand to grab the maester's robes. “Be silent! I have rested long enough.” The maester should have been scared, if previous reactions to his threats were anything to go by, but he impassively looked at Valerion. Valerion saw him moving to the right, even as he held him in place. Wait… No, as he himself fell to one side. He felt another pair of hands support him as his body threatened to drop to the stone floor. Given there was only one other person in the room it had to be Saera. He could feel her breath in his ear as she caught him.

“Careful, Valerion. I’m not letting you hurt yourself again anytime soon.” Saera whispered to him.

Valerion let go of the maester’s robes, freeing the man to continue his work. The man had the gall to mutter something about being the only professional helping him, and the rudeness of nobility. Valerion glared at him, and the maester rolled his eyes back. “Try it again, I’ll just move out of your reach.” He said.

Before Valerion could reply, his majesty King Jaehaerys entered the room with great pomp and circumstance. He looked at Saera, hands rested on his chest and lips hovering next to his ear, and set his mouth into a thin line.

“You’re not dead.” King Jaehaerys said to Valerion. “Is it rude if I say it is a pity?”

Valerion bared his teeth. He was not afraid of any old men any longer. “I don’t know if I can say that, Your Grace.”

“I believe it’s rude, yes, but I was thinking it too.” The maester muttered. “I didn’t say it even when he grabbed me…” The king stared at the maester, who flushed and turned back to making some sort of poultice. It seemed mostly like he just wanted to keep his hands busy.

The king turned back to Valerion. “It seems that with your aid to the Black Dread, I am to forgive you for the crimes carried out against my family on Dragonstone. Please, consider them forgotten.”

“I already have.” Saera spoke for Valerion, glaring at her father. “Don’t you think he deserves something else?”

King Jaehaerys tilted his head. “Very well, an excellent point. Please present to me a plan for the development and rebuilding of Harrenhal over the next five years within a month.”

The maester made a small sound. “Um? His arm? It’s all but ruined. He’s not going to be able to write for a month. Your majesty, I mean.”

“That is not my problem.” The king said with great wisdom and sagacity. Valerion glared at him.

“And me?” Saera demanded. “Last time I saw you—”

“Nearly half a candle mark ago, yes.” The king had a practiced smile on his lips.

“Last time I saw you,” Saera repeated as if her father had not spoken. “You said that I was going to be bundled off with Maegelle for the Faith.” Valerion flinched as she awaited his response, her hand clutching at his chest through the clothing he had been draped in.

“Ah, yes.” The king said, as if they were discussing the weather. “As I alluded to at the end when you departed, I have decided against that. Balerion may prove a liability.”
The maester snorted, but did not comment.

“As such,” the king continued. “I will announce your entrance to court as a marriageable woman.”

Saera faltered, but her grip grew ever more like a claw. “Marriage? To whom?”

The king tilted his head. “Oh, I've not decided yet. It would have to be someone worthy of a daughter of House Targaryen. With a great name, more than two coins to rub together, and of course, somewhere for you to live. If they did not have those three things, I could not possibly countenance you marrying them.”

“I have money.” Valerion pointed out. “And a name.”

The king looked at him, there was a gleam in his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you do, Lord Qoherys. You should probably get started on that proposal though. I must admit, I will be giving the Strongs the same opportunity as yourself. I must also admit that they already have a home and that I am predisposed to let them keep it.”

Saera inhaled sharply. “You’re a terrible old man.”

“Is it a crime for me to want to see my daughter married to a man who can take care of her? That will not just piss away his family fortune as his grandfather did?” The king tried to look innocent. It was a bad look on him.

Valerion ground his teeth and was astonished to find that it hurt. It had not hurt in a long time.

The maester clapped his hands together. “Enough! I’m going to say it, and please don’t send me to the Iron Islands for it. All Targaryens out, please. You are exciting my patient what with all these melodramatic declarations! This is not good for his recovery! Everyone who is not me, or my patient, please leave.”

The king stared at the maester, who was biting his lip and trying not to tremble. “What is your name?”

“Jonos, my lord. I mean, Your Grace. Jonos Rivers.”

“Ah, a bastard tells me what to do in my own castle.” The king said calmly. “I see. Very well, Jonos Rivers, I will not send you to the Iron Islands.” With judgement rendered, he turned and departed the room.

“That was the scariest moment of my life.” The maester sighed, before glaring at Saera. “Can you please leave too? You aren’t as scary as him.”

“I could kill you.” Saera hissed through clenched teeth.

“We have established this. Your methods of doing so would not be worse than dying of cold on the Wall or to ungrateful Ironborn because they insist on pouring seawater on open wounds.” The maester said calmly, before pointing to the door. “Please leave, so I can treat your lover.”

“What’s there to treat?” Saera scoffed. “He’s awake.”

“Princess, his arm is more fucked than a very cheap whore.” Maester Jonos said. “Not only that, but he has been unconscious for near a week. He cannot just leap from the bed as if he has had a good night’s rest.”

If Valerion did not intervene soon then Saera was likely to leave and bring Balerion to visit. “Saera…all will be well. When I am able, I will call on you. Of course, if you desire you may do the reverse.”

Saera went to say something but was interrupted by the maester. “Not that type of calling, I hope. Your body needs to recover, and strenuous exercise is not yet possible.”

Saera simply pouted again, likely realising that there was no way for her to stay in this room forever. “Very well. I’ll go and find something else to do.” Saera sighed, before stomping out of the room.

Maester Jonos watched her leave before he began removing the sling holding Valerion’s arm in place. His arm continued to burn as if placed in a wretched fireplace, although Valerion expected that a real fire would hurt less. His arm was heavily bruised from elbow to shoulder being an angry purple colour.

“What do you see in her anyway?” The maester seemed to almost say whatever popped into his head. Perhaps the gods had seen fit to take away his means of deceit.

“Just treat me, maester. That is why you are here. The sooner it is done, the sooner we both may go about our lives.” Valerion said, continuing to study the damage he had done to his arm.

“Very well. Grand Maester Elysar has already assessed your arm and its condition. The underlying musculature of your arm has been torn. Your muscles will heal themselves but they will lack their previous strength. If you attempt to simply use them as you did before they would likely tear again. Ultimately, this is treatable but only with a certain amount of training.” Maester Jonos seemed far more in his element when he was not being a little shit.

“Training? How long will this training require?” Valerion was pressed enough for time as it was given this new deadline for this restoration proposal. Not to mention that he did not have any means to survey the castle he would be restoring. Somehow, he doubted the Strongs would be amenable.

“It is best not to rush these things. However, it seems most of the damage is localised to the upper arm. We will have to test varying loads against it to rebuild its strength. Full recovery; anywhere from three to six months. For at least the first month or so the arm will not be able to undergo any stress which is not a part of the treatment.” Valerion felt his soul leave his body again. He was well and truly fucked.

“Let’s aim for the three over the six, maester.” Valerion hissed through gritted teeth. Still hurt.

The maester rolled his eyes as he recreated the sling with a new cloth and wrapped it around his arm. “Your lack of movement will necessitate some work to get you stable and on your feet again. So long as you eat well and push yourself you should be up and walking within the next two weeks or so.” Valerion grunted his assent but did not deem it necessary to respond. His mind swirled with ideas for the restoration of Harren’s castle.

“So, my lord, how do you intend to complete this fool’s errand the King has assigned you?” The maester asked. Valerion could not tell if he did so out of curiosity or simply to mock him.

“Did you just call me a fool, maester?” Valerion twisted as best he could to glare at the physician.

“Simply an observation, my lord.” The maester finished tying his sling into place. He quickly took a seat in the same chair Saera had been occupying. “Your plans for Harrenhal?” Curiosity then. Clearly the maester had little to gain from such a question, unless he intended to feed it back to the Strongs. But then the Strongs were not aware of the task yet. What use would they have of a spy at this stage?

“I have plenty of treasures from Valyria which will provide me with the funds I need to reconstruct the castle.” Valerion answered. In truth, the task of rebuilding the castle may require more than that, and while he was loath to part with it, he could always sell the armour he had stripped from Aurion Varezys’ corpse.

“What sorts of treasures?” The maester continued to pry in matters that did not concern him.

“A considerable amount of coinage from before the Doom, numerous sculptures and household objects made from dragonbone and a small collection of manuscripts detailing various methods of construction.” Valerion listed the objects he had collected in as much detail as he could find the effort.

The maester made a noise somewhere between intrigue and disappointment. How he did this was beyond Valerion’s understanding. “The coinage is functionally useless on its own, I very much doubt it functions as legal tender. The objects will be desired by collectors, though the individuals who value those artifacts will be those either of Valyrian descent, who are few, or those with an eclectic fascination with lost civilisations, of which there are also few. The manuscripts may have historical and practical value, but I doubt you would find someone willing to pay exorbitant amounts for them.”

Valerion was starting to grow more frustrated by the second. “You seem to take joy in telling me I am doomed.”

“It is a challenging puzzle, but not impossible.” The maester had now begun to ignore him entirely, seemingly delving into the parameters of whatever solutions he could think of. “I have no solutions for you.”

“So, this has meant nothing? My, you are a superb help.” Valerion commented dryly.

“I do not have the knowledge to find this solution, but there is someone particularly skilled in mathematics who may be able to assist you. At the very least, he will help you make the most of what you have.” The maester said, continuing to gaze into the distance as if imagining the problem.

“Who is he?” Valerion might as well pursue this path. It wasn’t like he had much more of a plan anyway.

“Hmm? Oh. Acolyte Vaegon Targaryen.” The maester answered, smiling for the first time since Valerion had woken.

**************************************************************

Saera

Saera had made her way from the Grand Maester’s chambers to her own and was lounging on the chaise staring out the window. A quick bath and change of clothes meant that she now looked less like a filthy fishmonger and more the regal beauty she was. She was not being sent to the Faith, thank the gods (how ironic). Beyond even her wildest hopes, Valerion was awake. That wasn’t the gods though, that was all her.

Despite this she was now angry for a new reason. Saera could not believe the gall of her father.  How dare he do this. He knew that she would marry Valerion. He was even the one who told her to go and see him. Now he was saying that Valerion wasn’t good enough and that she would have to marry regardless. No doubt he hoped she would find some preening lord who would be a good friend to the crown and rid him of his greatest disappointment. How sad for Saera’s father that she was not so easily cowed. The suitors could come until the sun rose in the west, but she would only marry one man. The real question was how to achieve this. Valerion would no doubt be capable and stubborn enough to join court as soon as he was able, but her father could find innumerable ways to block him from approaching her.

Well, fuck him then. She’d just force him to marry her to Valerion Qoherys. She’d-she’d… she would do something! Something great. Something powerful. Something that would make them all sit up and take notice of her.

No, she had to resume her previous line of thought. This was not the time to focus on proving herself to her family, it was the time to focus on how to keep Valerion Qoherys all to herself. And like a bolt of lightning, an idea came to her. She would force her father to let her keep Valerion by making sure that no one else in King’s Landing would possibly want her. By creating a scandal large enough that marrying him was the only option.

Now, the only problem was that she was so beautiful and well-bred that of course other men would not necessarily be put off by her actions, but that was not her problem. She wouldn’t let them ruin her plans. 

So, with a mind on her plan, she decided to enact the first phase; hedonism. She waited until the day had been whittled away and the castle was quiet. She then used a very, very old passage and came out in a room near Valerion’s, which was finally unguarded. As far as she was aware, he had been moved back to his room that day to begin to convalesce. She swept the cobwebs out of her hair as best she could. Her hair was left loose to fall down to her waist. There would not be much point in styling it anyway. Fortunately, the red Myrish dress she had chosen was able to avoid most of the dust.

She set her hand upon the door to Valerion and swung it open as dramatically as possible. Valerion, who had been resting in his bed sat upright, jolted. Vaegon, who was inexplicably also there, did not.

“What are you doing here?” Saera demanded of her brother, shutting the door behind her. “He’s supposed to be resting!”

Vaegon raised an eyebrow. “I am advising him on mathematics, and yes, I believe he is. What are you doing here?”

“I’m sure the princess just wanted to wish me a speedy recovery.” Valerion said. Both Saera and Vaegon fixed him with a look of disbelief before turning back to each other.

“The maesters have had him for weeks, it’s my turn now.” Saera whined.

“Firstly, they had him for a singular week. Secondly, I was uninvolved with his day-to-day care and remain so.” Vaegon replied. “We are discussing mathematics and whether a Valyrian coin’s value would translate to a Westerosi gold dragon, or whether it would be mostly worth the gold that it was stamped on. I have drawn up an equation for the idea—”

Saera could see that Valerion’s eyes were glazing over, and no doubt hers were as well. “How wonderful, Vaegon. Why aren’t you eating with our royal father? Being higher in the line of succession and all.”

“I am a sworn to the citadel. I know you care for no one but yourself but surely you have not forgotten that.”

“I am a woman. Our illustrious father would rather see a crown upon the head of a maester than a woman.” Saera waved a hand towards the door. “Now go away, my lordly brother.”

Vaegon tilted his head and slowly began to smile. It was entirely wrong of him to do so. Vaegon did not smile. “No, I don’t think I will. I know something you don’t know, after all.”

“I’m sure you know many things, but the princess asked you to leave.” Valerion said.

“Your dog is very loyal, but I don’t know how he’s supposed to bite when the famed knife is just out of his reach.” Vaegon pointed to it on a nearby bedside table, as if it was a common dagger.

“Do not call me a—” Valerion attempted to intercede.

Saera smirked. “He is my dog, isn’t he? How long did that take you to figure out, oh great and intelligent maester?”

Vaegon snorted. “About as soon as Maegelle and I got here. Come, baby sister. Don’t you want to know my secret?”

“It’s maths. I don’t want to know.” Saera said flatly.

Vaegon shrugged. “Very well. Just know that our most beloved and kingly father, jewel of the Seven Kingdoms—”

“Valerion, give me your pillow to beat him with.” Saera ordered. Valerion did not shift from his current position, apparently giving up on getting between Saera and her brother.

“Beat me with your own fists, you coward. Let the man rest.” Vaegon said.

Saera stuck out her tongue. “Or what? I’ll hit that chain you carry to anchor you to the ground, lest your head get so big you’ll fly away. Well, I would if you actually had a chain.”

“I would never allow you to hit my growing chain. It, unlike you, is precious to me.” Vaegon said, before turning to go. “I will wait outside for ten minutes before I am going to call for reinforcements. I don’t want to think about anyone in the family having relations, so as far as I am aware, it’s not going to happen.”

“Vaegon!” Saera whined.

“If you’re not out within that time period, I will call for people to come and assist me, lest poor lord Qoherys take a turn in the night.” Vaegon continued.

“Good, that’s my plan.” Saera pointed out.

Vaegon tilted his head again. “Oh, dear, I thought you were smarter than that. Well, you can’t have everything. Nonetheless, if you make me bear witness to your awkward sexual conduct, I will be forced to provide loud and critical commentary. Poor Lord Qoherys, I hope his dragon would remain in flight so to speak. His ship’s mast would not come down in a storm.”

“Just say his cock would go soft and go.” Saera scoffed.

Vaegon shrugged. “For the record, I thought we should kill him. Ten minutes starts now. I had better not hear anything untoward, lest I start loudly listing our ancestors to make sure that my ears remain clean.” Before Saera could respond, he shut the door.

"Well, we have ten minutes.” Valerion said, raising an eyebrow. “And my arm is fucked. What do you think we should do?”

Saera smirked. “Ten minutes shouldn’t be too bad.” She freed his cock from his breeches deftly, and began to stroke it, spitting on her hand to make it glide.

It quickly hardened under her grip, and Valerion gave a hiss of pleasure. “Carefully, Saera.”

She leaned in close. “No, I don’t think I will. If you wanted a soft, sweet whore from the Street of Silk, you wouldn’t be here now, would you? No, you want a dragon rider. You want me.”

“Last we spoke, you weren’t a dragon rider.” Valerion said.

“Last we spoke, you were so stoic.” Saera cooed. “I just want to break you, see emotions washing over your face. Is that so bad?”

He didn’t get a chance to answer before she dropped her head down to his lap, taking him to the hilt. “Fuck, Saera!” Valerion called out.

Outside, Vaegon apparently began listing their ancestors from Daenys the Dreamer. Saera rolled her eyes and resolved to ignore him. She licked a stripe up Valerion’s cock, and began to suck hard, bobbing up and down. Valerion’s hand tangled in her hair almost hesitantly, and Saera glared at him. He made to pull away, but she moved her free hand to the top of his to keep him there. If he was going to touch her, he was going to commit to doing so.

He got the message, and his hand tangled in her hair, gripping onto her silver-white strands. Saera hummed with pleasure for that, and Valerion made a choked noise. “S-Saera…”

His cock came out of her mouth with a wet, obscene pop. “So close already, Valerion? You must be so pent up after a week without my touch.” She gave him a wicked, nasty smirk and then swirled her tongue around the head of his cock, paying it special attention.

She had forgotten he had the hand in her hair, only remembering as he pushed it down into his lap. She gave a little noise of surprise, and then began to suck and bob in earnest.

“Hells, Saera. You’re so good…” She was, wasn’t she? She hardly needed any direction, trying to take as much of him as she could in one go before she had to breathe. Valerion was drifting into Essosi Valyrian, but she could still make out the bones of his praise. He called her perfect, which she was, but no one had ever said it and looked at her like that, so open and wanting her. “Saera, I’m going to finish.” He said. Good, let him. She redoubled her efforts.

“Nasty girl.” He groaned. “Horrible woman.” She glared at him for saying so but continued. Her efforts were rewarded – she could feel him trembling, and then, finally, warmth at the back of her throat. Her entire mouth was covered in it, she swallowed twice – once for the bulk of it, the second for any dregs. He was watching her throat as she did so with a naked want. She could easily make a show of it as she had the first time but she only had ten minutes and some of that had been taken up by his pleasure already.

“Would you like to lick me or use your left hand?” She asked, parting her skirts.

“Left hand, I’ll lick you next time.” He said, reaching up to meet her. “Fuck, you’re wet.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, I still want you to—oh.” Saera moaned as two of his fingers curled inside her and his thumb pressed hard against her clit, making quick circles.

He sat up, and she nearly fell into his lap, his cock beginning to stand back to attention again. “Do you know what I would do if I had two good arms and all the time in the world?” He whispered in her ear, before biting it.

“Nngh… what would you do?” Saera asked, biting his shoulder. At his sharp inhale, apparently it meant something to him too.

“I’d fuck you as hard as I could, as long as I could, however you’d like.” Valerion said, drawing it out.

Saera’s hands began to skim over her own breasts, especially as Valerion’s fingers began to pump in and out of her. He added a third, and she leaned against him, her breath coming in quick pants.

“I’d have you suck my cock until you nearly passed out from it.” Valerion cooed into her ear. Saera wriggled in his lap, wanting his fingers to pump ever deeper. She could not form a reply. “I’d drink your juices like the finest Arbor Gold.” Valerion continued. “Until you begged me to fuck you. And then I’d slam you into the mattress until you forgot your own name.”

“And what of your name?” Saera asked breathily.

“That? You’d never forget that. You’d be screaming it until you were hoarse, after all. It’s the only word you’d know. And what a good girl you’d be for me.” Valerion pressed a kiss to her temple while his fingers fucked her. Saera shuddered with pleasure and came. Valerion pulled back, and she whined. He smirked at her and made a show of licking each of his fingers and his hand clean.

“And with our beloved father, Jaehaerys, light of the seven kingdoms and our mother, Alysanne his better half, both my list and your time have come to an end!” Vaegon said, bursting in as if he had been trying to catch them at something. Saera slowly blinked at him, too sated to care.

Vaegon, however, did. He put a hand over his eyes. “Saera. Your tits are out.”

“Hmm. So they are.” Saera agreed.

“Can you please rearrange yourselves?” Vaegon asked.

“Prince Vaegon, could you possibly return tomorrow?” Valerion asked. “The hour grows late. I doubt I shall retain any knowledge at this time.”

“And will my sister be spending the night, or returning tomorrow as well?” Vaegon asked, shaking his head (though with his hand still attached). “Never mind, I see that the secret I know is unneeded. I suppose I will see you both tomorrow, because Seven know I won’t be able to stop you.”

With that, he turned and fled from the room faster than Saera had ever seen him move. She slowly smirked at Valerion. “Do you want to tup me again?” He just smirked back.

**************************************************************

Valerion

Valerion was well and truly tired. In fact, he likely did not know the meaning of the word until that night. A few rounds of satisfying Saera would do that to you, Valerion supposed. After their latest bout, he had taken to lying upon the bed propping himself up slightly. Saera was resting on top of his chest, her dress discarded on the floor. Her weight upon him proved somewhat painful given his diminished state but he would not ask her to move for some time.

He slowly ran his good hand through her hair as she listened to his heart. “How do you feel my princess?”

“Very satisfied, my lord.” She said quietly. She began to run a fingernail along the lines of his muscles. The sensation made him shiver. “So long as you don’t try and get yourself killed again.”

Valerion chuckled lightly. “I only did that because I thought you didn’t love me. Besides I did not know it would end in the manner it did.”

Saera shifted her gaze up to glare at him. “Don’t lie to me. I’m no fool. You knew what it could cost, and you wanted it to happen. Elsewise you would not have avoided my gaze.” She was a perceptive thing indeed.

“True enough.” Valerion shrugged. His mishap may have been costly, but it would seem he had stumbled away mostly intact. “Now I suppose we must plan for the future.”

“We?” Saera pouted, pretending she had not been the one to seek him out.

“You said you love me.” Valerion chuckled. “Or do you just love my beautiful eyes?”

Saera scoffed and returned her ear to his chest. “I prefer your beautiful cock.” She fell into silence for a few moments. “Fool that you are, I do love you. That is why we will be married.”

“What of your father?” Valerion said, returning a hand to her hair and stroking it gently.

“What of the old man? Don’t let him spoil this bliss.” Saera nuzzled in deeper. She was very warm.

Valerion tightened his arm and drew her further against him. “He is the king. If he should decide we will not marry, which it appears he has, it will prove challenging to do so.”

“Challenging, but not impossible. Besides, he knows I love you already.” She said casually.

“He does?!” Valerion shifted a bit in surprise. “Was I the last person you deigned to inform?”

“No. Aemon doesn’t know.” She laughed, presumably at his shock. “I wouldn’t inform him either. He would fight you, arm or no.”

“Good to know.” Now Valerion would have to deal with the awkward nature of wondering which members of her family knew or not. Besides Vaegon, obviously. “Wait. What do you mean by ‘not impossible’. Do you have a plan?”

Saera sighed and looked up at him again. “I do but it won’t come to fruition until the right moment. For now, we just enjoy ourselves.”

Valerion scowled at his cast arm. “You may be able to enjoy yourself, princess. I must continue to recover. Alongside this task I have been set.”

Saera chuckled and cupped his cheek with one of her hands. “Worry not, my fool. I know you will excel at this task I give you.”

Valerion found himself smiling. Saera may be wilful and demanding at times, but she trusted him. She loved him. So of course, he would do anything she asked of him.

Chapter Text

Jaehaerys

Jaehaerys was presently in his study poring over the last batch of correspondence from across the realm. Almost every single notable house had arrived in Kings Landing already, this last batch had come from some of the smaller attending houses. Houses Blackbar, Lonmouth and Volmark would all be present. Their attendance was not necessarily expected as they had little to offer the crown in exchange for his daughter’s hand, but they would try, nonetheless. Saera had been gloating over the attentions she had received already, apparently making Viserra quite jealous. At least she was no longer concerned about her outbreak of spots. By the Seven, he hoped Alysanne would return soon.

His dear wife had intended to return following Daella’s birth but the babe had come half-a-moon early, leading to challenging labours. Against all odds, his daughter had achieved her duty and come out the other side no worse for wear. Though Alysanne had extended her stay to be there for Daella’s recovery. Now Lord Arryn had a new daughter, Jaehaerys had a second granddaughter and still lacked his queen. She was due to return any day now, upon which the betrothal feasts would commence.

Three days for all the lords of the realm to earn the hand of Saera Targaryen, princess of the Seven Kingdoms. Good luck to them, especially since he was the first to admit that the dice were weighted against them. Jaehaerys was drawn from his thoughts by a knock at the door. Ser Clement Crabb opened the door allowing Aemon to enter. Jaehaerys waved his hand and Ser Crabb departed closing the door behind him.

“Your Grace, this is getting out of hand.” Aemon sat himself down sharply upon one of the chairs. “Already there have been two more cases of thievery, one stabbing and several instances of brawling. This city, your city, is ready to fall into chaos, and the City Watch is ill-equipped to deal with a gathering of this scale. That is to say nothing of the Blackwoods and Brackens, who saw fit to turn a tavern into their own personal battleground.” Aemon’s words carried professional concern but there was no familiarity to them. They had not spoken as father and son since his declaration regarding Rhaenys.

Jaehaerys rested his hand on his face and rubbed his eyes gently. “Once the festivities begin the lords of the realm will have little time to worry about their petty squabbles.” At the very least Jaehaerys hoped so. “As for the city criminals, I will command 500 of our household guard to patrol the city and assist the city watch. That should keep the knaves under control for the moment.”

“And the Riverlords, Your Grace?” Aemon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Truly, it was the tavernkeeper’s fault for letting their parties stay in the same space.”

Aemon glared at that. He looked much like his mother.

Jaehaerys waved a hand dismissively. “I will see to it they repay the damages.”

He sighed looking at his son. The cloud that hung over their relationship was not a good portent, perhaps it would do to see it put to rest. “For what it is worth, I am sorry Aemon.”

Aemon squinted at him ever so slightly. “Have you changed your decision, Your Grace?” Jaehaerys just sighed again and shook his head. Aemon stood up preparing to leave. “Perhaps your apology would be better received if it came with any change, my lord father.” With that he left the room swiftly.

Jaehaerys simply sat back in his chair and looked to the heavens. Oh, how he wished he was 14 again, back on Dragonstone. The days had been easy then, filled with the clashing of swords and laughter of Alysanne’s compatriots. Jaehaerys thought back on those times for a few minutes. The memories of the smoky air bringing a brief respite.
A respite interrupted by a terse conversation outside his study followed by Baelon charging in. “Father, Silverwing has been sighted north of the city.”

Thank the Gods.

**************************************************************

Valerion

Valerion could feel the burn in his right arm. The hefty rock he was attempting to lift was once again besting him. He held it a few seconds longer before bringing it back to his desk.

“Mm. I was able to count to thirty very slowly then. I suppose that is something, my lord.” Jonos muttered to himself.

“Don’t mock me, maester. I have been bested by a stone.” Valerion snapped. In spite of his many peculiarities maester Jonos had proven a helpful addition to his recovery. Not that Valerion would ever admit it.

“That happens sometimes. It is, after all, a somewhat large stone. Stones best many things, excepting of course rivers. And dragons, I suppose.” Jonos mused. Jonos set aside his parchment. Many different objects and times laid strewn about. Valerion was beginning to doubt the veracity of the man’s medical theories.

“Do not play the fool, maester. You know what I mean.” Valerion always found his temper flared when he tried a new object. Something which stretched his capabilities and made his arm burn.

“Nonetheless, you have shown rapid improvement this past moon. If you continue this progress, I expect your arms will have equal strength when two more moons have passed.” Jonos was very… forthright. Valerion was inclined to take him at his word.

Very well, maester, go about your duties. I must continue my own research.” Valerion turned and reached for a tome which Vaegon had all but ordered him to read; Tax Regimens and Kingdom Investments from the Age of Heroes to the Conquest. It was as dry as the sands of Dorne. As had the last four that Vaegon had forced upon him. Valerion was convinced that the acolyte was finding elaborate ways to torture him.

Jonos leaned over to read the leather cover. “How fascinating. I shall have to give it a read if I find the time.” Valerion just glared at him. “Regardless, how goes your fool’s errand?”

Valerion cracked the tome open and returned to the passage he had finished on earlier that day. “Poorly. I have no access to the records of Harren’s castle, so I have no means to draw together a definitive timeline for restoration. All that I have established is theoretical.”

“That is unfortunate.” Jonos’ voice made it very clear that he did not care one way, or the other.

“There are several possible angles I can work, but they mostly rely on building up infrastructure, such as building a port along the God’s Eye or negotiating a charter for Harrentown. If all else should fail I shall simply have to appeal to the king’s love for roads. Still, at least my investments with the Iron Bank have gone well.”

“Ah! You followed Vaegon’s advice I take it? Isn’t he so intelligent? Everyone should listen to him.” Jonos said firmly.

Valerion blinked at him. “Last week, you said that everyone should read his horrid treatise on Valyrian mathematics.”

“A foundational piece!” Jonos nodded at him.

“It contains the phrase, ‘of course, we do not know anything about Valyrian mathematics, so this is pure speculation’. It’s at the end! I read through all of that for nothing!”

“Not nothing.” Jonos fussed. “It gave you a better understanding of the Acolyte-Prince Vaegon.”

“I don’t need to understand him.” Valerion said petulantly. “You just want to… understand him.”

Jonos flushed slightly, but did not say anything, beginning to tidy away his bits of detritus. Apparently he favoured the rock.

Valerion cleared his throat and tried to extend a peace offering. “Your… fancy may be many things, dim-witted is not one of them.” That was about as close to a compliment as Valerion was willing to give his torturer. Jonos raised an eyebrow but did not comment; he nodded once and swept out of the room, arms full of assorted garbage.

Valerion spent what felt like an eternity attempting to work through the next few passages of Garth Goldenhand's financial policies. After reading the same line regarding exports of food multiple times, Valerion was saved by a knock at the door. Thankful for the distraction, he got up and opened it. It was far too early for one of Saera’s clandestine greetings, although she had been getting increasingly bold as time went on. Valerion was brought face-to-face with the Acolyte-Prince himself.

Vaegon assessed him momentarily. “Good, you are presentable. The Queen has summoned you.”

“Oh, thank the Gods.” Valerion said before he could catch himself.

Vaegon raised a solitary eyebrow. “Why? I don’t believe they had anything to do with it.”

Valerion cleared his throat. “It just… gives me an opportunity to stretch myself.”

Vaegon blinked expectantly at him, clearly waiting for him to continue, then finally said, “Indeed. Anyway, bring the tome with you. If needed it can keep you company. My mother is often busy, especially since she’s been off with Dumb-Dumb Daella for however long and neglecting her work.”

Valerion retrieved the tome and followed the prince through the Red Keep. It took a little time for them to make their way to Maegor’s Holdfast and then to the Queen’s drawing room, owing to the large number of servants moving through various pieces through the Keep. The preparations had everyone behaving like the sea would swallow the city, much to the pleasure of Saera.

The room Valerion was escorted to was rather small, a private space designed for only a small number of individuals to talk. It was richly decorated with screened windows and a fine Pentoshi carpet upon the floor. Queen Alysanne was already sat at a finely carved round table, which had various small food items including several tarts, Dornish plums and honeyfingers from Tyrosh. Valerion noted a familiar woman with a sword who was stood at the far end of the room. Vaegon did not remain in the room, simply departing once Valerion stepped inside.

Valerion bowed slightly. “Your Grace.”

The queen took a sip of her drink before speaking. “Lord Qoherys, come sit with me.” Valerion did so, placing the tome he was carrying upon the table. He winced at the resulting thunk echoing throughout the room, but the queen carried on as if she had not noticed.

“I was unaware you had returned from the Vale.” Valerion said. He had meant it to sound conversational as opposed to accusatory.

“Well, I have only been back for a few hours. Enough for me to have the necessary conversations with my family.” The queen responded in a jovial manner, taking another sip of her tea.

Valerion was beginning to wonder if the queen was aware of his liberties with her daughter. Though he had no doubt that this meeting would be far less pleasant if she was. “If I might be so bold, Your Grace, why have you called me here?”

The queen set down her cup and tilted her head inquisitively at him. “When I was in the Vale, Saera expressed some… care for you. I am wondering if you are going to seek her hand in the upcoming festivities.”

Valerion would if he could. Alas, the queen’s own husband had seen fit to declare him unworthy, not that this would make a difference to Saera’s decision. “The Princess Saera did inform me that she had shared our feelings with certain family members.”

“Our feelings, Lord Qoherys?” The queen lightly chuckled to herself. “Saera only informed me of her feelings. Though I must say, it is fortunate that the feeling is mutual.” Valerion felt the heat rise to his face at his misstep. No doubt, his cheeks had reddened, something that he had not missed when he was beyond human, before healing Balerion. The queen smiled at him. “So, do you wish to marry Saera?”

Valerion felt as if he were a fish trapped upon the land, struggling to return to his natural habitat. Still, he had been asked a question and he must respond. “Yes. I do wish that, Your Grace. Although the king has deemed me unsuitable unless I complete a task for him.”

“Mmm. Vaegon has explained this task to me in some detail. He was very happy to tell me, at length, about some of the mathematics involved. He also made note of the efforts you have put forward, though this took a secondary place to him to the mathematics. Four tomes within the turn of a moon is rather impressive, especially while you undergo your recovery. Praise from Vaegon, no matter how sparse, is even more so.” The queen sipped her tea again, hiding her smile behind the rim of the cup.

“Do you feel the match would be… wise?” Valerion tried to make the question as subtle as possible. Alas, he was not well versed in court politics.

Queen Alysanne remained silent for some time. The call of birds flying past the keep was the sole sound in the space. “I am seriously considering it. However, I am not without my concerns. You have proven yourself reckless, arrogant and short of reason on several occasions. That is not to speak of Saera's... behaviours. Combine those qualities with both of you riding sizeable dragons and I certainly have reservations.”

“Would it somehow be better if we were not dragon riders?” Valerion asked. “I suspect I would not have made it thus far without Jadewing, to be honest with you.”

“Oh? I would hope that you would be honest with me anyway, Lord Qoherys.” A smirk flitted across her face, and for a brief moment she looked much like Saera. Then it was gone, and she looked sweet and biddable again.

Valerion did not trust her façade at all. “My apologies, Your Grace, but I did not have an answer to my question.”

Queen Alysanne raised an eyebrow. “Would it be simpler if there were not two large creatures with minds of their own involved? Of course. Would it be simpler if you were a shepherd and a milkmaid, with but two copper coins to your names? Of course. Unfortunately, however, you are two dragonriders, she is a princess, and you are the lord of a house thought to be dead. These are realities that must be taken into account.”

“Is that what you have said to Lord Baratheon? After all, Orys Baratheon’s wife Argella Durrandon was the reason he had any power.”

“No, the reason he had power was because he was thought to be my great-uncle. Installed by the Conqueror and subsequently had the backing of the crown.” Queen Alysanne said, before tilting her head. “But on the subject of bastards – do you mind if I am mother?”

Valerion furrowed his brow in confusion. “Excuse me?”

She gestured to the teapot. “A Westerosi expression. May I pour your cup?”

“Please, thank you.” Valerion said, eying her warily.
She poured him a perfect cup of tea and smiled at him. He took a sip, and then gently set the cup back down.

“Would you like a honeyfinger?” She asked.

“I’m afraid I’m not fond of Tyroshi delicacies.”

The Queen took a sip from her cup before continuing. “Ah, yes. You’re Volantene, are you not? Would you bring any ties to Volantis for our family?”

Valerion raised an eyebrow. “I have business contacts.”

“I was hoping for a deeper connection, something more akin to blood. I understand that you do not use your father’s name?”

Valerion’s mouth was a thin line. “Those in the free cities do not ordinarily care for blood relations, barring those of the old blood who take great pride in it. Business is typically what matters there. I suspect that is not the purpose of your question, however. What are you asking, exactly? Your Grace.”

She leaned back in her chair. “I suppose I am asking who you truly are and where your family is from.”

Valerion set his face into as stony an expression as he could manage. “I am Valerion Qoherys, and my family is of Harrenhal.”

The Queen tilted her head. “Yes, so you have said. However, most families – I understand that mine is unique in this regard – are comprised of two people who are not related getting married and joining their families together. May I please have your parents’ names?”

“They are both dead. I don’t see what it matters.” Valerion said, resisting the urge to grind his teeth.

“It matters to me. I may be able to persuade Jaehaerys to accede to the match if I can claim the Maegyrs are part of this alliance, for example.”

Valerion barked out a laugh. “The Maegyrs? If I was a Maegyr you would know, but so be it. If you wish to know of my family I shall tell you, Your Grace. My father was the second son of Belicho Vhassar, who himself campaigned for the elephants. He campaigned both tirelessly and fruitlessly until he was killed by a business rival for the crime of buying a coveted slave. My uncle inherited everything, including any connections the family had. My father, Tessario Vhassar, was found dead when I was six, when the madam of the brothel he was sleeping in came to shake him awake for payment. Here is another truth, my lady. I was not born Valerion Qoherys, I remade myself with my mother’s maiden name. The boy that I was, Valerio Vhassar, died reaching Valyria and only the man you see before you remains.”

Queen Alysanne clicked her tongue. “Men love to say that they have killed the boy and that the man remains. Here is my question; how did the man come to be if the boy was not there in the first place? I understand that it is a metaphor and that I am not following it correctly, but I must ask – does it make you feel brave, thinking that the things that plagued Valerio Vhassar no longer follow you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Valerion said coolly. “In keeping with things that plague us, how do you feel about your royal uncle?”

Alysanne tilted her head but smiled. “A fair strike. I will trade you my thoughts for yours. How fares your father’s brother in Volantis?”

“Poorly.” Valerion retorted, rising to his feet.

Alysanne continued to smile. “A pity. Here is my answer; Maegor is dead and he will never harm me or my family again. Sometimes, when I remember that I smile. I’ve even caught myself laughing out of nowhere. He is dead, and I am not. I continue to live and thrive beyond his madness. Here’s another truth, since we’re sharing so many. Do you think you could ever possibly scare me? You’re just a boy. I have known true fear and it does not wear your face, Lord Qoherys. You snarl and try to scare people away from the core of you but I’ve raised three boys. I know better.”

“What is the point of this, your majesty?” Valerion asked, venom dripping more from each successive word.

“I wished to get the measure of you.” Alysanne said. “To see if you’re worth encouraging or if it would be better to try and get Saera’s attention to land elsewhere.”

Valerion felt a cold chill run along his spine. “She wouldn’t.”

“She would. If you were a little less interesting.” Her smile grew sharp. “If I decided you were a little less good for her, I could... direct her attention elsewhere. She would move along to the next eventually. But luckily, I am a romantic at heart and I believe you and Saera match each other quite well. So, I shan’t interfere with whatever schemes she and Jaehaerys are weaving and neither shall you.”

Valerion narrowed his eyes at her. “You can’t stop me from trying.”

“Oh, I can’t stop you from being used but to follow the metaphor, you are merely the shuttle in the tapestries of their design.” She sipped her tea thoughtfully. “You know, it truly is a shame. Jaehaerys has never acknowledged that she thinks the most like him. Now, I’m going to try and sit back while those two spin webs around each other. I advise you do the same, lest you get tangled up in their schemes.”

“I will always support Saera.”

“That’s part of her scheme then. I was merely advising you against trying to scheme against both of them and add to the mess.” Alysanne waved a hand dismissively.

“One last truth then. So you might see the core of me in its entirety.” Valerion returned to the table and picked up one of the honeyfingers. They were something he had not seen in a long time. “I find this treat truly revolting, but my sister didn’t. They were her favourite.”

“You have a sister?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Had, at one time.” Valerion bit into the treat immediately regretting the decision, fighting not to let his displeasure at it be too obvious. “The last time I tried these, she had laughed at the face I made. She never let me forget it either.” Valerion felt himself smile a bit despite his attempt to maintain his composure. She was the one bright moment of his childhood.

The Queen's face grew serious. “If I might ask, how did she pass?”

“Childbirth. A battleground you are all too familiar with. She did not wish to marry. In truth I did not wish it for her but our mother was adamant. She had only ever needed a son after all. I watched the only person I cared about be whisked away to a loveless marriage, one which killed her.” Valerion set down the remainder of the treat on an empty dish, and discreetly wiped his hand on a loose cloth. “My point, Your Grace, is that I know the consequences of inaction. I will never stand by and allow the gods alone to guide those few I care about, for they care little of mere mortals.”

Valerion did not often think of his sister. Her fate was perhaps the cruellest he had seen. One wrought by chance and an uncaring divine will.

“A last question from me, Lord Qoherys, then I will bid you depart.” The Queen remained measured and hid her thoughts far better than he did.

Valerion nodded at her. “As you say, Your Grace.”

Alysanne fixed her gaze on him, her expression as cool and still as a spring pond. It was as if they were merely discussing the weather. “What was your sister’s name?”

Valerion looked away. “Her name was Daenysa.” Valerion collected the tome from the table, gave a purely perfunctory bow and departed the room. He did not wish to think of the past any longer.

**************************************************************

Saera

Saera was ready. The day was finally here. Every single person of note, and some not of any note at all, had arrived and began to fix their attentions upon her. Of course, they did so for their own petty reasons. Either because she rode Balerion, was beautiful or a princess. Even some combination of all three if they had good taste. What they thought mattered little, however. So long as they showered her in the adoration she deserved, Saera did not care.

Her hair had been styled into an elaborate headpiece. The piece itself, made of delicately wrought gold, kept the tower of delicately worked silver hair in place looking as if two great dragon’s wings grew from her head. Her deep scarlet dress flowed elegantly as she made her way to the great hall. It was well decorated; embroidered with silver filigree, detailed with the finest onyx her father could find, and left her shoulders bare. The embroidery depicted Balerion in flight. She particularly liked the platinum necklace, decorated in shining pearls which sat just below her neck. Her makeup was immaculately done, making her look even fairer than normal, a difficult thing to achieve indeed.

She could hear the clamouring of the realm from within the great hall as she approached. As she reached the heavy doors she stopped, awaiting the crier’s announcement.
“Announcing the Princess Saera Targaryen, fifth daughter of His Grace Jaehaerys Targaryen and rider of the great dragon, Balerion ‘the Black Dread’.”

The hall was filled with many hundreds of nobles, all of whom fell silent and looked to her. Good. Let them see what they could not have. Saera could see the long table, upon which her family were seated, at the far end of the hall, just short of the Iron Throne itself. There were her parents sat in the centre. There was an empty seat next to her father, followed by Baelon and Alyssa. Next to their mother sat Aemon followed by his lady wife Jocelyn and Vaegon. Jocelyn looked vaguely ill, but that would serve well. All the better for Saera. Viserra and Rhaenys were not there as they were mere children, and Maegelle had taken her cradle-egg and left for the Starry Sept. None of them looked as beautiful, as splendid as she.

Saera took her first step forward gliding elegantly down the hall and keeping everyone’s attention fixated on her. Her family rose, followed by the rest of the court. Many of the lords closer to the exit of the hall bore their sigils proudly. Most of them Saera did not recognise, although she did smirk when she noticed the glare she caught off ‘the stinger’. The dull idiot really should not have come and saved himself the shame.

As she advanced down the hall, she began to recognise the house sigils – bigger houses, more important people. Crakehall and Connington were the first she recognised followed by others like Mallister, Mooton and Manderly. At least they actually had something to their names. Saera could see the collection of greater houses further down the hall. It seemed all the Lords Paramount were present, which was to be expected – Saera could vaguely see Daella’s Arryn, looking weary but not unhappy.

Saera was drawn from the attention she rightfully deserved by Valerion, who was wearing a silk black doublet and seemed to have combed his hair. It looked better than he deserved, when she had been up since before dawn to achieve her own look. He was seated between houses Bar Emmon and Prester. Her dragonrider deserved better than that insult but what really caught her attention was that he was sitting. Saera glared at him but he remained casual, smirking back at her. Valerion had no right trying to distract her by looking that good. Saera continued to walk, eventually breaking eye contact with Valerion and moving around the table to join her family.

She curtseyed to her royal father and ignored her siblings. Someone had dragged a comb through Alyssa’s hair and offered her a dress – black, not silk, with minimal embroidery. Just enough to show that she was of House Targaryen and not some random woman off the street. Likewise, Vaegon had not put on any new clothes. He was wearing the same thing he had worn yesterday – she could even see an ink spot he had made the other day on his sleeve. If it were anyone else she would be offended, but one could hardly blame a prospective maester for acting as a maester.

Her father inclined his head to her as she took her seat and everyone sat down. Then her father said some words about realm unity and the like, Saera was not listening. What was important was that her father declared the hunt for her officially open. Saera found that to be rather foolish, imagine hunting a dragon. She tried to catch Valerion’s eye but the delegation from the North blocked her view. Saera forced herself not to pout in front of the Seven Kingdoms.

Baelon unintentionally elbowed her, so Saera made sure to hit him in the face with her hair. “Ow!” Baelon said quietly. Apparently, she had gotten him in the eye.

“Sorry.” Saera smirked.
Alyssa glared at her around Baelon.

“Behave yourselves.” Their father cautioned quietly, hiding it with a smile. “We will be approached by worthy men soon.”

“How do you know if they’re worthy?” Saera asked, curious.

“Like draws like.” Baelon pointed out from Saera’s other side. “Father knows worthy men.”

“Does he know any worthy women, or is he hoping that a worthy man will fall out of Jocelyn’s womb any day now?” Alyssa asked.

Saera leaned around Baelon. That sounded like Alyssa was wroth with their father. “What do you mean?”

“Father said that Viserys and Daemon would inherit over Rhaenys.” Alyssa said before Baelon could.

“Well, that’s good for you, isn’t it?” Saera queried.

Alyssa’s mouth was a thin line. “I didn’t have sons to throw them at that stupid, ugly chair. What’s wrong with Rhaenys? Why can’t she inherit?”

“You know why, Alyssa, and you are being loud.” Their father said through a false smile.

“I’m afraid I didn’t hear about this while I was in the Eyrie.” Their mother said. “Would you mind filling me in on the situation, Aemon?” Saera and Alyssa made no secret of the fact that they were trying to lean around their parents to see what Aemon said.

Perfect Prince Aemon wiped his mouth. “Certainly, mother. Primogeniture matters little to father it would seem, only prime genitals as it were. Rhaenys is already showing a calm head and a capability to rule. Instead, Father would prefer to skip the line of succession in favour of Baelon and his sons, who are too young to really say if he would even want to rule. Viserys is, after all, a boy, and that’s what matters.”

“Can we not do this here?” Their father’s smile was beginning to look like a grimace.

“It must have been such a relief for you when Daenerys died, Father. No more of this ‘female heir’ business.” Aemon said as the first courses were served.

Their mother made a noise like a mouse being trodden upon. “Aemon, that was cruel.”

“Apologies, Mother.” Aemon's voice still had a forced neutrality to it. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“Well, words are much like dragonfire – it’s usually not just a single person who is hurt.” Their mother moralised.

Saera rolled her eyes. Whoever was approaching their table seemed a coward as they saw the motion and quickly turned away. Saera would have been relieved, but the gap was quickly filled by the Lannister delegation. At least they were notable. The two men approached the table and bowed to her father.

“Your Grace. A pleasure to meet once more.” The elder one spoke. He was so old his hair was more grey than blonde, his skin so wrinkled that experienced mountaineers could have gotten lost in it.

“Lord Lancel. It has been too long.” Her father turned to the younger. He was a man grown with short bright hair and dressed in a tunic which was emblazoned with too many lions to count. If nothing else, it demonstrated his needless pride. Lions were after all, weak when separated. “Ser Tymond, glad that you could make it.”

“An honour, Your Grace.” He flicked his eyes to Saera appraising her. If he could not see how beautiful she was already, then he did not deserve even this. “Princess, I have brought a gift for you.” He gestured to a nearby servant who brought forth a miniature chest richly decorated in gold. It was placed on the table before her, to which she just stared at Tymond the Garish.

“Open it.” She heard Baelon whisper as he raised a cloth to his mouth. Saera rolled her eyes and opened the chest.

Inside was a chain of gold on a bed of red silk. Attached to the chain was a pendant with an intertwined dragon and lion. The chain itself was nice enough, though if it was made of iron it possibly may have been strong enough to help raise the harbour gate against incoming ships, such was its density. The pendant was larger than her hand, and possibly larger than her face. She mentally revised the opinion of the servant - apparently she had been given some sort of ballast to go with the harbour chain, and they had carried it as if it was nothing.

“I hope to see you wearing it princess.” Tymond the Garish bowed slightly.

“Oh. I am sure I shall find the time someday.” She said as she closed the box and moved it to one side. Saera doubted that she ever would, lest she find herself anchored to the floor. Tymond and the walking corpse departed the table moving to the next.

Saera dipped in and out of the endless greetings. Fortunately, some of them seemed more interested in attempting to convince her father over her. As if she would ever let him make the decision for her. Many of the proposed matches gave her gifts, which was to be expected. After all, she deserved them but there were only so many necklaces and dresses in horrid house colours she needed. Some men, like Lord Boremund Baratheon were at least good to look at, though not as good as Valerion. Alas, Baratheon was dull. Privately, Saera called him Lord Boring Baratheon – he nodded at her and said all the right things, but almost immediately moved to speak to Jocelyn. It was as if he didn’t care about her at her own party!

Beesbury offered a jar of honey, something about how sweet she was. Her mother looked at it, then said, “It’s so nice that even our poorest nobles have something to contribute, thank you for thinking of us at this time.”

Beesbury flushed. “You know I should marry her anyway. After all, I took her ma—”

“If you finish that sentence the way that I think you will, I will throw you out of the Red Keep for your lies and slander.” Saera’s father said, keeping up that stupid smile. For the first time in a month it seemed that Saera’s brothers agreed with their father, each glaring at Beesbury to make their thoughts known.

“…maiden’s day gift. I took it back, because it was unsuitable.” Beesbury said.

“So you do know when gifts are unsuitable! I was very worried for you.” Saera’s mother said, pressing a hand to her chest as though she had been genuinely moved by Beesbury’s stupidity. “Moreover, I was worried for your poor mother. Imagine! She went through all the trouble of carrying you and birthing you, only for you to disappoint her like that. I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear that is not the case!”

Beesbury’s face grew almost as red as the wine before he spun away and marched to what little family had come to join him at the far end of the hall. Various other men came forward with better gifts. The Tyrells gave her a very shiny rose sculpted out of gold, ‘so that she could look fondly upon their house’. At least one Northern house gave her a beautiful pelt – it wasn’t the Starks, though. They paid their respects, but nothing much else, much like stupid Daella’s stupid husband, who left as soon as he could.

And then Valerion strode up to the table, smirking. He was carrying a small box under his arm. Her father rose to meet him. “Lord Qoherys! Have you come to give me your proposal for the rebuilding of Harrenhal?”
Saera glared at her father. Vaegon snorted into his wine but didn’t comment. 

“Soon, my king.” Valerion said.

“Well, hopefully sooner rather than later – I gave you a month to put something together and I want you to show your knowledge in front of the kingdoms.” Her father gestured to the assembly of the day.

Valerion’s smirk seemed a bit forced, but no one outside of the family could tell. Saera contented herself by staring at his doublet – it had embroidered skulls in a dark thread, so you really had to stare to see them. They glimmered and shone as Valerion flexed. Saera’s mouth watered.

“Worry not, Your Grace. The proposal, at least that which could be achieved in a moons turn, is almost ready. For now, I have a gift for the princess.” Valerion untucked the box from his arm and laid it gently in front of her, it rested oddly heavy on the table. The box itself seemed commonplace with exposed iron hinges and battered edges. However, that which was inside the box was not commonplace.

“Is that-” Alyssa began craning her neck to see the object.

“Valyrian Steel.” Baelon finished.

Saera pulled out the dark whorled metal goblet. The goblet did not have a circular rim but was instead a basin with 7 distinct equal edges. The basin sat upon a coil of metal which ran to a thin plate. The metal was inset with topaz, the bright orange gemstones worked around the exterior. Though it looked somewhat clunky, it was surprisingly light.

“I had its safety verified by several smiths and the Grand Maester, it is safe to use by all accounts.” Valerion explained clearly anticipating a question from her overprotective parents.

“It’s amazing.” Saera squealed, drawing several heads. Saera would certainly have to show her thanks later.

“It is a… fine gift.” She heard her father say, sounding as if the words were being forced from him at sword point.

Valerion chuckled to himself and glanced down the table to observe the rest of the family’s reactions. “I am glad you—” Valerion stopped midsentence drawing Saera from her fun.

“Lord Qoherys? Are you quite well?” Her mother said. Valerion was staring in the opposite direction to her, his brow furrowed at Jocelyn before he turned to Aemon.

“Is your lady wife not well, my prince?” Valerion asked, ignoring her mother.

“Alas, no. A pallor of the skin. Caused by a chill, brought on by the weather I have been told.” Aemon replied, though there was no friendliness to the words, merely politeness. Jocelyn did not respond, seemingly too wrapped up in said chill.

Valerion made a noise to acknowledge the response but otherwise continued to observe Jocelyn. “Has your lady wife taken a particular fancy to a new food in the last few moons?”

“What is this, Qoherys?” Her father interrupted. “Your gift has been given, now depart for the remainder of the event. Unless your proposal should be ready after all.”

“A moon or so before that, did she suffer from bouts of sickness in the morn. Likely attributed to some sort of fever?” Valerion continued to press. Saera could almost hear the edge of anxiety buried in his questions.

“Aemon?” Jocelyn asked between a draw of breath.

“How do you know these things, Lord Qoherys?” Aemon asked, his face growing ever more serious.

“And if I may be so indelicate as to ask, have you had your moonblood recently?”

“I have always had strange cycles.” Jocelyn said, glancing at Aemon.

Valerion nodded. “I believe I have seen this condition before, in Volantis.”

“Then what is it?!” Aemon snarled.

“It is a hidden pregnancy, so hidden that even the mother does not know she is carrying a babe. The signs of such are muted and disconnected until the labours begin in earnest.” Valerion turned away from Aemon to her father.

“Where have you seen this, Lord Qoherys, that you became such a master of the subject?” Her father asked. “Surely it cannot be altogether common in Volantis.”

Valerion’s mouth thinned, something strange appeared in his eyes. “I have seen it before. My sister had such a pregnancy.”

Saera stared at him. He had not even bothered to tell her he has a sister! Her mother gasped, which was odd, as she wasn’t close enough to Valerion to feel betrayed at not knowing things.

“There is no harm in me being checked by a maester.” Jocelyn said calmly, rising from the table. “Thank you, Lord Qoherys.”

“I will accompany you, my love.” Aemon said quickly.

“Aemon, we are showing a united front.” Their father muttered.

Aemon cast a dark look at his father, and took Jocelyn’s hand, gently leading her out of the room.

Valerion, for his part, looked paler than normal – apparently the exertion of the feast was too much for him. He turned to Saera and quickly bowed. “My apologies, princess.” Before she could say anything, he had already departed the table.

**************************************************************

Valerion

Valerion sat as his desk having finished yet another ponderous passage on purchases and power. The hour was late and he had made good progress on the tome, but he would not finish it by tomorrow. He still had a little time, before he needed rest. Time that he could use to read as much as possible. What he truly desired was Saera's warmth against him but Saera would be busy preparing for the ball on the morrow. He had several ideas he would be able to present to the King and end this needless errand he had been tormented with.

The door to his rooms burst open without any warning. Who would… “Saera?” Valerion blurted out far too loudly, before Saera shut the door hurriedly. She had not changed her dress, nor her hair since the half-dozen hour courting feast. Valerion could spot small cobwebs which clung to the elaborate headpiece, she must have run for the tunnels as soon as she was able.

Saera leaned up against the door for a moment panting lightly, but her eyes glared at him with annoyance.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Saera snapped.

Valerion tilted his head in confusion. “Tell you what?”

“That you have a sister, you idiot!” Valerion leaned back as she raised her voice to a shriek.

“Why does it matter?” He snapped.

Saera advanced on him like a predator upon prey. “If I have a rival for your affection, I need to know about it.”  Ah, Targaryens. Of course, she would think that. That was all she had been taught a sibling relationship should be. “Answer me, this instant.” She demanded, even with a face full of rage Valerion simply wished to take her, see it melt away into pleasure.

“I am no Targaryen Saera, what you have enraged yourself over does not exist.” Valerion rolled his eyes. “As to why I did not inform you, my sister is dead.”

Valerion could literally pinpoint the moment when Saera ceased her growing rage. “Oh. Well, that explains much, I suppose. You still should have told me.” Saera sat on the desk, almost in front of him. “Apparently, you were right about perfect Jocelyn. I heard a stupidly loud maester tell my father.”

“So?” Valerion said, closing the tome which still lay open. He would not be finishing it tonight, that was certain enough. Besides, Vaegon would be displeased if it were returned in any state but the one it was given in.

Saera cocked her head at him. “I would have thought you would care, given as you ignored me to bring it up.”

“Not really. The bitch can die for all I care, I simply do not think it fair to leave such a death to chance.” Valerion said absentmindedly. “If it were you on the other hand, I certainly would care.”

“Oh? Do you imagine me pregnant a lot?” Saera leaned towards Valerion, giving him a clear sight of her breasts.

“I don’t have to imagine, we could easily make it so if you wanted.” Valerion purred.

Saera crinkled her nose. “Stupid Vaegon keeps giving me moon tea. I’ll stop drinking it after I put my plan into action.”

“And what is your plan, my princess?” Valerion moved so that he knelt between her legs.

She smirked down at him and uncrossed her legs. Either someone had let her go walking around without smallclothes, or she had taken them off before coming to him. Either way, his mouth watered at the sight, and he felt his cock begin to harden.

“You don’t need to know that. You just need to do what I say, when I say it.” She ran a hand possessively through his hair as she spoke.

He began to trail kisses up her leg, beginning at her ankle and working his way up. She pouted at him for going too slowly and he scraped his teeth gently across her thigh causing her to gasp and shudder.

“Don’t I always follow your orders, my princess?” He asked.

Saera smirked. “Well… I suppose you have been good so far. But really, you should leave the planning to me—oh.” While she was talking, he buried his face in her, licking at her opening and sucking at her clit. She tangled her hands in his hair further, pushing him down. Gods, she was already so wet. Maybe she hadn’t been wearing any smallclothes earlier. What a filthy girl, and she was all his.

“Don’t-don’t stop.” She stuttered out.

He pulled back a bit and licked his lips. “Is that an order, princess?”

She shoved his head back. “Yes. You belong to me, not the other way around!”

He hummed and she shivered as he licked at her. What a jealous creature he had captured – well, no, what a jealous creature had captured him. And she looked it, her dress askew and her hair beginning to come undone, her eyes half-lidded as she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

“Do you know,” Valerion began, licking a stripe up her thigh as she whined and tried to pull him back. “Hush, you’re being rude, princess.” He inserted three fingers into her and pumped them in and out, his thumb circling her clit.

“How dare you talk to me like that!” She growled, even as she arched herself to fuck herself on his hand like the worst sort of whore.

“Do you know,” he repeated. “When I saw you enter that room, all I could think about was throwing you to the floor and fucking you in front of the Seven Kingdoms? In front of your family? To claim you and show every fool in that room the slut that you are.”

She closed her eyes and gasped out, “Yes…”

“Oh, you did know? Clever princess.”

She ground herself up against his hand. “I didn’t – ah- know, but I wanted it too.”

She was so much more honest when it was just the two of them like this. He kissed her thigh as a reward, then scraped his teeth along the spot that he had kissed, just to make her jump. “You did, didn’t you? What else do you want, my princess?”

Saera opened her eyes and stared at him. “I want you to fuck me.”

He pressed his thumb down hard, and she bit her hand to keep from screaming. He pumped his fingers ever faster. “You need to be more specific, princess. I’m a rather simple man, not used to making plans.”

“I want you to bend me over this desk push my dress aside, or rip it for all I care, and fuck me like an animal. I want you to cum in me, and I want it to be dripping down my thighs when I am sent back to my room. I -ah- want you to mark me, bite me and make sure that everyone knows we belong to each other. I want you to grab my wrists and just force me to take it.” Saera confessed.

Valerion smirked at her and curled his fingers again, making her cry out, his fingers slick with her warmth. “As my princess commands.”

“Yes. I do.” Saera said imperiously, before Valerion rose to his feet and picked her up, leaning her against the desk in a way that it would take her weight without bothering his arm. He flipped her over and pulled at the fabric of her dress, ripping it quickly so that he could access her. He freed his erection and pushed into her.

She screamed in pleasure and surprise. He leaned forward panting into her ear, “Now I have an order for you, my princess.”

“How dare—” She panted.

“Oh, I dare.” He purred. “I want you to fuck yourself on my cock.”

“I am your princess!”

“Oh, yes you are.” He nipped at her ear. “And if you want to get yourself off again, it will be on my cock and you will put in the effort.”

Slowly, she began to rock herself back and forth, far enough forward that he felt the impact when she jolted back into him. Gods, she was so wet, warm, and tight. She was truly made to take his cock.

At one point, when she rocked back against him, hard enough that she made herself cry out from it, he sank his teeth into her neck. She shrieked, he didn’t let go. “V-Valerion.” She whined. “Do it again.”

He sucked on the bite, drawing it between his teeth, before releasing her. Already the mark was beginning to blossom and darken.

“If I had both my arms, I would hold you up against nothing and let gravity fuck you for me.” He told her. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? As deep as I could possibly go, while you impale yourself on me?”

She shivered and nodded, one hand sneaking underneath to play with her clit. He let her. “Yes.”

He put his own hand on her throat, bringing her ever closer. He gave her a squeeze to see what she would do – given the gasp and sudden squeeze of her own, she very much liked it.

“Did I tell you to stop fucking me, princess?” He murmured in her ear before biting it. She had been wearing jewellery – beautiful pieces, better than the horrid things he had overheard some houses discussing. He wanted to give her a necklace of bite marks, mark her with a collar of his own that she couldn’t just take off.

She whined again and began to move her hips. With his free hand, he pulled both of her wrists up and she cried out at the loss of sensation from her fingers. Her hands scrabbled for purchase against the air.

To help her, he thrust his hips forward causing her to cry out again. “Do you want me to stop, princess?”

“No! Keep-keep going.” She ordered.

He squeezed on her pretty neck harder, enjoying the feeling of her tightening around him. “What should I keep doing, princess?”

She nearly sobbed as she pushed back up against him. “So good… I need more. Give me more.”

“Oh? I think you’ve lost your manners, my princess.” He moved his head to the other side of her neck and bit down.

“Please.” She begged. “Please fuck me.”

That did it. He released her hands and throat, and she gave him a sound of confusion, right before he pulled out. “No! Please fuck me.” She begged again.

“I will.” He promised, before flipping her to look her in the eye as he thrust into her.

She gripped the desk hard as he thrust, again and again and again. Her pretty, fine dress lay in tatters around her, covered in their combined fluids. His fingers dug into her waist as he needed to fuck her as hard as possible. Somewhere along the way, she began moaning and he didn’t care to shut her up. In the back of his mind, he was aware that it was probably a bad idea. Mostly though, he didn’t care. He wanted everyone to hear her calling his name and begging him to fuck her.

He pushed his head forward, and she raised her head, ready to meet his lips. Not this time. He latched onto her neck and bit, nearly hard enough to draw blood. Before, she had shrieked, cried out and moaned. Now she screamed. “Yes Valerion, yes!”  

Again and again, he bit her, making that perfect necklace he desired on her pale skin, until he pulled back and looked at her. She was flushed and her hair had fallen out of its beautiful shape. Her violet eyes were closed as she chanted his name. She was beautiful – she was freshly fucked, and she was all his.

He came in her. How could he not? He was usually so good, but apparently she was drinking moon tea anyway. Such a clever girl to think of it.

“While the idea of my cum dripping out of you is appealing, I think I’ll stay like this for a moment so it can’t.” He told her.

Saera shivered. “Gods, that’s fun. Let’s go again.”

“I don’t think even I can recover that fast, princess.” Valerion said, amused. He trailed a finger over her lips, swollen from her own biting, and she obediently opened her mouth. He slipped a finger in, just to see what she would do, and she began to suck it. By the look in her eyes, she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

“Gods, you really are testing that statement, aren’t you?” He asked.

He pulled out of her with a wet sound, and she whimpered desperately. His resting period was no longer as short since Balerion, but he’d be damned if that would stop him. He added another finger. It was her own juices she was lapping up so greedily after all. She either enjoyed them or didn’t care, as she seemingly enjoyed sucking both just as much as one.

“Well, my princess, how do you want me to fuck you?” Valerion asked.

Saera pulled her head back, and his fingers came out of her mouth with another wet sound, just as lewd as the last. She smirked at him. “I want to see if you can fit your fingers and your cock in me at the same time. I want you to play with me, to wear me out. I want you to fuck me into the mattress.”

“Then I shall.” Valerion said. Who was he to deny her? She was, after all, his princess.

**************************************************************

Aemon

Aemon felt he had been pacing back and forth for longer than a century. Surely his footsteps would remain in the floor until the Targaryens of the future would fall into the treads he’d made. His eyelids felt heavy, lack of sleep was catching up to him as a new day began. Aemon wished for nothing more than to burst into the room, but the maester had thought it best to not crowd Jocelyn. This was unhelpful – a crowd of maesters and midwives had apparently descended upon the castle as Jocelyn had been told that her lasting stomach issues were a result of labour and not bad fish.

A particularly aggressive scream sounded from within the birthing chamber. Aemon winced at the sound and continued his rotation. One, two, three, four, five, six, turn on the heel, one, two, three… It had been this way for the entire night. At first, the maesters were amazed at the pregnancy, which quickly turned into panic as they realised that she was in active labour.

The Grand Maester was certainly surprised and perhaps a little embarrassed. According to him, the babe was in an ideal position. According to a midwife from Flea Bottom, who boasted that she had never lost a mother nor a babe, and was quite aged, the baby was in a breech position. Apparently, they had to turn it. There was much shouting and still Aemon had not been able to go to his wife. How was he to support her in her battles if they would not let him?

“Ready my lady princess? You’re going to give one last push, the wee child is nearly here!” The aged midwife said.

Jocelyn screamed. “Gods damn the cock that put this baby up there!” Despite himself, Aemon smiled weakly. Ours is the Fury indeed.

“Aye, I’ll tell him, now push, lass!”

Jocelyn gave another scream, and everything went quiet for a moment, before a babe’s wail pierced the air. Aemon exhaled. Well, there was that at least. He knocked on the door and one of the maesters opened it. He looked queasy. “Yes, my prince?”

“May I see my wife now?” Aemon asked. The maester glanced back – presumably at the head midwife. Aemon took the opportunity to shove past him. The maesters and the midwives had split into two teams – one for Jocelyn, and one for the baby.

Maester Elysar was washing the babe gently, while the head midwife crouched in front of Jocelyn. “Very well done, my lady princess. You’ve got your babe, now you know what comes next.”

Jocelyn ground her teeth. “I can’t.”

“You can, and you will. You’ll have the afterbirth out, lest you take sick with fever. A few more gentle pushes, that’s it, that’s a girl.”

Jocelyn took several deep breaths, and then there was a wet splat. She glared at him over the head of the midwife, and Aemon changed direction immediately to see Grand Maester Elysar and the babe.

Grand Maester Elysar blinked at him. “Oh, greetings, my prince. When did you arrive?”

“Just now, Maester.” Aemon held out his arms for the babe, hearing the midwives help Jocelyn back into the bed from the birthing chair that she had been in.
Elysar placed the wet naked babe in Aemon’s hands, then blinked tiredly as the babe began to squall.

“Perhaps a blanket, Maester?” One of the midwives said, mouth quirking up. She held out her hands and Aemon passed the babe to her. She quickly swaddled it and handed it back to him with a curtsey.

“You have a son, my prince.” Elysar said. Their son. He was tiny, red and wrinkled. Much as Rhaenys had been when they had her, but somehow even smaller. He had already begun to quiet in his father’s arms, his eyes closed. There was no hair upon his head as of yet.

Aemon carried the babe over to the bed. Jocelyn held out her arms and raised an eyebrow at him. “I was very angry with you.” She was pale and sweaty, dark hair clinging to her forehead. There were massive dark circles under her eyes.

“I know, dearest. I heard.” Aemon pressed a kiss to her hair and gave her the babe.  Aemon sat next to her, being careful to disturb her as little as possible.

“I’m also angry with myself.” Jocelyn admitted quietly. “I should have known.”

“It’s been a very stressful time.” Aemon said. “Don’t blame yourself.”

Jocelyn leaned against him. “I’ll blame who I please, Aemon Targaryen. …Rhaenys is an older sister, but I do not know if she has a younger sister or brother.”

“A brother, dearest. We have a son.”

Jocelyn blinked slowly. “Mm. You’re not to name him after Boremund. He’s been trying to get me to name my first son after him for years.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Aemon promised.

Jocelyn absently stared at the baby for a moment; clearly she was struggling to stay awake after her ordeal. Aemon kissed her forehead as her eyes slowly drifted closed and took the baby back into his arms.

“Is she quite well, Elysar?” Aemon asked observing her chest rise and fall as she breathed.

“The labours were long, but the birth was as well as can expected my Prince. She simply requires rest.” Elysar yawned.

Aemon looked to the head midwife. “Is this true?”

She shrugged. “Rest won’t do her no harm, tis true. She passed the afterbirth well, and even if your lad is a bit small, he’s got a good set of lungs on him. No need to keep her ladyship the princess awake right now, nought should happen. Someone should probably keep an eye on her lest she takes a turn though. Childbed fever can be faster’n a snake.”

“When have you ever seen a snake?” Grand Maester Elysar muttered. The head midwife glared at him.

Aemon stood. “Very well. Inform me when she wakes. We will choose my son’s name together.” Aemon stood and passed his son to one of the many midwives, who was presumably either a nursemaid or would find one. Aemon would have stayed with him if he could, but he could not afford the ramifications of missing Saera’s ball. The nursemaids were well trained and would care for his son.  

Aemon found little time to rest as he made to bathe and ensure proper dress before the ball was to begin. As he prepared, he could only think of Rhaenys. She would surely never be queen now. His father would only ever see his most direct grandson as the true heir. The lords of the realm were much the same, speaking of the next king but never considering the alternative.

Rhaenys had spoken often and loudly that she was to be queen, it was not fair for her to lose that right, slim as some may have seen it. When it would become clear to Rhaenys that she would never sit the Iron Throne, Aemon hoped she did not grow resentful toward her brother. As he brushed his hair, he observed Baelon quickly enter the room at high speeds. At first Aemon was worried, but Baelon beamed at him as they made eye contact. Baelon made his way over and quickly took Aemon into a great hug.

“Congratulations, brother.” Baelon squeezed, then realised that Aemon was not hugging back. Baelon released him and simply chuckled. “Apologies. The excitement has overwhelmed me it would seem.”

Aemon did his best to smile through the fatigue he felt. “Thank you, Baelon. Truly.” Aemon turned and continued to run the brush through his hair.

Baelon’s jubilant expression turned to one of confusion. “Are you well? Is this not a happy occasion, for you?”

“It is. It is only…” Aemon drew out a long sigh. “It is only that our father’s attitudes will never change. Especially now.”

“Ah.” Baelon said nothing else. He had always been a talented listener.

Aemon continued. “Will Rhaenys be forgotten? Just as Viserra or Saera have been?”

“Father has not–” Baelon began. Aemon glared at him in the mirror, causing Baelon to falter.

Aemon continued. “Come brother. Speak the plain truth as we have both seen it. Father has never cared for understanding his daughters. Nor his granddaughter.”

“That isn’t fair, Aemon.” Baelon protested, laying a hand on his shoulder. He always saw the best in their father, the great and just king.

“Are you truly telling me that he has been fair to Alyssa? That you would not see her abandon the roles of court for the skies, or the training field?” Aemon felt the hand leave his shoulder.

“I take your meaning, but Rhaenys will not be forgotten. We will make sure of it, together. You, Jocelyn, me and Alyssa. We will always stand by each other. Besides, Mother is on our side. She’ll set Father right.”

Aemon felt a small smile creep onto his lips. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“How is she?” Baelon asked taking a seat at Aemon’s desk.

“Recovering. The labours were long, and she requires rest.”

Baelon nodded. “I will pray for a quick recovery. Is there a name for my nephew?”

“None as of yet. I will wait for Jocelyn to rest before a final decision is made. Then we shall organise the naming ceremony.” Aemon began affixing fine ruby bracelets to his wrists.

“Might I make a suggestion?”

“Do not suggest Aegon. That name is cursed I fear.” Aemon chuckled.

Baelon made a sound of thought. “What of Gaemon? For our departed brother, and ‘the glorious’.”

“The babe Valerion was also our brother.” Aemon said.

Baelon sighed. “I would suggest it, but I fear the young Qoherys would take the wrong meaning.”

“A fair point.” Aemon said finishing his adjustments. “I will pass the suggestion to Jocelyn. For now, I fear we have a ball to attend. No doubt Saera will seek to cause some trouble.”

**************************************************************

Baelon

Alyssa looked beautiful. She had been given a red dress that flowed around her, with wide skirts (so that she could not kick people) and bell-like sleeves (that she almost definitely hid knives up). Her hair had been artfully arranged with pins, and if Baelon had to guess, they were sharpened steel in case she needed a weapon at a moment’s notice.

She was also decidedly unhappy. She had her hand on Baelon’s arm as they entered the ballroom, and he gave her a little squeeze with his free hand as they did so. She gave him a small smile but seemed distracted.

The musicians began to play and he pulled her into a dance. “What’s wrong, ‘Lyssa?”

“I hate dresses.” She said, looking away.

“True, but that’s not it.” Baelon chuckled.

“I hate dancing.” 

Baelon raised an eyebrow. “No, you don’t. It’s a good chance for footwork.”

She glared at him. “I hate Valerion Qoherys.”

Baelon conceded this. “It’s not about him.”

“He and Saera are up to something.”

“Probably. Saera’s always up to something.” Baelon shrugged. “But what’s wrong?”

Alyssa sighed. “…Aemon just had a baby.”

“I rather think Jocelyn had the baby. Broadly speaking though that’s true. Is it not a joyous occasion?” Baelon asked.

Alyssa pursed her lips. “It is, but it’s… I don’t know. It’s terrifying that Jocelyn could be pregnant and not know it. It’s sad for Rhaenys that she has been displaced – something that Saera and I actually agreed on, horror of horrors. It’s… I didn’t want our boys on the throne. It’s not meant for them and it would tear them apart but I don’t want Father to push them aside like Rhaenys is now.”

Baelon spun her in time with the music. “I see. Well, first and foremost, you have regular cycles as far as I’m aware, so if your moonblood stops suddenly, we’d know. As for Rhaenys and our boys, we should talk to Father.”

Alyssa snorted. “That never works.”

“It works for me.”

“Father likes you.” Alyssa sounded a bit bitter, but she gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.

“Talk to Aemon when you get the chance. He too has grown concerned.” Baelon said as the music lulled. He pulled her from the floor and to the head table. It was much the same as it had been yesterday, barring the absence of Jocelyn and Vaegon.

Baelon guided Alyssa to her seat and sat himself. Their father was currently engaged with Aemon, who was actually responding to him for a change. Aemon did not seem as enthused as their father, but it was good to know that they could still talk.  Their mother was currently talking to Lord Arryn, thanking him for coming when Daella had so recently given birth. Certainly, it could not be easy for him.

Then there was Saera. Saera was wearing a silk dress coloured to match her silver hair. Both shone magnificently appearing as if they were starlight. The dress was embroidered with a fine blue thread and showed off her collarbone. A collarbone absolutely covered in angry bruises, all the more noticeable against the pale garment.

Baelon was forced to look twice, not quite believing his eyes the first time. “Sister, are you well?!”

“Why should I not be?” Saera said, taking a sip from the Valyrian steel goblet gifted to her yesterday. Baelon raised an eyebrow.

“You appear to have been the victim of some attack!” Alyssa snapped.

“Mmm. A dragon does not fall victim easily, sister.” Saera said, a growing smirk settling on her face. “No. It was simply an… unfortunate lapse of judgement.”

“Oh. Do tell?” Baelon said.

Saera’s face turned to a scowl. “Are you interrogating me?”

“Should we not worry for our beloved sister’s health?” Alyssa asked, leaning across Baelon.

“I fell. Satisfied?” Saera muttered returning to her goblet. Alyssa opened her mouth to respond but was stopped by the arrival of Ser Tymond Lannister.

“Princess, I was rather hoping you might honour me with a dance.” He said holding his hand out to Saera.

Saera finished taking a draught from her goblet before she looked at Ser Tymond. “You may continue to hope. I am not in the dancing mood.”

“Quite strange, to not wish to dance at a ball, no?” Ser Tymond pressed. That would likely be his last mistake.

“Only if one is simple enough to let other’s expectations lead their lives.” Saera said, glaring at him. “I heard once that a lion does not care for the opinion of sheep. That is true for a dragon also.”

Ser Tymond withdrew his hand and feigned a slight cough as he did so. “Very true, Princess.” He awkwardly stepped away from the table and returned to his seat.

“You are a terrible liar, Saera.” Alyssa said. “You could at least pretend that all of this is not a foregone conclusion.”

“Why should I? This is merely a prelude to the main event anyway.” Saera returned to her drink.

“What does that mean?” Alyssa snapped.

Saera simply ignored her. Apparently, Saera did not feel like elaborating over what this ‘main event’ was to be.

“You will be expected to dance eventually.” Baelon said. “Best do it sooner rather than later.”

“I suppose.” Saera rolled her eyes but at last set the bulky looking goblet down. “Dance with me, brother.” Saera got up and made her way around the table waiting for Baelon.

Baelon sighed, waited for a good lull in the music and pulled Saera into a dance. “Alyssa has a point you know.”

Saera rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t lecture me, brother.”

“Not a lecture but if you were always going to do… whatever it is you’re planning, you could have told father and saved the rest of us the trouble.”

“I did.” Saera said through gritted teeth.

Baelon furrowed his brow in confusion. “Then why—”

“Because he is a bitter old man, who doesn’t care about his daughter’s happiness. Only about what he can get out of a marriage.” She snapped with barely contained anger.

Baelon would ordinarily discount such a statement, especially about his father, but had Aemon not said much the same? “He loves us.”

“He loves you.” Saera pouted. “And Mother, I suppose. Definitely Aemon.”

“Not Vaegon?”

“Vaegon is removed from the line of succession and has never been particularly biddable.” Saera proclaimed. “Our father’s love is conditional – he believes that Aemon is his favourite, as the eldest boy, but it’s really you. You don’t challenge him and you’re a boy.”

“I wouldn’t say that Aemon truly challenges him either.” Baelon offered, twirling her.

Saera’s skirts floated out around her. “Not until now, at least. But Aemon has also disappointed our illustrious father by having a daughter of his own, and not hating her. Father no doubt wishes that Aemon was cast in his image a bit more.”

“You’re unfair to him.” Baelon sighed.

Saera raised one eyebrow. “Am I?”

Realising he would not be able to convince his sister otherwise, Baelon changed topic. “Very well, let us speak on another matter. Where did you get those bruises, Saera?”

Saera rolled her eyes. “Where do you think, Baelon?”

“I think that you ran off with one of your little friends and had them bite you to cause a scandal, but I don’t know why. This whole thing is for you. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

Saera paused. “I don’t dislike the attention. But this is just another way for Father to impose his will upon me.”

Baelon sighed. “Sometimes you go too far and leave him little choice.”

Saera rolled her eyes again. “Does it ever get tiring to mimic our father?”

“Saera. I’m serious. Think about the bites – the entire realm can see them. They will assume the worst, and rumour will spread. I know you think it a bit of fun but it may have lasting consequences. You never think about those.” Baelon scolded.

The dance ended and Saera curtsied. “Thank you for the dance, brother. However, I will say that I do know my own mind well enough. I know exactly what I am doing.”

Chapter Text

Alysanne

It had been a long day so far. Firstly, there was Aemon and Jocelyn’s announcement, which was lovely. Of course, Jaehaerys was walking about as proud as if he had carried and delivered the babe himself, but that was neither here nor there. Any other day, she would let him have it. Aemon, however, staggered about the room as if buffeted by an unseen wind. She wanted to let her poor boy sleep.

Meanwhile, Saera… gods be good, Saera. Poor Lyra had attended Saera that morning with the other septas, before immediately running to Alysanne in tears. Alysanne had of course attended to see Saera ready.

Saera looked to have been set upon by wolves. Her hair, so beautifully ornamented the day before, hung in loose hanks. Her dress was ripped and stained and shoved in a corner. Worst of all were the bruises, a finely arraigned line of bites wrapping around her collar bone. No, actually, Alysanne shook herself with the correction. The worst was Saera’s smug little smirk at the look of horror on Alysanne’s face. Alysanne had wanted to slap her, but that was… she would not. She could not.

Saera had had three dresses made for the festivities – the one that she had worn to the opening banquet, the one for the ball, and the one for the martial festivities. This one was diaphanous and elegant, with subtle blue and silver embroidery to draw the eye but not take away from Saera’s beauty. It also in no way covered her chest or neck. None of Saera’s dresses fully covered her chest or neck.

Sweet Lyra had tried to suggest a necklace that might cover the bruises. A garish and clunky thing, made of rubies and gold, more befitting a Lannister than a Targaryen. Saera had refused, on the grounds that it did not match her dress and wore her original choice of an ivory and pearl choker on a golden ribbon, which depicted a dragon in flight in the carving. It did not hide the marks at all. It accentuated them.

The one piece of good news, Alysanne thought to herself as she took a sip from her wine and watched Baelon lead Saera in a dance, was that Jaehaerys had yet to notice. Everyone else had, whispering between glances, but not him. He was still happy about having his son and heir have a son. He was across the room, slapping Boremund Baratheon on the back as if he had had anything to do with it either.

Corwyn Velaryon, dressed in a light blue tunic, approached her. “Your grace, are you spoken for regarding the next dance?”

Alysanne smiled at him. “Of course not, cousin.” She put her goblet down on the nearby table and took his hand.

“May I take the opportunity to present Corlys’ suit?” Corwyn asked.

Alysanne laughed. “Right to the heart of the matter, then? I must say I am surprised, Corlys is said to be far away on one of his sea voyages.”

Corwyn managed to shrug elegantly while dancing. “I am his father. I can make such decisions for him.”

“Will it not surprise him to return to a wedding? What of the timing?” Alysanne asked.

Corwyn scoffed. “It would not be the first engagement decided solely by the parents in Westerosi history. Come now, cousin. You know this is the best option. Our families always do well together. We Velaryons have been loyal to the Targaryens for centuries. Corlys is a strong and capable man, one who has proven his ability. Your daughter could do far worse.”

Alysanne considered this. “True. Why have you not spoken to Jaehaerys about this then?”

Corwyn raised an eyebrow. “My queen, he is the head of the country, but you are the neck. You turn him to his decisions.”

“And I know more about domestic matters than him.” Alysanne said flatly. Corwyn tilted his head, conceding the point. “You have seen the girl then?” Alysanne finally sighed.

“…I have.” Corwyn acknowledged. “I must say, I’m sad to see that she met with some sort of accident in the night, but glad that it did not keep her from the festivities.”

“What a kind way of putting it.” Alysanne replied. “As we know that Corlys is not here though, we must assume that she has a suitor she has given her favour to.”

“Her favour is one thing." Corwyn looked to his side, before lowering hi voice. "Cousin, has she given up her maidenhead?”

Alysanne bit her lip, thinking of that torn, stained dress in the corner. She had thought she had smelled moon tea around Saera’s room, but surely, not even Saera… surely. Surely Saera was smarter than that.

Corwyn, however, took her silence as confirmation. He exhaled deeply. “Alysanne… how do you expect her to remain faithful to any husband if she can fly off to her lover on the Black Dread? What is the purpose of all of this if she is flaunting how unfaithful she would be to any marriageable man in the Seven Kingdoms?”

“I do not pretend to know my husband’s mind.” Alysanne said.

Corwyn snorted. “If you don’t know his mind, who does? …Your grace, I have an impertinent question.”

“State it.” Alysanne said.

“…it is known that the Princess Saera and the Princess Alyssa do not get along. The first person she has danced with was Prince Baelon, after she refused another, perfectly eligible man.” Corwyn began.

“That’s not a question.” Alysanne said. “Speak plainly.”

Corwyn inhaled deeply. “Very well. Alysanne… cousin… is Saera’s lover Baelon?”

Alysanne stared at him. “How could you say such a thing?”

“I speak only the rumour that I have heard, your grace. Though, I did say it was an impertinent question.” Corwyn said.

Alysanne inhaled sharply. “So you did. That was my fault for encouraging you. No, Baelon would not dishonour Alyssa with an affair.”

Corwyn sighed. “My queen, it is… I say this with love and respect. It is not generally a good sign that the only reason a man is not having relations with his sister is that he is already married to another sister.”

“Tread carefully, Lord Velaryon. You speak boldly even for a steadfast ally of the crown." Alysanne said coldly, pulling away from him. “Baelon is a man of impeccable standing, he would never countenance such an action. I shall take my leave now.”

Corwyn bowed. “As you wish, my lady.”

Alysanne made her way to Jaehaerys. He had mercifully released Boremund from his continued celebrations. She could see Boremund moving off, perhaps in hopes of a dance with Saera. Her husband beamed upon seeing her. “Sanne, come let us dance. We must celebrate.”

“Are you truly so focused upon Aemon’s son that you have failed to see the whispers surrounding us, husband?” She snapped, keeping her voice as low as possible.

Jaehaerys dropped his smile and raised an eyebrow. “What whispers, surely nothing can surpass the birth of a future king?”

Alysanne moved her hand to take his. “Look at Saera and tell me yourself.”

Jaehaerys glanced across the floor until he spotted her in a dance with Valerion Qoherys. She felt his hand tighten around hers. “By the Gods, she… what has she done?”

“Nothing that you have not allowed with this farce that you insist on dragging out.” Alysanne whispered harshly. “I have been content to let you be, grateful that you were taking an interest in our children. I was a fool to let you! And you, with your plots, you were an even greater fool.”

Jaehaerys mummed at stroking his beard to appear composed. “You are being very harsh. It is a good plan.”

“What is your plan, husband? Tell me, lest I send her from the hall right now.”

“All will become revealed—”

Alysanne leaned in, her hands on his robes as if she were adjusting them. “Corwyn Velaryon just asked me if Baelon was Saera’s lover. Don’t you dare give me your platitudes right now, Jaehaerys.”

Jaehaerys stiffened under her touch. “Ah. I see.”

“You have until the count of three, and I shall end this now.” Alysanne said sternly.

“I clearly underestimated her.” Jaehaerys mused.

“Two…” Alysanne growled.

Jaehaerys swept her onto the dance floor, his head bowed towards hers. “Very well, come. The plan is for Saera to marry Valerion Qoherys. She would feel pressured to wed and try to outwit me by choosing him.”

Alysanne stared at him. “You brought the Seven Kingdoms together, spent an inordinate amount of money, and let our family name be dragged through the mud because you could not outwit a 15-year-old girl to get her to marry a boy she already liked?”

“Truthfully, I despaired of her ever marrying.” Jaehaerys pointed out.

Alysanne’s mouth dropped open.  “Jaehaerys?”

“Yes, ‘Sanne?” Jaehaerys said.

“You are supposedly the greatest mind of our generation.”

Jaehaerys inclined his head at that. “Thank you, ‘Sanne.”

“Supposedly is carrying a lot of weight there.” Alysanne hissed. “And don’t ‘Sanne me! Our daughter looks like she’s spent a night walking the Street of Silk, because you had a stupid idea that you couldn’t tell me about, because you knew I would tell you off!”

To say her husband looked saddened was perhaps an understatement, though the inflections of his emotions were still well hidden. Alysanne could already see several dancers giving them a wide berth. “I can still fix this, dearest. I will pull Saera aside and—”

“You cannot do any such thing. Your ‘plan’ and Saera have meant all, from the Arbor to the Wall, now know that we cannot control her.” Alysanne fought to keep her voice from carrying any further than it already was.

Jaehaerys leaned ever so slightly to keep his voice concealed. “Then what do we do?”

“First, we must regain control of this situation. We will wait this out until the ball is done, then we will pull our troublesome daughter and the fool Qoherys aside.”

“You mean to separate them?” Jaehaerys asked.

Alysanne shook her head. “Unfortunately, this has progressed far more beyond a simple separation. Saera must learn that there are consequences to her actions.”

Jaehaerys raised an eyebrow at that. “Then what?”

“We will give Lord Qoherys a choice; Saera, as she is, or Harrenhal. I have no doubt that a boy as consumed by ambition as he will choose the latter.”

“She will be devastated ‘Sanne.” Jaehaerys warned. “That is to say nothing of House Strong. Lord Bywin will not give up the castle.”

“True, but Lord Bywin is nearing a natural death. As I understand it, young Lyonel is rather taken with the Citadel. It would not take much to convince him to serve the realm as a maester. As for Saera, I know it would, but she will at last know consequences.” Privately Alysanne understood that neither option was a failure. After all, if the young Qoherys chose Saera, then all of her… shortcomings would be his burden. Perhaps marriage would be an appropriate yoke for her.

Briefly, she saw a flash of white out of the corner of her eye, but when she looked, it was gone. Probably just someone’s dress, or one of her children’s hair.

Jaehaerys sighed, bringing her attention back to him. “Do you remember our wedding? Our second wedding, at least.”

“Not many were there.” Alysanne sighed.

Jaehaerys rested his head on top of hers. “You and I were there and that’s what mattered. You were gorgeous, ‘Sanne. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. You sparkled then, and you sparkle now. My ‘Sanne. My diamond.”

Alysanne sighed again. “Flattery will get you nowhere. I’m very wroth with you, Jaehaerys Targaryen.”

He pulled back slightly so that she could see his face and smiled at that. “Oh? Is that not how we had Vaegon?”

Alysanne’s cheeks pinked. “Jaehaerys! We are in public!”

“We’re always in public. Let them know that their king loves their queen.” Jaehaerys laughed. “Come, it’s a beautiful night. We have a new grandson and the world is right.”

“But Saera-” Alysanne began.

Jaehaerys glanced about the room as they danced. “I can’t see Saera. Alyssa and Baelon presumably pulled her aside and asked her to act more decorously.” Jaehaerys said.

Alysanne pursed her lips. Someone – probably her- would have to find Saera very soon.

**************************************************************

Saera

She had danced with Valerion three times without stopping, going directly to him from Baelon. In truth he was a poor dancer, but it mattered little. Surely everyone would know her intent. Well… it was closer to two and a half, but it was a good half. She had simply gotten… impatient for her plan. It wasn’t her fault that his eyes kept dropping to her neck, and then he’d start smirking and flick his eyes back up to meet hers, as if to say look what I’ve done.

It made lust pool in her belly, so she was moving up the plan. It made no difference. The dancing was merely to throw others off her true intent. She pulled him through as many people as possible so that they would see them leave together.

“Princess, where are you taking me?” Valerion asked as she purposefully slammed into Rodrik Arryn, who nearly spilled his drink on her and gave her a nasty look. She sneered at him and continued pulling Valerion towards the small council chambers.

Once they were out of earshot of the great hall she turned to him. “I’m putting my plan into motion.” Saera told him with a smile, pushing Valerion up against the wall. “Don’t you trust me?”

“With my life. May I know said plan?” Valerion asked.

“Mm… no.” Saera laughed. “Come, leave the door.”

She was very lucky that the small council chambers were so close to the ballroom, just beyond the stairs then a room away. The horrid tapestries which lined the walls would be their first witnesses. She propped the door open with an ugly vase that probably dated back to long before the Doom and turned to him. “Now, do you want to undress me or yourself?”

Valerion raised an eyebrow. “Here, with the door open?”

Saera smirked. “Why not?”

“Princess, it’s rather public... what if someone should see?” Valerion asked.

Saera’s smirk grew. “Did you not say you wished to take me in front of all of them? Now, answer my question.”

Valerion paused. “I want to undress you.”

“Good answer, but I also want you naked.” Saera told him. He complied, then pulled her into a kiss. His mouth dropped to her neck, while his fingers made short work of removing the ties from her dress. Perhaps the seamstresses did know something after all.

“On… on the table.” Saera breathed as her dress slipped to the floor, and Valerion cupped her breasts in his hands. “I want you on your back.”

Valerion smirked. “And what? I should lie back and think of Volantis, princess?”

“I want to ride you.” Saera told him as he pulled her earlobe between his teeth.

He looked back at her, pupils blown wide with lust. “Are you sure you can take that, princess?”

She pouted at him. “I think I’ve had rather enough practice taking your cock, Lord Qoherys.”

He gently ran a finger over her bottom lip, and she resisted the urge to take it into her mouth to suck it. Well, narrowly resisted the urge. That wasn’t the point right now. “Gods, you’re gorgeous…” Valerion breathed. “…I can deny you nothing.”

Saera glanced down at his cock. “Is this such a hardship for you?”

Valerion grinned, showing sharp white teeth. “Well, it is definitely hard for me, princess.”

Saera rolled her eyes and pushed at his chest. “On the table.”

“I’m simply worried about you taking my length.” Valerion said, though he complied, lying spread-eagled on the great table. Saera climbed up next to him, and then eased herself onto his cock. She let out a gasp of pleasure at the sensation – this was what she had been missing all day. This cock to near impale herself on. She had felt so empty without it, but now she felt ever so full.

Valerion propped himself up on his good elbow. “Should I give you a moment to adjust, princess?”

Saera scowled at him. “No.” She began to move her hips and let out a sigh of relief. Gods, he fit her so well.

Valerion, meanwhile, was watching her stoically. Saera began to bounce in place, and noticed something shutter behind his eyes – oh. He was mumming at stoicism.

She leaned closer to his face before slamming her hips back down, taking him in full. “Does that feel good, Valerion?”

“You know it does.” Valerion said in a strangled voice.

Saera ground her hips against his. “I don’t know. Tell me.”
Valerion leaned his head back. “Gods, Saera… your cunt is so tight and wet. Every time I fuck you it’s amazing. You always know just when to squeeze – ah, like that. You take my length so perfectly. I’d fuck you for the rest of my life if I could.”

Saera grinned. “Why, Valerion Qoherys, is that a promise?”

He blinked at her. “Of course it is.”

“Mmm, good boy.” Saera began pressing kisses to what she could reach of his chest, her tongue flicking out to one of his nipples.

“Gods, Saera…” Valerion groaned out.

Saera threw her head back. “You know, this has been a very sedate ride so far. I’m used to much wilder rides.”

“You’re used to me grabbing you and fucking you until you scream.” Valerion growled.

Saera trailed her fingertips down his chest. “So I am. Thrust?”

“…together.” Valerion said.

Saera smiled. “Together.”

He grabbed her hips and began to buck under her, while she got into the same rhythm and pushed against him. One of her hands moved down to her clit, moving faster and faster. “Yes, yes, Valerion…!”

“Gods, Saera…” He moaned.

“More!” Saera ordered, then she screamed in pleasure as he complied. She may have been putting a bit more into it than usual as per the plan, but Gods did it still feel so good.

“Saera, I’m going to cum in you.” Valerion said. “Would you like that? My princess, absolutely dripping? Don’t think I didn’t notice you aren’t wearing any smallclothes. Cum will absolutely just drip down your legs onto the dancefloor.”

Saera’s hands moved faster and faster. “Do it! Cum in me!”

“Gods, you’re perfect. And mine, all mine.” Valerion said, his hands gripping into her waist even tighter.

“Mine.” Saera growled back, her eyes closed in ecstasy.

That was when the scream came. Unlike all the others, this was not a scream of pleasure. It was also not from either of them. Valerion froze and Saera opened her eyes. Her mother was standing in the doorway, eyes wide and her hands covering her mouth. Saera smirked at her, then pointedly rolled her hips.

Valerion attempted to move out from under her. Saera squeezed her legs doing her best to pin him in place. He shivered with pleasure and did not try to move again.

“Saera, what have you done?” Her mother asked in a horrified whisper, before repeating more loudly. “What have you done?”

“I should think you would be pleased, Mother. I found a husband. Wasn’t that the point of this party?”

At this point Kingsguard had come running at the queen’s scream. Saera’s smirk widened. More witnesses. Her father, brothers, and sister also appeared in the doorway. With a sigh, Saera dislodged herself and took Ser Gyles’ outstretched cloak. Honestly, he wasn’t even looking at her. His entire face had turned red.

“So, I was thinking a spring wedding.” Saera said as they all stared at her. Including Valerion. She reached over and patted his cheek.

“Stop talking.” Her mother said. “Right now.”

Saera tilted her head. “If you insist, but you’re the ones who interrupted. Aren’t you always lecturing me about manners?”

“Stop. Talking.” Her mother repeated through gritted teeth. “Gods be good.”

Saera shrugged.

Her father looked at her mother, then at her and Valerion. Then back to her mother. Finally, he said, “Lord Qoherys, you must choose—”

“Jaehaerys, I would think that the situation has changed.” Her mother said. “He does not get a choice. He has made his choice. There is no more deal on the tab…” She trailed off, staring at the table that Saera had just been using.

“That was Myrish hardwood. It was a gift from Orys Baratheon to the Conqueror.” Aemon said from the back of the room.

Saera regarded the table. “It was nice enough, I suppose. Uncomfortable though.”

“I did not say that you could speak.” Her mother snapped, rubbing at her temples and beginning to pace.

“Was this your plan?” Valerion hissed at Saera. Saera glared at him. He had been pulled from the table and wrapped in a cloak of his own.

“You be silent.” Alyssa snarled.

Saera looked at her aghast family (oh look Lord Velaryon had arrived!) and smirked wider. “So it was. Was it not ingen—” Saera felt a strike across her cheek, the flash of pain overtaken by the shock of it. She spun to meet the one who dared to strike her, only to be met with her mother’s face twisted with rage.

“Mother?” Saera caught Baelon saying from somewhere further away. Saera went to say something, anything, as the shock took its course. She opened her mouth but could not speak, slowly lifting a hand to her stinging face.

“I had thought you reckless but not… not this.” Her mother turned away and began muttering to herself.

Meanwhile, Saera’s father seemed to have overcome his shock at the situation and was quickly growing angry. “What will you say to defend yourself, Saera?”

“She hit me!” Saera cried out, finally finding her words.

“Anything else?” Alyssa muttered. Baelon elbowed her.

“You are no daughter of mine.” Saera’s father pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you even realise what you have done?”

Saera lifted her chin defiantly. “I chose my own husband. You have to let me marry him now.”

For some reason, her mother slowly turned to her father, who paled. “You.” Her mother seethed. “You did this with your stupid plans!”

“Alysanne, you can’t blame me for this!” Saera’s father sputtered.

“I can and I do! You had to set up your little tricks to pressure her to get married! When has Saera ever done well being pressured into anything?!” Her mother demanded, jabbing her finger into her father’s chest.

“Wh—blame him!” Saera’s father pointed at Valerion.

“Trust me, Jaehaerys Targaryen, there is more than enough blame to go around.” Saera’s mother snarled. “I blame you for outthinking yourself. I blame Saera for most of this, given that this was almost definitely her idea. I blame the Qoherys boy for thinking with his cock and not seeking your permission for her hand.”

“I did!” Valerion broke in.

Saera’s mother whirled. “Do not interrupt me!” Then what he said registered, and she slowly turned back to Saera’s father. “Jaehaerys, what does the boy mean he did?”

“…I may have implied… that he would be unacceptable.” Saera’s father coughed slightly. “So that she would focus her efforts on him instead of finding a new toy.”

“Ah. Except, she didn’t find a new toy, did she? No. Your daughter decided to make her own decision and fuck her idiot lover on the small council’s table!” With every word, her mother got louder and louder until she was screaming.

Alyssa knocked on the door loud enough to draw everyone’s attention. “May we kill him now?”

“You can’t!” Saera snapped. “He’s mine!”

“I blame the idiot boy the least, so no, Alyssa. We cannot kill him for the crime of lust. Not without executing your father and sister for the far more dire crimes of being the stupidest people in the realm.” Saera’s mother rubbed her temples. “Gods be good, I thought the love bites were bad. I thought that they would be the scandal of the year, let alone the day.”

“So… they’re getting married, then?” Baelon asked. “…is that a punishment? It seems like Saera gets exactly what she wanted.”

“It does rather seem like that, doesn’t it, Baelon!” Their mother snapped. “It does in fact seem like there are absolutely no consequences for Saera’s actions!”

“We could kill him and send her to the Faith.” Saera’s father said.

“She rides the Black Dread. She would burn Oldtown to the ground before becoming a septa.” Aemon pointed out.  Their mother glared at him. Aemon held up his hands in surrender.

Saera’s mother pinched the bridge of her nose and took deep breaths. “Gods. Oh, Seven above, grant me strength. Here is what we will do. Saera, you will go to your room and think about what you have done. You will do so, lest we turn both of you out with just the clothes on your backs and have you fend for yourselves. You will do this, because if I hear that you have done one more thing tonight, I will drop your lover from dragonback. Tomorrow, we will all proceed as normal, and then Jaehaerys will announce that you are going to marry Lord Qoherys. That is all for you. You will go now.”

“I’m staying.” Saera said.

Her mother stared at her blankly. “I did not realise that was phrased as a suggestion. Saera, go to your room.” Saera lifted her chin defiantly.
“NOW.” Her mother snarled, pointing towards the door.

Saera sniffed, feigning disdain, but began to move towards the door anyway. This was the only time that she had ever remembered that her mother was as much a dragon as any of them, and that Silverwing, while generally sweet and even-tempered, was fearsome in her own right.

“Lord Qoherys. You will also go to your room. You will not cause trouble. You will stay there until summoned by a senior family member. Not Saera. If you do not do this, I will let my family members help you on your way.” Saera’s mother continued. “Ser Ryam, see him out please.”

“I think you’re letting them off—” Alyssa began.

Saera craned her neck up the stairs, in time to see her mother take a deep breath. “Thank you, Alyssa. I am so glad that you have offered your opinion, which I did not ask for. You and your brothers are welcome to encourage Valerion Qoherys to behave in a more lordly manner, so long as he lives. We will need him for a wedding lest Saera bring even further shame to us all. You may go and take your brothers with you. Jaehaerys…” Saera’s mother had apparently turned and seen Corwyn Velaryon.

“Fuck.” The queen said, rather succinctly in Saera’s opinion.

**************************************************************

Baelon

He woke to a face full of Alyssa’s hair and a shriek of joy from Viserys, right before Viserys jumped on him. In the background, Daemon cackled. Thankfully, he and Alyssa had had the wherewithal to put on nightclothes after she vented her anger and frustration to him.

Baelon opened his eyes. Viserys beamed up at him. “Papa! Daemon and I have a new cousin!”

Daemon waved his chubby fist from the nursemaid’s arms. She curtsied as best she could, and then handed the baby to a yawning Alyssa, before disappearing out of the room.

“So you do, little dragon.” Baelon said.

Viserys bounced in place, and Baelon winced. Viserys’ knee was digging into his stomach. “Can we go see him?”

“How do you even know that you have a new cousin?” Alyssa asked, pressing a kiss to Daemon’s downy hair.

“’Nys told me!” Viserys said happily. “She’s got a brother now, just like Daemon!”

Daemon gave a squawk of acknowledgement at hearing his name. "Me!"

“Well, not just like Daemon. Your cousin is still little.” Baelon said. “He’s with his mother right now.”

Viserys tilted his head. “And when are they going to go flying?”

“I… what?” Baelon stared at him.

“Mama took Daemon to Meleys right after she had him.” Viserys pointed out. Daemon began trying to get out of Alyssa’s arms. She let him go, and he fell gently into the blankets, giggling. He then began to try to crawl over to Viserys.

“Well, Aunt Jocelyn doesn’t have a dragon.” Alyssa said when Baelon looked over to her.

Viserys tilted his head. “Why?”

“Because she’s not a Targaryen by blood, she’s your aunt because she’s your uncle Aemon’s wife.” Baelon said, mentally adding, and she’s your great-aunt through the Velaryon side.

“Why?” Viserys continued.

“Because your grandmother didn’t give birth to her, and your uncle didn’t want to marry a sister.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone besides your mother was too young, and he didn’t want to wait.” Baelon said, neatly sidestepping the issue of Daenerys.  

“Why?” Viserys asked, before Alyssa swept him up in a hug, blowing raspberries on his stomach. Viserys dissolved into giggles. Daemon, not quite understanding what was happening, but wanting to be included, gummed at Viserys’ leg.

“You must be careful, my little dragon!” Alyssa’s mismatched eyes gleamed with mischief. “I’ve heard that a fearsome she-dragon roams these parts, and her favourite meal is curious little boys!”

“Mama, no!” Viserys giggled. “Don’t eat me!”

“Num num!” Daemon added. Baelon caught Daemon up, careful to avoid Viserys’ thrashing and began to tickle him. Daemon giggled, and slapped Baelon’s face with his strangely wet hands.

“How’d your hands get so wet, Daemon?” Baelon asked.

“Ababababa!” Daemon replied.

“Ah, I see. You’re teething!” Baelon nodded sagely. “Of course. How wise and eloquent you are, Maester Daemon.”

Daemon giggled again and then immediately tried to bite Baelon’s arm. Baelon took Daemon up and untangled himself from the sheets. He went to the balcony covered by a screen and opened it, allowing the sunlight to pour in. The weather had certainly improved lately. Perhaps winter was nearing its end.

“Do you see that, Daemon?” Baelon pointed to the tourney grounds which had been established in preparation for the day’s festivities. “One day, we shall face each other in the lists and I shall knight you. Won’t that be a joy?”

“Papa fight.” Daemon muttered as he began to chew on Baelon’s nightclothes.

“Oh, I see how it is. Well, we shall have to find out when the time arrives shan’t we?” Baelon felt Alyssa slide up next to him with Viserys wedging himself awkwardly between them.

“I don’t suppose we have some time before we make our way to the viewing box?” Alyssa said, breathing in the fresh air, tainted by the city as it was.

“Can I come?” Viserys asked as he tried to peer over the balcony, rising to the tips of his feet to do so.

“I am afraid not, little dragon.” Baelon said, rubbing Viserys’ head with his free hand.

“Why?” Viserys asked, causing Baelon to chuckle and turn to the city again.

“Because if you do, all will see the fearsome she-dragon devour her prey.” Alyssa said taking Viserys’ hand and leading him away.

Baelon followed behind with Daemon, before passing him to the nursemaid waiting outside the room. Baelon prepared himself alongside his wife. Fortunately, Alyssa would not be expected to wear something so ladylike for observing the tourney. Thank the Gods for small mercies.

“Did Mother say whom among us would have to… escort them?” Alyssa said, making her displeasure known once more. She had referred to neither Saera nor Lord Qoherys by name since last night, not that she had really had the time.

“I believe it’s a volunteer position.” Baelon said. He was surprised by Alyssa suddenly hugging him from behind before he put on his undershirt for the day.

“I want to have another baby.” She muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.

“…If you wish.” Baelon said, before turning to face her. “But even if it’s only ever Viserys and Daemon, or you give me twenty sons… it’s enough. You’re enough.”

Alyssa looked up at him, and a variety of emotions seemed to pass over her face before she settled on mischief. “Well, making them is very fun.”

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I know you’re deflecting. I mean what I say, though. I don’t care what Father or anyone says. You have already given me more than enough.”

Alyssa tilted her face up and winked her green eye. “Sons, or beddings?”

Baelon laughed and kissed her. “Enough, Alyssa. We must make haste, not another son right now, lest poor Aemon have to sit alone with Saera and her lover.”

Alyssa wrinkled her nose. “Viserra and Rhaenys would be there too.”

“Ah, you’re right. Let us abandon our elder brother to the tender mercies of the two lovers, Saera’s sycophant and the ever-curious daughter. I can scarcely think of a kinder thing to do less than two days after his child has been birthed.” Baelon drawled out sarcastically.

Alyssa stuck out her tongue. “Well, perhaps I want to stay ahead of them in terms of numbers.”

Baelon sighed. “Alyssa, I promise I will come back here and drive you into the mattress but first we must make nice in front of the kingdoms, given that Saera has shamed us all, so on and so forth. Besides, Aemon is likely still very tired and busy.”

“Did you even really listen to Mother last night?” Alyssa asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“No, she wasn’t shouting at me or you, so it did not matter as much to me.” Baelon admitted, before giving her a quick kiss. “And I hope our next child has your eyes.”

“Well. Until then, I’ll keep my eye on Saera, you get Qoherys.”

“Wait, why am I saddled with the simpleton?” Baelon asked.

“Because if I have to watch him, there will never be a wedding for Saera.” Alyssa stated flatly.

“Mayhaps. I suppose I should fetch him now, lest he vanish when no one is looking.” Baelon gave her another quick kiss, before picking up Dark Sister and departing. “Be well, dearest.”

Baelon made his way to Lord Qoherys’ chambers, which were a small set of chambers lying against one of the outer walls of the Red Keep. He nodded to the footman who had been stationed at his door, a man-at-arms whose name slipped Baelon’s mind. Urrick perhaps. Baelon knocked once, waited a moment and then entered.

Lord Qoherys was sat at the room's desk, closing a tome he must have been reading - something about the Riverlands. Baelon made note that his arm had been rebound in its sling. Thankfully, he was dressed, which was more than Baelon could say for the last time they had been in the same room.

“My Prince, is it time?” Lord Qoherys asked, standing from the chair, his face an impassive mask.

“It is but before that, two things.” Baelon placed one hand on Lord Qoherys’ shoulder. “I wanted to thank you for the warning you provided for the Lady Jocelyn. I’ve a nephew thanks to you.”

Lord Qoherys stood as still as the armour lining the corridors. “The second, my Prince?” Baelon took his free hand, balled it into a fist and struck Lord Qoherys between his ribs. Regardless of his stony expression, Lord Qoherys must have been shocked as he fell back into the chair coughing.

“That was for yesterday.” Baelon said cheerfully. “Be lucky it’s me. Alyssa probably would have stabbed you in the balls and ended the problem of you deflowering Saera.”

“…am I meant to thank you for thumping me?” Lord Qoherys asked hoarsely.

Baelon shrugged. “If you like, it matters not to me.”

“Should I continue to be on my guard?” Lord Qoherys pressed, recovering some air.

“From me? So long as you honour my family and show contrition for your… comportment, I am inclined to burn that memory from my mind.” Baelon pulled Lord Qoherys up to feet. “As for the rest of the family, well… it would be best to not test them further.”

“Noted.” Lord Qoherys straightened his doublet.

“Come, you’ve a betrothal to attend.” Baelon waited for him to leave, then followed shortly behind. Lord Qoherys did not speak as they made their way beyond the city walls and to the tourney stands. The clanging and rattling of knights preparing for the competition filled the air. The stands for the noble families were closest to the lists, providing several different tiers for the different standing of the families.

Many of the higher levels were richly decorated in the heraldry of the Lords Paramount and additional notable families; Velaryon, Hightower, Reyne and Darklyn among others. The royal box sat in the centre of the highest level, decorated with several banners of the three headed dragon. Baelon spotted his parents, rather on edge sat upon their throne like seats. Next to his mother was Saera, whose furrowed brow made it clear she was unhappy about something. That did not last as when Saera spotted Baelon and Lord Qoherys she immediately began grinning. Alyssa was planted next to their father, glaring at Saera every so often.

Baelon directed Lord Qoherys to the stairs leading to the box. Ser Lorence Roxton and Ser Ryam Redwyne stood watch at the stairs.

“My Prince, your royal father is expecting you.” Ser Lorence said, giving them space to pass. He did not address the other with Baelon, although the prince could swear he heard Ser Ryam chuckle under his breath. Baelon ignored it and went up the steps first, periodically checking to make sure Lord Qoherys had not attempted to flee.

The interior of the box was decorated with rich carpets upon each level. The different levels were at different elevation so those at the back still had some means to see the joust. Each level had chairs spaced out separating their occupants with stands for goblets in-between.

“Where–” Lord Qoherys began to say.

“There.” Baelon pointed to the centre of the highest and furthest back row. Somehow, Vaegon had been convinced to attend, sitting with a leather-bound book in the back row. In the centre row, Aemon was sat next to Rhaenys, whose dark Baratheon hair stood out against the rest of the occupants. On Aemon’s other side was Viserra, who was looking at her reflection in a goblet. Ser Gyles waited at his post at the back of the box, likely ordered to watch Lord Qoherys closely.

“If it isn’t the homeless lord.” Vaegon barely looked up from his reading.

“A pleasure to see you again, Acolyte.” Lord Qoherys responded, sounding almost sincere to Baelon’s ears. “What is it today, another treatise on manners?”

“It’s a miracle you still have the capacity to speak words. I would recommend you not waste them.” Vaegon said curtly.

Lord Qoherys let loose a small chuckle but left Vaegon alone for the time being. It was not long before Rhaenys stood on her seat, turning to look at Lord Qoherys. “Lord Qoherys, can I ask you a question?” Baelon’s niece said.

“Come now, Rhaenys. You may as well call him uncle.” Vaegon interrupted, receiving a glare from Aemon which went largely unnoticed.

“Why would I do that?” Rhaenys said with a face of confusion.

“What is your question, Princess Rhaenys?” Lord Qoherys asked.

“When I went to the Dragonpit, Dragonkeeper Aelyx told me that Jadewing was under their care. Can you take me flying on her?” Rhaenys flashed a smile, likely trying to charm him into doing what she wanted.

“I don—” Aemon began.

“So long as both of your parents and your grandsire, the king, agree I don’t see why not.” Lord Qoherys interrupted. Aemon turned away, apparently satisfied.

“The keepers wouldn’t let me see her. They said she was poorly, and you hadn’t visited her, so it wasn’t safe.” Rhaenys continued.

“That’s one way to put it, I suppose. She was hurt in flight.” Lord Qoherys answered honestly.

Rhaenys looked up as if in thought. “Why haven’t you seen her?”

“Well… it was my fault. I was caught unawares.” Lord Qoherys stopped a moment. “I suppose… I think she will be upset if she sees me.”

“Maybe she’s upset because she hasn’t seen you.” Rhaenys pressed.

Lord Qoherys blinked before smiling. Unlike most of the smiles Baelon had seen him wear, this one seemed quite genuine. “You are very wise, Princess.”

“I know.” Rhaenys said cheerfully before she sat back down. However, it did not take her long to turn around again. “What kind of meat does she like?”

“Jadewing? I tried her on a few different meals. Mutton was the first, though she did not seem to enjoy the fleece of the sheep. I tried pork, but alas the meat was perhaps too fatty for her. I would say she likes beef best, although she did once attempt to hunt a whale off the coast of Tyrosh.”

“How did she do that? I’ve only heard of very large dragons doing that.”

“She repeatedly used her fire to boil the water. As the water heated, the whale came to the surface in a panic, allowing her to rake at it with her claws. It was something of an endurance hunt. I expect larger dragons may not need to hunt them in such a drawn-out manner.” Baelon was certain he had never seen Lord Qoherys speak so much.

Rhaenys took in all of the new information with wide eyes. “How long will it be before Jadewing can take to wing again?”

“I shall have to find out, but I expect it will be some time yet.”

Rhaenys’ face lost some of its excitement, but it did not take long before the fire returned with a new question. “Do you think Aunt Saera would let me ride the Black Dread?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” Lord Qoherys widening his smile into a smirk.

“No.” Aemon said sharply. Rhaenys huffed and returned to her seat.

“So, what did you think of the latest treatise Volaqo Hyperios of Volantis has released regarding the economic flow of slave produced goods versus those of free peoples?” Vaegon asked Lord Qoherys. “Personally, I think it was very biased towards slavery, but I suppose I’m mostly saying that from a Westerosi standpoint. I'm considering drafting a rebuttal, but I want to hear your view before I waste the ink to do so.”

Baelon felt his eyes begin to glaze over. Saera turned in her seat at the front and blew Lord Qoherys a kiss. Baelon, to be annoying, pretended to catch it. Saera looked aghast and their mother quickly turned her back to the front.

Their father had announced the beginning of the tourney at some point while Baelon was otherwise distracted, and now two knights that he didn’t know were riding hard against one another. It was very hard to see from where they were, even if the seats were raised. Baelon gave himself a moment of self-pity to be stuck with Vaegon and Lord Qoherys, then let it pass.

One of the knights was knocked off after two passes. Hopefully he had not been anyone’s favourite. The Lannister boy came next, and he rode up to the royal box. “My lady, may I have your favour?”

Baelon was almost angry for a moment, believing he was speaking to Alyssa, but no. He was speaking to Saera. Hurt arm or not though, Valerion had fire in his eyes and Baelon was vaguely aware that he would lunge across the assorted family members if not stopped.

Saera, after all, had a purple scarf that did not quite match her dress. It was presumably to hide the bruises she had proudly worn the night before, which would explain why it was wound around her arm instead of her neck. She was still wearing the bruises for all to see. Ser Tymond apparently liked her dowry and nobility more than Baelon had thought. Huh.

Saera, for her part, tossed her head and presumably smirked. “No.”

“Saera, be nice.” Their mother admonished.

“I’m not going to give him something to be nice.” Saera argued.

“True, but you can still be diplomatic in your refusal.” Their mother growled.

Saera let out a put-upon sigh. “Ser Lannister, I have no favour to give you.”

“May I have that scarf around your wrist, then?” Tymond Lannister asked. Baelon was fascinated. Maybe he had been hit on the head too many times and actually had feelings for Saera. Meanwhile, Vaegon had not looked up from his book, but he had a warning hand on Valerion Qoherys, who was tensed and ready to spring. Baelon did not fancy his chances against a seasoned knight who was in full plate with the arm, but perhaps the element of surprise would be in his favour.

Saera paused, then quickly turned around and tossed something into Lord Qoherys’ lap, right over Aemon’s head. Lord Qoherys blinked. Baelon blinked. Vaegon turned his full attention back to his book.

Saera had apparently thrown her scarf – her favour – to Lord Qoherys. The tension drained out of him, and he picked it up, winding it around his wrist and tying it gently in place. Baelon half-expected him to sniff it. Maybe he had hit his head too. Lord Qoherys smirked at Saera, who smirked back, before turning back to Ser Lannister.

“As you can see, I have no favours to give. Maybe Viserra does. Viserra?” Saera called. Viserra, startled, threw what was in her hand at the Lannister. Much like Saera, her aim was surprisingly good. Ser Tymond Lannister thus got hit in the face with Viserra’s favourite goblet.

There was a thunk, then a pregnant pause as the family stared at him and vice versa. Then Alyssa began to cackle. Ser Lannister left before it could spread to the rest of the family, which was probably for the best – Aemon, addled by the lack of sleep, had suspiciously shaking shoulders.

Ser Tymond Lannister lasted one pass. His opponent, some Greenfield who had clearly just earned his spurs judging by his cracking voice, loudly proclaimed that the Princess Viserra had landed the blow for him, and that he had merely finished her work.

Baelon leaned forward a little to whisper to Viserra. “Congratulations on your victory, dear sister.”

“Don’t look at me.” She retorted.

The jousts passed by most uneventfully from that point. Baelon had trouble keeping up because Lord Qoherys and Vaegon were boring him to death talking about different aspects of economics. In all honesty, Baelon was shocked Qoherys, of all people, could keep up with Vaegon. Eventually one of the later lists came with the herald calling the names; Ser Braxton Beesbury against Ser Daemon Velaryon.

Ser Velaryon sought the favour of his own lady wife, which seemed sensible. His opposition, on the other hand, approached their box.

“Dear Princess, we have been friends for some time. We have shared much together. Surely, you would not deprive such a friend of your favour.” Even from the back of the box he sounded a bit too self-assured. Baelon made note that Valerion had broken his endless discussion with Vaegon to listen in.

Saera stood from her seat and seemed to observe the knight below. “Have we met before?”

Baelon heard the gasp their mother let out and the chuckle from Lord Qoherys. “I feel certain you will remember me in time, Princess.” Beesbury said rather ominously. Before anything else could be spoken he rode away.

“By the gods, Saera, stop insulting the knights of the realm.” Alysanne snapped a moment later.

“That one deserved it.” Saera muttered, Baelon only just catching it.

The joust lasted 5 tilts before Beesbury was unhorsed. Judging by the reaction of the crowd it must have been a spectacular fall. After that, it was another pair of unknowns, and then Velaryon tilted against Greenfield, and Velaryon emerged the victor.

He was gracious though, and helped Greenfield up, saying, “I’m sure you would have had it, had the princess Viserra aided you there as well!” Velaryon ended up winning the thing and crowned his own wife the Queen of Love and Beauty, as was right and proper.

Baelon steeled himself for his father’s announcement. After all, it was why everything was happening to begin with. “Friends, citizens, countrymen, thank you all for coming for these past three days! It was a great boon for us and the city, and we are glad to have spent this time with all of you. It is a wonderful thing, to witness the prosperity of the realm, but let us not forget why you have come. Many fine young men and their families have approached us seeking my daughter’s hand in marriage – too many to count! It has been a challenge to make such a decision, but I have indeed been forced to choose!”

The crowd murmured loudly. Lord Qoherys leaned forward as though Baelon’s father was going to try and snatch away the marriage, despite it being a foregone conclusion.

“After much deliberation with your beloved Queen Alysanne and my family, the Princess Saera will wed the lord of the house, Valerion Qoherys. The ceremony will take place in two months on her ten-and-sixth nameday.” Baelon’s father announced.

The murmurs became a roar. Baelon could just imagine their concerns. Valerion Qoherys had shown up out of nowhere and was going to marry the princess? When their sons were proudly Westerosi born and raised? Who even was this man? That sort of thing. Baelon could only imagine how angry they would be if they knew how annoying Lord Qoherys was. Baelon did not have it in him to be cruel though, because Lord Qoherys looked so relieved when Baelon’s father said it. This was because he was stupid and cared deeply for Saera – not realising that he would effectively make her a martyr if she didn’t get what she wanted here, or she’d burn everything down. Also, Lord Qoherys was playing with the scarf as if it was keeping him calm. Very odd. No one else could hope to have been hit in the head quite like him.  

Baelon’s father continued. “Thank you all again for coming! A small gathering shall be held at the Red Keep, in honour of our champion Ser Daemon Velaryon and the betrothed couple. Alas, otherwise, I must end the day’s festivities!”

**************************************************************

Valerion

He waited outside the royal box for her. Baelon raised an eyebrow at him as he exited.

“I need to return this.” Valerion said, raising the scarf that Saera had given him.

Baelon narrowed his eyes, but then smiled. “Very well. I’ll wait with you. Vaegon! Wait with us!”

Vaegon glanced at them, then raised an eyebrow. “What are we waiting for?”

“Lord Qoherys is plotting to wait for Saera.” Baelon said. “Mayhaps you could speak more about economics with him? He seemed to enjoy that.” Valerion managed to hide his wince before Vaegon glanced at him. The worst part was that Baelon seemed to mean it.

“He’s not a pet in need of enrichment.” Vaegon clicked his tongue with annoyance, and firmly cemented himself as Valerion’s favourite future goodbrother.

Aemon and the little girls exited next. “What are we doing?” Aemon asked.

“Waiting for Saera.” Baelon said. “Would you like to join us?”

Rhaenys seemed to vibrate with excitement. “Lord Qoherys, can I ask you more questions about Jadewing?”

“I… suppose?” Valerion asked, glancing at her father.

Prince Aemon looked incredibly tired. Princess Viserra took the opportunity to flee back to the castle with a Kingsguard member lest she continue to bear the shame of being one-and-ten and in public with her family members.

“How far do Jadewing’s flames go?” Rhaenys asked.

“I haven’t measured.” Valerion admitted.

“How did she get hurt? No one will tell me.” Rhaenys pouted.

Valerion glanced at her father, who shrugged. “She was harmed by a wild dragon.” Valerion finally said. “I hurt my arm avenging her.”

Rhaenys stared at his arm as if it was the most fascinating part of him, eyes huge and round. Then she said, “Where was this?”

“In the skies above Dragonstone.” Valerion answered.

Rhaenys gasped. “Was it… the Cannibal?!” Her tone belied excitement more than fear. Really, what were these Targaryens thinking, allowing a dragon named as such to roam freely?

“I believe so.” Valerion answered honestly. “I didn’t ask for his name.”

“Well, it probably wasn’t Sheepstealer, they’re known to be shy.” Rhaenys told him with utmost seriousness. “I don’t have to ask how you got her back; Papa told me about the sling that was made for her.”

“It was an ingenious thing.” Valerion agreed as more Kingsguard exited the royal box. Alyssa then exited as well, followed by the king, then the queen, and then at last…
“Saera,” Valerion breathed. “You look… you look beautiful.”

She was gorgeous. Well, she was always gorgeous, but today her gown was various shades of purple – lighter near the top, almost white at the shoulders to blend with her hair, darkening in gradients until it was nearly the colour of night at her feet. It made her eyes almost seem to glow. Her hair was twisted up into an elaborate bun, with artfully lose tendrils escaping, presumably on purpose. Her bruises were still proudly displayed.

She smiled. “Valerion. I missed you.”

Unfortunately, Baelon shattered the otherwise magical moment, by loudly saying, “Alyssa! My morning dew, how the sight of you refreshes me!”

Alyssa gave her horrid snort-laugh. “Oh, Baelon my love, my one true lover, you have struck my heart deeply with your words!” Both of them laughed together.

“Well, what else are those two meant to do with the entire family watching?” Vaegon asked no one in particular. “Frankly, I’m impressed that they didn’t just stare at each other and say their names, possibly to remind one another of who they are.”

Saera glared at him.

Aemon sighed. “Lord Qoherys, can you please just give Saera the nasty rag so I can go have a nap?”

Saera turned her glare to him, then smiled at Valerion again. “Keep it. You have yet to joust, and so you have yet to have a chance to wear it properly.”

Alyssa made a show of mumming at retching. Valerion did his utmost to ignore her in favour of his betrothed. “I suppose I shall have to be knighted at some point, lest I wear it forever.”

Saera leaned into him, she was so close he could almost feel her breath. “Oh dear. What a terrible shame. To wear my favour until we next—”

Saera was interrupted by a short cough, clearly designed to do just that. Valerion turned to see the King covering his mouth. The rest of the family were all staring at them to varying degrees, except for Vaegon. Valerion could swear he saw the Queen’s eye twitch.

“Back to the keep. Aemon, do get some rest. As for the rest, behave. The realm will be watching.” Queen Alysanne said sharply.

Saera continued to stare at Valerion before looking him up-and-down, as if savouring the image. “For now.” She whispered, which hopefully no one else had caught. Princess Alyssa stepped in and grabbed Saera by the arm.

“What are you doing? Let me go.” Saera protested.

“I simply wish to ensure that my sister is safely escorted back to the Red Keep. Crime has been on the rise according to Aemon.” Princess Alyssa stared daggers at Valerion as she dragged Saera away.

He did not know why - he was not exactly a criminal, and had not broken any known laws about making love to the woman you love. The fact that they had failed to state the Small Council table was not to be used in that way was none of his concern, legally speaking.

“Come along all.” His future goodfather ordered, beginning the walk to the carriages. The trip was not terribly eventful, even if he was foiled by the Princess Alyssa from being in the same carriage as Saera. He instead rode back with Aemon, Vaegon and Rhaenys.

“Dragonkeeper Aelyx says you helped Balerion get better. No one knows what happened. How did you help him?” Rhaenys said with excitement, her legs dangling off the floor.

Vaegon kept his reading open, but his eyes stopped shifting across the page. Apparently, he too was curious. Even the tired Prince Aemon looked at him, waiting to see what he would say.

“I…” Valerion stopped, trying to find the best words. “I had something like a… spider attached to me.”

“You had a spider on you?” Rhaenys said sceptically.

Valerion leaned forward conspiratorially, though he didn’t lower his voice. “Not an actual spider, but there was a curse which clung to me as a spider does a web. I connected with Balerion and let him burn it out of me.”

“How would that heal him?” Prince Aemon asked.

“I’m more interested in the nature of this ‘connection’. Was it as a dragonbond?” Vaegon dropped the pretence of his reading and closed his book.

“No. A dragonbond is something of a mutual relationship, but there was nothing to be mutual with in this case. We became as one, with one soul.” Valerion explained. “I… felt as he did. I remembered what he did.”

Rhaenys’ eyes widened to what Valerion thought a concerning degree. “What did you see?”

“I saw Valyria, full of life. A hundred dragons flying across the horizons, their roars sounding as a song. The stone shaped as if twisted from magma and the grand volcano which surrounded the city. The mighty walls of oily dark stone which stretched beyond the height of castle towers.” Valerion still caught glimpses of it sometimes. In his dreams.

“It sounds beautiful.” Rhaenys said.

Valerion smiled to himself. “I’ve seen fairer.” Valerion caught Vaegon rolling his eyes.

“You said you felt as Balerion did. What did he feel?” Aemon asked.

“He felt… lonely. And protective of a woman long dead.” And apparently was stronger than Valerion, but he wouldn’t say that.

“…so… how did that heal him?” Rhaenys asked, glancing at her father as if there was something obvious she was missing. He shrugged.

“I can’t be entirely certain. My best guess is that the curse gave me some vitality in return for me carrying the soul of a… shall we say unkind man. Balerion burned away that man’s soul, letting him pass to the gods for judgement as he should have to begin with, and was left with the vitality.” Valerion said.

“So, you were possessed by a ghost, the ghost tried to keep your body in perfect condition, Balerion exorcised it and got to keep the ghost’s host boast.” Vaegon summarised.

“Boast?” Prince Aemon asked. “Strange word choice.”

“It rhymed.” Vaegon shrugged.

“I’m not certain ghost is the right word. More a leech, along for a ride.” Valerion muttered. Rhaenys went to ask a new question, but the carriage came to a stop.

Prince Aemon stood up and held his hand to Rhaenys. “Come, Rhaenys. Time for us to depart.”

“I’m not done talking.” Rhaenys said, refusing to take her father’s hand.

“There will be plenty of time later, Princess. If you wish, you may write your questions to me.” Valerion offered. Truthfully, he just wanted to see Saera again, ideally with minimal witnesses.

“I suppose.” Rhaenys relented, taking her father’s hand and being led out of the carriage.

Valerion followed after. The carriages had stopped in the main courtyard. Those in the first carriage were already making their way inside the keep, though Saera was trying to lag behind the group, looking for him.

Valerion smiled and made his way over to them. Saera smirked and held her hand out expectantly. “My betrothed.” She greeted.

“My betrothed.” He returned, taking her hand and kissing it gently. Princess Alyssa made her horrid snort-laugh again.

“You two greeted one another barely 15 minutes past.” Prince Baelon commented, making no effort to hide his annoyance.

“Should a princess not have a good relationship with her husband-to-be?” Saera’s grin turned far more mischievous.

“You should get moving. We would not want to miss your wedding.” Vaegon said in a monotone manner.

“Our wedding is in two months.” Valerion retorted.

“My point exactly.”

Alas, Vaegon may have had a point. They were both still being watched by virtually Saera’s entire family. Valerion made a noise of agreement, smiled at Saera and began making his way to the hall matching her stride.

As they walked, Valerion felt Saera’s hand brushing up against him as best she could while remaining unnoticed. On more than a few occasions he was sure her family would say something. Valerion knew that she wouldn’t stop until they got to the hall, truly Saera was relentless.

Entering the hall made it clear that the celebration was designed to be a smaller affair. Likely, only for those who deemed it necessary to congratulate the newly betrothed, or the champion. There was the high table for the royal family and 4 long tables in addition, a capacity of two hundred at most, barely a fifth of the size of the last three days. Still at least he could finally be where he should be, next to his princess.

Saera took her seat next to her father’s high-backed chair to which Valerion sat on her other side. Prince Baelon and his wife sat on the opposite length of the table closer to the Queen, though they made no attempt to be subtle in their continued observation of Saera and Valerion. They openly gawked like peasants, craning their necks to stare at them.

Meanwhile, Vaegon seemed to have slipped away when no one was looking at him. Prince Aemon was blinking rapidly, apparently on his father’s other side with the princess Rhaenys. The princess Viserra was already sat next to Valerion on his other side, sulkily staring at her plate.

The one downside was that the king was on Saera’s other side, and there was a Kingsguard unsubtly looming behind them. Well, at least they didn’t have a knife to his thigh. It would likely cut Saera’s fingers when she inevitably tried something. And indeed, the moment they were sat down, Saera’s hand was on the seam of his breeches.

Her father glanced at her, then looked again, and sighed. “Saera. Can you please let the man alone while he eats? He is, after all, supposedly an invalid.”

“I am well.” Valerion protested.

“Then you can see Aemon and Baelon in the training yard at your leisure.” The king shot back.

“…you may have to address that with Maester Jonos.” Valerion said.

“Your apparent cowardice, or your arm?” Jaehaerys sipped from his goblet.

Valerion ground his teeth. “Then I shall see them in the yard.” Saera’s hand still had not left his breeches.

“You are a very stubborn yet easily led man.” Jaehaerys sighed again. “I would not have picked you for any of my daughters, least of all Saera. Alas.” Then he stood, and his demeanour changed. He welcomed everyone to the last night of the celebrations, and announced Saera and Valerion, who were bid to stand.

She at least had the forethought to remove her hand for the duration of them standing and receiving polite, if confused, applause.

She returned it as soon as they sat, and the meal began. He stopped talking to her father and looked at her. She was smirking. She wasn’t even really moving her hand, simply making a point of keeping it there. Showing everyone that she could not be controlled.

“I love you.” Valerion told her.

Saera hummed, pleased. “I know you do.”

In a strange turn of events, the king and queen would be served, and then Valerion and Saera. Their food would be whisked away the most quickly, and almost immediately replaced. They were trying to rush them. Of course, it was somewhat hard for Saera to eat with one hand, though Valerion supposed that they were equal on that front. She also enjoyed trying to take her time, because it meant that she could inconvenience people further.

Several lords and knights came to the table, mostly to give thanks to the King. Valerion made note of each person who stole a glare at him. As inconsequential as it was, he was keen to remember each person. Alas, their meal had to end sometime, although not as quickly as some may have liked.

“I am sure you have much to do, Lord Qoherys.” The King began as Valerion finished his last plate. “After all, if you are to join my sons in the training yard, your arm will need to be ready.”

Valerion felt Saera’s hand tighten and suppressed a wince. “How unkind, father. My intended must rest after such a hearty meal.” She said slyly.

“Oh, indeed. He shall find no rest here, amongst the lords of the realm. I am certain you shall require some too. The news of your engagement has surely taken you by surprise.” King Jaehaerys declared, signalling the looming Kingsguard and another nearby. “Ser Clement, would you and your sworn brother ensure the safety of my daughter Saera and her betrothed, seeing them returned to their separate rooms.”

“Of course, your—”

“No.” Saera interrupted, her hand clutching at him as if it were the only thing in the world. “We can make our own way.” She mercifully released his breeches and smirked at her father as she made to stand. Naturally, Valerion followed suit.

“Indeed, your grace. I find the corridors less challenging by the day.” Valerion matched Saera’s smirk.

King Jaehaerys glared at them both. “If you insist.” He ground out, before waving at them dismissively.

“We do.” Saera said turning to smile at Valerion. As they began to walk down the hall Valerion felt Saera’s hand grasp his ass.

“You do realise, the moment we leave this room, your father will send them to separate us?” Valerion whispered.

“I do, but its fun to make a statement.” Saera stared at him. She looked ethereal, even dreamlike. A particularly pleasant dream at that.

“True enough.” Valerion chuckled. “Shall we see how fast the crab can run?”

Saera hummed to herself. “Let’s.”

Chapter Text

Jonos

Jonos pressed down on Valerion’s arm, drawing a hiss.

“You’re a babe.” Jonos announced. “And an idiot.”

Valerion attempted to glare at him, as if he had any power here. “It hurts, I’m allowed to complain.”

Jonos tilted his head. “Ordinarily? Yes. However, do you want to know why it hurts when it’s so close to healing?”

“Because pain means it’s working?” Valerion asked rhetorically.

Jonos pressed on his arm again, drawing a minced oath this time. “It’s not boiled wine. It hurts because you haven’t been listening to me.”

Valerion avoided Jonos’ eyes now. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Jonos snorted. “How are you not dead yet when you’re this bad of a liar? I’ve seen you in the courtyard on three separate occasions. I’ve also seen you being mercilessly beaten by the princes, which is honestly very funny. However, you are ruining my progress, and that is less funny.”

“I hold my own.” Valerion argued petulantly.

“You don’t.” Jonos said. “Anyway, if they’re going to whack you with sticks, I don’t mind that. Again, very funny. But can you ask them not to whack you in a way that hurts your arm? If it hurts your pride, I can do so for you.”

“I am not a child.” Valerion hissed.

Jonos was torn between saying, ‘then why do you act like one?’ and ‘I hope not. A child shouldn’t be having the number of sexual encounters that I hear about you having’ and so settled for a raised eyebrow. Vaegon would have been able to decide what to say. It baffled Jonos everyday that no one else seemed to admire the Prince-Acolyte as much as him.

Valerion poked Jonos in the side with his good hand, startling him out of his daydream about one day being able to call Prince-Acolyte Vaegon by his first name as if they were friends. Jonos jolted, then glared at Valerion. “What now?”

“May I leave?”

“No. You’re not done with your exercises yet. Your arm seems to have more strain than expected with your initial care plan.” Jonos made sure to stare at Valerion to get across, ‘and you know why there is more strain, you lunatic’.

Valerion avoided Jonos’ eyes because he was an idiot. “Well, how do I complete them alone?”

Jonos barked out a laugh. “You don’t. Princess Saera doesn’t, because you two will not do the exercises, and then your arm will heal wrong if it heals at all. Brace yourself, I’m going to go again.”

“Well thank you for the warning—gods damn it.” Valerion ground out. “You’re a cruel man, Maester.”

Jonos shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I do say so! If anything, I am uniquely situated to say so.” Valerion snapped.

“That’s a lot of big words for you. Are you well?”

Valerion attempted to glare again, and then gave a Volantene oath that roughly translated to ‘you pig-dicked dog-fucker, a plague upon your house and the last six generations of your family’. It was snappier in the original Volantene.

“You know, I heard that the traditional response for that translates to ‘and the same upon your mother, the dog that I shall tup tonight and take to wife’.” Jonos said idly.

Valerion coughed out what might have been a laugh. “I didn’t realise you spoke Volantene.”

“I speak Valyrian, and I know a few of the bastard Valyrian varieties also.” Jonos explained. “I need it to read the latest treatises on—”

Valerion rolled his eyes. “Glass, I know.”

Jonos sniffed. “Well, it makes more sense to read it in the original language as opposed to relying on a translator. The nuances might be lost.”

“So you ceaselessly remind me.” Valerion gritted out between another movement.

Jonos shrugged again. “It takes time for things to sink into your skull. You need repetition, or else you forget things. Like how Prince Baelon has a stronger off-hand than you do.”

Valerion glared at him. “Have I not been patient with you, maester? It is only two weeks to the wedding and my arm is all but healed.”

“Barring your courtyard excursions. Oh, and all the not-so-secret trysts.” Jonos punctuated the last statement with a new movement.

“Gods, enough Jonos.” Valerion said sharply. “I will do the exercises. Just leave me be for the moment.”

Jonos sighed but very kindly relented. Usually if Valerion declared his intent, he followed through. Usually. Possibly. It mattered not – if Valerion failed to follow through, Jonos could just hold that over him for the foreseeable future. “If you insist. You don’t seem to have damaged your arm too badly. It’s not exactly a limp mangled piece of meat that only vaguely resembles the shape and form of a human arm. At least, not anymore.”

Valerion ignored Jonos’ hilarity, which was quite frankly, rude. He flexed his hand gently. “It will still be healed by the wedding?”

Jonos dreaded to think why that was Valerion’s focus. “As an estimation, I would say so. If—”

“If I do the exercises. Understood.” Valerion interrupted rolling his eyes again. “May I leave now?”

Jonos prepared a length of cloth. “Not until I reset your sling.”

“Do it on the way, Maester.”

Jonos stared at him. “So, you want me to do this incredibly delicate task while we’re both moving. And our heights are different, so you will either have to bend to meet me, or I will have to hop along. …truly, you are a wit and an intelligence beyond measure.” Honestly, this was why Vaegon was so much better than everyone else.

“I’d prefer for you to hop.” Valerion said.

“And I’d prefer for you to go back to being unconscious. Alas.” Jonos said, readying himself to do just that. Fuck it, if he looked stupid, that was Valerion’s doing. Let them both look stupid.

“I’ll put in a word with the King. See if he won’t recommend you a period of study at the Citadel.” Valerion started grinning a little at the implication. “Maybe you’ll get to see a certain someone while you’re there.”

Valerion was truly the most insufferable man alive. “A word from you would hurt more than help.” Jonos muttered, bouncing in place a bit to get a feel for how his knees were.

Valerion made a sound of thought. “Perhaps a scathing critique instead. Something similar to your very passionate disagreement on the composition of glasswork in Myrish sculpting.”

Jonos’ opinion of his patient very slightly improved. He was still the most annoying man alive. “You remember that?”

“I suppose so.” Valerion, waved his good hand dismissively before gesturing to the door.

Now it was Jonos’ turn to roll his eyes. “Very well. Let’s go.”

**************************************************************

Saera

Two weeks left. Two weeks and then no one could stop her from having Valerion. There would be no pesky guards, nor overbearing siblings. No scrawny little maesters making faces at her. No parents determined to ruin her life. He was already hers, but they all still insisted on getting in the way.

Saera was presently sat at the family table furthest to one end, an empty chair to her right. Valerion would sit there when he arrived. Viserra had attempted to sit there, but Saera had threatened to throw her wine at her, so she had moved without much complaint. The rest of her family had all gathered and were now idly talking. Such talk was boring to Saera, but until her man arrived there was not much else to focus on. Well, besides a good cup of wine, unsplashed at stupid little sisters.

“How is Gaemon, Aemon?” Her mother said, cradling Gael like she was some porcelain doll. Honestly, it was a miracle that any of her siblings had grown up with a brave bone in their body.

“He is faring well. He has grown to what Elysar believes is a reasonable size.” Aemon smiled, apparently much improved since his visit to the training yard. Saera hoped Valerion would wipe that grin off of his face soon.

“Where is Lord Qoherys?” Rhaenys complained loudly. “I have new questions to ask him.”

“He has more important things to do than talk to you.” Saera snapped.

“Saera, perhaps it would be smarter to speak better to the future queen.” Her mother said.

“You’re still on about that?” Her father muttered.

Her mother shot him a cold look. “As you say, Jaehaerys. Gaemon shall become king and marry her. Wasn’t that your idea?” Discretion was the better part of valour apparently and her father dropped it. Rhaenys did not, and she stuck her tongue out at Saera as if that meant anything. Saera resisted the urge to stick her tongue out back.

Fortunately, the sound of footsteps heralded the arrival of Valerion with two others. The maester who insisted that he see his patient alone, and one of the royal household guard. For some reason, the maester was hopping alongside Valerion as he strode forward, like a knight of old. A knight strangely tethered to a large rabbit – ah. The man was attempting to fix Valerion’s sling. He managed with one final hop as Valerion came to a stop, giving a short bow.

The maester took advantage of the opportunity presented and moved with a speed that Saera did not know he had to get the sling in perfect order. The guard bowed to her father and waited outside. Valerion seemed mostly well, although Saera could see the slight bruises on hands and neck from the training yard. She resisted the urge to glare at her idiot brothers. Only she was allowed to mark him. She rubbed her legs together at the thought.

“There. That should serve for a few days, so long as you don’t decide to get into a fight soon.” The scrawny maester patted Valerion’s arm. “Remember to—”

“Do the exercises.” Saera caught the roll of Valerion’s gorgeous violet eyes. “I know, Jonos.” The maester made a grunt of acknowledgement, then bowed obnoxiously low to her father. He then backed out of the room, still bent in half. The family watched him go, vaguely interested in how he did not trip over himself.

“Apologies for my lateness, Your Grace.” Valerion took the seat next to her. Saera smiled at Valerion and silently took in his arms. His repeated training was making him look even better, if such a thing were possible. Saera was almost certain he had gotten a bit taller too. Valerion obviously noticed her staring as a smile crossed his face. “Ah. Where are my manners?” He chuckled taking Saera’s hand and kissing it gently. “Will you forgive me, my intended?”

Saera allowed her smile to warp into a smirk. “Oh, I’m sure you can make it up to me, my betrothed.” Saera slipped one of her hands under the table and placed it upon his leg possessively.

“Oh, Gods, not this again.” Alyssa groaned. Baelon shushed her.

“Why are you so late, Lord Qoherys?” Her father interrupted loudly.

“Alas, the last training session threatened my arm. I was consulting with the maester.” Valerion said calmly, though he opened his legs wider, letting her hand snake closer to his cock.

Alyssa barked out a laugh. “Some training. Did he advise you on how to start fighting back?”

Saera glared at her. “Maybe if you stopped beating on him before he was healed he would. He could beat Baelon and Aemon.”

“Let’s not go that far.” Aemon said. “Please don’t give a more inflated view of his prowess than he has lest as the Braavosi say, a blank cheque be written that cannot cover the amount in the vault.”

“What’s a cheque?” Rhaenys asked her mother. Jocelyn whispered her reply. Saera did not care about Braavosi sayings and told Aemon so.

“If I recall correctly, Lord Qoherys himself specified he was well enough to go to the yard.” Baelon said. “I distinctly remember asking. Multiple times.”

Valerion shrugged. “I thought that I was doing well enough myself.  Unfortunately, I have been overruled by the maester. You know what they’re like – hopping mad.” Valerion shifted his position as she touched him.

Her father made a sound like seemed suspiciously like a laugh. Her mother glared at him. “Perhaps you need a drink, my love? Your throat seems dry.” Her father took a sip of his wine and did not contradict his wife. Out there, he ruled the kingdom. She ruled the family.

“A pity that your maester has stopped you, though I did not know you were the type to listen to sense.” Aemon chuckled. “When are you permitted to return?”

“Maester Jonos is under the impression that my arm will be fully healed by the wedding.” Valerion directing his eyes to her and winked. Saera bit her lip, looking forward to that very much. She would climb him like a tree and get fucked against a wall very soon.

“So, it would be a shame if you were to be out of commission after then.” Aemon continued blithely. “Such a shame.”

“Nearly as great as the shame Saera has brought to the family.” Alyssa muttered. Normally, her mother would say something about that. Instead, Saera’s mother sipped her drink, then looked upwards as if the ceiling held some great mysteries.

Rhaenys leaned around Saera. “As the future queen I demand you answer my questions. Do you know if Jadewing is going to clutch?”

Valerion seemed taken aback. “I… she does not have a mate, I believe.”

“Vhagar clutched without a mate.” Rhaenys said. “She clutched Vermithor and Silverwing and Caraxes and—”

“Are you going to list every dragon in the pit?” Saera asked.

Rhaenys fixed Saera with a look of derision. “Vermithor and Silverwing aren’t even in the pit, Aunt Saera. And no, Jadewing and Balerion weren’t clutched by Vhagar. Or Meleys.” The ‘obviously’ hung in the air so well that Saera would have been proud if it had been turned on anyone else. Alyssa raised her glass in recognition of her stupid ugly dragon.

“To answer your question, Princess Rhaenys, I don’t believe so, no.” Valerion said. “Why, would you like a dragons egg?”

“No, I already have one. It was yellow and flecked with black. They gave it to Gaemon because it didn’t hatch for me. Papa says that means my dragon is likely already hatched. I’m hoping for Vhagar.” Rhaenys said, though she eyed Valerion speculatively. “If you die, can I have Jadewing?”

“How dare—” Saera began, removing her hand from Valerion in her outburst.

“Rhaenys!” Jocelyn hissed. “That is rude.”

“Sorry, Mama.” Rhaenys said, before looking back to Valerion. “If you die, may I please have Jadewing?”

Valerion chuckled. “Well, she is her own dragon. I suppose you would have to ask her.” Valerion furrowed his brow in thought. “Although, Jadewing is not used to being around people, nor other dragons. In many ways she remains independent and wild. I do not think she would make a good mount for one such as yourself, Princess.”

“You’re just saying that, so I won’t try.” Saera watched Rhaenys point her finger accusingly at her man.

“Rhaenys, don’t point at him.” Aemon said.

“I have no intent to perish soon, Princess. I am afraid if you wish to claim a dragon, you may need to look elsewhere.” Valerion smiled as if bemused by the idiocy of Rhaenys’ questions. Fortunately, Rhaenys did stop talking, seemingly in thought.

The food arrived shortly thereafter, and no significant conversation happened when everyone started eating. Although, her stupid mother did insist on saying a prayer before beginning. Fortunately, everyone sat around the table with their eyes closed was the perfect opportunity for Saera to kiss Valerion, drawing his lips to hers with a hand on the back of his head. It would have been longer, but her family would notice so she broke it almost as soon as it began. It was only a moment later that Saera remembered the servants were still about.

When everyone started eating in earnest Saera decided to stir things up. “My betrothed, I was wondering, what do you think of an elephant for our wedding?”

“Well, I don’t know where we would get a plate or seat large enough for them to be comfortable, but I welcome the suggestion, my love. Let’s invite one.” Her father attempted to suppress a laugh but instead let out a noise that sounded like a strangled lamb.

“Are you…well, Father?” Baelon asked with what sounded like genuine concern.

Her father used his cloth to hide his reaction as best he could before he spoke. “Apologies for worrying you, Baelon. I am well. The idea of an elephant at the wedding is so ludicrous it caught me by surprise.”

“Why?” Valerion said pointedly. "I have already acquired one." Saera smirked at her family who all seemed a bit caught off guard by the suddenness of the statement.

“The wedding is in two weeks. Where would you get one?” Alyssa scowled.

Valerion took a bite of a sausage and shrugged. “Volantis. They are not in short supply and a large ship can take a single elephant along the southern coast of Essos. Though we are fortunate this one was available in Pentos on short notice.”

“Have you ever actually ridden an elephant, Lord Qoherys?” Aemon said, looking across the length of the table.

“I have. Although I was quite young at the time.”

“Well, since the crown is paying for this wedding, we are not going to be reimbursing you for the elephant.” Her mother said, taking a sip of her drink.

Saera let out a loud sigh. Her family were already trying to ruin their day. “So be it. So long as I get the dresses I need.”

“Oh, and how many is that dear sister?” Alyssa asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Saera shrugged and smiled demurely. “Fifteen or so should serve.”

Her father stared at her. “Gods be good. How many bodies are you planning to clothe? As far as I was made aware, your mother only gave you the one. Are you going to wear them all at once? How will you have the time in the day to wear fifteen dresses?”

“They needn’t be complex, just beautiful.” Saera argued.

Her father tilted his head. “Are you intending to turn into a wolf every hour and run away, then return as a human girl and be clothed? Why would you need fifteen dresses?”

“Well, the last few didn’t exactly last.” Saera continued.

Her mother's eyes narrowed dangerously thin. “If you cannot be trusted to keep your clothes in a good condition like an adult, I don’t see why you should be given so many new clothes. You are to have two dresses, and if you argue, it will not even be that.”

Her father nodded as Saera gaped at the injustice. “You will have two dresses. One will be for the ceremony as given by your mother. The other will be for the feast thereafter.” Her parents truly were the worst possible parents to exist. “Are there any other questions about this damned affair?”

“Do we truly have to give gifts?” Alyssa asked. “I mean, ostensibly this is being done as recompense for the wrongs done to our family. Why should we give things to someone who has wronged us?”

“This is still a wedding involving our family, ‘Lyssa.” Baelon said taking one of her hands in his.

“Indeed. Appearances must be kept despite past… indiscretions.” Alysanne punctuated the last word by glaring at Saera.

Valerion moved to stand up. “On that note, I am afraid I must depart early. I must continue to strengthen my arm if it is to be fully functional by the wedding.”

Her father made a noise of assent, waving his hand. “Don’t let us keep you.”

Valerion quickly took Saera’s hand in his. “My betrothed, I look forward to our next meeting.”

Saera smirked at that. She too was looking forward to it. For she meant to visit tonight. She had not been able to have him since the day of the ball but now she had enlisted the help of pretty Peri to evade her captors. “As do I. Sleep well, Valerion.” Valerion departed rather swiftly, although she continued to stare at his ass as he walked away. She made a pleased hum. “That was fun.”

“Be silent, girl.” Her father snapped. “You stopped being a part of this family the day you shamed us in the council chamber.”

Saera expected her mother to say something about ‘a united front’ or some such, but instead she just picked at her food. Aemon and Jocelyn eyed each other uneasily while Alyssa glared at Saera, making her opinion very clear. Only Baelon seemed to disagree, looking anywhere but at a family member.

Saera simply stared at her father, attempting to kill him from across the table. “If I’m not appreciated here, then I’ll depart also.” Saera swept away from the table vaguely aware of Jonquil behind her. The Shadow indeed. That would not be a problem for much longer, Saera had a plan to rid herself of this pest. Returning to her rooms, she waited in her bedchamber. It was a full turn of the hourglass before a maid stepped in to stoke the fire.

Saera chuckled at that; acting was not Pretty Peri’s strongest trait. “I know that’s you Peri.”

Peri took the maids cap off revealing her curly dark hair. “I still don’t know why you need me to do this.”

Saera fought not to roll her eyes and instead plastered on a smile. “You wound me, Peri. I am your dearest friend.”

“We’ve barely seen you in weeks." Peri complained. "Then there is the talk of you and the guest.”

“What talk?” Saera asked, narrowing her eyes.

Peri bit her lip. “Well… they said you’re going to marry him.”

“I am.” Saera nodded.

“I thought you were going to marry Braxton?”

Saera blinked at her. How did Peri come to these conclusions? “No, Peri. I don’t like Braxton.”

Peri looked very confused indeed. “I thought you did.”

“Is that all that they say?”

“Oh! No." Peri beamed before continuing. "I heard that you got caught having sex with three men on the Iron Throne. I also heard that you were the one who gave birth to Prince Gaemon, not Princess Jocelyn, and he’s really your bastard with the pirate lord Saathos Saan.”

Saera was honestly a bit put out that the rumours still were unachievable, but ah well. Such was the price she paid for being mature. “Peri,” she said gently, because Peri always had to be approached gently. “I was visibly busy and not pregnant when Gaemon was born.”

“Neither was Lady Jocelyn!” Peri shot back. “Anyway, they think it was a ploy to shuffle her off and bring in the baby then. That he was actually born a bit before. When you disappeared on dragonback.”

Saera tilted her head. “Peri, do you believe this?”

Peri looked away. “N-no.”

“Peri, when would I have even met Saathos Saan?”

Peri perked up. “Oh! Alys said that she had never heard of a Lord Qoherys before, and that it may be a soo… suh…”

“Pseudonym." Saera interrupted. "Continue.”

“Super nim. She said it meant something like a fake name. And that Lord Qoherys was really Saathos Saan. The Lyseni pirate man.”

There was a lot wrong with that, but Saera decided to focus on the least important part. “Valerion is Volantene, not Lyseni.”

“What’s the difference?” Peri asked.

Saera paused. “It’s like saying a Valeman is a Westerman.”

Peri tilted her head like a confused dog. “Those are quite similar, no?”

Saera placed her hands on her hips. “No. Besides, it’s been three months since Valerion arrived, I wouldn’t have been able to give birth yet.”

“You wouldn’t?” Peri turned her head the other way in thought. “How long does it take?”

“Never mind.” Saera shook her head; she was getting distracted from her goal. “Take off your clothes.”

Peri blushed fiercely. “N-now? B-but I thought—”

“Now.” Saera said authoritatively. “I need your disguise, and you get to pretend to be me. How wonderful for you.”

“Oh. By your command, princess.” Peri's blush did not lessen as they got naked and changed their clothes over quickly. Peri made a pleased noise as she settled into Saera’s clothes. “These bedclothes are really soft.”

Saera lost focus for a moment and rolled her eyes. “Here is what I need you to do, ready?”

Peri nodded and scrunched up her face in concentration. “Ready.”

“You will lie in this bed and pretend to be me until I return in a few hours.” Saera instructed. “So long as you cover your head Jonquil shouldn’t notice the difference.” Saera leaned into Peri’s ear. “If you do well, I will speak to gentle Jonah about taking your maidenhead.”

Peri turned as red as a cherry and simply nodded. “What if I get caught?” She asked trembling a little.

Saera let a small smile settle on her face. “Then it may have to be The Stinger for your first time, Peri.” Saera said with mock sincerity. “Understood?”

Peri looked at her with some trepidation. “Do I have to, Princess?”

“Yes. Now get in.” Saera commanded, pointing to the bed. Peri shuffled in and did her best to cover her hair, eventually settling on placing a pillow on top of it. Saera simply chuckled at her friend’s silliness. “Goodnight, Princess Peri.” Saera heard a little giggle as she departed the bedchamber and out of her rooms.

She quietly made her way to Valerion’s room, which was painfully far away. She hid from guards patrolling or the few other servants going about their duties. No need to take unnecessary risks. Eventually she made her way to her destination. There was a guard outside, and he yawned seeing her. He wasn’t a kingsguard, just some household guard pulled from the barracks.

She kept her head down. “I’m to turn up the fire in milord’s bedchamber.”

He waved her forward. “Why can’t these noble pricks turn up their own fires?” She bobbed a shrug and a curtsey, then stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.

Valerion was sat on the bed, reading a thick book with his sling off. He glanced at her, then looked again, tilting his head. “This seems familiar.”

Saera smirked at him. “Of course. I’m here to serve, my lord.”

“Oh? And what will you be doing?” Valerion asked, moving off the bed.

“Something about… noble pricks?” Saera chuckled.

“I heard something about the room getting rather… warm.” Valerion purred, penning her in against the wall.

“Well, there might have been something like that.” Saera conceded, lifting her chin as he began to press kisses along her jaw, and then down her neck. He was taking forever. “Faster.”

“Why, do you have somewhere to be?” Valerion asked, taking off the maid’s cap and letting her silver hair tumble down past her shoulders. He moved it out of the way and continued his slow descent down her body.

“No, but it’s been so long and I don’t need you to tease me!”

“Oh, princess, I would never tease you.” Valerion said, gently pulling the laces of her dress open. “I am simply preparing you ahead of time. Unwrapping you like a particularly delicious present.”

“What, are you going to eat me?” She asked.

He knelt in front of her and gazed up at her, grinning. “Well, if you want me to, I’d be absolutely happy to… devour you.”

“If you mean deflower, I’m afraid that dragon has already taken to wing.” She snarked.

He pulled at her dress again, and it slipped off of her, pooling around her feet. He kissed down her stomach, then further down still. Saera inhaled sharply as he kissed her clit, then down her thighs. She whined and rocked her hips, impatient.

He smirked up at her and pressed another kiss to her thighs. “Have you been good, waiting for me?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“Oh? And what particular sins would you need to confess?” He kissed her clit again, his tongue flicking out to touch her, to taste her.

She nobly resisted the urge to climb directly on his face. “Nngh… I touched myself every day thinking of you.”

“A mutual sin then.” He murmured.

Spite burned through her. “And maybe I acted on some of my fantasies with someone else. You don’t know.”

He pulled back, amused. “I do know. You’ve been watched like the only chick in the henhouse, and the moment you got free, who did you come running to?”

“You’re convenient.” Saera told him.

“And you crave my cock like a drunkard craves wine.” He dove back in, scraping her clit gently with his teeth. She screamed at the suddenness of it, both hands tangling into his hair so that he couldn’t deprive her again. He sucked gently, making her whimper and tremble.

“You told me once that you’d drop me on your cock and let gravity fuck me for you.” She managed to get out.

“I could. I also said I’d fuck you against the wall.” He replied, pulling back despite her whines.

Her breath caught in her throat. “Yes.”

He shed his sleepwear easily and rose to his full height. She took him in hand, giving him a few quick strokes because she needed him to want her as badly as she wanted him.
That was all she had time for before he lifted her off of the floor, his hands firmly underneath her, dipping in and pulling her apart. She ground against the tips of his fingers, wanting so desperately to be filled.

“Eager little thing.” He chuckled.

“Deprived.” She corrected.

“Ah, my mistake. Let me fix that for you, my princess.”

She was wet and waiting, but he did not guide his cock in by hand the way he so often did. Rather, he kept his hands underneath her, keeping her up against the wall, and thrust up into her. Saera threw her head back against the wall, uncaring of the pain, as she screamed.

She did not care how her back was scraped by the stone. She did not care how this was not a feather bed. She only cared about being full, finally full and satisfied. She shivered as he pulled back, only to readjust her and fuck up into her again. She pulled him closer, nails carving into his back as he thrust, again and again, and again, each time feeling so damnably good. Everything else seemed to melt away.

The weight of the world pressed her down onto him. He pressed her against the wall. She pressed him into her. She tried to lock her ankles around his waist to keep him, but he simply pulled her legs a bit further apart and fucked her harder, faster.

“So good for me, so wet, so tight…” He murmured in her ear as she screamed.

“Don’t stop!” She begged him. “Fuck, you feel good.”

He nibbled at the shell of her ear, and she nearly sobbed from the sensation, feeling herself cum again. “I think you might just be missing your regular fixation, princess. Unless you can tell me, in full words, what you like about fucking me?”

He was smirking. Saera sank her nails into his skin and tried to clench, to keep him further. “So good…” She managed. “You make me feel so full… no one else can pick me up like this and just use me… make me feel so good…” Everything else was a mess of moans and pants.

He dipped his head down, forcing her head up as he sank his teeth into her neck. “Scream more for me, princess.” He ordered as he pulled away.

She obliged, as he got faster and faster. She came again, just before he did – she felt him tense and then a warm feeling. They stopped, just for a moment.

“Don’t… don’t stop.” She ordered. “Not yet.”

“I’m supposed to be recuperating, princess.”

“Not yet.” She ordered.

Instead of fucking her up against the wall further, he pulled her away from it. For just a moment, the only thing keeping her upright was him – his hands under her, and his cock in her. Then he threw her onto her stomach on the bed, and slapped her ass, his cock out of her. Saera shrieked in surprise. Then he dipped two fingers in her and curled them. She clutched at the sheets and tried to back up onto him further.

“Ah, ah, ah.” He said. “Not yet.” She glared at him over her shoulder.

He smirked and put two fingers from his other hand in her mouth. She obediently opened it and sucked on them as his other fingers twisted and made her moan. He pulled her into a seated position in his lap, keeping his fingers where they were.

“What am I to do with you?” He asked.

She popped his fingers out of her mouth, and then gave them a long lick just for good measure. “Fuck me.”

“Insatiable little thing.” He said fondly. “I just did.”

She pouted. “Again.”

“And when will my princess be satisfied with her tribute?”

“When you’ve put a babe in me.”

He laughed. “Only then? I’m going to be honest with you Saera. I want to breed you over and over. I want to see you swell with child and know that I put it there. I want to keep you all to myself, body and soul.” He flexed his fingers still inside her and she groaned, rolling her hips. “Say you want it too.” He ordered.

She ground her teeth. “You belong to me, Valerion Qoherys. Not the other way around.”

He ran his tongue over his lips. “I can live with that.”

He pulled her onto his hardening cock, and she rode him until he was the one panting and gasping. She scratched his chest with her nails, marking him up, until he was the one cumming, even as she bit her lip and came again herself. And when it was all done, their combined cum positively dripped out of her. Unlike the first time, she did not work to get it out of her. She laid on top of him, his thigh between her legs, and hummed as he played with her hair.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” He told her.

She opened one eye and looked at him. “It’s two weeks until the wedding. If a babe takes now or then, what does it matter?”

He smirked. “Not that part. The maid gambit.”

“Ah, that.” She closed her eye again. “Wake me before dawn, the guard should change then, and I will be able to make my way back.”

He suddenly turned her onto her back and she opened both eyes, looking up at him. He smirked, one hand curling around a lock of her hair and the other palming at her breast. “Who said you’d be sleeping?”

She smirked back. He tupped her twice more before they both admitted that they were tired and fell asleep in a tangled heap.

Saera felt herself rising from her slumber, disturbed by the shifting of Valerion’s body next to her. His warmth disappearing from the bed. She heard a scuffling though it was strangely muffled. She willed herself to pull her head from the pillow, to see Valerion hurriedly throwing on some breeches, his muscular form looked fucking amazing. He then shifted to the edge of the door looking at her. He looked alert and aware like a knight preparing for battle.

Two thuds from outside fell, quickly followed by the cracking and splintering of wood. The noise shattered the peace of Saera’s sleep drawing her into a full sitting position, her loose hair thrown into disarray. Two shapes, those of men with blades hurried into the room. The first man held a torch making him and his compatriot visible.

The torches glow illuminated the filth upon them, dirt stained across their skin and sunken eyes. They looked to be broad but have poor muscle. Clearly, some peasants from the city, but how did they get in here? The one with the torch had greasy brown hair which fell to his neck. The second seemed to be rapidly losing what little hair he had left.

“It’s just a girl.” Long Hair said. “No sign of his lordship.”

“Well, can’t afford witnesses.” Balding snarled moving into the torchlight.

Valerion stepped out from behind the splintered door and grabbed Long Hair by his greasy mane with his good arm.

“What the fu—” Was all Long Hair managed before Valerion smashed his face into the stone wall she had been fucked on a few hours ago. There was a resounding crack, his arms went limp and Valerion threw him to the stone floor. His weapon and torch fell causing the clattering of metal and wood on stone.

Balding spun around to see Valerion. “There you are.”

He took his blade and threw a slash at Valerion, who ducked back to avoid the blade. They were trying to kill her man. Balding made to follow him, repeatedly throwing his body behind stabs and thrusts, screaming as he did so. He occasionally caught the wall with a spark. Saera could still see Long Hair breathing though he seemed unconscious.

Saera saw Valerion catch the assailant’s arm and strike him with a wicked punch to the jaw. Balding fell back but she heard Valerion hiss, his poor arm fighting against him also. Saera scanned the room looking for what she knew was there, Valerion’s Valyrian Steel dagger, resting on the table. She leapt out of the bed and dashed across the room. Grabbing the blade by its handle, she turned to see Balding’s blade hovering above Valerion’s chest, his one arm holding up the man’s body weight. She was not going to let some peasant take Valerion from her.

Saera stepped forward as gently as she could, not wanted to alert her target. Once she was within arm’s reach, she thrust the blade into his neck, like a knife over bread. Or so Saera supposed, she had never actually cut bread with a knife before. She heard his pained gurgling first, like music to her ears. Then came the spurt of blood which oozed from the wound across her naked body, as if the finest of bathwater.

She twisted the blade further into Balding’s neck, his frantic gurgles becoming even more desperate. The music becoming ever more entertaining. She tore the blade only glimpsing the damage done to his neck in the torchlight. Still, it was a fine piece of work, if she said so herself.

Valerion threw the gurgling fool off of him and stood up. He seemed unharmed although his eyes contained a fire like the greatest of dragonflame. They stood there for a short moment, with the symphony of a dying man choking on his own blood.

Valerion smiled at her gently. “Are you well, my love?” Saera did not respond with words. Instead, she let a wide grin settle on her face. Valerion nodded and took her for a long kiss.

“That felt… amazing.” Saera could not wipe the grin from her face, even as the gurgling ceased.

“The kiss or killing a man?” Valerion chuckled.

Saera made a pleased hum. “Both.” She let the satisfaction roll over her before she remembered. “Can I kill the other one?”

Valerion looked over at Long Hair in thought. “They were looking for me, but I don’t know these men. Nor would I care to.”

“So? They tried to kill us. They deserve the same.” She fluttered her eyes at him, doing her best to convince him.

“They must have been hired. In which case…” Valerion picked up the torch and walked over to Long Hair. “…we need to interrogate this one. You can help if you like.” Valerion crooked his finger indicating her to approach.

Saera followed until she was also stood over Long Hair. His nose was oozing blood from its impact into the wall. “How?”

Valerion leaned over and guided her hand with the dagger to Long Hair’s wrist. “Just there. Skewer him through to the stone so he cannot escape.” Valerion proceeded to step onto his other arm pinning him there first.

Saera gently, slowly pressed the blade into the flesh of Long Hair’s wrist, the viscous red pouring from around the blade. His bone was slightly more resistant but was overcome by the Valyrian Steel. The true beauty was in the horrified scream which Long Hair bellowed as the pain shocked him to life. A scream which continued until Saera pinned him to the stone.

**************************************************************

Alyn

There were few constants in the world. The first was his Ma. She’d been a washerwoman for a few of the brothels as long as he could remember. She’d taken him along almost every time, as if he’d be snatched out of her sight as soon as she turned her back. She stopped when a madam told her she could get money for selling him. Stopped doing that one’s laundry too. She was his rock, his guiding star. He didn’t really know what that meant but some posh lord had said some such to Melly once, and she’d recounted it to the three of them later in an alleyway.

Anyway, Alyn’s Ma was his world. And when Gares the half-maester had said that there weren’t nothing he could do for her, and the pain in her hands would get worse, and she wouldn’t be able to work no more, Alyn didn’t know what to do. He’d tried to bring in some money. This would have set them up for life. At least, it would have given them enough money for him to bring Gares back and get something for his Ma’s pain. 

The second constant had been Wat and Pate. They’d been friends since before he could walk, as far as Alyn figured. Wat was the brains. Pate was the muscle. Alyn didn’t know what he was, really, but they were his friends and that was that. The three of them, together.

They’d been helping Alyn’s ma carry the laundry when they met Melly. She worked at one of the brothels, but one of the real nice ones, where the girls were all clean and such like. She told everyone her name was Loreza, and she was from Dorne and Lys and all that, and worth a pretty penny, but she told them she was really Flea Bottom trash like the rest of them. Alyn didn’t begrudge her the lie, respected it even. If some posh lord was going to give her a whole gold dragon for a lie and a tup, well then why shouldn’t she lie her arse off?

Melly was the third constant. She was a good friend. Alyn had noticed that Wat was sweet on her, kept trying to scrape up enough coin so that he could spend the night with her. Probably would just want to talk the whole night, no interruptions. Wat was romantic like that. Was. Was, because Wat had been knifed by the guard.

Alyn came out of a haze of thoughts, everything seeming a bit fuzzy, as something pierced his hand and twisted. The pain shocked him back to life right quick.
Seven above, was that what his Ma felt whenever she had some of her tremors? Alyn’d get her some real good milk of the poppy for it, he swore.

His vision swam, then cleared. That woman from before was smiling down at him, light in her eyes. She looked half-mad. There was a weight on Alyn’s back, and he knew it weren’t Pate playing about.

“Please.” Alyn begged through wet lips. “Please don’t.” Posh nobles liked it when you begged. Melly said so, and she’d know.

The girl here didn’t know that though. Her eyes lit up again. Mad, she was fully mad. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t hurt me no more.” Alyn said. “Please, ma’am. Milady.”

She giggled. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

“No ma’am, please. Have mercy.” Alyn said and then remembered the weight at his back.

The man pulled and Alyn felt his other arm wrench. He screamed. “Please, please milord!”

The madwoman pulled out the knife and traced it down Alyn’s face, causing blood to leak and well up. “Oh, but we could have such fun with you.”

Alyn sobbed wordlessly. “None of that yet, love. We need him alive, for information.” The man said.

“Yes, yes! I’ll tell you anything. Please don’t kill me!” Alyn begged. “Please don’t hurt me!”

“What were you doing here tonight?” The man asked.

“We was hired to kill some foreign bastard – Qorgyle or summat like that.” The man wrenched Alyn’s arm. “Qoherys! We was hired to kill Lord Qoherys!”

The girl traced the knife down Alyn’s other cheek. “Who hired you?”

Alyn sobbed. “Some lord. We met him outside Melly’s brothel, he’d just tupped her. We was-we was carrying the laundry. He said we looked strong, asked if we wanted a job. Asked if we wanted money.”

“A name.” The girl cooed.

“I don’t know his name!” Alyn said. “I don’t, I don’t! He didn’t want to give it, Wat said that were extra!” They’d gotten an extra gold coin apiece for not asking questions. Wat had really been the brains – he’d haggled it so that they got half the money before the job were done, just in case. 9 whole gold dragons, split three ways. Alyn had never seen so much money in his life.

“And what did your noble benefactor look like?” The man asked.

“I—the posh man?” Alyn clarified. The girl stabbed him in the hand again, and Alyn screamed.

“You don’t ask the questions here.” She said, though privately Alyn thought she did it for the fun of it.

Alyn nodded. “He were… posh. Clean, like. His clothes fit him well, and he had a good leather jerkin that would be several good trades to get in Flea Bottom. Eats well, but not fat. Long brown hair tied back, no tangles. Brown eyes. I’d say he was Wat’s height, a little shorter than Pate.”

“Who are Wat and Pate?” The man asked.

Alyn swallowed, his eyes beginning to blur with tears. “My friends. Wat… he went down fighting the guard outside. Pate… he weren’t going to kill you ma’am, I swear. I swear on me life! He were just going to scare you a bit, I promise!”

The girl leaned close. “I don’t believe you. I think that means your life is forfeit, don’t you?” Alyn shut his eyes tight, but at that moment, a miracle happened.

The city watch burst in like someone had said there was a sale at Melly’s brothel, and they’d be giving free pussy to anyone who asked. A lot of people were talking and shouting at once, but the man got off of Alyn and he was pulled to his feet. Someone seized hold of him, none too gentle, but Alyn felt a bit of relief. These two weren’t going to get him. He weren’t going to die in a cruel and unnatural way, like Old Jym’s da under King Maegor.

They hustled Alyn and the two of them further into the Red Keep itself. Someone had wrapped them up – Alyn hadn’t even noticed in the halflight that they had no clothes. After what seemed like forever, they reached the throne room. Alyn had never even met someone who had seen something half as nice as that. The floor weren’t even dirty! And on the chair, what must be the Iron Throne, there sat a man.

And Alyn knew that were King Jaehaerys, first of his name and what not. He’d been on the gold dragons. It weren’t a good likeness, but he was tired and Alyn had spent the money ‘fore it could be stolen off of him. That was Gares’ problem now.

Alyn liked the king, he really did. His ma loved the royal family, wouldn’t hear no bad word about any of ‘em. She liked the Queen’s fountains (better for washing) so much that Alyn was well aware that if he’d been a girl, she’d have called him Alysanne. Tragically, his mother didn’t hold much with foreign names, so he’d been Alyn instead.

“What in the seven hells is going on?” The King asked as Alyn was pushed to the ground. He didn’t rise. He weren’t special enough to look at the king! Also, his hands hurt.

“This man and two accomplices broke into Valerion’s room.” The girl said.

The king acted like he hadn’t heard her. “Is no one going to speak? I asked a question.”

“Your Grace, three assailants got past the guard and into my room. Two are dead, this one remains.” The man said. Alyn bit his lip to keep from crying out. Wat and Pate, dead, and that’s all that anyone cared about.

“How did they get past the guards?” The king asked.

Alyn looked up. “Per-can I speak, Your Majessy?”

The king nodded at him. At Alyn! Alyn cleared his throat and tried to focus on that instead of the pain in his hand and how Wat and Pate were dead and--

“The man – the posh man who paid us – he told us of a secret passageway we could use to get from the bottom of Aegon's Hill - that being Your Majessy's grandfather - to the outer wall rooms. He said that if we got in, we’d find a room guarded by a man and to kill him what was inside. I didn’t—I thought Wat’d bribe him or summat! I didn’t know we’d kill the guard!”

The king raised an eyebrow. “Clearly, you do not have the makings of an assassin. Why you?”

“We was there, I think.” Alyn admitted. "When the man had the idea."

“And this man who hired you?”

Alyn repeated his description.

The king leaned back. “Was there anything else you can remember?”

Alyn thought for a moment. The man from earlier, what must have been Lord Qoherys, put a foot on Alyn’s back. Alyn wheezed. “It would be better for you if you answer your king.” Lord Qoherys said, like they’d been chums and discussing the weather over a bowl of brown.

“Enough, Lord Qoherys. The man is clearly bruised and beaten, don’t think I fail to see your hand in that.” The king said.

Lord Qoherys lifted his foot off of Alyn. Alyn looked at the king. “Thank you, Your Majessy. I… it might not be much, but… I think his sword, it looked odd to me? It weren’t important at the time, I thought it was just how posh nobles have them—”

“Get on with it.” The king said, sounding as if he didn’t give a rat’s arse if Alyn lived or died.

Alyn swallowed. “He had a hook. On the end of his sword. It were kind of flat, it weren’t a good hook like you see down at the docks. It were more like a blade of grass.”

Melly had once described grass to Alyn, Wat, and Pate. It were something Loreza of Dorne were expected to know, and once or twice a noble had taken her out of the city to fuck her over several days in his house or summat. Alyn liked the sound of it. Maybe when he got money, he’d take his Ma and they’d leave King’s Landing. Go somewhere where the grass was normal instead of dry and dusty.

The king pondered this. “I see. Very well. Keep an eye out for any smithies where that might be abandoned and check the noblemen in the yard tomorrow.” This last bit weren’t directed at Alyn, it were directed at one of the city watch. Not one of the regular ones Alyn’d see on the street of silk, but one of the fancy ones. A real knight, maybe.

The king waved his hand, and Alyn was hauled to his feet and taken out by the city watch. Alyn felt cold. He knew what happened now. “Wait, wait, before you kill me… can you… um… can I ask summat?”

“You’re in no position to ask anything.” One of the watchmen sneered.

Alyn looked down. “I know and I’m sorry, milord. I just… if you can, can you tell my Ma I’m… I’ve been sent to The Wall, maybe? I don’t want her to worry. Please?”

The other watchman sighed. “Maybe, if we’re in the area. What’s her name, lad?”

“Her name’s Lyssa, like the king’s mother. She does the washing for most of the brothels on the street of silk.” Alyn said quickly. “Thank you.”

The second guard waved him off. “I said maybe.”

The first guard pulled out his sword, and Alyn closed his eyes. There were no miracles that time.

**************************************************************

Alysanne

Alysanne ran as quickly as she could to the throne room, not having even changed from her nightclothes. Jonquil had been found guarding Saera’s rooms, sans Saera, and now strode alongside her queen. Saera’s collaborator in her deception would have to be spoken to later.

Alysanne entered the throne room, seeing a man being dragged out by several of the city watch. He was mumbling something though Alysanne didn’t quite catch it. The long hall was rather empty, it barely being morning and the sun not yet risen.

Alysanne saw Ser Clement Crabb manning his station at the bottom of the throne. Jaehaerys stood as Alysanne entered and met her partway down the hall.

Lord Qoherys was dressed in breeches and a loose shirt, a spattering of blood covering his chin. What truly shocked Alysanne was her daughter. Saera was dressed in a plain nightgown stained red by the blood beneath. There was a further streak of blood which stained her cheek and her hair, causing some loose strands to appear a muddy red. Alysanne spied the twisted dagger that Qoherys normally bore in her hand, above dried blood on the stone floor.

Both of them turned to look at Alysanne as she approached. Alysanne moved to her husband, ignoring them both. She would solve this. Gods be good, this had to be solvable. “What happened?” Alysanne asked.

“They tried to kill Valerion!” Saera said. Alysanne chose to ignore that and simply gazed at her husband. She could see that he was containing his anger, mostly by avoiding their wayward daughter.

“Three men broke into the keep. ‘Sanne, they knew about the tunnels.” Jaehaerys murmured, letting the implication linger. So few knew of the tunnels, only those within their family had any significant knowledge of them.

“Stop ignoring me!” Saera shouted. Alysanne turned to see Saera take a step forward, her eyes glinting with a murderous intent. Saera wouldn’t. She couldn’t, surely not. Alysanne could not help but let out a strangled gasp. The last time she had seen eyes like that her uncle bore them. They promised an infinite capacity for cruelty. For the first time in many years, Alysanne felt the chill of fear run along her spine. Her husband squeezed her tight.

Ser Clement drew his blade partway from its scabbard causing Saera to turn her gaze on him, though her own grip on Lord Qoherys’ knife did not slacken.

“Saera…” Lord Qoherys interrupted. Saera rounded on him instead. “Put the blade down.” Strangely he did not seem to be on edge.

“Why?” Saera snarled. “They hate you. You hate them. Fuck, I hate them. Why defend them?”

Alysanne tried to analyse Qoherys’ face. Ordinarily it was carefully measured, but instead she saw him gently smile at Saera’s outburst. “You aren’t wrong, my love. They do hate me, and as you say, I am not fond of them either.” Valerion stepped forward casually, as if his own blade were not at risk of entering his ribcage. “However, I will always be thankful to your parents for one thing.”

Saera’s murderous glint faded away, replaced by a confused expression. “What exactly?”

“You, Saera.” Qoherys took her empty hand into his. “For all their faults they made you, did they not? You do not have to love them, nor like them even but alas, you are their blood. Do not be quick to lose your family, it is not pleasant to be alone in this world.”

Saera stared at him for a moment before she threw the dagger away and wrapped her arms around him. “They are not my family. He said as much.” Saera glared at Jaehaerys. Still, Alysanne felt herself relax slightly.

Qoherys embraced her in kind. “Mayhaps… something said in anger. What do you think, Your Grace?”

All eyes, barring Ser Clement who returned to rest at his post with the imminent threat gone, turned to Alysanne’s husband. For all of his many, many faults Lord Qoherys had given her husband the best chance to mend their relationship. Silence fell upon the great hall, waiting for a response. Jaehaerys stood as a statue stands upon a plinth.

Alysanne took his bearded face in her hand and gently directed his face to her. “Answer the question, my love.”

“No.” Her husband said, face as cool and impassive as if he was carved from stone.

“Husband?” Alysanne asked.

“Lord Qoherys, I was labouring under a false apprehension that your intended was somehow related to us. I see now that she was not. Please rest assured that neither of you are required to attend family dinners. I will also arrange for your intended’s things to be moved to your rooms, as the family suites are for members of the royal family only. Alysanne, please inform the steward that the budget set aside for the fifth princess must be reabsorbed back into the household line. I believe that we have miscounted, and that Viserra is now the fifth princess. Therefore, she does not need two budgets.”

Alysanne inhaled sharply. “Jaehaerys, what are you saying?”

Jaehaerys tucked his hands behind his back. “I am saying exactly what you think I am saying. I could bear to have her lying with her intended. It happens to… most of us. I am sure that Baelon and Alyssa did the same, for example. I could bear the incident on the Small Council Table, because it was youthful rebellion that I shamefully encouraged, enamoured with the idea of the woman we once called daughter having the ability to marry. However, any person in this room who would threaten to harm you is no family of mine.”

Alysanne had to stop this before it went any further. Her family would not shatter while she lived. “She didn’t mean it.”

“I am sure that the future Lady Qoherys did mean it. Unfortunately, if she tries it again, it will be considered treason.” Jaehaerys said coolly. “Out of the love that I bear for you, I will not shame this woman that we once believed to have come from your womb. The wedding will go on as planned. I will not make them pay for the upkeep of the dragons Balerion and Jadewing.”

Saera had turned as pale as a ghost. Lord Qoherys looked murderous.

Alysanne grabbed his arm. “You can’t do this to our daughter.”

He slowly looked at her. “I didn’t know our daughter was in this room. Which one? Daenerys has sadly passed away. Alyssa is asleep with her husband. Maegelle is in Oldtown. Daella in the Eyrie. Viserra is presumably in her rooms and Gael is in the nursery. Which one is supposedly here?”

Alysanne bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. “Please don’t do this. She is our daughter.”

Jaehaerys eyes burned with his anger. “She is the ghost of our uncle, who has tortured a man and is covered in blood. She pointed a knife at the king and queen and openly intended to try and assassinate them. She fucked that obnoxious man like a whore in front of the family. I don’t think you could have birthed such a creature, Alysanne. I don’t think I could have given seed to such a creature, quite frankly. She is some witch, some horror, that has stolen away our true daughter and taken her shape.” Jaehaerys said earnestly, cupping her face in one hand. “Go back to sleep, love. I’ll send Lord and Lady Qoherys back to their rooms.”

“You have no idea what you have given up.” Lord Qoherys snarled. “She is the best of you.”

Jaehaerys furrowed his brow. “I’m so sorry Lord Qoherys, what made you think that you could speak to the royal family this way? Please control your intended. She is your woman, that makes you responsible for her. If she should attempt to assassinate any member of the royal family again, both of you will be beheaded for treason.”

“You wouldn’t.” Saera spat. “You’re too much of a coward. I should have done it.”

Alysanne stifled a gasp.

“Did you hear something, Lord Qoherys?” Jaehaerys asked pleasantly. “I thought I heard an insect buzzing.”

“That was the love of my life.” Lord Qoherys said flatly.

“Indeed?” Jaehaerys stepped away from her and towards Lord Qoherys. “As I said. You should control your woman. We wouldn’t want her getting any dangerous ideas – especially from such a smart man like yourself.”

Alysanne stared at him. Jaehaerys nodded to her and swept from the room followed by Ser Clement Crabb who did not meet her eyes. This had shifted everything. Years of her trying to get him to listen, to pay attention to her and her daughters, gone. Destroyed in a single night. Saera, meanwhile, was trembling. With rage or hurt, Alysanne could not say. Lord Qoherys was trying to rub soothing circles into her back.

Alysanne wet her lips. “All will be well, Saera. I’ll… I’ll fix it. All will be well.”

“I’m sure, your majesty.” Saera said poisonously.

Alysanne clamped down her temper. “I don’t agree with him and you know it. I just… I don’t believe that things can be fixed right now. All will be well, daughter, you’ll see. It just needs time.”

“Your Grace, we will need different quarters, at least until the door is repaired.” Valerion said continuing to try and comfort Saera, this time by circling his hand through her hair.

“Mmm? Ah yes. I will have some modest accommodations found for you both, I rather doubt the guest room will suffice. For now, use Saera’s room.”

“Former room.” Saera spat.

“Saera…” Alysanne did not meet her daughter’s eyes. “May I speak with Lord Qoherys alone?”

Her daughters eyes grew dangerous again. “So you can make him disappear?”

“Fear not, my love. Go clean up and rest. I will join you shortly.” Lord Qoherys said, holding her closer before releasing her.

“If the hourglass runs empty and you aren’t there, I’ll…”

“I know, love.” He smiled gently. Shockingly, at least to Alysanne, Saera willingly left the room escorted by two bodyguards. Once she departed, Valerion went and retrieved the dagger. Alysanne saw Jonquil twitch from the shadows but he simply sheathed it calmly.

“The King has made a tremendous mistake.” He said.

“I agree, but he is right to be angry.” Alysanne breathed a deep sigh. “Still, thank you for calming her and trying to help my husband.”

Lord Qoherys tutted. “I acted in the best interests of Saera, even if she cannot see it. She is fortunate to still have parents.”

“Even if they don’t like you?” Alysanne asked.

“Even so.” He smiled, a rather genuine thing. “Rest well, Your Grace.” Lord Qoherys bowed lower than he usually did and made his way after Saera.

“Lord Qoherys?” Alysanne called after him. He stopped a moment and turned to her. “You are still welcome at our table. I will see to it.” He simply nodded before exiting the room entirely.

Alysanne sighed to herself, and perhaps Jonquil, before she made her way to the royal apartments. The solar was large enough that it took Alysanne a few dedicated minutes of searching before she found Jaehaerys, glaring out of a window. His eyes flicked to her in the glass before returning to their stare.

“Do you have any idea what you have done?” She said, maintaining a distance from him.

Her husband raised an eyebrow. “I have dealt with the matter.”

“You have excised our daughter from the family!” Alysanne hissed, marching up to him. “And for what? Being angry?”

“For threatening the lives of her monarchs.” Jaehaerys fully turned to face her, looming over her. “She threatened your life Alysanne. Do not ask me to bear that without response! I have been trying to ignore her and her wickedness since the ball – it has not worked. We’ve tried punishing her- it hasn’t worked! There is nothing else to do! Not when she does this!”

“Don’t you dare claim this is for me and my sake!” Alysanne snarled. “I never wanted this!”

Jaehaerys sneered down at her. “You’d let her stab you in the heart just so that you could say you were a better mother than ours.”

Alysanne inhaled sharply. “That was a very cruel thing you said just now. Do not say it again.”

“How dare you tell me what to do, woman. I am your king! I am your husband! I am protecting you!”

“From what? An angry girl? She put down the knife! She didn’t hurt anyone! All she said was ‘fuck you’ and she was right to do so!” Alysanne snapped. “And don’t you dare just call me woman like that.”

“What would you prefer, my queen, if you will not accept my protection?” Jaehaerys growled.

Alysanne held up her hand. “You are not doing this. I told you not to put this on me.”

“Then what? Am I not protecting your other children by cutting off Saera? Am I not protecting your grandchildren?”

“You are protecting yourself! You are protecting your own heart!” Alysanne screamed.

Jaehaerys’ eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

Alysanne continued, emboldened by the silence. “You are not protecting the older children – they are not easily influenced by Saera and she gave up the knife. The younger children are of no concern to her. Meanwhile, you have always made selfish, horrible decisions for our children because they benefit you. Daella believes that you wanted her gone. Vaegon believes the same, though he’d never say it aloud. You are a poor father Jaehaerys, and a worse liar.”

“It doesn’t have to be a lie; she threatened the king with a knife. There should be consequences.”

“It was not a threat!” Alysanne growled. “Do you want a threat? Fix it, or I shall be forced to realise that the only thing that makes you love a child that I have given you is whether they can make other male Targaryens for you to lead about on a leash.”

“And then what?” Jaehaerys asked quietly.

Alysanne inhaled again. There was a pause. “If it is true, then I shall go to Dragonstone. For some measure of happiness, remembering better times.” Alysanne said through numb lips.

Jaehaerys exhaled and looked up. “Well then. I suppose you were the better liar in the end, ‘Sanne. You said you would never stop loving me, never leave me for less than becoming our uncle.”

Alysanne looked him in the eye and made her most difficult choice. She shook her head. “I have to. I will go after the wedding, for appearance’s sake, but… I will take Gael. She is our last child. I will not allow your pride to destroy another.” Alysanne could see the resolve in his eyes, there was nothing more to be said, so she spun departing as swiftly as her legs would carry her.

**************************************************************

Valerion

Valerion ran his hands through Saera’s hair, her head resting upon his chest, rising and falling with his breath. He had taken to humming a Volantene melody to coax her from her sleep. Saera’s rooms were a comfortable place with only a small amount of light filtering through the edges of the window covers. Alas, they would not be there long. She shifted her position slightly, placing one of her legs atop his and running a hand up his resting arm, making a pleased noise as she did so.

“You have a handsome voice.” She commented, refusing to open her eyes.

“Well, so long as I sing well, I suppose the rest of me doesn’t matter so much.” He chuckled.

“I do hope this an attempt at humour. Lest I open my eyes and find someone other than my intended here.” Saera continued to run her hands along him lazily.

Valerion continued to hum for a time before the melody came to its natural end. “How are you feeling, love?”

Saera pushed herself up and looked him in the eye. Her lilac eyes looked gorgeous in the dimmed lighting. “I am enraged. You were nearly killed last night. Are you not?”

Valerion shrugged. “On your behalf, certainly. As for the attempt made last night, it is hard to be angry at a shadow. Besides…” He smirked at her. “I rather enjoyed the side I saw of you with that pitiful excuse for an assassin.”

Saera smirked back obviously enjoying the memory. “I enjoyed our fun also, a pity it had to end so soon.”

“There are other kinds of fun we can partake in, no?” He brought his hand to her breast, the cold of its touch causing her to gasp.

“Much as I would love to do so, I fear we have a busy day ahead.” Saera spoke of responsibility but did not stop her hands drifting to his cock.

“Oh? What need we do with such import? I am rather content to remain here.”

Saera's face grew slightly more serious. “You know I am losing these rooms, thanks to my idiot father. Also, I’m not content to see you assaulted again, so I will be happy to deal with this plotter.”

Valerion raised an eyebrow. “You’ll deal with them?”

“I know who they are. You do not.”

“You do?” Valerion let out a groan under her continued touch. “Tell me, Saera.”

Saera made a noise as she thought. “Mmm, no.”

Valerion curled a lock of her hair around his index finger. “And why not? Don’t you trust me in all things?”

Saera pouted at him. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do.” Valerion said. “I’m just curious. If you want to handle it alone, you may do so, but I love seeing you hunt for prey.”

Saera smirked at him. “I know you do. Alas, it would spook my quarry if you were there.”

“That does not mean you need keep me in the dark.” Valerion returned.

“Do not take me for a fool. If I told you, you would go on a hunt of your own.” She kissed him gently.

“Point taken.” Valerion conceded. After a moment more of enjoying her touch, he departed the warmth of the bed, much to his love’s annoyance.

She poked her head out of the blankets. “Where are you going?”

He slid his legs into his braies, then his breeches. “To start my day? As much as I would wish to spend time with you my love, the world keeps turning and I have an appointment with the Iron Bank.”

Saera blinked at him. “What do you need to see the Iron Bank for? Also, you’re going all the way to Braavos? I didn’t say you could leave me like that.”

Valerion leaned over and pressed a kiss to her hair. “I’m not going that far. They have a representative in a manse in the city, near the Street of Steel. Besides, I need to talk to them about my investments and interest rates, especially in the lead up to the wedding. My lady wants an elephant, after all.”

Saera narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve been speaking to Vaegon.”

“Was I not meant to? Don’t fear, my princess. You remain my favourite Targaryen, now and forever.”

“As if there’s much competition. At least Vaegon is intelligent.”

“I rather enjoy talking with the Princess Rhaenys also.” He said as he threw on an undershirt and went searching for a doublet, before realising this was Saera’s room. Why would she have his clothing here?

“Why? All she does is ask annoying questions.” Saera watched him move about the room with amusement.

Valerion shrugged. “She’s a child. There are worse ways to be annoying.”

“I suppose.” Saera conceded.

Valerion sighed to himself. “I’m going to have to go to my room and get some outerwear. I cannot meet with the Iron Bank like this. Would you like to join me, my love?”

Saera leered at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Not yet. I’m enjoying the view.”

“Mmm. Well, I will find a servant to help ready you for the day and find out where our new rooms are. Make sure you have finished pleasuring yourself by then.” Valerion chuckled. Saera just made a pleased hum as he departed the room.

Valerion returned to the old guest room he had been using. The body had been removed and although the patches of blood had been cleaned, the stone remained a slightly stained brown where it had once lay. There were several servants moving pieces out of the room.

Valerion pulled one of them aside. A somewhat well-dressed man who was likely one of the royal clerks. He had short blonde hair and seemed a bit thin.  “My lord.” He bowed dutifully.

“To which rooms are my possessions being moved?” Valerion asked.

“The queen arranged for them to be transported to some spacious apartments located in the Kitchen Keep.”

“Very well. Once done could you ensure the Princess Saera is made aware of the change.” That got a particularly quizzical look from the clerk. Valerion shrugged in response. “The King has ordered her things moved also.”

The clerk simply nodded, seemingly still a bit confused.

Valerion pulled some of the boxes aside until he found a suitable set of outerwear, his silk black doublet amongst them. He was also fortunate enough to find his ledger, it would have been rather painful to record the details of his meeting only from his memory. He quickly stepped behind the screen to throw the last pieces on and then went about his day, giving a cursory nod to the clerk.

Valerion, with the aid of a horse, made his way to the envoy’s manse. A rather impressive thing of three stories which dominated the side of Visenya’s hill. He was left waiting for some time, the Braavosi did not care for the word of nobility and their schedule would not change for it. Mercifully it was a short wait before he was eventually admitted to Maros Hestar’s study. Only a full turn and a half of the hourglass. Hestar himself was a broad-shouldered man of some advanced age, although his hair dyed a deep black did not betray this. He was dressed in the rather drab brown robes of a keyholder at the Iron Bank.

“Lord Qoherys, please sit.” Hestar’s voice was punctuated by the foreign accent of the free cities, something Valerion had grown up with and did his best to hide.

Valerion nodded in greeting. “Keyholder Hestar, good morning to you.”

Hestar grimaced. “Yes, yes, good morning and all of that.” Valerion sat. Hestar was not fond of small talk, which may have been why he was sent to Westeros.

Valerion folded his hands in front of him. “So, you wished to discuss my account?”

Hestar shrugged. “It is what it is. I more wish to discuss your purchases. I have it on good authority that you have purchased an elephant?”

“Yes.” Valerion said.

“…a living elephant, as in the creature, and not a political party.” Hestar clarified.

“Yes.” Valerion repeated.

Hestar pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why?”

“To feed to my dragon.” Valerion japed, before coughing. “Well, really, for my wedding.”

Hestar looked as if he regretted asking. “As far as I am aware, you did not purchase a trained elephant.”

“A wild one was cheaper, especially since it’s only going to be used once and fed to a dragon afterwards.”

Hestar stared at him. “You plan to loose a wild elephant upon the streets of King’s Landing.”

“Well, it will be eaten. And would it not be a waste of a trained elephant?” Valerion asked.

Hestar steepled his fingers in front of him. “I have just recalled that I have urgent business elsewhere on the day of your wedding. Moving on. Your investments in the marble mines of Tarth are beginning to bear fruit – they are currently generating a sum of 150 excess gold dragons per week. Meanwhile, your inquiries into investing in Reach vineries are stymied. The Redwyne family has said that they will not sell their controlling interest and have intimated that they will take drastic measures if you continue.”

“So they’re not bearing fruit.” Valerion said with a grin.

Hestar did not laugh. Instead, he looked at the paperwork in front of him. “Have you considered investing in Northern timber?”

Valerion straightened his face. “No, why?”

Hestar looked up slowly. “Because large amounts of timber are leaving the North, entering the Free Cities, and leaving again almost immediately. It seems that there is a particular individual serving as a middleman for someone else.”

Valerion paused. “Huh. The North isn’t aware of this?”
“As far as they are aware, they are selling to the Vhassar family of Volantis. As far as the buyer is aware, this is Qohorik wood. It is a fascinating display of cunning for a city that has no love of the bureaucracy that turns the world.” This was a great insult for Hestar. Valerion was of the impression that when Hestar died, he would not be greeted by the Many-Faced God, but rather by the god of paperwork, and then he would immediately get back to it. As they said, no one could stop death or taxes.

Valerion froze at the name though. “I’m sorry… the Vhassars?” Hestar nodded. “Why… why are you telling me this?”

“A multitude of reasons.” Hestar leaned back. “Firstly, the Iron Bank had its suspicions about a son of that household who went by the name Valerio Vhassar. I am glad to see them confirmed. Secondly, it is Westerosi traders that are buying the wood at increased rates. Traders that despite trying to dissemble their purpose, send it on to a Westerosi house.”

“Where?” Valerion asked.

“Dorne. Specifically, all of the wood seems to end up at the castle of Ghost Hill. Much like you, they also have a green dragon.” Hestar said. This may have been a joke, or Hestar merely drawing a comparison. It was hard to tell with Hestar sometimes.

“What do they need all that wood for?” Valerion asked, thinking aloud.

Hestar stared at him. “I know you are young, but I thought you had more sense than that. People get wood to build things. People buy from overseas and try to hide their traders because they are building secret things. Ghost Hill is by the sea. Therefore…?”

“I don’t need it spelled out that much.” Valerion snapped.

Hestar shrugged. “Better to lay out all the information in front of you lest you draw the wrong conclusion. So, Northern timber. Are you investing? I have a good opportunity for the Starks regarding their so-called ‘Wolfswood’. Now with minimal wolves and maximum wood.”

“I don’t think they mean that literally.” Valerion said.

Hestar narrowed his eyes at Valerion. “Yes, and your grandfather was an elephant, and now you are planning to release one onto the streets of the city. I do not take chances with Westerosi metaphors.”

“Point taken.” Valerion sighed. “I have also closed several deals with collectors in Pentos, Myr and Tyrosh regarding some of my treasures. The amount totals 2645 golden dragons, factoring in the relative conversion of rare metals between currencies.”

“How many of these treasures have you remaining?” Hestar enquired.

“Fewer by the day. Still enough to maintain a steady income until the next winter, provided interest remains high.”

“Or the summer remains short. The more you sell, the less interest there will be. I hope you at least understand that.” Hestar said with characteristic condescension.

Valerion rolled his eyes. “Yes, I am aware. Fortunately, I am not responsible for funding the upcoming nuptials.”

“Barring the elephant.” Hestar said making scrawling something down, folding the parchment and sealing it.

“Yes, barring the elephant.” Valerion said as Hestar passed the missive to him. Valerion admired the wax seal of the Iron Bank stamped in black wax. “What is this?”

“Evidence that the Iron Bank sourced the information regarding Dornish trade. Lest no one believe you.”

Valerion placed the parchment into his ledger to ensure it did not go awry. “Why wouldn’t they believe me?”

“I wouldn’t.” Hestar’s face remained cold and impassive.

Valerion sighed and stood. “Let’s begin with an offer of 1,000 golden dragons with northern wood. It should at the very least get the Lord Stark’s attention. I’ll have it delivered next week.”

“I’ll draw up the paperwork, remember my fee also.”

“Believe me, Hestar. Even I am not such a fool as to cross the Iron Bank.” Valerion bid the keyholder a nod and departed. Hestar was a businessman at heart and had little time for formalities.

Valerion next made his way to the harbour by way of the River Gate. The workers were busy at this time of the day and the noise of shouting sailors and hammering shipwrights assailed Valerion’s ears from all angles. He had gained a passing familiarity with the Harbourmaster who was responsible for checking every ship who entered the city shore. He was a rotund man who had grown far too comfortable in his position and if Valerion were to hazard a guess, far too comfortable taking bribes as well.

Fortunately, he was easy to find as he was always at his post, a somewhat run-down wooden building that was near as long as an ocean vessel. It was guarded by two city watchmen from the outside, busy chatting to one another.

“You think the commander’ll find out?” The one on the left muttered.

“Nah. It’s a surprise. Besides the boys are good for–” The other turned to him. “Oh, it’s you. The one from the castle who was nearly knifed yesterday.”

“Heard about that did you?” Valerion sneered.

“Saw the bodies. You’re messed up in the head.” The left watchman for his part simply let the conversation happen, content to observe. “Don’t be doing none of that in the city.”

Valerion shrugged. “So long as I’m not attacked in the city I won’t have to, will I?”

Leftie muttered something Valerion didn’t catch. Valerion didn’t particularly care to find out what it was and so made his way inside. His meeting with the harbourmaster didn’t take too long. After the man’s initial shock had worn off, he had accepted the bribe and said it wasn’t his problem. That wouldn’t necessarily help with the getting the elephant beyond the harbour but at least ensured it would arrive before the wedding.

Next up he had to check up with Jadewing. Valerion made his way to the Dragonpit, his hair rippling in the wind. It reminded Valerion of how he felt when he flew, something he sorely missed. He had yet to take a greater interest in Jadewing’s recovery since Princess Rhaenys had interrogated him at the betrothal tourney, busy as he was. The Princess Rhaenys may be young, but he had been genuine when he called her wise. At least, in that way children tended to be.

**************************************************************

Zēatīkun

“I’m just saying, Silverwing is not a liar.” The smaller tiercel, Caraxes, snorted from his pen.

“I’m not calling Silverwing a liar. I name you a liar.” Balerion rumbled from his pen. Zēatīkun could practically feel the vibrations when he spoke.

“How dare you call my egg a liar.” Vhagar, the true matriarch of the pit, snapped.

“Do you believe in the ice wall?” Zēatīkun asked.

“…no.” Vhagar said. “It does sound made up. But you can’t call Caraxes a liar. Only I may call him a liar.”

“Silverwing is the one who brought it up!” Caraxes squawked. “She’s the one who’s been there!”

“I think you are confused, and you confuse the story your clutchmate told you.” Balerion offered.

“I am not confused. I am not Dreamfyre.” Caraxes snorted. Zēatīkun imagined fire spurting out of his mouth.

“Don’t drag your clutchmate into this! Dreamfyre is very… gentle.” Vhagar said. There wasn’t really a dragon word for ‘gentle’, it was more of a human concept. But then, as far as Zēatīkun could tell from her time imprisoned there, Dreamfyre was a very human dragon.

Here was the fact of the matter; Zēatīkun could clutch alone, as Dreamfyre and Vhagar had done, but she did not care to. Vermithor was mated to Silverwing, and she wished them both luck. Her interactions with them had been few and tainted with pain, but Vermithor seemed like a nuisance to interact with. There was a dearth of viable tiercels around. Caraxes seemed like a headstrong fledgling at times, and the less said about the one that Vhagar called a worthless egg-eater, the better.

That left Balerion. He had stopped making strange sounds after her human… did something while she recovered. (She was fairly certain that her human had passed on the gift of her mother Āeksionperzys from the horrid creature Aurion Varezys to Balerion. What this gift was largely did not make sense to Zēatīkun. That was not for her to know. Balerion was better now, that was what mattered.) She had seen just a glimpse of him, on the day that the girl her human rider desired to mate with claimed him to ride. He was massive.

His scales were dark against the falling rock. He was handsome, in the way of dragons, and his scales now gleamed with health. He remembered Valyria. He would be a good mate, if she could only get out of this hole and entice him into a dance. Their humans were seeking to mate already, it would be a good fit.

All this to say, he would be an excellent mate – she simply had too many hens to compete with; Meleys, who Zēatīkun could not begrudge after risking her own life to save her. Dreamfyre, who was very… sweet… as the humans would say. Vhagar, his old war comrade.

So, she asked blunt as her kind were wont to be; “Balerion, would you consider taking any of the hens here to mate?” It would be a waste of time if the only thing keeping him from one of the others were these walls.

Caraxes, who had been expounding upon how he was not a liar and not confused, and there truly was a giant wall made of ice far away, choked on his flame and fell silent.

Meleys, who had been sleeping as far as Zēatīkun was aware, chimed in, sounding almost sly. “Go on, Balerion. Would you?”

“I suppose.” Balerion said. “Are any of you expressing interest?”

“I’m not.” Dreamfyre said. “Not after what your rider did to Rhaena.”

Vhagar let out a very human sounding sigh. “Hatchling—”

“No, Broodmother. She was my first. My only. I will not forgive or forget.” Dreamfyre snapped out, rather uncharacteristically.

“Which rider?” Balerion asked.

“I’m sorry?” Dreamfyre asked.

“Maegor, or Aerea? Maegor broke your rider’s spirit. Aerea broke her heart. Which do you blame me for?” Balerion asked calmly.

“…I blame you for Maegor. Aerea was a human-hatchling. It was… it was ill done. All of it.” Dreamfyre said quietly.

“It was. I would not pursue you, please do not fear.” Balerion said.

“Well, I must admit I have no desire to clutch again.” Vhagar said after a pause. “That is for much younger dragons. And if I had wanted you, I would have made it clear before now.”

Balerion sounded amused. “Thank you for clarifying that, Vhagar.”

So, it was down to Zēatīkun and Meleys then.

“Does anyone care about me? Perhaps I would like to mate?” Caraxes said loudly.

Zēatīkun ignored him. So did Meleys, who purred with her subvocal range outside of the human hearing range, but loudly enough that Zēatīkun could hear her intent. “I certainly would not be opposed to a flight. Perhaps the next time our humans take us out?”

“Meleys, what is the likelihood of both of us being out at the same time?” Balerion asked. “Our riders are not close.”

“It is possible.”

“It may be.” Balerion acknowledged.

Zēatīkun hissed, and timbered her jaws. “I originally asked. First rejection is mine. And I will fly with you, Balerion, dragon of Daenys Targaryen.”

“That is very forceful, Zēatīkun, dragon of Valerion Qoherys.” Balerion said. He did not sound upset at the idea.

“It is the way it has always been.” Zēatīkun said firmly.

Balerion gave a sound equivalent to a human chuckle. “I do not remember such forceful courting practices before.”

Zēatīkun gave a sniff of distaste to cover the fact that she had had minimal interaction with other dragons before coming here. She was vaguely afraid that she would have been considered much like the Egg-Stealer on that spit of land – unknowing of regular draconic social convention.

“Perhaps that is the convention in the West Island, but in the Summer Lands, we take what we want.” Zēatīkun said haughtily.

“And if I desire to take what I want?” Meleys asked, sounding more curious than contradictory.

“Then it is nothing that a small spar would not fix. The winner would obviously be able to provide stronger offspring.” Zēatīkun pointed out.

“Ah, I see. In which case, I formally withdraw my suit, O noble dragon of the Summer Lands.” Meleys said drily. “I do not see a fight between us going well for me.”

“You could always become my mate.” Caraxes said. “We could have beautiful red eggs.”

“No thank you.” Meleys said. “As Vhagar said, if I wanted you, you would have known by now.”

“Rude.” Caraxes huffed. “…you’re not rejecting me because of…” He trailed off.

“You are not the first dragon to be built for speed instead of bulk.” Balerion offered kindly. “The humans have short memory, but I saw many that looked like you before leaving Valyria. I’m sure that you could outfly me, for example.”

Zēatīkun had to have him. The way that he was a good leader, even to annoying tiercels just barely in their majority, stoked her inner flame. He would be an excellent sire for any clutch.

Caraxes, meanwhile, seemed to perk up from what Zēatīkun could hear and smell. “Really? I mean, yes. Of course you did.”

“I’m sure your mate will be born someday. I have many clutches, and the humans keep having them as well.” Dreamfyre offered. “There’s a beautiful golden egg that I’m looking forward to seeing hatched, for example.”

Vhagar sighed contentedly. “My own dam was a beautiful gold. It would be good to see it in my… what’s the human word? Egg’s clutch?”

“Grandchild, broodmother?” Dreamfyre asked.

“Yes. That’s the human word. Grramchhhile.” Vhagar tried to sound out the word. Zēatīkun thought it a good effort – unfortunately, the human tongue butchered most words. Like her name – Zēatīkun was a beautiful name. Jadewing – or maybe it was more like Jay Dwing- was not as nice. Their fiddly little mouths just made so many sounds. They could not communicate with subvocal rumbles or scent markers, or even temperature, the way that dragons could.

Overhead, the humans began to make noise. Zēatīkun knew what this meant – soon they would bring her food. She did not care for the hole most of the time, but she liked the attentiveness of the humans, and she liked being fed regularly instead of having to hunt for skinny meat. Maybe today it would be cows. She liked cows.

She flopped on her side and made sad noises. Her temperature marker indicated mischief, which the other dragons would be able to tell, but the humans couldn’t. They would believe her to still be recovering and wait upon her hand and foot – or wing and claw, as it were. This was because they had been doing that for the past three months, and they still have not realised.

“Oh, woe! Woe! I am so sad. So very sad.” Zēatīkun said.

Balerion gave the draconic equivalent of a chuckle. “A worthy performance.”

“Hush, don’t let me break character.” Zēatīkun said through the wall, before continuing the noises for the sake of the humans. “Oh! If only I had delicious meats! Give them to me right now! Lest I die of lack of meats!”

But it was not the spare humans with delicious foods. It was her stupid rider. Zēatīkun sat up and stopped playing around. Her rider made soft, apologetic noises. Zēatīkun tilted her head. Her rider then began speaking the human version of Draconic. “I’m sorry for leaving you.”

Ah, well. She knew he would be gone for a bit. He didn’t smell quite the same. She would have told him that she forgave him, but again; humans could not understand the nuances of Draconic. It was primarily a one-way communication system, which rankled, but was largely unimportant. Clearly, whoever had deigned to understand the dragon’s tongue had been a stupid human.

Honestly – she wasn’t mad at him. 3 months to a dragon is nothing. 3 months to a human was – could they spawn in that much time? It was certainly possible. What would he do without her to guide him? Zēatīkun tried to impart this by nosing at his outstretched hand and sending benevolent feelings down the bond. Silly human. No need to avoid her.

“Do you want to fly with me, Zēatīkun?” Her human asked. Of course she wanted to fly! She had been down there for so long. The only downside was that the spare humans would not fuss over her as much, but still. They’d still feed her if they knew what was good for them.

She laid flat upon the floor. Her rider climbed up. “Fly, Zēatīkun.”

Well, she would need to get out of this hole first, but yes. She would.

**************************************************************

Jaehaerys

It was shaping up to be a lovely dinner. However, as Alyssa was sitting down, she said, “Where is Saera?” Daemon screeched from her hip.

“If Saera doesn’t have to come to dinner, I don’t want to come either!” Viserra said quickly. Rhaenys, who had been watching Viserra, turned to her parents open-mouthed to argue.

“No, little fawn.” Aemon said swiftly, pulling out her chair. “You’re still coming to family dinners.”

“Aunt Saera doesn’t have to come.” Rhaenys muttered petulantly.

“Saera will not be joining us for the foreseeable future.” Alysanne said.

“Why?” Baelon asked, helping Viserys into his seat.

Alysanne looked at Jaehaerys. Jaehaerys looked at Alysanne. Alysanne raised an eyebrow. Clearly, no help would come from that quarter.

“Saera has disgraced the family.” Jaehaerys began.

“What’s she done now?” Alyssa asked.

“How is this worse than the small council table?” Aemon asked.

“What’s wrong with the small council table, Papa?” Rhaenys asked.

Jocelyn grimaced, which Jaehaerys found unfair. She hadn’t even been there. “Nothing, sweetling.”

Rhaenys leaned around her mother to look at her father. She stared at him, trying to get a reaction. Aemon pointedly did not look at her.

“So, what did she do?” Alyssa asked, deftly moving Daemon as he attempted to yank on her hair.

“I don’t have to explain my decisions to you.” Jaehaerys sniffed.

“Would you have preferred that she were not with the boy?” Alysanne asked sweetly. “Or just that she did not interfere when the boy would have been stabbed?”

Aemon worked it out first. “The boy—Valerion Qoherys?”

“The very same.” Alysanne smiled beatifically.

“We’re disowning Saera for being with the man she’s going to marry before they were wed?” Alyssa asked Baelon.

“I think we’re disowning Saera for killing someone.” Baelon replied, frowning.

“Oh, she didn’t kill anyone.” Alysanne interjected.

“…we’re disowning Saera for pre-marital sex with the man she’s going to marry.” Baelon nodded to Alyssa.

“What’s pre-marital sex?” Rhaenys asked loudly.

“Never you mind, sweetling. All you need to know is to not behave like Aunt Saera.” Jocelyn said.

Rhaenys nodded. “Lest Grandfather cast me out of the family and throw me away!” This was accompanied by grand gesturing. Gaemon gurgled.

Daemon, who had been attempting to grab at Alyssa, suddenly stilled. He looked around the room warily. Clearly, someone was after his title of youngest child in the family, and it was not to be borne. They’d have to keep an eye on him – it was all well and good for Daemon to play roughly with Gael, but Gaemon was another matter entirely.

Viserys, swept up in the spirit of things but not really understanding what Rhaenys meant, yelled, “Throw!” It was presumably meant in solidarity with Rhaenys but came across more as a call for her banishment from the family. Jaehaerys thanked the gods that the food had not arrived yet for the children to pelt one another with.

Alas, Jaehaerys stopped his thanks when Lord Qoherys swept into the room, carrying an inordinately large of amount of parchment. He gave a characteristically poor excuse for a bow before rushing to the table. There was no seat set up, so he went to the empty end of the table and began looking over the scrolls.

“Lord Qoherys, perhaps you are confused. I do believe that I specifically informed you that you need not join the family at dinner.” Jaehaerys did his best not to let his growing frustration show.

Alysanne turned to Jaehaerys and put on a most forced smile. “The boy is simply responding to my invitation to the table.”

“Certainly he would be more comfortable at another.” Alyssa remarked. “The small council table perhaps?” Baelon subsequently elbowed her in the side, being careful to avoid Daemon.

“One does not eat at the small council table, Aunt Alyssa.” Rhaenys said as if a wizened sage.

“I quite agree, Princess. Such a symbol of royal authority should be treated with the utmost respect.” Lord Qoherys smirked.

Jaehaerys longed to kill him, but alas. It was too late for that.  For whatever reason, a servant produced a chair for Lord Qoherys, though he did not sit in it. Meanwhile, Daemon had finally spotted the challenger to his throne as Gaemon grizzled and waved his arms. Daemon let loose a shriek, presumably meant to be a battle cry, and moved as if trying to lunge across the table at his prey.

“Daemon, no.” Viserys giggled as if this was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. “Daemon, we don’t do that, it’s dinner time!” Daemon babbled angry infant profanities across the table in Gaemon’s general direction.

“Why have you brought the library with you, Lord Qoherys?” Baelon asked, moving Daemon a seat further from his target.

“Ah, apologies, my prince.” Qoherys said organising the scrolls in a particular fashion. “On the day of my recovery from the Deep Sleep, his grace the King demanded I complete a proposal for the repair and reconstruction of Harren’s castle.”

“You missed your deadline for that by more than a moon. Nought will come of it now. To say nothing of the lack of propriety to do this at dinner.” Jaehaerys snapped.

Lord Qoherys seemed to look at him somewhat sincerely. “Humbly Your Grace, I must disagree. Much of mine own effort has been placed into this proposal, and while it may be of little use to myself as I do not hold the seat of Harrenhal, the Crown and House Strong may still find use from it.”

Jaehaerys did not trust this man as far as he could strike him. If anyone would agree that the hubris of restoring Harren’s castle outweighed the benefit, it was his heir. “How presumptuous of you. Do you not agree, Aemon?”

Aemon looked between his father and Lord Qoherys as if trying to work out what this was really about. “I suppose it seems a bit unnecessary. Harrenhal is a ruin, and it seems unlikely to change. Still, it is an intriguing puzzle. Why not hear what Lord Qoherys wishes to say if he is to put such effort into a fruitless task? As he himself admits, it is not likely to be of any benefit to him.”

“I am rather keen to see Qoherys prove himself a fool.” Alyssa smirked.

Daemon babbled his own assent, or perhaps he simply wished to be moved to his original seat and thus nearer to his target. With a nod to his audience, Lord Qoherys unfurled the first scroll, which was a rudimentary map of Harrenhal and the surrounding land, including up to the edge of the God’s Eye.

“Goodfather, assembled goodfamily, let me begin by saying that of course a plan to rebuild the castle itself must venture far beyond the castle walls. Were I ever to hold Harren’s Castle, I would not make your vaunted daughter and sister stay in a ruin.” He produced a stick from somewhere (which Daemon eyed greedily) and pointed at the outlines of the towers. “The first area of reconstruction will be the Kingspyre Tower, which will house not only our growing family—”

“Before we go further, is Saera already with child?” Alyssa interrupted. Jaehaerys paled.

“If she is, I don’t know of it yet.” Lord Qoherys continued smoothly. “I am making allowances for the future. Now, the Kingspyre tower is substantial enough to maintain a notable household including a sizeable family and any needed servants, especially while the remainder of the castle is rebuilt. Harren Hoare built the castle nearly on top of a naturally forming basalt outcropping, which was then carted to the site by thralls. Some of the cellar systems are built into the quarry, as a matter of fact. I will simply be paying people to mine it and letting them go home to sleep.”

“How generous of you.” Aemon said.

Lord Qoherys shrugged. “If living in the Free Cities taught me anything it is that freedmen are more likely to want to do things for you than slaves. With slavery, you have to be constant oversight and check the work besides. It would extend the construction and reduce potential reliability. It’s easier and a higher quality of labour to just have free workers.”

He tapped his map with the stick. “This leads me into my second point. The quarry, not the slavery. If my wife and I ever take up residence in Harren’s castle, we will need a space for our dragons; Jadewing and now Balerion. We can repurpose the opened quarry, that way they will have shelter when it rains and freedom of movement unlike your dragon pit, which I still do not care for.”

“You’re welcome for treating your sick dragon and feeding her.” Jaehaerys said with a raised eyebrow.

“And saving her life!” Alyssa interrupted. “And carrying her back to King’s Landing!”

“You and Meleys didn’t carry her back?” Baelon tilted his head towards her.

Alyssa huffed. “You did, and I would see you properly credited for your work.”

Daemon took advantage of her distraction to attempt to lunge across the table again. He momentarily slipped out of her arms, then was caught by Lord Qoherys. For a moment, they both stared at one another. Lord Qoherys then tucked Daemon against him onto his hip and gestured with his free hand and the stick. “As I was saying—”

“Give me back my child!” Alyssa demanded.

“No, he’s my assistant for the presentation.” Lord Qoherys said. “I’m hardly about to run off with him.”

Alyssa tried to rise, but Alysanne cleared her throat. “Perhaps we could allow Lord Qoherys to continue?”

Lord Qoherys nodded at her, then at Daemon. “As my assistant and I were saying, we would mainly want stone carvers, miners, masons and the like to begin with. Assistant, please hold the stick while I change the scroll?”

Daemon babbled at him but accepted the stick. With his free hand, Lord Qoherys brought up a map of the hamlet of Harren’s town, wrestling the scroll into place. No one offered to help. Once it was done, Lord Qoherys nodded at Daemon. “Thank you, assistant. May I have my stick back?”

Daemon babbled at him and attempted to hit him with it. Lord Qoherys caught the stick, pulling it out of Daemon’s hand. Daemon stared at his now empty hand, then scowled. Lord Qoherys puffed out his cheeks, and Daemon was startled into laughing.

Lord Qoherys dropped the face as quickly as he had made it and used the stick to draw a rough circle around the hamlet. “In order for a total restoration of the castle, Harrentown’s expansion is a necessity. We will need to grow the population of Harren’s Town and the infrastructure surrounding the castle, but for the moment, most of the workers will presumably be staying in the castle itself, it is certainly large enough. However, a town cannot be a workcamp of masons and miners alone. To that end, I intend to reach out to contacts in other towns and bring them and their businesses there – people will need maesters or wood witches for treatment, one septon, ideally two, and more to grow a thriving town. I intend to grow Harrentown into a functioning town, that will outlive both me and any work on Harrenhal itself. Now, I will reach out to business contacts, such as the ones I have made through the Iron Bank, but I also intend to establish a centre of learning after the Kingspyre Tower is done.”

“You mean to rival the Citadel?” Jocelyn asked, shocked.

Valerion—no, Lord Qoherys shook his head. Daemon, tragically, copied him. “I do not, my lady. The Citadel is a centre of all learning in Westeros. None can take this from them. I mean to establish a healing centre that will teach more people how to manage illness and injury thereby drawing greater numbers to Harren Town. Anyone who wishes may use it as a stepping stone to the Citadel, and I would pay for this honour if they’re found to be of a high enough standard, to ensure that there are no hard feelings with the maesters. After all, they will be the first set of teachers for the healing centre. All that would be required is that the students are of sound mind, and willing to learn.”

“Not even sound body?” Jaehaerys asked.

Lord Qoherys grinned boyishly. “Mmm. It seemed a bit hypocritical at the moment, my king. Did it not, assistant?” Daemon, who was currently being held up by Lord Qoherys’ so-called injured arm, babbled, and reached for the stick. It was held out of his grasp.

“Assistant, can you please help me with the next scroll?” Lord Qoherys asked.

Baelon leaned back. “That’s not a good idea…”

This was not heeded. Jaehaerys had been informed Daemon’s favourite activities with parchment involved ripping them and eating them. Lord Qoherys was apparently unaware of this. Daemon, as expected, attempted to shove the parchment into his mouth. Lord Qoherys dropped the stick and wrestled the parchment away from Daemon.
Well, at least Daemon’s spit seemed to help it stick up a bit more. Daemon babbled angrily at Lord Qoherys, who simply hiked him further up his hip.

Lord Qoherys, now divested of his stick, gestured with his hand to a large map of Harrenhal in the Riverlands. Thank the Gods Daemon did not eat it, it looked expensive. “I will of course be paying for this by using the gifts that the Gods have given me. It will be necessary to expand fishing throughout the God’s Eye, and more importantly, increase agriculture around the town and castle. The land is fertile, it simply needs to be worked. I am also going to take advantage of the connection to the Blackwater Rush and encourage trade to feed King’s Landing with the produce collected. If you see fit to grant me a charter, it would also be prudent to follow the example of the Lannisters of Lannisport and make the city thrive on a port. I must also request the possible extension of the Kingsroad to Harrenhal, as goods would be able to enter King’s Landing via road as well. I would, of course, be happy to discuss import and export tariffs with you.”

“Surely they would fall under the remit of House Tully, as lord paramount of all river houses?” Aemon asked, raising an eyebrow. “I believe that the current lord of House Tully is Rowlf Tully? Have you spoken with him? Or perhaps his son Grover, who is acting Lord?”

“Not yet, my prince.” Lord Qoherys said smoothly. “Actually, I was going to discuss future alliances with the next scroll. Please hold all questions until the end.”

“What length of road would you require?” Jaehaerys asked.

“Ideally, we would be able to have it travel west through the Butterwell lands, instead of straight south from the existing road.” Lord Qoherys paused, clearly running the figures in his mind. He idly bounced Daemon as he did so. “Hm… what do you think, assistant?”

“Ba!” Daemon announced.

“I see.” Lord Qoherys said seriously. “My assistant says that we may need forty-eight miles but should say fifty to make it sound better.”

“Ba!” Daemon shouted again.

“I see. Tell your assistant that you’ll get twenty miles, and not a stone more.” Jaehaerys said.

“Twenty-five, and I pay for the rest of the way.” Valerion said boldly.

Jaehaerys leaned forward. “Twenty-five, but it’s a dirt track.”

Valerion leaned forward as well. “Twenty-five, stone and cobble, and I provide the stone.”

“Basalt from Harrenhal’s mines?”

Valerion shook his head. “Granite from the Vale. Same standard as the Kingsroad.” 

Jaehaerys scoffed. “That will be expensive.”

Valerion shrugged. “And I will make road markers for the Kingsroad throughout the Riverlands.”

Jaehaerys shook his head. “Your wits have left you.”

“Perhaps, but they still serve me to know that basalt is no good for roads – too soft. Don’t worry about my sources of income, I have plans.” Valerion said.

Jaehaerys raised an eyebrow. “You have plans, do you?”

Valerion tipped his head in a mock-bow. “Please hold all questions until the end.”

Jaehaerys suddenly remembered that this was Lord Qoherys, whom he did not like, not Valerion, who attempted to get him onside by discussing roads. Curse the boy for knowing his weakness.

Lord Qoherys put up his final map, managing to not let Daemon interfere. This work was of Westeros as a whole.

“I currently have a mining operation in Tarth that is making a fair bit of income, shared with Lord Tarth of course.” Lord Qoherys began. “My thought is to ask for some of the miners to be transferred to Harrenhal, should they be amenable to such travel. With their experience they would prove most invaluable. I was initially going to seek out the Lannisters for their mining expertise, but…”

“But Saera publicly snubbed the Lannister boy?” Alyssa pointed out.

“The situation was handled indelicately.” Lord Qoherys agreed. “Nonetheless, I also have a new business venture with Northern timber – more on that in a moment – and I have a financial advisor with the Iron Bank. I truly believe that by investing into the wider infrastructure, the lands of Harrenhal can be turned to support the castles wider reconstruction. Lastly, I need mention that in my dealings with the Iron Bank I have been informed that large swaths of wood are being passed to Volantis, then being sold to Dornish merchants as Qohorik timber.”

“And you’re getting money from the Dornish?” Aemon demanded.

“Technically no. I have begun this investment only today. Though I do feel pressed to tell you that they seem to be engaging with shipwrights as well. Assistant, can you please deliver this to the king?” He pulled a sealed letter from behind him – what concerning sleight of hand – and then immediately handed it to Daemon. Daemon did as he was wont to do with parchment and attempted to eat it. Lord Qoherys handed Daemon to Baelon, who handed him to Alyssa, and so on and so forth until the boy reached Jaehaerys. He then had to bear the indignity of wrestling his grandson for a letter.

It was somewhat wet from the boy, but the seal was unbroken – it was from the Iron Bank or, at the very least, an official representative. Opening it confirmed Lord Qoherys’ suppositions in plain text.

To the acquaintance of Valerion Qoherys

It has been noted by interested parties within the Iron Bank and Braavos that large quantities of raw timber have been making their way to the castle of Ghost Hill. This has been done by way of trade with numerous third parties, most notably the family Vhassar of Volantis.

Due to a growing financial relationship, it was deemed appropriate to make Valerion Qoherys aware of these developments, despite his relation to one of the participants. In this he speaks with the words of Iron Bank of Braavos, and they should be treated as such.

Keyholder and Westerosi representative

Maros Hestar

Jaehaerys looked at Lord Qoherys. “Who are the family Vhassar?”

Lord Qoherys winced, almost imperceptibly. “The current head of the family is a man known as Belicho Vhassar, son of Belicho Vhassar. His wife is named Marqela of the family Vaelaros. The last I heard, they have three sons – the first being named Belicho to honour his sire and grandsire, the second named Tessario to honour the late brother of the current Belicho Vhassar, and the third named Malaquo, to honour the father of Marqela Vaelaros.”

“This letter claims that you are related to the family?” Jaehaerys pressed.

Lord Qoherys paused, clearly deciding whether to acknowledge this or to declaim the letter. Eventually, he gave one shallow nod.

“Is this not a conflict of interest?” Jaehaerys continued. “To suborn your family’s wealth and plans?”

“I do not consider myself beholden to the family Vhassar. Instead, I impress upon you the urgency of the Dornish clearly building ships.”

Aemon inhaled sharply. Everyone looked at him, and he sighed. “When you first entered the city Lord Qoherys, you interrupted a petition from Lord Tarly. Not one of us paid him heed, but if I recall correctly, he was worried about Dornish rearmament.”

Valerion inclined his head to Aemon. “Most likely that the Dornish utilise raids among the marcher lords as means to familiarise themselves with the tactics in use prior to a larger assault.”

“Would that not risk greater escalation prior to a surprise invasion?” Alyssa said.

“For what reason? If the raiders are caught, they can be easily disavowed. It is not as if mere foot soldiers would be informed of any future plans.”

Jaehaerys was about to give his input when Daemon, upset that he had lost everyone’s attention, grabbed hold of Jaehaerys’ beard and tugged. Alyssa barked out a laugh. Baelon quickly rose and attempted to retrieve Daemon. Daemon did not like this and held onto Jaehaerys’ beard for dear life. In the background, Rhaenys was giggling alongside Viserys who laughed uproariously. Alysanne sipped her wine as if she saw nothing. Eventually Daemon grew distracted by Viserys laughing and in a moment of weakness was pulled away by his father.

Lord Qoherys took advantage of the distraction to sit down at the table, as if he was truly a member of the family. Servants bustled forward with the first course, including a plate for Lord Qoherys. It was not to be borne.

Jaehaerys looked at Alysanne, who raised an eyebrow at him, then began to eat the soup – it was a spiced parsnip soup with cream, and normally Jaehaerys was altogether too happy to eat it, but Lord Qoherys was at his table. Granted, he was far enough away that Jaehaerys had to crane his neck to see him, but still.

“Lord Qoherys, what are you doing at my table?” Jaehaerys asked.

“Eating, goodfather.” Lord Qoherys said.

Jaehaerys scowled at him. “And did I not say that you and Saera were not to grace my table?”

Lord Qoherys made a show of looking around. “But my betrothed is not here goodfather?”

“Stop calling me that.”

The corner of Lord Qoherys' mouth twitched as he attempted to hide a smirk. “Am I not to wed your daughter?”

“She is no daughter of mine.” Jaehaerys snapped.

Alyssa clinked her spoon against the side of her bowl boorishly. “Oh, gods be good, we may finally get to learn what the line was for Saera.”

“I thought we agreed it was the pre-marital sex?” Baelon asked, wrestling an increasingly agitated Daemon into his seat.

“She had sex on the small council table, and that was not enough!” Alyssa snapped.

“If I may say goodsister, I believe that my goodfather is concerned because last night, three assassins attempted to enter the castle and murder me.” Lord Qoherys said.

“Yet here you sit.” Alyssa said.

“Yes, indeed. Can you think of any reason why anyone outside of this room would wish me dead?” Lord Qoherys asked.

“With your charm and wit? Only dozens. Hundreds, maybe.” Alyssa replied.

“You prove yourself wise, daughter.” Jaehaerys commented, smirking behind his spoon.

Lord Qoherys threw him a wide-eyed look, attempting to look wounded, but failed. The mirth was too visible in his eyes. “Goodfather, I thought you liked me! At least compared to your other goodsons.”

“My favourite goodson is Baelon.” Jaehaerys said calmly. “Then the Seven Who Are One and wedded to Maegelle, then Rodrik Arryn, then the eventual husbands of Viserra and Gael, then you.”

“Ah, but I am part of the rankings, am I not?”

Jaehaerys shrugged. “If only because someone needs to come last in such matters, yes.”

“Does anyone have any questions for Valerion regarding his presentation? I for one would like to ask how you intend to draw people to the Riverlands. Harrentown is not as large as you may believe.” Alysanne asked.

Lord Qoherys tilted his head in acknowledgement. “A good question, your grace. The smallfolk are in consistent need of work. Especially those in cities of large number which have grown overcrowded. By sending criers to announce the work on Harrenhal, work that will keep a man's family fed for decades will become known.”

“Drawing more people in that manner will also draws knaves and cutpurses. How do you intend to deal with them?” Aemon asked between spoonfuls of his soup.

“A good question, Aemon. Do you intend to torture them also?” Jaehaerys asked pointedly. Baelon and Alyssa both looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

Lord Qoherys cocked his head in confusion although his eyes betrayed a certain gleam. “Goodfather? For what reason would you suggest such an action?” Jaehaerys was very tempted to list every single injury he had noted on the peasant’s body as reason but Lord Qoherys did not wait for his response. “In answer to your question, eldest goodbrother, I would establish a city watch.”

“Such as the one in King’s Landing?” Baelon asked.

Lord Qoherys turned to Baelon and flashed an obviously practiced smile. “In purpose, yes. In practice, no. The city watch of Kings Landing is far too inefficient to serve as a model. Instead, I would draw inspiration from the better equipped and trained Oldtown and Lannisport watches.”

“I rather agree with the solution. Although it would be rather costly. Surely such cost would draw you away from your reconstruction effort?” Aemon said placing his spoon down and checking on Gaemon who continued to push his fists out experimentally.

Valerion continued to maintain that insufferable smile. “In the short term perhaps. I do believe that as the seasons pass it will only see continued benefits. It will also offer another avenue of employment should the people feel that they do not want to work on the castle proper, and it will show a sense of community wellbeing. It will also take our town from little more than a workcamp to a proper town.”

The farce that was this conversation had continued for too long. Time to put an end to it. “Perhaps so.” Jaehaerys ground out. “How unfortunate for yourself that you are not lord of Harrenhal, nor will you ever be such. I will be sure to pass your recommendations to House Strong, Lord Qoherys. Surely it would behove you to check up on your future wife?”

Lord Qoherys slowly blinked at him. “I am eating my dinner.”

“I am asking you to leave.” Jaehaerys told him.

Before Lord Qoherys got the opportunity to inflict further misery upon them all, Rhaenys interrupted. “Where is Aunt Saera?”

Lord Qoherys shrugged. “I do not entirely know. Somewhere in the Red Keep I should think. All I know is that she is not here.” He punctuated that statement with a glance at Jaehaerys.

“Why is she not here?” Rhaenys pouted. “I have to be here. Viserra has to be here.”

Clearly sensing the tension surrounding the topic, the girl’s mother intervened. “For what purpose do you wish to know, my little dragon?” Jocelyn asked.

Rhaenys looked at her mother. “So that I may not be present every day. Dinner is always about adult things. If Aunt Saera doesn’t have to come, then neither do I.”

Jaehaerys made note of a strange expression which crossed Lord Qoherys’ face. “If I might, Princess?” Lord Qoherys interjected.

Rhaenys turned to look at him. “Mmm. What is it, Lord Qoherys?”

“Do you remember when you told me that Jadewing might be sad because I had not been to see her?” Lord Qoherys spoke with a softness that Jaehaerys had not yet seen the man capable of.

Rhaenys nodded. “During the tournament! Did you go and see her?” For better or for worse Rhaenys seemed to perk up at the mention of the emerald dragon.

Valerion chuckled lightly. “I did and she was most relieved, but do you not think your family would feel the same, if they did not see you?”

“I suppose so.” Rhaenys said looking back at her parents.

“Mmm. Perhaps it would be best to be here. After all, family is important.” Valerion almost spoke the last part with a tinge of something deeper. Regret perhaps?

“If so, why isn’t Aunt Saera here with us?” Rhaenys repeated her original question.

“Yes, why isn’t Saera here, husband?” Alysanne asked coolly.

“She’s been disowned for pre-marital sex.” Alyssa said flatly. “I had thought we all agreed.”

“No, she was disowned for attempting to murder Lord Qoherys?” Baelon asked.

Lord Qoherys made a face. “She did not. She has had multiple opportunities to attempt to do so and has not taken them. As I previously stated, three assailants broke into my room last night. I am given to understand that they used the tunnels.” Jaehaerys’ adult children froze.

“The tunnels are a closely guarded family secret.” Alyssa said slowly.

Lord Qoherys slurped his soup, presumably to be annoying. “I am sure that a child in the kitchens or the like has found one or two, but yes. That is the general impression that I have been given. Especially since the tunnel in question was able to take them directly to my room, or near enough that they would have had directions.”

Alyssa slammed her spoon down. “Are you accusing us of anything?”

Lord Qoherys tilted his head, feigning innocence. “No, of course not. Why would anyone in this room want me dead? More to the point, if such a person were to exist – wishing me dead and being in the room – I have the utmost certainty that they would deal with it themselves.” His eyes flitted around the room, marking all of their reactions.

“You are a passable fighter. Perhaps they did not want to risk the safety of men at arms by arresting you in broad daylight.” Baelon said, apparently moving past the ‘someone in the room’ allegations swiftly. He seemed to be genuinely treating it as a thought experiment.

Lord Qoherys stared at Baelon for a moment, eyes narrowed. Then he smiled. “Perhaps. Though I must say, the assassins were… not very competent. The footman outside my door dispatched one. I dispatched the other and left the third alive for questioning. As far as I am aware, the city watch immediately killed him after he had given a paltry amount of information. Prince Aemon, as Master of Laws, you are responsible for the city watch, is that correct?”

“I am also able to handily beat you in the yard, and ‘accidentally’ use live steel in doing so. I would not resort to paltry assassins unless I was testing something.” Aemon said easily. “And I would not kill good men to do so- if it were me, I would have made sure that the guard was mysteriously off-shift.”

Lord Qoherys nodded and conceded this. Then he looked at Alyssa, clearly considering her.

“I don’t know where you sleep and I don’t plan to. I would also handle it myself, as you well know. Or should that fail, I would get Aemon to stab you for me.” Alyssa said, noting the look.

Lord Qoherys shrugged. He glanced at Baelon, before dismissing him almost immediately. If Baelon were to turn to murder, they would all of them be at risk, for his affable nature did not lend itself to the idea of him turning violent easily.

At last, Lord Qoherys leaned back and looked directly at Jaehaerys. “Goodfather, I noticed something. While your children are aware of my capabilities and are often in the yard sparring with me, you are not. The assassins had little awareness of my capabilities, especially with my arm in its present condition.”

“Are you accusing me of anything, Lord Qoherys?” Jaehaerys asked softly.

“Of course not. I am simply thinking aloud. Why punish Saera, for example? Is it truly that she had crossed a boundary, or that she had foiled a plot by being in the wrong place at the wrong time? And if the assassination had gone through, surely it would a simple matter for you as king to keep it hidden? The assassins were three peasants from Flea Bottom, and could be represented as… exceptionally lucky, shall we say.” Lord Qoherys held a firm stare across the table, his glare as sharp as the finest blade.

“What you speak could lose you your head, boy!” Jaehaerys snapped.

Lord Qoherys did not break his stare. “Oh? If you wish to prove my suspicions then by all means, take it goodfather.”

“Do not call me that.” Jaehaerys rose from his seat and leaned slammed his fist against the table, the fire in his blood boiling within him. Telling him to take his blade and be done with this nuisance, as he should have on Dragonstone.

Lord Qoherys also rose. “Why should I not? Mayhaps, you did not ever intend this union to come to fruition. That would certainly explain your decision to force Saera away, now that it has become unavoidable.”

“Get. Out.” Jaehaerys growled, his voice projecting across his family as if he were the Bronze Fury.

Lord Qoherys maintained his glare and ignored his command. “Do you love Saera, goodfather?”

Jaehaerys only pondered the question for a moment. There was no doubt in his mind that he loved her deeply. He had given her everything she had asked for, given her the world. He did not love the person she had become, a monstrous thing who had sought to kill her own mother. Even Maegor had not stooped that low. “Loving someone does not mean you permit them to be their worst self.” Jaehaerys ground his teeth together with such force that he felt pain in his jaw.

“How will banishing Saera from her family make her better?” Lord Qoherys pressed further, keeping his voice steady. “Mayhaps the gods will come and give her a vision.”

“Mayhaps,” Jaehaerys said through gritted teeth. “You should leave the family dinner to the family.”

Lord Qoherys looked to Alysanne, who said, “Please stay, goodson. Several more courses remain.”

Jaehaerys picked up his plate and handed it to a servant who came rushing to him. “I am finished with my soup. I will take the rest of my meal in my office.”

The room was quiet as he left.

**************************************************************

Saera

She had known who it was the moment that stupid peasant had mentioned the sword. She had told Beesbury and the rest about the tunnels before, when her mother had made trouble about her seeing them. Something about them being ‘bad influences upon her’. What a jape.

After Valerion dressed for the day, Saera found a maid and threatened her into helping her dress and doing her hair. After she did this, she noticed more maids going in and out of the room, but the stupid women likely hadn’t realised she was gone.

She sent a message to Alys, since Pretty Peri was otherwise busy, and met her in the gardens. Alys would then pass on a message to Beesbury. “But I thought you were intimate with Lord Qoherys now.” Alys said.

Saera tilted her head. “I don’t really see how that’s any of your concern, Sweetberry. Why? Did you desire the Stinger?”

“No!” Alys said quickly. “But… my princess… my mother said that if I got in any more trouble, she’d send me home. I don’t want to go home! I can’t see Roy there!”

Saera leaned back. “You like Roy then? You wish to be the lady of Griffin’s Roost?”

Alys nodded. “And Peri likes Jonah.”

“Well, isn’t that neatly handled then?” Saera pushed down the urge to do something stupid, like lie with Jonah and Roy to lay her claim to them. She truly didn’t care anymore. “You with Roy, Pretty Peri with Jonah, and I shall handle Beesbury.”

“But you’re getting married.” Alys said quietly.

Saera raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Lord Qoherys knows who I am, what I am. A dragon cannot be easily caged. You will deliver the letter to Beesbury on my behalf and stop worrying about Lord Qoherys.”

Alys laid a hand on Saera’s, which Saera thought uncalled for. “Do you not want Lord Qoherys, princess? If it is a bad match, I can do whatever I can to try and help?”

Saera was torn between being oddly touched that this slip of a girl thought to help her and deeply annoyed that her orders were not followed. She chose annoyed. “I don’t need or want your help. I need you to deliver the letter to Braxton. I would have chosen Peri, but she was busy being punished like a fool.”

“What’s she being punished for?” Alys asked.

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is getting the letter to Braxton. Now go!” Saera snapped. Alys made a far too amusing squeak before leaving as quickly as fast her legs would carry her. Sweetberry did have quite enjoyable legs.

Saera had to wait at least an hour before she made her way out of the Keep, so she went in search of her – no, their – new quarters. For someone of her lifestyle, they were certainly modest. Only a collection of rooms including a dressing room, bath chamber, solar containing a desk and the bedchamber, alongside two small chambers for servants to store items for convenience. Still the bedchamber was comparably spacious to her old room, and far larger than Valerion’s old dwelling. Servants continued to make their way in and out, moving various chests and boxes.

Saera observed them for the most part, only directing them if they made an exceptionally dim-witted decision regarding placement. While she did so she thumbed the hilt of the dagger Subterfuge, covered by a fold in her dress. Valerion had kept it close when they retired last night and she shifted it beneath her pillows thereafter, that way she would be able to use it again. Her beloved may or may not notice, but sure enough he would know it was with her if not with him. When the hourglass Saera prepared ran dry she made her way to the stables, to one of the horses her not-father had given her there.

It only took her a moment to locate a stableboy, a dirty thing that had less value than any of her horses.

“Ready my horse.” Saera commanded, only deigning to look at him so that he would know to whom she directed her speech.

The boy went wide-eyed. “O-o-of c-course, m’lady.”

“Oh? Are you another simpleton, like Tom the fool?” Saera smirked at her latest target.

The boy trembled in fear. “I d-d-don’t think s-so, m’lady.”

“Mmm. You don’t get to decide, simpleton.” Saera would have patted him on the head condescendingly but did not wish to catch the numerous diseases he surely carried. “Just ready my horse before I decide to punish you.”

The boy scurried off, readying her mount with a swiftness that could only be done by the truly terrified. Eventually he led Saera’s bridled chestnut mare out to her. Saera calmly inspected the mare for anything she could fault him for. The stableboy was very fortunate that she did not have longer to play with him.

“Adequate.” Saera commented, seeing the boy release a shuddering breath. Saera stared at him before a devilish idea came to mind. “Help me up.” The boy’s eyes widened once more.

“O-of c-course, m’lady. H-how–” He stuttered, causing Saera to roll her eyes.

“I need a step obviously.” Saera pointed to the mud beneath her. She did not need a step, in truth. She was a skilled rider after all, but it was still nice to have. “On your hands and knees, now.”

The boy made a groan of despair but did not argue as he sank himself partly into the mud. Saera smiled as she purposefully placed her shoe upon the boy’s neck, causing him to yelp in anguish. She made a pleased hum and then hoisted herself onto the saddle, placing as much pressure on the stableboy as possible.

“Mmm. You have been very helpful.” Saera said as she looked down at him. She spotted the growing bruise on the back of the stableboy’s neck. “What is your name?”

The boy did not look at her keeping himself looking at the ground, even as he got out of the muck. “D-Daris, m’lady.”

“Daris is a silly name.” Saera truly did not understand how peasants came up with such things. “How did you get that bruise, Daris?”

“H-horse kicked me f-from behind.” Apparently, the filthy boy was not a complete fool, unlike Tom.

“I hope we get to see each other soon, Daris.” Saera purred before bolting away.

She took a meandering path through the city, sure that many would see her, before stopping her horse behind the dragonpit and taking out a cloak that Alys had provided for her. Then she suffered the indignity of walking outside the city. Gods, if only she weren’t half as clever as she was. She never would have proposed a plan that involved this much walking. However, her not-father would never let her hear the end of it if she was caught, so walking it was.

Eventually, she reached the stretch of forest that Jadewing had been residing in – she could still see the deep furrows in the earth from her claws and the broken trees. Stood in the middle of this evidence of a dragon, as if he had any claim to it, was Braxton Beesbury.

“Princess.” His face lit up when she lowered her hood. “I knew you’d come.”

“Of course. I am nothing if not predictable.” Saera demurred, dropping the cloak as well. “And you have impressed me, Braxton.”

His eyes took on a familiar glint. “I knew I would.”

“You seem to know a lot of things.”

A smirk appeared on Braxton's face. “I know you, at the very least. Didn’t we always have such fun together? Such fun planned?”

Well, really, Saera had already grown bored of their future plans. Taking Tom Turnip to a brothel did not mean anything if she could not see it happen, for example. The fact that Braxton had yet to realise this did not bode well for him.

“Braxton, help me with my dress?” Saera purred.

“Of course, Saera!” He bounded over to help, with skilled fingers pulling at her dress to unwrap her faster. In the meantime, Saera pulled Valerion’s dagger out of the folds of her cloak where she had hidden it earlier. Her dress fell to the ground. She turned and his delight was soon eclipsed by his confusion, still he did not fully realise the danger he was in. “Saera, why do you have that?”

“Don’t you like it?” Saera pouted, advancing.

Braxton moved backwards. “Of course I do—did you steal it? From that Essosi bastard? Well done, Sae—” Saera moved faster than him and plunged the knife into Braxton’s belly. It slid in as easy as Valerion into her when they fucked.

“I’d really say borrowed.” Saera purred into Braxton’s ear. Braxton went to say something, but instead simply hissed in pain.

He moved to push her off and instead of twisting the knife as she had planned, she pulled it out and drove it through his hand. Braxton screamed out in pain, the finest sound he could ever make. He drove his shoulder into her, either by instinct or intent. Fortunately, it only partially caught Saera, who held onto the dagger with an iron grip, pulling it from Braxton’s hand as she was driven from him.

Braxton stumbled back and tripped over a loose chunk of wood from a smashed tree trunk. Saera made a mental note to thank Jadewing as Braxton went sprawling into one of the furrows in the earth. Saera went to stand over him as he attempted to crawl out with one hand.

“I don’t understand. Why?” He spluttered. Saera looked him in the eye and smiled gently before kneeling down and bring the blade to one of his knees. She hummed pleasantly as she slowly slid the dagger behind the curved bone of his knee, his body contorting along with his face in a rictus of pain. Braxton babbled out curses and pleas in equal measure until Saera simply let the dagger lie in its new home. “Gods, stop please!” He cried after a moment.

“Alas I cannot. We are having so much fun together.” Saera hummed shifting to look him in the eye. “Just as much fun as with the little peasants you sent us last night.”

Braxton’s teary eyes widened at that. “Us? You were there?” Saera sat herself on top of him to keep him pinned and reached for the dagger, twisting it as if trying to lift his knee from the rest of his leg. Braxton thrashed and bucked beneath her in an attempt to escape. It was far more fun than when they had sex. “I’m sorry! You weren’t supposed to be there!” He screamed out.

Saera pulled the blade from his leg and held its edge to Braxton’s neck. “I don’t care about that. As I said, I enjoyed myself with the toys thoroughly.” She said cheerfully, dragging the blade and nicking him in the neck.

“Then… then why are you doing this, Saera?” Braxton’s eyes darted about in panic and confusion. If he wasn’t even going to look at her, did he really need them?

“Because I love that ‘Essosi bastard’. You tried to take him from me, and he is mine!” Saera growled out the last word, bringing the dagger point to his right eye and letting it hover in plain view. Braxton closed his eyes, causing her to giggle. “If you aren’t going to use what the Gods gave you, then I suppose I should take them away.”

Braxton’s eyes, an exceptionally ordinary brown, snapped open in realisation. “W—” He only got as far as the first sound before Saera pierced his first eye with the blade, replacing his word with a horrified scream. Thank the Gods she was as smart as she was, no-one would hear him this far from the city. No-one except her. Saera pulled the blade back, his ruined eye bleeding red in contrast to his remaining brown.

“Ew. Now you look like Alyssa. At least one is more interesting than the other.” She murmured into his ear leaning against him to do so. Saera could feel his hands, grasping her hips and trying to push her away so very weakly.

“Please, Saera. Please stop.” Braxton begged. At last, he was learning how to behave appropriately.

“Look at me, Braxton.” Saera grasped his chin and directed his face to look upon hers. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

“I do! I do think you’re pretty! Please, please let me go. I’m sorry.” He sounded so very pathetic.

Saera brought the dagger to his remaining eye and swiftly repeated the process of gouging it from his dim head. Once that was done, she leaned to his ear again. “Oh well.” She mocked. “At least your final sight was a pretty one. I hope you appreciate it.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He sobbed. “Please, just don’t kill me.”

Saera smiled, though she supposed that was just for her to know now. “I won’t. We have a little while before our ‘fun’ must come to an end.” As she spoke, she snaked her hand down to his breeches. Braxton did not respond having little of import left to say. “What I will do, is remove as many of your favourite bits as possible and leave you for the crows. How does that sound?”

“Please.” He murmured as best he could.

Saera felt a malicious smirk settle on her face. “Fantastic. Let’s get started.”

True to her word Braxton was still alive when she left the clearing, although substantially… less in all regards. He would die of his wounds before she got back to the city, of that she was certain. She had wiped the blood off of herself and the knife, as best she could utilising his clothes and taken his coinpurse to sell the illusion that he had been set upon by bandits. She would still need to take a bath when she returned to their quarters.

Redressed and wrapped in a cloak, the walk back to the city was bracing and she felt her bloodlust cool as she passed through the gate. In truth only the blood cooled, the lust certainly remained. Once within the city it was a simple matter to retrieve her mare and return to the stables. Sadly, Daris was no longer about to play with. For the best perhaps, she had spent the last few hours in the clearing. The day was ending, and she needed to have a bath.

On any other day she would have had to avoid septas and handmaids, but her not-father’s declarations made it a simple affair to return to her new home. Upon her arrival, she noted their quarters had not changed greatly. There were less servants, having completed the movement of both sets of possessions. Those remaining were in the process of setting up the sconces outside as the light dimmed.

Saera moved over to one of them, who curtsied as she approached. “Princess. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Draw me a bath, a very hot bath. Oh. Some food from the kitchens also. I am hungry.” Saera did not feel the need to elaborate further.

“Which would you prefer first, Princess?” They asked. Saera just shrugged and retired to the solar, leaving the dagger tucked into one of the table drawers.

A servant appeared with a plate of roast duck and a bit of spiced parsnip soup – one of her favourites. She ate while girls filed past with buckets of steaming water to fill her bath. Perhaps there were benefits to her being in the Kitchen Keep after all. She stepped away from her food while the water was still boiling hot, and sank into it after undressing, closing her eyes. Now this was bliss – she hated the winter and the cold.

Eventually, it cooled to the point that she remembered herself and began scrubbing at the flecks of dried blood that Braxton had left, the buffoon. She was partway through one of her legs when she heard approaching footsteps. Saera submerged the leg beneath the water, no need to alarm any servants after all. Fortunately, it was her husband to be, who opened the door gently apparently not wishing to unduly shock her. How noble of him.

Valerion made a pleased hum as he cast his eyes upon her, leaning on the doorframe. “Mmm. What did I do to deserve such a beautiful woman in my quarters?”

“Our quarters.” Saera said, feigning offense. Although, the smile surely made it seem a poor act.

Valerion smiled back and came to kneel down besides the tub. “True. Yet the question remains.”

Saera cast her eyes to the ceiling as if in deep thought. “You are very handsome and strong. Those are perhaps your greatest qualities.”

“Perhaps?” Valerion cocked an eyebrow.

Saera brought a hand to his cheek and gave him an affectionate pat. “You are also very fun, both in and out of the bedchamber.”

He moved to kiss her hand, his lips soft as silk. “That is a compliment indeed.”

Saera moved her leg to the edge of the tub. “Would you assist me?”

“Certainly, my love.” Valerion said, taking the sponge and gliding it pleasantly along her leg. Saera did not speak for a while as her intended worked away, instead indulging in the caress of his hand as he cleaned her. “I take it your hunt went well.”

“Very.” Saera held her eyes closed basking in the sensations. “You are safe from the fool.”

“May I know who the fool is now?” Valerion asked. Were her intended anyone else, she would demand he concentrate on her bath. Alas, he was not just anyone.

“It appears that bees bleed just as much as any other man.” Saera told him. Could she have said it in plainer language? Yes. Would that be wise in the keep full of eyes and ears? Doubtful.

Valerion chuckled at that. “A pity I was not there to assist you. We could have done wonderful things with him together.”

Saera hummed at the image of Braxton ‘the eunuch’; eyeless, fingerless and bearing a thousand cuts and stabs, attempting to do what little he could to seek help before his pain overwhelmed him. “I will describe it to you in great detail later tonight.” Saera’s leg was getting cold, so she returned it to the water and rose the other.

“I look forward to it.” Valerion said moving to continue his ministrations. Were he not meant for greater things; he would have made a fine servant.

Saera indulged a moment before continuing the conversation. “How did your meeting with the Iron Bank go?”

“No one died, sadly, but they have been made aware that I have long since procured an elephant. I also saw your family.”

“Who?” Saera asked, frowning.

Valerion pressed a kiss to her hair. “I forced my way into the family dinner, so most of them. Your father ended up leaving, driven out.”

Saera turned suddenly. “Tell me everything.”

Valerion smirked as he moved the sponge down her leg, finally ridding it of the bee’s blood. “Where to begin? I had presented my case regarding Harrenhal and everything needed there. Your father was angry enough I did that much. When I had stayed to eat, he got… heated.”

“And he did not have you dragged from the table?” Saera asked.

Valerion smirked at her. “I was your mother’s personal guest. She rules the family, no? After that, I ruminated over the attempt to kill me wondering if any of your family were responsible.”

“Doubtful. A dragon would not hire a bee to do their dirty work.” Saera commented, continuing to enjoy the caress of the sponge work its around her body.

“Agreed. I did not seriously entertain the notion. However, it was most amusing to imply your father’s involvement in such affairs. He got angry, I asked him a question he could not answer without curbing his mountain of pride and when it became clear I would not be leaving, he chose to flee himself.” Valerion chuckled at the memory. Saera found the image of her not-father running from her man to be almost as satisfying as her day had been.

“What was the question that felled him? Mayhaps I shall use it in the future.” Saera smirked, swelling with pride for Valerion’s unprecedented achievement.

“I asked him if he loved you.” Valerion squeezed her leg gently and stopped his motions, seemingly waiting for her response.

Saera paused. “And he just… left? He did not answer?”

“He implied that he loved you. He said that loving someone did not mean letting them be at their worst.”

Saera scoffed, mostly to herself. “As if I have ever been anything more than what I am.”

“I love you, as you are.” Valerion offered.

Saera smirked at him. “Of course you do.”

“And I know you love me.” Valerion continued.

Saera splashed him lightly, but did not deny it. Gods, love was such a silly thing. “This water grows cold, hardly suitable for a dragon.”

Valerion simply stood and extended his hand, which she took to remove herself from the water. She felt the shiver travel through her body as the late winter air touched her skin. It did not last long as she was swiftly embraced by Valerion wrapping her in his warmth, while his hands rested on the small of her back. The feeling would be far better if he were not still wearing clothes of his own.

“Come, the fire has been stoked.” He murmured from above her, causing her to yelp as he lifted her up bringing her to the modest chaise. As she was carried, Saera locked her legs around his waist and began to brush her lips along his jawline. She was set down gently, allowing her to stretch in the fire’s glow as if she were a cat. Valerion made no secret of his exploratory gaze, drinking her in as much as possible.

“Would you like me to take you on the chaise or the floor?” Valerion asked as he undressed.

Saera wrinkled her nose. “I just cleaned up. Not on the floor.”

“I only ask because I don’t know if it is large enough for both of us…” Valerion said.

Saera pouted, then stood suddenly, pushing him down onto the chaise in a seated position. “And now, is there enough room?”

“Oh, yes, I think that’s just right.” Valerion murmured as Saera straddled him, guiding him into her with a soft gasp.

She rolled her hips against him, and he gripped her hips in response, his fingers sinking into her flesh.

“No foreplay this time?” He asked.

“I’m wet enough.” Saera replied as she pressed kisses along his jaw, before nudging closer and biting at his neck. She suckled on the mark she made, keeping up the rhythm of riding him all the while.

“From the bath or…?”

She pulled back, smirking at him. “What do you think?”

“I think I like the idea of you touching yourself.” He purred, moving one of his hands to rub at her clit.

She arched against him, growling, “Harder!”

“You’re setting the pace.” He reminded her, his other hand coming up to palm at her breast.

“And I’m telling you harder.” Saera ordered.

Valerion rolled his eyes and picked her up. She gasped as she slid off of him. Before she could complain though, he turned her around and put her onto the chaise, her legs up on his shoulders as he pushed into her.

Saera nearly howled with the sudden feeling. “Yes, yes, like that!” She panted.

He seemed to delight in tormenting her. Every thrust was deep, but not particularly fast. She had to whine and beg before he would give in and start fucking her the way she wanted, hard and fast and deep.

She screamed louder than she had ever screamed before, and he trailed kisses down her neck and chest to thank her for it. “That’s it, love, let them hear.” He coaxed. “Let them know you’re mine.”

She still had enough presence of mind to glare at him. “I’m not yours. You are mine.” With that important distinction, he grabbed her waist and sped up until he stopped, still inside her. “All done?” She asked innocently.

“Maybe. I’d prefer to leave you… full. You understand, this way there’s less chance of my seed escaping.”

Saera felt a flutter of lust pool in her belly. “And you’ve given me a babe?”

“If your Westerosi gods are kind, I’d very much like to.” Valerion murmured, pressing a kiss to her neck. “I’d give you as many babes as you wish.”

“Fuck me on the floor, then again in the bath.” Saera ordered. “Cum in me every time.”

Valerion sank his teeth into the spot he had just been kissing, then pulled back. “As my lady commands.” After he had recovered, he guided her onto the floor, then pulled her up onto her hands and knees.

She glanced behind at him. “What are you—oh.” He had entered her, grabbing her by her hips. He fucked her hard and rough, and her wails bounced off the walls.

One hand came down to tease at her clit again, and Saera sank to her forearms, legs trembling. “Do you wish me to stop?” Valerion asked.

“No.” Saera said. “Don’t stop.” She hadn’t been expecting him to slap her ass before gripping her waist and thrusting into her again, hard and fast as ever.

“Gods, you’ve a perfect ass. Like a peach.” He told her. “Bounces so well… Gods, I really just love having you on my cock.”

Saera screamed into her forearms.

“None of that, love. I want everyone in the Seven Kingdoms to hear you.” Valerion purred.

Saera forced herself up onto her hands and Valerion squeezed her in acknowledgement. She nearly sobbed with pleasure as she tightened around him involuntarily. He came in her shortly after, she knew he did, given how fast he had been going and how he slowed again.

“I don’t believe I’m as good with a resting period.” Valerion admitted.

Saera shivered with pleasure. “No. It felt fantastic.”

“Then what do you want to have happen once I’m recovered, princess?” Valerion asked, slyly teasing at her clit.

They ended up fucking twice more on the floor before the maids came to drain the bath and noticed Saera naked in his lap, his cock fully sheathed inside her.

“Draw me a new bath.” Saera ordered as he played with her clit and one of her nipples. The maid ran out of the room, face flushed red. They fucked in the bath also.

After they had cleaned up and dried off together, both too tired to really discuss much, they both retired to the bed. There Saera allowed her head to rest on his chest, the beat of his heart helping to soothe her towards sleep. The scratch of his nails upon her head feeling as the finest of brushes.

She likely would have drifted into sleep there if not for what Valerion said next. “Which do you believe was first, the dragon or the egg?”

Saera raised her head to establish eye contact. “What kind of question is that?” Valerion just shrugged, although his eyes had a playful glint in the dark. “The egg, obviously. Elsewise where would the dragon come from.” Saera asserted confidently, truly it was a simple matter for her to answer. Satisfied, she returned to her previous position, attempting to claim sleep.

Valerion made a hum of thought. “Surely twas the dragon. Elsewise the egg would not have existed at all.” Saera opened her eyes again knowing that sleep was far away indeed.

Chapter Text

Barth

Barth signed the fifteenth letter of the evening. Hopefully, the levels of correspondence throughout the city would drop markedly once the wedding on the morrow was done. It had significantly detracted from his ability to continue the codex of laws he was compiling, despite the crown prince’s help. Barth could sense the codex was almost done; with 25 years of dedication, it would not take much longer to complete. A few months perhaps, if the Gods were willing.

He had continued to work in the library as opposed to the Tower of the Hand specifically due to the access to the various law codes he required. It also afforded him all but complete silence to complete his work. Alas, as he sealed the last letter, Jaehaerys entered and sat nearby. The slump of his shoulders, bags under his eyes, and further growth of his beard serving as good indication of his preoccupied mind.

“Should you not be at dinner, Your Grace?” Barth asked.

“It has been two weeks, and nothing has changed, Barth.” Jaehaerys groaned, rubbing his eyes. “That boy and his wife-to-be will be the death of me, I swear it.”

“Her Grace is still set on her course then?” Barth saw Jaehaerys nod in response, not mustering any further words. Barth sealed a letter and offered, “The Mother is the fiercest of the Seven when it comes to those she bore into the world.”

“Saera threatened Alysanne. I cannot forgive that. I will not.” Jaehaerys had explained this to Barth several times in the last two weeks. It did not change much between tellings. Fortunately, Barth may finally have had a solution.

“I do not counsel you to abandon your feelings on the matter, but perhaps there is another way to mend the rift between you and the Queen.” Barth began, searching for one of the missives he had received earlier in the afternoon.

“What do you suggest, friend?” Jaehaerys’ eyes had a look of desperation to them. Barth found the letter and passed it to Jaehaerys. He turned the parchment over in his hand before observing the broken seal. “From House Strong?”

Barth nodded. “Lord Bywin Strong has been gravely injured after a fall down the Kingspyre tower steps. His son Lyonel declared his intention to forge a maester's chain some time ago, leaving the lords younger brother, Ser Simon Strong as the next heir.”

“Ser Simon? He has a particular dislike for the castle, does he not?” Jaehaerys stroked his now scraggly beard, clearly thinking.

“Indeed. In the missive he declares his intent to forego the ‘accursed ruin’ in favour of his family’s traditional holdings along the forks of the Trident. He has left the stewardship of Harrenhal to the crown, once his brother passes from injury. Ser Simon believes it will be a matter of days.” Barth returned to his seat and folded his hands calmly.

Jaehaerys simply rubbed his eyes again. “I fail to see how this helps. Once this becomes common knowledge every lord in the Seven Kingdoms will be jostling for it. To say nothing of the boy.” Much venom was packed into those last two words.

Barth discreetly moved his correspondence to keep the king from accidentally spitting on it. “Lord Qoherys is precisely why this is an opportunity. You yourself have said his plans for reconstruction may be beneficial to the kingdom. His efforts to rebuild the castle will keep him and Saera there and tie their coffers to its lands.” Barth personally doubted if a restoration of Harren’s castle would ever be possible, but it could at least serve as a potent distraction in that vein.

“I could not simply give the boy the castle. It is scandal enough that he is marrying Saera. To make him one of the most powerful lords of the realm would set the other lords into a frenzy. Besides, Rowlf Tully would not be able to succeed where I have failed and corral the boy. He’d soon have control of an entire kingdom.” Jaehaerys was not wrong, it could not be done – at least, not without a good cause.

Poor Rowlf had had one foot in the grave for years now, setting him the task of managing the boy may be cruel. How fortunate that such a good cause was rapidly approaching.

“Unless Lord Qoherys provided invaluable assistance to the crown.” Barth chose his words carefully, so as to not return his dear friend back to his enmity. “Set him the task of repelling this impending Dornish invasion, then permit him Harrenhal. The reward will serve as its own trap.”

Jaehaerys pondered this counsel in silence for a time. “They will believe that they have won and leave this game behind them.” The king sighed in resignation. “I will have to invite them back to the family table beforehand, lest Alysanne depart for Dragonstone.”

Barth discreetly slid Jaehaerys a so-called ‘flight plan’ – an itinerary for the dragons Silverwing and Caraxes to leave for Dragonstone, and thus have their goods and saddles ready for the day after the next. Silverwring had been outfitted with a double saddle for the first time in a very long time – not since the princess Daenerys had passed.

The flight plans served a dual purpose – if something should happen and the dragon would not land where and when expected, the flight plans showed where they were intending to go, and who their passengers were. The Prince Aemon, Princess Jocelyn, and Prince Gaemon were scheduled for Caraxes. Princess Rhaenys was scheduled to fly with her grandmother and the Princess Gael, who would presumably be in a sling much like Prince Gaemon.

Jaehaerys scowled. “Why is Aemon leaving?”

“I believe he mentioned having a short break to focus on the family, particularly Prince Gaemon. He has found these past months very... trying.” Barth said delicately. “He said that he would likely be back within the moons turn. Unless the princess Jocelyn goes by ship, they may need the queen’s help in transporting the family.”

“She can go there on the day and return.” Jaehaerys snapped.

Barth bowed his head. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Jaehaerys sighed to himself. “Very well. I shall see to it now I suppose.”

**************************************************************

Valerion

Valerion was presently sat at his desk, poring over the figures he had recorded into his ledger. He had intended to attend the royal family dinner that night, as he had done every night for the last two weeks. Alas, his stomach was twisting itself into knots now that the wedding was upon them. Mayhaps it was all a trick, and the King would take his head on the morrow instead. Mayhaps a hundred other fleeting concerns which had rattled about his mind in the last day or so.

Saera was on the chaise enjoying a glass of wine. As always, she was confident beyond measure and certain of her path, soon to be their shared path. The impending ceremony only further emboldened her plans for the future. Saera had taken to drawing up plans for them to travel following their marriage, demonstrating she was the finest of the dragon house.

She wished to take their dragons to the Free Cities. First to Pentos and then south to Myr, Tyrosh and Lys. Saera was most excited for Lys where she had proclaimed they would enjoy the courtesans together. She had only laughed when Valerion had complained of the elephant debacle. Honestly, how was he to deal with both a mother and a newborn, neither trained.

Jadewing had turned up her nose at elephant when he had floated the idea, and the Dragonkeepers were at their wit’s end – they were after all dragon keepers and not elephant keepers. At least the story these numbers told provided solace, his investments returning enough to allow Valerion to support any expenditure for the foreseeable future.

There was the sound of knocking before the door to their chambers opened. Valerion could not see who had entered but judging by Saera’s quick entrance into his study, it was someone important. She did not interrupt her lounging for just anyone and the frown on her face made it clear that she was most annoyed. As the mysterious footsteps approached Saera planted herself on his lap supporting herself with an arm around his neck.

Following her entrance was the King and one of the Kingsguard. Valerion would ordinarily have attempted to at least bow slightly but was prevented by his love resting atop him. Perhaps that was her intention.

“Your Grace.” Valerion said, so as to acknowledge Jaehaerys, the first of his name. For his part, the King tried to conceal his annoyance, although the narrowing of his eyes and tensing of his jaw gave him away.

“Lord Qoherys, the crown needs to discuss… private matters with you.” Jaehaerys glared at Saera who merely sipped her wine. “It would be best if we were alone.”

Valerion closed his records and held Saera to him wrapping an arm around her waist. “I’m sure, your grace. However, I will not keep secrets from my lady wife.”

Saera patted him on the cheek. “Good boy.”

Jaehaerys ignored that and moved to sit at the opposing chair. “Your arm has improved it would seem.” The King commented dryly.

“The maester gave me a clean bill of health this morning. You may inform Prince Aemon that I will be returning to the yard following the wedding, that should give him some cheer.” Valerion did not relish the bruises he would gain but was keen to begin his training in earnest.

“He will not be so cheerful when you best him, Valerion.” Saera murmured in his ear.

“Aemon is departing the capital for some weeks following the celebration.” Jaehaerys said.

Valerion shrugged. “Princess Alyssa then.”

“Even better.” Saera smirked. “Why are you here, your grace?”

Jaehaerys looked at Saera. He had barely looked at her since the incident in the Great Hall. “I believe I said that I was here to speak with your future husband, Lady Qoherys. Was I not clear on that matter?”

“You were less than clear in your execution, my king.” Valerion said.

“I was attempting to make small talk. I will stop now.” The King said, before sighing. “Several weeks ago, you brought information regarding Dornish rearmament to me.”

“Yes, I did.” Valerion said.

“It seems that war has become inevitable.” The king said.

“Yes, one would believe so.” Valerion agreed.

The king glared at him. “Please stop interrupting to bolster your own ego. When the time comes for war, it will be helpful to have another dragon in the sky. You will fly on Jadewing. You will distinguish yourself. You will put down the Dornish threat. Should you do this, I am willing to grant you Harrenhal for services rendered to the crown. However, you must make more than a token effort. You must actually have services to render.”

“And what if I fly in on Balerion?” Saera asked.

The king sighed again. “Lady Qoherys, I do not know why you would. Leaving aside that I do not trust you to follow orders in a battlefield, war is not a woman’s game.”

“Is it just for cowards then?” Saera bared her teeth at him.

The king looked back at Valerion. “If she comes, I cannot imagine that Jadewing would be able to be distinguished in the war effort against the might of the Black Dread. I also can very much imagine the fate of Meraxes befalling Balerion. Either way, should Lady Qoherys fly to war, I will not be granting you Harrenhal. I bid you a good night, and congratulations on your wedding tomorrow, Lord Qoherys.”

He turned to leave, and Saera leapt to her feet. “This isn’t over!”

“I believe it is. After all, why should I give you any special treatment, Lady Qoherys?” The king asked coolly, before making to leave.

“Your grace!” Valerion interrupted, standing from the desk. The King stopped and turned to look at him. “Once your daughter is my wife, I shall be bringing her to the family dinners, so long as the Queen grants me that honour.”

The King narrowed his eyes. “Lord Qoherys, I do not recall any plans for you to marry a daughter of mine.”

“I wed Saera tomorrow.”

The King tutted before he spoke. “Yes. Despite what you have been led to believe, I do not claim her as a daughter.”

Valerion ground his teeth. “Men do not choose their family, Your Grace. Such privilege belongs to the gods alone. Regardless, I shall still bring her to the private dinners.”

“If I should refuse to allow this, Lord Qoherys?”

“For what reason? If you care so little it would be strange for you to force me to abandon my wife.” Valerion said, glancing at Saera.

The king looked up, as if the Gods may save him from this decision. “I suppose if you must.” He said through gritted teeth.

“Truly?” Saera asked. The King rather predictably ignored her and left the room without another word.

Saera watched him depart before taking a sizeable draught of her wine, almost draining the goblet. Valerion made his way to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “What do you think?”

Saera hummed at the embrace. “He is a petty old man, you are warm and I need more wine.”

Valerion rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. “What of this… Harrenhal idea?”

Saera shrugged as she swirled the dregs of wine in her goblet. “You are the one who cares for the ruins.”

He reached up and took her chin, raising it to look at him gently. “The castle haunts my dreams because my mother made me believe that I only had value if I should hold it. You have made me see differently. Would you want Harren's castle, Princess Saera?”

Saera took her time to think through what he had said. "I can think of no finer way to spite the bitch who bore you into this world than living in the castle she obsessed over. What do you think?"

Valerion would not have described his own mother so, but it was more accurate than not. "I think it is a pity we will not get to experience the courtesans of Lys together."

“I suppose so. I am sure I can find… other ways to expend our time.” Saera kissed him lightly before pulling away. “I truly do need more wine.”

Valerion silently made note to ensure Saera would not be drunk come the morning.

**************************************************************

Alysanne

Alysanne was beyond prepared for this day. Over two months of preparations were now falling into place, and she would be sure that no one would spoil them. The first task had been to recover Saera and bring her to her old quarters, which were still empty. The quarters had been set up as a space to prepare Saera for the day ahead, and coincidentally would help keep her from any trouble.

Privately, Alysanne doubted she would wish to ruin her own day, but she could not claim she knew the mind of her wayward daughter. Once her daughter's preparations had been underway, Alysanne had moved to the second task; having both of the parties prepared for the ceremony. For Lord Qoherys a swarm of servants would be on hand, ensuring he was well presented and moved to the Dragonpit prior to Saera’s arrival.

Meanwhile, a team of maids was presently busy scrubbing Saera for the day ahead.

“Gods, Mother is this truly necessary?” Saera complained.

“Yes, there is much to be done. Besides, you must look your best before the ceremony begins.” Alysanne smiled.

“I always look my best.” Saera said through gritted teeth. Despite her complaints, this had been the most compliant Saera had been with her for some time. There were no snide remarks, angry insults or harsh reprimands.

“Nonetheless, today you will shine, Saera.”

“Will father be removing my cloak?” Saera asked with an odd sincerity.

Alysanne did not answer immediately. She had frequently argued that it was necessary for Jaehaerys to do so, given the public nature of the ceremony. Alas, her husband had remained stalwart, insisting that Aemon would serve just as well.

“I’m afraid not, Saera. Aemon will do so in his place.” Alysanne could swear she saw a little hurt behind the anger which plastered itself on Saera’s face. “Do not let your anger for him consume you today, daughter. This is a day of celebration.”

“Why should I not, if he is ruining my day?” Saera asked with a tightened jaw.

“It is not just your day, daughter. Lord Qoherys would be upset if you did not enjoy the festivities.”

Saera laughed at that. “Valerion does not get upset.”

Alysanne squeezed her daughter’s hand gently. “Every man gets upset, even if he does not care to admit it.”

Saera did not say much after that beyond the occasional complaint at the harsh scrubbing. After a turn of the hourglass Alysanne was satisfied and they moved on to the dress.

It was perhaps the finest dress that Alysanne had ever seen, rivalling her own wedding dress. It was woven from a delicate white silk thread, inlaid with gold embroidery which ran like veins throughout the fabric. Its long sleeves and billowing skirt caused the dress to shimmer in the sunlight.  The dress itself left the shoulders exposed, allowing for the maiden’s cloak to be affixed without interference. Woven between the threads of gold were pale rubies and bursts of dark onyx, as if colour was springing from the void-like gemstones.

Once Saera’s slender figure had been fitted into her dress, the work began on her hair and cosmetics. Her hair was styled to its natural wavy form, and then set into a twirling spiral which rose from Saera’s head like a pillar of white flame. Saera did not need much powder to even out her pale skin. Once some work was done to colour her eyelids and bring colour to her cheeks, she was all but ready. Saera herself chose a bold deep red ointment for her lips.

While Saera chose a necklace to sit on her exposed collarbone, Alysanne retrieved the circlet she had worn at her own wedding from its lockbox. It was a circlet made of gold, hammered so fine the band appeared as if the leathery wings of a dragon. Evenly spaced around the piece were three dragon’s heads, one each carved of jade, amethyst and sapphire. Alyssa and Daella had not had the chance to wear it on their wedding days, and Daenerys even less so. Alysanne was happy that at least one daughter could. 

Alysanne returned to see her daughter had chosen a necklace which resembled a lattice of Myrish lace wrought in gold wire. The delicate goldwork had been inlaid with numerous diamonds which closely resembled her dress's inlaid gems.

“Saera. This is for you.” Alysanne presented the circlet. “I wore it for my wedding, and I had hoped—”

“Of course.” Saera looked at the circlet much as how Daemon looked at parchment; with ravenous intent. “It’s beautiful.” Saera smiled in a surprisingly genuine manner. Something Alysanne had not seen in far too long.

“Here, allow me to place it.” Alysanne said cheerfully. This day would be the best day in Kings Landing there ever was, especially if she was going to Dragonstone on the morrow. She set the circlet atop Saera’s head, being careful to lower it around her hair. Once it was nestled in place it looked as if the three dragons were breathing the white flame of Saera’s hair.

Lastly came her maiden’s cloak, a heavy thing compared to the dress, made of black cloth, its edges inlaid with red rubies and the sigil of the family boldly embroidered on the back. The clasp was an ivory brooch fashioned into the shape of a dragon’s claw affixing the cloak in place.

It had stayed beautiful since Daella’s wedding. There were technically two cloaks – the maiden cloak that Rhaena, Alysanne, and Alyssa had worn, and the house cloak that they were cloaked with. The house cloak was heavier and trimmed with black fur from the North. It also tended to need upkeep more, as some eager brides would celebrate in it, as opposed to the maiden’s cloak, which was always quickly discarded and recovered.

It drew around Saera as if two great wings, and Alysanne stepped back. “You look beautiful.”

Was this what she had looked like? Was this how her mother had felt? She had expected to feel something more with Daella and Alyssa’s weddings, but… she had been so scared for Daella and trying to hide it to keep Daella calm. Alyssa, conversely, had not cared about any of the trappings of the wedding, and had been almost annoyed with the process.

Saera regarded her coolly. “I always do.”

Alysanne choked out a laugh. “Of course, pardon my misspeaking. I just… happy name day, little love. It seems like time has passed ever so quickly.”

“It has, hasn’t it?” Saera went to add something but stopped herself, closing her mouth.

“What is it?”

Saera made a sigh. “Could you… help me learn how to run a household? I profess I may have had more important matters when you last had tutors attempt to teach me.”

Alysanne faltered a moment but hid it well behind her practiced smile. “Oh, is that what we are calling sneaking off to the kitchens?”

Saera’s eyes glinted mischievously at the thought of past endeavours. “It was important at the time.”

Alysanne reached to her daughter’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Be that as it may, I would love to help you, little love. Alas, I will be travelling to Dragonstone tomorrow, but you are always welcome to visit or send a raven if you prefer.”

Saera spun around swiftly causing Alysanne to duck back, so as to avoid her hair. “Why are you going to Dragonstone?”

Alysanne decided not to tell Saera the true reason. It would not be in keeping with the positivity of the day. Rather, she chose a different approach. “I have ears little love, much as the last two weeks made me wish I did not. I simply wish to give you the needed privacy of wedded life.”

“Mother!” Saera blurted out. Alysanne chuckled at that. She had been young once too, and in love.

“Come, I should imagine it’s time.” Alysanne said after a nod from Lyra. Jonquil in the corner said nothing, clearly still annoyed with Saera for giving her the slip.

Saera was clearly in a good mood, as she did not even bark at Jonquil to help carry the train of her cloak. Instead, she reached a hand out to Alysanne, who grasped it tightly as they walked. The path to the horse was silent.

Alysanne had heard that Lord Qoherys had wanted to give in to Saera about the elephant, but thankfully they did not have to bring that into their plans. Something had happened to the poor creature, and now Rhaenys had a new pet that she had named ‘Dragon’ – a baby elephant. Rhaenys also would not hear a word about any of the dragons having a taste for elephant, and separating poor Dragon from their mother, so the elephants were just… kept. It was odd, but it was decidedly not Alysanne’s problem.

The rest of the family was waiting there for them, sans Jaehaerys. Saera squeezed a bit harder upon looking out at them. “He is at the Dragonpit with Septon Barth.” Alysanne said brightly.

“Of course.” Saera said as Alysanne squeezed back.

Aemon stepped forward. He looked so handsome, dressed in his red and black finery. He reminded Alysanne so much of her poor brother Aegon, even if he was older than Aegon had ever gotten to be. He had the same facial structure- she and Aegon had always looked softer, less threatening than Rhaena and Jaehaerys. (She did not like to think of Viserys and Vaella, today of all days.) Aemon looked like her.

“Sister, may I help you up?” Aemon asked.

Saera sniffed imperiously and removed her hand from Alysanne’s. “You may.”

Aemon put his hands on Saera’s waist and lifted her up in the air onto the horse. For a moment, Alysanne remembered how she and Jaehaerys must have looked – but then the moment was gone. Aemon stepped back, then helped her up, and dear Jocelyn.

He offered to do the same for Alyssa, who snorted and hiked a leg into the stirrup of her horse and the other one over the saddle in a fluid motion, skirts everywhere. Viserra and Rhaenys would ride in a carriage with Lyra and the other children. Aemon and Baelon mounted up as well, and they were off.

Aegon and Rhaena’s wedding had been very closed off, their father scared of anyone harming the family. Her mother’s second wedding was… she did not remember it well, mostly Jaehaerys’ scowl. Her own wedding – weddings, really – there had been no one left for the bridal procession. Jocelyn had wanted them there, but ultimately her bridal procession had been full of Stormlander nobility instead.

Alyssa had been too impatient for a proper procession, and Alysanne had been pregnant with Gael during Daella’s procession, such as it was. The girl was naturally terrified of horses as well, so the ceremony had not really had a procession, just a short walk to the gardens.

This was the first time that they were all arrayed around each other. Alyssa and Baelon traded jokes, people threw some of the first spring flowers into the horses’ path, and Alysanne could not stop smiling. Everything was going right.

“Smile, my dear. They’re here for you.” She muttered to Saera, nudging up her horse next to her daughter.

Saera glanced at her, then beamed at the crowd and waved, just as Alysanne had taught her years ago. If nothing else, adoration fed Saera’s ego, and she seemed to loosen up a bit, her smile growing more and more genuine. The crowds lined the streets and windows forming endless crowds and the roar of celebration could be heard all the way to Oldtown, or so Alysanne thought.

Even as they approached the Dragonpit, the crowd of tens of thousands had been corralled to leave a path open for the procession to ride within. Many of the smallfolk seemed enamoured by the emerald dragon Jadewing, who had perched herself atop the Dragonpit. As they entered the Dragonpit, Saera stopped waving although her beaming smile remained.

In the centre of the dome was a constructed wooden platform, more than 100 feet across draped in beautiful tapestries depicting past Targaryens and weddings, and lush carpets. The stone benches were packed with an immense crowd of smallfolk and closer to the platform were many of the noble houses.

Alysanne thought back to her mother’s wedding, although despite the enormity of the Golden Wedding, the crowd was even greater today. She knew every house that was present, virtually all the minor houses with only a few of the great houses not present. Alysanne did not dwell on the absence of Houses Lannister and Arryn, lest it spoil her mood.

Alysanne made note of the individuals stood atop the great platform. Lord Qoherys stood there, dressed in black silk as far as she could see, and his set of Valyrian steel armour. It was undoubtedly the most expensive thing the boy owned, so that made sense. The spellforged metal was accentuated by his House sigil born by his cloak. The flaming saltire of red & yellow with four skulls at the cardinal points, resting on a dark background. Altogether he struck a fearsome figure to the gathered crowd.

Carefully looking away from him was Jaehaerys, arrayed in red and bronze, a majestic cape hanging off of one shoulder. He seemed to have brushed his hair and combed his beard, and for once wasn’t wearing his crown. He was wearing their grandfather’s. Next to him was Septon Barth, who looked much the same as ever. Other acolytes and septons bustled about, arrayed in their robes around the place.

Valerion looked very alone up there. It wasn’t right – someone should be around their family at a time like this. However, he clearly had not called for the Vhassars to join him. Alysanne’s heart went out to the boy. Then she noticed that one of the flashes of white she had written off as a septon’s robes was hair – Targaryen hair. Vaegon, in one of his less-stained robes, was standing there looking very uncomfortable. Beside him was that little hopping maester who was in charge of Valerion’s recovery.

The procession reached the dais, and the Targaryen swarm ebbed and flowed – first Aemon, as the man giving Saera away, then Saera, then Alysanne herself, then the rest. Alysanne made her way over to Valerion’s side, so that there would be at least one more person standing with him today. His parents were dead, but not his goodparents at least. She may not have birthed him, but he’d be family in a matter of moments – she could do this for him now. As she stood there, he gave her a shocked look, and Vaegon raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t know you were coming back to the city.” Alysanne muttered to Vaegon.

“That’s because I didn’t tell any of you. I really should be in Oldtown.” Vaegon muttered back.

“Will you be in trouble for not being there?” Alysanne asked.

Vaegon sighed. “No, I won’t. I’d like to say it was the excuse I gave and my overall competence, but it was probably just the fact that I came from the king’s seed.”

“Vaegon!” Alysanne hissed. “Not at your sister’s wedding!”

“Ah, I’m sorry. The fact that I came from the king’s seed and your most royal womb, Mother.”

The little maester snickered and Valerion rolled his eyes. The tide of Targaryens had trickled – only Jocelyn and the children were left to be unloaded and brought onto the dais.

The crowds own clamouring was overwhelmed by a snort which carried out across the entire length of the pit. Alysanne knew that it was Balerion, whom Saera had insisted be prepared for a flight. Turning in place, she spotted his head resting at the wide entrance which ventured into the tunnels below. Thankfully, he did not seem interested in moving any further to leave, at least not yet.

With Aemon’s family joining him nearly everyone was in place. Lyra directed Viserys to stand between his parents while passing Daemon to Alyssa. Saera stepped to her place, still smiling although her eyes took on a strange glint when she looked at Valerion. Alysanne felt like that should concern her, but she doubted Saera would act impulsively in front of sixty thousand people. The herald stepped forth and blasted his trumpet to corral the crowd into silence, something which took a few moments.

Septon Barth began the proceedings, a prayer of thanks to the Gods for the fortune of the union to come. The first of many prayers. Alysanne sang of course. She knew the words well, having attended many weddings in her life and been the bride at two. Jaehaerys did not, although he stopped ignoring the couple at last. Saera simply maintained eye contact with Valerion a suggestive smile playing on her lips.

Valerion's action was perhaps stranger still, as he took to singing the prayers where he knew them and humming them where he did not. Alysanne did not know he was a proficient singer, nor that he had any familiarities with the traditions of Westeros. There was a lot of standing, kneeling, and overall singing. Valerion managed to keep his attention on Septon Barth, but Saera’s very quickly wandered. She would mouth the words and sneak glances at Valerion, trying to catch his eye and on the few occasions she did, smirk wickedly at him.

Alysanne was unbothered – that was a time honored tradition in the family. Alyssa had actually gotten Baelon to laugh by making faces at him, and the way that Jaehaerys eyed her… well. Alysanne turned her attention elsewhere to keep from flushing. Daemon had been fascinated by the crowd, and the rhythm of the singing, but had almost immediately grown annoyed with being trapped in his mother’s arms. He was fussing, and Alyssa was beginning to bounce him as quietly as possible, which did little to soothe him.

Gaemon, mercifully, was asleep, while Viserys was enthusiastically singing the wrong words. Gael, her precious little girl, was still entranced by the music, slowly swaying her head in time with it. When she grew old enough, Alysanne would have to give her an instrument to play. No doubt she would take to it as a dragon to wing. Viserra and Rhaenys were behaving at least, and singing correctly, their high voices soaring above the crowd while Aemon and Baelon’s tenors moved Alysanne deeply.

She glanced behind her at Balerion, just for a moment. His eyes were closed, and she almost couldn’t see him because of it, but he seemed enthralled by the singing. Maybe this reminded him of Valyria, and the weddings of Targaryens gone by? Even if the words were different, even if the songs were different, there was still something to the togetherness and tradition binding everyone in the Dragonpit, human or not. 

She did not account for Daemon following her line of vision and deciding that there was definitely something there, even if he couldn’t quite see it. Alysanne continued to sing while observing Daemon wriggle at an aggressive pace. Alyssa attempted to wrestle his writhing limbs but only succeeded in loosening her grip. This proved a fatal error as Daemon succeeded in his struggle and fell the ground. He picked himself up with little effort and moved with greater speed than any eighteen-moon-old child had a right to.

Septon Barth continued admirably even as Alyssa and Baelon ceased and attempted to grasp Daemon by his miniature cape. When they failed Daemon made his way into the shadows where Balerion rested, gently colliding with him before realising the dragon was there. It was hard to tell who was more surprised, the child or the dragon. Eventually, Balerion very carefully blew a blast of air at Daemon, toppling him over onto his plush bottom. Baelon was able to reach Daemon at this point and scooped him up very quickly before backing away. Balerion, clearly somewhat playful, gave another puff of air.

Daemon was very upset as his father took him away and carried him over to a side room attended by dragonkeepers to attempt to calm him. As far as Alysanne could tell, he was not hurt at all, but he was exceedingly angry that his father was taking him away from the dragon. Daemon added his own voice to the chorus in the form of screaming. The singing continued for several hours, changing from long melodious tunes to more rapid hymns and prayers. Not much else changed, except Saera’s gazes and smirks became far more overt. She had long since abandoned pretending to sing along.

As Septon Barth brought the last of the hymns to a close he gestured for Aemon to step forward. Alysanne could not help but glance at Jaehaerys whose face demonstrated some form of guilt, although he hid it well.

As Aemon unclasped the cloak from Saera, Septon Barth spoke. “With this act, the bride passes from the protection of her father.”

Saera and Valerion stared at each other with such an intensity that Alysanne wondered if they were even aware others were present. Nonetheless, once the Maiden’s cloak was removed Valerion unclasped his own cloak and wrapped it around Saera’s shoulders. Alysanne watched Saera close her eyes as she felt the heavy cloth rest upon her, her cheeks pinked and her breath uneven.

“With this act, the bride has passed into the protection of her husband.” Septon Barth announced to the crowd, before turning to the couple in question. “Now the final words may be spoken. Lord Qoherys, when you are ready.”

“With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my princess and wife.” Valerion said.

Saera’s eyes were shining with excitement. “With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lord and husband.”

She fairly jumped on the poor man, who stepped back once before kissing back with equal fervour.

Septon Barth dryly said, “I declare you to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” It was not the first amorous couple he had seen at their wedding, and it would hardly be the last. The crowd erupted into rapturous applause and Alysanne would have been hard pressed to find someone who did not celebrate with their all, barring Jaehaerys who simply clapped politely.

The couple did not part their kissing for a great length of time, Valerion eventually taking a step back although he continued to clasp her hand in his own armoured gauntlet. Saera pouted a bit at him when he broke away which only made Alysanne chuckle under breath. Perhaps she also chuckled at the red lip mark which had been planted on Valerion’s face, presumably Saera’s revenge for the neck bruises.

Ordinarily, the procession would return to the Red Keep and begin the feast. Alas, Saera was not ordinary and had declared they should fly around the city together. Saera made her way to Balerion, who had awoken from his calming sleep. She would be taking him through the outer doors as opposed to the crowded atrium. Valerion made his way with the family to the entrance, looking as if he were going to battle but bearing a wide grin. When they reached the open sky, he broke away calling Jadewing towards an empty space at the side of the pit.

Alysanne waited with the rest of the family as there would be no purpose in returning to the Red Keep without the married couple. The emerald scaled dragon took to the skies with a roar that surely matched her rider’s excitement. The smallfolk throughout the city clamoured ever louder, even over the bells which rang out to signal the marriage. The clamouring was replaced with a more hushed awe when Balerion took to wing, his body blotting the sun as he climbed higher. The two dragons flying in a synchronised manner, Balerion making wide sweeping turns around the city, even as Jadewing wove and coiled around him.

“They fly well together.” Aemon commented, observing the flight patterns with a practiced eye.

“I want to fly on Jadewing soon. May I Mama?” Rhaenys said, walking with Jocelyn to the carriage.

“I suppose, but you must bathe when you return. I will not have you smelling of dragon all day long.” Jocelyn answered.

“They look an awful lot like Vermithor and Silverwing, wouldn’t you say Mother?” Baelon asked.

Certainly, they flew as closely as her dragon and Vermithor liked to, did that mean they might mate? She may have to talk to the dragonkeepers on Dragonstone about the matter. “Perhaps. One flight does not make a pair, however.”

**************************************************************

Valerion

After he changed out of his armour and left it in a safe place, it was child’s play to send Jadewing back to the pit and rejoin the rest of the family in the Red Keep. The guests were just beginning to arrive at the Great Hall as he came forward, wearing the black doublet he had worn to the first day of Saera’s festivities. He quickly went to the wide table at the head of the room, a table just for them.

Saera herself was there and had not changed clothes. She took his arm upon seeing him and leaned against him instead of attending to receiving the growing line of guests. “I am very excited for our wedding night.” She purred, blinking up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Oh, really? I can’t imagine anything new will be happening. Let’s see; I’ll take you against the door, on the bed. I’ll make you scream. We’ll both cum.” Valerion purred before nipping at her ear.

Saera gave a little gasp of pleasure at the sensation. “Don’t tease.”

“Well, if you insist, I suppose I won’t.” Valerion said, making to turn away.

Saera caught his arm. “Don’t you dare.”

Valerion chuckled, tucking a stray lock of hair that her flight had knocked loose behind her ear. “The bedding is not far off. Will you be able to contain yourself until then?”

Saera bit her lip and looked up at him. “We could go now.”

“We absolutely cannot – I must speak with your mother about her actions earlier, and more to the point, I have not eaten today.” Valerion said, before giving her a relatively chaste kiss on the lips.

Saera whined and made to move towards him, but he pulled away. “Later.”

“And what if I should die of lust in the interim?” Saera pouted.

“Then I will mourn you and likely follow you into the afterlife.” He chuckled, turning to the ever-growing queue.

“You are a cruel man husband, to treat me this way.” Saera’s words were playful enough that he could tell she was smiling without looking.

First in the queue was Saera’s parents. Both of them stood together although their minds seemed worlds apart. “Congratulations on your wedding, Lord Qoherys.” Jaehaerys said, with a carefully constructed face of neutrality.

“I do believe some of the credit should go to you, goodfather.” Valerion answered graciously. Perhaps somewhat facetiously. Nonetheless, Jaehaerys simply rolled his eyes and stepped to the side, allowing Alysanne to address them both.

His goodmother, the Queen, who had chosen to stand by his side over her own daughter. Surely, she only did so to protest Saera’s previous actions. If so, then her face of jubilance was a superb façade indeed. She was dressed in a regal red dress, carrying a leatherbound tome. Judging by the lack of creasing on the spine it had never been opened. Gods, Vaegon must have gotten to him, he never cared so much to notice these things before. “Goodson, Saera. You were perfect. I brought you this.”

Valerion took the book with a smile and moved it between himself and his wife.

“Thank you, mother.” Saera smiled, apparently Alysanne’s positioning in the Dragonpit had not upset her.

“There is no title. May I ask the contents, goodmother?” Valerion asked as he ran a hand over the smooth leatherwork. He was right, it had only recently been covered.

“The book is a collection of childhood stories and old fables. Many I once read to my children, I expect you shall have your own to read them to soon enough.” Alysanne said lightly, directing a servant to place the book somewhere safe.

“I used to enjoy the one about the serpent who swallowed the sun, it was so hot it had to spit it back out.” Saera laughed as Alysanne departed.

Up next were Aemon and his family. Jocelyn was busy bouncing Gaemon and let Aemon take the lead. “Congratulations both.” Aemon said. “I am afraid my gifts are bit large for this table. I have had new saddles made for your dragons. I have also given you the gift of Rhaenys teaching you all of their various functions.” Rhaenys beamed brightly at them both.

Valerion blinked, at a loss for words.

“We are most appreciative brother. Although perhaps Rhaenys may save her lessons for another day.” Saera chuckled, patting Valerion on the cheek, allowing his wits to return. Princess Rhaenys pouted at the comment.

“Yes, although Princess Rhaenys is welcome to write at any time.” Valerion gave Rhaenys a conspiratorial wink, which made her brighten up.

“I hope you are aware she will write every day.” Saera said as they departed.

Valerion shrugged. “Then I suppose I shall have to respond every day.”

Saera laughed a little at that. “Good luck.”

Baelon and Alyssa were next, Daemon tightly held in one of Baelon’s arms, while Viserys tightly clutched a particularly ugly vase.

Saera blinked as Alyssa took the vase from Viserys and presented it to her in one fluid motion. “What is this?” Saera asked.

“It’s your wedding present.” Alyssa said proudly, practically forcing it into Saera’s arms.

Saera squirmed, but eventually took it. “…it’s hideous.” She finally said.

The vase was shit brown, with a chartreuse dragon depicted. It had the wrong number of legs, and its wings were uneven – one was twice the size of its head, and the other practically nonexistent, disappearing around the rim. Upon closer notice, the pattern of the wing had been lovingly created on the inside of the pot. The spacing of the dragon was odd, and its expression was either gassy or oddly seductive, depending on which eye you looked at. Its right eye peered off into the distance, somewhat majestically, but its left eye seemed to track the viewer with an almost uncanny ability.

“Isn’t it just?” Alyssa agreed happily. “Someone in town was selling it as memorabilia of ‘the green dragon’ coming to the city.”

Valerion choked on his own saliva. “That is meant to be Jadewing?”

“I assume so.” Alyssa said.

“I helped carry it!” Viserys contributed.

“We are most thankful for the effort you put into this, Prince Viserys.” Valerion said, Saera quickly made to hide the vase so as to not petrify any of the guests with its hideous visage.

Baelon passed Daemon over to Alyssa who began to attempt to free himself, this time looking very intensely at Saera. With his hands free Baelon called over a servant carrying a blade and scabbard.

The servant held out the scabbard towards Valerion, resting it horizontally along his two hands. Valerion took the blade in hand as Baelon spoke. “I supposed that since your arm has now recovered, you would need a proper sword.”

Valerion observed the hilt first, long enough to be wielded in two hands but short enough it could be maneuvered with one, if the wielder had sufficient strength. The grip made of wood covered in a dark leather wrapping. The guard was made of a fine steel enamelled with orange and red, resembling the saltire of the Qoherys coat of arms. Lastly the pommel was a solid piece of Ivory carved into the shape of a skull, each of the eye sockets inset with onyxes.

Pulling the blade partway from the scabbard revealed the gleaming steel blade, its edge razor thin caught the light causing it to dance across the vaulted ceiling. The fuller groove was engraved with a delicate golden thread which ran near to the tip.

“The blade is forty-eight inches in length. A regular man would have to wield the blade with two hands, but given your height and strength you could wield it in one.” Baelon explained.

“It is a beautiful gift, my Prince.” Valerion said, sheathing the blade. Much as he wished to put it to use, now was not the time. “From the depths of my heart, I thank you.”

“Why does my husband get a beautifully crafted sword, and I get this?” Saera moaned, showing the vase to Alyssa. Daemon hid his face when he spotted the vase.

Alyssa made her horrid cackle before they led their children away, but managed to get out, "Truthfully, the vase is for both of you."

Vaegon slunk up in Alyssa’s absence. He promptly handed Valerion a very thick book. “Do not read too much into this.” Vaegon warned, before handing Saera another book. “That’s from Maegelle, she said that she had it handwritten and illustrated by a calligrapher from Myr, and that she called in a royal connection to get it done in time.”

Saera looked at the book appraisingly, before she sneered. “’The Seven Pointed Star’? Does she really think my soul is still in need of saving?”

“Yes, but I assume it’s also meant to be an heirloom piece.” Vaegon said stiffly, before nodding at Valerion and disappearing back into the crowd.

Valerion looked at his own book – it was apparently a copy of ‘The Iron Chronicle’, which was hard enough to come by without taking into account that this copy was apparently in better condition than the one in the Royal Library. That being said, the one in the Royal Library had been used as a threat against his person by Vaegon, so perhaps that was what Vaegon was referencing. Or, more likely, he was referencing the building of Harrenhal and its management outlined in the book.

The next to come was Lord Boremund Baratheon, whom Valerion had never spoken to before in his life. “Congratulations, niece! Congratulations, goodnephew!” Lord Baratheon boomed happily at him.

“Thank you.” Saera said, clearly trying to work out if she could claim another family relationship to upset the man.

Lord Baratheon handed Valerion a gold statue of an elephant. Because Valerion had nowhere to put it, it went on top of ‘The Iron Chronicle’. It was quite well done, actually. You could see the wrinkles in the elephant’s trunk and it looked fairly realistic.

“Uncle, how did you know about the elephant?” Saera asked.

Boremund grinned. “Well, little ‘Nys was telling me yesterday about how she had received a new playmate that she named ‘Dragon’, but I admit, this was in the works for some time! It seemed a bit macabre to give you a golden skull for your wedding, but I looked into your family after the announcement, and supposed an elephant was a good symbol for you!”

Valerion went cold. “You looked into me?”

“Yes, I did.” Boremund said. “And may I shake your hand?”

Valerion very carefully put down the statue and the book. Boremund Baratheon immediately grabbed him by the arm and pulled him in for a one-armed hug, squeezed, then released. “I understand that it was hard for you to go against your family, but I wanted to thank you, and to welcome you formally to ours. The Dornish would have fallen upon us most likely first and foremost, but you warned us. You’re a good man.”

Valerion was so shocked that he said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m not.”

Boremund beamed at him. “You see that? A good man! Welcome to the family proper, Lord Qoherys!”

Valerion blinked at him, and Boremund pulled him into another hug. “And thank you as well for saving Jocelyn and the wee lad.”

“I just… my sister was in the same position.” Valerion said, before gently hugging back, mostly so this man would let him go.

“A good man.” Boremund reaffirmed. He released Valerion, save for one final slap, then moved off.

“Judging by your expression, I daresay you have met your match.” Saera said as Valerion returned to his seat, still processing what had happened.

“It is only… no one has ever wished for me to be their family before.” Valerion looked at Saera as she took his cheek into her palm.

She had a wide grin set upon her face. “We shall go to task making one of our own very soon.”

Valerion returned her grin with a smirk of his own and placed a hand to her stomach. “I rather thought we had already begun.”

Saera lunged at him, taking his lips into hers with a sudden intensity, something Valerion responded to in turn. Their kissing grew more sensual as their tongues intermingled. Valerion pulled away sharply vaguely aware that they still had many guests to receive. Saera attempted to keep him in place by moving her hand to grasp his hair possessively.

When that failed, she started at him with lips parted, panting gently. “Please?” Saera gasped, tightening the hand running through his hair.

Valerion smirked again, finding his gaze drawn to her pleading eyes. “Patience, love.”

Saera pouted her lips and fluttered her eyes. “It is my wedding. I may be as patient as I wish to. Now I want you to ravish—”

Valerion placed a finger to her lips stopping her midsentence, lest she work herself up any further. “Later.”

Saera attempted to take the finger into her mouth, but Valerion pulled it away as quickly as he placed it there. “As you say, husband. Though you shall repay me for this later.”

Saera mercifully released the grip on his hair, signalling for the next guest to approach. There was House Manderly, representing House Stark, who gifted them a fine pelt. Jonah Mooton on behalf of his family, who delivered a vial of water from the pool of Jonquil. Lord Roy Connington presented Saera with a set of throwing knives, designed to appear as feathers, something she was overjoyed to receive. He muttered something about them being nicknamed the ‘Griffin’s Feathers’ by the smith before moving off.

The two girls, Turnberry and Moore, presented a matching necklace and bracelets made of platinum and Vale stone, pale as the moon. There was litany of other gifts which they received but those first few were the most extravagant and thoughtful of them all.

Once the guests had all been seated the feast began in earnest. There were many dishes – a whole herd of entirely roasted deer, various soups with the last of the winter harvests from the south, entire schools of bream and trout and salmon. The spectacle of the evening was a roast peacock, its feathers having gently been plucked and entirely replaced after being cooked. It gave the illusion of a living bird. Valerion had heard of this with swans before but had never seen it with a peacock.

The chatter of the hall and sounds of merriment overwhelmed the bards, who played an endless cacophony of music. Valerion had never enjoyed the noise of feasting before, but it didn’t seem so annoying today. He spied the King and Alysanne passively talking both seeming rather content. Rhaenys was busy trying to talk to her brother only stopping to take bites of whatever food was placed in front of her. There was a substantial clatter as Daemon threw a bowl of soup, most of it catching Alyssa as it flew to the ground.

Saera ate her fill and then began to observe the hall making comments with him. Most of it was gossip; who was sweet on who, those who may be born bastards or embarrassed themselves dancing, but it was fun to see Saera take a shine to it.

“Oh, look there. That’s Lord Tarly’s eldest son. I heard that he was sweet on a Dornish girl from House Blackmont.” Saera whispered, pointing at a tall lad with brown hair and a green and red surcoat.

“Isn’t House Blackmont quite close to the border?” Valerion whispered back.

Saera’s eyes gleamed. “It is. I suspect that’s how his father heard about the upcoming war. Alys and Peri find it rather romantic, but they don’t know that the war is going to happen, and they also don’t know that House Blackmont has a history of women fighters. Lord Tarly’s eldest may very well end up killing his love on the battlefield.”

Valerion pressed a kiss to her forehead. “My love, I think I should like you to be my Mistress of Whispers.”

Saera blinked at him before slowly smiling. “It’s just gossip.”

“It’s information, and I am proud of you for gathering it.” Valerion replied.

Saera maintained her smile but wore it more proudly. “Perhaps you are right. I would make a good Mistress of Whispers.”

“I am never wrong when it comes to you, my love.” Valerion said, squeezing her hand.

“Is that so? Did you not tell me I was quick to grow cold once my desires were fulfilled.”

Valerion thought back to that night at Dragonstone, how it all could have gone so very differently. His confession, the sting of Saera’s confusion and the nightmare it brought. The desire to rid himself of all that he was in Alerion. Perhaps he would deal with that one day, but not today. Today was a day of celebration, so he smiled at the fool he had been instead.

“I am almost never wrong when it comes to you, my love.” Valerion chuckled.

Saera leaned her head onto his arm gently and feigned a sigh. “No one is perfect I suppose. Though you are certainly perfect enough.”

Valerion rested there for a time, the rest of the feasting passing them both by. Saera’s hands did drift, but she maintained enough control to keep her caresses above the waist. He knew that she was staring at him, drinking him in to prepare for the bedding.

Valerion brought a finger to her chin and tilted her head up to his face. “We still have some time before we retire. Shall we dance?”

“I would prefer to not have my feet stepped on this time.” Saera said.

Valerion looked up to feign at thought. “I cannot promise that.”

Saera rolled her eyes but stood regardless. He followed in suit and once they made their way to the floor, he pulled her into a dance and immediately stepped upon her foot.

Saera scowled at him. “No, like this.” Saera grabbed his arm and shifted its position along her lower back. Valerion could swear he heard Alyssa cackle.

The bards began to play ‘My Lady Wife’ one of only a few Westerosi songs he knew. There was a very similar song sung at the wedding of his sister. She had begged him to sing, loving to hear his voice but he had no desire to. He did not like to sing to those who did not deserve it, and many of those at that wedding had been undeserving.

Valerion pushed down the past again and did his best to step in time with the music. Saera’s face was one of concentration, her brow furrowed as she attempted to dodge his poor footwork. They danced until the songs end at which point Saera pulled him from the floor. A polite applause sounded out.

“That was torturous.” Saera said after straightening his doublet. “I shall have to improve you in the future.”

“I suppose I shall have to find a way to repay you for your lessons.” Valerion said with a smirk.

Saera leaned up to lay a kiss on him. “I can think of a few.”

Valerion was about to kiss her back but was interrupted by someone tapping his waist. Valerion glanced to his side and was met with the Princess Rhaenys.

“Uncle Valerion, could I dance with you?” Rhaenys beamed. When had he become ‘uncle Valerion’ he wondered? Was it in the Dragonpit when he had wed Saera, or was it when he had begun answering her questions of the day via letter?

“Rhaenys, don’t interrupt!” Saera snapped, though she quickly calmed when he took her hand.

“Would you mind, love? I would not be very long besides I still need to talk to your mother.”

Saera rolled her eyes. “If you must. I suppose I can have another draught of wine while I wait.” Saera quickly ventured back to their shared table.

Rhaenys did not truly dance. More she stood upon his boots, and he carried her around while they spoke. Valerion was thankful that he was unable to step on her feet. “Gaemon is getting bigger. Sometimes I think he even recognises me.”

“You are his sister, Rhaenys. I am certain that he does.” Valerion noted.

Rhaenys nodded decisively. “Exactly! Mama said that she thinks he might be a bit too young, but Papa said that it’s clear that I love Gaemon and she should just let me be. I wasn’t supposed to hear that part.” She said this last part sagely, as if unaware she was giving away otherwise sensitive information.

Valerion raised an eyebrow. “Well, I suppose that is a fair response from your father.”

Rhaenys was clearly encouraged to speak about her new favourite subject at length. “Gaemon’s hair has started to come in, did you know? It’s like Papa and the rest of the family’s. Like yours.”

“Fascinating, because as far as I am aware the Baratheon blood is very strong.” Valerion said pleasantly.

“Mama was worried about that! She called it ‘Durrandon blood’ though. She asked Papa if he was sure Gaemon was her baby. Papa laughed, which I thought was mean! He said that she had birthed Gaemon and he and half of King’s Landing was there for it, so yes, Gaemon is her baby. And that if he wasn’t, no one would be stupid enough to replace him with a dragonseed instead of a storm. I don’t know what that means. Dragons don’t have seeds, they’re not plants, and how would a storm be a baby?”

“If I recall correctly, it may be a sort of nickname or epithet. The ‘Tempest’ for your uncle maybe? He is always in one place or another.” Valerion attempted to nod at Boremund across the room, and nearly knocked into another couple – apparently the Greenfield from the tournament was more of a squire than a knight, having just earned his spurs at fifteen. He had somehow managed to coax Viserra into a dance, and she gave Valerion a dark look for ploughing into them.

Rhaenys shrugged. “I have a lot of uncles.” Uncles apparently did not interest her.

“So, why were you listening in on your parents anyway?” Valerion asked her.

“A queen needs a good information network.” Rhaenys said haughtily. “And they left the door open.”

“…was it really open, or was it just a crack?” Valerion asked.

Rhaenys avoided his eyes. “A crack is open.”

Valerion conceded this point. Rhaenys seized the opportunity to return to her current interest. “Mama said that Gaemon’s eyes might not stay blue, and Maester Elysar said that sometimes babies eyes change colour! Mama was a bit wrong though – it looks like Gaemon’s eyes are even more blue. They were a kind of gray when he was first born, when he was all wrinkly and red and did nothing but sleep, but now when he’s awake, they’re very very blue! Like me and Mama and Uncle Boremund. Uncle Boremund said that we have eyes like the sky before a storm, but Mama said that he takes storm metaphors too seriously, and that they’re more like House Arryn’s banner blue.”

“You know what a metaphor is?” Valerion asked.

Rhaenys gave him a dark look. Unfortunately for her, it wasn’t as good as Viserra’s, let alone Saera’s.

“Uncle Valerion, I’m not a baby.” Rhaenys sniffed haughtily. “Septon Barth told me.”

Valerion conceded this point. “Is a baby not like a storm in how they squall then?”

“No.” Rhaenys clearly had not considered this. “Obviously not. My parents were just being silly.”

“I see.” Valerion said sagely.

“You’re a very bad dancer.” Rhaenys told him. “Did you know that?”

Valerion tilted his head. “I didn’t know you had many opportunities to dance.”

“I don’t.” Rhaenys said. “But I have seen other people do it. Here, look at Mama and Papa.”

Indeed, despite the fact that the Crown Princess had given birth two moons prior, she and the Crown Prince glided across the floor, completely in tandem. Other dancers stopped to gawk at them. Valerion was not one of them, seeing them out of the corner of his eye and focusing his efforts on where to put his feet. He could feel Viserra’s glare boring into his back lest he misstep towards her again.

The dance finally ended, and Rhaenys gave a perfect curtsey, then flounced away, presumably to tell Gaemon about Valerion’s inability to dance.

Alysanne then stepped forward. “May I have this dance, Lord Qoherys?”

“I have been likened to a trained bear, Your Grace.” Valerion warned.

Alysanne chuckled. “Come now, Lord Qoherys. The operative word there is ‘trained’, please do not malign the bears so.” Nonetheless, she took his hand before he could leave, and pulled him into a sedate dance with minimal touching.

“I have never understood why people choose to have conversations with all this footwork.” Valerion complained.

“I am surprised that you are not more skilled at it then, my sons have begrudging praise from your brief practice in the yard.” Alysanne said. “May I ask if it is a cultural problem – would you do better with dances in the Essosi style?”

“The Essosi style is entirely different from Westerosi dances. It is… not a problem of skill, only of enthusiasm.” Valerion said.

“Ah, and you are the type of man to treat every problem as a nail should he hold a hammer.” Alysanne mused.

Valerion paused then said, “In truth your grace, I am not close to my Volantene roots and it discomforts me when people imply that I am. My mother wanted a son to reclaim House Qoherys for her and to that end she made me as Westerosi as possible. My problem here stems from a dislike of my lessons when I was small, so I would run away from them.”

Alysanne laughed. “Baelon tried that once when he was younger than Rhaenys. They found him eating honey out of the jar like a bear. He’d gotten it all over himself, and when he was asked what he had to say regarding the matter, he was simply upset that he had not improved his accuracy and managed to eat more of the honey. He asked for a second jar.”

“Did you send him back to his lessons?” Valerion asked, frowning in concentration.

“We tried, but by that point Alyssa had approached and become sticky as well, so they were both packed off for baths. Baelon was very upset that she had ‘stolen some of his honey’, and when dance lessons were revisited the next week, he burst into tears at the idea!” Her laughter faded, but she continued to smile.

Valerion chewed on the inside of his cheek, before saying what he was thinking. “Why did you stand with me at the ceremony?”

“Why shouldn’t I have? You have no blood family left in Westeros, and we would have been family soon enough anyway.” Alysanne frowned at him.

“What about your daughter?” Valerion demanded.

“Saera had the entire flight with her.” Alysanne said dismissively.

“Flight?” Valerion asked. “You must mean her flight with Balerion?”

Alysanne shook her head. “No, I mean… you say a herd of cows, a flock of hens, a flight of dragons.”

Valerion nodded to acknowledge his understanding. “Ah. I admit, Westerosi is still not my mother tongue.”

“Then let me say as a mother that you speak it very well. May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Alysanne smiled before speaking. “Where did you go when you would run away from your dancing lessons?”

“It did not take long before they were cancelled, as my mother preferred me to learn more ‘useful’ matters, but… I would go to the river and play in the water, naked as anything, just to relieve the heat of the day. I was so free there, not Valerion of House Qoherys, not Valerio Vhassar, just another free child playing in the water.” Valerion said wistfully. “Of course, the fight that ensued when my father was forced to fetch me one day was immense. My mother had tried sending the household slaves, but they could not touch me and I would not be coaxed out of the water. My mother could not swim. On the occasion that my father fetched me, he waded in wearing all of his clothes, then fetched me out again, no matter how much I wriggled and struggled.”

“And then what?” Alysanne asked, clearly doing some very quick maths in her mind.

“Then he handed me to my mother and trudged off to his favourite wine sink to remove the sobering effects of the river.”

“Was that the extent of your interaction with your father?” Alysanne asked gently.

“For the most part.” Valerion shrugged. “It matters not.”

“And would you emulate him?”

“Of course not.” Valerion said.

Alysanne nodded. “And that is why I stood with you today, and why I would do it again if the choice was made. I’m glad that Vaegon and your maester were here with you, but sometimes a mother is needed.”

“…my mother never attended a Westerosi wedding.” Valerion said slowly. “I did not know it was a custom.”

“It’s preferred, but not necessary." Alysanne conceded. "Are mothers not meant to attend the ceremony in Volantis?”

“No, they are, but… I don’t believe that she would have done so even had I wedded in Volantis.”

Alysanne patted his shoulder gently. “I am glad that you have come to our family then, if they did not appreciate you there.”

Valerion nodded, feeling as if there was something lodged in his throat. “If I can say one thing with certainty, you are a better mother than mine own was.”

The song ended. Someone must have instructed the band thusly, as they began to play ‘The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, The King Took Off His Crown’, which seemed to signal the bedding. Valerion was immediately swarmed by women. Over their heads, he saw men swarming Saera, who did not look displeased, and her female family members sitting down.

“Everyone please remain calm, I should not want my sister to be compromised before reaching the bedchamber.” Aemon said.

That was the last thing Valerion saw on that end of the room before he was mercilessly swarmed by enemy combatants. His clothes were mercilessly ripped to shreds, and he was pushed and cajoled by the mob of women out of the room.

“Oh my, it seems the Black Dread isn’t the only thing she’ll be riding!”
“Well why not, look at the size of his Black Dread!”
“The man is as pale as a ghost, call it a White Dread at least!”
“Gods be good, the man has an arse like a peach. If I weren’t married, I’d take a bite out of it!”

This was accompanied by much cackling from the assorted women. Valerion covered his chest as if to preserve his modesty, though this did not seem to distract from their main foci.

“I know I married a Ryswell, but it seems Princess Saera’s married a stallion.”
“Oh hush you, he’s blushing! He may not even last a moment longer if you keep trying to fondle him.”

Valerion finally reached the sanctity of the room and was mercilessly pushed inside. Saera, looking none the worse for wear, and pouting for it, was sat on the end of the bed. She raised an eyebrow when she saw him, leaning against the door and panting for dear life as if the women would attempt to break down the door.

“What happened to you? Were you set upon by wolves?” She asked.

“Of a sort.” Valerion replied. “…would you ever want to bite my arse?”

“What?” Saera asked.

“One of the women said I had an arse. Like a peach.” Valerion clarified.

Saera squinted at him. “That does not mean it is actually a peach. Are you well?”

“I am going to be haunted by that remark for the foreseeable future.” Valerion told her.

Saera stared at him, before patting the bed next to her. “Come over here and have sex with me. Stupid Aemon didn’t even let them warm me up.”

Valerion joined her. “Am I supposed to be upset that there weren’t other men teasing you? Touching you? Fondling you?” With the first word, he put a hand on her thigh. As he spoke, he slowly moved it up. She shivered.

“Take this dress off of me.” She ordered.

Valerion leaned over and unbuttoned the dress slowly, pressing kisses to her shoulder and chest as the fabric fell away. That was when the shout came.

“Gods, boy! How long is this going to take? Do you need help finding the cunny?” Someone shouted from the door that Saera had entered from. There was raucous laughing.

“Fuck me up against the door.” Saera whispered, before biting the shell of Valerion’s ear.

He helped her entirely out of her dress, then divested himself of what was once his second-best set of clothes, and now a pile of rags. In their attempts at help, the various noblewomen had ruined his braies as well, so at least his growing erection was free.

Saera climbed properly into Valerion’s lap, pulling him into a kiss. With little effort, he picked her up and carried her across the room as she wrapped her legs around him.

He slammed her against the door, making her gasp and their audience cry out in shock. He managed to slip one finger away from her legs, reaching for her clit, and found her practically dripping wet.

She gazed at him, eyes half-lidded.

“What have you been doing to make you so wet?” He muttered in her ear.

“Imagining you taking me on the dais of the dragonpit in front of all of those people.” She cooed. “I managed to think of several positions—oh.” That gasp of pleasure was one of Valerion’s favourite sounds, coupled with one of his favourite feelings; her, tight and wet, squeezing around his cock as he was buried hilt deep in her.

Slowly, he began to fuck her, hard and deep. Saera bit into his shoulder. “Gods, Valerion, don’t you dare stop.”

Their audience laughed raucously and made a few more comments. Valerion ignored them, focusing on Saera and the feeling of fucking her. She dug her fingernails into his back, scratching as she keened. He began to pick up the pace, slamming into her again and again, as she began to get louder and louder. Eventually, she was entirely drowning out the audience. There was only him, thrusting into her. There was only them.

He leaned into her, pushing her against the door as he moved his hands from her hips to her waist. Then he pulled away from the door, trusting in their momentum and his own strength to hold her as he picked her up and left her, only keeping in the tip, before moving her back down again.

Saera gave a sigh of pleasure. “I hope you leave bruises.”

“You’re a horrid little wench, aren’t you?” Valerion said fondly. “Why would you want bruises?”

Saera tried to pout but was too focused on the rhythm of bouncing on his cock. “To prove who I bel—who belongs to me.”

“Well, that seems a very roundabout way of thinking. Tell me, princess, were you going to say something different?” Valerion purred.

“Never.” Saera said. “You belong to me, not the other way around.”

“I see.” Valerion said. “And if I spread your legs and fuck you up against the bedframe, how will you feel about that?”

“I’m not sure what you mean. May I have a demonstration?” Saera asked.

“Of course.” Valerion smirked, before pulling out. Saera whined at the loss of sensation. Valerion kept his hands on her waist and lowered her to the floor, just letting the tips of her toes touch the ground before putting her up against the end of the bed and kneeing her legs apart. Saera automatically leaned on the edge of the bed for balance.

“You may need to lower your chest, princess.” Valerion purred. “I need a better angle for you.”

Saera turned and gave him a dirty look but lowered her face to the bed. Valerion pulled her up onto the tips of her toes again, and eased himself in. Saera gave a whine of impatience, and Valerion rubbed at her clit. She tried to back into him.

“Not this time, love.” He purred. “This time, you can enjoy yourself with barely any work.” He slowly fucked into her, enjoying the drag of his cock inside her and her whimpers at the feeling.

“Give me more.” Saera ordered.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Valerion asked.

“More! Give me more!” Saera screamed.

“More what?”

“Valerion Qoherys, fuck me into this mattress right now!” Saera howled.

Valerion grinned and did as his princess bid. He thrust into her hard and fast, catching her off guard and nearly making her topple. She caught herself, just barely, as he began to fuck her just as she had begged. One of his hands was on her arse, keeping her spread for him, and one was underneath, supporting her and playing with her clit.

Then he had an evil idea. As his cock slid out to the tip, he managed to get a finger in as well. Saera made a choking noise as he thrust forward again.

“Too much?”

“Never.” Saera vowed. “Never felt so full…”

“What a slut you are.” Valerion chuckled. “If I were to pick you up again, would I find drool on the bed?”

“And what if you did?” Saera challenged, before he pinched her clit between his remaining fingers and rubbed, then thrust into her again. She was reduced to a series of moans, pants, and occasionally his name as she begged him to continue fucking her.

He came inside her, and removed the finger, twisting her around to slide it into her mouth. She sucked greedily, and he wished he could fuck her from this angle while seeing her face. Perhaps in the future he would have to set up a mirror so he could see her in all her glory while she tried to hide the fact that he was the only one who seemed able to satisfy her.

Saera removed his finger with a lewd noise. “Are you going to go soft in me?”

Valerion moved his hand back down to circle her clit. “Mayhaps, but then you’ll just get me hard again, won’t you? And then I can fuck you again, the way you like it?”
“And what way do I like it?”

Valerion leaned forward, causing Saera to make a small noise as he moved the pressure on her body from the front to the back. “Frankly Saera, I suspect you enjoy every way I fuck you, just because you love having my cock in you that bad.”

Saera shivered with anticipation. “A cock.”

Valerion removed his hands from her clit and flipped her over to look at her. “My cock.”

Saera licked her lips. “Are you hard again yet?”

“I don’t believe so. Suck me back to it?”

Saera nodded eagerly, and Valerion let her head hang off the side of the bed while he entered her mouth. Saera sucked greedily while Valerion palmed her breasts. She let out a little gasp, and before he could help himself, he began thrusting forward. Saera, if it was possible, sucked harder, and one of her hands came down to play with her clit.

“Tell me when you need air, love.” Valerion said fondly.
Saera scraped her teeth along his cock, but he didn’t mind her admonishments. She did it again, seemingly to make her point, and he sighed. “I suppose you want me to fuck your mouth again, don’t you?”

She nodded. Well, what was he to do when faced with an order from the princess? He thrust into her mouth repeatedly just the way she liked it, hard and fast and rough, only pulling away before orgasm.
Saera gasped.

“Do you want me to cum on your face, or to fuck you again?” Valerion asked.

“Can I have both?” Saera begged.

Valerion sighed. “I can never deny you anything.”

Saera smiled as he entered her mouth again, taking him in full to the hilt. Her free hand came up to play with his balls as he thrust into her, before he pulled away to give into her request. Cum covered her face and neck, dripping down into her hair.

“Fuck me again in my pussy?” Saera asked, her eyes shining with excitement as she licked at what she could reach with her tongue and tried to scoop what she could not with her fingers to put into her mouth.

Valerion smirked. “Well… it is our wedding night.”

He fucked her twice more before she agreed to let him sleep and fucked her twice again in the morning. After they had finished their last tup they laid in the bed together in a tangle of limbs. Valerion could not stop the smile which had settled on his face. The bed was large enough that he propped himself up to loom over Saera.

“Why are you smiling like that?” She asked, positively glowing.

“Because I can’t quite believe you said you belong to me.” Valerion said playfully.

Saera glared at him sharply. “I didn’t.”

“Mmm. You may have stopped saying it,” Valerion brought a finger to her chin as he spoke. “…but you thought it. You know it.”

“What is it that I know?” Saera asked defiantly.

“You know that we belong to each other because no matter how strongly I feel for you, you feel the same way.”

Saera’s imperious expression softened. “I do, and I always will love you.”

Chapter Text

Rhaenys

She alighted from the carriage with her father and stared up at the Red Keep. Six months had not changed it much – the city still smelled bad, and the castle seemed much the same as ever. However, she was now nine namedays old, and therefore her father had entrusted her with a special mission fit for future queens.

She already wished she could go back to Dragonstone. Gaemon and Gael were probably having snack time with Grandmother, and while she wasn’t a baby, she liked watching them. Gaemon in particular with his chubby little face and how everyone said she was such a good big sister when she played with him.

Clearly the fact that she was now nine namedays old meant something to Papa and her grandfather as well because she did not go straight to the nursery as if nothing had happened. She walked with her Papa to the Throne Room, straight from the carriage. The court assembled; the crier called their names as they entered. Her grandfather was sat on the Iron Throne, as was right and proper.

Uncle Baelon was nearby her grandfather, and he waved at her. Rhaenys glanced at her father, decided he wasn’t looking, and waved back. As she and her father crossed the room, she noticed Uncle Valerion in the shadows. He winked at her and leaned on a pillar, the effect of which was somewhat ruined by Ser Gyles standing right behind him. Rhaenys giggled a bit to herself, which her Papa did not comment on, even though he glanced at her.

They finally made it all the way to the Iron Throne's steps, twisted and bent. Her papa bowed so Rhaenys fell into a deep curtsy, which she had practiced playing around with the babies on Dragonstone. It wasn’t as fun on the hard floor as on the beach, but she did not complain because she was a big girl.

“Rise, Prince Aemon, Princess Rhaenys.” Her grandfather said. Rhaenys hopped back up into position. Her grandfather was staring at her dress as if he recognised it.

“…is that Queen Alysanne’s?” He finally asked.

“I believe so, my lord Grandfather.” Rhaenys said. “She gave it to me as a gift upon my nameday. It seemed appropriate for a future queen to wear, once we were summoned.”

“…I summoned Prince Aemon.” Her grandfather turned to look at her father, who slowly rose back up to his full height.

“So you did, your grace.” Papa said, no emotion on his face. “And I made the decision to bring Princess Rhaenys back to King’s Landing myself. My lady wife and eldest son will soon follow by ship.”

“Very well.” Her grandfather said. “We will adjourn to the small council chamber to discuss the nature of your summons. Prince Baelon and Lord Qoherys will join us.” Her grandfather descended the twisted steps of the throne and signalled for several of the Kingsguard to follow. Uncle Valerion slunk out of the shadows to join silently, which was ruined by Ser Gyles purposefully making as much noise as possible.

“Will we get to see your wife and babe before we leave for war?” Uncle Valerion asked once they had arrived, and the doors had been sealed.

Papa sat at the table and looked at him expressionlessly. “I don’t believe so, no.”

“A pity.” Uncle Baelon pouted, moving to sit as well. Rhaenys wondered if he was allowed to do that since he wasn’t a member of the Small Council. “I wanted to reclaim my title of ‘best uncle’.”

Uncle Valerion snorted and sat next to Uncle Baelon. “Surely your Rhae-niece is a better judge than the babe.”

“So you say, but I already have plans in place for your babe to acknowledge me as ‘best uncle’.” Uncle Baelon japed back with a grin.

Rhaenys blinked but sat at a chair next to her papa. “Aunt Saera is with child? I thought she didn’t like children.”

“She likes ours.” Uncle Valerion said calmly.

“Of course she does.” Papa muttered.

“Enough.” Grandfather interrupted. “Aemon, you were recalled from Dragonstone with a singular purpose. Rhaenys will not be joining us, either on dragonback or in the war.”

Rhaenys frowned at him. Wasn’t she supposed to know about this war the adults kept mentioning? She had heard all about it, of course, because she was going to be queen and right now her information networks consisted of listening at keyholes and not getting caught, but whenever it looked like she might find out, the adults got quieter.

Her mother didn’t want her father to go. Her grandmother was worried about her grandfather using it to justify “a territorial expansion” which Rhaenys had subtly had to ask Maester Prentiss about the next day to find out what it meant.

But grandfather was saying it like she already knew what was happening, so she relaxed and assumed that the adults already knew. Papa glanced at her, but Rhaenys just looked at her grandfather.

“When is it going to be over?” She asked.

“What?” Grandfather was clearly caught off guard.

Rhaenys tilted her head towards her grandfather. “The war you’re going to. With the Dornish. You have four dragonriders here. They have none. It should be fast, yes?”

Her uncles glanced at each other. Papa smiled. Grandfather steepled his fingers. “Ideally, yes. However, have you heard the story of your namesake?”

Rhaenys nodded. “She was the Queen of Aegon the Conqueror. I sleep in her bedroom at home.”

“This is your home.” Grandfather said. Rhaenys shrugged in response Her grandfather sighed before continuing. “My point is that she and her dragon Meraxes were killed via a scorpion bolt. It would be foolish not to assume that the Dornish have once again deployed them.”

Rhaenys shrugged again. “Do you have an estimate for when Papa will come home, Grandfather?”

Uncle Baelon lowered himself closer to the table, which Rhaenys found very rude. She was already wearing dresses that her grandmother had worn when she was eleven namedays old, since she was so tall like her parents. Rhaenys was not exactly Uncle Baelon’s height yet, but she was of a height with his chest, not his waist.

“Rhaenys, I promise your grandfather will do my best to get your Papa back to you within a few weeks, but we cannot control—” Uncle Baelon began.

“Two months at the latest.” Uncle Valerion interrupted.

Rhaenys turned around to stare at him. He looked entirely at ease, with his arms crossed and his expression bored.

“Do you possess some clairvoyant power?” Grandfather asked sceptically.

“Saera is roughly six moons into her pregnancy, according to the maesters. Babes can come early. If we leave tomorrow, I must return within two months to make sure that I don’t miss the birth of my child.” Uncle Valerion said calmly.

“Wars are not won just because you wish it so, Lord Qoherys.” Grandfather snapped.

Uncle Valerion’s expression didn’t exactly change, but it somehow got colder. “I have yet to apply my will to one in earnest, your grace. Regardless, I will be with her for the birth of my child, or dead.”

“Two months seems a bit much as it is.” Papa mused. “They have not yet managed to make ships that can resist dragonfire in any corner of the world.”

Grandfather sighed as if Daemon had just eaten a very important document and did not care for any scolding. “It is good to exercise caution in the face of scorpion bolts.”

“Caution means nothing if we do not act tactically.” Uncle Valerion said, and it sounded like they had had this argument before.

Papa tapped the table to draw attention. “To clarify, we leave tomorrow?”

Grandfather nodded solemnly. “Our spies report that the Dornish fleet has raised anchor. We fly at first light.”

Papa sighed and rubbed at his eyes. Rhaenys hadn’t seen him do that since they had gone to Dragonstone.

“I am staying. We will get to spend some time together, Rhaenys.” Uncle Baelon said.

Rhaenys did not personally enjoy the thought of spending time with Daemon, nemesis of dolls and Gael. Viserys was less of an issue she supposed, mostly he just sat quietly and had a finer appreciation for parchment than Daemon. “Why are you staying, Uncle Baelon?”

“Vhagar is an elderly lady, and I do not wish to have her making sharp turns and tight manoeuvring, even if she is capable. Besides, Alyssa and I have borrowed a bit of Valerion and Saera’s luck, and I wish to support my wife through her pregnancy.”

Uncle Valerion looked as if he had something to say about that, but Grandfather interrupted. “And Baelon shall be Protector of the Realm in my stead, while we fly to war.”

Papa turned to Grandfather. “I did not see any camps outside the city. Have we not amassed men of our own?”

“The Lord of Storms End has called his banners and begun marching to Cape Wrath, the suspected landing site of the fleet. Our role is to ensure the fleet never touches land intact.” Grandfather said.

Rhaenys wondered why Uncle Boremund had not told her anything. He surely trusted her. Papa stared at Grandfather, then nodded tightly. “Very well. If you’ll excuse me, Rhaenys and I are tired from our journey. I must rest before tomorrow.”

Rhaenys gave another curtsey, then followed Papa. He walked out of the room very quickly but matched his stride to her when she called out.

“I think you should rest, Papa. I want to send Mama and Grandmother a raven to let them know we’ve arrived safely.” Rhaenys said.

Papa smiled at her. “My little queen in the making, you’re very wise. Ser Clement, can you accompany her?”

She hadn’t even noticed Ser Clement, but then he was beside Papa and nodded gently at her. Rhaenys nodded back and accepted the escort to the rookery. She didn’t actually know which ravens went to Dragonstone, after all.

**************************************************************

Alysanne

Jocelyn was kind enough to keep Gael while Alysanne was busy. It was not much of a hardship – Gael was a sweet, calm, quiet child, and Gaemon was much the same. Gael would sit for hours in front of a troop of minstrels, and Gaemon was content so long as his needs were routinely tended to and he was in a patch of sunlight.

The light glimmered off of Silverwing’s scales and caught on her horns as they passed above a cloud. Alysanne grinned to herself – she adored flying, and today was no exception. It was a beautiful day, and even as they neared King’s Landing, it did not dim her enthusiasm. Silverwing had made this flight more times than she cared to count, and she banked accordingly, ready to land in the yard. She sniffed the air and sneezed – mayhaps she could tell that Vermithor had been there only recently.

Regardless, Silverwing landed perfectly, the trip between the Red Keep and Dragonstone something she could almost do in her sleep with no input from Alysanne.
Alysanne unbuckled herself and slid from Silverwing’s back as servants – not the keepers of the pit – came rushing forward.

“Your Grace, you missed the king!” One said.

Alysanne stared them down. “Yes.”

“…you should have told us that you were coming.” Another offered. “We would have prepared—”

“No, I don’t think I should have. Silverwing will be taking off again soon anyway. Where are my daughters and grandchildren?”

The servants glanced at one another. “I don’t…”

“Go get them for me. I’ll meet them all in the Great Hall.” Alysanne commanded. “After you’ve done that, get something for Silverwing to eat.”

With that, she patted Silverwing on the nose and then turned on her heel and left for the Throne Room. It was empty, with no courtiers, and no children. No Jaehaerys. For a heartbeat, she considered climbing those malformed steps and taking the throne, sitting on it herself. Her claim was as great as Jaehaerys’. It wasn’t as if he was there to stop her.

But the moment passed. She was not there for the chair – she had never liked it that much anyway. It was an ugly, twisted thing – rusting in places, sharp in others. It loomed over her as if it was going to eat her. It had already eaten her father, sister and brothers. No, it would not have her too. The only thing it had ever done for her was kill her uncle on Jaehaerys’ behalf.

She was still staring at it thoughtfully when Alyssa and Baelon entered. Apparently, they had been engaged in some sort of bedsport given their rumpled clothing and Alyssa’s hair.

“Mother!” Alyssa said happily, rushing to her. “You’re back!” Alysanne took her daughter’s hands and embraced her, before looking her over. Alyssa was wearing her most comfortable, well-worn boots, and loose clothing. Ah, Alysanne knew these clothes.

“Alyssa, I am so happy to see that you are with child.” Alysanne said.

Alyssa’s cheeks pinked. “It’s still early days.”

“I’m sure.” Alysanne said.

“We would have told you!” Alyssa rushed to say. “But you were coming back.”

Alysanne paused, then patted Alyssa’s cheek. “Perhaps. I would like to speak on the matter when your sisters and children arrive.”

“Perhaps? Either you are coming back or not.” Baelon said, more confused than angry.

“Then I am not returning, not yet. Dragonstone has been good for my health, for Jocelyn’s health, and for the children. I would like to invite the rest of the family to stay with us.”

“I cannot leave, Mother. Father has appointed me regent.” Baelon said gently.

Alysanne nodded once to him to show that she had heard, then turned back to Alyssa. “I would not force you, but I will say that the vapours on Dragonstone have always soothed me during my times of carrying a child.”

Alyssa worried at her lip. It was perhaps a bit cruel of Alysanne to say – Viserys had been an easy pregnancy for Alyssa, but Daemon had not been. Alyssa had been bedbound near the end of her confinement. It stood to reason that she worried about something similar happening again.

“And how long would you want us to stay?” Alyssa asked.

Alysanne smiled as reassuringly as she could. “Until your father should call you back. I would love to have you – all of you, yourself included Baelon – as long as possible, but I should imagine that he will want you back when he returns.”

“…you knew he was gone.” Baelon said slowly.

Alysanne did not see the point in lying. “I did.”

“How?”

“Baelon, I have been queen longer than you have been alive. I have people loyal to me in this castle.” It would not do to reveal Rhaenys.

“It’s not a question of loyalty.” Baelon said. “I care for both of you—”

“I’m going.” Alyssa said. “And Viserys and Daemon are coming with me.”

“’Lyssa, we can’t just abandon Father!” Baelon said, shocked.

Alyssa shook her head at him. “Father is gone for the moment. Are you so loyal to his shadow that you would stay here alone?”

Baelon glanced at the throne before replying. “I was entrusted with care of the Kingdoms!”

“As if Father is not running it from his warcamp that I was explicitly told not to join.” Alyssa scoffed.

Alysanne intervened before the children could fight more. “Mayhaps you could visit sometimes, Baelon? As much as you can? I’m sure that the seaside in spring would benefit you as well.”

Baelon’s reply was cut off by Saera entering. She was dressed in black silk with long sleeves, down to her wrists. Her hair was bound up with glittering topazes and opals, apparently to evoke the colours of House Qoherys. Her collar was high and elegant, framing her neck and almost her face. She looked very mature to Alysanne’s eye. Her dress was also tight enough that the swell of her stomach was practically staring them all in the face.

“Mother.” Saera gave Alysanne a nod, though she took a step forward with her arms raised for just a moment, before adjusting herself. Alysanne left Alyssa and went to Saera, pulling her into a hug. “Oh, my girl, I am so proud of you.”

Saera looked very pleased. “Well, yes, of course you are.”

“I was just telling your siblings that the air on Dragonstone is quite good for mothers with child at the moment. Would you like to join me and your goodsister there until the war should end?” Alysanne asked.

Saera wrinkled her nose but at least seemed to give it some thought. “I shall have to have my things sent by ship, but… I suppose I might be able to. With my dearest Valerion gone—”

Alyssa made retching noises in the background, which Alysanne decided to believe was a mother’s stomach and not her attempting to be unkind to her sister.

Saera glared at Alyssa before continuing. “With Valerion gone, I find that my days moving forward shall be emptier. I don’t believe your royal husband has given permission for me to spend time on a family island, though.”

Alysanne leaned forward. “Well, your father does not exactly know…”

Saera smirked. “In which case, I shall tell the servants to send things on before we leave.”

Alysanne smirked back. “That would be wise, sweetling. Would you have much issue if your sisters and niblings were to attend as well?”

“Oh, I suppose so, just not Daella from the Vale. I don’t want a hoard of Arryns descending upon us.” Saera pouted.

“Or Vaegon!” Alyssa added.

“Peace, daughters. I am not summoning your siblings from the reaches of Westeros.” Alysanne laughed.

Viserra chose that moment to enter with the other children. Viserys led Daemon whose walking had grown much stronger. Alysanne noted that she would need to ensure Gael was not with Daemon as frequently as she had been. Rhaenys beamed at seeing her grandmother and gave a conspiratorial wink when she didn’t think she was being watched. Where had she learned to that?

Viserra was graceful as always but seemed quiet. Alysanne turned to her. “Viserra, how have you been?”

Viserra lifted her chin and stared her mother in the eye. “My nameday passed, and you could not even send a raven to acknowledge it.”

Alysanne rocked back. What to say? Claim that Jaehaerys had intercepted a message that truthfully, she had never written? No. “I am sorry, Viserra. It slipped my mind. I shall make up for it in the future.”

Viserra shrugged. “It is no matter.”

Mayhaps Alysanne would have believed her had Viserra been the only teenage girl that she had ever met. Instead, Alysanne took a deep breath. “It is a great matter. May I embrace you?” Viserra shrugged again, but did not protest when Alysanne pulled her into her arms. Slowly, her hands came back to hug Alysanne back.
“My little autumn princess.” Alysanne whispered. “I am so sorry. Tell me, how has your courtship with the Greenfield boy been going? What friends have you made? When we go to Dragonstone, I shall instruct the cook to make the berry tart you like. With the wine and Dornish spices. And we shall have a late nameday party for you.”

“Father didn’t even say anything, and he was here.” Viserra whispered.

“I’m sorry.” Alysanne said back.

“Why weren’t you here? Why didn’t you take me with you?”

“I’m sorry.” Alysanne repeated. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s done with now. No use crying about it.” Saera said after clearing her throat.

“You have the grace and tact of a wild horse, though I imagine Viserra would prefer that.” Alyssa scoffed to her.

“I meant what I said!” Saera hissed. “Mayhaps mother could let her have a try at Dreamfyre as an apology? If only to save us from another round of ‘I am so sorry’. Besides, I don’t suppose you remember when Viserra’s birthday is.”

“I have two children and twelve siblings!” Alyssa snapped. “It is not up to me to remember everyone’s birthday!”

“Besides, Aunt Viserra likes horses more than dragons.” Rhaenys said with great solemnity and wisdom. “I know this because she told me to be silent last time I started telling her what I know about dragons.”

“I can like multiple things!” Viserra wrenched herself away from Alysanne, cheeks flushed with anger. “And I can claim Dreamfyre!”

“Dragon!” Was Daemon’s input. “Fly! Fly!”

Baelon scooped him up. “Very true, we’re going on a flight soon to Dragonstone. You will see your aunt Gael and your cousin Gaemon. Would you like that?”

“I Daemon!” Daemon declared, frowning at his father. “No cousin!”

“No, Daemon. His name is Gaemon. Gae-mon.” Viserys said. Unfortunately, he seemed to have uttered some sort of blasphemy, because as soon as Daemon heard ‘no’ and ‘Daemon’ together, he began wailing and attempting to bite his father.

Alysanne chose to leave Baelon to Daemon’s tender mercies and returned to the matter of the spurned Viserra. “Dreamfyre has lain unclaimed for 10 years, surely it can wait, Viserra.”

“No!” Viserra snapped. This only served to embolden Daemon’s resolve. “You let Saera tame a dragon, why not me?”

“It is not the same.” Alysanne answered, although Viserra did not seem convinced.

“I disagree Mother.” Saera interrupted. “Viserra is just as much a dragon as any of us and Dreamfyre was first ridden by our Aunt Rhaena at the age of ten and two. Viserra is not far off that herself.”

Alysanne felt her eyes widen a bit as she stared at Saera. She was not wrong but for her daughters, especially Saera, to know this was something she did not expect. The argument was closer to what she expected of Vaegon. “When did you start learning the histories, Saera?” Alysanne asked.

Saera looked away before answering. “Valerion likes them. Sometimes he reads to me.”

Alysanne felt someone take her hand and turned to see Viserra. “Please let me try, Mother?”

“Very well. We shall see if Dreamfyre wishes to fly again.” Alysanne kept back a great sigh. It helped with logistics, and this way she would not have to worry about someone tumbling from Balerion’s back while double-riding with Saera.

Still it felt odd. She already saw so much of Rhaena in Viserra, unlike the uncle she was actually named for. Sometimes, she turned a corner and saw Viserra and felt like a child again, seeing Rhaena at the end of the hall. She was scared what seeing Viserra on Rhaena’s dragon would mean. Rhaena’s last words to her haunted Alysanne. “It should have been me.”

“Mother, are you well?” Baelon asked.

“Hm? Oh. Yes. I was just remembering my sister.” Alysanne gave a practiced smile. Why would her children think of any bad blood there? They all loved one another well enough.

They had never been grabbed by Rhaena, who slammed Alysanne into a wall and screamed at her, “It should have been me! I should have been queen! I should have the living children! All of it!” Jaehaerys had had to pull Rhaena off of Alysanne, and both of them had dissolved into sobs at the same time – Rhaena with great choking sounds of grief, and Alysanne out of heartbreak for her sister and niece. Alysanne had tried to comfort her sister, but Rhaena had looked at her with such hate that it made Alysanne cold just to think of it.

Alysanne had said the first thing she had thought that might bring comfort. Perhaps it would have been best if she had not. “You can marry again. You can have more children.”

“I have been married thrice. I have no need for a fourth husband to make me miserable. Tell me, sweet little ‘Sanne, can you replace your Aegon that easily?”

“That is cruel—”

“What is cruel is coming to me and telling me that my daughter can be easily replaced! Telling me to lie in another man’s bed and hope that this time, this time he won’t be cruel! That he won’t be stupid! That it will end in anything other than his gruesome death! I fed my last husband to my dragon. If you make me take another, I may eat him myself! Maybe you didn’t love your Aegon enough – mayhaps if you lost your daughter, that babe at your chest, you might know a bit more of how stupid you sound right now. Get out. Both of you! Get away from me! It should have been me!”

Alysanne pulled herself back to the present. All of her children were looking at her now, including Rhaena—Viserra. It was Viserra. It was always Viserra. Besides, she knew that Rhaena had not cursed Daenerys. It was the sickness that took her, nothing more. There was nothing anyone could have done. She noticed that she was wringing her hands and forced herself to stop. She was worrying the children. Even Saera was forgetting to feign disdain and was watching her with a furrowed brow.

Alysanne forced another smile. She would simply burn all of Rhaena’s dresses when she returned to Dragonstone. If Rhaena—Viserra, it was Viserra – wore them, she might simply go mad. “Shall we adjourn to the Dragonpit, my loves? We must see if Dreamfyre will take to Viserra.”

“If Dreamfyre rejected me, I would simply die of shame.” Saera scoffed. “What would she even do? Huff and turn her back to a prospective rider?”

“We are all well aware of your ideas of claiming a dragon.” Alyssa said. “Mayhaps Viserra will cause less damage.”
Saera scoffed again.

Alysanne cleared her throat. “And where will the babes ride? I will of course take Rhaenys with me, as decided previously.”

“I will take Viserys.” Alyssa said, glancing at Baelon. Baelon sighed.

“Does that mean Baelon is abandoning his post?” Saera asked.

“Unless you have unlocked a great deal of secret magics, I do not see how else he would be getting to Dragonstone.” Baelon gestured to Daemon, who had calmed after Viserys had produced a rather smashed lemoncake from his pocket and bribed him into silence. Alysanne did not want to think about how long it had been there – luckily Daemon had no such qualms and was happily eating it with as much mess as possible.  

Saera sighed. “Hold him up. I will not kneel, I am carrying a child.”

“A child, not the weight of the world.” Alyssa scoffed.

Saera scowled. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but I am carrying the heir to a lost house, the heir to Harrenhal. You are carrying at best, the third son of a second son. Your child will likely be sent to the Citadel so that they do not take up space.”

Alyssa hooted with laughter. “Heir to Harrenhal? I did not know you had taken up with the Strongs.”

Saera balled her hands into fists. “Father said… it doesn’t matter what Father said. Father is a liar anyway. The point is, I have ambitions for my child. You fuck for the sake of it.”

“Language!” Alysanne called.

Her daughters ignored her. Alyssa barked out a laugh. “Coming from the woman with the child conceived on the Small Council Table!”

“It was not on the Small Council Table!” Saera whined. “I’m not far enough along for that!”

“So you admit, it wasn’t procreative – or even really ambitious, to you- sex.” Baelon added.

“I have scores of ambition!” Saera huffed.

Alysanne stepped between her daughters. “We are getting off of the topic. Saera?”

Saera tossed her head. “I was simply going to say something to my nephew.”

Baelon picked Daemon up, still munching on his lemoncake. Alysanne swore to the Seven above that she saw a bit of dust on it.

“Listen to me, you horrid little monster.” Saera began. “I will take you up upon the greatest dragon in the world, but if you struggle and fall, that is your problem. You will dash yourself upon the rocks below if you are lucky and drown if not. I will not catch you. Do you understand?”

“Saera!” Alyssa snapped. “How dare you speak to Daemon that way!”

Saera crossed her arms and stared at Daemon as if he was going to reply, ignoring Alyssa. Daemon finished his lemoncake. “Dragon.” He said firmly.

Saera nodded once. “Then we have an accord. I will take him.”

Visions of Daemon falling into the sea flashed before Alysanne’s eyes. “That’s not necessary. Baelon can take him.”

“Once he sees the might of Balerion, he will no doubt wish to accompany me.” Saera nodded again, as if agreeing with herself. “I have no desire to deal with his screaming should he be denied.”

Baelon stared at her. “Saera, he kicks when angry. He can kick your abdomen. I do not believe that this is a good idea.”

Saera scowled. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Saera, please, it’s best for you and Daemon if this does not happen.” Baelon pleaded.

Saera crossed her arms. “Don’t presume to speak for me. If I cannot handle a small flight with your monstrous child, how am I to raise my own?”

“So, you admit your children will be monstrous?” Alyssa muttered.

“Give him to me.” Saera demanded of Baelon. Against his better judgement, Baelon handed over Daemon.

Saera held him at arm’s length, clearly regretting this, but unable to back out. Then she sighed and put him under her arm, as if carrying something like a sack of flour. Daemon, for his part, giggled mischievously, clearly finding this enjoyable.

“I will bring him to the Dragonpit.” Saera announced.

“I will accompany the family that far at least, since I want to say goodbye properly.” Baelon said.

Saera nodded, apparently pleased with this. The family finally made for the Dragonpit, and Alysanne returned to Silverwing to meet them there. After some time – long enough for servants to presumably begin packing up goods and for the family to change into riding clothes – they arrived. To Alysanne’s shock, Saera was still carrying Daemon, whose hands had apparently been scrubbed. Saera was now wearing something approximating riding gear, her stomach still prominent. Knowing Saera, she may have been boasting of the pregnancy in her own way.

Viserra’s hair had been hastily braided and put out of the way, and it soothed Alysanne a bit. Rhaena had been reluctant to bind her hair, and Viserra’s nervousness was at odds with Rhaena’s nature. Alyssa was much the same as before, though her boots seemed to have more grip.

Saera passed Daemon to Alysanne at the first opportunity. “He is perfectly beastly.”
Daemon giggled.

“Then I imagine Baelon will accompany us to Dragonstone.” Alysanne said calmly. “It is unkind for a first flight to make Viserra carry a passenger, especially a wriggly little wyrmling such as this.” With that, she tickled Daemon’s stomach, and he laughed harder. Her heart ached. The children had grown so much in her absence.

“You say that as if there is no doubt.” Viserra said, shifting from foot to foot. “Dreamfyre has shown no interest in another bond since returning to the Dragonpit.”

Alysanne passed Daemon to Alyssa, wary of putting him down to run off somewhere, then turned to Viserra. “The dragons do not come to us. We go to them. Come. Your sisters will prepare their dragons. Rhaenys, can you watch Silverwing for me? I will join you in a moment.”

After Viserra nodded, Alysanne signalled the dragonkeepers. “Open Dreamfyre’s tunnel.” They responded quickly, and Alysanne slowly walked Viserra down. “If she does not take to you, it is no matter.” Alysanne said. “There is every possibility that your dragon is Silverwing, for example.”

Viserra’s hair glinted silver-gold beneath a passing torch. “I don’t think so.” Viserra said quietly. “Silverwing is yours, I do not wish to change that.”

Alysanne reached out and squeezed Viserra’s shoulder. “Then if you should never claim a dragon, that is also not the end of the world. You are still my daughter. You are still a Targaryen, a princess. My brothers… the only one that claimed a cradle egg was your father. Our elder brother, whom you were named for, never rode at all.” She could not speak of it any further lest she weep.

They continued on for a bit, which gave Alysanne a chance to get her emotions under control, until they reached Dreamfyre’s antechamber. Dreamfyre lifted her neck to look at them. Clearly they were not there to feed her or groom her, and Alysanne did not imagine that people came to her for other reasons.
Alysanne stepped to the side.

Dreamfyre tilted her head, looking at Alysanne, then dismissed her, looking to Viserra. Viserra stood stock still. No one moved for a long moment.

Then Viserra stepped forward. “Iksan Viserra Targaryen. Iksan se tala hen Jaehaerys Targaryen, lēkia hen Rhaena Targaryen. Kesan sagon aōha kipagīros.” She said in Valyrian.
Dreamfyre watched for another moment, before exhaling and lowering her head. Viserra continued forward and rested her hand against Dreamfyre’s snout. Then she knelt and put her forehead to Dreamfyre’s.

All Alysanne could hear was her own heartbeat. Dreamfyre and Viserra were both as still as statues, their eyes closed. Then, faster than Alysanne had ever seen her move, Viserra went to Dreamfyre’s side, clambered up, swung a leg over, and called out, “Sōves!”

Dreamfyre disappeared through the tunnel, and Alysanne heard the exclamations of her other children as Viserra went soaring out. Half an hour later, flying in formation with her children, she could still hear Viserra’s laughter on the wind.

**************************************************************

Valerion

Valerion stepped out of the fighting square greatly frustrated. He had taken to passing the time at the camp by sparring with any who would be willing to face him. At first, that had been many but after he soundly defeated his first eight opponents, the challengers had grown sparse. Valerion trudged back to the centre of the camp and the relative warmth of his tent, his boots squelching into the wet mud as he went.

It had only been two days and a night since their arrival and the cold bite of the sea winds was already proving a constant source of irritation. Dragonriders were not built for this cold. So great was Valerion’s annoyance that he tried to await the summons of the King within the confines of his ‘home’, a far cry from the warmth of his wife. Still, it was far better than what he had back during his time in the Disputed Lands, sleeping in the mud with the common soldier.

Valerion found his tent to be in good order. The king had gifted him something akin to a squire for the duration of the war with Dorne, a boy of ten-and-three from House Brownhill, whose family keep lay 2 leagues north of here. He was named Erich or somesuch and avoided Valerion outside of his duties. Valerion had overheard a knight call him ‘that sorcerer from Essos.’ No doubt that was the reason he was being avoided.

Valerion observed his armour, which had been laid out in preparation for the coming conflict. Its glyphs were hidden within the edges of red gold. Some of the symbols were Valyrian, but most were older still. Not a language, such was too simple an explanation. They remained a mystery to him and one he would have to live with. Mayhaps that was for the best, given all else he gleaned from his time in Valyria. Whatever else they were, even possibly decorative, they gave him a sense of security that he otherwise lacked with all of these staring eyes.

His sword was resting nearby, recently cleaned, judging from the gleam of the ivory skull pommel. Valerion had little need for it until the ships would be sighted, instead simply wearing Subterfuge in case of trouble. While Valerion washed his hands from the grime they had accumulated in the nearby water bowl, he heard the flap of his tent open.

“There you are, goodnephew!” A joyous booming voice said, as if trying to fill the space in lieu of the man himself. Such a voice could only belong to one man.

“Here I am indeed, Lord Baratheon.” Valerion said, turning to see Boremund Baratheon. He was dressed in a woollen overcoat sewn in the yellow and black of his house, bearing a wide smile. Valerion stiffened instinctively fearing he might be pulled into another hug.

This was another reason that he was constantly stared at; apparently Lord Baratheon was somewhat taciturn to others – presumably because they had not had the misfortune to save his full-blooded sister and her son, even unintentionally. Valerion also believed that Lord Baratheon enjoyed fucking with him.

Lord Baratheon – or Boremund as he had demanded to be called, loudly and repeatedly until Valerion gave into his will – gave a smile of sharp white teeth. “Come, the King wishes to speak with us. We will talk on the way.” With that, Boremund departed the tent. If nothing else, he did not waste his time with empty words. Valerion exited the tent only to be ambushed by Boremund and put into another one-armed hug. “I hear you are to be a father soon.” Boremund mercifully released him from his grip and patted him on the back as they began to make their way to the long tent in the centre of camp.

Targaryen and Baratheon banners boomed and snapped in the wind, in case anyone should possibly be mistaken about who camped here.

“Within the next three turns of the moon, at the latest.” Valerion said, trying not to think about the possibility of something going awry. What if Saera tripped headed to the bath? She had been suffering from swollen feet, and he was not there to carry her to and from her destinations. He hoped these blasted ships approached soon; once the men within had been wrought to ash, then he could fly back to Kings Landing with haste.

Dark thoughts swirled in his mind as they walked. Mayhaps the ships would not come as expected, and they would have to scour the Narrow Sea for the fleet themselves. It could even be possible that he would be struck from the sky and fall into the sea himself, leaving the babe without a father. Was that to be his fate? To abandon the woman he loved when they had been wed for only half a year?

“Goodnephew?”

Valerion turned his attention back to Boremund. “Mmm? Apologies, I did not hear you.”

“I said it does not surprise me, given what I heard during your bedding.” Boremund japed with a grin upon his face. “Would you consider naming your son after me?” Valerion offered a polite smile at the comment, too focused on his meddlesome thoughts. Boremund laughed, so perhaps it was more of a grimace.
“I will not hold you to it, do not fear so!” Boremund said. “It is merely a request I have made of Jocelyn for years, and now that I put to you. Indeed, my name is uniquely awful and have always thought so.”

“And you would wish to give it to a babe? Defenseless and innocent?” Valerion asked before he could stop himself.

Boremund guffawed. “I wish to see the looks upon my family’s faces when they try to tell me politely that there will be ice in the Seven Hells ere they name a babe after me.” They fell into silence.

As they approached the war tent Valerion felt Boremund’s hand grasp his shoulder. “It does not serve to dwell on your thoughts, goodnephew.” The smile had entirely left his face, leaving only a stern face filled with concern.

Valerion did his best to keep his face neutral. “Which thoughts are those, my lord?”

“Do you think you are the only man at this camp who thinks as you do? Rare is the man who does not feel the fear of the Stranger’s embrace.”

Valerion said the first words which came to his mind. “I don’t!” He snapped. Valerion had left fear the day he abandoned his mother. He remembered wading through the skirmishes in Essos. The spear that caught his side in his first battle, and the arrow to his shoulder at the third. He had never cared if he had made it to the next. Had that changed? Had fear crept its way back into his soul as Aurion Varezys had? Perhaps it was even the dregs of Aurion Varezys haunting him – a man like that who would go to any lengths to cheat death surely feared it far more than he.

Boremund raised a dark eyebrow but released his hand on Valerion’s shoulder. “I will see you inside, goodnephew.”

Valerion thought that unnecessarily dramatic as they were entering together, and likely to sit with one another, as most Westerosi did not like him on the basis of being too Essosi to begin with. The rumours of magic did not improve his reputation.

The tent was long and lit with braziers intermittently. It was far warmer than outside. There was a long table for various men to presumably argue at, where King Jaehaerys sat at the head. Prince Aemon was standing nearby, looking at a parchment, and apparently double checking some mathematics. The collective of Stormlander lords turned to stare at them as they entered.

Boremund had ceased jesting and instead smiled politely at Jaehaerys as they took their places. “Brother, you look well. Have you lost weight since the last time I’ve seen you?”

“Unlikely, as you saw me a few hours ago at most.” Jaehaerys said almost distractedly.

“Time does fly when you are away from your better half. Speaking of which, where is my beloved elder sister?” Boremund smiled that sharp smile again.

Jaehaerys’ mouth was a thin line. “Do you believe me omniscient? I do not know her schedule.”

Boremund’s smile grew sharper. Valerion slouched in his seat trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Everyone knew that the Queen had left shortly after his wedding. He was certain that he was largely blamed for it. He made an easy scapegoat for Westerosi conflicts.

“I am sure.” Boremund said coolly, before turning his head to Aemon. “And you, goodbrother! How is little Boremund?”

Aemon laughed and looked away from his parchment. “Gaemon is well, goodbrother. He is a very content baby – I had thought Rhaenys easy, but Gaemon is able to sit for long hours being fussed over intermittently. When he is not sitting calmly, he is laughing. He is a very round baby, the very best sort in my opinion. He has never known hardship and never will if I have my say.”

Boremund gave a very genuine smile. “A good lad then.”

“As I said, the very best sort.” Aemon smiled gently, even as his eyes drifted back to his parchment. “Jocelyn remains in high spirits – I believe the sea air has done her well.”

“She’s a Baratheon, of course it has! When the war is over, you four must come to Storms End and let me entertain you. And of course, let me see my little ‘Nys! What kind of uncle would I be if I did not ask after her and say how big she has gotten?”

The King bit the inside of his cheek. It was very possible that he had enjoyed Boremund’s jape – the King seemed to enjoy puns. This was the greatest secret of the Crown that Valerion was privy to.

“You are a fine uncle, but I take your meaning.” Aemon said, passing the parchment to the King. “One hundred and forty-eight.”

Jaehaerys scarcely looked at the parchment before handing it to Boremund. Boremund in turn passed it to Valerion who glanced at it before passing it down to the next man – some Stormlander lord, presumably the Lord Estermont whose land they camped upon.

It was a report from a spy, embedded in the Dornish court. The letter contained a detailed number of the ships prepared by Prince Morion Martell, seventy-seven ships constructed, forty-five ships of sellsails from Tyrosh and Myr. The remaining twenty-six ships consisted of pirates under a pirate ‘king’. Valerion dearly hoped that this was the infamous Saathos Saan, if only so he would not be mistaken for the pirate again. He also wanted, a bit vainly, to compare the two of them and ensure he was the better one.

Valerion looked to Jaehaerys. “I almost feel bad for the Prince of Dorne.”

Apparently the King did not share his sentiment as he squinted back at Valerion. “I did not invite you hear to mock our foe, Lord Qoherys. Share any relevant insights you may have, lest I decide your presence serves no purpose.”

Valerion straightened before responding. “Very well. To start, pirates prefer ships which utilise speed and manoeuvrability, typically single deck galleys. Such ships are too small to effectively mount scorpions. Therefore the pirate ships are unlikely to be effective until they reach the shore. If Prince Morion is smart they will form the flanks of his fleet, allowing them to disperse and harry the coast upon the fleet’s arrival.”

Valerion had never actually been in a naval battle, but the frequency of clashes between the pirates of Dagger Lake and Volantene ships along the Rhoyne was great enough to teach him of their capabilities. Additionally, he had taken to reading the histories of military battles and strategies since the King’s offer six moons ago. It was truly astonishing what one could learn from the histories of battles past. If he was going to be away from Saera for the sake of Harrenhal, he was not going to fuck up his part in this.

“The sellsails will utilise larger ships to transport their men to the shores of Cape Wrath, therefore I would expect them to form the forward part of the fleet. They will have well trained archers at the ready, I would not advise flying low to the water lest their arrows find their mark.”

“Will that not leave your mounts vulnerable to scorpion fire?” Boremund said.

“Somewhat.” Valerion reluctantly admitted. “Which is why it is imperative we strike from as many sides as possible.”

“Confuse their crews as much as possible.” Aemon agreed, taking a drink from his cup. “At least one rider should fly toward the front of the fleet, draw as much attention as possible. So as to ensure the other two catch their men even further by surprise.”

The King nodded. “Agreed, Aemon. That role will fall to me.”

“Forgive me, your grace.” Valerion interrupted.

Jaehaerys turned to him with a glare. “Do you disagree, Lord Qoherys?”

“I do, your grace.” Valerion took a sip of wine before continuing on. “The rider who flies at the vanguard of the fleet will draw a volley of scorpion fire before the others can form an effective attack. Therefore, the oldest and hardiest dragon should be the one to complete this task.”

“Do you believe The Bronze Fury is not up to this?” Aemon asked.

“Jadewing is, in all likelihood, the elder dragon. Her scales are thick and will resist the dangers of the approach.” Valerion stopped, privately he knew that leading this attack would ensure he completed the ultimatum the King had set before him. “I suggest this course for another reason.”

“What reason, beyond a boy’s attempt at glory?” The King said.

“You are the king, your grace. If the worst should happen and a Dornish bolt finds its mark, is it not better for the realm if I should fall?” Valerion looked to the other lords assembled, Stormlanders whose swords and spears would only be needed if dragonfire failed. Their faces were tense, even the thought of the King falling from the sky made them uncomfortable. “Would a single man here claim the risk is better taken by the King?”

“You speak as if it is certainty.” One of them said, his surcoat bearing a winged black heart. “The likelihood is preposterously small.”

Valerion nodded to acknowledge the comment. “Yet it has happened before. If we do not consider the worst outcome, then we leave ourselves exposed.”

“Agreed.” Boremund declared. “What say you, nephew?”

Aemon did not answer immediately, instead looking from Boremund to Valerion and then to his father. “Vermithor is ferocious, no doubt both dragons are up to the task. Yet, I agree with Lord Qoherys. If the risk must be taken, let it be taken by one whose loss will not be felt by as many.”

Boremund coughed into his drink at that, which just made Valerion chuckle.

“So be it.” Jaehaerys said. “Lord Qoherys will strike first, drawing the attention of the scorpions. I and Prince Aemon will fly along the flanks and incinerate the ships to prevent escape. Lord Baratheon, organise your banners and have them patrol the coast. In the unlikely event any living man makes it to land you will be needed.”

“As you say, your grace.” Boremund responded.

Jaehaerys simply nodded. “Then we are done until the fleet arrives. You may all go.” Valerion waited for most of the lords to make their way before he went to leave. “Not you, Lord Qoherys.” The King commanded.

Valerion slumped back into his seat and waited for the rest to depart. Boremund gave him a sympathetic look before exiting, leaving Valerion alone with the King.

There was silence for a long moment, then the king said, “Have you and your dragon ever fought before?”

“Have you?” Valerion asked before he could stop himself.

The king leaned on one hand, continuing to watch Valerion. “Vermithor has flown to war against the Dornish before. He has the experience needed.”

Valerion looked away first. “You did not raise that point in front of the lords.”

“No, I did not, because you did not say that you wanted to seek glory, nor did you reveal the deal that we made before coming here.” The king paused for a moment, eyes searching Valerion’s face. “I admit, Lord Qoherys. You fascinate me in some ways. If you were married to anyone else, I might even say I like you.”

Valerion’s eyes flicked back to the King. “If I were married to anyone else, I might even say the same, your grace.”

The King smiled thinly. “You and Saera truly seem to believe that we have done ill by her. Nothing I say will convince you. I have noticed that you have been… a bit moody at camp. Is there a reason for that?”

“I miss my wife.”

The King folded his hands in front of him. “Lord Qoherys, it has been roughly a day and a half. You are but ten-and-seven. Is there anything else that may be on your mind?”

Valerion looked him in the eye. “I miss my wife.”

The King tilted his head. “I suppose you do, then. Very well. I remember being your age and in love. In my experience, going for a flight helps with the ache of not being there when needed for your spouse.”

“Sire?” Valerion asked.

The King sighed. “How much do you know of my son Aegon?”

“I know I have not met him.”

The King laughed, a forced thing. “No, you wouldn’t have. When I was your age, and Alysanne near Saera’s, she was pregnant with our first child. Aegon. And I was not there when she needed me. When they needed me.”

Valerion swallowed. “I confess, I am… scared of the same.”

“I know.” The king said with a forced neutrality. “I am well aware of your deadline of two months. I am well aware of why.”

“There is another fear I carry.” Valerion confessed.

The King continued to look him in the eye. “Then speak it, Lord Qoherys.”

Valerion took a drink before continuing. “I fear when those ships are spotted; I will fly, be struck down and swallowed by the sea.”

“Yet you have taken the most dangerous task upon yourself. For what reason?”

“Truthfully, your grace, because I never had a family. I never had a father, nor a mother who cared for me. My wife and the babe she carries are my family, and I wish to give them all they deserve. If I must march into the Seven Hells to do so, then that is what I will do. If I must face a thousand scorpion bolts to give them a home, then I will.”

The King sat back and tilted his head. “Spoken like a true youth, but we both know you don’t have to take this risk for Harren’s Castle. So why take it?”

Valerion sighed. “Your grace, I find that your family is the closest I have to my own as well. I wish to contribute to it, in my own way. Despite most members of it despising me, for one reason or another.”

“…I will say, Lord Qoherys, I do not necessarily wish you or your wife ill.” The King noted, his voice neutral.

“I was unaware of that, your grace. Have you told her as such?” Valerion said, mimicking the king’s tone.

One side of the king’s mouth twitched up. “Lord Qoherys, you know very well that I am not in contact with your wife. I was merely ensuring your readiness as one of my vassals. Should all go well, you should be able to meet your deadline and receive your reward, and thus your heart will be at ease.”

“Should all go well.” Valerion repeated.

The King shrugged. “It is in the hands of the Seven now. You are dismissed, Lord Qoherys.”

“Thank you, your highness.” Valerion said stiffly, before rising, bowing, and leaving.

**************************************************************

Balerion

He really did enjoy Dragonstone, despite Dreamfyre crowing about the fact that she had a new rider. Silverwing, who he had not seen in some time, and Meleys, who he had, were listening politely, but Balerion could not be bothered to deal with Dreamfyre that often. Instead, the hens had ceded the warmest section of the flat ground prepared by the humans to him, which was very nice. His bones were no longer aching or creaking under his weight, but the warmth was good.

What was also good was that the human hatchlings were always around. His new rider even had an egg. Human eggs did not make much sense to him, he thought that they might have an issue with being egg-bound or the like, but nonetheless, there would be another new human hatchling soon.

“She’s really very polite.” Dreamfyre continued.

“She is my rider’s fledgling.” Silverwing agreed.

“That does not mean anything. Balerion and I have riders who are also your rider’s fledglings.” Meleys pointed out. “I doubt anyone would call Alyssa ‘polite’.”

Smoke curled out of Balerion’s nostrils as he opened one eye, amused. “Nor Saera.”

“That’s Vermithor’s rider’s influence.” Silverwing said, though she glanced up at the sky as if Vermithor might approach at any moment. Balerion felt for her – he had wanted to see Jadewing more, to have a proper mating dance instead of whatever happened when the humans were in the Dragonpit. He could only imagine what it was to be separated from your mate for months on end because your rider was angry with their rider for human reasons.

Silverwing, instead of dropping her head and trying to hide her disappointment as she had done for the last few times, tilted her head and sniffed.

“What is it?” Meleys asked.

“…there is another dragon.” Silverwing sniffed again. “Twenty of Balerion’s wingspans, north by north-east.”

The other hens raised their heads as well.

Balerion closed his eye. “Are they likely to be a threat?”

Meleys inhaled sharply. Balerion concentrated on the temperature markers, trying to block out the worry from the hens. Another dragon was approaching. They did not seem to have protective or angry intentions. They were hunting, so they would likely bypass the human nest and head to the beach. Balerion inhaled. It was an adult tiercel roughly of a size with Jadewing, perhaps larger still.

“Is it the egg-stealer?” Silverwing asked, worried.

Dreamfyre cried out, possibly at the very idea. “He has wronged me! I will have my vengeance!”

“Is it the egg-stealer, or is it the scavenger?” Balerion asked Meleys. “I do not want to block the scavenger from feeding – they might attack the humans searching for food.”

Meleys’ head swayed anxiously. “I do not know. I cannot tell.”

“Should we take to the skies?” Dreamfyre asked nervously. “We will be able to tell then.”

Balerion did not want to. His spot was very warm, and some of the human hatchlings had been making noises about grooming him. Little Raven, daughter of Caraxes’ rider, had mentioned something about scratching behind his horns, which he thought sounded very nice. He had grown indulged by humans, truly. He also had new scales coming in, which meant old ones shifting aside to make room, and they itched.

He was also prepared for Giggling Mischief to run into him again, much like his sire, Vhagar’s rider, had done as a child. Balerion thought human hatchlings were fascinating, and he did like being gentle with them. When they were family of his riders, at least. He did not have many opportunities to be gentle.

“I can go.” Meleys said.

“Alone? If it is the egg-stealer…” Silverwing’s temperature spiked unpleasantly and Balerion sighed. He would not get to rest today.

He raised his head, trying to scent the incoming dragon on the wind. He had not interacted with the scavenger before and had not interacted with the egg-stealer much. It would be hard to tell before they were almost overhead. However, if he launched, he would definitely scare the scavenger. That would make trouble for the humans further down the line.

The agitation of the hens was getting to him. He tried to tune it out. On the beach, he could hear the human hatchlings playing. That settled it. He would not try to engage if it was the scavenger, but they would be advised to come back later.

“I will handle it.” Balerion said. “I am the biggest.”

“And the current tiercel of the flight.” Dreamfyre said.

“What does that matter?” Meleys asked. She had only seen his decline, and the only other tiercel around was Caraxes. The humans considered Caraxes fierce, but Caraxes was still more or less a juvenile.

“It matters for wild dragons.” Balerion said. “Wild tiercels will often try to form flights where there are multiple hens. It spreads out the chance of multiple clutches. In return, wild tiercels are often larger and more aggressive. It is up to them to defend their territory.”

“And us!” Dreamfyre said quickly.

Meleys’ temperature dropped to indignation-shock. “So if it is the egg-stealer, he’ll be more likely to turn away because we have a big, strong tiercel with us? When I am the best at ripping out the throats of my prey?”

“There are not as many tiercels as there are hens.” Balerion said. “And this is part of it. A big, strong tiercel can make a show of being flashy and distracting, and if needed, hens can attack from the side or behind. But really, in the wild, it would be more between the tiercels. Why should the hens care which tiercel is in the flight if he is not their mate?”

Meleys’ temperature rose again to nonchalance, and she turned away, looking back at the sky. “He’s almost here.”

Balerion sighed again and backed up to launch. This would inevitably take some time. He may not ache as much, but he was still big and getting his body airborne was annoying at the best of times. He inflated his fire sac letting the hot air suffuse him and help him rise, then with a beat of his wings, he was off of the ground. The first beat was more of a jump, but the second saw him rising as the other dragon neared the beach.

Balerion gave a greeting rumble. “What business do you have here?”

The other dragon was a deep black, darker than him even. One eye was clouded over, with a nasty scar. “Hungry.”

Balerion was not good with wild dragons. “You are too close to the humans, you need to leave.”

The other dragon sniffed the wind. “Hungry.”

Balerion let loose a short jet of fire. “You are in my territory. I am not asking. Leave.”

The other dragon was looking at the beach now, and Balerion could see the human hatchlings playing in the waves. Which meant this dragon could too.

Balerion did not need Dreamfyre’s temperature spike of panic-fear-anger to confirm it. The fact that this dragon had not left when told –twice- informed him that this was not the scavenger. As the humans would say, fuck.

The egg-stealer gnashed his teeth at Balerion in a threat display.

Balerion turned and twisted, showing his scars and manoeuvrability all at once. “Leave, or I will kill you. I will not say it again.”

“Hungry.” The egg-stealer hissed, barely forming the word.

The human hatchlings had noticed the dragons in the air and were screaming. Balerion and the egg-stealer circled each other warily, both waiting for the other to strike. Finally, the egg-stealer grew impatient, and dove forward. Balerion moved upwards and then clamped his jaws around the egg-stealer’s neck. The egg-stealer squealed, thrashing as Balerion began to tow him away from the beach like a recalcitrant fledgling, but kept beating his wings.

Balerion did not want to drop him on the humans, and did not care enough to kill him outright. He twisted his jaws to keep the egg-stealer in his grip but began to pull him out of his own territory. Let the egg-stealer keep to his side of the island if he did not die of his wounds. The egg-stealer continued to scream, squeal, and thrash. Green flames burst forth from his gullet, each one short and ever so pointless. He did not speak.

Balerion towed him past the edge of the territory, then took a few more wingspans, before dropping him. The egg-stealer fell onto trees, breaking them in the process. Balerion clacked his jaws – that had been unpleasant, and now they ached from trying to partially unhinge but not managing it. He dove forward and landed on the egg-stealer before this intruder could rise.

“You will not come to the beach.” Balerion said.

The egg-stealer narrowed his eyes. “Weak.”

Balerion pressed his weight onto the egg-stealer’s neck. “No. I just don’t care enough about you to actually kill you. You were lucky. Do you understand that?”

“Weak!” The egg-stealer hissed out.

“Are those the only two words you know? Weak and hungry?” Balerion asked.

The egg-stealer hissed at him, which Balerion took as a yes. That was quite a feat, actually. Dragons could rumble, growl, hiss, and make a host of other sounds to speak with. They also used body language, scents, and temperature markers. The fact that the egg-stealer could not communicate with a bonded dragon in the family made Balerion’s heart feel somewhat heavy with pity. Clearly the humans were affecting him.

“I am going to teach you another word. ‘Mercy’. It is a human idea, but it is what I am showing you now.” Balerion lifted off of the egg-stealer, who watched him go with a temperature marker of wary-proud-derogatory.

“I suggest you leave the island. If the humans see you again, I cannot imagine it will go well.” Balerion told the egg-stealer.

"Fuck you." The egg-stealer hissed. 

Balerion managed to launch into the air and backed up a bit. The egg-stealer launched as well, though he seemed a bit injured. He drifted a bit but righted himself. He would probably be fine. Balerion thought that no matter what else the egg-stealer was, he was likely some form of family. He also didn’t behave like a wild dragon, whom Balerion had known in his youth before leaving with Daenys, but like a feral dragon. He was mimicking the family behaviours after seeing them from afar.

Yes, Balerion pitied the egg-stealer, but he would not suffer him a second time. He flew back, satisfied that the egg-stealer was gone, and landed in his spot. The human hatchlings had apparently left the beach, and ran over to pat at his face in what he assumed was gratitude. Silverwing’s rider and Meleys’ rider were there, making worried noises at each other and the human hatchlings. Perhaps they had seen him deal with the egg-stealer.

Ah, well. They probably should have dealt with this before this point anyway.  

**************************************************************

Saera

Saera had emerged from her room in a pout after no one waited upon her. Of course, she didn’t call it as such, but it was very rude of everyone. She was pregnant. With a baby. Ideally, Valerion would be there to rub her back and hand-feed her, but he was off at war with her stupid fa—with the stupid king. She had tried to tell her family that she was very tired and in need of rest, but instead of summoning minstrels to gently lull her to sleep, her mother had patted her hand and sent her to her room ‘to rest’. Then she had turned around and made plans to go to the beach with Saera’s sisters! As if Saera wasn’t even there! Wasn’t even pregnant with the heir to a very large castle!

So she had left her room once she was bored enough, and found everyone in a paradoxically mild panic, as if something had happened and they were beginning to calm down. She hadn’t even caused it! Something about dragons. In a huff, because no one was helpful on stupid Aemon’s stupid island, she went to the dining hall where the family had no doubt gathered. If nothing else there would be food there, or servants who would get her food.

Like the rest of the island, the dining hall was incredibly dark, carved out of the volcanic rock. Generations of Valyrian feet had worn the floor smooth at least, but it overall gave the impression of a cave. Some past Targaryen had gotten at least as bored as she was that very moment and had carved a table entirely out of the rock so it could not be moved. The chairs, at least, were a solid wood. Like everything else in the entire world apparently, they were probably Stormlands oak. Saera did not know trees and did not care to. There was always a very nice red velvet cushion sewn into the chairs.

What was surprising was that the rest of the family, such as it was, were gathered there. The edges of Rhaenys’ dress were dripping. Gael was sat in the corner, quiet and withdrawn as usual. Gaemon had been placed as some sort of sentinel for her, or perhaps that was the quiet baby corner where they stashed them. Daemon, meanwhile, was walking over on unsteady legs. Saera eyed him, but truly did not care to stop him.

Viserys was sat at the table, drawing on a spare bit of parchment while the adults had a conversation. Viserra was sat there primly, apparently qualifying to do so as an adult given the Dreamfyre situation, despite the fact that this accolade was worthless and Viserys apparently also qualified.

Saera glanced at Rhaenys. “What’s wrong with you?”

Rhaenys shivered. “I was in the water when he flew over.”

“Dragons do that.” Saera said. “Why are you still wet, then?”

Viserra interrupted. “We came straight back and gathered all of the children. This would have been a bad time to lose track of someone.”

Saera rolled her eyes. “What, are we under attack?” They all hesitated a moment too long. Saera perked up. “We are? I’ll get Balerion then – we’ll rout those Dornish as soon as I can say ‘Dracarys’.”

“It wasn’t the Dornish.” Jocelyn said. “It was a wild dragon.”

“It was the Cannibal.” Saera’s mother corrected, looking old. “He flew over the beach, where I took the children.”

“And me!” Viserra said.

Saera scoffed. “I thought you already were included in the statement.” Viserra glared at her.

Saera’s mother held up a hand. “Peace, girls. He flew right into our territory, and very easily could have snatched one of us up and eaten us.”

“He doesn’t eat people.” Alyssa muttered. The cuffs of her breeches were also wet, apparently she had also been on this beach escapade.

“He also doesn’t come into human territory.” Jocelyn said.

“So, what? I’m not seeing that anyone important is dead.” Saera said.

Saera’s mother sighed. “Thankfully, Balerion intervened before the Cannibal did any damage. Though that alone is worrying – that Balerion felt the need to rise and deal with the intruder himself.”

“Well then, you’re all welcome.” Saera offered generously.

“Gods grant me strength.” Alyssa said.

In the corner, Daemon had reached his targets, helpfully lined up for him to harm. First, he pushed over Gael, who predictably burst into tears. Then he went to push over Gaemon, who seemed bewildered that anyone would do this to him. He sat up again, then looked at Gael. Daemon pushed Gaemon over again, presumably to reinforce that as the elder cousin, he was the superior. Gaemon’s little face began to screw up, and he inhaled to begin to scream in outrage.

Saera did not intervene with the stupidly named babies. Perhaps Daemon was jealous of the attention. Perhaps he was protective of his name, Gaemon's sounded almost the same as his own. Whatever the reason, Saera did not care. Instead, she crossed her arms and stared Alyssa down. “Did my dragon not save your life? You should say thank you.”

“I was unaware that Balerion required my gratitude.” Alyssa ground out.

Saera frowned. “Well, he doesn’t but I am his rider. Anything he does falls under my purview.”

Alyssa’s glare deepened, before she crossed over to Daemon, right behind Jocelyn.

“Oh, my sweetling, all is well.” Jocelyn soothed.

Alyssa picked up Daemon and looked at him. “Don’t be rude to your cousin.”

“No cousin!” Daemon shrieked and attempted to bite his mother.

In response to Daemon’s behaviour, Gael and Gaemon began to cry harder. Saera looked at her mother. “I hate other people’s babies.”

“Give it time, Saera. Your little ones will cry as well.” Saera’s mother offered.

Saera sniffed. “Mayhaps, but they will not annoy me as much. Besides, Gael is… what, a year younger than Viserys? Does she do anything but cry?”

“She enjoys music.” Saera’s mother offered, as Viserra stood and went to pick Gael up. Saera could have warned her sister that was a trap by their mother. Said mother was perfectly happy to interact with Gael when the child was sat quietly, at her most doll-like, but did not go to comfort her when she was inevitably upset (by Daemon).

It wasn’t worth confronting their mother. Saera privately thought that their mother was ‘staying out of it’ because Daemon was a grandchild – one of the treasured few and the baby of the family until very recently – and Gael was just one of many, many children. Gael did not speak, therefore she could not ask for something to be given to her to buy her love and affection, as Saera’s mother had tried with her.

Yes. Her own children would not be so annoying.

Saera sniffed indignantly at her mother and turned to Rhaenys. “The Cannibal is not going to jump out of your wardrobe. Go change before you catch your death of cold.”

Rhaenys glanced at her own mother, who nodded back to her. She quickly departed to fulfil Saera’s instruction. Truly, motherhood was a simple undertaking. Saera then swept forward to her final nibling, who had remained largely unremarked upon until now. (In the corner, Daemon and Gaemon were still in a screaming match. Both of their mothers were apparently the losers.)

Viserys was trying very hard to draw a slug, possibly upside down, on a spare bit of parchment. It had an ugly scarf. Someone had seen fit to grant him a bit of parchment (which seemed to have been chewed on) and a quill and ink. His tongue was poked out of his mouth, so great was his concentration.

You were meant to encourage children’s artistic endeavours. “That is a very nice slug.” Saera said.

Viserys glanced up at her. Apparently, living with Daemon meant that he was able to ignore his brother completely and not even hear him. A most useful skill that Saera would have to learn and cultivate.

“It’s not a slug.” Viserys said. “It’s the Cannibal.”

Saera did not object to the Cannibal being called a slug. She had a particular distaste for the dragon. “Why is it wearing a scarf?”

“That’s Balerion chomping him. I haven’t drawn the rest of him yet.” Viserys said. “I’m going to show Balerion when I’m done.”

Saera blinked at him. “Why?”

“To say thank you. Mama and Grandmother and ‘Nys and Vis’ra all got really scared when the Cannibal flew over. Balerion made them not scared.” Viserys said.

Saera nodded. “He is a rather good dragon, isn’t he?”

Viserys gave her a gap-toothed smile. “He’s the best. Can I have him when I’m older?”

“No, he’s mine. But of course he’s the best.” Saera nodded again. “I would not settle for less.”

“I wish I had a dragon to be friends with.” Viserys said, turning back to his ugly drawing. Saera tilted her head, trying to see where the Cannibal ended and Balerion began.

“Of course you do.” Saera agreed. “Maybe one day.” Viserys shrugged, still looking at his drawing.

Alyssa had removed Daemon from the room in the meantime. Viserra had soothed Gael down to quiet sobs. Gaemon had been satisfied once Daemon was gone. And yet no one had given Saera her food yet! How rude. She made eye contact with the nearest servant, and loudly said, “Bring me salt fish. Now.”

Viserys looked away from his masterpiece, which was the greatest thing he had done with his short life to date. “You want to eat salt fish?”

“The babe wants it.” Saera said defensively.

Viserys tilted his head disbelievingly but did not push her. Saera thinned her mouth. Horrid things, other people’s children.

She was given a plate of lightly salted fish and sent it back until she was given a full plate of heavily salted fish from the last of the winter stores. She devoured it, nearly licking the plate clean, and her family sat upwind of her in mostly silent judgement. It may have just been the family that she hated, not necessarily children.

**************************************************************

Jaehaerys

The horns had sounded them awake in the night. Apparently, Morion Martell wished to land in the dark, perhaps believing he still had the element of surprise. Jaehaerys had been armoured and taken Blackfyre in his hand, the blade’s familiar weight providing a strange comfort as he made his way to the dragons by horse. The weather was poor with clouds covering the stars and drizzling rain atop the camp. If nothing else, the clouds would work to their advantage.

Apparently age had slowed him as he was the last to arrive, Aemon and Valerion Qoherys already awaiting his arrival. Their dragons were restless; recently roused from slumber and clearly sensing the tension in the air.

As Jaehaerys dismounted the charger, his son spoke out. “Father. Where were they spotted?”

“Half a mile south of the coast.” Jaehaerys answered, making his way to the pair.

Lord Qoherys – Seven Hells, Valerion, the boy may have been about to die- nodded to himself. “How many ships?”

“The patrol counted a hundred before sending word to camp.”

“Then they are unlikely to have split their forces, save perhaps the pirates.” Valerion noted, gazing up to the sky.

“We should fly first, take cover above the clouds before Lord Qoherys engages.” Aemon stated with a steady voice.

Jaehaerys raised his hand to the helm worn by his son. “Good luck, son.” Aemon nodded before going to mount Caraxes.

Valerion watched him go with a careful expression. One that guarded the emotion he had confessed to Jaehaerys. “I should mount Jadewing, your grace.” He said, as he made to turn away.

“Valerion… we will speak again, once this is concluded.” Jaehaerys did not quite know why he said it. He did not especially like the boy but perhaps, in the end, he did not need to in order to understand him.

The boy turned to look at him before responding. “I hope so.” He murmured before moving away.

Jaehaerys shook himself a bit. Sentiment would only get him killed here – it would wait until the battle was over, at least. He made his way to Vermithor and mounted up. Even as he climbed into the saddle and connected the safety chains, he could feel the dragon’s rising excitement. It had been far too long since the Bronze Fury could let loose.

“Sovēs, Vermithor.” Jaehaerys commanded firmly. Vermithor ascended with as much stealth as he could manage, not as much as was ideal but perhaps enough, given the weather. Jaehaerys spotted Jadewing making her launch and noted the position of the ships before passing through the cloud layer.

It was a strange thing, to fly beyond the conditions determined by the Gods. Here there was no rain, only the infinite dark, the sea of stars above his head and the clouds below. In the day this would be a clear sky indeed. Jaehaerys easily spotted Aemon and Caraxes keeping close, also above the clouds. Jaehaerys directed Vermithor as closely to the fleet’s position as he could recall. Fortunately, they did not have to wait for long. Even through the clouds a dull green glow made itself apparent, a telltale sign of Valerion’s presence below.

Jaehaerys and his son dove through the clouds, with Caraxes flying ahead. Truly, the malformed beast was a fast thing. It was a simple thing to spot Valerion and Jadewing against the water as periodic bursts of bright green flame incinerated the ships of Dorne. Jaehaerys directed Vermithor to the right flank before letting loose the simplest command of a dragonrider. “Dracarys!”

Vermithor gave a battle roar to sound his enthusiasm, followed by an eruption of golden-red flame. Vermithor maintained the singular blast as they flew past the entire fleet, engulfing over twenty ships and drowning out the panic of their crews. It was then that Jaehaerys felt an object, most likely a scorpion bolt, carry across the sky narrowly avoiding his helm. A near miss.

Jaehaerys directed Vermithor higher, he would be slow to turn and the greater the distance from the sea the safer they would be from stray arrows. As Vermithor banked, Jaehaerys assessed the progress of the other dragons. Caraxes had demonstrated the ferocity the Dragonkeepers had often spoken of, obliterating nearly every ship along the left flank. Aemon had already directed Caraxes into a horizontal pattern, separating the two remaining halves.

Judging by the green flame which consumed over half of the centre ships, Jadewing had unleashed a firestorm of her own. Now she was beating her great wings and circling a cluster of ships, burning them each in turn. Having made his turn Vermithor had grown impatient and burned several ships without direction. Several more scorpion bolts flew by, no doubt some even struck his mount before falling away, dented and useless. Vermithor remained undeterred.

It was not much longer before near every ship in the fleet was ablaze, a beacon to all those who sought to trespass upon his kingdom. Having exhausted every target possible, Jaehaerys saw Caraxes peel away towards the camp. As Jaehaerys made to follow he spotted Jadewing fly further out.

Straining his eyes, Jaehaerys spotted Valerion’s target, four galleys who had navigated the burning wreckages of their comrades and sought escape. Jaehaerys could only chuckle to himself here. Even in the sky, the boy remained a young man, a rebellious youth whose ferocity overcame logic. Jaehaerys made to follow Aemon and let Valerion Qoherys have his hunt today, he had earned it.

Vermithor hummed in satisfaction as they returned to Cape Wrath, taking only a few minutes to spot Caraxes below and land nearby. Once they had landed, Jaehaerys could see Aemon had already dismounted and removed his helm, gently stroking Caraxes’ snout. Jaehaerys returned to solid ground himself and made his way to Aemon. The chains fell by the wayside for another day, another fight. Here and now, they had served their purpose.

“Well fought, Aemon.” Jaehaerys said, coming to wait with him. “Our kingdom and our family are safe.”

“If it was ever in any danger. Morion was truly mad to believe this invasion could succeed.” Aemon did not meet his eye, continuing to scratch Caraxes gently.

Jaehaerys nodded in agreement. “Indeed. It will serve as an example of what should happen to those who seek to tear down what we have built.”

Aemon did not respond as the beating of Jadewing’s wings battered the clearing with fresh gales. She, much like Vermithor, landed heavily, which was expected given their larger frames. What Jaehaerys did not expect was for Valerion to awkwardly disconnect his chains before tumbling from the saddle.

“Shit!” Aemon snapped as they ran over. By the time they had reached him Valerion had pulled himself into a sitting position, resting against Jadewing’s bulk for support. Externally he appeared well, there was no blood nor obvious wound. Briefly, Jaehaerys’ mind flitted back to the incident with the Cannibal.

“What in the hells happened?” Jaehaerys asked.

“A fucking scorpion bolt struck me!” Valerion moved his right arm to his opposing shoulder.

“By the Seven, how are you alive?” Aemon said, kneeling down and taking his right arm to hold him up.

“I expect the armour had something to do with it.” Once on his feet Valerion pulled away. “I can walk, it is only the shoulder which is in pain.”

“The threat is ended at least. Let us return to camp. A maester shall need to assess your condition.”  Jaehaerys led the others to the nearby horses they had ridden on.

“Some of the pirate galleys escaped.” Valerion said through gritted teeth.

“How many?” Aemon asked as they prepared to mount up. “Mayhaps I should search for them.”

“I counted four.”

“Leave them. It is of no consequence.” Jaehaerys said. “Four pirate ships are no threat to the Seven Kingdoms.”

Jaehaerys waited for the boy to mount his horse, lest he fall again. Barring the grimace and sharp hiss Valerion made, all went well. The ride to camp was smooth, with the path being short through the trees. As they trotted through the outer edges there was the sound of applause and cheering, which rose to encompass the entire camp. Jaehaerys allowed himself to smile and wave as they passed the army by. A war fought and won without a life lost, barring those drifting in the water.

As they reached the centre of the camp Jaehaerys dismounted and signalled for a messenger to summon a maester to Valerion’s tent. Jaehaerys saw Valerion make his way inside and chose to leave him be. Instead, he made his way to Boremund and clasped him on the shoulder.

“It would appear that this gathering is unnecessary, brother.” Boremund laughed.

“Indeed. All is well again.” Jaehaerys scanned the crowd of gathering knights, many of whom had sought out Aemon and were congratulating him.

“It would seem that the boy performed well, despite your doubts.” Boremund had a sly glint in his eye.

“My doubts do not lie with his capabilities, only his control.” Jaehaerys had thought for some time on the uncontrollable nature of his… guest. Valerion was a stellar example of bravery overcoming sense. There was no subtlety to his actions but that did not mean he could not do harm. He was much like a hammer in that manner.

“Still, he has proven that he can accomplish feats that match the Dragonlords of Valyria.” Boremund added. 

Jaehaerys turned at the comment. “I only hope he does not hold their cruelty in his heart also. He has proven to be vindictive to those who wrong him.”

“You worry too much, brother. I would hardly be kind to those who wrong me. That does not make me a monster.”

“You are not a dragonrider, Boremund. And your wrongs are not imagined.” Jaehaerys argued.

Boremund shrugged. “I suppose you are right, but I advise you celebrate at least for tonight.”

Jaehaerys saw a maester make his way into Valerion’s tent and so bid Boremund take his leave before venturing over himself. Valerion’s armour had been removed from the waist up, with his gambeson and undershirt discarded, so that the maester might assess the damage. His left shoulder had a sizeable bruise, turning a violent shade of purple while resting at an awkward angle.

Jaehaerys made his way to them both. “What is Lord Qoherys’ condition, maester?” Jaehaerys asked.

“His shoulder has been misaligned, Your Grace.” The maester pressed experimentally on the bruise causing Valerion to hiss in pain. “It will heal quickly, so long as it is correctly reset.”

“How is that to be done?” Valerion said between sharp breaths.

“Raise the arm up and scratch the back of you neck with your hand.” The maester directed.

It took Valerion a few minutes to do so, between increasingly bothersome sounds of pain.

“And now?” Valerion grimaced. Without speaking the maester pressed his hand to the shoulder and moved it until finding what he was looking for. Then he pushed rather abruptly, the popping of Valerion’s shoulder was almost drowned out by his cry of pain.

Jaehaerys could not help but feel that it was a little deserved, given how much trouble he caused. “I shall leave you to your work, maester. Lord Qoherys we will discuss your reward once we return to King’s Landing.”

With that Jaehaerys went to find Aemon and celebrate a little. Life was good.

**************************************************************

Baelon

He missed Alyssa already, and she had only been gone a matter of days. People kept coming to him with questions on how to run the realm – what grains would be planted as they came out of winter, whether or not that lord’s son should marry that lord’s daughter, and many people wanted money. They honestly seemed to believe that just because he was not his father, he would allow anyone to have the purse strings of the treasury.

Also, how did anyone do anything without the king if his father had to approve so much? Baelon was half worried that he would have to approve someone taking a shit. He did not envy Aemon, who would one day sit on the uncomfortable throne (people had looked aghast when he brought up having a cushion and so he had not mentioned it again) and give people permission to do things that they would do anyway.

Something was ringing, and Baelon squinted at the sheet of parchment in his hand. The North was going to cycle barley instead of rye as they had done the last few springs. Why did they have to do this when it was under his purview? Vaguely, he was aware that the ringing wasn’t coming from his own head, but the city bells – presumably at least one dragon was approaching. Baelon lowered the parchment to his father’s desk, where he had been ensconced as surely this room held the most essence of his father and thus his father’s wisdom.

Once he had dropped the parchment, he rose and mummed at stoicism for a moment before breaking into a run as soon as he cleared the doors. He’d see them in the throne room. There were a few options. Perhaps it was Alyssa and the boys and she could not be without him, just as he could not be without her. Perhaps it was his mother, and she would apologise for taking everyone in the family but him. Perhaps it was even his father and Aemon, then he would be free of the considerations of Northern grain!

Baelon nearly slipped and slid as he turned a corner on the stone floors but was able to correct his trajectory before disaster struck. He flung open the doors to the throne room, just as his father, brother, and goodbrother entered from the other side – the great, grand doors that had apparently taken decades to carve or some such. There was much applause for the conquering heroes – Baelon assumed, given that they had had dragons and were fighting a wooden fleet. That being said, he did not know how long wars were meant to last. Perhaps they were taking a rest before returning? He slowed to a walk and nodded to them as he made his way towards his family, meeting in the middle.

“Father, the throne is yours.” Baelon could not keep the relief out of his tone.

“Where is Saera?” Baelon’s goodbrother asked, almost desperately. “Is she well? Is the babe well?”

“Yes?” Baelon said. No one had told him any differently. “She’s with Mother – Father, my king, please take the throne back. Please.”

Baelon’s father clapped him on the shoulder. “You have done well in my absence, Baelon. I am proud of you. Now, summon the family, we shall all celebrate together!”

Baelon stared at his father for a moment before shifting his eyes to his brother and goodbrother in succession. Did his father believe that Baelon would clap his hands and the women of the family would pour forth, as if he had hidden them behind a tapestry?

Aemon looked tired, but unsurprised by this turn of events. Valerion looked anxious, and seemed to be holding one of his arms oddly. If Baelon did not know better, he’d say that Valerion had still had arm problems. But that was clearly false – the incident with the Cannibal was months prior. Baelon looked back to his father, and tried to think of a way to say that he could not just ‘summon the family’. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“Why do you hesitate?” Valerion asked. “Is something wrong?”

Baelon turned to Valerion and furrowed his brow. “No, why do you keep asking that? Everything is well, as far as I know. I do not have a glass candle trained on Saera at all times.”

Valerion scoffed. “A failing on your part.”

Baelon squinted at him, then said, “I do not know how to address that.”

“Tell me where my wife is.” Valerion demanded.

Baelon shrugged. “She is on Dragonstone, though I cannot be more specific.”

Baelon’s father’s face fell. “Your mother has not returned then?” Aemon slowly began to look up at the ceiling, clearly having some idea of what had happened and wanting to be removed from the conversation.

“No.” Baelon said.

Baelon’s father continued before Baelon could say where everyone else was. “Then summon the rest of the family! Rhaenys, where is she?”

“Dragonstone.”

“…I would assume Jocelyn and Gaemon are there.” Aemon said slowly. Baelon shrugged, and Aemon nodded, before leaving the room.

Baelon’s father blinked. “And my grandsons?”
“Dragonstone.”
“Alyssa?”
“Dragonstone.”

“You let a pregnant woman fly to Dragonstone alone?” Baelon’s father demanded.

“I did not. I let several pregnant women fly together.” Baelon said. “In a flight of dragons.”

Baelon’s father frowned. “What about the other ones?”

“What other ones?” Valerion asked.

Baelon’s father waved dismissively. “You know whom I mean, the other girls. The ones younger than Saera.”

“Viserra claimed Dreamfyre. Gael went with Mother originally.” Baelon offered. He did not think his father would keenly feel the loss of Gael from the castle. He also did not think his father had spoken ten words to Gael in particular over the course of her life, but he could be mistaken.

Baelon’s father stared at him. “Viserra claimed Dreamfyre?”

“That is what I said.” Baelon said. “She went into the Dragonpit and came out on Dreamfyre’s back. I should think they flew there without a saddle.”

Baelon’s father raised and dropped his eyebrows quickly in a thoughtful frown. “I did not know that she could do that.”

“She is a dragon, same as any of us.” Baelon noted. "Though I do imagine it was uncomfortable for a first flight without a saddle."

Valerion took this moment to turn on his heel, likely to return to his dragon. He did not seem to care overmuch for Viserra.

Baelon’s father cleared his throat. “So, shall we get to the feast then?”

“What feast?” Baelon asked.

“The feast of celebration.” Baelon’s father clarified.

Baelon stared at him. Leaving aside that it would only be the two of them, and therefore the worst feast in the world, he had not known he was to prepare a feast. He had not known when they would return – they had left a week ago. He also did not know how to prepare a feast, not the minutiae of one at least.

“Ah. Yes. In any case, I will be going to Dragonstone to join my family.” Baelon said, very eloquently in his own opinion.

“Mmm. Am I to be left alone in this castle? With nothing but these swords for company?” Baelon’s father gestured to the monstrosity at the far end of the hall.

“Father… mayhaps Septon Barth can sit the throne, and you join us on Dragonstone?”

His father smiled at him as a silence fell in the hall. He glanced at the Iron Throne before turning back to face Baelon. “I shall inform him. Oh, and do command Valerion not to take off without us. I do not desire a repeat of Jadewing’s last flight to Dragonstone.”

Baelon nodded before swiftly turning on his heel and bolting down the halls. If he were being perfectly honest, he only did so because he wished to see his family as quickly as possible.

Baelon found Valerion in one of the larger courtyards, mounted on Jadewing and clipping the chains on his saddle into place. The dragons heavy breathing filled the air, an endurance flight like the one she had just done was sure to tire her out. Caraxes was already gone, and Baelon could just see a red ribbon dancing in the air far to the north-west – Aemon had already taken flight.

“Valerion!” Baelon made sure to raise his voice so that he would be heard over Jadewing.

His goodbrother did not respond, finishing the chains. Once done he leaned onto the saddle, tensed and ready to take off. “Is there something else I must know, Prince Baelon?”

“My father has commanded you to remain on the ground until we join you.”

Valerion’s expression of impatient turned to a sharp glare. “You may join me in the sky.”

Baelon shrugged. “He is only concerned of another advance from the Cannibal.”

Baelon saw Valerion’s eye twitch in frustration. Even one as reckless as him would not risk the Cannibal to arrive on Dragonstone a few moments sooner. “If you insist, I will remain until you take flight.”

Baelon nodded span on his heel making his way to Vhagar as fast as he was capable. Once in flight, they all began the journey to Dragonstone. Baelon smiled to himself, knowing that very soon he would see Alyssa again.

Chapter Text

Alysanne

Alysanne hummed contentedly to herself at the head of the table. Though half the seats were empty she felt content knowing that every lady of their family, and the little ones, were alongside her. She idly stitched away at the newest piece of embroidery, the orange cross masterfully intersecting the field of black cloth, a gift for Saera’s baby. She would make one for Alyssa’s too, but she had far more practice with dragons than skulls. Observing the cloth Alysanne thought perhaps a skull was not the right symbol to be given to a child; Qoherys or not. Perhaps a set of green dragons would do instead.

Gael and Gaemon sat with each other, Jocelyn watching over them as she did her own embroidery. Gael, who was entranced by the minstrels, remained silent as ever while Gaemon played with a small cloth dragon. One of Aemon’s old toys which she herself had made. Alysanne bit at the inside of her cheek as she looked at Gael. She was healthy enough; she had been since her birth in the early months of the eightieth year after Aegon’s conquest. Yet now, nearing her third nameday she had still not spoken a word. The fact that Saera of all people had commented on this was jarring.

Viserys was sat reading through a book and periodically asking everyone what a particular word meant. He was ever curious, something which would serve him well in the future. Rhaenys sat with him and provided a majority of his support, each time providing a detailed breakdown of the word and how it was spelled.

Viserra sat opposite Viserys continuing to view her own reflection in her goblet. The girl had grown a little since claiming Dreamfyre, speaking of how she must contribute to the family now but she remained a child at heart.

Alyssa sat with Daemon who had been tactically placed facing away from Gael and Gaemon. Although he made many attempts to twist and turn, he was distracted by Viserys’ questions which he appeared to presume were for him.

Saera sat opposite Alyssa, poring over a small plainly bound book. When Alysanne had asked what it was about, Saera had said it was her husband’s business. Alysanne would have pressed her further but she seemed to be taking it rather seriously, furrowing her brow and only breaking her concentration to eat some fruit she claimed her babe was demanding.

Alysanne returned to her embroidery, speaking as she did so. “What shall we have the cooks make for dinner, dears?”

Rhaenys was the first to respond as she had been waiting for Viserys to ask his next question. “Might we have something meaty today, grandmother? Venison perhaps?”

Daemon babbled his own answer attempting to reach for the book Viserys was reading. “Agreed. The babes will need plenty to grow strong.” Alyssa said, while actively corralling Daemon back to his seat.

“Salt fish.” Saera said, not rising her eyes to see the look of disgust from Viserys. He had never quite recovered from the first time he smelt it. Alysanne agreed with him.

Alyssa wrinkled her nose at the thought. “You cannot live on that horrid creation you call food alone.”

“True.” Saera agreed, plucking a grape from her bowl and making a show of eating it.

“No salt fish, Saera.” Alysanne did her best not to make it sound selfish.

Saera stared at her mother as she had when she was slapped. Alysanne pushed that particular thought away, it would not do well to remember such anger. “This is an insult of the highest order.”

“No, its dinner.” Rhaenys replied with a simple finality. Saera glared at her in response. Rhaenys was distracted from further elaboration by the sound of footsteps entering the room. Alysanne saw Aemon, dressed in a boiled leather rider’s outfit enter. His sword hung from his belt and his hair was windswept, he must have made his way here from Caraxes.

They had won, and with minimal time lost it would seem. Alysanne knew her son would not return unless the Dornish invasion was dealt with, he always saw his duties through to the end even when he was a boy. Surely that meant that Jaehaerys had returned to his most important of seats in Kings Landing and learned of their flight. No doubt he would be upset by it, but Alysanne doubted he would choose to enforce his will as the father and summon them back to court. That would mean admitting that he could not control them and he would not be able to countenance that.

“Papa!” Rhaenys exclaimed, jumping down from her seat and running to her father. “Did you win?”

“I would not be here if we hadn’t, Rhaenys.” Aemon chuckled. He scanned the room briefly making note of each occupant in turn.  While his face was not necessarily hardened it softened when he focused on Jocelyn. Aemon made his way to her, a charming prince to his wife as if straight from the stories. “Dearest, it is good to be home with you.”

Alysanne saw Saera glance at the doorway longingly, before addressing Aemon. “Where is Valerion?”

Aemon shrugged at her with a neutral expression. “I confess I do not know. The last I saw of him was in the Great Hall at Kings Landing. I would expect he is receiving his rewards for service by now, presuming he is still there.”

Saera’s mouth twisted unpleasantly, and her hands shook lightly. Her voice held a rigid iciness which would have made the Night's Watch nervous. “And he would receive these rewards alone?”

“I’m unsure. I know that our father was quite taken with him the last few days. I would imagine he ranks higher than Viserra and Gael’s future husbands in the list of favoured goodsons.” Aemon said drily.

Saera scowled fully. “It doesn’t matter if our father was taken with him. Valerion is mine, no one else may take him.”

It was the first time that she had referred to Jaehaerys as such in Alysanne’s hearing since that wretched night. Alysanne’s heart ached a bit for her daughter but it ached in a good way. It seemed that things were beginning to heal.

Viserra set down her goblet. “So Morion Martell did not have his primary force attacking the Reach while you dealt with pirates and sellsails on the Storm Coast?”

Aemon turned and blinked at her. “Why would you think that?”

Viserra shrugged. “It’s what I would have done. I would have cut across the farmlands and burned them as quickly as I could. Famine would do more against us than any blade, especially since the dragons would still be eating as much as they do, likely more due to the increased activity of required in war. Alongside the raiding of food travelling by ship and the peasants would riot from the injustice, if not out of sheer desperation.”

Alysanne sighed. “Viserra, what an awful thing to say.” Viserra shrugged again and turned back to looking at her own reflection.

“Uncle Aemon, how do you say pre… prish… that word?” Viserys gestured at his book.

Aemon leaned over. “Precipitation. It means rain.”

“Why don’t they just say rain?” Viserys huffed to himself.

Aemon patted Viserys’ head. “How are you able to read such big books? I thought you were a babe in arms?”

Viserys giggled. “No, that’s Daemon.”

“Me!” Daemon agreed. “I Daemon!”

“But still, this is a big word for a big boy.” Aemon said. “Well done, my eldest nephew.”

Viserys glowed under the praise. Alysanne quietly did the math on when his parents had learned to read and decided that his intelligence was straight from Jaehaerys. She loved Alyssa and Baelon deeply, but they were not her thinkers. That title belonged to Vaegon, Maegelle, possibly Saera when she applied herself, and apparently Viserra.

Alyssa seemed to think so as well, as she looked at Viserys, blinked rapidly, and then pressed a kiss to Daemon’s forehead, causing him to giggle. “Mama, let Daemon go.” Daemon said.

“No, little dragon, I shall never let you go.” Alyssa said. “In fact, I might eat you all up, num num num!” She pressed more kisses to his forehead, causing him to shriek with laughter.

“No, no eat! No eat Daemon! Let Daemon go!” Daemon whined.

“I fear that you will be naughty my little dragon.” Alyssa said.

“No, no naughty!” Daemon protested.

Alyssa gave him a questioning look but apparently believed him. She set Daemon down on the ground, and he immediately toddled over to Gael and Gaemon. He drew back his hand to slap the dragon out of Gaemon’s hands and was promptly picked up by Jocelyn, who wordlessly returned him to Alyssa.

“Mama.” Daemon said plaintively. “Let Daemon go. No naughty.”

“And what will you do to your cousin, my little dragon?” Alyssa sighed.

Daemon scowled. “No cousin.” Well, at least he did not have room in him for artifice yet.

“Do you mean to say that you do not claim Gaemon as your cousin, or that you object to his presence?” Jocelyn asked.

“No cousin.” Daemon replied, glaring at her.

Gaemon, for his part, offered Gael the soft dragon. It was a little wet from where Gaemon had been chewing on it, but this did not seem to deter Gael. She took it into her lap and softly stroked it. Alysanne bit back a sigh. If nothing else, the girl was sweet. Perhaps she’d be like Daella – married off to a distant lord and happy being away from the family. Alysanne was drawn from her musings by the sound of another voice added to the chorus of her family.

“Is it my imagination or is this family peaceful?” Valerion Qoherys had arrived, planting himself against the doorframe in an attempt to appear casual. However, Alysanne had already raised three boys and she knew better. She saw the tapping of his finger, the shifting of his eyes. The subtle tension in him which explained his presence.

Saera practically beamed, something she had not done all week. “Valerion!”

“It was until you arrived.” Alyssa frowned.

Valerion held up his hands in surrender and he stepped into the room and made his way to Saera. “Peace, goodsister.”

Alyssa maintained her frown but did not comment further. Valerion turned his attention to Saera, who had shifted her way over to him. The girl practically fell on him, such as she was able. In response, he took her face into his hand and gave her a kiss which continued for an inordinate amount of time.

Alysanne did not let it bother her; she had been young once after all. In fact, most of the family seemed to ignore it with some of the children simply bewildered.

“How is the babe?” Valerion asked placing a hand on Saera’s belly.

“Demanding.”

“Then they must take after you.” Valerion commented with a smirk.

Saera pouted at him. “Mayhaps so.”

Daemon made a sound somewhere between a joyous shout and a squawk as his father entered the room. ‘Papa’ was the only intelligible word Alysanne gleamed from his following babble. Baelon clearly understood more than her though as he swept the boy up. “There’s my littlest of sons. Have you been good, Daemon?”

“Daemon good.” The boy smiled. Perhaps he had learnt the art of deception after all.

Baelon raised an eyebrow but did not press his son further, instead turning to Viserys. “How have you fared, Viserys?”

“I am well, papa. Uncle Aemon taught me to say precip… precipitation.”

Baelon nodded sagely. “Precipiation. A fine word for a growing man such as yourself to learn.” Alysanne struggled to hide her smile, Baelon likely did not remember the meaning of the word. Viserys smiled at his father and returned to the pages of his book.

Alysanne turned her attention back to her embroidery as Baelon sat next to Alyssa, their voices adding to the growing chorus of the space. The minstrels in the corner, Saera and Valerion discussing the contents of that journal alongside both Aemon and Baelon in conversation with their wives made the space quite noisy compared to its previous lull.

“And your father, where is he?” She asked Aemon.

“Likely behind us.” He glanced at Baelon, who nodded.

Alysanne nodded slowly and rose. She retrieved Gael, as Daemon would likely attack her soon, and let her feet carry her away. She felt rather numb, confronted with the ghosts of their happiness. She was the queen, she would have to go back someday. Silverwing’s happiness jolted down the bond, and Alysanne’s breath caught in her throat. He was there, then. Gael patted at her face.

“I am well, sweetling. Do not fear.” Alysanne said. Gael looked doubtful, but as always, said nothing.

Alysanne found herself and her daughter out on a balcony overlooking the dragons. It was easy enough for someone who had landed to access. And there was Jaehaerys. She had thought he’d look older, but… he looked just the same, save for his armor.

He slowly came to a stop as he had intended to climb the steps from the dragons to the balcony. “Alysanne.”

Her throat felt choked. “Jaehaerys.”

“I do not come to cause you grief.” Jaehaerys began, slowly beginning to walk again.

“You never do.” Alysanne said.

Jaehaerys fell silent but continued walking until he joined her. In the courtyard and beyond, Vermithor and Silverwing were curled around each other. Vhagar was hissing at Meleys and Dreamfyre, while Balerion and Jadewing seemed to be dozing.

“Father?” Someone suddenly asked. “Have you come to take us home?”

Alysanne looked around for the voice. It was a young voice, far too young for one of their children, but… no one else was there. It was just the three of them. She stared at Gael, who was watching Jaehaerys with a tilted head, waiting for an answer.

Jaehaerys looked to her, then to Gael. “If that is what you wish, then I may.”

Gael shrugged. “I don’t like it when Daemon is here, we can go home.”

“Gael.” Alysanne gasped. “You spoke.” Gael shrugged again. Apparently this was not a worthy incident for her.

Jaehaerys lifted his arms, and Alysanne passed Gael to him. “Have you not spoken before, little one?”

“No, Father.” Gael still did not seem to realise the magnitude of the situation. Alysanne felt tears come to her eyes and she turned away for a moment to wipe hurriedly at them.

“Well then, let me speak for both of us for a moment while your mother collects herself. Do you know the story of how we came to Westeros?” Jaehaerys said, speaking to Gael as well as if she was any of their boys.

Jaehaerys had finished explaining what Valyria was and who Daenys was by the time that Alysanne was composed enough to turn back around. Gael was still listening attentively, lulled by the rhythm of her father’s voice. Alysanne was inclined to believe that Gael felt it had a musical quality, not that she herself disagreed.

Alysanne came up behind him and rested her head on his shoulder. By this point, Jaehaerys had turned to the dragons to show Gael. He slowly came to the end of the reign of Gaemon 'the Glorious' but seemed tensed, like a bowstring.

“If I come back, will anything be different?” Alysanne asked softly.

“I can promise that I will not seek Saera out to be cruel.” Jaehaerys said, just as quietly. “I will… I will not force Viserra to wed before she is ready. I promise you this now.”

“And Gael?” Alysanne asked. The sound of her name roused their daughter from her thoughts, turning her head to glance back at them.

“I shall be kinder to her as well. More involved for our little winter child.” Jaehaerys said, passing the child in question back. “Our little gift from the gods, who would not speak without her father present and listening.”

A smile twitched at Alysanne’s lips. “You give yourself much credit.”

Jaehaerys raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you think it is undeserved or untrue?”

Alysanne tilted her head. “I did not say that.”

Jaehaerys knelt in front of her and took her hand, then pressed a kiss to it. “I made you a promise here once before, Alysanne. I promised to love and honour you. I promise now to love and honour our daughters as much as our sons.”

“We shall see.” Alysanne said, well aware that he was more of a wordsmith than a man of action. “But we will also all stay on Dragonstone for some time. Until Saera has her babe.”

Jaehaerys frowned. Apparently his plan of ‘being decent to Saera’ relied on having her packed off to Harrenhal as quickly as possible. Oh, yes, Alysanne saw through him. “What of the kingdom? The court?”

“Rule with a skeleton court from here for a few months.” Alysanne shrugged. “One of the children would likely be happy to fly messages between here and King’s Landing when truly needed.”

Jaehaerys looked at her for a long while. “And when it is done, you will accompany me home?”

Alysanne smiled. “If all goes well, then yes.”

Jaehaerys stood and held out his hand to her. “So be it. Shall we join the rest of the family?”

Alysanne quelled the doubt inside her and took it. “As you say, husband.”

**************************************************************

Zēatīkun

It had been a very trying week. Spending time alone with Caraxes, who was very excited to be away from the King’s Landing to Dragonstone route for the first time in his life, and Vermithor, who was grumpy at the best of times, was not her idea of fun. Especially not when Caraxes accidentally stepped on Vermithor’s tail for the ninth time. She was supposed to keep the peace between the two. And then there was all the war-flying their humans had wanted, and then her human took her to the wrong place. At least now she was curled up on the warm stones of Dragonstone, a large warmth at her side to bask with. She’d do something about that later, but for now, she would rest.

Vermithor and Caraxes, despite having flown the same amount as her, were not resting. Vermithor was letting Silverwing gently preen at his scales and try to clean up the older ones to make room for new scales. Caraxes and Dreamfyre were both loudly trying to catch the other up on the week they had missed from each other.

“—and she is the best new rider!” Dreamfyre boasted, temperature markers flaring with pride.

“—and then of course, I burnt the pirates as they tried to flee, and my human gave me several pigs for the honour of flying me.” Caraxes spoke over her. Zēatīkun watched Vermithor as his temperature markers climbed into annoyance instead of his background level grumpiness.

“You didn’t do that much.” Vermithor snapped. “Back in the day, Balerion would have eaten you.”

Caraxes looked over at Balerion, who raised his head from his resting position to look at Vermithor. “Do you mean when Maegor was my rider?”

“Oh, don’t start.” Silverwing sighed, trying to move her wings to keep Vermithor from rising and making a threat display. “I just got you back, don’t do this now.”

Vermithor huffed. “You’re lucky Silverwing is holding me back.”

“As you say.” Balerion said. “But you were not much bigger than Caraxes is now at the time. It is unkind to claim that he would have suffered worse in your position.”

Vermithor raised his head, flames jetting out of the sides of his mouth. “The humans name me the Bronze Fury. I would have—”

“Vermithor, shut up. You’re making it uncomfortable for everyone.” Vhagar said crankily. “You never fought Balerion. Maegor was dead when your rider came to the city.”

Vermithor bared his teeth. “I would have! Jaehaerys and I—”

“Your rider was still considered young by human standards, and you were less experienced than Quicksilver.” Meleys said flatly.

“You were barely hatched then.” Vermithor snapped.

“Does that make her wrong?” Dreamfyre asked, looking around as if she genuinely did not know the answer.

Zēatīkun finally raised her head. “Is this why Vermithor and his mate are kept separate from everyone else?”

“Keep her name out of your mouth!” Vermithor snapped.

“I didn’t speak her name.” Zēatīkun said with a patience that she did not feel.

Vhagar sighed and rolled over. “Yes, this is why. Every so often, the humans check if he can be around other tiercels, because he’s not as bad with hens.”

“He did just last a week with Caraxes.” Zēatīkun pointed out, because Vermithor seemed like he was about to start making threat displays.

Vhagar hooted, and her temperature markers displayed amusement. “And how was that for you, stuck in between them? Unpleasant at best?”

Vermithor and Caraxes smelled similarly outraged as each other. Zēatīkun wrinkled her snout at the muddled smell.

“Vermithor would never hurt another dragon without good reason.” Silverwing said loyally. “Not even Caraxes.”

“You are all so mean to me.” Caraxes whined. “It’s all ‘blood wyrm’ this and ‘red freak’ that.”

“Who calls you a ‘red freak’?” Meleys asked.

“Humans, I don’t know. The point is, it’s hurtful the way you all talk about me.”

Dreamfyre nodded in support.

Zēatīkun gave the assembled flight of dragons a long, hard look. “I am very tired and very annoyed. I am going to give you this one warning, and the next time someone tries something, I’m going to bite them.”

“Sensible.” Vhagar agreed.

“Though sad, for I would like to take the opportunity to fly with you and maybe go somewhere a bit quieter.” Balerion rumbled.

“Well,” Zēatīkun decided after a moment of thought. “I suppose that could be arranged. It’s different than carrying a human in full metal-skin after all.”

“There’s not enough space here for you both to launch at once.” Vermithor grumbled.

“Then we will launch one at a time. Do not fear, Vermithor.” Balerion said.

Zēatīkun took the opportunity to launch herself into the air, filling her fire sac at the same time. She hovered for a moment before climbing higher and higher into the air, almost into the cloud cover. He would find her there. Her mother had always told her that a dance was a beautiful thing. Now she would get to see for herself.

Balerion was close behind her. He offered her the first pass of the wing, which was very gallant, to use a human term. Zēatīkun dived over him and could feel the heat of the air as Balerion began to move as well. They moved in perfect circles above and below each other, until they matched up perfectly, and Balerion flipped over. For such a large tiercel, he was very graceful. Zēatīkun locked her claws with him, and they began their death dive.

A poor match would separate too quickly or perish in the attempt. A good one would trust one another and come away at the perfect time. Down and down they tumbled, head over tail over head again.

“You trust me a lot for someone who has met me recently.” Balerion smelled satisfied and pleased.

“I spent months with you in that dirt hole. I know you.” Zēatīkun replied.

Balerion’s pleased-satisfied scent and temperature increased, mixed with happiness and pride. “So you do.” Zēatīkun let go first. Balerion’s tail skimmed the water but he was unharmed, as was she. “Come, I know the old caves on the island.” Balerion said, leading her off.

Zēatīkun followed. He did indeed know some old caves, leading down directly into the volcanic chambers. They were blissfully warm, even if he did have to squeeze a bit.

“This will not just be for the sake of eggs.” Balerion said. “Here, with my family – with us, we take mates until death. If that is not to your taste, then there is no need to proceed, I will not hold it against you.”

Zēatīkun considered this. It was very human. But then again, since bonding with a human, she had come around more to their ways. “I should like that. The mating until death.”

Balerion was so happy, she could feel his temperature marker spiking above the warmth of the volcano. “We seal it with a bite, on both sides. May I?”

“Where is the bite?” Zēatīkun asked.

“Anywhere you’d like. Vermithor’s is under his wing, Silverwing’s is on her throat, for example.”

Zēatīkun considered this, then assented. Balerion delicately bit the joint connecting her tail to her hips, then applied some of his fire to make it more permanent. Zēatīkun bit under his jaw, applying her fire the same way.

And then after they had intercourse, Zēatīkun finally got her rest.

**************************************************************

Saera

Saera laid back against the mattress, closing her eyes in satisfaction. Both she and her husband had changed into smallclothes, hers a simple loose-fitting robe. Valerion wore his braies but had remained shirtless at Saera’s request, the bandage across his left shoulder the only thing covering his alabaster skin.

Her husband was currently giving her a foot rub, something she had come to enjoy in recent months, and it had been more than a week since she had been graced with one. Despite the presence of her father, she had enjoyed the dinner, although it would have been far more enjoyable without the little creatures flocking about the table. Saera cradled her stomach lightly as she enjoyed the feeling of Valerion's hands ring the stress from her.

Lady of Harrenhal, that was her title now. It didn’t quite compare to princess, but it was still a fine thing, especially since she was still a princess. They would have their own castle, a very large castle to do with as they please.

“When do we depart for Harrenhal?” She asked.

Valerion continued to rub at her feet, his movements firm and considered. “Once you have given birth and had ample opportunity to recover, my love.”

Saera frowned. “We should go before the labours begin. Our eldest child should be born at their home.”

Valerion stopped rubbing her feet and shifted up to lie next to her, propped up on his elbow. “I shall have to be named Lord of Harrenhal first.”

Saera’s frown intensified. “Have you not?”

Her husband shook his head lightly. “I’ll discuss it with your father shortly. There will be a proper procedure for these things, I’m sure.”

“Who gives a damn about some crusty old man’s procedures?" Saera scoffed. "We could fly there tonight and have Harren’s castle to ourselves.”

Valerion chuckled at that. “True enough. Though I do not wish to risk you or the babe’s health by flying this late in the pregnancy.”

Saera suppressed the desire to find Balerion and mount him now. Instead, she simply glared at Valerion. “I’m pregnant, not a porcelain doll.”

“Oh? Are you telling me you do not wish to be treated well and spoiled while the babe is inside you?”

Saera kissed him. Despite her protests, it was sweet of him to care. “You would spoil me anyway. Continue rubbing?”

Valerion returned to his previous position allowing her to enjoy herself again. They continued in silence for a time before a new thought formed in Saera’s mind. “We should take the maid.” She said.

“Which maid?”

“The one I enjoy, I don’t remember her name.” Saera had found that this brown haired maid was particularly devoted to her. She would be a useful addition to the staff at Harrenhal, given her experience at the Red Keep. “Falena, I think?”

“Falia?” Valerion offered.

“Something like that.”

“I suppose. They will have suitable servants at Harrenhal.” Valerion said.

“They will have servants. We shall have to determine their suitability ourselves.” Saera was not entirely convinced that servants who let a castle fall into ruin could be described as suitable.

Valerion simply smiled at her. “If you wish, you may take her. I shall be requesting Maester Jonos join us regardless.”

Saera frowned at the idea of the scrawny maester. “The one with the face of a weasel?”

“The very same. I sent word to the Citadel for him before we departed Cape Wrath. I shall have to ensure he is brought to Dragonstone when he arrives in King's Landing.”

“Must you bring him?”

“He has proven competent enough and his knowledge of glasswork may prove useful in the reconstruction of the castle.”

Saera sighed loudly. “I suppose, if you must. None of the little grey rats would be particularly fun. At least I can laugh at that one.”

Valerion smirked at her before returning his full attention to the foot rub. Saera lapsed back into bliss before there was a knock at the door.

“Enter.” Valerion called.

His Grace, King of the Seven Kingdoms and Saera’s once-father entered, holding Gael. She had almost become a token of his ‘goodwill’ towards his daughters, though he still seemed to mostly ignore Saera.

“Lord Qoherys, may I speak with you?” Jaehaerys asked.

Valerion glanced at Saera, who quirked an eyebrow. “Your Grace, you are of course welcome to speak to both of us.”

Jaehaerys grimaced. “Of course… Saera. May I then ask if your husband may put on a shirt? For your sister’s sake at least.”

“I know my husband’s chest is meaty, but surely Gael is old enough not to expect milk out of it and to make a gaffe?” Saera widened her eyes in mock innocence.

Jaehaerys thinned his mouth, then closed his eyes and visibly counted to ten. “I see. I was mostly asking as it seemed inappropriate to have this conversation in front of her in a state of undress.”

“Is it inappropriate for a lord and lady to be undressed in their own chambers, my liege?” Saera asked.

Jaehaerys sighed again. “I know you wish for a reaction. I am not going to give you a reaction.” This part sounded rehearsed, as if he had practiced it often to keep a lid on his famous temper. Then he turned to Gael. “Sweetling, do you want to stay here and speak to your sister and goodbrother with me, or do you want to go find the musicians?”
Saera stared. Not once in all of her life could she remember her father asking any of his daughters for their opinion on anything, save Maegelle with a question regarding the faith.

Gael considered this for a moment. “I want to stay, Father.”

“Very well. May we adjourn to your sitting rooms?” Jaehaerys asked, looking from Valerion to Saera.

“You may.” Valerion said.

“Then we will wait for you to be clothed enough for guests.” Jaehaerys said firmly.

Gael waved goodbye over his shoulder. Valerion stared after the two of them, just as Saera did.

“Should we… keep them waiting?” Valerion eventually said.

Saera mulled it over in her head. “The sooner we go the sooner they will depart, then we can move onto more entertaining matters.”

Valerion hummed in agreement. “I shall find my shirt then.”

Saera ran her hand across his chest before it was tragically covered. “A thin one.”

Valerion raised an eyebrow but did not comment further before he rose from the bed and went in search of his thinnest shirt. Saera rose from the comfort of the mattress and adjusted her nightgown. It was a pretty thing made of green thread which gave her freedom to move. It was also modest enough to be in front of family, if not the king himself. Saera felt something move in her stomach – nerves, possibly, about what her father could want. Or the babe. Most likely the babe, in fact. She was never nervous.

Valerion emerged in this very thin shirt, which was nearly non-existent. Saera often enjoyed pouring water on him in this shirt, and felt her mouth water, but now was apparently not the time. She got a shawl to drape around herself, just in case her father should call her manner of dress wanton, and they went to the other room. Upon opening the door, they heard Saera’s father speaking to Gael.

“—my mother, your grandmother, was very skilled at the harp. Your mother used to play as well, though she preferred the lap-harp. She stopped around the time of your sister Alyssa’s birth, as there was so much to do. Our sister Rhaena, of course, played a fiddle beautifully, and our brother Aegon played the lute. Our brother Viserys, who your nephew is named for, played a flute different from a lute, as I am sure you know.”

Saera paused in the doorway, watching them.

“What did you play?” Gael asked quietly.

“I played the drums, which I now believe was my brothers’ attempt to channel the energy of a little boy with too much time on his hands.” Saera had never heard her father like this. “I imagined myself better at it than I probably was. …I stopped around the time that my father died, but Visenya allowed my mother to continue teaching your mother the harp.”

Valerion cleared his throat, cutting off whatever Gael was going to say in response. “May we join you?”

“They are your rooms, Lord… no. Valerion. You may do as you please.” Saera’s father grimaced, attempting a smile.

He and Gael were sat in a fine, soft chair, stuffed with wool and covered with Myrish velvet. She and Valerion sat down on a matching loveseat. For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire. Gael was staring at Saera and it unnerved her.

She looked away from the child, towards her father. “For what purpose did you wish to see us?”

Her father cleared his throat. “I wanted to say that Harrenhal and all its attendant lands are yours, Valerion. If you would like, I can announce it in front of the kingdom, or I can simply send out ravens to that effect. Lord Simon Strong has informed me that his nephew Lyonel completed the forging of his chain. He himself has chosen to retire to the family seat along the forks of the Trident, taking most of the staff with him.”

“Why wouldn’t you announce it in front of the kingdom first and foremost?” Valerion asked suspiciously.

Saera’s father shifted Gael. “I don’t know if you noticed—no. Forgive me for my terse response. I simply feel that it is difficult to do with everyone on Dragonstone for the foreseeable future. The logistics may mean that we – particularly you and I – go back to King’s Landing for the announcement, then return. Feasibly speaking, I cannot summon a great number of lords to Dragonstone at all, especially with the dragons roaming the island.”

Valerion jerked back. “…it seems that you have recently had a change to your temper, goodfather.”

Saera’s father gave that grimace-smile again. “I have spoken to my lady wife. …I have been told to apologise to you, Saera. I am sorry, I have treated you ill.”

“I want more of an apology than that, Your Grace.” Saera sneered.

Gael tilted her head at Saera while her father breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, visibly trying to keep himself calm. Saera opened her mouth to needle him further but Valerion laid a hand on top of hers. With a pout, Saera let her father collect himself.

Finally, he said, “Your mother has made it very clear to me that I have treated you and your sisters poorly. I am apologising, as there is nothing in this world that matters more to me than Alysanne. May we speak as adults, Saera?”

“I would love to, Your Majesty.” Saera leaned back against Valerion, watching her father warily. Valerion began to play with her hair.

“For many years I believed you a good daughter, sweet and biddable. Though now I realise that is merely because I did not seek to know my daughters. When I did learn of your... actions, I ignored you to punish you instead seeking to correct them. I was wrong to do that. I just don’t know what to do with you, Saera. You flaunt in front of the family that you are doing wrong, immoral acts and I worry. Your mother does not seem to see it, but I feel that we indulged you too much as a child. I am sorry for that. I… our parents… for most of our childhoods, the only discipline that your mother and I received was from our warden and grandmother, Visenya. We resented her for it, but perhaps we should have learned her lessons better. Our parents were very indulgent.”

Valerion tilted his head in confusion. "Visenya is not your grandmother. The histories state that her line ended with Maegor."

Her father nodded in agreement. "True. Though she raised myself and Alysanne through our formative years with our mother."

“What did she do?” Gael asked before Saera could tell her father that he was shit at apologising and clearly only doing so to have a warm bed again.

Jaehaerys leaned back. “Oh, she would fetch a switch and give us lashes. She’d give us ten lashes on our hands for stealing from the kitchens, ten lashes on the back of our legs for talking back to her and another ten lashes for bad behaviour such as if the septon scolded us. Then we’d be sent to our rooms separately without supper. She would always separate us for punishments, at the time it made me worry I’d never see Alysanne again.”

“Yet you hate your uncle more than Visenya.” Valerion slowly said.

Jaehaerys gave him a jerky nod. “I do, because Maegor was cruel and lawless. Visenya used a switch to discipline us because we were naughty children and broke the rules. She believed in order, but Maegor followed only strength. He was the strongest and that alone justified his cruelty.”

“I’m not sorry you didn’t take a switch to me.” Saera said.

“Well, you wouldn’t, would you?” Her father asked. “You see no problem with your behaviour and that is why you continue to do it.”

Saera narrowed her eyes at him. “What sins have I committed lately?”

Saera’s father seemed to realise that he had gotten ahead of himself and sighed. “I… none that I know of. I apologise, Saera. It seems that you might be capable of change. I was worried that you would not find a husband to shelter and protect you, especially when you are… being particularly wilful. Your mother and I will not be around forever, and Aemon cannot have you about ruining the image of the royal family—I digress. It does not matter now. It would seem you have found a husband who not only accepts you but embraces you as you are. You are married and all is well.”

“Is that why you got rid of Daella?” Saera asked. “She ruined the image of the royal family?”

Her father tilted his head. “We sent Daella away to be wed partially because of you. Partially because the very idea of living in King’s Landing seemed to terrify her. There were too many trees, and dragons, and cats, and boys with boils, and whatever else scares her. Sending Daella away was a kindness, not one we could justify without marriage.”

Silence fell for a moment, before Gael said, “I’m scared of storms. They’re loud, and I don’t like the noise when the storms come here. I get scared the castle is going to fall into the water. I also don’t like that dragon that scared Mother and Rhaenys and everyone. I also am scared that Daemon is going to hurt me again. Are you going to send me away too?” It was the most Gael had ever spoken as far as Saera was aware.

Jaehaerys settled himself in the chair. “No, I see no need to do so. Storms are loud and upsetting but your music can drown them out. We will not be on Dragonstone forever, and if you’d prefer, next time there is a storm here, I can take you to the bones of the castle. They are the least likely to fall down. The dragon that scared your mother and the rest of the family is a wild dragon and the rest of the dragons do not seem to like him either. He is not a good dragon, but that is a tale for another time. As for Daemon… I will speak to Baelon and Alyssa about how they are raising their son.”

Saera raised an eyebrow. “And why does Gael get such regard? Why now? You have never had an issue with Daemon’s behaviour previously. You have never given me that regard.”

Her father looked towards her, his face neutral and contemplative. “And what do you fear, Saera? What fears may I soothe for you?”

Saera bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. “I fear…” What could she say? That sometimes she lay awake at night scared of the impending labours, fearing she may perish as her grandmother did. Perhaps that she worried someone would come in the night and take her husband with a well-placed knife. Someone had tried once; others would certainly try again. To Valerion she might say such things but to her father, never. “Nothing.” She leaned into Valerion a little more, letting his warmth encompass her and keep her safe.

“Then there is nothing I can do for you right now.” Her father said before nodding at Valerion. “I would like an answer to my original question.”

“Oh, yes. …telling the realm via raven will suffice. I’ve no desire to be apart from my lady wife. I shall need to further discuss some matter of staff I wish to take to Harrenhal, though that can wait until another day.” Valerion said.

Saera’s father nodded again. “Very well. Then Gael and I shall take our leave and go explore the castle to prepare for the next storm.”

Saera nodded tightly back at them, trying her best to mask her upset. It was cruel that Gael got this father and she the other. She managed to hold herself together until they had left, the heavy doors to the rooms shutting behind them. Then she clung to Valerion’s shirt and wept like a child.
Surely it was the babe causing her mood to change so.

Baelon

The maester of Dragonstone was an elderly man, stooped and worn, named Prentiss. He also was generally around to assist with Targaryen pregnancies, of which he had the most experience of anyone living. He had delivered their parents, their aunts and uncles save the Baratheon side, and several of Baelon’s siblings. When they were children, he had always had a kind word or a treat for them, and loved them as his own grandchildren. Generally, though his beard and eyebrows were overgrown to the point that they pulled his face downwards and made him appear more hair than man, he seemed happy.

He did not seem happy now, he seemed bent by the weight of the years. Alyssa was still staring at him, as if she was a statue. As if she could not hear what he was saying.

“I think that this is a very bad place for early pregnancies, if I may be so bold. Yes, some part of the air, some miasma…” The maester trailed off.

Baelon spoke so that Alyssa would not have to. “But other Targaryens have had pregnancies here.”

Maester Prentiss patted Baelon’s hand. “It is… not always for the best. Did you ever wonder why your great grandfather only had two sons? Why there are generally so few Targaryens? It is known that pregnancies do not take root well here. It is just… never spoken aloud.”

“It had already taken root.” Alyssa sounded very distant, as if she was stood across a bridge, speaking to them. “It had already taken root and I was pregnant.”

Maester Prentiss’ face turned down again, like an old dog. “I am so sorry, princess. I merely wanted to say that you are not alone.”

“No. I’m not. All our family are here. Jocelyn with her babe she didn’t even want, Saera with a pregnancy that is not deserved…” Alyssa finally moved, aggressively wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. Maester Prentiss offered her a handkerchief. Alyssa threw it towards him. It bounced harmlessly off him, falling to the floor. “Don’t look at me like that! Don’t just stand there and tell me that the babe died in my womb! Do something!”

Maester Prentiss lowered his creaking limbs to the ground and fetched the handkerchief, then tucked it away somewhere for later use. “I am sorry, princess.”

Alyssa began to cry, sobs racking her body as she tried to keep quiet.

“Thank you, Maester.” Baelon said. It would do no good for him to fall apart as well, even if it was his babe too. Alyssa needed him to be strong.

Everything had been going well since the family came together on Dragonstone. It had been a week of relative peace and ease. He had been teaching Daemon and Viserys to swim on the little beach. Then, last night, Alyssa had felt pain in her abdomen during dinner. She had felt dizzy. Followed in the middle of the night by the bleeding. Gods he had not seen so much blood even when they took a bandits hand. She woke Baelon with her screaming.

Maester Prentiss had been fetched, as well as midwives on the island. Their child – their son, it would have been another boy, undoubtedly- had been lost. Taken by the gods. It was something that happened sometimes, the midwife tried to explain after helping Alyssa pass the afterbirth and the child so as to prevent a poisoning of the blood. And then they were in Maester Prentiss’ chamber partway up Sea Dragon Tower, so that he could give Alyssa confirmation of her health and try to give them an explanation for the unexplainable.

Baelon picked Alyssa up in his arms and began to carry her back to their room. Alyssa rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She sobbed. “Our baby, I killed our baby.”

“Hush love, you did nothing wrong.” Baelon soothed.

“Then why would the Gods do this to me?” Alyssa wept. “It’s my fault, it must be.”

“Never.” Baelon insisted. “You heard the man, this is not the first miscarriage to happen in the family.”

He carried Alyssa in a stony silence, the black stone matching his mood. Once they reached their room Baelon set her down on the now clean bed. The mattress had been stripped, cleaned, and likely replaced. As if it never happened. Alyssa curled up on her side and continued to weep silently. Baelon sat by her and stroked her hair.

Viserys and Daemon were currently with Aemon and Jocelyn. Baelon wondered if he should fetch them for her, or if their presence would remind her of what they had lost. He felt helpless and presumed that Alyssa felt much the same. He would weep for the lost child in private. There would no doubt be a funeral soon.

There was a knock at the door. “Who is it?” Baelon called.

“It’s me. May I come in?” Their mother called back.

Baelon glanced at Alyssa, who did not shake her head. “Enter.” He called.

Their mother came in, wearing a blue daygown with her hair down. “Oh, my poor children.”

Alyssa burst into fresh tears. “Mama, why did this happen?”

Their mother sat down on the bed on Alyssa’s other side. “I don’t know, sweetling. I don’t know. I asked myself that every day after Aegon. And Daenerys. And Gaemon. And Valerion. It just… happens sometimes, apparently.”

Baelon cleared his throat. “That’s what the maester said.”

Their mother reached over and took his hand. “It doesn’t… grief never gets easier. It just changes its form, is easier to live with. And we live with it because we must.”

Baelon pulled his hand away and resumed stroking Alyssa’s hair. “No platitudes right now Mother, please. It’s too fresh.”

“Of course. Is there anything I can do to support you both right now?” Their mother asked.

Baelon shook his head. Alyssa’s sobs had turned deathly quiet once more, but her shoulders still moved, tears trickling out of her eyes. Their mother stayed, humming old Valyrian tunes until Alyssa fell into sleep. Baelon joined her shortly after.   

**************************************************************

Jonos

Jonos held back a sigh, then decided that he did not need to. He then sighed as loudly as he could, right in Valerion’s ear. The man had made him travel over 3 weeks by ship interrupting some very fine studies. "To clarify, you do know that I was back in Oldtown, enjoying having the latest treatises sent directly to me and learning the way the Gods and my sponsors intended?" 

Valerion had the grace to look slightly sheepish. Dragonstone's maester, a man who looked as if he needed a soft chair to sit in by the fire, looked appalled that Jonos would speak to a lord like that.

"You didn't need to come." Valerion muttered. 

Jonos made a face at the back of his head. "You mean I did not need to come over hill and dale, travel by far more water than I am comfortable with--"

"You're from the Riverlands, you should be more comfortable sailing." Valerion interrupted.

Jonos ignored him and continued. "--only to be told upon my arrival that I do not need to be here? Your kindness and generosity knows no bounds." 

Valerion gave a long sigh of his own. "I just need someone to tell me my arm is well."

"You brought me here, over hill and dale, and so on and so forth, to lie to you?" Jonos demanded. "Get him to lie to you." This was accompanied by a gesture towards the elderly maester. Jonos pushed down his bad feelings on the matter. He could escort the old man somewhere to rest in a moment. 

"I must confess, most of my experience with Targaryens is in matters of fertility." The elderly man -what was his name? Preston? It did not matter to Jonos - wheezed.

"It is related. His wife can bear children, he can bear arms, therefore you can assume his arm is well." Jonos said. The elderly maester did not look confident in Jonos' logic. Especially since he seemed to have that link and Jonos did not. Jonos held the old man's gaze for a moment then sighed at Valerion again. "Off with your shirt then."

Valerion divested himself of his shirt but flinched slightly as he pulled it off. Jonos marched around so that he did not have to see the old man's disappointment and more importantly, so that Valerion had to see his. 

Valerion's shoulder was mottled black and blue with bruising. It was not the arm that Jonos had lovingly and tenderly nursed back to health, thanks be to the Seven. It was Valerion’s other arm, which made Jonos think that the man would endeavour to have all of his limbs bruised and harmed at some point. Jonos needed better friends.

"It is not as bad as you think." Valerion said. "It has had time to heal since the war." 

"The histories are not my first choice of subject, but I do not think you should call it a war if it was only one battle. Only one massacre, more like." Jonos muttered as he poked at Valerion’s arm.

"You should take that up with the king."

Jonos narrowed his eyes before responding. "I most certainly will not, lest I get sent to the Wall or the Fingers permanently. Or if I did, poor Maester Poplar would surely die of scandal." 

There was a cough from behind them. "My name is Prentiss."

Jonos grimaced, feeling his ears redden with embarrassment. At least the only witness to his face turning blotchy would be Valerion, whose good opinion he did not really care about in such matters.

"Besides, everyone knows you don't heal, you toss your wife about as if you are a trebuchet and she is a ballista loaded by someone who knows the application of neither instrument." Jonos scolded.

"Now who is trying to kill Maester Prentiss with scandal?" Valerion clicked his tongue with disapproval. 

Jonos shot him a dark look, then rummaged through his travel bag still on his own (unharmed, might he add) shoulder. He procured the jar of ointment he had made, opened the stopper, and smeared it on Valerion’s skin.

Valerion wrinkled his nose. "What is that for?" 

"Promoting healing and demoting strenuous activity. It has boar fat in it." Jonos said primly.

Valerion raised an eyebrow. "Do you think Saera will be driven away by boar fat?"

Jonos tilted his head consideringly. "Well, if nothing else, I tried. Besides, it isn't as if I have access to many fats on my earnings." 

"What earnings? You're a maester." Valerion snorted.

Jonos was handed some bandages by Maester Prentiss, which he immediately unrolled and began tying around Valerion’s shoulder in an altogether too practiced manner. "Exactly."

"You should come with me to Harrenhal." Valerion said. "I will need a maester." 

"Isn't there already a maester there? Did he get eaten by the ghosts?" Jonos asked. "Also, if I have a say in it, absolutely not."

"Lord Strong took most of the staff when returning to his ancestral seat, including the maester. I will have to fully reorganise the staff when we arrive, no doubt." Valerion sighed as if the weight of the world were upon him. "Regardless why would you not? It shouldn't be too cold for you."

"It's cold enough." Jonos snapped. "It's wet. That is the basis of cold. I have had enough of Riverlands winters." 

"We are heading into spring and summer." Valerion said. "By the next winter you will have a warm tower."

Jonos shivered. "Greater men than you have tried to defeat the damp of the Riverlands. It cannot be done. No, if I have my say, I will live out my days in the Reach. Fine wine, fine food, fine weather, access to knowledge-"

"And a certain acolyte?" Valerion said slyly. 

Jonos tied the bandage a bit tighter than was truly necessary. "It is really rather rude of you to bring things like that up in company."

"Did it not go well? You stood next to each other at the wedding." Valerion looked truly concerned.

Jonos grimaced. "We stood next to each other for hours on end but did not speak to one another. Then, at the feast, I managed to speak to him, but then... I don't know. I panicked."

"What happened?" Valerion asked.

Jonos sighed. "I gave him a lecture about glassmaking." 

"That seems salvageable-"

"Beginning with what we know of glass from the early First Men attempts, down into Andalosi and later Westerosi Andal glassmaking. I must have jabbered about Myr alone for eons. By the end, I could feel my own eyes glazing over but I could not stop. I've been running away in the opposite direction whenever I see him." Jonos admitted. "I am not subtle, Valerion." 

There was a laugh that was kindly disguised as a cough from behind them, and Jonos remembered that they had an audience. Jonos cleared his throat. "Of course, I am speaking of losing out on another man's friendship. I love sex. With women." He forced himself to look away from Valerion, who was beginning to try and stifle giggles like a child.

"I see." Maester Prentiss said neutrally.

Jonos felt that he had to expand on this. "I just love breasts. Very round. Not at all like buttocks, which are also round. But I only like lady buttocks." Valerion’s attempts to stifle his giggles were admirable. They were also the only thing Jonos could hear.

"Please stop talking." Maester Prentiss said, freeing both of them from the conversation. "I do not care if you have the Dornish vice. It makes no difference to me - many men who enter the Citadel do. It's none of my concern and I doubt we will have cause to interact much in the future."

"I wanted him here for Saera's childbirth, and he will be there for others in the future." Valerion broke in. "He should seek your advice."

Jonos sighed. He did not want to deliver babies, he wanted to make glass. Sadly, life was rarely that simple. "Is there anything different about delivering Targaryen babes?" He asked, trying not to sound disheartened by Valerion’s faith in his future being tied to the cold and damp.

"Sometimes they're scaly." Maester Prentiss offered.

"...as in stone men, or some sort of condition...?" Jonos asked.

"No. More akin to dragon scales." Maester Prentiss said calmly.

"Oh." Said Jonos awkwardly. "Yes. Of course. Is that... likely to happen with the princess Saera?"

Maester Prentiss shrugged. "I do not have a large enough sample size of Targaryen births outside of related pairs to say. The Velaryons are too closely intertwined to be truly separate in the blood."

"It could be a matter of inbreeding." Jonos summarised.

Maester Prentiss glanced at the door worriedly. "Ah, no, we don't say that word here."

Jonos blinked but nodded. "I suppose not."

"You should leave now." Maester Prentiss advised, before going to the door and opening it for them.

Jonos nodded his head at Prentiss and swept out, before noticing someone in the staircase. The Princess Saera seemed to have swallowed a moon, and the stairs were not helping. Jonos offered her a hand, but she batted it away.

"I don't need your help." She snapped.

Jonos rolled his eyes and stepped aside. "What's wrong with you then? Did you eat the Black Dread? I didn't see him when the ship came in."

The princess, strangely enough, burst into tears. Jonos decided to flee as Valerion fussed over his wife. It seemed Jonos would go to Harrenhal after all, if only to avoid further punishment.

Chapter Text

Valerion

Valerion observed the windswept trees as he made his way further from the castle grounds, climbing the increasingly rocky terrain at the base of the Dragonmont. He should have taken a horse, but when he left, it seemed entirely pointless. Not only would the horse have to contend with the mountain passes but he would be flying Jadewing back. The possible horse would be left alone or dead. The wind, which had battered the castle walls the night before, had died down. Something about a storm travelling along the Narrow Sea. Truly all he wished was to be with his wife. Valerion would not have left at all if not for her insistence.

“The babe shall fly amongst the clouds and I may be unable after my labours. Prepare your dragon, husband.” That was all she had to say when he had attempted to remain by her side. God’s above, love had made a fool of him to meekly obey so easily. He was a happy fool, which was some consolation, but a fool he remained. Valerion half expected to miss Saera’s labours and return to the babe already born.

At least they had avoided the fate of Alyssa’s pregnancy. Valerion felt a chill crawl up his spine at the thought. He had no love for Alyssa Targaryen but even he had to admit that her reaction was understandable. Withdrawn and sullen, she seemed to take more pleasure in punishing herself at the family meals than anyone else. That was if they were unfortunate enough to hear her speak at all.

Valerion returned his attention to the innumerable caves dotted the cracked cliffs and rock faces surrounding the Volcanic mass. Entering the first he crossed yielded little, the cavernous expanse once home to some sort of wolf pack, which had long moved on judging by the rotten carcasses.

Valerion departed for the next. He was fortunate that previous Targaryens had chosen to build Dragonstone so close to the Dragonmont’s banks, elsewise it would take an age to reach the caves. The Dragonkeepers had told him Jadewing was last seen near a league south of the castle flying with Balerion, though that was some says ago. At least it helped narrow his search, otherwise he would have to run the risk of encountering a less than friendly dragon. There is a certain one who would relish the chance.

He spent what felt like an eternity passing through the wilderness, searching each cavern he came across, perhaps some more than once. The caves were not terribly easy to identify from the exterior alone. The sun was beginning to sink in the sky by the time he came across an entrance littered with charred bones and claw marks raked through the stone. Valerion steeled his mind before entering. There was no guarantee that this was Jadewing’s dwelling and if it was the Black Dread’s he may need to make a swift exit. It was not likely to be a wild dragons as, according to the Dragonkeepers, they did not enjoy residing close to the castle.

As he moved past the precipice, he retrieved a torch from his pack and lit it. Valerion stopped a moment to appreciate the sweltering air, if only the smell were not so overwhelming. Valerion chose to announce himself before advancing further.

“Zēatīkun!” Valerion made sure to raise his voice, an attempt to carry deeper into the tunnels which burrowed deep into the earth. After a moment without response, he repeated the call. Perhaps it was not hers after all. As Valerion turned to depart he felt the weight of a dragon press towards him, loose stones tumbling to the ground. Valerion held his breath, expecting the dark scales of Balerion but was relieved when the torchlight reflected the familiar green of Jadewing.

Jadewing lowered her head such that it was visible in the light before gently nudging at him. Her crest of green scales along her snout soothed him enough that he released his breath. Valerion could only chuckle at her as he ran a gloved hand along her snout.

“There you are. Where have you been then? I’ve barely seen you.”

Jadewing puffed air in his face.

Valerion rose and noticed Balerion watching them deeper within the tunnel, the crimson orb studying him closely, much like he had been watching the wedding.

“Oh, should I demand he wed you?” Valerion joked. “Has he taken your virtue then?” He laughed to himself as Jadewing puffed air into his face again, freeing his hair from its leather band.

Valerion moved to the side of her stroking his hand against her scales, her head turning to follow him. As he made to climb onto her Jadewing pressed her snout into his side nudging him further along.

Valerion rose an eyebrow at Jadewing. “Is there something I must see?” Jadewing pressed into him again in response.

He laughed again before moving past her. The tunnel which led deeper into the cave system was almost entirely blocked by Balerion’s bulk. Valerion looked at Balerion who simply gazed back at him. He would swear Balerion recognised him still, looking at him in a manner approximating pity. “May I pass, or do you wish to render me unconscious again?”

Balerion did not respond but did shift allowing Valerion to walk by, hefting the torch in his hand as he went. Valerion glanced back to see Jadewing curl into Balerion sheltered by one of his wings. The deeper he went the more the cave was smelled of charred flesh and brimstone. Valerion wrinkled his nose at the invasive smell of dragon waste. He would have to get these clothes cleaned when he returned.

Valerion stopped once he reached a somewhat more cavernous space, the furrows along the edges of the wall implied that the two dragons had carved the chamber to be wider than they found it. That, however, did not draw Valerion’s attention compared to the stone like protrusion which sat nestled into the cave floor, looking as if a small semi-permeable boulder.

Valerion walked over and ran a hand over it gently, the outer shell emanating a warmth within. He placed the torch to the ground gently and pulled Subterfuge from his belt, gently prying the top of the pod open. The smell within was pungent and foul but Valerion ignored it as within the gel-like fluid he could see the scaled edge of a dragon’s egg.

Valerion, plucked the egg from its place and turned it over in his hand. From between strands of the opaque fluid he could see it bore a reddish bronze hue with flecks of black when he held it up to the light. Alone, one egg was a treasure the envy of all the lesser houses of Westeros.

It was not the only egg. Valerion emptied his bag out and then gently placed the egg inside. Then he withdrew the next egg – this one was pale, with whorls of gold. It was almost the colour of eggshell, which made Valerion snort to himself about it as he laid it next to its sibling in the bag. There was a third. This one was pure black, an abyss of colour permeated with lighter greys. Its sire was unmistakable. Into the bag it went.

There were two more eggs. One was a green egg somehow flecked with orange – it reminded him of a day between autumn and summer as the seasons began to change, the leaves clinging to the tree still in hopes of remaining aloft. The final egg was black with veins of red shot through, near an inverse of the first. It would be a fine dragon when grown, Valerion could feel it. Valerion felt his excitement grow with each one. Five eggs. The gods truly smiled upon all of them. The eggs bulged in the bag, which was spacious but not designed for all of them. Fitting them as best he could and ensuring that they would be dropped, Valerion slowly walked out to the waiting dragons.

“Jadewing.” Valerion began. “How do you intend to get them all out of here?” Jadewing blinked at him. Valerion’s troubles did not seem to make sense to her. She looked at the bag, then at Valerion again, and made a low croon. “I cannot climb up onto your back like this.” Balerion chuffed as if Valerion was simply being stubborn, or perhaps stupid. Valerion sighed to himself. “Very well.”

He took the bag and wrapped the strap partway up Jadewing, on of the bony protrusions running along her spine. Thankfully she had not risen to her full height, otherwise he would not have been able to reach. Once he secured the strap, he used his free hand to climb onto her back, Jadewing huffing loudly as she had to separate from Balerion to accommodate Valerion’s presence. Once seated rather uncomfortably atop her, he retrieved the strap quickly checking the bag to ensure all the eggs were present and accounted for.

Satisfied Valerion turned his attention to bringing the eggs to Dragonstone. “Sovēs, Zēatīkun!”

**************************************************************

Viserra

Dragonstone was truly full of old things. For example, there were so many dresses in storage that fit her, including a flowy purple one that she liked to trail her fingers over.
Rhaenys was sat on Viserra’s bed, watching her. “That one looks nice. You should wear that.”

Viserra looked up at her niece. “You think so?”

Rhaenys nodded, smiling. Viserra forced herself to smile and nod back.

When Viserra had been a child, she had wanted to be her mother. Everyone said that her mother was beautiful, kind, intelligent… they always had compliments for her mother. Everyone always turned to face her, like flowers towards the sun. No one looked at Viserra, littlest and least until Gael was born. And even then, Viserra was too old to be of comfort for her mother the way that Gael was after losing Gaemon and Valerion.

Viserra wanted to be queen. Rhaenys would be queen. That was the fundamental difference between them. However, Viserra would make use of this as she had not before. She had believed Saera to be elegant, worldly, amazing. She wasn’t. Saera was just like Daella and Alyssa. Wedded and bedded young. The fact that Alyssa and Saera had dragons made no difference. There was no way to scrape your way to respect in Viserra’s father’s court if you weren’t born with a cock.

Viserra had heard Alyssa’s screams and wails. They all had. Alyssa was not even twenty-and-four, and she had already had two sons and lost another.
Alyssa was fifteen when she was wedded and bedded. So was their mother. Alysanne the Good, the Gentle, the Beautiful had given her husband more than ten children since she was young and it was never enough. It would never be enough for Daella’s husband. For Saera’s.

Viserra was terrified. The jaws of the trap were slowly closing. She was already ten-and-two. Surely, they would come for her in three years. Perhaps her father already had been making plans, to marry her to Viserys even. They would try to keep her with them now, to keep Dreamfyre with them. Viserra forced herself not to shudder at the thought.

Her greatest hope was that her father may die and her brother may be kind. It would pay to befriend Rhaenys in that instance. In truth, it was not that much of a hardship – Rhaenys was better company than Gael, and certainly better company than Saera in a mood. Saera’s moods had been more frequent since she was Viserra’s age. Perhaps she too had sensed the trap closing and had wanted to flee, only for it to snap shut on her ankle. Married on her six and tenth nameday, pregnant the same night. Viserra would never forgive Lord Qoherys.

She forced herself to focus on Rhaenys. Sweet Rhaenys, who would have the luxury of having to wait for her child groom to grow up. Sweet Rhaenys, who was beginning to cock her head, confused. It was a lovely dress. Viserra even believed that she might know whom it belonged to. It was a maiden’s dress, on Dragonstone. It was clearly made for a Targaryen. There were only so many it could have belonged to. 

Viserra swallowed, then smiled again. “Help me put it on?”

Rhaenys nodded, delighted for a chance to play dress up with more than her doll. Viserra did not truly need Rhaenys’ help, but it was good all the same. Rhaenys began to chatter about her interests – dragons, baby brothers, and how Daemon did not behave properly. Viserra made noises at the appropriate times. Rhaenys wanted to help Viserra with her hair and Viserra agreed – she had been planning on having it down mostly anyway.  Long and flowing around her shoulders.

Making her look younger. Making her look like someone else. Viserra stared at her face in the looking glass that had once belonged to Aunt Rhaena. She had met her cousin once in Oldtown with Maegelle. Rhaella looked like them, all sharp angles and bright, flashing eyes. Rhaenys was wearing Viserra’s mother’s dress from when she was a child. Viserra was not.

Eventually Rhaenys ran out of tasks. Viserra smiled at her. “Shall we go to dinner?”

Rhaenys lit up. “Yes! I’m starving! Do you think there’s anything new, or is it just fish again?”

“I think it may be fish, as Saera wishes.” Viserra teased. “Though I am ready to swim to the mainland myself to be free of it.” As they went, she adjusted her walk. More regal, more of a glide. She would never be queen, but for the evening she could be the ghost of the Queen in the East.

Her parents were already seated when they got there, as were her siblings save Saera and Lord Qoherys. Daemon and Viserys were stacking blocks by the fire. Gaemon and Gael were being held by their fathers.

Viserra let Rhaenys bound forward. Viserra’s mother looked up to greet her granddaughter, then went cold upon seeing her. Viserra’s father stared. Viserra folded her hands in front of her. Let them stare, she had done nothing wrong. She was Dreamfyre’s rider and she looked like it.

Jocelyn recovered first. “Viserra, you look… nice.”

“Where did you get that dress?” Aemon added.

Viserra lifted her chin. “I found it in my room. Is there a problem with me wearing it?”

Viserra’s mother blinked, then looked away. “You resemble your aunt at that age.”

“They were happier times.” Viserra’s father said slowly, looking to his wife. “Thank you for reminding us of them. Do you not agree, Alysanne?”

Viserra’s mother visibly steadied herself before looking at Viserra again. “Yes. That dress looks good on you, Viserra. You wear it well. You should bring it back to King’s Landing lest you outgrow it before being able to wear it publicly.”

“I helped her with it!” Rhaenys said, drawing everyone’s attention.

Viserra took her seat at the table, forcing herself not to pout that it had only held their attention for a moment. Mumming at being the Queen of the East was sure to end in heartbreak anyway, her aunt had had a sad life.

“Where’s Saera?” Alyssa asked. Her eyes were stained red from crying. Viserra did not think that she would ever recover.

“Where’s Valerion? Another storm is blowing in.” Baelon added. Alyssa made a face at him but said nothing else. Baelon rubbed her back gently.

“Should we send someone to fetch Saera?” Viserra asked. She hoped it would not be her. It would likely be her nonetheless – the children were all too young, save Rhaenys. The adults were too important. Mayhaps if Viserra was the one to suggest it, no one would volunteer her for the task. The adults were looking between her and Rhaenys, who was telling a drowsy Gaemon about helping Viserra dress. On the floor, Daemon knocked down the tower, making Viserys giggle.

The clatter disguised the door opening, much to the consternation of Lord Qoherys, who clearly wanted to make an impressive entrance. He strode forth, carrying a bulging bag. Viserra wrinkled her nose. It was not a particularly large room, though it was sufficient for a family dinner with the multitudes. Half a room away she could smell that the man smelled strongly of dragon, and not in a nice way. At least Dreamfyre was a clean dragon. One of Lord Qoherys’ gloves was missing, the other tucked into his jerkin as if it made him look rakish or dashing. It did not.

Viserra’s mother was politely shifting to cover her nose. Jocelyn and Rhaenys were shifting to match her.

“You smell worse than if you fell in a pig pen. Could you not send a message saying that you would not be attending dinner as you had to bathe?” Alyssa asked. “You may even put me off my food.”

Baelon leaned his forehead against Alyssa’s. “’Lyssa, don’t blame Lord Qoherys for your lack of appetite. You haven’t eaten much since… you haven’t eaten much anyway.” Alyssa scoffed, but said nothing else, curling up against him.

Viserra was unimpressed with Baelon’s show of kindness. He was kind, yes. He had two sons though, what need did he have to risk his wife again and again? Still, he would probably be a better option than what they had found for poor Daella, with her old man.

Lord Qoherys did not seem to listen to Alyssa. Poor Alyssa was close to becoming one of the ghosts of the island, like Daenys the Dreamer or Androw Farman. “Assembled goodfamily, I have taken five eggs from Jadewing and Balerion’s nest.” Lord Qoherys announced, gently placing the bag on the table. He seemed as if he would have liked to throw it on, a grand gesture for a grand announcement, but at least had the sense not to do that.

Gael slipped off of their father’s lap and padded over to the bag, not that anyone noticed.

“Five eggs?” Viserra’s father repeated. “The Seven have truly blessed your dragon, Lord Qoherys. May I ask if Dragonstone is entitled to any of the eggs, having given her such fertile ground?”

Lord Qoherys’ smile was a sharp thing. “I am not sure, my king. Goodbrother Aemon, is Dragonstone entitled to any of the eggs?”

Viserra was wrong, apparently Aemon had noticed Gael’s trajectory. “If any of the family bond with them, I’m sure we could trade for another egg in our possession.” Aemon said neutrally, nodding at Gael.

Gael, for her part, tugged on Lord Qoherys’ breeches to get his attention. “Up, please.” Lord Qoherys was surprised enough that he picked her up. “It’s calling to me. It’s singing.” Gael said. “May I show you?”

“What, the bag?” Lord Qoherrys japed.

Gael furrowed her brow. “Not the bag. The egg. It’s near the bottom. It’s a bit muffled. Please, may I show you?”
Lord Qoherys set Gael on the table. She gently opened the bag and began taking out dragon eggs, one after the other, until she came to a cream coloured egg with gold markings. Gael hummed at it, as if trying to harmonise. Then she looked at Lord Qoherys. “Please, may I have this egg? Please?”

Lord Qoherys grimaced. “Princess Gael, surely if I give you an egg, everyone else will want one as well.”

“Please.” Gael said. “Please, it sings to me.”

“I have never heard of a singing dragon.” Lord Qoherys said.

“It sings to me.” Gael repeated. “The other one they gave me doesn’t. Not for me.”

Aemon cleared his throat. “Lord Qoherys, surely in your eyes, one dragon egg is much like another? You are of course welcome to Gael’s cradle egg. It was laid by my mother’s dragon, Silverwing, near the time of Gael’s birth.”

‘Near’ meaning it was laid around the time of Gaemon’s birth, that being Viserra’s brother, not her nephew. It was the cradle egg for Gaemon, then Valerion, then Gael. Viserra was beginning to think it cursed. Gael was humming to herself, which was more noise than she usually made.

“If that will not suit, perhaps one of Dreamfyre’s eggs?” Viserra said, still keeping her tone firm but conciliatory. A queen’s tone. It seemed she was not done playing at being the Queen of the East for the evening.

“Viserra, you do not have the power to promise that.” Her father said.

Viserra looked at him. “I ride Dreamfyre, do I not? Surely I decide what happens with her eggs.”

Her father’s jaw ticked. “I suppose that an argument could be made for that, but not any eggs that she has already had.”

Viserra leaned forward. “Then I shall allow the Crown to take ownership of any eggs she should lay up until I marry and am no longer officially part of House Targaryen.”

“Viserra, we do not need to discuss this now.” Viserra’s mother tried to say. Viserra looked at her mother as if she had simply made inarticulate noises, then looked back to her father.

“You are my daughter. All of Dreamfyre’s eggs are House Targaryen’s to begin with.” Viserra’s father said.

“As a matter of fact, they are not.” Viserra said. “House Targaryen’s dragon ownership laws are based on Valyrian law. ‘And it so stands that any rider of a dragon is to own their eggs and their dragon from the moment that the dragon comes to them and is theirs, unless the rider is a slave, in which case they and their dragon shall be cast down’. Am I a slave, Father?”

“You are my daughter.” Viserra’s father repeated.

Viserra stared him down. “I was under the impression that I was a princess of the royal blood.”

Viserra’s father looked to her mother. “’Sanne, tell her that’s not how that works.”

Viserra looked at her mother. “Is your daughter a slave?”

Viserra’s mother swallowed, then looked back to her husband. “Jaehaerys. She’s right. If she’s citing Valyrian law, she’s clearly researched the subject. Just give her this so that we may move on and she will stop calling herself a slave at the dinner table.”

Viserra held up one finger. “I am not saying that I am a slave. I am saying that you are implying that I am a slave by not respecting the rights of the Valyrian Freehold that I am entitled to as a dragon rider and member of the Old Blood.”

“Viserra.” Aemon interrupted. “You’re twelve years of age. No one is saying that you are a slave. The Valyrian Freehold collapsed near two centuries ago, their laws mean nothing now.”

Viserra slowly blinked at him as if he was a half-wit. “Then the laws that you have spent the last few years collating are entirely Westerosi? Never mind that, they’re all laws of the First Men? Keeping in mind that the Andal culture collapsed across the Narrow Sea long ago, longer than the Valyrian Freehold?”
Rhaenys cackled in support.

Aemon sighed, then looked at Lord Qoherys. “I will personally provide the replacement for Gael’s egg if you let her have it. Now, where’s Saera? You should go get her.”

Apparently, either Saera or the Gods heard him, for that was when Saera chose to make her entrance. “Family.” Saera said dramatically, trying to keep her balance while looking pale and leaning against the doorframe.

“Saera, are you well?” Lord Qoherys crossed the room to her in a few strides. She looked so very small in front of him. Only just ten and six. Viserra felt a shiver creep up her spine.

“It is nothing.” Saera said, before letting out a hiss of pain as her face twisted.

Viserra’s mother rose. “Saera, how long have you been in pain?”

“It’s nothing!” Saera repeated firmly.

Maester Prentiss appeared out of the ether. Viserra was grudgingly impressed. Maester Prentiss wrung his hands. “Princess—I, that is to say, my lady, I believe that your labours have begun in earnest.”

“I know more than you!” Saera snapped at him. “I say that they haven’t, so there!”

Lord Qoherys swept her up into his arms. “Love, I shall have them make you a plate.”

“Let go of me.” Saera grumbled ineffectively. “I am here to receive my due as a Targaryen.”

“You are a Qoherys now.” Jocelyn said. “What is it that you are due?”

“A greeting upon my arrival for dinner.” Saera huffed, before making that pained face once again. Lord Qoherys swept her away, Maester Prentiss and Viserra’s mother following.

Alyssa’s face twisted with a different kind of pain. “I am going to eat in our chambers. Baelon, shall we bring the boys?”

“Yes, I think a private dinner is just the thing.” Baelon said, rising and collecting one of his sons under each arm and carrying them away as if they were sacks of flour.

Viserra’s father looked at all of them. “I shall wait and eat later with Alysanne. I shall take some work in my solar in the meantime.” And then that was him gone as well.

Rhaenys let out a loud sigh. “No one has even gotten to eat yet.”

“Well my little fawn, I must say that I’m famished.” Aemon said, before blowing a raspberry on Gaemon’s belly and making him squeal. “Should I feast on raw baby?”

“Papa!” Rhaenys said. “This is serious.”

“I’m sure.” Aemon said. “Which is why I’ve only chosen the juiciest of babes.”

Viserra looked towards Gael, who was making her way down via Alyssa’s chair to get to the floor, egg still in her clutches. It seemed that alongside the remaining eggs, both of them had been forgotten together.

Jocelyn cleared her throat. “Viserra, would you walk with me?” Viserra stared, before nodding.

“Jocelyn?” Aemon asked.

Jocelyn stood and leaned over to kiss the side of Aemon’s face. “I’ll be back soon, dearest. Just taking a bit of fresh air.”

“I can come Mama.” Rhaenys said quickly.

“That is a very kind offer sweetling, but you must stay here and ensure that your father does not eat Gaemon in his hunger.” Jocelyn said. Aemon laughed.

Viserra rose and followed Jocelyn out of the room. “Do you wish to speak with me, my lady?” Viserra said.

“I do, but I do wish to walk. You are not in trouble.” Jocelyn said.

Viserra shrugged.

They walked in silence for a moment, before Jocelyn said, “You seem to have been reading while we were absent from King’s Landing.”

“I had to find something to occupy my time.” Viserra said neutrally.

“Have you read anything interesting?” Jocelyn asked.

Viserra shrugged again.

“What about that Greenfield boy your mother teased you about?” Jocelyn chuckled.

Viserra frowned. Her mother had done that several times. “He is a friend. I do not have many of those. That does not mean that I am eager to wed him.”

Jocelyn hummed in thought. “Is there anyone you would prefer?”

“No.”

Jocelyn looked forward for a moment, before sighing. “You do remind me of my sister dressed like that. I know that she had certain… preferences. If you have the same preferences—”

“I like boys, I simply do not wish to be married yet.” Viserra interrupted, flushing.

Jocelyn stopped. “I see.” They stood in silence for a moment.

“Everyone always says that the childbed is a woman’s war. Maybe it is. But I am a coward.” Viserra blurted out. “I mummed at being Aunt Rhaena tonight, but I am not like her. I am not like any of the Targaryen women.”

Jocelyn brushed Viserra’s hair behind her ear. “You are not a coward for fearing the childbed. Saera’s battle tonight will be long, and hard upon her. I even daresay she should have been more scared of it.”

“I’m not saying never.” Viserra said quickly. “But they all are so eager to jump into bed and have babes even if it kills them. Jocelyn, I don’t want to die.”

“I didn’t either.” Jocelyn said.

Viserra stared at her.

Jocelyn continued. “My own mother died giving birth to me. I was married to Aemon for several years before we had Rhaenys, and after her I swore I would never do it again. Gaemon was a surprise, as you well know. It is not cowardice, Viserra. You are just barely ten and two.”

“That gives me three years before they’ll marry me off. I do not expect that I will be ready then.” Viserra said, her eyes beginning to burn.

“Then you’re not ready. That is not an issue. I wept on my wedding night and Aemon told me that we could both live until we were one hundred and three without any babes.”

“But I’m not going to marry Aemon.” Viserra snapped.

“Then marry someone who treats you well.” Jocelyn said gently. “You are a Targaryen, yes. You are also the youngest daughter save Gael. I doubt your father needs you to marry exceptionally well, and not for a long time yet. Is that what you were attempting to say with the Dreamfyre business earlier?”

Viserra looked away mulishly. “It seemed relevant.”

“I’m sure.” Jocelyn said warmly, before linking her fingers with Viserra’s and squeezing her hand. “Earlier, you said that you’re not like any of the Targaryen women, and that is false. My brother—my apologies, no, it was not my brother the king who first began the idea. It was in fact my sister Rhaena. Rhaena once said that she was Visenya and your mother Rhaenys. It sparked this idea that all Targaryen women are one or the other; the warrior or the mother. And which would you name me?”

“Rhaenys, I suppose. Visenya was wicked like me.” Viserra muttered.

“Visenya was not entirely wicked. I think she was trapped, certainly.” Jocelyn sighed, before glancing back at Viserra. “But there has always been more than one woman in the world, and more than one woman in our blood. I suppose I have always fancied myself Argella Durrandon should my sisters be Rhaenys and Visenya come again. What I mean to say is, you can model yourself after whomever you wish Viserra.”

Viserra wiped at her eyes with her free hand lest her tears threaten to spill over and make her look like a baby. She had tried so hard to grow up and be more mature after her mother left her in King’s Landing. She had tried so hard to learn, to be smart and witty, so that Saera would not dismiss her again.

“Thank you, Lady Jocelyn.” Viserra said through a cracked voice.

Jocelyn did not release Viserra’s hand. “We have been sisters as long as you can remember, if not as long as you have been alive. There is no need for honorifics betwixt us.”

“I don’t know if Saera would say the same.” Viserra said.

Jocelyn tilted her head. “That is Saera for you.”

“I’m scared for her.” Viserra admitted.

“I know. I am as well. We can go to the sept after supper and pray together.” Jocelyn offered.

Viserra nodded twice, then wiped at her eyes again. “I’m ready to go back in.”

Jocelyn nodded back, and they finished their circuit around the castle level, before returning to the dining room. Viserra had wanted to be her mother when she was young. She had wanted to be the queen for the day. She wanted to be Jocelyn when she was an adult.

**************************************************************

Saera

Saera trailed off into crying sobs as she gave one final push. The baby was out. The elderly maester who had likely never seen a pussy before was now cutting the cord and wiping the baby clean. The baby who was now crying to rival Saera. Honestly, why her mother did this thirteen times Saera had no clue. Any reason was surely insanity. She was seriously regretting it. The baby had better be a—

“A girl, your highness.” The elderly maester said, as he swaddled the baby – Saera’s baby! – in some clean rags. That had probably been Aemon’s blanket once upon a time. It would do, for now. Saera was too tired to be angry, though she still felt it stirring. The baby had one job and it had failed.

Valerion pressed a kiss to her forehead, freeing his hand that she had been crushing in her own and flexing it. “A girl, love. A healthy girl. Is that not good?”

“Now the afterbirth.” The elderly maester said.

Saera glared at him. “The what?”

“It must come out, lest you take ill.” Saera’s mother said, freeing her own hand from Saera’s clutches. Someone filled her now empty arms with the baby. Saera stared down at it—very well, at her—before her body was racked with another contraction.

“No, no…” Saera whined. “Valerion, make it stop. Mama, Mama please.” She gave another push. Unlike the baby this came out easily, with a wet splat.

“The afterbirth, your highness.” The elderly maester said, completely unphased. “I recommend a diet of greens and meats, though nothing too rich, for her highness the princess in the coming days. To help her replenish the strength that the birth would have taken from her.”

Saera’s mother rose. “Of course, thank you Prentiss. …do you foresee any complications?”

“None at present. Mother and child are healthy.” Prentiss said, before taking his bloody hands out of the room. The weasel faced maester made busy cleaning up the implements from the birth before exiting the room with the now cut cord.

“Isn’t that wonderful, sweetling? You have a baby.” Saera’s mother said, as if Saera were simple or had not been there for the hours of labour. Walking, sitting on the birthing seat, crushing a hand of Valerion’s and a hand of her mother’s. Perhaps Daella and Alyssa had had to be reminded during their births.

Saera sneered at her mother, then looked down at the baby. Said baby was deceptively small for having hurt so much. She was red, wrinkly, and squished looking. Saera felt bad for her poor ugly daughter. She had made this baby, and so it was a good baby – the best of babies, even—but it was a fact that her daughter looked like a plucked bloody chicken.

“What shall we call her, love?” Valerion asked.

“We shall name her after the best woman I know.” Saera said hoarsely. “Myself.”

Saera’s mother blinked rapidly. “Ah. I see.”

Saera nodded firmly. Her poor ugly baby was now the heir to a great castle. She would probably never be beautiful – maybe she would be once she grew some hair, Saera was not exactly a prophet – but she would be strong and clever, and she would have a name to reflect it.

Saera turned to look at Valerion. “Get me some wine and find the wetnurse.”

“Shouldn’t you like some water, sweetling?” Saera’s mother interjected.

Saera narrowed her eyes at her mother. “Wine. Arbour Gold if there’s any laid in. From last summer, ideally. They had a fine vintage.”

“Of course, love. Might I take our daughter?” Valerion said as he brushed a bundle of her hair back. Saera pushed the wrinkled creature into his arms, somehow she looked even smaller held against him. He spent a moment rocking the babe before rising off the bed. “I will return with haste.”

Saera nodded in response, not feeling the energy to speak more for the moment. Saera laid there in silence as Valerion left the room and for sometime after. What else was she to do? This was the single most exhausting experience of her life.

Her mother rubbed her hand as she sat in silence. “How do you feel, sweetling?”

Saera sent another glare toward her mother. “It has been only a few moments. I am still in pain.”

“Shall I request some milk of the poppy?”

“No!” Saera snapped. “I’ve no need of it, I merely need to rest. Ideally change into a clean nightgown when given the chance.”

Her mother brought a hand to Saera’s cheek. “It is no easy thing to do what you have done, and you did it well, Saera. I am proud of you.”

“As you should be, though I doubt father would say the same. After all, the babe does not have a cock.”

Her mother sighed before responding. “Is that why you seem… disappointed, sweetling?”

“The babe looks like a dried grape, and hurt me coming out. She shows little respect for her mother.”

“Mayhaps a trait which runs in the family?” Her mother said with a chuckle.

Saera narrowed her eyes in response. “It is not funny, I have suffered!”

“Yes, sweetling. But the reward for it is a great thing indeed, so you may have to forgive me for smiling.”

Saera leaned her head against the cushion as she shifted ever so slightly, every muscle in her body burned as she did so. “If I must, Mother.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Valerion and the weasel maester returning, one with a flagon and goblet in hand and the other carrying a cradle. Valerion poured a small amount of the amber liquid into the goblet before holding it out to Saera.

“More.” Saera demanded. Her husband did as he was told. Saera snatched the goblet from his hand and drank deep.

“Is that any better, love?” Valerion asked, his hand coming to rest on her arm gently.

Saera offered her best effort towards a reassuring smile. “Somewhat.”

Valerion’s horrid little maester friend chose this moment to speak. “As far as babes go, yours is cute. I suppose. As far as births go…” He trailed off, shuddering.

“It was very easy for her first time.” Saera’s mother agreed.

Jonos stared at her. “Easy?”

Saera was loath to agree with the man. “Mother, I have pushed out something the size of a jug of wine. It was not easy.”

Jonos shivered again. “It does look like wine, all over the floor. Oh, Gods.”

“It will only grow easier with each child.” Saera’s mother continued as if she had heard none of Saera’s points, nor any of the foolish man’s prattling. Saera very politely did not mention how her mother had lost two of her later children in the cradle.

Saera stared at her. “Gods, Mother. I have just had the one, what do you mean, each child? Are more meant to appear from under the bed and behind our ears?”

“Well, you seemed so disappointed with her. Surely you’ll have more?” Saera’s mother said.

“It is not my daughter’s fault that she is ugly and red and wrinkly, nor that she is a girl. She will be a dragonrider of House Qoherys and that is more than enough.” Saera said firmly. “Now, someone bring me the babe and an egg so that I may oversee it being placed in her cradle.”

“Oh, that reminds me! I fetched Jadewing and Balerion from where they were in the cliffs. Jadewing had a clutch of five eggs.” Valerion said.

Saera nodded imperiously. “A fine choice for our child. Go get them. And the baby.”

“But my love, did you not just have me send the child to the wetnurse?” Valerion asked.

Saera narrowed her eyes at him. “Does this wetnurse not have legs? Can she not bear to be in my presence with my baby? Bring them to me.”  Valerion did as he was bid.

As the door shut behind him, Saera’s mother said, “All babes look like that when they are first born. It is a narrow passage for them to traverse, so they look… flattened. It is a wet place that they have come from, so they are wrinkled. They were inside the body, then out, so it is no wonder that they are red.”

Maester Jonos sounded as if he was trying very hard not to retch in front of the queen.

“How did you become a maester if you have such a distaste for blood?” Saera demanded of him.

“Most blood is meant to stay inside the body!” Maester Jonos argued. “That is the purpose of my work! Also, there are many more fluids involved with childbirth. Like mucus. I do not care for mucus.”

“You’re a shit Maester.” Saera told him.

Maester Jonos perked up. “Shit enough that I should be sent back to the Citadel for further training and not accompany you to Harrenhal?”

“No. You’ll suffer the castle with me.” Saera said.

Maester Jonos shrugged. “It was worth the attempt.”

The door opened accompanied by a plain faced woman holding her daughter. “Your grace, Princess.” She curtsied gently.

“I see you have discovered the ability to walk. I half expected the babe to learn before you.” Saera snapped.

Her mother rose and walked over to the wetnurse. “Saera! Be kind, this fine young woman is looking after your child. Although not for very long.” With that her mother swept the child from the wetnurses hands and began to rock her back and forth. To do so had not even occurred to Saera.

Saera could see the smile that played at her mother’s lips, a happiness she had only seen when she held Gael or the other babies. For some reason she felt herself smiling also, at least things would calm down now. Then, when she had some time to recover, Saera could return to enjoying her husband in full. That same husband returned with his bag and quickly came to her side, perching as easily as he could at the side of the bed.

“Here they are, love.” Valerion said as he laid the eggs out beside her. “Which do you think would be best for our daughter?”

Saera surveyed each of the eggs in turn. Any of them would serve but the decision should still be made properly. “Not the green and orange one, nor the smoky black. Both seem… incorrect for the babe.”

“What of this one?” Valerion asked, holding the dark egg with crimson streaks up. “It reminds me of the Black Dread, and our daughter does bear your name.”

Saera patted him on the cheek. “Agreed. See it done, then I will need my rest.”

“Of course, love.”

Saera watched the swaddled babe get placed into the cradle by her mother before Valerion gently lowered the egg within. She would have to get up at some point and see her daughter with it, lest it hatch before she get the chance. But for now she would rest.

**************************************************************

Aemon

The wind whistled around the spires of the castle, and Aemon told himself that was why he could not sleep. Jocelyn sighed and turned over, and Aemon wrapped himself around her. The way that she nestled against him told him that she was not asleep either.

“The moon is very invigorating tonight.” Aemon murmured.

Jocelyn sighed. “It’s not the moon. My head is full of thoughts right now.”

Aemon hummed lowly. “Saera and her babe?”

Jocelyn turned around to face him. “May I be honest? I don’t think about Saera often unless she is in front of me. I feel that I am happier that way.”

Aemon coughed out a laugh. “I am sure it would wound her deeply to know that she does not have your regard.”

“It would wound her deeply to know that she does not have everyone’s regard, at all times.” Jocelyn scoffed. “I worried for her, of course, but your mother said that both she and the babe were healthy.”

“And we have a niece.” Aemon said.

“And we have a niece.” Jocelyn agreed. “Though it is not as if she is the first.”

“She is the first niece around us. Daella’s Aemma is an Arryn and will not leave the Eyrie for some time yet.”

Jocelyn shrugged as much as she could lying down in the darkness. “She is the first granddaughter we will see your father interact with who is not Rhaenys.”

Aemon blinked in the darkness. The moon poured down onto them and lit up Jocelyn’s eyes. She was staring straight at him, waiting for his reaction. He did not have a good reaction. “That’s… it’s different.”

“I’m sure it is. Saera’s child is not the heir to the kingdom.”

Aemon sighed. It had been said that his great-grandfather had wept to behold his own granddaughter, Aemon’s aunt, as a babe. His father had not done that. “He told Mother that he would be better.”

“He did say this. However, words are wind, and your father is fond of breaking his word.”

“Well, thankfully he is not fond of breaking wind.” Aemon joked.

Jocelyn waited for his smile to fade. “He is going to hurt Rhaenys with his response.”

“Saera and her husband will be gone soon.”

Jocelyn nodded. “Yes. And it is easy to enjoy a babe when they are small and do not do much. It is easier for him to enjoy a granddaughter’s company when she is not his main heir. It is easier for him to be better now that your mother will continuously prop him up.”

Aemon sighed. “What do you want me to say or do, Joss? Do you want me to tell him to avoid a babe to make Rhaenys feel better?”

“I don’t know.” Jocelyn admitted. “…I know that he is my kin and my goodfather, but I do not like the man. I do not like how he has started smiling at me after Gaemon’s birth when I merited a grimace after Rhaenys and in the interim. I do not like how he was going to rip away Rhaenys’ birthright based solely on what is betwixt her legs.”

Aemon sighed and rested his head on her shoulder. “That is only if I should predecease him, which I won’t. Rhaenys is my heir, and we both know this.”

“As far as the kingdom is concerned, Gaemon is your heir.” Jocelyn corrected, though she curled back around him. “He is a good babe. The fault does not lie with him, but rather with your father pitting all of the grandchildren against one another.”

“What do you want me to do?” Aemon asked again.

“Watch how he interacts with Saera and her babe, and be there for Rhaenys when he inevitably disappoints her.” Jocelyn recommended.

“Are you sure that she even wants to be queen?” Aemon asked.

Jocelyn sat up in surprise. “Aemon, she has been told that she will be queen by everyone save your father since before she could walk. She listens at keyholes and fancies it a spy network. Have you met her? Rhaenys wishes to be queen. Rhaenys will be queen, even if I have to send our nephews off to the Citadel to remove their claims.”

“What about Gaemon? His claim is the stronger one.”

Jocelyn’s eyes slid away from him. “He is a good babe. He is the younger. He will see reason.”

“Joss, he’s recently become aware that he has feet, let alone reason. It is a discussion for another time.” Aemon argued.

“It’s always a discussion for another time, as it always continues with the march of it.” Jocelyn argued back, her dark braid swinging with her head.

Aemon sighed, leaning back himself. “Again, I do not know what you wish me to do. You know that I agree Rhaenys is my heir.”

Jocelyn lay back down beside him, huffing. “I do not suppose that there is anything we can do. It is just… frustrating. Your sisters compete for the scraps of your father’s affection, and your mother looks right through Viserra sometimes.”

“Gael does not compete, though she seems to be Father’s new favourite pet.” Aemon mused.

Jocelyn sighed. “It is easy to be kind to Gael. She is a small child who is barely out of swaddling clothes. If your father were to squint, I imagine he would even be able to see her as a son, she is so young. It is easy to be kind to her even without that, she barely speaks and does not ask for anything save peace. It is harder for someone to be kind to Viserra or, Gods be good, Saera.”

“You yourself admitted that you do not hold her close in your heart.” Aemon said, rubbing Jocelyn’s back.

“I am many things but I am not a liar, Aemon Targaryen.” Jocelyn said tartly.

“You are indeed fond of telling me your thoughts on how the world works.” Aemon agreed.

Jocelyn gasped in mock outrage. “I am merely telling you to be kind to our daughter, and your sisters in the coming days, as your father will not be.”

“And I hear you. Let me sleep.”

“You were the one who started the conversation, with this talk about the moon being invigorating.” Jocelyn said.

Aemon chuckled. “Aye, but I was trying to seduce my wife, not start a conversation about my sisters being unloved.”

“You should have said, silly dragon.” Jocelyn scoffed.

Aemon reached up and ran his hand along her braid, sinking his fingers into the silky darkness. “I did say. What vigour would the moon bestow to me otherwise?”

“I do not know.” Jocelyn replied, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Something wise and Valyrian, most likely.”

Chapter Text

Valerion

“Whatever is the matter, love?” Valerion asked as he glanced at the glum look upon his wife’s face from across the room. It was an expression that he personally felt should never fall upon her features. Despite her expression the early morning light still made her glow as if a beacon of beauty.

Laid in their bed, Saera glared at him. “I am tired of recovering. It has been two weeks since my labours. Two weeks since I was sequestered away where none will see me. It is exhausting being stuck here. We should have journeyed to Harrenhal as I said, that way I would have complete authority to ignore the maesters and tell them to go fuck themselves.”

Valerion made his way to the bed, sitting next to his wife. “ I do believe you already told them to do so. Multiple times. Besides, your walking has much improved, it will not be terribly long now.”

Saera somehow managed to intensify her glare. “Dragons do not walk, they fly.”

Valerion squeezed her hand and smiled at her. Saera had wanted to be the one to take their daughter for her first flight. She was so very angry when the Maesters told her it would be at least a full moon before she could do so safely. After several days of platitudes, demands and insults, she had been wrongfully ignored. That angered her further such that she threatened to feed Prentiss to the Black Dread, so that his corpse may be worth something. After that, she had told Valerion that he should take their daughter in her place.

“I know you wish to take our girl above the clouds but there will be other flights on different days where you can take her yourself.” Valerion did his best to not sound relieved that Saera would not take to wing herself so soon. He wished her recovery to be as swift as possible, even if that meant a few lonely days.

Saera sighed before looking away. “Perhaps.” His wife looked as if she were going to say something but stopped herself. She had done this several times since the birth, clearly something was eating her up inside.

Valerion brought a hand to her face and moved a loose tendril of her hair. “What is it that you do not wish to say, love?”

Saera did not look at him. Somehow that was more worrying than the scowl she had long since perfected. “I… will not do this again. Not soon at the very least. The labours were painful enough, but I have not been able to have proper fun with you for so long. We should have fucked in every room in the Stone Drum by now. Besides, the babe made me want salt fish. I despise salt fish.”

Valerion kissed her cheek as gently as he could. “Why did you not say this sooner?”

Saera bit her lip but continued to look away. “I know you need a son and desire an heir. I know it but I can’t do this again. Not yet.”

Valerion brought his other hand to her chin and turned her face to his. “Have no fear, my princess. I do not need a son. Our daughter is heir enough to Harrenhal. I do not need you to continue to birth babes into this world. My only need is for you, and our daughter, to be happy. If further children would sadden you, then it would be a failing of mine to force them upon you. If you ever desired a large family to fill the cavernous halls of our home, then that is perfectly acceptable to me as well.”

Saera eyes watered and several tears began to pass down her face. “You have seen my family and the chaos that ensues. Frustrating as it is to bear, I have grown accustomed to that noise. I expect there will come when I will be ready, but that time is shrouded in the distance.” Saera sniffed and wiped at her tears, a small attempt to maintain her composure. “I shall visit the gardens today, see if I can’t stir up something of interest. I simply cannot stand this melancholy any longer.” With that she began rubbing at her eyes with a greater ferocity as if forcing the tears to stop. “You should go to the nursery and find our daughter, take her to the skies.”

“Will you be well without me?” Valerion brought a kiss to Saera’s forehead to hide his concern though he was certain the softness of his voice made it a pointless attempt.

Saera smiled as best she could, it was a strained thing indeed. “I suppose. So long as we have some fun soon. It truly has been too long.”

Valerion chuckled. “I look forward to it. Once we return, I will come see you in the gardens. Mayhaps we shall have our fun there.”

A more genuine smile flitted across Saera’s features, if only for a moment. “I look forward to it.”

With that Valerion changed into his riding gear, boiled leather designed to fit snugly and keep the body warm in the skies. The babe would be swaddled tight which would help but it would have to remain a short ride, she was still so very small after all. He then departed making his way to the nursery. Entering gently, he saw the wetnurse whose name he did not care to remember fussing over Prince Gaemon. Valerion thought the small boy looked annoyed to have someone disturbing his peace.

The room itself was a large one. Spacious enough to hold several cradles, including the sizable royal cradle, alongside a miniature table and chairs. An adjoining room likely served the purpose of preparing treats for the older children. Prince Baelon’s boys were not present, likely off distracting Alyssa from her lost babe. Not that it had ever been such. Valerion had not said such to Alyssa for she would surely remove his head from his body if he did. Gael was also away, no doubt fulfilling her new role of royal attendant.

Hearing the door open the wetnurse turned and curtsied. “M’lord. Might I be of assistance?”

“I am uncertain. Have you been caring for my daughter, or simply keeping her quiet while you fawn over the prince?” Valerion saw Gaemon begin rolling for the nearest patch of sunlight while the wetnurse stumbled over her next words.

Nothing the wetnurse said proved particularly valuable, mostly apologies and promises to do better. Valerion chose to ignore the fact that she was not doing her best from the onset and moved to his daughter’s cradle. While the cradle was still of a good size for a small baby it was cramped compared to Prince Gaemon’s cradle which measured several feet. Valerion could have a better cradle crafted once they arrived at Harrenhal.

Little Saera was bundled tight in white cloth and in a period of calm awakening judging by the slow blinking of her violet eyes. Her skin was becoming smoother by the day and she may have already grown a little. By her side was the coal black cradle egg streaked with crimson, as if an ore pulled from the rocks of the mines. It dwarfed her a little less than the first time it had been placed in her cradle.

Valerion reached down and lifted her from the cradle, holding her close to his chest as Queen Alysanne had taught him. Why had no one deigned to inform him that there was a wrong way to hold a baby? Beyond upside down of course. “How are you, little one? Has this woman been treating you well?”

His daughters eyes looked about, only momentarily focusing on him before drifting elsewhere. As she explored her surroundings his daughter gurgled lightly.

“Truly? How awful. Should I punish her for this insolence?” Valerion saw the wetnurse nervously glance at him from the corner of his eye.

Again, little Saera did nothing but gurgle as Valerion rocked her back and forth. “Mmm. You are far more forgiving than I. Very well. As today is a special day I shall be generous and forgive her failure.” Valerion looked up to make eye contact with the wetnurse.

“Thank you, m’lord. I am so very sorry.” She stuttered.

“Thank my daughter not me.”

“Of course, m’lord. Thank you, little one.” She said directing her words to the babe in his arms, before waiting to go about her duties.

“Very good. Now, I am to take my daughter for a short time.” Valerion said before turning his attention back to rocking his daughter who was slowly lulling into sleep. “Would you like to fly little one? It is fine weather for it.” Not receiving a response this time Valerion continued. “I shall take your silence as acceptance. Let us be off.”

Valerion took his child from the negligent wetnurse and began making his way to the main courtyard, where he had ensured Jadewing remained close at hand. She was not happy to be kept close to the castle but it was necessary now that he and his wife were preparing to leave. Alas, Valerion was forced to curse himself and direct himself towards the tower of the sea dragon after realising he would need a sling to ensure his daughter was kept secure. Little Saera remained amiable for the journey to the tower, lightly sleeping for most of the journey.

The tower was carved to give the impression of a dragon, leaning out to observe the movement of the water. Its primary staircase was a spiral, the steps lined with sconces held by dragon claws and watched by carved dragon heads. There was much the Valyrian people had accomplished during the time of the freehold but apparently not an appreciation for subtle architecture. Valerion climbed the helical stairs of the tower gradually, taking time to check on his daughter, until he reached the maester’s chambers.

The rooms under the maester’s care were spacious enough, with several adjoining rooms to house one or two residents. Once more Valerion was forced to confront the design of the castle as the walls were largely taken up by shelves, each one was carved in the likeness of a dragon’s body ending with a claw at the ends, creating the illusion that the dragon was holding itself against the wall. The remainder of the main chamber was taken by a large table for patients, presently empty.

Valerion ventured towards an adjoining space which contained a small desk for the maesters’ various missives to be prepared. Sat there was Maester Jonos. It seemed that the aged Prentiss did not much enjoy ravenry and so left the preparations to Jonos wherever possible. This was not terribly surprising, as surely one of the birds would be carrying news of Prentiss’ death soon, such was his age.

Jonos glanced up when he saw Valerion, then stretched. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Is that any way to greet your future liege lord?” Valerion asked.

“Yes, as again, it’s you.” Jonos stood, and made his way to Valerion, before pausing. “Why have you brought the baby here? What if the ravens peck at her?”

Valerion held the babe closer. “They do that?”

“I don’t know, they might!” Jonos said. “I don’t know why you people—”

“’You people’?”

“I don’t know why you people keep assuming I know anything about the care and keeping of babes.” Jonos continued as if Valerion had not spoken. “I assume you have to feed them, but Seven only know how often or how much.”

“I was under the impression that it was the wetnurse’s purview.” Valerion admitted.

Jonos seemed largely annoyed with that answer. Softly, but still harshly, he asked, “What do you want?”

“Why have you lowered your voice?” Valerion asked.

“So that I don’t wake the babe.” Jonos said, rolling his eyes.

Valerion also lowered his voice. “She is a very good sleeper. Just like her mother.”

“Yes, and no doubt it will be confusing as she is named Saera, just like her mother.” Jonos whispered. “How will you call for them and not get two answers?”

“How common to call for people.” Valerion scoffed quietly. “Anyway, that is not why I am here.”

“I would hope not.” Jonos muttered.

Valerion rolled his eyes before continuing. “Silence. I need you to tie her in a sling to my front so that I can take her dragon riding.”

“Are you perhaps an escaped lunatic from some Essosi madhouse? Why would you assume that I – a celibate man who has never mentioned siblings – know anything about babes?” Jonos snapped quietly, glancing at little Saera.

“Have you been waiting to use that insult?” Valerion asked.

“Very much so, yes.” Jonos said, before waving his hand in a gesture that he wished to continue the conversation.

“You know things about wrappings.” Valerion pointed out.

“I know things about wrapping wounds." Jonos sighed, already moving to the main chamber to look for a wrapping. "I do not know how to wrap babes. I also do not want to learn on an actual babe, who is innocent of any crime.”

“You would serve me though?” Valerion asked, following Jonos as he went.

“I can get away with that.” Jonos pointed out. “You’re an adult. And when we first met, you were functionally dead. The threshold of what I could feasibly do was higher. There was less back talk, for instance.”

“Well, learn now.” Valerion said. “Little Saera will not talk back to you.”

Jonos turned to him and narrowed his eyes. “It is not about little Saera. It is about her father, who has the brains of a fried egg. I do not know babes.”

“You’ll learn, you’re to come to Harrenhal with us.”

“Don’t remind me. I spent my life trying to get out of the Riverlands only to end up there again.” Jonos screwed up his mouth in annoyance. “We’ll take some bandages and try but if she begins crying, that’s your fault. I’m not getting fed to Dreamfyre because of it.”

“Why would I feed you to Dreamfyre when I ride Jadewing?” Valerion asked.

Jonos shivered. “Maester Prentiss has been reminiscent of serving under the last family member to hold Harrenhal. He was apparently the one to chop up Androw Farman.”

“Gods be good.” Valerion said. “Get a hold of yourself, the man was already dead.”

Jonos sighed. “Sometimes, I wish the gods had kept you in Essos.”

“No, you don’t.” 

“Who are you to tell me what I do and do not wish?” Jonos demanded, before glancing at the babe and repeating himself more quietly.

Valerion narrowed his eyes at the little maester. “I am your liege lord.”

“It will be a cold day in all seven hells before the king himself can command any man’s thoughts, let alone you.” Jonos scoffed, before tying a makeshift sling around Valerion. He muttered the whole way through about how Valerion would get the bandages dirty and glared at him as if it was avoidable.

At some point, while Jonos was attempting to figure out his own bandages, Prentiss returned and helped Valerion with minimal commentary. It did seem that he had experience with Targaryens, their babes and their dragons, so Valerion was glad of it. Even if Jonos did make faces at him behind Maester Prentiss’ back.

**************************************************************

Zēatīkun

Silverwing and Vermithor were still off in a cave of their own, but she found it nicer to stay in the yard in the sun. Her human almost definitely needed her. This way he did not have to go find her. Balerion was also helpful, and provided much warmth against her. But the main reason she liked staying near the people was constant feeding. She could definitely get used to it.

“And I burned so many ships, right up!” Caraxes was chattering away between mouthfuls of his own food.

“Did you?” Meleys asked, disinterestedly. “And what about Vermithor and Jadewing?”

“Well, of course they helped too, but still. I’ve been blooded in battle.”

Vhagar scoffed. “Battle against humans. Battle against wood.”

“Have you ever fought a dragon?” Meleys asked. “I think I might be the only one in the last few hundred years who has.” Balerion raised his head from Zēatīkun‘s back, and his temperature markers indicated that he was quietly drawing attention to himself.

“Maybe you’re the only one to fight another dragon and lose.” Caraxes pointed out.

Meleys leaned over and nipped at him as Balerion placed his head back on top of Zēatīkun. “I didn’t lose! I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, because the Scavenger smelled us coming and fled.” Caraxes argued. Meleys nipped at him again.

“Were you the one who caused that awful scar?” Dreamfyre asked quietly.

“No, that was Jadewing’s human.” Meleys admitted.

“Well, I’ll have to thank Jadewing’s human.” Dreamfyre said.

Zēatīkun stirred and sighed. “He is a typical human, a bit dim. He can’t understand us when we speak. I will take your thanks on his behalf, though I don’t know what for.”

Dreamfyre shifted and her temperature markers read grief-acceptance-remembering. “I’ve clutched before on my own. Some of the eggs hatched naturally, without any humans to interfere. My fledglings… Rhaena offered her daughter one of them, but none of them felt right to Aerea. Soon after she disappeared and Rhaena and I went to find her.”

Balerion shifted as well, raising his head to look at Dreamfyre. His temperature marker sang of sorrow and apology. Zēatīkun shifted closer to him and put her head underneath his in a gesture of support.

“While we were gone, the humans… they could not handle the hatchlings. They made their own way, to the caves. The Egg-Stealer realised that there were no adult dragons on the island. The fledglings were hunted down and eaten, one by one.” Dreamfyre said bleakly. “I will never forgive him.”

“And you never should!” Zēatīkun agreed. “Why have the humans not dealt with this? Do they not know?”

“They call him ‘the Cannibal’.” Dreamfyre continued. “They know.”

Zēatīkun hissed and timbred her jaws. “Call me to the hunt, and I will come any time that you ask. He attempted to mate with me without a proper dance, and injured me in the process. I will cede my right of the kill to you.”

“…thank you?” Dreamfyre asked, glancing at the other dragons for their reactions.

Balerion gave the equivalent of a chuckle. “My Summer Lands hen.”

“Do you not have disputes like this in the West Island?” Zēatīkun demanded.

“Not since coming here.” Vhagar said thoughtfully. “We are all more or less related, there is no new blood. So we do not generally fight to the extent that we need to place our injuries in a hierarchy.”

“If we’re all related, where did the Scavenger and the Egg-Stealer come from?” Caraxes asked.

Vhagar sighed. “I clutched in the mountains several decades ago. Two eggs. I assumed that the humans would find them, as they always do. They did not. I did not check up on them until after the human wars, where Meraxes fell. Both were hatched. I can only assume that they became the Scavenger and the Egg-Stealer. I cannot apologise enough, Dreamfyre.”

“It’s not your fault. You cannot control the dragon that hatches from the egg you laid.” Dreamfyre rushed to assure her broodmother. “And the Scavenger is not very bad, they mostly keep to themselves. The worst they do is steal livestock from the humans.”

“What kind of livestock?” Zēatīkun asked.

“Sheep, mostly.”

Zēatīkun turned away in disgust. Sheep was an alright meat, but it got stuck in her mouth for such a long time because of its hair. She would be picking bits out for weeks if she ate a sheep. The poor Scavenger. She was still ruminating on the disgusting nature of eating sheep when her human approached, cradling a small white bundle. Zēatīkun was familiar with the small white bundles – usually they held some sort of human garbage that her human found and made a great deal of noise over. Usually they were much dirtier than this, and she had not seen any since Valyria.

“Jadewing,” her human greeted her with a smile. “Meet Saera.”

Zēatīkun peered at the bundle, and gently sniffed it, careful not to accidentally inhale it. It smelled like a human, and it seemed to be a freshly hatched human. “Isn’t Saera your rider?” Zēatīkun asked Balerion.

Balerion moved his head and tried to examine the bundle as best he could given his size. “She is.”

“What has happened to her?” Zēatīkun wondered.

“I believe that is a human egg.” Meleys said. “Alyssa has shown me hers before. Viserys and Daemon.”

“Quiet Thought and Giggling Mischief.” Balerion corrected.

“Sure.” Meleys replied. “Still an egg, in that they can’t do much.”

Zēatīkun tilted her head. “But Saera is Balerion’s rider, not a human egg.”

“Sometimes the humans name their eggs after someone! Aemon’s mate’s nest-brother always jokes about them naming an egg after him!” Caraxes added, not wanting to be left out.

“But then how do they know which one is which?” Vhagar asked. “That seems very complicated to me.”

“I’m sure we’ve met dragons who shared a name.” Balerion told her. 

Vhagar huffed and turned around. “They were not likely to come in contact with one another and be confused as to their own names. If they are both Saera, how will they know who they are and what they should do? If I were to meet another Vhagar, would their humans not try to say that I am their Vhagar, and that I should give up my latest rider to them? It is all too confusing for me.”

“My human is a bit dim.” Zēatīkun repeated. “I suppose such thoughts have not occurred to him. We will simply have to name the egg ourselves.”

“It’s time to ride.” Zēatīkun’s stupid human told her.

“First flight with the eggs is always good.” Meleys added. “Viserys made noise. Alyssa said he laughed, but I don’t think that’s true.”

“Maybe he had some sort of gaseous issue?” Caraxes asked.

“Why would he have a gaseous issue? He doesn’t have a fire sac to inflate.” Meleys argued.

“Maybe they do! There have definitely been some sulfurous smells from Aemon’s egg.” Caraxes argued back.

“That is a digestive issue, not a fire sac.” Vhagar disagreed. “Humans don’t have fire sacs.”

“If anyone does, Viserra does.” Dreamfyre said loyally.

Zēatīkun ignored the ongoing debate as Valerion prepared to fly. She did not think that humans had fire sacs but she did not want to be wrong if they did. Balerion moved off as Valerion got on, not wanting to play around if there was an egg about. Zēatīkun took off easily once Valerion was strapped in and ready to fly.

It was a beautiful island. There was much less dust, and the animals here didn’t have needle-like fangs in strange places when you went to eat them. Zēatīkun could admit she liked it better than the smelly human nest. Hopefully, they would stay there for some time, but it also felt like they were drawing to a close. She drifted wherever Valerion directed her. At one point, she thought she saw the temperature markers of the cave of Vermithor and Silverwing, (flashing go away-annoyance-care-grumpy and Silverwing’s gentler temperament underneath), but generally she seemed to be alone.

She wasn’t paying attention to the cloud cover above her, which was a fledgling mistake. Her mother had taught her to always check above and below you. She was drifting on the wind, when she caught another dragon’s scent and interest spike, she barely had time to barrel roll out of the way when she realised whose interest it was.

Claws raked across her belly, scrabbling against her hard underscales, the coal black scales passing them by as the attacker made distance to avoid retaliation. Undoubtedly, he was planning to snatch up Valerion and the egg and crush them, or perhaps he intended to eat them. She wheeled around, just barely catching a glimpse of the other dragon. She knew him by the scar, and his scent. She had promised Dreamfyre the kill.

“Leave!” Jadewing roared, beating her wings to turn and face him. The other dragon made a choking sound that presumably meant ‘no’.

“Jadewing, turn back!” Valerion screamed. The egg was beginning to make noise. Perhaps it was more of an eyas than an egg. “Flee! Now!”

Perhaps he was correct. She could not fight with both a rider and a vulnerable eyas on her back. As the Egg-Stealer approached again she feinted to one side rolling out of the way, repeating the scrabbling claws scratching against her underbelly. The Egg-Stealer tried to grab her claws, possibly for a death spiral, but only succeeded in grabbing around one joint. Zēatīkun managed to tear herself away from him and used the opportunity to flee, sending a jet of her emerald flame in his direction to obscure her movement. She just had to get back to the others, to Balerion. Back to the human nest. She’d be safe there.

The Egg-Stealer had a greater wingspan than her and used that to try and catch up. With her bulk, it was not a matter of being more aerodynamic and thus able to outspeed him like Meleys or Caraxes. In seconds, she had to constantly dodge and turn to try and get back into familiar territory without letting Valerion or the eyas be injured. Somewhere along the way, the Egg-Stealer realised that too. His temperature marker screamed of pride and imminent success. He, brute that he was, didn’t check above either.

For a split second, Zēatīkun thought it was the Scavenger, until she realised just how grumpy the dragon biting at the Egg-Stealer’s wings was. “Dumbass motherfucker, get back to your side of the island!” Vermithor roared. “And you! Fourteen Flames, fuck off!”

“Vermithor…” Silverwing rumbled, moving to escort Zēatīkun. “Language.”

Harried by Vermithor and likely too close to the other dragons for his liking the Egg-Stealer peeled away. However, Zēatīkun knew he would continue lurking nearby. Zēatīkun tried to wheel around, but Silverwing and Vermithor were both escorting her back to the human nest.

“Unbelievable.” Vermithor grumbled. “We have to cut our time short just after the egg we laid because your rider, Dumbass Motherfucker – that’s his name, don’t give me that look Silverwing, Jaehaerys confirmed it—went out of his bounds.”

“Wait, you’re shouting at us?” Zēatīkun asked.

“Yes! I am! You were flying around outside of our territory!” Vermithor snarled.

“We weren’t. Balerion has left burn markers well outside of where we were.” Zēatīkun snapped back.

Vermithor considered this. “Well, then, you shouldn’t have been flying alone.”

“Why wouldn’t I be able to fly alone? It’s not your island! You do not make the rules here!”

“It’s not your island either! It’s not even Balerion’s island!” Vermithor snapped.

Silverwing came between them as the flight began to end. “Did you really have to leave your egg behind?” Jadewing asked her.

“It’s alright. It’s something that happens sometimes. I’m sure the humans will pick it up soon, and if not, it’s in a place too small for the Egg-Stealer to get to.” Silverwing said kindly.

“Leave our egg alone!” Vermithor added as they touched down.

Zēatīkun resolved to ignore him and instead bobbed her head at Silverwing in thanks.

**************************************************************

Alysanne

Alysanne grimaced to herself as she continued to pluck at the strings of the small harp which sat in her lap. It was a fine thing made of cherry wood that she had stopped playing many years ago, once she found herself busy with her queenly duties and many children. She did not think herself a poor musician but twenty years of silence had clearly dulled her abilities. Jaehaerys had presented it to her a few days ago though where he had found it, he did not say. According to him Gael had been asking if she could hear her play.

So, as Jaehaerys slowly spun Gael in the gardens, Alysanne sat nearby trying to revive whatever small memories she had of her lessons. The pines and shrubbery swayed in the light breeze, the sun peeking through the clouds shone off of the black stone sculptures which periodically lined the paths. After another particularly discordant tune played, Alysanne placed the harp to one side and made her way to her husband.

“You played beautifully, ‘Sanne.” Jaehaerys murmured, although his eyes did shift in that way when he was being deceptive.

Alysanne let a natural smile fall across her face. Her skills as a harpist may not be as great as they once were, but the day remained beautiful indeed. Gael looked from her father to her with a slight frown upon her face. Alysanne could not rightly say she had ever seen Gael frown before. “Is that so? True or not it is kind of you to say, thought I should very much like you to show Gael her father’s ‘skills’ on the drums.”

Jaehaerys reddened slightly, no doubt remembering the time he had drowned out a petition from Lord Celtigar by banging on his drums when they were still children. “I would not know where to find them.”

Alysanne chuckled to herself. “I am sure I will think of something. Though that does remind me, wherever did you find the old thing?”

“A wise king does not reveal all of his secrets.” Jaehaerys said, bouncing Gael in his arms.

Alysanne felt a smile settle on her face at that. “A good husband does not keep secrets from his wife.”

Gael interrupted Jaehaerys’ next cutting remark by tugging on his sleeve and pointing down one of the pathways. Alysanne turned to see Saera dressed in a dark black dress gliding through the garden. She seemed to be improved since her labours, especially if she was capable of walking alone with ease. Unfortunately, her face did not signify that she was happy, her features drawn into a frown as she slid from one plant to the next.

“Saera? Are you not supposed to be resting, dearest?” Alysanne made her way to meet her daughter, when she noticed that Jaehaerys was not following Alysanne turned to him. “Come along husband, we must ensure our daughter is well. No?”

Jaehaerys blinked at her for a moment before moving with her. “Indeed.”

Alysanne saw Saera’s gaze move from her to her father and then Gael. Each time her scowl seemed to intensify eventually circling back to looking at her. “As I said, is it not best for you to be abed?”

Saera glared at her before turning back to the collection of pale blood-blooms she had stopped next to. “I would have gone positively mad if I remained stuck in bed a moment longer.”

“I do not think it best for you to wandering alone given that the maesters informed me not two days past that you still had periodic discharge.” Alysanne did her best to smile, even as Saera stared daggers at her.

Jaehaerys coughed suddenly. “Surely we need not discuss such… personal matters of Saera’s… feminine health.” Gael squirmed in his arms, and he continued. “It distresses Gael.”

“I want my egg.” Gael said, apparently not distressed.

“Is that the egg my husband very kindly gifted to you and still not been compensated for?” Saera snapped. Gael shrugged and returned to pulling on her father’s sleeve.

“Another egg will be procured for your husband in time.” Jaehaerys said smoothly.

Saera wheeled around on him. “That is not the point. Those eggs are the property of House Qoherys, not Targaryen. Dragonlords or no, you did not have the right to lay claim to it, especially not without my presence!”

“As property of House Qoherys, the final decision lay with the head of the house, who is your husband, not you.” Jaehaerys kept his voice calm, but Alysanne could see his temper beginning to rise. His eyes squinted and lips thinned, if she did not stop this from escalating then Gael might witness a very unkind familial argument.

Alysanne put on her most refined smile before she spoke, interrupting Saera as she parted her lips to retaliate. “Where is your husband, dearest? Surely he would wish to enjoy the garden with you?”

Saera glanced at her before returning her attention to the blood-blooms. “My husband had more important matters to attend to than looking at malformed flowers. He is taking our daughter for her first flight.”

Alysanne observed the blooms she had ordered planted nearly twenty-five years ago. Back then the garden had been all nettles and pine trees, the way Visenya had preferred it. “I thought they added an air of grace to the castle grounds.” Alysanne commented.

Saera snorted out a laugh. “Then you are more foolish than this garden is hideous.”

That… hurt, but it did not matter. Alysanne saw that Saera’s sharp tongue came from a place of frustration. Birth was a challenging ordeal, yet none ever discussed the challenges after the fact. To be coddled to ensure that you remained in good health, all the while wishing to spend those precious first moments with your child. To miss this one was surely eating her daughter up inside.

Fortunately, any further insult or retaliation was interrupted by a courier sprinting into the garden at speed and stopping to catch his breath. “Your Graces, Princess.” He made his best attempt at a bow, which led into his doubling over to catch his breath.

Jaehaerys clearly grateful to be pulled away from Saera’s challenging mood turned to face him as if the courier had drawn a sword on them all. “What is it that requires the king’s attention?”

The courier, having sufficiently recovered his breath, pulled himself upright before speaking. “It… requires all three of you, Your Grace.”

“For what purpose could you need myself, my wife and Lady Qoherys?” Jaehaerys snapped, no doubt frustrated his escape plan was not forming as smoothly as he hoped.

The courier’s eyes darted from Jaehaerys to herself and then to Saera, desperate to complete this task. “It is Lord Qoherys, Your Grace. He was… attacked.”

“Attacked? By whom?” Saera demanded. Gael, bored with the conversation, went limp as a way to try and convince her father to put her down.

“Not who, but what.” The courier continued. Apparently, this man had the melodrama of a mummer. Perchance he had found it his calling and was unfortunately employed with them instead to gain coin.

“He was attacked…” the courier paused for emphasis. “By the Cannibal.”

“Where is he?” Saera demanded, already stepping past everyone.

“He is in the front hall, princess.” The courier replied. Saera, without waiting to be dismissed, hiked up her skirts and ran.

Alysanne, Jaehaerys, and Gael followed at a brisk pace, though Gael clearly wanted to be put down. Lord Qoherys was in the front hall as they had been informed, bouncing the screaming baby up and down under the arch of carved dragon’s teeth. Saera, who had already arrived, was patting at his face as if to check for injury, or perhaps to ensure he was really there.

“—more about the babe, she will not stop crying!” Valerion glanced at the babe in his arms, growing more and more frantic with the bouncing. The poor thing surely thought it was still on dragonback.

Alysanne came forward and took her from him, settling her in one arm before realising that the babe was most likely hungry and thus passed her off to a nearby servant. “Clear the room, then take the babe to the wetnurse.” She whispered before returning her attention to the matter at hand.

Valerion’s arms free, Saera took his hands in hers. “Now that our loud baby is gone, you must tell me what’s wrong. Is it your arm?”

“My arm is as well as it ever was!” Valerion insisted. “No, it is that the Cannibal cannot be allowed to roam the skies of Dragonstone, your family has let it go on far too long! Little Saera could have been eaten! Her first flight was ruined!”

“It’s not my fault my father is a coward.” Saera huffed.

Jaehaerys cleared his throat to draw attention to himself. Valerion and Saera both turned to stare at him, Valerion’s nostrils flared in his anger. Gael succeeded in getting free of her father and slid down his leg before pattering out of the door. Alysanne let her go, signalling one of the last servants to leave to follow her. This was not a topic for children.

“If you are uninjured and the babe is well, perhaps there is no issue with the Cannibal?” Jaehaerys asked.

Valerion glared at him, his hands shaking. “If it had not been for Silverwing and Vermithor, Jadewing would have been mercilessly attacked again. Myself and my daughter would be dead! Do not deign to tell me there is no conflict here!”

“But she was not, thanks to our dragons intervening.” Jaehaerys reasoned. He mayhaps still smarted from Saera’s comments about the egg she purported to own.

Valerion scoffed. “Luck and coincidence do not mean that it would not happen again to someone else. I wonder if you would show such a casual disregard if it was Meleys taking Alyssa to the skies?”

“I won’t be taking anyone up for the time being, actually.” Alyssa called across the room as she entered.

“Though from what we understand, we agree with the principle of the Cannibal being a problem.” Baelon added, following her. Viserra, Aemon, and Jocelyn slipped in through another door.

“What are you all doing here?” Jaehaerys snapped, his temper stoked by Valerions insults.

“I sent for them. It never should have gotten this far to begin with.” Valerion continued to argue.

“How are we to deal with it then? Would you polish a shield and trick it as if it were the mythical Urrigon?” Aemon asked. 

Now it was Saera’s turn to scoff. “The knight in that story did not have a flight of dragons at his beck and call. My husband is right. There are eight dragons, including two of those from the conquest present. We must end the threat of the Cannibal before the opportunity is lost.”

“I believe that Aemon is trying to ask ‘how’?” Baelon said.

“Hunting it mercilessly with our own flight. There are only so many places it can go on Dragonstone and it is not known to leave the island frequently.” Viserra said. There were mercies today, it seemed – Viserra had styled herself after her sister Alyssa, not her grandmother or aunt. Viserra’s hair was tied back in a horse tail and she was wearing riding leathers. No doubt, she was planning on flying if Valerion had not returned in such a state.
“If it were Sheepstealer, we might be able to set a trap, but so far there is nothing that seems to draw the Cannibal.” Viserra continued, standing with her hands behind her back and her shoulders set, as if she were a soldier reporting.

“That’s not necessarily true. We know of one thing that seems to draw the Cannibal’s attention.” Aemon said slowly, looking at Valerion.

Valerion stared back looking as if he was prepared to strike, before growling. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Was your dragon injured in the attack?” Jocelyn asked, understanding Aemon’s intent before Alysanne.

“Nothing severe. That is not the point of my refusal. She will not be used in such a way.” Valerion spat.

“What would you have us do?” Jaehaerys asked. “As Viserra mentioned, the Cannibal does not come out of hiding often. It would take days, weeks, even months to search all of the lava tubes for it. Do you think we have stood by and done nothing about its presence on Dragonstone out of sloth?”

“Yes.” Valerion said bluntly. His jaw was set and his hands had not stopped shaking.

Jaehaerys sighed and dragged a hand across his face. “My sister Rhaena was the one to name that dragon as such, but I was the first one to see it. When Alysanne and our mother and I were here with our grandmother—”

“She wasn’t our grandmother.” Alysanne interrupted.

Jaehaerys turned to her, paused for a moment, and then continued with a nod. “When we were here, growing up after our uncle… took the throne, I noticed that there was a report of a small, wild dragon. At the time, it was amusing. It was not as much of a menace. I would write to Viserys in King’s Landing—” He cut himself off, and Alysanne went to take his hand.
Jaehaerys continued after a moment, squeezing her hand as he did so. “I say this because while the dragon is a problem, we have never been able to devote a significant amount of time or resources to stopping it. Even after it grew from an amusement to a danger, it still was not enough. Generally, it does not attack humans, especially not nobles. Generally, all of our family dragons are interred in King’s Landing.”

“So that’s why it was not attacked previously, but why do we wait now?” Alyssa asked, a fire in her eyes that Alysanne had not seen in some time.

“Lord Qoherys does not want to play bait.” Aemon crossed his arms. “Surely you can make your dragon seem more injured than she really is to draw him out? He is but a beast, after all.”

“I doubt it would make a difference whether she appeared injured or not. The Cannibal clearly feels confident attacking her when healthy.” Baelon commented, while rubbing his chin in thought.

Valerion turned away from the group and brought a hand to cover his eyes and rub his temples. His shoulders had slumped, and his breathing was measured and heavy. The boy seemed like he was about to explode.

“Lord Qoherys, are you well?” Jocelyn asked.

“He is hale. He is stronger than all of you!” Saera snapped.

“Give him a moment. He did just survive a dragon attack.” Baelon interjected.

Alyssa wheeled on Saera. “If your husband is not capable of leading this, then I shall do it myself.”

That set off Saera, who made her way to Alyssa to retort. Alas she was drowned out by the overlapping voices of Baelon, Viserra, and Aemon who all seemed to have something to say. The cacophony of voices spiralled further out of control, only serving to make the hall even more overwhelming. Alysanne turned to her husband and smiled at him, allowing her request to be conveyed by her expression.

Jaehaerys nodded to her before taking in a great breath. “Enough!” He roared letting the command carry across the hall as if one of the statues had come to life. Their family all stopped their own arguments muted by Jaehaerys’ presence. “Lord Qoherys’ dragon is the only reliable means we have to draw the Cannibal into the open. The path forward lies with him. What say you, Lord Qoherys?”

Valerion maintained his silence, though his breathing seemed more natural.

“As I said, he is stronger than anyone here. He can and will do this.” Saera declared making her way back to her own husband’s side.

“Let him speak for himself, sister.” Aemon said calmly.

“Valerion, are you well?” Alysanne asked. Perhaps a gentle voice would coax him from his thoughts.

Valerion turned to look at her, his hand coming to rest at his side. “Mmm? Yes, whatever Saera said.” Saera beamed at all of them.

“That is not an answer, that is simply what he always says.” Baelon pointed out. Alyssa elbowed him in the side.

“So we are all agreed then. We will hunt and kill the Cannibal.” Aemon said before glancing at Viserra, then towards Alysanne. Ah, he did not want to be the bearer of bad news.

Alysanne took a deep breath. “Viserra, you are so new to dragon riding. I feel that you should stay back with me.”

Viserra turned to her mother, looking betrayed. “I am no less of a dragon rider than anyone else in the room. I cannot and will not be kept from this.”

Jaehaerys cleared his throat. “Perhaps, but it may soothe your mother to have company other than Jocelyn and the oth—and the children.”

“Is Mother not coming?” Alyssa asked, forestalling the inevitable protests from Viserra.

“Silverwing may be of a size compared to some of the dragons but she is also gentle compared to her brethren.” Alysanne said. “She has never been to war.”

“Nor should she be drawn into a fight.” Jaehaerys patted Alysanne’s hand. “As a matter of fact, I would be comfortable if none of my daughters went.”

Saera scoffed loudly. “I ride the Black Dread, who has already cowed the Cannibal into submission. I will be going.”

“And Meleys deserves a chance to make her teeth as red as her name.” Alyssa chimed in.

“I am no less a dragonrider than either of my sisters.” Viserra said simply.

“But you have other sisters, sweetling. Maegelle, and Daella, and Gael.” Alysanne entreated. “None of them have a dragon, and they are all the better for it.”

“Unfortunately, Mother, I do have a dragon.” Viserra said shortly. “As the saying goes, that dragon has already taken to wing. I will be joining the rest of the family in the flight.”

“Another dragon would not hurt our chances.” Saera commented. She said it as if she were not placing her little sister into the path of a creature that nearly killed her.

Jaehaerys turned to face Saera. “No. I will not see a child not yet of age taken in the jaws of that serpent.”

Viserra’s face hardened at her father’s words. “I will not be treated like—”

“Not another word!” Jaehaerys interrupted, the edge in his voice making it clear the discussion is over. “You may have the run of the castle and its grounds, once the Cannibal is dead you may soar to your hearts content. Until then, I will not consign you to the possibility of a gruesome death. Baelon, Aemon, please make sure your sister is escorted somewhere safe.”

“I will see to it, husband. My sons will need to prepare themselves.” Alysanne could swear she heard Saera whisper something about the nursery to Valerion though this fortunately did not meet Viserra’s ears.

For his part, Valerion’s foot tapped against the stone and his eyes flitted between the different family members as they spoke. The tension in him would not dissipate until the Cannibal was dead it would seem.

As Alysanne left the room with Jocelyn and Viserra, she scanned those remaining. Her boys, both stood tall and strong, ready to face the challenge ahead. Alyssa with that fire in her eyes, something Alysanne had thought she lost with her last child. Saera smirking as if all this talk were a lark and Jaehaerys. Her husband was wearing a stony expression, the mask he placed upon his features when he flew to war.

**************************************************************

Viserra

Her parents had thought themselves clever. They had resolved that everyone in the family would take off the next day – save for her and her mother. And then Viserra had been escorted – truly escorted, not dragged – to her room and more or less locked in. Ser Gyles stood outside, hemming her in.

Dreamfyre cried out in Viserra’s mind but using her dragon to destroy the castle would solve nothing. In fact, it would only cause more trouble. Gael had been given to Viserra’s care, perhaps as a companion and perhaps as a warden. It did not seem to matter much to Gael, but it served to keep her safe from Daemon. As grandmother, Viserra’s mother was spending this time with Viserys, Daemon, Rhaenys, and Gaemon. Viserra had not wanted to join.

Gael, for her part, mostly seemed fascinated by placing her stolen egg in the fireplace and humming to it, covering it in ashes. “What’s that tune you’re humming?” Viserra asked as she prepared her materials. It did not hurt to be kind to Gael.

“It’s for my dragon.” Gael replied, not turning away from the embers she had begged Viserra to coax to life.

“Sometimes, I wonder if we are theirs as much as they are ours.” Viserra mused aloud. The idea of Dreamfyre being bound to the ground during the hunt grated on her in a way that she could not understand or explain. It was less about her being in the air and Dreamfyre having the chance to hunt. This was foolishness, everyone knew that Dreamfyre was very… gentle for a dragon, but there was something that Viserra was not understanding.

Viserra finished gathering all of the dresses and sheets she could find and braided her hair back. Not a wisp would distract her. “Don’t burn yourself.” She ordered Gael, before she went over to the window. She had taken its measurements and knew she could fit through it, if just barely.

Gael glanced back at her. “It’s going to be cold.”

“In the sky?” Viserra shrugged. “I am used to it.”

“In the room, after you break the window.” Gael elaborated.

“Oh.” Viserra picked up a thick blanket from the pile, and walked it over to Gael, wrapping it around her. Gael snuggled down into it and turned her gaze back to the fireplace.

Gael secured in her blanket nest, Viserra tied all of the sheets and dresses into rope and then tied them around the end of the bed. She then balled up the other end of her makeshift rope and used it to smash through the fine Myrish glass that Aenar the Exile had apparently personally ordered. The sheets went out the other end, and Viserra scrambled through the window as Ser Gyles came running in.

“Princess Viserra!” He shouted. “Princess Gael!”
Viserra looked up at that, though she continued to shimmy her way down, one end of her rope wrapped around her ankle lest she slip. Unfortunately, the rope was beginning to get to some of the more delicate dresses that the Queen of the East had owned, silky and smooth and very easy to slip out of knots apparently. To make matters worse, Ser Gyles seemed to be trying to pull her back up. She could not hear whatever he was shouting over the wind.

There was little else she could do. She could see another window nearby. Viserra swung herself back and forth to gain momentum. The dress’ knot began to come undone. She shut her eyes tight, and swung forward one more time, hoping to break through the glass. She felt it crack under her boots, but— Ser Gyles seemed to have let go to try and get her as she came down.

Viserra opened her eyes as the rope went slack. She was falling, just for a second she was just as much a dragon as Dreamfyre, untethered from this world. Just for a second, and then someone caught her by the boot and was frantically pulling her inside. It was sheer luck that the dragon rider’s leathers were so well fitted. Viserra was pulled in by trembling, bloody hands. It seemed that someone else had smashed the window to get to her, and that someone was Jocelyn. Her raven dark hair dishevelled as she practically threw Viserra to the ground in a panic.

“What were you thinking?” Jocelyn demanded once Viserra was safely on firm ground.

“I have to get to Dreamfyre!” Viserra replied, scrambling to get her feet.

Jocelyn caught Viserra by the shoulders, blood seeping into her leathers from the gashes across her hands. “You could have died! Where is your sister?!”

Viserra blinked at her. “Which one?”

“Gael! Ser Gyles has the castle in an uproar looking for both of you!” Jocelyn said.

“She’s still in my rooms, wrapped in her blanket and by the fire with her egg.” Viserra said, trying to pull away.

Jocelyn held her fast. “Then what were you thinking?! And don’t just say that you need to get to Dreamfyre!”

“I do!” Viserra argued back. “I need to get to her, let go!”

“You could have died!” Jocelyn screamed.

“You don’t understand!” Viserra did not want to hurt Jocelyn, did not want to think about how Jocelyn was already hurt because of her. Dreamfyre seemed more and more desperate down their bond. Viserra finally tore herself free and forced herself to look at Jocelyn’s pale face instead of her bloody hands.

“Make me understand.” Jocelyn begged. “I wedded a dragon. I birthed two more. Make me understand.”

“She is a part of me, and she is hurting so badly.” Viserra said. “Please. You can’t understand. It’s as if—as if my soul has been torn out and is shrieking from the pain. Please. She can’t be left behind. Not now.”

“Why not now?” Jocelyn asked.

“I don’t know! I don’t know, I just know I have to go to her!” Viserra said, wiping at her eyes. “I truly don’t want to fight the Cannibal, but she—she will die if I don’t let her. And I’ll die with her. Please, Jocelyn. Please.”

Jocelyn pursed her lips. “Go through Rhaenys’ room, and down through the servants’ quarters. Move quickly. I never helped you.”

“Thank you.” Viserra said.

“If you die.” Jocelyn took a deep breath, but her voice still shook. “If you die, I shall never forgive you, and I shall never forgive myself for letting you go.”

“Yes.” Viserra nodded once, then darted through Rhaenys’ room which was connected to her parents. Logistically speaking, it was likely meant to be the rooms of the lady wife of the lord of Dragonstone. Aemon had claimed the master bedroom for himself upon coming of age, and to Viserra’s knowledge, Jocelyn spurned tradition and slept alongside him every night.

Viserra was quick. I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming. Her heartbeat ran faster than her legs, driving her further forward even as her abdomen burned and begged her to stop. She skidded into the courtyard where Dreamfyre was pacing. They had removed Dreamfyre’s saddle, possibly in anticipation of Viserra managing to get out but that did not matter. Viserra would simply ride her bareback.

The other dragons were already specks in the sky. Viserra ran to Dreamfyre and mounted as quickly as she could. Dreamfyre was in the air before Viserra could order her up. She steered Dreamfyre as best she could down the bond up into the clouds with all the other dragons save poor Jadewing. They were spread out, ready to attack, but generally around the area where Jadewing was flying in circles, feigning injury.

Baelon noticed her first. In that sign language he and Alyssa and Aemon had made, he signed, ‘You. Here?’

Viserra nodded. The nuances of the sign language were too limited to understand his particular question and even to answer.

Baelon seemed a bit put off and eventually pointed to their father, who was the next to notice her.

He turned Vermithor towards her and Viserra urged Dreamfyre ever higher so as not to give them away while manoeuvring closer to one of her siblings. She ended up hovering near Balerion and Saera, who barely paid Viserra any mind. Glancing back, Viserra spotted her father’s expression promising a reckoning when they got to the ground.

And then there was that terrible roar and a flash of flame from Jadewing. That must have been a signal as Balerion dove first, faster than even Meleys and Caraxes. Dreamfyre dove of her own accord and Viserra hung on for dear life as they emerged beneath the clouds. Jadewing had been attempting to lure the Cannibal to the ground, but it had not seemed to work. Dragons were at their most vulnerable on the ground and it seemed for all of his crude animal cunning, the Cannibal understood that. Instead the Cannibal now stuck close to Jadewing, harrying her movement. It looked as though she had been caught, a wound along her side though it did not bleed too greatly.

It was no matter. Balerion's bulk slammed into him, his jaw locked around the Cannibal’s neck. Jadewing banked and began to tear at one of his wings while Dreamfyre clawed at the other. The Cannibal roared its displeasure, thrashing its head between Balerion’s teeth while its tail attempted to catch one of the attackers. The other dragons joined, harrying the Cannibal.

The Cannibal ripped itself away from the ambush, great spurts of blood oozing from the chunks torn from its neck and wings. As it tried to turn and get away, another dragon found its way into his path. Caraxes twisted in and around the other dragons to bite and claw in equal measure. Meleys darted around them all, bursts of dragon fire catching exposed flesh as the danced in the sky. Dreamfyre fought with a vigor that VIserra had known, deep in her soul was there, but had not realised logically.

Vermithor descended from above, clawing at the Cannibal’s head until its remaining eye was wrenched from its socket. The resulting screech of outrage nearly deafened Viserra as scalding blood began to fall. Viserra and Dreamfyre, who were trying to harry the Cannibal from below, twisted out of the way just in time, with it falling on her leathers. Viserra gritted her teeth to fight through the pain of the splatter and the ringing in her ears. This was not about her. Dreamfyre surged up, clamping her jaws around the Cannibal’s neck and twisting. The Cannibal screamed, a horrible scream as Dreamfyre began to shake her jaws like a dog with a toy.

Viserra was filled with such anger. Whatever pity she would have had for a noble creature dying like this was gone. It deserved to die. It had to die. For her hatchlings – hatchlings? That wasn’t her wording. That wasn’t her anger. It was purely Dreamfyre, and whatever part of Viserra was able to recognise that was scared for just a moment. It was said that sometimes there were dragonriders who went too far along their bond. That was what had happened to cousin Aerea, they whispered. That was what had happened to Valerion when he cured the Black Dread.

Viserra caught the thread of fear and clung to it. That was Viserra. She was Viserra. She would not perish like this. She was a dragonrider and a princess. She would not become nothing. The Cannibal was still shrieking. Dreamfyre’s jaws finally came together fully, severing the Cannibal’s trachea and killing it instantly. The screeching came to a sudden stop, to be replaced by the chorus of triumphant roars from the surrounding dragons. Each one had moved away in the Cannibal's death throes but not her. As the Cannibal’s body went limp in the air Dreamfyre suddenly became responsible for the weight of two full grown dragons, descending as a result.

Viserra, not tied into a saddle and having separated herself a bit from her dragon mentally, began to lift off of Dreamfyre’s back. Before she could grasp onto any of the dragon’s back spines she was out of reach, flying with the rest of them. Perhaps she was truly fated to die by falling to her death that day. She closed her eyes again, only to notice that she had fallen directly onto something, the wind knocked out of her lungs and a pain in her back. She opened her eyes. Surely dying would hurt more.

And indeed, it would, as her goodbrother was already tying her into Jadewing’s secondary seat. “I think we did very well with that.” He said smugly. To his credit, he had indeed executed a nearly perfect manoeuvre. Viserra could still feel Dreamfyre in the back of her mind, but it was not a burning need anymore. It felt more equal. She could breathe as herself again.
“Would you not say, goodsister?” Valerion continued.

“Of course.” Viserra said through numb lips, her voice carried away by the wind. The Cannibal’s blood was beginning to burn through her clothing and hurt, though it had been slowed by the leathers. It had been a very long day, and it was not even noon yet. Viserra, all of two and ten, burst into tears, with no one but her goodbrother and his dragon to see.

**************************************************************

Jaehaerys

Jaehaerys spurred Vermithor forward faster. He had seen Dreamfyre and the Cannibal plummet from the skies. He witnessed the shape of his foolish daughter fall, destined to strike the dirt if not for the fortunate placement of Jadewing. Vermithor had suffered some scrapes while Jaehaerys’ left gauntlet was twisted from the Cannibals blood. Still the beast was felled, and his other daughters had seen fit to ensure it remained so.

Meanwhile, Valerion had turned his mount back to the castle and was proceeding with some speed. Caraxes was ahead of him tailing Jadewing closely while Vhagar lagged behind, her bulk slowing her down. Once the castle was close Jadewing banked and descended to land. By the time Vermithor had landed and Jaehaerys had dismounted, all three ahead of him were on land. Viserra was closely shadowed by the two armoured men as Jaehaerys marched to them. 

Viserra was wearing riding leathers, the left shoulder had been scorched and eaten away. At least the girl had the sense that her sisters did in that respect.

“What were you thinking?!” Jaehaerys demanded as he marched towards them.

Viserra, proud as ever, forced herself to stand straight and tried to look him in the eye, further paining her shoulder in the process. Tears were still pooling in her eyes and Jaehaerys looked away. He did not know much about Viserra, but he knew that her tears were intensely private to her. She mumbled something in response.

“What was that?” Jaehaerys barked.

“I said that Dreamfyre needed me!” Viserra shouted.

Valerion tried to place a hand on her shoulder, almost placed it on her wound, and visibly redirected to her less injured shoulder. “Perhaps the princess needs some rest.”

“Don’t tell me what to do with my child!” Jaehaerys snapped at him. “You’ve only been a father for a fortnight!”

Aemon approached slowly, as if afraid he would spook his father. Or more likely, he was afraid of spooking Viserra, who was admirably trying to hide her tears and turn away so that no one would see. Valerion held up his hands in surrender.

“I think Viserra did very well considering the resources she had at hand.” Baelon said as he took off his helmet. “Especially since Dreamfyre struck down the Cannibal without a saddle.”

“The saddle was removed so that she would not do this.” Jaehaerys snarled at him, before deciding that Viserra had had enough time to pull herself together. “And you! Do you not have the brains the gods gave a goose? Why would you do such a thing? You doubtless scared the soul out of your poor mother! And you made your poor goodbrother catch you—what if you hadn’t been caught, you witless thing? Would you think it so pleasant to be involved had you been splattered on the ground?”

“Dreamfyre needed me!” Viserra repeated nonsensically. “She had to go! I knew you wouldn’t understand!”

“Wait, wait.” Aemon said, holding up his hands to appear less threatening. “Can you explain it to me, please?”

Viserra wiped at her eyes and tried to choke back another sob. “She was calling for me, down the bond. She needed to hunt the Cannibal. She would have taken off anyway. She was getting so panicked when everyone else took off… I couldn’t just let her go alone. She’d never have let me ride her again. I didn’t have time to do anything else.”

Baelon, used to dealing with exceptionally small children, knelt as if that would bring him down to Viserra’s height. By the look of disgust and outrage on Viserra’s face, it had at least pushed her through her tears and back to her usual prideful self. “How deep have you gone down your bond with Dreamfyre?”

“I pulled back while we were up there. So did she.” Viserra said, wiping at her eyes one last time and glaring at all of them in case they even thought of mentioning it.

“It’s a bit hard to measure, but you need to tell someone if you go that deep again.” Baelon said.

“I’m not five, Baelon!” Viserra snapped.

“Don’t shout at your brother! You’re not a woman grown yet either, you should have been safe in the castle.” Jaehaerys snapped at her. “I had thought you more intelligent than this, Viserra.”

Viserra scowled at him. “I couldn’t just leave her, Father. I did what was right.”

Jaehaerys had no idea where such a wilful child had come from. This was no doubt Saera’s influence, and the sooner the Qoherys family was packed off to Harrenhal, the better. “You did what was stupid and ill-intentioned. What would Dreamfyre have done if you died?”

“She would have gone back to the Dragonpit, just like she did when Aunt Rhaena died.” Viserra replied, quick as the lash of a whip.

Jaehaerys narrowed his eyes. “If you want to play at being my sister so badly, perhaps you should ask the families Hightower, Costayne, and Westerling about the monster who moulded her. You should be grateful that your father yet lives and cares enough for you to ensure you would never marry such a man.”

Viserra raised her chin defiantly. “How would you even know if another man was Maegor come again? You say that you would have me never marry such a man, but it’s not as if anyone else could be your uncle and do exactly all the things that he did. Do not pretend that you would arrange my marriage out of care. You did not do so for Daella and I still doubt you did so in Saera's case.”

This was quickly becoming one of Jaehaerys’ least favourite types of interactions with his children; the criticisms of his parenting. “You cannot even claim the title of my worst daughter, as you have not married that obnoxious man standing beside you—thank him for saving your life today, so that your poor mother would not weep at your funeral when we scraped what was left of you up! You cannot even claim the title of stupidest daughter, though it is unkind to say such of Daella. What then are you? You are not even the highest ranked amongst the stupid, the inept, the awful of my children, to say nothing of the best and brightest.”

“Do not speak of my wife like that.” Valerion snapped.

Jaehaerys waved a hand dismissively at him. This wasn’t about Saera. It was Viserra who must be dealt with. “Baelon, Aemon please escort Viserra back to the castle. Take her to the painted table and direct her to look upon Dragonstone. That way your sister might see the very land she would have fallen upon. I will find Alysanne and discuss further the nature of her myriad punishments.”

Baelon cleared his throat. “Perhaps a trip to the maesters first—”

Aemon shook his head. “We’ll take care of our sister, Father. Come along, Viserra, Baelon.”

As they passed, Jaehaerys could have sworn that he heard Aemon whisper, “if you don’t tell him the order of things, he can’t say no and demand that she’s taken there immediately.”

He also could have sworn that he heard Baelon whisper back, “As if you would say punishment over treatment for Rhaenys had it been her instead.” Jaehaerys dismissed these as flights of fancy. His sons were good boys and obeyed him, with the possible exception of Vaegon, who was an outlier and should not be counted.

Valerion Qoherys was still stood there, mumming at impassivity while a fire burned in his eye.

“She was reckless and foolhardy.” Jaehaerys snapped.

“I don’t care about her. You scorned Saera’s name while giving her the lashings of your tongue.” Valerion snapped.

Jaehaerys clicked his tongue. “I am glad that you take your marital duty and family honour so seriously. I did not mean to speak against Saera – indeed, you will recall that the only thing I said against her was that she married you.”

Valerion scowled at that. “I do believe it is time for this deception to come to an end, Your Grace. It is clear that, despite the wishes of the Queen, you will never consider Saera to truly be a part of this family. We shall prepare our things so that we may depart for Harrenhal. There we shall have our own family, one free from this persistent judgement.”

Jaehaerys had never heard such wonderful and calming words in his life, save for when Alysanne married him. Alas, he had to feign sadness at this lest Lord Qoherys not think it a punishment. “I am saddened to hear that, Valerion. I had wished that you could stay with us a bit longer, so that I might enjoy this time with my daughter and granddaughter.”

“However did you escape Maegor when you are such a shit liar?”

Jaehaerys shrugged. He had exposed that particular weakness earlier in the conversation, so it was not as if Valerion was particularly insightful. “My mother was responsible for smuggling Alysanne and I to safety. She was named Alyssa—we named our daughter for her. You recall Alyssa? The one whom you are tormented by?”

“I do believe Alyssa torments herself more these days.” Valerion mouth twisted into that wolfish grin again.

“Then you had best leave before she refocuses her attention.” Jaehaerys said. As obnoxious as this man could be, he proved a remarkably resilient challenge of Jaehaerys’ words.

“Indeed.” Valerion straightened his expression again. “Though on that note, there are some… requests before we depart.”

“Oh? Does Harrenhal and all of its lands not suffice? Whatever else could you desire?” jaehaerys scoffed.

“I require a maester for Harrenhal, the last was taken by Lord Strong. I will be taking Jonos Rivers.”

Jaehaerys raised an eyebrow. He wished to take the abrasive and blunt maester to torture himself. Was Valerion only to provide him good news couched in insult? “The Citadel will assign the castle’s next maester. Though I can influence the choice I suppose.”

“There is also the matter of a certain maid working at the Red Keep. Saera has taken a liking to her and desires to take her with us.” Valerion continued.

Jaehaerys resisted the urge to stare and shrugged. Did the boy think Jaehaerys knew every maid in the castle? “That does not concern me. Alysanne may know the maid whom you are speaking of. Discuss it with her.”

Valerion inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Very well. Onto the matter of the replacement egg.”

“I believe we already came to an agreement regarding this matter. A suitable replacement will be found in time.”

“The egg taken was of a fresh batch, the replacement will be the same. From either Silverwing’s or Dreamfyre’s next clutch. If that will be an issue for Viserra you may remind her that I saved her life today.”

Jaehaerys sighed to himself. Viserra would not be the issue, but even speaking her name filled him with a flash of anger. “That is logical I suppose. Is there anything else before I go about disciplining my daughter?”

“I will need some of the Dragonkeepers to establish a new chapter for the care of Balerion and Jadewing, in addition to any hatchlings.” Valerion continued.

“One would presume. You may take eight from those in King’s Landing, though I will only permit you choose if volunteers do not fill that number.”

Valerion turned to make eye contact with Jaehaerys. “I will require twelve initially. Enough to rotate four every eight hours.”

“Ten." Jaehaerys countered. "I would not deplete near a fifth of the pit’s numbers.”

“It will be twelve. Otherwise, my wife and I will have to remain in King’s Landing for longer than needed.”

“Were you perhaps a fishwife in another life? You cannot haggle with me, boy.” Jaehaerys rubbed at his eyes. “Ten, and you may say whatever else is on this list you have. Perhaps you will ask for the Conqueror’s Crown, or Dark Sister, or even the Arm of Dorne.”

“If I recall my geography, the Arm of Dorne is underwater.” Valerion mused.

Jaehaerys did not want to find the boy witty.

“We will accept the skull of the Cannibal.” Valerion graciously offered.

“Oh, is that all? Well, Meleys and Balerion may have had other thoughts, they should have savaged the body greatly by now.” Jaehaerys waved at the boy dismissively. “If there is a skull to have, you may have it. I certainly have no use for the carrion.”

The boy was about to say more when he was interrupted by a shout. “Grandfather!”

Jaehaerys turned to see Rhaenys running towards them in a dead sprint. She had presumably been doing so for some time given her flushed face and panting.
People said that Jaehaerys disliked his granddaughters – this was fundamentally untrue. He didn’t mind his granddaughters. He didn’t really mind his grandsons, for that matter. His favourite was always going to be Gaemon, as he represented the stability of the nation, but the others all had value in their own ways. Daella’s babe was so far away, she and little Saera were more or less furniture at this age. That left Rhaenys, who was most definitely a person.

He did not think about Rhaenys often. She was beloved by Alysanne and that was, in many ways, enough. Aemon and Jocelyn had done what they could with her, being as she was a girl and not a true heir. She did not die or disappear into a puff of smoke with Gaemon’s birth, so Jaehaerys supposed that there would still be considerations made when she and her brother came of age. That was a long time off though and Gaemon had yet to grow out of his furniture stage and into that horrid stage children went through where they became Daemon. Viserys had grown out of it but he wondered if Daemon ever would.

Rhaenys finally reached them and nearly bent in half to catch her breath, resting her hands on her knees.

“Do you need a moment?” Valerion asked her, mumming at kindness. Obviously, the girl needed a moment, it was unnecessary to comment on it.

Rhaenys held up a single finger as if to ask them to wait, then straightened, as befitting a princess. “Gael’s egg hatched.” Rhaenys panted.

Jaehaerys stared at her. “I don’t understand.”

Rhaenys blinked at him. “Gael’s egg, the one she got from Uncle Valerion—”

“Stole.” Valerion corrected.

Rhaenys ignored him and continued. “—hatched. She wanted to name it ‘Whiteskin’, but Grandmother convinced her that was a very long name in Valyrian for such a little dragon. Grandmother suggested Lovghar instead.”

A fine name for a Targaryen dragon, pride swelled in Jaehaerys’ chest. Gael would go far in life. She was presumably going to be even better now, just like his father had been.

“Whiteskin? Is it an albino?” Valerion asked with interest.

“What’s an albino?” Rhaenys asked.

“A person or animal with a lack of colour in their hair, skin, and eyes.” Valerion said. “Their eyes often appear red, their skin and hair often a pale, almost chalky white. More so than those with Valyrian blood, or so I have heard.”

“Oh. No. Its eyes are gold. It’s more of a cream colour than chalk.” Rhaenys mused.

“I’m sure little Lovghar will be the cornerstone of the dynasty.” Jaehaerys said, mostly to himself as he nodded in satisfaction.

Rhaenys and Valerion both gave him a look of confusion, but their opinions did not matter in this capacity. Jaehaerys’ girl was dragon-bonded.

Chapter Text

Jonos

Jonos made a face at the unfleshed, grinning skull of the Cannibal. The hollow eye sockets of the dark skull seemed to have an otherworldly presence. It, predictably, continued to grin back. In the two weeks since it had been severed from the body, some poor soul had been tasked with making it less flesh and more bone. Thankfully, that had not been Jonos’ problem. No, Jonos’ problem was with the travel arrangements.

He, along with the babe, the wetnurse, the interim cradle that had been sourced, the dragon eggs, presumably the Fourteen Treasures of Valyria and the sun for all he knew, were to sail to Maidenpool and then travel overland to Harren’s castle. It wasn’t the babe’s fault, but Jonos did resent the people who made her for fucking off and leaving him to handle their baby. They would be going to King’s Landing, gathering the rest of everything they had ever owned, then flying to Harrenhal. Thus, there Jonos stood, on a dock shortly after dawn, watching several men try and move a dragon skull.

Nearby, the wetnurse – her name was Rosey, not that Valerion had asked – bounced her own babe and cooed to them about the journey ahead. Jonos was not looking forward to the inevitable journey with two babes and Rosey, who had apparently never been off of Dragonstone as she got seasick. Jonos was looking forward to none of this.

Valerion finally appeared out of the mist, clutching the babe to him. He immediately handed her to Jonos, who panicked for a moment before realising that the babe was asleep. She was a very good sleeper, really.

“Where is Saera?” Jonos asked after he took little Sae and tucked her into the crook of his arm.

“Sleeping.” Valerion said shortly, looking back at the castle, and the mountain which loomed over it. Jonos looked in the direction Valerion was looking at but could not see anything other than mist. With such evidence, he concluded that Valerion was largely being dramatic.

“And you couldn’t rouse her to say goodbye to little Sae?” Jonos asked.

Valerion tilted his head. “Little Sae?”

“I’m not going to call them both Saera, that is practically asking for a misunderstanding to happen.” Jonos rolled his eyes. “Answer the question.”

“Saera said her goodbyes last night.” Valerion avoided Jonos’ eyes. Jonos, with a lack of anyone to commiserate with, looked towards the Cannibal’s skull.

Saera likely had said her goodbyes. Saera also wasn’t entirely… maternal. It was likely a consequence of being but ten and six when she had her first child, but nonetheless. It was becoming Jonos’ problem and he did not care for it.

“And the many Targaryen relations?” Jonos pressed.

Valerion shrugged. “They’ve all stopped by in some capacity. The queen’s farewell was rather heartfelt. His grace, the king, largely did not seem to care. The cousins were kept separate from her because she’s so little, and Saera’s siblings said their goodbyes as well. Even Alyssa.”

That didn’t sound right to Jonos, but what was he to know about royal extended families? All he had was his own extended family, and they were all incredibly fierce about making a show of caring for him. He didn’t care for it, largely as it seemed performative, but still.

“Well,” Jonos finally said after a long pause. “I will do my best to take care of her. I won’t drop her in the bay, or anything like that.”

“Don’t joke about that.” Valerion said, baring his teeth.

“Very well. Anyway, I don’t understand why you aren’t flying her there yourself.” Jonos shifted little Sae to his other arm.

“With what food for her?” Valerion asked.

Jonos glanced behind him and then lowered his voice. “Listen, Rosey is a gentle soul, but you cannot tell me that there is not food for babes all over the Seven Kingdoms. Maybe not the Iron Islands, I suspect they feed their children raw fish heads or somesuch, but everywhere else within reason. You could find her food.”

“Who is Rosey?” Valerion asked at the same volume.

Jonos sighed. “The woman who very kindly feeds your babe every day.”

“Oh. Her.”

Jonos fought not to roll his eyes. “You have not answered my question.”

“Saera… wishes this to be time for us alone.” Valerion cleared his throat and looked away.

“I see.” Jonos said flatly. Valerion was sending his child away to make another one. Jonos had thought better of him.

“Besides, what problems could you possibly face? It’s not as if I’m asking for milk from your own teats.” Valerion argued.

“Wh—what if there are bandits!” Jonos argued back.

“On the sea?” Valerion asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Sea bandits! Or once we reach Maidenpool, land bandits! Landits, if you will!”

“They’re called pirates, and there shouldn’t be any bold enough to interfere. You’re flying a Targaryen flag.” Valerion noted.

“Why are we flying a Targaryen flag? The closest to a Targaryen on the boat is little Sae, and she’s a Qoherys!” Jonos huffed. “Besides, I doubt pirates respect crown authority.”

“The Mootons should give you an escort once you arrive in Maidenpool.”

“Should?” Jonos squawked. “And what about the sea bandits?”

Valerion waved his hand dismissively. “Saera made a personal request. She is friends with Lord Mooton's son after all. As to the pirates, I burned near all the pirate ships which prowled the narrow sea at Cape Wrath. Those few that survived dragonfire won’t know my banner, nor that I have a daughter to capture.”

Jonos pointed to the Targaryen flag booming and snapping in the wind. “But will they not wish revenge anyway?”

“They do not yet have the numbers to achieve such a lofty ambition. You’re worrying over nothing.” Valerion sighed. “Just make sure that the baby doesn’t fall off of anything or somesuch.”

“Oi, Maester! Tides are shifting, we’ve got to get underway soon!” One of the sailors called.

Jonos turned back—apparently Rosey had boarded and already looked green in the face. The ship had not even weighed anchor yet, leaving Jonos begrudgingly impressed. “I need to go.” Jonos said.

“Alright. Be well and keep little Saera safe.” Valerion said, before bending and pressing a gentle kiss to little Sae’s forehead. It might have also been her regular head – it was hard to tell from the angle and it was not as if she had a hairline to differentiate the two. “I’ll see you soon, little one.”

“Don’t make another one yet.” Jonos said, before nodding his head towards Valerion and boarding the boat. They weighed anchor almost immediately, and Jonos turned to watch Valerion at the docks.

Unfortunately, it was still very misty, so Valerion with his pale skin and hair was almost immediately swallowed, but it was the thought that counted.

**************************************************************

Barth

Barth adjusted the sleeve of his robe as the next petitioner came forward. The wooden chair which he sat upon, strategically placed at the foot of the Iron Throne, may have been uncomfortable but he far preferred it to the monstrosity the Conqueror had forged. That being the throne and not the united nature of the kingdoms themselves.

Barth refocused his attention on the petitioner, a landed knight who managed land bordering the territory of house Pyle, near the edge of the Kingswood. Apparently, his keep, one predominantly made from timber, was nearing collapse and he could not source the needed supports to keep it standing. He especially could not do this without taking timber from the Kingswood itself.

Barth raised a hand as the solution came to him. “Just as the crown recognises the necessity of its knights to maintain their holdfasts, the Smith teaches us that no one man can achieve feats such as this alone. You may return to your keep with a writ granting you the right to cut down five trees from the Kingswood. Choose wisely. Use these trees to replace the most crucial supports of your home. In the meantime, the crown shall send word to the guilds of Kings Landing, someone will have the lumber you require.”

The knight bowed to him before departing the hall. It was not a perfect solution, but it would prevent the knight from carving any more of the Kingswood down to ‘improve’ his keep’s condition. Hopefully, he would not carve apart one of the more ancient trees. Near three moons had passed, and while His Grace Jaehaerys continued to host a small court from Dragonstone, most of the daily concerns remained Barth’s concern.

Only a few moments later and the next petitioner approached, he would have enough time for this one before needing to investigate the disturbance. A guttural roar had sounded through the crimson stone which made up the Great Hall. Many of the lords and ladies in attendance waited with bated breath. Whose dragon was it? Could the King finally be returning to take his place on the throne? Would the Queen be joining him? If not the King, then mayhaps one of the princes returned to deliver a proclamation?

No doubt even more questions arose in the furtive whispers that gathered at the edges of the room. Barth did not care to speculate as others grew concerned, it was important to assess changes as they came. Fortunately, the assemblage did not have to wait any longer as Lord Qoherys and Princess Saera both strode into the hall. The princess was wearing her riding leathers while Lord Qoherys was fitted into the same armour he had initially worn when coming to the city, a saddlebag over his shoulder. Those same whispers now grew and took on new shape. Why have they returned alone? Had something occurred on Dragonstone? Was she not pregnant when she left, yet there was no babe?

Barth rose from his wooden seat and made his way to greet them. By all public knowledge, Saera was a princess and close with her family, previous scandals aside. “Princess, Lord Qoherys. It has been too long since you graced these halls.” He greeted them with a short bow, appropriate for the Hand to give a blood royal.

Though Lord Qoherys smiled at that, his eyes did not. Perhaps he thought the comment disingenuous. “Septon. It shall not be a long stay I assure you.”

Princess Saera seemed to look past him, focused more on the monstrosity which dominated one end of the hall.

“Come, let us talk more privately.” Barth gestured to the far oak and bronze doors before making his way from the hall. One small benefit of being the Hand was that you could come and go as you pleased. Within reason of course, the rest of the petitions would be heard at a later time.

Barth turned back to look at the couple over his shoulder. Lord Qoherys turned to the Princess. “Very well, shall we love?”

Saera’s look had not changed focus, but her face wore a bright smile when she turned. “I suppose.”

Once they had adjourned Barth began drifting towards the library. It would take some time for them to arrive there, giving them plenty of time to talk uninterrupted.

“What are you smiling at, love?” Lord Qoherys asked.

“Why do you wish to know? Are you jealous?” Saera teased.

Barth fought not to roll his eyes and cleared his throat to interrupt them. “Lord Qoherys, am I to presume, by the briefness of your visit, that you will be returning to Dragonstone shortly?”

“You may presume so if you wish. Though you would presume incorrectly.” Lord Qoherys said airily.

“Lord Qoherys, please speak plainly. I am a rather busy man these days.” Barth said more patiently than he felt. He did not have time for youthful trivialities.

“You are no fun, old man.” Saera scoffed.

“Shall I take that as a compliment, princess? I expect the king would take it as such.” Barth probably should not have said that aloud.

“We are only here to collect our remaining belongings from our apartments alongside the agreed upon staff we require before departing for Harrenhal.” Lord Qoherys said.

“Indeed. Congratulations on your new lordship.” Barth said over his shoulder. He would be keeping a close eye on any progress which came out of Harrenhal, presuming the boy still sought to restore the castle in some capacity. Barth turned from the present walkway to one of the innumerable gardens before stopping as if admiring the litany of plants, all vibrant and full of life. “What staff are you to require?” He used the opportunity to observe the two out of the corner of his eye.

“I previously discussed the matter with the King, and he had put our agreement to parchment for your perusal.” Lord Qoherys fished into his saddlebag, eventually producing a slightly crumpled letter bearing the king’s seal unbroken. Barth turned his attention to the finely written letter as Lord Qoherys and the princess began discussing some new thought amongst themselves.

To my dearest friend and Hand

I continue to pray that the Gods see your work favourably and bless you with inspiration. If there are any matters pertaining to the realm's governance that you feel require a royal word, make me aware as needed.

In that regard, the matter of Lord Qoherys is soon to be resolved. The newly married couple have birthed a girl, named for her mother. As the child is already travelling to Harren’s Castle I’ve no doubt that her parents are eager to depart the city for their holdfast.

To this end, they have come to collect their remaining possessions at the capital. Alongside these personal items they require a maid by the name of Falia and 10 men from the order of the dragonkeepers, such that Balerion and Jadewing will be well looked after in the coming moons. Both parties have agreed the men must volunteers.

If you would be so kind as to summon the order’s numbers together so that Lord Qoherys may make his request known, it would be greatly appreciated.

Your friend and king

Jaehaerys Targaryen
First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the realm.

Barth folded the letter into his robe, satisfied that it was not a forgery, though he would not put it past these two. Summoning the Dragonkeepers would have to wait until tomorrow if he was to see the growing number of petitions fulfilled by day’s end.

Birds sang in the garden, and the chirp of insects filled the air. Summer was truly underway by this point. “I believe you shall have to stay the night.” Barth demurred.

Saera smiled, a coy, sly thing. “We will take my old rooms.”

“Yes, I imagine your rooms in the Kitchen Keep are still ready for you.” Barth said.

Saera’s awful smile grew. “I deserve the best, meaning my old royal rooms. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“As a matter of fact, I would not.” Barth bowed low. “Those rooms were appropriate for an unwed maiden, but a couple would be better suited to the rooms gifted to you by the Queen. Additionally, they would require your items to be moved over, which is odd as they are to be packed up and sent along.”

“I don’t remember telling you what was acceptable nor odd.” Saera scoffed.

Barth eyed her coolly. “Alas, I am the Hand of the King, and I do not answer to any of his children. I trust you both know where to find your rooms. I will have you meet with the Dragonkeepers tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Lord Qoherys clicked his tongue. “We were hoping to get it done today. You understand.”

“I do not.” Barth replied. “Is there a special reason for this haste?”

“Well… not as such, but… we are eager to see little Sae again.” Lord Qoherys pointed out.

“’Little Sae’?” Saera scrunched up her nose in distaste. “Are you referring to our daughter?”

“It is helpful to distinguish the two of you, love.” Lord Qoherys said.

“It sounds very common.” Saera snapped. “She is not a common fishmonger’s daughter. She is the heir of House Qoherys. Her name is Saera.”

Barth used this opportunity to slip away from them. He truly did not care for the matter of the child’s name, one way or another.

**************************************************************

Saera

Saera observed the rooms of her husband in the Kitchen Keep as the possessions within were slowly disassembled and place into a series of boxes, chests and urns. All of her possessions, which constituted most of their combined items, were laid out to be organised and packed appropriately. She herself had scoffed at the gilded Seven Pointed Star Maegelle had gifted her from the wedding before she half heartedly threw the waste of parchment onto a growing pile of dresses.

The servants almost cluttered the space as they hurried about their tasks, and yet none were the one that Saera searched for. The maid, supposedly named Falia, had been called near an hour ago, it was deeply insulting for this peasant to keep a princess of the royal blood waiting. Falia was most fortunate that she was a particularly obedient thing.

As Saera awaited the maid’s arrival, she passed a glance over the other wedding gifts she had received. Her eye was drawn to one of the fine silk dresses she had been gifted, a darkened purple with dark trim at the hem of the dress. The material was cut so high it would cover the shoulders and wrap around her neck. While some things wrapping around her neck were fun, this dress was a bit too traditional for her tastes. This was probably for the best, Viserra had always preferred purple.

Her attention turned to the nearby set of forged steel throwing knives, neatly arranged in a container with a glass viewing screen. Truly, Red Roy had been inspired when he decided on this choice, though the decision to have them forged in a resemblance of griffin’s feathers was somewhat prideful. No matter, Saera made a note to herself that she would need to find an instructor when they arrived at Harrenhal. Valerion’s dagger may not always be to hand should she need to entertain herself.

Saera only noticed the smile playing at her lips as she was drawn from her musings by the arrival of the maid. She was slightly taller than Saera, though she did not carry herself with any real bearing, stumbling into the room and nearly colliding with a servant carrying one of Valerion’s tomes. Her remarkably plain features twisted into embarrassment before reddening upon making eye contact with Saera. No doubt she recalled all of the fun activities they had shared behind these walls. She made her way over, folding her hands in deference before the princess.

The maid kept her head bowed as she spoke. “M'lady. I apologise for the delay; I had been assigned to the kitchens and—”

“It matters not.” Saera interrupted. Many of the servants glanced or slowed their actions, listening to them as subtly as they could manage. “Follow, there are some matters we must discuss.” Saera departed the main chamber and padded her way to the side room which contained Valerion’s writing desk. As the desk was presently absent of any implements Saera chose to sit upon it.

Once Falia had entered the room Saera directed her to close the door and pointed her to the guest chair. Even as Falia sat upon the seat she kept her hands clasped together; her head bowed in subservience.

Saera felt a smirk grow as she imagined the lovely things they could do alone. Mayhaps later, they needed to discuss matters of import first. “Look at me, obedient thing.” The maids face snapped up; her cheeks flushed again at the name she had been given. Saera smirked back, she was a fun thing to tease.
“Do you know why you are here?” Saera said, reaching over and removing Falia’s cap, her chestnut hair falling to her shoulders.

The maid glanced to door noting the noise of the numerous individuals outside this private and enclosed space. “To… serve you, princess?”

Saera tilted her head. “How coy of you. How would you like to serve me, obedient thing?”

Falia’s legs rubbed together as she doubtless imagined all sorts of activities they could indulge in. “Would you like me to… lick you, princess?” Her cheeks darkened even further at that.

Saera chuckled at that. “Mmm. Such indulgence will not be necessary today.”

The maids face snapped up at that, her pale blue eyes shining like water as she sought to understand the summons at play here. “If not in matters of the body, how may I serve you princess?”

“Do not worry your empty head. You may still fuck me, and my husband by my leave, but in order to do so you must come to Harrenhal with us.”

Falia’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “To Harrenhal? But I… I am just a maid, I do not understand.”

“You do not have to understand. You will simply do it.” Saera ordered. “Get whatever affairs you have in order.”

“Of course, milady.” Falia said, nodding to herself. Saera watched her expression closely, assessing her closely. Her brow was still furrowed while her mouth opened with no sound to follow it.

“What appears to be the problem? Is this command not clear enough for your lust addled mind?” Saera asked.

“No, that is not… I mean yes, your command is perfectly clear princess. It is only…” The maid looked away as she stumbled over her words more than Daella. An impressive feat to be sure. “Why me, princess?”

Saera leaned forward and took the maids chin in her hand, forcing their eyes to make contact. “I have chosen you because you are my obedient thing. It is a good name, very descriptive. You are perhaps the first servant whose loyalty I can trust.” Saera stared into her eyes to discern the truth of her next words. “I can trust you, can I not?”

Falia held Saera’s gaze. “If you cannot trust me, then you may as well strike me down where I stand, princess. I would rather die than see a disloyal person at your side, or indeed, any you believe to be disloyal.”

Those words were said with surety, not a stumble or a hesitation to be heard. How devoted she is. “That is why I need you. I do not know those who serve at Harrenhal, I cannot trust them. You will be my dutiful servant while we weed out those who deserve to attend to me and my husband. Is that clear enough for you, obedient thing?”

Falia nodded firmly. “Yes, princess. I shall be the finest, most loyal servant you have ever known. You need only give me a command and it will be done.”

Saera released her chin. Satisfied with the maid’s answer, she held out Falia’s cap for her to take. “Then set about your task, Falia.” Saera commanded. It was the first time she had said the maids name and something about it stoked a fire in Falia. The plain faced woman quickly stuffed her hair into the cap, bobbed a curtsy appropriately and rushed from the room.

It was a rare thing to have such devotion. It was a different kind but much the same as that which Valerion had for her. Yet, she was princess was she not? Did she not deserve such worship from all who saw her, who heard her? Her father commanded such respect, yet he was a weak and pathetic old man who gave those who insulted him forgiveness and peace. He was as weak as Aenys, the great lords would simply bide their time until the dragon slumbered before striking.

Saera often thought herself like Maegor but he had only engendered fear, not devotion. If she sat that monstrosity of a throne, she would be the conqueror come again. She rode the very dragon that brought the lords of the Seven Kingdoms to heel. Only she would not conquer their lands, Saera would conquer their hearts. Just as she had done with Valerion and Falia.

Saera dwelled on these thoughts as she drifted through the rooms, their belongings rapidly vanishing into various containers. Perhaps she had teased her maid too much, as she felt her own lust blossom within her. Still, at least she could have it satisfied properly this night. Saera ventured to the clothes which were being sorted, her riding leathers remained separated as they would be needed tomorrow but that was not what she searched for now.

Saera poured over the various pieces until she found one of the gowns she had acquired earlier in her pregnancy. This gown was weaved of a white silk so thin, it was translucent. Worn alone it would be truly scandalous, making it a perfect piece for the night’s fun. It was not much longer before the sun was sinking in the sky and the servants had completed their assigned tasks, leaving the space far quieter than before.  

Valerion returned soon enough from seeing his Braavosi money man. Saera was waiting in the receiving room.

“Hello my love. I think Maros is quite glad to see…” Valerion trailed off upon seeing her, his jaw slack.

Saera smiled back at him, allowing the fabric to expose as much of her body as possible. She had rouged her lips and artfully arranged her hair to appear elegant yet simple. In reality, it had taken hours of work, but that did not matter. What mattered was that it had been months of waiting, and it was finally time.

“Saera…” Valerion drank her in as she slowly rose from the chaise.

“I think it is time for us to be together again.” Saera breathed as she came closer, leaning close and removing some invisible thread or dust from his shoulder. “As man and wife. Do you think so?”

Valerion visibly swallowed. “I do. Gods, yes, I do.”

Saera gazed up at him through half-lidded eyes. “And you have been ever so patient.”

Valerion nodded, still staring at her. He put his hands on her waist and picked her up, bringing their mouths together. The softness of his lips pressed against hers before their tongues clashed for dominance. After a few moment, she pulled away catching his lips between her teeth and biting.

Saera felt his hands moved to her ass and squeeze, as he made to move towards the bedroom. Tempting as a soft bed was, she had other plans. Pulling back, Saera placed a hand on his chest. “Not here.”

“Where did you have in mind, love?” Valerion asked immediately.

Saera’s smile grew. “The Iron Throne.”

Valerion stared at her for a moment, then sighed. “This is going to be just like the Small Council table.” He lowered her to the floor.

Saera put her arms underneath her breasts to push them up and pouted. “No, I’m not planning for us to get caught this time.”

Valerion was eyeing her chest now. “Then why…?”

“Because it’s what I deserve.” Saera cooed. “I deserve the throne, and I deserve to fuck you upon it. Now, come along. We don’t have that much time.”

She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him along, out into the corridor and to the nearest secret tunnel. From there, it was a serious of changes to enter the Throne Room, just behind the Iron Throne.

It was dark and quiet. No one else was in the room. The throne itself loomed over them as if it were the maw of a silent, watching dragon. Saera giggled. She let her hand slip from Valerion’s and climbed the stairs to the top of the throne, before seating herself upon it. A sliver of moonlight shone through onto Valerion’s hair. Saera grinned at the sight, and beckoned him forward, uncrossing her legs.

“I can’t exactly wear smallclothes with this dress.” Saera demurred.

Valerion took a step onto the throne, then another. “And I cannot exactly kneel for you here, my princess.”

“That does not bother me. I took the liberty of enjoying myself earlier.”

Something flashed in his eyes. “Without me?” He purred.

“Well, indeed, you weren’t there.” Saera shrugged but could not wipe the grin from her face.

He took another step. “And were you alone?”

Saera could not stop herself. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He had reached her at last. She could see his breeches tenting, and longed to play with her favourite toy. She smirked up at him, and reached out a hand. He caught her by the wrist, and turned her around. With his other hand, he freed his erection, and then pushed up her dress, pushing into her.

Saera moaned. Gods, she had missed this.

“Months without fucking you, and I had forgotten the feel of you around my cock.” Valerion muttered, slowly thrusting in and out.

“Faster.” Saera ordered.

“No, I don’t think I will. I don’t think climbing up here and declaring yourself queen matters if you’re still the one getting fucked, princess.” Valerion told her.

“Faster!” Saera repeated, pushing back against him.

He stabilised himself on the platform by bracing against her, his hands squeezing around her waist. Saera grabbed at some of the blunter swords and held herself up, her legs shaking.

“Beg.” Valerion ordered.

Saera whipped her head around. “Excuse me?”

Valerion pushed her head back down, her nose just barely skimming the seat. “I said beg, princess. Or I’ll fuck you slow. Even worse, I’ll return to our rooms and you can stay here unsatisfied.”

Saera turned to see him as best she could. “You can’t do that to me. You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Valerion leaned forward and pinched one of her nipples beneath the translucent fabric. Saera whined.

“Beg.” Valerion repeated. “I won’t ask again.”

“…please.” Saera said softly.

“Louder, princess.”

“Please.” Saera nearly sobbed out. “I need it hard. I need it fast. I need it now.”

“What do you need?” Gods. He practically growled it into her ear.

“Your cock.”

“Full sentences, princess.”

She would not forget this. “Please, I need your cock.”

He began to fuck her in earnest. She closed her eyes, gripping at the swords ever tighter. Gods, it felt good. The sting in her palms and in the soles of her feet only added to the satisfaction of fucking her husband again, making her pleasure ever sweeter.

She was surprised when her pleasant haze was interrupted by Valerion stopping. She whined wordlessly again, as Valerion picked her up and teased her legs open, spreading them wide across the arm rests and nestling her into the seat. His hands came down on her ankles, locking her into place, as he reentered her.

“V-Valerion…” Saera’s eyes fluttered as pleasure rolled through her. One of her hands came down to rub at her clit, and the other moved up to play with one of her breasts.

“What a greedy thing you are, begging for cock like this.” Valerion purred.

Swords cut into Saera’s ankles, and tears began to fill her eyes.

“Do you like it? Getting fucked like this?” Valerion asked.

Saera nodded.

“Use your words, love.”

“Yes.” Saera breathed out. The sting of the swords made his thrusts ever sweeter.

“Keep still love, or you’ll cut your legs.” Valerion ordered.

Saera did as best she could, but it was hard when she shivered and twitched with such pleasure.

“We-we may… have to involve Subterfuge in our play…” Saera panted out as she neared another climax.

“I love you deeply, but there have to be alternatives to Valyrian steel. You don’t truly feel it until it’s in, after all.” Valerion said.

Saera resisted the urge to shrug, having him put so much weight on her in such a delicate position. His thrusts got ever faster and he began to pant and tremble. Saera watched in detached satisfaction, having finished her own climaxes, as her love approached his own. He crested, and she felt a warm spurt inside of her. Well, she’d have to have moon tea soon.

She did enjoy watching it drip out of her, and gave a little wriggle of pleasure, forgetting where she was. She gave a little hiss of pain.

“Perhaps… we could continue this in our room?” Valerion said, watching her hungrily. “Surely your sense of adventure is sated for now.”

Saera pouted up at him. “Don’t I deserve to be on the Iron Throne?”

“I’m simply worried that you will get hurt. It’s a miracle you haven’t been cut.” Valerion said, picking her up and carrying her down the Iron Throne’s steps.

His reaction when he got back to their rooms and saw the state of her dress was almost worth the fuss he made about her minor injuries.  

**************************************************************

Valerion

It had been a restless night. Thankfully Saera had apparently not been cut deeply, and he had not had to seek a maester’s help, but there was a bath and her dress had been sacrificed for the sake of makeshift bandages. He had then spent the rest of the night worried about her long after she had gone to sleep. He seemed to have a talent for hurting those who were near him, his inaction had led Daenysa to an early grave and he failed to be present for his mother’s death.

Now Saera was cut and risked all manner of illness because he had been too taken in the moment. He would get her a throne, but never one that would hurt her like this again. He would do anything to keep that promise. As it was, that did not stop the world from turning and time from moving forward, so he staggered towards the Dragonpit in the late morning, entirely too tired.

As he prepared to exit the Red Keep passing by the courtyard, he heard someone gasp. Then a quick patter of feet, before a hand was hesitantly laid upon his back. “Are you—are you Valaena’s son?”

Valerion whipped around. The man in front of him was short, around Jonos’ height, though he was far more wrinkled, with lines around his eyes and mouth. His nose was a wide thing, though this was somewhat disguised by his beard, dense upon his face but barely present upon his neck. His eyes shone in the same manner as his sisters once had. They were Valerion’s mother’s just as they were his own.

“Who are you?” Valerion barked out.

The man, who looked to be quite aged, removed his hand and took a deep breath. He wore fine clothes, a red doublet embroidered with a thread of gold alongside a white cape. There were crabs marching across the hem of his doublet. His hair may have been white with age, but it was also likely that this man had Valyrian blood. Undoubtedly, this was a Celtigar.

“My apologies.” The man drank Valerion in. “My name is Lord Denys Celtigar, great-uncle of Lord Ardrian Celtigar, and… from another sibling, I am the uncle of Valaena Celtigar.”

Valerion reared back. “Valaena Qoherys.”

Something in the man’s face broke. “I… well, I suppose. How is she? Is she well?”

“She is dead.” Valerion stated in as emotionless a voice as he could muster.

The man’s eyes went wide as he stared. Valerion made to leave, he did not have the time nor the desire for this.

“Lord Vhassar! How? When? Please, please I need to know what happened to her!” The old man begged. How pitiful a man he was.

“Do not call me that!” Valerion growled, his pulse beating faster than it ought to. He took a deep breath before continuing. “I would not know. I wasn’t there.”

“Forgive me, I just… I thought you would be, if you were her son. Did she remarry?” The old man sounded very quiet and Valerion turned back to him.

“I am a Qoherys, and lord of Harrenhal. Have you not heard of me, Lord Celtigar?” Valerion snapped.

Lord Denys shook his head. “I am only a recent arrival to the capital. I reside on Claw Isle as advisor to Lord Ardrian. I’m not the Lord Celtigar, technically I am no lord at all beyond a simple honorific. …I must admit I never believed I would find any trace of her after she wed. My apologies, Lord Qoherys.” He bowed low, though this was doubtless a challenging task for the man, given his age.

Curiosity rose up in Valerion, he did not care about the old man, but he doubtless possessed information about his mother, some explanation for her actions.

“You have until I reach the Dragonpit.” Valerion grumbled.

Lord Denys rose immediately, which somewhat surprised Valerion, but apparently the man was adept at bowing. “Thank you, my lord!”

Valerion waved a hand dismissively before making for the stables. “You are clearly one who cared for her. You knew I born of the Vhassar family. How?”

“I helped my brother Edwell arrange Valaena’s marriage.” Lord Denys said, jogging to keep up with Valerion’s stride. “Was your father a good man?”

What constituted a good man? His father had whored and drank for half of Volantis, but he had always housed his family. He, at the very least, knew he had a family to look after. “Good enough, I suppose.”

“Did he stop her from writing?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

Lord Denys sighed. “I had hoped that it was not so, but… that certainly sounds like Valaena.”

Valerion snorted. “You clearly knew her well.”

“I raised her.” Lord Denys said. “My sister, Ysabel, was… let me start from the beginning. My brother Edwell saw an opportunity to propose a favourable match for his younger sister on a Valyrian house and rise us to further prominence. Then Lord Gargon Qoherys came to call. He bedded Ysabel, then left his dagger as proof that he would return and marry her. Ysabel’s womb quickened and she bore Valaena, moons after Gargon passed. Ysabel always swore that Gargon would return and wed her, or would have, which eventually became that they were married.”

Valerion felt his pulse quicken again. If his grandmother had never truly had Gargon before the septon then his mother was a bastard in all but name. Such knowledge was a dangerous thing indeed. “Hence my mother’s claim to House Qoherys.” Valerion said sharply.

Lord Denys managed to wring his hands while jogging. “Ysabel was not simple, but I never believed she was ready to have a child. She was so young. She viewed Valaena more as a sister than a daughter, I think. That is why I took the matter of raising Valaena upon myself.”

Despite the dangers his knowledge could present this man seemed forthright, mayhaps it would be best if he was convinced to simply leave the past behind, as Valerion had. “Did you? She never mentioned you.” Valerion said, growing bored.

Lord Denys sighed again. “May I ask how she passed?”

Valerion tightened his jaw before he spoke. “She is dead, that is what matters. The past is a realm that cannot be changed, you would do well not to dwell on it.”

“She was my daughter in all but name, my lord. I would know, if I could.” Lord Denys responded.

This man was more stubborn than Valerion had believed him to be. “I know not for certain; I was on campaign when it happened.”

“As a squire, surely? You cannot be older than ten and eight.”

“…I was not knighted. I was simply… precocious.” Valerion decided.

“Ah, I see.” Lord Denys lapsed into silence as they came to the stables, though he continued to give Valerion pitiful looks. Valerion glared at him after he signalled for a horse from the stableboy. Denys sighed again, though he could have simply been catching his breath. Regardless, there was much sighing with this one. “I understand that you are likely going to Harrenhal soon, but may I write to you?”

“That sounds rather annoying.” Valerion said bluntly. “I will be very busy.”

“It doesn’t have to be often. I’m sure your steward could weed out anything, and you don’t have to reply—”

“I don’t have a steward.” Valerion said, turning to observe the steed brought before him. A chestnut palfrey with lighter patches running through the coat.

The silence of their conversation continued, leading Valerion to turn back to Denys.

Denys was kneeling on the ground. “Lord Qoherys, it would be an honour if I could serve as your steward. I do not have experience with Harren’s castle, but I have been acting as my brother and then great-nephew’s steward for near fifty years now.”

Valerion stepped forward. “It will be long, hard work. Harrenhal is in a poor state, or so I am told.”

“I understand that, my lord.” Denys said, not raising his head. “I merely wish to serve the son of the daughter of my heart.”

Valerion should have said no. Rage boiled at his insides – where was this man years ago, when he had needed him? Still, who was he to turn away a steward of such experience out of spite. Spite would not rebuild Harren’s castle alone, and at least this way he could ensure an earnest old man did not mistakenly share sensitive information. Keeping him close may prove to be a gift after all.

“Do as you will. The carts will be departing from the courtyard by the suns rise in two days’ time.” He barked out, before striding back to his mount. Let the old man kneel in shit while he recalled lives lost, he had a meeting to get to.

Valerion climbed onto the palfrey and rode down into the city. Despite the simple nature of the ride between the two hills his eyes felt heavy and his movements sluggish. More than once, he veered to avoid an urchin. Or was it a stray cat? They looked so similar in the moment.

He made his way to the Dragonpit and tied the horse up outside. Inside, the Dragonkeepers bustled to and fro, discussing their duties in Valyrian.

“Hello, my lord.” One of them said, their helmet on. Most of them had their helmets on, each bearing a crest of dragon scales at the crown of the head. He had never cared to notice before. “We will prepare your dragon momentarily.”

“That’s not why I am here.” Valerion said. “I, uh… are you perhaps able to gather the others around? To hear my proposition?”

One of the other helmeted keepers leaned their head over. “Oh my, well, who am I to say no to a lord? Shall I bend over or—”

The first man Valerion had been speaking to shoved at the other to correct his lack of respect. “Aelyx!”

The second one laughed, and removed his helmet as the others began to drift closer. This was apparently Rhaenys’ Aelyx. He was young, Valerion’s age and a bit shorter than him, and had some Valyrian features – an aquiline nose, a shade of purple to his eyes. He did however seem to be a dragonseed and not a true dragon, judging by his brown hair.

“I am under the impression that Septon Barth has spoken to you about my request.” Valerion cleared his throat.

The Dragonkeeper that Aelyx had been conversing with took off his helmet. He was older, with a grizzled face and scars. His hair was white, but his eyes were brown – or really, his eye, as one of them was carved out of his face with a scar running down it. “He said that you had one, aye.”

“I think you’re the one that has one eye.” Aelyx muttered. The grizzled one cuffed him around the back of the head.

“King Jaehaerys has said that I may have my pick of twelve dragonkeepers to accompany myself and my wife to Harrenhal.” Valerion said.

Aelyx held up a hand to interrupt. “I have a question.”

“What’s your question?” Valerion asked, noticing the grizzled one’s mouth tick up at the corners.

“In reality, it’s a series of questions. Namely, what are we meant to do with twelve dragonkeepers and two dragons? What if we do not want to go to Harrenhal? Where would we be staying? Will Jeren be going?” Aelyx fired off. It was little wonder that he and Rhaenys seemed to get along.

“The intent is to have sets of four keepers on hand at any time, working eight hours each day. There are some eggs already laid and likely to hatch in the coming moons.” Valerion said. “And I suppose I cannot force you to go, but you’ll have to take it up with the king.”

Aelyx crossed his arms. “And what if I do?”

“Aelyx!” The grizzled one snapped. “You go too far.”

“Do I? I do not believe so. I haven’t seen anything that implies the king actually agreed to us being picked out like geese for a feast.” Aelyx said, crossing his arms. The other dragonkeepers began to mutter and whisper amongst themselves.

“Who is Jeren, anyway?” Valerion asked, changing the subject.

Aelyx’s eyes narrowed and he looked at the grizzled one, who sighed and looked away. Aelyx grinned and darted forward, managing to wrap an arm around Valerion’s shoulders and make him look up at the dome. “Do you see that part of the dome we fixed? After the stone fell?”

“I do, yes.” Valerion shrugged.

Aelyx’s smile grew sharper. “Well. When the roof of the dome… collapsed… Jeren was standing over there.” He pointed towards the middle of the pit. “His leg was crushed under the stone. It had to be amputated. Of course, you knew that, and you would definitely have safety measures in place to prevent such a thing happening under your watch. And you would definitely want to give poor Jeren compensation for damages.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Valerion demanded.

“Aelyx.” The grizzled one called. “Stop touching him.”

Aelyx, still grinning threateningly, let go of Valerion and trotted back to the grizzled one’s side.

“You have to understand that we cannot verify what you say, my lord.” The grizzled one said. “Do you perhaps have some sort of missive from the king?”

“I gave it to his Hand.” Valerion said.

“Ah. I see. The good septon told me that there had been a missive but that the king had said we were to volunteer and that, at most, ten of us would be sent.” The grizzled one said flatly. “You ask why you should care about Jeren – I tell you now, without even base lip service to the idea of fairness, no one will go with you.”

“Mmm. A fair point. My own would be what is to become of the eggs? And Balerion?” Valerion demanded.

“We serve the dragons. You may ride such a creature, but your banner does not bear one.” Aelyx scoffed.

“Meaning we need not obey this missive. We will serve the Targaryens here, as we have always done.” The grizzled one said. “The king said you asked for volunteers. Does any man here wish to go?”

There was silence for a long moment. The armoured figures stood as impassive as if their suits were empty, lining some forgotten corridor, full of naught but dust.

“I will go.” Someone near the door called.

There was more muttering. A man on crutches in armour slowly made his way forth. He had brown hair and gray eyes, but more Valyrian features in the bones of his cheeks and his nose. His identity was no mystery given his missing leg.

“What sort of point do you wish to prove?” Aelyx asked, rounding to face him.

Jeren – at least Valerion hoped this was Jeren, otherwise there were more questions to ask – sighed. “It’s not about proving anything. It wasn’t Balerion’s fault.”

“It may not have been Balerion’s fault, but his rider didn’t give a flying fuck, and you’ll be stuck with them away from any help!” Aelyx argued.

“Aelyx.” The grizzled one called. “Don’t speak ill of the princess, nor dissuade Jeren from his course. He has the right to his own choices.”

Aelyx ground his teeth but nodded.

Jeren looked towards Valerion. “Lord Qoherys, I’d bow, but I am a bit indisposed at the moment. My name is Jeren Scales. I’ve wanted to be a dragonkeeper since I was a young boy and first saw Balerion fly over the city. It’s been the pride of my life taking care of him thus far, and I would very much like to continue doing so.”

“Scales, like the Master of Arms at the Red Keep?” Valerion asked.

Aelyx nodded fiercely. Valerion glanced between the two of them and got the sneaking suspicion that they were perhaps related.

“If my going is a problem, please tell me why.” Jeren continued smoothly. Aelyx looked like the cat that had gotten the cream, the bird, and the fish set aside for dinner.

“I don’t see why it would be.” Valerion said, glaring at Aelyx.

Aelyx clearly bit down the urge to pull a face at Valerion.

“Then you do not mind if I bring my wife and daughters?” Jeren continued.

“Harrenhal is a large castle, I shall find accommodation for them I am certain.” Valerion said, taking the opportunity to look around. “We would be happy to accommodate anyone with families.” At some point, the helmeted dragonkeepers had apparently surrounded him. “I suppose that answers the question of whether Jeren is going.” Valerion said smoothly.

Aelyx scoffed and turned to Jeren. “You’re mad going with them, you know.”

“It’s not about them, it’s about the dragons.” Jeren said gently. “And I know what you’re going to say, so no, you can’t. Someone needs to stay here and look after Da and I’d rather it be you.”

Aelyx had apparently decided to air all of their family issues in public. He threw his hands up in the air. “Me? I have never been the responsible one.”

“You’ll try and murder your liege lord if you go; and get your head chopped off for it.” Jeren said. “And ‘sides, you’re plenty responsible. You followed me here, didn’t you? You could have run off to be a hedge knight.”

“Someone needs to look after you.” Aelyx said mulishly, glaring at Valerion over Jeren’s shoulder.

Valerion broke eye contact first, accepting other tentative offers for Harrenhal. It appeared that Jeren had broken the ice. Either way, he wouldn’t leave just yet, so he would come back in the intervening days until he had enough volunteers.

 **************************************************************

Falia

Falia sat silently at the desk of Lord Qoherys, awaiting his arrival. The carts had been loaded and all possessions, lordly or otherwise, were prepared. The dragon knights and their families were all arrayed, as was the old stranger. He was certainly a lord or lord’s second son, dressed in fine fabrics and good health for one who was aged. Still, he did not seem to mind moving to the different groups, doting on their children. Already he had produced several bronze coins from children’s ears, and little toys and sweets from his pockets.

Lord Qoherys swept into the room. As he went to sit, Falia stood and curtseyed as was proper. “M’lord.”

Lord Qoherys pointed down as he removed a long roll of parchment. “Sit.” As she sat, he continued passing along the weighty scroll. “This is a complete inventory of our possessions. I trust you understand why I am giving it to you?”

Falia nodded the command going unspoken. All objects listed need arrive at Harrenhal. “If I might m’lord,” Falia paused to ensure he did not take poorly to her words. “Would this not be more suited to the hands of the keepers?”

Lord Qoherys stared at her, his face a still mask, purposefully showing as little emotion as possible. Still his eyes twinkled a little, he must have found something in her words amusing. “I said much the same to Saera.” Falia bit back her instinct to correct him, his wife was a princess. She should be called such, even by a lord. Lord Qoherys leaned back, continuing to appraise her between his words. “She said that it ought to be in the hands of the one we trust the most.”

We trusted the most. Judging by his flat tone ‘we’ may have been the wrong word, but it was not her place to say. “Begging a pardon again, m’lord,” Falia shuffled in the seat uncomfortably, it was not right for her to be speaking so much to one such as this. “Who is the lord travelling with us? The princess made no mention of him.”

Lord Qoherys sat in silence a moment, though his eyes did not lose focus on her. Mayhaps he was wondering just how much he trusted her. “His name is Denys Celtigar. He is in possession of rather... sensitive information. By all accounts he does not care to use it nor know its value, but I do not believe he is as he appears. He has offered his services as a steward perhaps to escape his family or advance his station. Regardless, I need him observed while he is at ease.”

Now the lord’s call to meet made more sense. He required her to discern his true character on the road, ensure he was fit to serve under himself and the Princess. “I understand, m’lord. I shall have an assessment when we arrive at the castle.”

Lord Qoherys nodded to her and waved his hand. “There is a footman who agreed to escort you to the Dragon Gate. The others are prepared, upon your arrival you will depart King’s Landing. Ensure you read the scroll.” Lord Qoherys tapped his finger as if just now realising something. “You can read, can’t you?”

She had learned a little, that which helped organise the variety of things in the kitchens and servant’s rooms. She could muddle her way through the list and if not, she could request the assistance of the old man or the crippled dragonkeeper. Once she had discerned their true character, of course. Falia rose and gave a deep curtsey before making her way from the room.

Chapter Text

Jonos

Harrenhal was a relief to see in the distance. The Mooton guards would go away soon, hopefully, and Rosey could be on firmer, dry ground as opposed to the back of a cart. For a given value of both, of course. As far as Jonos was concerned, Harrenhal was perpetually damp and muddy.

“In Essos, there is something called a ‘white elephant’. It means a useless gift that you cannot be rid of. I fully believe that your royal grandfather has given this to your parents, and it shall be a lodestone around your neck one day.” Jonos told a dozing little Sae.

She looked less red and wrinkly by the day. He could almost understand why people had children – especially since she seemed like she was listening far more than her companion, Viktor. Mercifully, Viktor was with his mother at the moment, as Rosey preferred to have him near. It was likely for the best – Viktor was curious and liable to fall off the cart if not held properly. 

They reached Harren’s castle in short order, mostly because if you were close enough to see Harrenhal in spite of the pervasive fog, you could reach Harrenhal within the day. Jonos could also see the massive bulk of Balerion flying about the castle towers, the smaller Jadewing clung nearby, making them look quite the pair. It had been over eighty years since the fateful day Harrenhal had burned and now the beast responsible had returned. Jonos wondered if dragons held a concept of consequences. Did it bother the Black Dread that he had turned each of the five high towers into misshapen lumps of wax, or did he place sole responsibility on the conqueror?

“We are going to see your kepa and muna soon.” Jonos informed little Sae. “If you have decided to take up speaking this very moment, please do me a favour and use those words first.”

Little Sae blinked sleepily at him. Jonos decided that was an affirmation. The main gate loomed over them, as large as the vaulted ceiling of some keeps, as they approached. There were two guards at the gate, each dressed in simple mail and wielding a spear. Jonos sorely doubted two men could hope to hold an entrance so large, especially as they were stood over ten carriages apart. Jonos felt a shiver pass up his spine as they passed behind the curtain wall. It felt as if stepping into the maw of a great beast that might clamp shut and consume you at a moments notice.

They passed through several courtyards, each partitioned by a slightly shorter, but no less imposing, wall of black stone. The journey to the tallest of the towers felt as lengthy as the time from Dragonstone to Maidenpool. The clang of hammers and shouts of workmen working on moving great heaps of stone was prominent. Valerion was standing in the middle, barking orders, while other, lesser men scurried about carrying out said orders. Princess Saera was nowhere to be seen.

The Mooton guards, provided for the very last leg of the journey, huddled around Jonos as if they had never seen such a sight and were waiting for him to go first. Jonos sighed and gently got off of the palfrey provided by House Mooton, careful of little Sae. He then strode over to Valerion and nearly got whacked in the face as Valerion swung to gesture at another pile of rocks to a group of stupid workmen. The workmen in question seemed to be delivering their quarry (pun definitely intended) to the wrong, if completely identical, pile of rocks.

“Don’t hit me!” Jonos snapped.

Valerion stared at him. “Jonos; where in the Seven Hells did you come from?”

“Dragonstone.” Jonos said dryly. “You were there, you saw us off. If that wasn’t you, I must say that you have a very impressive double.”

Valerion looked as if he was going to do something awful, like hug him, so Jonos handed him little Sae. Valerion settled the babe into the crook of his right arm while Jonos cleared his throat and looked around. “I don’t know the etiquette for this. I believe someone is supposed to say ‘Harrenhal is yours, My Lord’ or somesuch, but it is a depressing pile of rocks and you’re already here. ‘Your daughter is yours’ possibly? But you already knew that. It was implied by the statement.”

“Jonos.” Valerion said, still looking at little Sae. “Stop talking.”

Jonos stopped talking. The workers stopped working, presumably to gawk at a very tall man extending a gentle finger to a small babe. Jonos glared at them, approximately twenty men no doubt those who Valerion could put to work at short notice. Alas his attempt to restart the sorely needed work seemed largely ineffective. Rocks could be moved and passages cleared but that didn't mean anything if he couldn't maintain the castle. Valerion apparently noticed the lack of sounds, as his head snapped up.

“Back to work!” He shouted. “Harrenhal waits for no man!”

They returned to their orders and Valerion got back to looking at little Sae. Jonos took the time to review Harrenhal, which continued to be a large and miserable pile of rocks. He had been looking at little Sae for near a moon anyway. The base of the Kingspyre tower seemed in good enough condition but the dark stone was cracked, with mosses seeping their way into the cracks. Several of the partitions between the stones had been warped fusing the blocks together. Removing them would be challenging indeed. Hopefully it would not be necessary on a larger scale.

“She’s gotten so big.” Valerion near whispered.

Jonos shrugged. “Where is your lady wife? Shouldn’t she be here with you, enjoying the sight of little Sae?”

“Saera insists on calling our daughter Saera.”

Jonos gave a sigh of long suffering. “Saera, your lady wife, insists upon making things more difficult for Saera the wife and Saera the daughter.”

“You could have just said ‘them both’.”

“That would not suit my point.” Jonos argued back. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question.”

Valerion sighed and held out a finger to little Sae. Little Sae gamely grabbed it, as she enjoyed grabbing fingers, it was very possibly her favourite past time. Jonos dearly hoped Valerion’s hands were clean. However grubby they likely were, little Sae cooed with benevolence and approval at her tithe.

“She’s with her whores.” Valerion finally said.

Jonos stared at him. “I’m sorry?”

Valerion looked up and cracked a grin at him. “She has been visiting the local madams to try and build some sort of information network. I doubt she purchases their wares.”

Jonos thought back to everything he had heard about Princess Saera and everything he knew to also be absolutely true about her. He did not doubt that the princess availed herself of said wares when they were on offer.

Some of this doubt must have shown on his face, because Valerion shook his head. “She doesn’t spend enough time with them to be pleasured and the madams are not to her taste. To my recollection the whores themselves are usually busy elsewhere.”

“So, she’s not ‘with her whores’, she’s with her informants.” Jonos clarified.

Valerion shrugged. “I have yet to meet a madam who has never been a whore. I believe that’s called ‘sleeping your way to the top’.”

Jonos resisted the urge to snatch the innocent babe back and flee from these awful people. Valerion had a longer stride, a dagger and would kill him effortlessly. Meanwhile, the Mooton guards had apparently had some sort of bravery thrust upon them, not seeing Jonos dead or dismembered, and began to approach. Granted, they approached as if they were afraid Valerion would bite like a wild animal but it was the effort that counted.

“Ser,” the bravest guard and likely leader said. Jonos thought his name was Marq but didn’t care enough to be sure. “May we hand over the goods brought by ship to Maidenpool in your name now?”

Jonos and Valerion both blinked at him.

“Why would you not?” Valerion asked possibly-Marq.

Possibly-Marq paled slightly. “Lord Mooton said that we should pass over the goods to someone whose identity we were sure of, like Prin- like Lady Saera.”

Jonos squinted at him. Possibly-Marq was not very bright. What other towering Valyrian men roamed the Riverlands and were holding a very royal baby? The only other possible option was Prince Aemon, and Jonos could not think of a sane reason why the man would fly without his dragon. That did not even account for why the crown prince would be here, in the Riverlands, at House Qoherys’ ancestral seat. Besides, possibly-Marq wouldn’t even know a member of the royal family if they bit him in the ass.

“Are you not sure of my identity?” Valerion asked lowly.

Possibly-Marq looked to the wagons full of possessions, most prominent among them the dragon skull, which had been covered, before his eyes darted nervously back to Valerion. “It’s the principle of the thing, ser.”

Jonos was reluctantly impressed with possibly-Marq. He had never seen such a stupid man clinging to such a strange principle. Did possibly-Marq wish to die? There were easier ways. He could have thrown himself in the God’s Eye as they neared the castle, for example. He could have swallowed the less sexual kind of sword. While Jonos ruminated on possible deaths for possible Marq, Valerion tilted his head, assessing Marq.

“Do you think that Maester Jonos Rivers would walk up and give my daughter to just anyone?” Valerion asked.

Jonos glared at possibly-Marq. How dare he. Jonos had guarded that babe with his life. He had only let Rosey and Viktor near her and had felt like a dog guarding a singular sheep for weeks. Now, when he was finally free to actually go back to being a Maester, he was accused of negligence? Possibly-Marq looked to Jonos for safety and succour and found none.

“No, my lord.” Possibly-Marq finally admitted in a quiet voice.

“Then you agree upon my identity. You should have your men unload our belongings.” Valerion finished. “Place them all in the Great Hall for now.”

“Yes, my lord.” Possibly-Marq said, before scurrying back to the safety of the horde of guards.

“Make sure they’re under the parts with a roof!” Valerion ordered after him.

“This is a horrible place.” Jonos muttered.

“What was that?” Valerion asked.

Jonos repeated himself louder for Valerion’s benefit. Valerion looked amused, which worried Jonos. It should have. Valerion procured a chest wrap for little Sae, bound her to him, and ordered Jonos to follow him with as much parchment as he could carry. What followed was more or less a ‘tour’ of the castle, where Valerion would take Jonos to as many awful places as possible and Jonos would write down lists of improvements that would have to be made, and later prioritised into a proper list. For lack of a better surface, Jonos often had to write on Valerion’s back while Valerion held the ink bottle for him.

Despite Valerion’s best efforts, Harrenhal was far too large to be fully seen in half a day. After making note of various improvements to the smithy, stables and storerooms, they came upon the great hall to review the belongings brought in. The hall of a hundred hearths it was called and only the gods knew why. Jonos could tell after counting the hearths halfway along the cavernous expanse that, at most, it could house eighty. Given the spacing it was more likely to be forty. The hall possessed several long tables, most likely too long to be taken by the Strongs when they divested themselves of this cursed place.

The roof was so tall that it could have easily served as a den for the Black Dread, its weight supported by pale white wooden supports that were almost tree trunks in their own right. One section of the roof had collapsed, leaving the entire room exposed to the wind outside. Jonos rubbed his hands together as they made their way across the smooth slated floor to the pile of belongings placed near the centre.

Valerion threw back the covering on the Cannibals skull and smirked at Jonos. “I think we shall mount this to the far wall. What do you think?”

Jonos looked at the skull, then back at Valerion. “Where will you find screws of such strength to mount it?”

“It could be placed upon wood.”

“Surely the wood must also be mounted onto the wall? You are just adding another step to the process.” Jonos argued.

“Where do you suggest I put it then? The floor?” Valerion scoffed.

Jonos shrugged. “Put it in your solar for all the good it will do.”

Valerion stroked at little Sae as he thought. “Mayhaps it is a problem for another day. What of the eggs?”

Jonos sighed deeply. “Unless someone has made the world’s worst omelette in the last hour, they should be where they were left. Which is to say, nestled in a pile of clothing, and some straw for mattresses.”

“The clothes will be itchy.” Valerion noted.

“That’s not my problem. They’re not my clothes.” Jonos said. As a maester, he had never been so happy to be an adherent of asceticism.

Valerion observed the pile as if trying to discern which clothes the eggs had been hidden in. “We shall need to prepare a brazier to care for the eggs while we await the dragonkeepers.”

“If you say so.”  

Little Sae, despite her awful parents, was a perfect child the entire time, only cooing occasionally and not crying. Jonos still thought that she was given a bad legacy.

**************************************************************

Baelon

It had taken a moon or so, but the family decamped from Dragonstone after Saera and Valerion left. Aemon had been the first to leave, taking his family and citing a request from Boremund to visit. Caraxes had been laden with a saddle large enough for Aemon, Jocelyn, and Rhaenys (and presumably Gaemon, but he did not take up much room). Viserra had pouted mightily when they were all gone. She had been mumming at their aunt Rhaena more and more these days. Mayhaps she was chasing the title of ‘queen of the east’ or some such, but surely she did not think Aemon would wed her while Jocelyn lived? Nonetheless, it was not his place to speak to Viserra of such matters.

With Gaemon gone, Daemon was happier. As a result, he was also kinder. Baelon loved his little dragon dearly, but Daemon was going through a biting phase and Gael was unfortunately often the recipient. It had gotten bad enough that Baelon’s father had swooped in as if he were Vermithor and scolded Daemon for biting. He was then promptly bitten for the trouble, as was Baelon for attempting to dislodge Daemon from his grandfather. Baelon privately believed that it might be a bit of jealousy. After all, before Gaemon, the only boys were his and Alyssa’s.

Daemon had been eying Gael’s dragon in the past few days and had even made an attempt to take it. He likely thought it was one of his toys, it wasn’t his fault. He was a growing boy, and he had Alyssa’s spirit. Lovghar did not take kindly to the attempt and now Daemon had a bite of his own, proof that a dragon cannot truly be stolen. Alas the incident had caused Gael to scream, Baelon had not known she could be so loud. The situation had promptly devolved from there. It had only served to harden his father in regards to Daemon. Now he was talking of how to ‘deal with the boy’. Hopefully, the space of the Red Keep would maintain peace and Lovghar would be sent to the Dragonpit where Daemon would not be tempted.

In the sky, their dragons purposefully kept pace with one another. Despite the rhythmic flapping of Vhagar’s wings Baelon managed to hear, “Adere, muña, adere!” shouted over the wind from Daemon. Presumably, he wanted his mother to go fast and was not just exclaiming about Meleys’ speed. Dreamfyre was ahead of the others with Vermithor, Silverwing (who was carrying Lovghar in Baelon’s mother’s lap) in the middle and Meleys and Vhagar trailing behind. Meleys may have had speed, but it seemed Alyssa wished for a slow flight today.

The family landed after a matter of hours. Viserys had already fallen asleep on Vhagar, and was taken to the wheelhouse with Gael and Daemon while the adults settled their dragons. Viserra leaned against Dreamfyre, watching as the family’s dragons were led away one by one. (Lovghar apparently was going to the Red Keep according to the conversation Baelon overheard between his parents.)

“How are you?” Baelon asked Alyssa.

She smiled, but it wasn’t as mirthless as usual. “Better than I was.”

“I am well too, thank you for inquiring.” Viserra added, even though the Seven and everyone else knew Baelon was not speaking to her.

“And your shoulder?” Baelon asked. It still made little sense to him, but Vhagar was old. She did not call for blood down the bond, mostly to sleep and dream of times gone by. Viserra saying that Dreamfyre had driven her to such extremes was… worrying, to say the least. Especially because Dreamfyre and Viserra had bonded so late, and Dreamfyre had had another rider previously.

Viserra shrugged using said shoulder, so Baelon assumed she was well and in the throes of being ten-and-two. There was much shrugging at that age from what he remembered of his siblings. He was not looking forward to his sweet boys becoming moody and difficult for their kepa.

Alyssa slung her arm around Viserra. “And your lust for blood?”

“I don’t know, it could be in need of sating.” Viserra huffed, but she leaned into Alyssa’s embrace anyway. “Do you think Saera will write?”

Alyssa and Baelon shared a glance. Baelon moved to speak first but Alyssa beat him to it. “Well… she’s Saera. She likely won’t.”

Baelon shot Alyssa a look and she shrugged. Baelon cleared his throat. “I’m sure Saera would be happy to hear from you if you wrote first?”

Viserra looked at Baelon as if he was the biggest fool in the Seven Kingdoms. Baelon nearly checked his head for a hat with jingly bells, so great was her disdain. He also feared his sons learning this power at that age.

Baelon went to clear his throat and looked back towards Alyssa, who was engaged in trying to make Viserra smile. He stopped seeing a small twinkle play at Alyssa’s eyes, the green shining ever so fiercely.

For months now, Alyssa had been a shadow of herself. Playing with the boys had made her happy for a time, until she could not stop seeing the shade of the child who would have accompanied them. Viserys had understood that Alyssa was having a difficult time, but Daemon… Daemon had picked up on Alyssa’s upset, and had been upset as a consequence. It had turned into a great cycle of upset. Gael had mostly been the one to suffer Daemon’s attentions as he vented his wrath, until Baelon’s father would snatch her up at the mere sight of Daemon. It was hurtful, especially since Jocelyn did the same with Gaemon. At least Rhaenys did not seem to mind him.

The dragonkeepers came and escorted each of their dragons away, Vhagar being the last. “If it at all helps, Rhaenys will continue to pester Lord Qoherys with questions. Once she arrives from Storm’s End you can get her to write for you.”

Viserra wrinkled her nose while her eyes grew sharper. “I do not care for the man. You would do well to ensure Rhaenys does not either.”

Alyssa smirked for what may have been the first time in months. “I always knew you had good taste, sister.”

Viserra shrugged again before gesturing to a small grouping of palfreys prepared for them. “Shall we?”

“I rather think we shall.” Alyssa remarked, bounding off ahead.

Baelon stared at her as she went. Something in Alyssa had certainly improved, perhaps taking to the skies to fell the Cannibal had provided some strange form of relief. Viserra followed leaving him alone to wait for their parents. That was all well and good, neither of them needed to deal with the pageantry of a royal arrival given the past weeks.

**************************************************************

Falia

She was overseeing the removal of her lady’s goods from the wagons when the maester and Lord Valerion emerged from what was seemingly a wall. They were absolutely covered in cobwebs and dust.

“—don’t even think I was able to write properly. That wasn’t a passageway made by normal people.” The maester grumbled, before startling at the sight of Falia. He peered at her. “Are you perhaps a ghost?”

“I am not.” Falia said firmly, before turning to her lady’s husband and curtseying. “Would you like to discuss the matter you entrusted to me before I left, my lord?”

“Yes.” Lord Qoherys said.

Falia looked at the maester, who looked back at her. Lord Qoherys cleared his throat. “He can stay.”

“If I was going to betray you, I would have done so by now.” The maester agreed, before turning to Lord Qoherys. “For instance, I would have given little Sae over to Rosey’s purview before we went crawling about in dust and ruins.”

Falia noticed that Lord Qoherys’ chest was moving, free of his influence. With a shock, she realised that her lady’s precious daughter was there, bound to Lord Qoherys’ chest. The babe was utterly covered in grime, mostly on her wrappings. The maester fussed and removed the baby, trying to futilely clean her. The babe blinked Princess Saera’s violet eyes about her surroundings.

“Denys is not here. Report.” Lord Qoherys stated, drawing Falia’s attention back.

“I observed the man known as Lord Denys of House Celtigar.” Falia said. “He seems a kind man. He was very enthused about his niece, Valaena Celtigar, and an opportunity to be closer to the family.” He had always made sure that the various children of the dragonkeepers were clean and fed when they stopped before tending to the adults. He somehow procured more knickknacks for them and enjoyed telling old Valyrian stories. He knew his numbers and even spoke with respect for her, a lowly maid. She liked him. Her lady’s husband did not deserve him.

Indeed, her lady’s husband seemed rather put out by the news. Falia was certain she heard him mutter the name ‘Valaena Celtigar’ under his breath, the family name spoken with some deep hatred. The maester bounced the babe, looking between the other two adults. “I’m sorry, who is this? Who is Denys?”

“This is Falia. She kept an eye on my steward while they came up the Kingsroad.” Lord Qoherys said.

The maester turned to look at her. “I see. When did you arrive?”

Falia fixed him with an iron gaze. “At noon. It has taken time to begin removal of the Princess’ belongings.” 

The maester made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Valerion, was there a point to sending both convoys apart from one another? What would you do with the Cannibal’s skull and not a featherbed?” Falia stared. Surely his disrespect would end with him being removed.

Her lady’s husband did not seem to mind the disrespect from this particular man. Perhaps it was the perks of being a maester. “Why wouldn’t there be a point? It was quicker for you to arrive by a different route. Besides, landits may have attacked the wagon train.”

The maester coloured under the grime. “Don’t be an ass in front of the head maid.”

Lord Qoherys looked back at Falia. “Are you the head maid?”

Falia blinked at him. She was barely twenty. “If you say so, my lord.”

“Seven above, you hired this woman without telling her what she was doing? What’s wrong with you?” The maester demanded of Lord Qoherys, before looking to the babe and sighing. “We’ll have to teach you how to run a household. And common sense.” He muttered to her.

“Saera wished for her to join us. I availed of her services, I see nothing wrong with that. Besides, Falena has served as a maid at the Red Keep. She knows what she is to be doing.” Lord Qoherys argued.

Falia willed herself not to flush in front of the maester. “I beg your pardon my lord, but my name is Falia.”

The maester looked up to the heavens as if beseeching the Seven for help. Lord Qoherys did not notice or care. “If you say so. With us, Falia.”

Falia followed him alongside the maester. Every now and again she would glance to the maester who continued to gently brush the babe of dust. She would require a thorough clean indeed to be freed of it. It may not be her place to question a lord, but it was her place to protect the Princess’ child. How dare they risk her health by taking her into the depths of the castle, she would make her lady aware of this.

The walk was long and silent, passing from the courtyard into the lower levels of the largest tower. Then came the stairs, each a slab of dark stone worn by use and far too large for a regular person to easily climb. Falia swore she was climbing some great peak in the Vale, not walking through a castle. Eventually Valerion directed them down a near twelve-foot-tall corridor. The room they arrived at was as large as the lower level of the Kitchen Keep, seeming more appropriate for a giant to occupy.

Several objects lined the room; a desk with several accompanying chairs, enormous empty bookcases which stretched to the ceiling alongside several sconces filled with unlit torches. Falia shivered at the draft which carried along the floor as she made to sit. Beyond scraps of parchment and an inkwell the only piece of the table was a horrid brown vase with a grotesque chartreuse dragon painted upon it.

Lord Qoherys took the babe and settled on the other side of the desk while the maester stood to the side. How he could bear to stand after climbing those steps was beyond her.

Lord Qoherys began gently the rocking the babe as he spoke. “As my wife trusts you, you shall be taking the position of head maid. In that role there are several responsibilities you must be aware of.” The lord turned to the maester. “Jonos, tell… Falia what her role would entail.”

The maester stared at her lady’s husband for a moment, before sighing. He turned to Falia. “You are responsible for organising all the other maids to clean and maintain the castle. You are responsible for disciplining them if needed. You are responsible for making sure that they have everything they need such as… I don’t know. Enough brooms to go around. Clothes, mayhaps. Payment.”

“Not payment.” Lord Qoherys interrupted staring at Jonos as though he had grown a second head. “Monetary matters of the household fall upon the steward and myself.” At least, kind Denys was in a position of honour. “In addition, you are to be housed in a neighbouring apartment to my and my lady wife’s chambers, should we have need of your services on short notice.”

“Of course, my lord.” Falia responded quickly, bowing her head to hide any blushing at thought of what she would be needed for. “If I might, I have not seen any other servants at present. Where is the household?”

Lord Qoherys leaned back and began gently stroking the babe's face. “It would appear many departed with the prior lord. There are still ten or so maids, enough to maintain our apartments and that of our immediate number. We will, of course, require more if we wish to prevent the castle falling into further disrepair. That is why I have had a crier make an announcement for staff in Harrentown. No doubt many will come to have steady work and decent pay. We will need to ensure the quality of the servants remains high. Once we’ve enough servants to maintain the castle we can begin work on heightening the number of household guards.”

Falia nodded. She knew how to be a maid, she could ensure this castle was helmed by the finest maids that they could be.

The maester squinted at Lord Qoherys before speaking. “You’re implying that there are guards. There are not any guards. Do you mean Marq, who could not tell you from a Frey? Counting Marq, I suppose, there are eight left. The ravens have all fled to the disused floors and shit everywhere before leaving as well, because this could not be resolved nicely. Where are you going to call for more guards? Shall we ask the ghosts to join hands with us?”

Lord Qoherys shifted his weight and procured one of the pieces of parchment, scrawling down something. “I am to continue taking stock of the castle with Ser Denys. Once we have a large enough force of servants and supplies, we can move on to restocking the garrison and the rookery.”

The maester huffed but did not say anything else. Falia supposed they had been swamped with these sorts of… exchanges. “Is there anything else you need of me at this time, my lord?”  

Lord Qoherys waved his free hand at her. “None at the moment. I will go find one of these few remaining guards, I need to relax and some sparring should suffice. If you wish, you may go find my wife. She is in Harrentown at present.”

Falia rose, curtseyed and went to her task. She was all too happy to find her lady.

**************************************************************

Saera

She was, of course, aware that any nobility of import had a spymaster. She was also aware that Valerion may have been only speaking of it as a flirtation, but he had brought up the idea of her being his master of whispers. It was an intriguing thought.

She had thought to build a network in the surrounding brothels- many people said things in bed that they would not say otherwise. She had also been scoping out the whores; whether for herself or as competition she could not say. Likely both.

Unfortunately, all of the women were somewhat faded and washed out. They had mustered smiles when she had entered, only for them to fall upon realising that she was a woman. (These whores were prudes. Who were they, Maegelle?) The madams had been interested in extra coin, though Saera could not imagine anything would come of it. Why would anyone doing anything interesting go there, where the paint of the painted ladies was stripped and cracked? Most of them did not even have all of their teeth.

Annoyed, she had taken her leave. All of the brothels – and a few inns where the innkeeper’s daughters made a bit of extra coin, because these people weren’t even able to have real brothels – had been disappointments. All-together, it seemed as though the day had been entirely wasted.

Saera rode her way back to Harrenhal at a slow pace, mulling over what to do next. She could continue to act in the capacity of a spymaster, sit upon Valerion’s council, but that would not occupy her time well enough. No; she would need something else. Something that could hold her attention in quieter moments, and did not rely upon others for her to turn to. There was always fucking Valerion of course, but even that could not last indefinitely.

She could take the time and spend it with their daughter, when she arrived. Thought it was doubtful the child would hold her attention. After all, they did not do terribly much at this age. She sighed to herself as she rode through the main gate and directed her palfrey to the stables. The stables were laughably empty compared to their size, although new pack horses had arrived.

Either the remainder of her belongings had arrived, or they were already subject to guests of some kind. Stepping to the ground Saera gave a sigh before she tested the earth lightly with her shoe. It had ranged from dry to waterlogged mud dependant upon the rain, and while the air was cold the dirt did not stick to her shoe.

The sound of hammering sounded in the distance, some worker repairing something or other. Saera huffed at the unpleasant noise before briskly moving through the courtyards for her quarters. While she made her way Saera’s ears caught a different sound, metal clashing like that of the training fields at home. She diverted course coming to one of the larger inner courtyards. The armoury and smithy lay against the outer wall, the rest of the yard forming an open space.

Several wooden markers delineated a sizeable square within which Valerion was sparring with a knight. The knight’s armour marked him as one of those who served House Mooton, though that mattered little as Valerion struck him with a blow to the helmet, knocking him flat on the ground. A few of the other Mooton men were watching, though they looked as if they might flee if Valerion turned to them instead.

As the battered knight sought to right himself, Valerion happened to glance in her direction. Upon seeing her a wolfish grin plastered itself on his face. As he made his way to her, Saera felt a smirk of her own settling on her face. Her husband did not stop his advance until he was close enough to gaze down at her, so near she could reach out and feel him.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Valerion asked, bringing his free hand to rest upon her waist.

Saera bit her lip as she imagined him picking her up and carrying her to their chambers. “Sadly, I only caught the final blow. Perhaps you could provide another demonstration? One that would get the blood flowing.”

“My blood is flowing well enough.” Valerion turned to glance at the knight, who had manged to return to his feet and remove his helmet. “Besides, I fear another blow may cripple the man.”

Saera scowled and grasped his chin turning his face back to her. She heard furtive gasps from the assorted men but elected to ignore them. “That’s better.” She said, smiling in mock innocence at him. “If he does not wish to be a cripple he should avoid getting struck. You are ever so strong, after all.”

“So I am, and how would you prefer I use this strength? Besides crippling others for your amusement.” Valerion smiled, as he threw the blade in his second hand before using it lift her off the ground.

Saera wrapped her legs around his torso as he picked her up leaving them gazing at the same level, his hands planted firmly on ass. “You know how.” She murmured before pressing her lips against his.

Valerion returned the kiss their tongues intertwining together. Just as they had begun, Valerion dared to pull away. “I do. Sadly, I’ve one more matter to attend to before I retire.”

Saera leaned further pressing her body against his, bringing her lips to his ear. “Leave it. It will be there after tonight.”

Valerion planted a kiss into the crook of her neck, his lips brushing gently against her skin before he whispered back. “I am afraid that it is urgent. I will make it as quick as possible, then we can enjoy each other all night long.”

Saera scowled at that, her anger forming a tension within her. It was cruel to deny her this, when she endured such boredom on a daily basis for the sake of this horrid place. “Very well.” She snapped, untwisting her legs and planting them back on the ground. “If you would rather spend time with some dusty book than the warmth of your wife, go!”

Valerion’s face hardened, his smile flattening and his hands leaving her. “As I said, I will ensure you are pleasured tonight. Your maid has arrived, perhaps you might enjoy playing with her for a while.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Saera said, turning away and stomping towards their chambers. Saera seethed as she climbed the many stairs. Stupid Valerion and his stupid castle, why did she ever agree to this. They could have flown across the narrow sea without responsibility, instead of stuck in a cold, drafty place.

“Bring me parchment and a quill.” She ordered a servant as she went, before sitting down at her desk. It was her maid who brought them to her, as well as ink and a lapdesk.

Saera scrawled out ‘I’m bored. Entertain me.’ She then paused, pondering who to send it to. Not her parents, they wouldn’t care. The babies couldn’t read. Viserra had started to become interesting, but not enough to fix this. Her other sisters annoyed her. Her brothers – well, Baelon might come, but he’d tell her to be kind. Aemon would not even waste parchment writing back. Vaegon—actually, Vaegon might do something, even if it was just a note telling her to drown herself in the God’s Eye.

“Give this to the maester. Tell him to send it to Vaegon.” Saera ordered. “He can go catch a wild raven if he must.”

“Of course, m’lady.” Falia bowed deep before making to leave.

“Return when you have done so. I have need of you tonight.” Saera continued. She spotted the blush on the Falia’s face as she acknowledged the order and left the room, leaving her alone again.

Saera made her way to the bedchamber and observed the room. A great hearth set along one of the walls burned to spread light amongst the room. It was so… empty, thought that was likely to change as three servants had begun bringing their belongings inside. Its size might have commanded respect if only it had the necessary objects within to demonstrate wealth and not struggles to maintain one’s grandeur.

There were only a few objects of note. The four poster bed, large enough to fit six people, whose wooden frame was a pale white finely carved, no doubt a weirwood of some kind. The armour of her husband, its runes hidden under the edges of its scale like exterior. A tapestry decorated one of the shorter walls, a stylistic depiction of her great-grandfather astride Balerion as he incinerated Harrenhal below.

Saera turned her attention to the servants unpacking some of their belongings. Amongst them were her many dresses, several of Valerion’s tomes and many of their wedding gifts. Saera made her way to the books and flicked through them idly. The Iron Chronicle, how dull. The Seven Pointed Star, Saera found a smirk settle at Maegelle’s foolishness. The next tome was older, covered by dark Valyrian steel with the title etched in Valyrian. The Collected Works of the Mason Haegon of Tyria. Well, that would surely prove useful in the future.

Moving it to the side revealed a loosely bound set of parchments, no title upon the front of the rough leather. Saera picked them up and flicked through carelessly. Each page was written in Valyrian but the hand was spidery and scrawling, making it a pain to understand. Saera threw the bundle on top of the pile. How frustrating that nothing was able to entertain her.

Saera felt as if she waded through the sea of boredom for near an hour before Falia returned. “M’lady.”

Saera turned to the other servants. “Leave us. You may continue tomorrow.” Once they had cleared the room, Saera made her way to the bed and laid upon it. She fixed Falia with a stare and resisted the urge to lick her lips. She immediately gave into the urge anyway, because she was not in the habit of stopping herself from enjoying anything.

Falia’s ears turned red, but not her face. How disappointing. Still, it would be fun to play with her, especially since she had not had her in several moons. Saera crooked a finger and Falia predictably came closer, kneeling on the floor in front of Saera.

“Do you know that Valerion has disappointed me today?” Saera cooed. “You wouldn’t disappoint me as well, would you?”

“No, princess.” Falia said, before lifting her head. “If I may, I thought it was wrong, what he did at the time.”

Saera sat up and frowned. “I didn’t see you there.”

“It was when we arrived. He emerged from the walls with the maester and the babe, all three covered in dust. T’weren’t right, taking such a wee one in—”

The baby. The baby. Always about the Seven-damned baby. The stupid brat had even corrupted her Falia, who loved Saera the most out of everyone.
“Shut up about the baby.” Saera snarled, before leaning forward and catching Falia’s face in her hand. She squeezed. “That was not what I meant by Valerion disappointing me.”

“He doesn’t deserve you, your highness. Not if he’s done that, and—”

Saera tensed feeling a pounding in her ears, and bit her nails into Falia’s cheeks. “Not one more word out of you! My husband is a lord. He is a dragonrider, the blood of Old Valyria. You!? You are nothing! How dare you question my choice in mate!”

Falia made no action to remove her, giving only a small squeak as Saera’s nails bit into her flushed red skin.

 “Not a sound. I should kill you now for your insolence!” Saera hissed, her voice echoing through the chamber. Scenarios raced through Saera’s mind. She could tell Valerion, who would quickly carry out her execution himself or she could take the impudent bitch to Balerion, give him a fine meal. She could… but then who would she enjoy when her husband denied her. She had already confirmed that all the whores in Harrentown were deficient, Falia might be plain faced but her loyalty had made up for that. Until now.

Falia’s face turned an ashen white, now realising just how badly she had fucked up. Tears began to creep into her eyes.

Saera released her face and threw her to one side. “I’ll discuss your fate with my husband as he has also been wronged by you. Now leave.”

“Princess,” Falia’s whispered, her voice quivering. “I beg your forgiveness. I am sor—”

Saera felt her nostrils flare at the continued insolence. “Not another word! Leave now, and pray my husband is merciful.”

The maid poorly attempted to supress her sobbing as she made her way from the room, the noise intensifying the moment she was out of Saera’s sight. Now whose company was she supposed to enjoy while waiting for her husband?

**************************************************************

Balerion

It truly was odd to be back here. And on the ground as well, not just burning it down. Balerion still remembered the feeling of Aegon’s cool indifference down the bond as they burned the castle. It had not seemed to matter much to the other humans – the castle was still lived in, and fire only ever led to new growth. Still, it was an odd place.

He felt so old now compared to when he had burned the towers into these twisted shapes. If he was called upon to do it again, he would put a bit more care into it. Maybe even a bit of artistry, like in Valyria. He had seen his mother called upon to melt stone there. She had been the dragon of a renowned artist and architect.

“What are you thinking of?” Jadewing asked him sleepily.

“Valyria.” Balerion replied, resting his head on top of hers. “Home, I suppose.”

Jadewing gave an annoyed grumble. “Valerion will not want us to leave here for some time. He has worked hard to get to this nest, and now he thinks it is his. He’ll defend it as such.”

Balerion looked back up at his old work, and then at Jadewing. “I know once you’ve seen one human nest, you’ve seen them all, but it cannot be nice here.” It was so very wet. There was mud on his scales.

“Humans seem to think so.” Jadewing said uncertainly.

Even Aegon hadn’t thought so, not really. He had wanted Balerion to burn it down to make a point. Then he had built his city somewhere wet and tried to take the water away, because he was sensible like that. Balerion considered that point. “Do you think they’ll fix it?”

“Fix what?”

“How wet it is.”

Jadewing considered this. “Well, maybe. They don’t seem to be very good at it though.” It had already been some span of days since they had arrived, and Jadewing’s human started shouting at other humans to do things. The human nest seemed in disarray – surely that wasn’t Balerion’s fault? Humans were usually so quick to recover.

Saera, meanwhile, had been bored very quickly. She did not seem to have much to occupy her time with while Jadewing’s human was shouting. She had been flying more and more, and often Jadewing would follow them up into the air.

“Maybe it takes some time.” Balerion mused. “Dragonstone is nice enough, I suppose.” It could never really compare to Valyria, but the other dragons loved Dragonstone. It was good enough for them since they didn’t really know what they had lost.

“Dragonstone has bigger fish.” Jadewing grumbled. “There aren’t any really big fish in the big pool over there.”

“That’s because Dragonstone is an island.” Balerion pointed out, as it fell upon him to be the voice of reason.

“There’s an island over there.” Jadewing protested. “I flew over it once and heard the humans on it panic.”

Balerion looked out over the lake, just making out the shape of a little island in the far, far distance. Something about that island seemed… unsettling to him. “I don’t think there are humans on that island.”

“Well. Regardless.” Jadewing huffed. It was at this point that the dragonkeepers began to approach them, gently asking them to turn over for cleaning.

Balerion tilted his head at them in confusion. If he turned onto his side, he would simply get mud there too. Though he had to admit, it was rather nice that they were there to care. Why hadn’t they been there to begin with? It would have been more comfortable. Unfortunately, humans did not seem to be aware of such things.

Meanwhile, Jadewing’s eyes had fixed on the eggs in their new braziers. “Only four of them.”

“One hatched, apparently.” Balerion nudged her.

“We should have been able to see our hatchling.” Jadewing grumbled, digging herself deeper into the mud, much to the chagrin of the dragonkeepers. Steam streamed out of her nostrils, and they began to give her a wider berth. The mud cooked and cracked around her, which Balerion would have found more agreeable if it was not a sign of her annoyance.

“It is the Targaryen way.” Balerion said. “They’re a family dragon now, and they were hatched by their rider. Most of the others were the same.”

Jadewing gave him a flat look. “Which ones?”

Balerion considered this. He had not been a cradle egg, nor Vhagar. Meraxes had been, but she had passed. Quicksilver had been, but he had also passed. Meleys was, but her hatcher had died quickly. Dreamfyre had not been, nor Caraxes. Vermithor and Silverwing had been. It really depended on whether this was including the dragons that had taken to wing one final time, and their human riders. Did humans use such metaphors for death, actually?

Jadewing nudged Balerion out of his thoughts. “What are you thinking about?”

“What do humans believe about death?” Balerion wondered.

“They believe that a shadow whisks them off the face of the earth and takes them somewhere else. Some of them, anyway. Silverwing was telling me about it.” Jadewing said. “She’s apparently been in a sept. That’s a building where the humans keep their gods.”

Balerion considered this. “What if they have need of them outside of the septs? This seems largely unhelpful for day-to-day life.”

“I don’t know, and I don’t think Silverwing does either. Humans don’t seem to have need of theology, anyway. I can’t imagine any of them can even reach the forever-sky, not even on dragonback. They just seem to… die.” Jadewing gave the draconic equivalent of a shrug, which was a tilt of her head and her temperature markers cooling to indifference. “They live such short lives, after all.”

Something tickled at the back of Balerion’s mind. “What about Aurion Varezys?”

Jadewing’s temperature marker ticked back up to fear-anxiousness-anger. “What about him? How do you even know that name?”

“Your boy passed his lifeforce to me, remember?” ‘His’ here meaning Aurion’s, and not Jadewing’s rider’s.

“It was not his to take.” Jadewing seethed. She too referred to Varezys and not her rider. “It was my mother’s first.”

It is never a good thing for humans to use their magics, much less on dragons. It is especially never a good thing for humans to extend their lives beyond what they should be.

“Your rider was right to slay him.” Balerion acknowledged.

Jadewing’s ire cooled. “It’s what allowed him to become my rider in the first place.”

With that, she apparently decided that the topic was closed and turned over, dried mud coming off of her scales to the dragonkeepers’ delight or dismay. Balerion did not care about them and did much the same.

**************************************************************

Valerion

Valerion settled into his solar again. Over two weeks and he was sorely regretting ever seeking out this place. The servants were all but non-existent, as were most of the staff for the castle, though the families of the dragonkeepers had come to assist in that regard. At least a cook had stayed, though the castle still sorely lacked a smith. Gods forbid people accuse him of blasphemy over it. Valerion opened the most recent accounts of the castle’s financial history, the income and expenses taunting him as he sought a place to begin.

The administration was only one aspect of his troubles. The dragonkeepers did not have the resources they needed to properly care for the great beasts they now needed to support, and the cost of their food was yet another expense he would have to calculate. At least they had placed the eggs into braziers filled with hot coals. Jonos as well was endlessly complaining of this and that, primarily the wet or the poor state of the gardens. It was at least a change from his previous complaints; the dust and how much Valerion terrified the wetnurse.

Then there was Saera. She had been increasingly frustrated, with little to do and less to enjoy. He knew that she despised this place, but it would only ever improve if he found the solutions amongst these ledgers. Yet the more he did this for her, the more distant she grew. When he had retired to her last night, Saera was in a rage which he had not yet seen since the attempt on his life.

Pacing the room she had muttered of “killing that presumptuous bitch” or merely cutting out her tongue. Apparently, her maid had declared Valerion unfit for his wife, leading Saera to banish her in anger and begin conjuring death fantasies. Valerion had said he would decide the next day, not wishing to deal with that in the moment.

Valerion rubbed his eyes as he decided which problem to tackle first. The issue of castle staffing was critical but equally out of his control. Until the smallfolk heard the criers’ announcements in different towns and came to the castle, there was little to do. The matter of bookkeeping was best done with Ser Denys and so would be done closer to the end of the day. The matter of the maid was the most volatile, at least for Saera’s future desires.

Valerion called for the guard outside his solar and ordered them to find the maid. It took half a turn of the hourglass before he returned escorting the woman. Her cheeks bore several small cuts. Perhaps some sort of insect had bitten her. Her brown hair was terribly matted and her eyes puffy from crying. What caught Valerion’s eye most was how she shambled into the room, staring at nothing but the slated floor. At least she was clothed.

“Shall I remain, my lord?” The guard said turning to him.

Valerion waved his hand. “No need. Wait outside.” The guard departed, leaving them alone in the space. “Sit.” He commanded.

The woman made her way to the chair opposite before practically falling upon it, her arms hanging loosely to the side. Valerion felt it was deserved, given she had intended to drive Saera from him. “What is to become of me, my lord?” The maid spoke with a flat tone. He was unsure if it was instinctive or by design.

Valerion narrowed his eyes at her. “You would do well not to speak out of turn, lest I decide to kill you as my wife demands.”

That got her attention, her eyes flicking up to meet his before quickly looking away. The truth of the matter was that he would happily put her to death for her transgression, if not for two reasons. The primary concern was that the castle barely had any staff as it was. It was unlikely to get more if he mounted a maid’s head at the main gate. The other slightly less important reason, at least as far as he was concerned, was that the woman might still be of use to Saera. His wife may have called for her head now but when she grew bored, and he was unavailable, Saera would still have need of this one.

“I have decided that you are to remain in the capacity of head maid, as we discussed upon your arrival.” Valerion hardened his face as he spoke, this was not a kindness, but a decision made of practicality.

The maid’s hands had apparently regained some of their strength as she folded them upon her lap, attempting to maintain some composure even as tears began to roll down her face. Her lips opened as if to speak but she clearly thought better of it, snapping her mouth shut again.

“Ask your question.” Valerion sighed, he had more work to do.

“Am I to… continue serving the princess?” Falia asked, her voice trembling as if she almost did not wish to know the answer.

Valerion had no doubt that Saera was still very wroth with the maid, but that did not mean his wife would not wish to use her. “I do not know. Let us ask her.” With that Valerion stood and went to leave the room. Turning back to face Falia, he saw that she had not moved and was now trembling more than before. “Come! Lest I choose to cast you out of the castle instead.”

Jolted from her place, the maid followed him to his bedchambers. Saera had elected to lounge today, as she had been thoroughly disappointed by Harrentown. As a result, they found her laid upon a newly arrived chaise.

Upon seeing him she smiled, though that disappeared when she spotted the maid trembling behind him. Saera turned to look at him. “She’s still alive. Why?”

Valerion shrugged. “Killing maids is not conducive to acquiring more maids.”

Saera turned to sneer at Falia. “Then why is she here? Surely you could have banished her from the castle, or locked her in a dungeon cell?”

“She has her uses.” Valerion replied calmly.

“Yes. I suppose she does, but do those uses outweigh the brazenness of her words?” Saera straightened herself to a sitting position. “What do you have to say this time, more disobedience?”

The maid practically collapsed in front of Saera, prostrating herself on the ground. “Please forgive me, princess. I know I have caused offense, and I should be killed for my foolishness, but I would be a most loyal and obedient thing again. If you were willing. I shan’t be able to live if I am not serving you, so… if you could not trust me again,” The maid looked up at Saera for the first time, trembling yes but her eyes filled with spirit. “Then you should kill me. Your husband, his lordship, has been gracious enough to let me make this plea so I beg your forgiveness now and for all the days to come.”

It was a tad pathetic to Valerion’s mind, but then he had felt much the same when Saera had denied his declaration his first night on Dragonstone. Truly he could not judge her too harshly for it.

Saera did not respond for a time, observing the wreck of a woman at her feet. When her voice did come, it had a sharp edge to it. “You are fortunate indeed that my husband is so… restrained. Had our roles been reversed, you would not have been given this chance. Though, I feel you may have been given it because he recognises the value of one so devoted. It would be a shame to waste such loyalty. But you must remember that loyalty to me is also loyalty to my husband, and your transgression must be punished. Would you like to know how I am going to punish you?”

Falia averted her gaze once more and nodded to Saera’s feet.

Saera turned to face him with a wicked smirk on her face. “What would you say to giving this whore a babe of her own, since she was so concerned with ours?”

Valerion moved to sit on the chaise with his wife and let her rest her head against his chest, gazing up at him. “Are you certain, my love? I would have thought such an act would make you… jealous.”

Saera continued to grin wide at him. “Mmm. I should still take my own fill I rather think. But this way we will truly test her loyalty, to both of us. If she should ever fail us, you banish her from the castle and claim the bastard as punishment.”

“How scandalous of you, love.” Valerion grasped her chin and kissed his wife deeply. Once the kiss broke, he gazed down at the maid. “Do you accept your second chance, Falia?”

The maid looked up at them with a fiery determination in her eyes. “Yes, m’lord. Your highness. Thank you for your forgiveness.”

Saera reached down and grasped Falia’s face in her hand. “You are most welcome, obedient thing. Now go clean yourself up.”

The maid scampered from the room as Valerion returned to loving on his wife. What a wicked thing Saera was.   

Chapter Text

Vaegon

He really had thought that he had the more interesting piece of news when Saera sent him a message saying that she was bored, and the Citadel decided that he needed to oversee the rival place of learning temporarily. Apparently, despite a recommendation from the King, they did not trust Jonos Rivers to mind their interests, which made sense. The man did not seem to respond well to authority.

He had gone to see Maegelle, who did not have a door to her cell, and required a chaperone for his visit. Likely, this was because while he was her brother, they were both also Targaryens and therefore perceived to be immune to the social fallout of an incestuous affair. His parents really had buggered it all up, now everyone thought he was some sort of deviant who dearly wished to divest his sisters of their clothing. He saw those looks on the street when they realised who he was. He heard those ‘japes’.

Rhaella had been kind enough to act as chaperone, as she was Vaegon’s second-favourite first cousin after Maegelle herself. She had also been kind enough to sit down in the doorway and pull out her knitting, utterly unmoved by the chaos in the Maegelle's normally neat room.

Vaegon and Rhaella had arrived to find Maegelle struggling with a baby dragon. The hatchling seemed to have wanted to play and had latched onto a book as the nearest thing involving meat. Maegelle, who had a septa’s stipend, had taken offense to this and was trying to pull it back. It was not a book of the faith, not really. It was in fact, the third book in a series of stories about an Ironborn crew encountering a very remote abbey and romancing the septas. It was very tawdry, with the septas trying to bring the Ironborn into the faith and the Ironborn corrupting the septas.

Vaegon knew all of this because he had written the series.

The plan had been to draw out the series as more books would sell better, so he could write one book per couple. This had been revised from the initial plan, which was to lampoon the Faith and expose some hypocrisy under a pen name while making enough coin for sundries. Unfortunately, it seemed that people preferred his erotic writing skills to his general wit. The dragon seemed to prefer the parchment and vellum to either. 

Vaegon stared at the scene for a moment before moving forward and approaching the dragon from behind, gently pulling it away from the book. “We don’t do that.” Vaegon said firmly to the dragon as Maegelle tried to shove the book back under her bed before he saw. He could see bits of eggshells – likely that is where she had kept the dragon as well before it hatched. The ultramarine dragon wriggled in his grasp, clearly unhappy with this turn of events.

“Thank you Vaegon.” Maegelle sighed.

Vaegon held the dragon out to her. Babies, draconic or not, were not to his interest. “You brought your egg back to Oldtown.”

Maegelle took the hatchling which proceeded to skitter under her wimple. “I brought an egg. My original egg had been given to Daemon as a cradle egg. This one was offered from Dreamfyre’s last clutch.”

Vaegon crossed his arms. “Mmm. What did you need an egg for?”

“I just…” Maegelle bit her lip. “I just wanted to feel more connected to home, I suppose.”

Vaegon looked at the lump moving suspiciously under her wimple. “Well, now there’s a dragon in the heart of the Faith. This could go very poorly.”

Rhaella hummed from the door, drawing their attention back to her. “Imagine what the Faith Militant could do with a dragon and dragonrider.”

“That’s never going to happen!” Maegelle said quickly. “It wasn’t supposed to hatch.”

“Well, it did. We cannot unspill this ink.” Vaegon said firmly.

“Mind you, for all his faults our great-uncle did get rid of the Faith Militant.” Rhaella mused.

“They may rise again if they felt that they had access to dragonfire.” Vaegon argued, before turning back to Maegelle. “What are we going to do?”

Maegelle closed her eyes. “It was the will of the Seven that this egg hatched.”

Vaegon shrugged. He had no counter to that. “Did the Seven also say what they wanted to have happen once it did?”

“The Seven work in mysterious ways.” Rhaella said.

Of course they did. This was why he disliked religion. There were so many vague points and questions that could never be feasibly answered. Vaegon folded his hands into his sleeves, then caught the bit of parchment he had tucked away for further reference.

“Maegelle,” he began slowly. “Is there any way that you could start a sept in the Riverlands? Or an abbey?”

“Why there?” Maegelle asked.

“I have been assigned to the new medical centre of learning that our goodbrother is creating. I have no doubt that the Citadel expects me to spy for them.” Vaegon sniffed. It was all rather distasteful.

"Which of your goodbrothers resides in the Riverlands? I seem to have forgotten, if I ever knew to begin with." Rhaella, much like Vaegon himself, did not seem to care much about this situation.

"Lord Qoherys. He married Saera almost a year ago."

“Oh, it is of no matter to me then. Regardless, why would your loyalty be to the Citadel instead of the family?” Rhaella asked.