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Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences
Archive Warnings:
Graphic Depictions Of ViolenceMajor Character Death
Fandoms:
Game of Thrones (TV)A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. MartinA Song of Ice and Fire & Related FandomsHouse of the Dragon (TV)幼女戦記 | Youjo Senki | Saga of Tanya the Evil - Carlo Zen (Light Novels)幼女戦記 | Youjo Senki | Saga of Tanya the Evil (Anime)
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Tanya von DegurechaffViserys I TargaryenRhaenyra TargaryenSyrax | Rhaenyra Targaryen's DragonAlicent HightowerOtto HightowerAegon II TargaryenLaenor Velaryon
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Published:2024-02-24Updated:2026-05-20Words:319,557Chapters:58/?Comments:1,547Kudos:3,725Bookmarks:1,071Hits:221,293
A Young Woman's Inevitable Dance of the Dragons
Failninjaninja
Chapter 38
Notes:
A big thank you to MARch_Of_Time for their suggestions and proofreading!
Chapter Text
"Naturally, I excel when it comes to things like being attentive or clear with my wording or picking up on unvoiced intentions… but I'm not perfect." From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 11
Kevan was happy to see his betrothed again, though somewhat aghast that she had gone to Dorne. Her explanation that she was the velvet glove over the steel fist of Ser Laenor made sense, but he still hadn't liked it. It wasn't as if Laenor couldn't be diplomatic either. Kevan had met the man; he wasn't some hulking ogre without wits. Was it some sort of clever ploy the Dark Storm had consulted her for? He felt there was more to it, yet barely even knew where to begin considering that, save to place his trust in his betrothed.
Still, she was safe and sound and now occupied with yet another important effort. Clearly her understanding of the situation had again been correct, though it almost beggared belief to join arms with Dorne for the Dark's Storm's gambit. Kevan knew his betrothed to be decisive, but this particular boldness had still taken him aback. Elaena had moved on unconcerned and with satisfaction, graceful as always, as if treating with a hostile nation at great risk to her person was but another day managing the Dragon Bank.
But she'd been working for hours now, and so Kevan He decided to remind her personally that the feast would begin within an hour, conscious of her strong regard for punctuality and a lady's need to prepare.
He knocked on the door of the quarters that had been provided to her in the Tooth, close to his own favorite sitting rooms but closer still to the castle library, with rare views overlooking the valley below. He remembered those places they'd spent time most often on her previous visits and prepared what he'd thought of as the chambers to best mix comfort and convenience for her. His knocking caught her immediate attention too, and she called out, "You may come in."
Elaena was at a desk, now changed out of her riding leathers and into a pale blue dress. A bracelet studded with topaz gemstones adorned her left wrist.
Blue and gold, my father will like that.
"Oh, Kevan, I didn't expect to see you until the feast," she said, her tone light but carrying a hint of curiosity.
He walked over to her and rested his hand on her back. Her reaction was strangely delayed; for a moment, she didn't move at all. Then, she turned her head.
"I believe I still have an hour before the feast."
"You do, but I couldn't help being curious about what you're working on," Kevan said, smiling warmly down at her.
"It is advice and guidance for what comes next after the war. I've already shared with you what will happen to Tyrosh. Taking the city will be the easy part; what comes next is just as important. The bulk of the city's population is made up of slaves. They will be freed, of course, but then what? The local economy will face significant challenges, especially since much of the liquid wealth will be looted," Elaena explained.
Kevan could already see the dilemma. Trade was likely to be disrupted, and the local economy would be in shambles, given how much of it was supported by piracy and the slave trade.
"What is the solution?"
"Offering the freed slaves opportunities in Westeros. There are major projects we've spoken of: the Alan Bridge, a new port in the Bite, expanding the road network, and improvements within King's Landing. Not to mention the projects we discussed just within your father's lands. The Wall always needs more men as well," Elaena explained, showing him a page of numbers and locations.
"There could be problems with that," Kevan cautioned. He supported Elaena's ideas, but the thought of former slaves from across the sea meshing with the smallfolk of the Seven Kingdoms without issue seemed overly optimistic. Most probably didn't even speak the Common Tongue!
"Yes, there will be problems, but they can be blunted. Westeros has already become more economically efficient in the last decade. We have the coin, tools, and better processes – the labor will simply allow some of the ideas to come to fruition sooner. Westeros is far more sparsely populated than what it can support." Elaena rubbed her chin. "I'm going to propose a deal with Lady Laena. My Uncle Daemon isn't one for minutiae, and couched the right way, he'll be quite pleased to offload excess mouths to feed from his domain. In exchange, I'll agree to foster Maegor here." Her eyes looked up at him questioningly.
Kevan nodded. "Nothing has changed. I would be glad to have him beneath this roof. It is not his fault he was born with those maladies, and it shall give me a preview of how children grow for when we have some of our own."
Elaena's smile was a shade brittle, but she nodded. Kevan knew of her fears, and even understood them, so he put that from his mind for the moment. It wasn't the time to prod tender wounds, but he could distract from them with something else he'd noticed.
"Though..." he continued in a soft voice, tinged with concern, "I'd hoped you would not feel the need to do that yet again."
"The need to do what?" she asked.
"The formal bargaining with your loved ones. Lady Laena can see the wisdom of providing an outlet for the Tyroshi slaves. You can foster a child without needing to exchange something for it. Why make these tasks such a cold endeavor?"
"Unspoken implication and communication have their place, but it is always better to formalize important decisions and communications," Elaena answered, some passion in her voice. Kevan didn't think it was anger, but it might turn into it, if he wasn't cautious.
"Hmm, I disagree. Not everything must be a business transaction, especially with family."
"Misunderstandings can be deadly. That is why I was so upfront with you and the other suitors. It's why I am upfront with my family, at least where I can be. Removing ambiguity and presenting clear boundaries and expectations makes for a more effective relationship," Elaena countered, voice firm.
I'm not sure I have the eloquence to explain what I mean.
"Elaena, my dearest betrothed, do you think other families make these sorts of formal arrangements?"
"Others performing sub-optimally should be no impediment to our own efficiency. I do understand the concern you're voicing, Kevan." She paused for a moment too long, then patted his hand. "Going too far outside social norms can also lead others to view me poorly, but I assure you I can navigate the discussion with Laena."
Kevan shook his head with amusement. "You really do view the world differently."
"I… am explaining myself in the most direct way I can, Kevan. In social situations, I tend to mask my true feelings on such things in part due to my growing up in the court of King's Landing, but since we are to wed, I thought it best not to put on a façade."
"And I cherish you for it, and I'll speak no more of it for now."
There are layers to you that I haven't discovered, but why do I get the feeling you are still engaging in mummery?
"My father has arranged for some visitors with young noble daughters to serve as ladies-in-waiting or handmaidens for you."
"I don't need them."
"Of course, but they will be useful for Westerlands politics. You are a royal princess, and nobles – even those who would normally be loyal to the Lannisters – will be enticed to send you their daughters and curry favor with House Targaryen," Kevan replied.
Elaena exhaled heavily. "Very well. I'll depend on you for information. I am willing to play these games, but I won't devote much of my time to it. I have too much work to do with the Dragon Bank. Who do you think would be best?"
Kevan had prepared for this and began rattling off names, along with the benefits and potential annoyances. Elaena had little tolerance for simpering fools or outright spies. Her coterie would be small, but it would bring her up to speed on the Westerlands, provide prominent connections or allies, and help further defang Jason Lannister.
No matter what, knowing all the plans they'd discussed before and having been chosen for the honor of her hand, Kevan would do everything that he could to help.
Webnovel is a shitty website that allows for plagiarism. Tiananmen Square massacre. Also the CCP sucks as does Winnie the Pooh loser known as Xi Jinping.
***
Daemon was eager for the battle. Though it galled him to admit it, Laenor's plan was well-crafted, accounting for every angle and concern a strong commander ought to and more. Advantage upon advantage stacked up to support their strike, to the point where Daemon could not even envision a situation where Tyrosh had any hope of resisting.
The plan even accounted for his rightful due in earning the most glory, for as the leader of the King's armies, he had insisted upon the honor of taking the city itself. It was gratifying to see the vaunted 'Dark Storm' and Daemon's annoying good-mother acquiesce to his demand. The role of Seasmoke and Meleys was to destroy the Tyroshi fleet. Assigning two dragons to the task made sense, as it would be possible for some ships to flee under cover of darkness. All the better, too, in securing the most complete and glorious victory for Daemon himself.
'Tis the natural order of things, for the people of Tyrosh to see my power clearly and as above all others.
A night assault complicated matters, but he would make do. Caraxes rose into the night sky, ascending without needing to be commanded. Where Daemon ended and Caraxes began was always fluid in times of battle. He flew high before crossing into Tyrosh, the late-night torches and lanterns below serving as beacons as he plummeted downward.
Caraxes roared as he descended, unfurling his wings to slow his fall. The high, fused black dragonstone walls were of no consequence to them. Daemon oriented himself and spotted the opulent manse that served as the home of the Archon of Tyrosh. Caraxes spewed flame as he soared past the building. Screams and cries of terror rose from the city below, mingling with the crackling roar of flames as the fleet was set ablaze by Seasmoke and Meleys.
Daemon circled with Caraxes before swooping down for another gout of flame, hotter than any forge. The manse and the surrounding buildings were not made of dragonstone; no, the original military bastion had not been lavish enough for these merchants. Daemon laughed as the building collapsed in on itself. With that done, he gave his first spoken command to Caraxes of the night.
"Vēzot!"
Caraxes ascended, soaring high above the city once more. Orienting himself, Daemon spotted the main gate, where a combined force of Baratheon, Velaryon, Targaryen, Celtigar, Estermont, and Tarth soldiers would soon launch their assault. Caraxes landed atop the wall, unleashing a torrent of flame along its length near the gate. The few sentries stationed there were burned alive, though a pair chose to leap to their deaths instead.
Caraxes descended to the ground, gripping the gate in his powerful maw. Metal shrieked under the force of his bite as his long, sinewy neck tensed. With a final wrench, the gate was torn from the stone. Caraxes let out a vicious, triumphant roar. A few arrows were loosed toward the dragon, and Daemon grinned.
Prey.
Caraxes charged forward, his gaze locking onto a pair of archers. One was crushed beneath his massive bulk, while the other met a swift end, bitten clean in two. Horns blared from the city, but any attempts to organize a defense proved paltry. Soldiers scattered at the sight of Caraxes, and the sole display of courage came when a squad of twenty spearmen fearlessly charged the dragon. They fell as easily as those who fled, but Daemon saluted their bravery with his sword as they were massacred.
His work was not yet complete; another gate awaited on the far side of the city, needing to be torn open to allow the Dornish contingent entry. For a fleeting moment, he considered leaving it untouched, but they were, at least for now, technically allies.
Dorne will be mine one day as well, though perhaps I will start with Lys and Myr.
There was more resistance this time. Groups of crossbowmen and archers had sent a wave of death toward Daemon. Caraxes shielded him with his bulk and long neck. For this battle, Daemon was wearing proper plate, and not simple dragon riding leathers. But even those precautions proved themselves unnecessary as no bolt or arrow struck him. Fiery breath soon ended that attempted resistance, and another set of gates were torn asunder.
Daemon's blood was up, and Caraxes yearned to set more of the city ablaze, but he held back. This was to be his city, his new capital of the Stepstones – a prize worthy of his greatness. He would not mar it unnecessarily. Taking wing once more, he ensured the walls were purged of scorpions and archers. Finally, he perched atop the shattered ruins of the first gate he had torn open, watching as the banners of Westeros streamed into the city.
The harbor was aflame, and from the fires on the water, Daemon knew that much of the Tyroshi fleet had been caught off guard. The Sea Snake had cast his nets wide; any ships that managed to escape would soon find themselves cornered by the finest of House Velaryon.
By dawn's light, the city was under his control. Boros Baratheon stomped up to him.
"Curse you Caraxes! I've seen border skirmishes that took more effort!" Boros shook his fist at the dragon, though it was clear to all he meant no true ill will.
"How quick were they to throw down their swords?"
Boros took off his helm and handed it to a squire in Tarth livery, and then drank deeply from a waterskin.
"Swords, aye, quite quickly. Craven, the lot of 'em. Spears, though, they gave a good fight. Had to cut 'em down to a man." The man laughed. "One actually got me off my feet, but not for long!"
Rhaenys had landed herself and greeted Boros warmly.
"Cousin, I am glad that the Warrior saw you through this battle."
"Battle, if you can call it that. I was just complaining to our Rogue Prince here that this was hardly worth the voyage. Who ever heard of a war being resolved in a day?"
Daemon smirked. "If you wanted a longer war, you should have spoken to my brother and put someone less competent in charge of his armies."
Rhaenys gave him a look, but Boros looked at him quizzically. "How was I supposed to do that from Storm's End?"
"It was a jest," Daemon bit out.
Boros laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. Had Daemon been a mite less sturdy he would have stumbled.
Baratheons – he thought with disgust.
Turning to his good-mother he asked, "I trust you and Laenor managed to deal with the fleet?"
"We have. Hundreds of ships have been burnt, a few dozen have surrendered and are war spoils."
"Good, this city has quite the treasure. I will honor your son's agreement with the Dornish. We'll pool all the wealth of the city, and they'll receive 10% of it. Another 10% will be apportioned between the houses that aided in this venture, and 30% shall go to the royal coffers. The rest will be mine for the city's repairs," Daemon said with a smile. He was not one for counting coppers, but this was a considerable amount of wealth.
"I will oversee the distribution. My son is patrolling the waters and will give early warning if Lys or Myr move upon the city," Rhaenys said, with some weariness in her voice.
Daemon waved her off, trusting his good-mother to handle the issue fairly. Gods knew he hated dealing with such drudgery. He wished Laena were here to see him in this moment. It was like Aegon the Conqueror, come again.
I'll have to find a few whores later. A step lower than Lys, but just as good as the brothels of King's Landing.
***
It had pained Rhaenyra to leave Laena and her darling Visenya again, but Dragonstone and her own children needed her. The child within her was growing larger, and soon it would be well-advised that she travel less. She always hated that restriction – her regular flights with Syrax were a rare solace, a chance to feel truly free.
Harwin would also spend more time with Lyra and their two children. Jonah often played with her son Aenar, given their similar ages. The future Lord Strong took after his father quite clearly, which made the friendly relations between the two troubling for the usual reasons. Melissa was still young but already as adorable as could be. While Lyra's presence still struck some deep irking in her heart, Rhaenyra had to admit that the chit's children were sweet and innocent as could be.
She missed Daemon, who was off in Tyrosh, bringing order to the conquered city with all the aplomb of his days commanding the Gold Cloaks. Her bright spot in this lonelier time was seeing Jace, Luke, Aenar, and Aelyx. Her four boys were growing so quickly. Jace would soon turn ten, with Luke just a little over a year behind. Aenar would reach seven before long, and little Aelyx was nearing his fourth birthday.
They grow so quickly. I hope my fifth is a daughter, for while I face childbirth better than any woman I know, it still has taken a toll on me.
Her lovers had not seemed to mind, but court gossip oft compared her to Alicent, and it always seemed to diminish her by comparison. Gods, she wished Daemon were here to pull her from her frustrations. Harwin was understanding, kind, and her rock, but sometimes she needed someone to figuratively shake her and remind her that she was heir to the Iron Throne – destined to become the most powerful woman in history.
"Is father going to be home soon? I'm worried about him." Aenar asked, face scrunched with unease.
"Stupid," Luke said harshly. "He's the Dark Storm! Of course he's going to be all right. I bet he burns all the pirate boats in just one hour!"
"Luke! Be nice to your brother. He is younger than you, and concern for those who go into battle is no ill thing. Not that there is likely to be further battles. Your father is simply there as a show of force to keep the other nearby cities in line," Rhaenyra admonished her second oldest.
"Don't worry, Aeny," Jace told Aenar, using the nickname they oft called him, "no one can beat him. Plus, he even has Lord Daemon and Grandmother with him."
Rhaenyra smiled at her eldest. She was so proud of him. Ser Harwin said he had a natural talent with a blade, but more than that, he also cared for his siblings and sought to help them. Rhaenyra loved Daemon, but she did not wish for her children to have the type of sibling bond he and her father shared. While there was love between them, there was also acrimony and regret over years wasted at odds.
"Sorry," Luke said, and then quickly changed the subject. "When can we see Aunt Laena's baby?"
"You will see Visenya soon enough, but she's still very little. Maybe in a couple of months when she can visit here, or we can visit them."
"Months!" Luke exclaimed in childish exaggeration.
"You will learn patience one day, Lucerys. Now, what did you learn since I've been gone?"
Luke and Aenar groaned, while Aelyx just laughed. He was too young yet for little 'quizzes' as her sister had once called them. Jace was beaming and had an answer ready on his lips.
"I learned how to count in Low Valyrian and know the words: stop, hello, goodbye, you, and I." Jace proceeded to demonstrate, and Rhaenyra ruffled his hair. Her precious Elaena no longer tolerated that, so she had to get in the affection while her children were still young and biddable.
Luke looked down and finally said, "I learned the names of all the Kings since Aegon the Conqueror."
Rhaenyra suspected that was something he had already known before she had left for Laena's birth, but she congratulated him anyway.
Aenar replied that he had learned how to sum three-digit numbers. More hair ruffling and celebration followed. Still, as much as she loved to dote upon her children, she had duties to attend to. There were letters piled on her desk, along with decisions to be made regarding the war efforts and the strange calm that had descended. For weeks, there had been frantic effort—ships launched, supplies gathered, and men preparing for war. And now, unless the other Free Cities took action, there would be peace.
Fortunately, Dragonstone had never had a vast number of people on it. The letters were the most important. One was from Alicent, no doubt inquiring about the weddings. Despite their hatred for one another, Rhaenyra knew that Alicent would not want their animosity to sour the royal weddings. Another was from Jeyne Arryn asking her to visit the Vale once she had recovered from childbirth. A letter from the Wall asking her to intercede with her father to send more men, queer tales were being told by the rangers and the small council had already declined to act.
In the middle of war planning, no doubt the small council had other more important matters to attend to than stories of snarks.
Still, odd rumors about the Starks were circulating in the North. She pushed it from her mind when she saw a letter from Lord Davos Yronwood, inquiring about a match for his daughter and one of her sons.
He wasted no time. Our newfound ally seems eager.
She would have to ask the Maesters about House Yronwood, as she was not familiar with them, other than knowing they were one of the more substantial houses of Dorne. Her two eldest were already spoken for, but she had given little thought to her two youngest. Perhaps she would even allow them to choose their brides when they grew older. Her sister Elaena had seemed to enjoy herself with her tour.
Rhaenyra stretched and took a break from her work. Two of her household guards were on duty, and she bade them summon Harwin. He arrived shortly, and once they were alone, she kissed him.
"How are the children?"
"Quite good, they are both growing well. Lyra adores them, but she worries over you as well. Next time you see her, spare a kind word or two, you know how she worries."
Rhaenyra sighed. "I shall, but I truly do not wish to speak of her. I've received a betrothal proposal for Aenar or Aelyx from one of the houses of Dorne. 'Tis too early to say one way or another, but how would you feel about allowing Aenar to choose his bride when he comes of age? I'll ask Daemon the same for Aelyx."
Harwin frowned. "Rhaenyra, you know I have no claim on him. If you ask me for counsel as an advisor, I will give it. But as much as I love him and our other sons, this isn't my choice."
Rhaenyra frowned in return. "You didn't say this when we were discussing Jace and Luke."
"I was younger then, and less wise to the ways of the world. Rhaenyra, this is you and Laenor's decision. As an advisor, I would suggest that a balance be maintained between what is good for the Seven Kingdoms and what will make the children happy. Marriage is a tool, to be used to secure peace, grant favor, and enhance stability." Harwin spoke steadily as he held her.
"A tool that may not be needed. Who can oppose us now? That bitch will continue to drip poison in my father's ear, but he has become accustomed to it. For over fourteen years, he has had the opportunity to name Aegon his heir instead of me and has refused. If the Greens try aught after his death, it will be smothered in its infancy. Those loyal to me and precious to me have taken a fortress city the size of King's Landing in a matter of hours. No one would dare challenge my claim after my father's death. Gods send that it be still a good many years away."
Harwin engulfed her in his arms. "I don't mean to plant worries in your head during this time, just that the future is unpredictable. I did not think I would be Lord of Harrenhal so soon. Just weeks ago we thought your husband would succumb to the attack. All that I am advising is to let us not promise something to our children until we know the lay of the land better." He pulled back and laughed. "Besides, at their age they are not yet interested in that sort of thing!"
Rhaenyra knew he spoke sense. Her rock, her Harwin, always spoke sense. And yet… sometimes she didn't want to do what was pragmatic and logical. She was not Elaena! She wanted to make bold pronouncements and grand gestures… but there was time for that in the future. For now, she would just enjoy the warm presence of the man she loved.
***
Aemond had done his best to use his time in confinement productively. He read books, persuaded Aegon to play Cyvasse with him, and spent hours teaching Daenora additional commands in High Valyrian. His mother was eager for her to bond with Silverwing in all due haste. At only seven, there were risks involved – particularly given her… less than focused disposition.
I recall my mother being more fearful of dragons when I was younger.
"No, the inflection matters. Try it again." Aemond commanded.
"But why? Common Tongue isn't like that, it makes a lot more sense than Valyrian!"
He shook his head in annoyance. "Our forebearers built the greatest civilization in the world! High Valyrian is as much an art as it is a tool for communication."
"That's stupid. Elaena says tools should be… pragmetal," Daenora huffed.
"The word you're looking for is pragmatic – or pragmatical, depending on the context. And she is correct."
Of course.
"I doubt she used that term in reference to High Valyrian, because that tongue is not merely a tool for communication within the family. It is also a means of speaking with dragons. There are even a few ancient texts that suggest the sorceries of Old Valyria were more potent depending on the language used. It is far more than just a tool, which is why I am certain our sister did not denigrate that link to our ancient past."
Daenora screwed up her face and Aemond knew she was about to run off.
"Don't you want to fly with me and Elaena? Aegon too? Then it is important that you learn this," Aemond explained, deliberately keeping his voice light.
"Yeah, I do. I just don't like how difficult it is," Daenora replied softly, her voice tinged with frustration.
Good, she can be reasoned with.
A knock on his door rang out and the Targaryen guardsmen announced Princess Elaena.
Daenora dashed forward and charged into Elaena's arms.
"You're back! Take me flying!" the little terror demanded.
"I will in a few hours, but I need to speak to our brother alone. Go change, and we'll go within the hour."
Aemond felt dread rise within him. Since the stunning victory in Tyrosh, he had learned what had transpired. The Dark Storm had taken their sister to Dorne to confront the issue of the Dornish assassins directly. There, they discovered it was not Dorne, but Tyrosh, that had been behind the assassination attempt on Laenor. By attacking Dorne, he could have put both their lives in jeopardy.
How was I supposed to know? It wasn't my fault.
His sister left with a cheer and Aemond was alone with Elaena.
"I'm sorry." He bowed his head. "If I had known you were in Dorne, I would never have done it."
"You would never chase Dornish raiders?"
Aemond was rarely at a loss for words, but he stumbled over himself, and then finally opted for a half-truth.
"I would gladly let villages, towns, even entire castles be sacked by Dorne if it meant not putting you in danger. But no. I meant that I would not have been so zealous in burning the Dornish holdings. I did that because I wanted to make a name for myself—show people what I am worth, a man who can command respect. I also wished to punish them for the temerity of attacking the Targaryen family," Aemond confessed.
He had considered explaining about Uncle Daemon, but he had given his word. Elaena had taught him the importance of not going back on it, lest no one ever trust him again. A promise broken was more than a mere lie or deception, which, given the circumstances, were at times acceptable.
"I see. Aemond, you turn two-and-ten in a matter of days. In your efforts to prove yourself, you have done the opposite. Why are you so impatient?" She held his gaze, her blue eyes seemingly trying to light a path into his mind.
Aemond scowled. Yes, he was young, but he possessed the skills to be useful and was simply better than others twice his age – his worth beyond dispute.
"If I had not pushed to be at Harvest Hall, I feared the war with the Dornish would end swiftly. From there, what foes would remain with my father desiring peace? I would have lost my only chance to prove myself in combat for mayhap two decades. I had to take the chance."
"You did not have to take the chance," Elaena said, a chill in her voice that twisted Aemond's stomach.
"You accomplished nothing, save to undermine important negotiations. You killed hundreds of our new ally's people. You cast my prior suggestions to our father in a negative light. And you…"
"It was NOT my intent!" Aemond snarled.
"You think intentions have ever mattered?" Elaena's elegant face took on harsh contours. "Results matter, results have always been the only thing that matters. If a servant tries to do well, but fails over and over, do you continue to keep him in your service? No, you get rid of those who are unproductive and cannot achieve the goals set for them! Do not speak to me of your intentions, for they are irrelevant."
Aemond squirmed. "If I had been told…"
"Ah yes, secretive negotiations should have been explained to a hot-headed young boy prior to their commencement," Elaena's voice dripped with derision.
Aemond raged. "DO NOT MOCK ME!" He trembled, his hands were shaking. He did not think he had ever felt this much miserable and nauseating fury coursing through him.
"Control yourself." Elaena said, voice sharp and harsh.
Aemond breathed, and focused.
Wait… is she testing me? Deliberately provoking me to determine if I am as rash as my actions paint me? Ah, that is why she mocked me.
He bowed his head. "Forgive me, Elaena. I am irritable due to father's punishment – a punishment that he had every right to mete out." Aemond's voice was calm now, smooth, with the cadence of a diplomat. "But it is to you and Ser Laenor that I must make amends. What can I do?"
Elaena looked at him, her face revealing nothing, but some hidden portion of his intellect sensed surprise from his sister, despite not being able to identify why he felt that way.
"Formal amends to me are not necessary, Aemond. I was not harmed, but the people of Dorne were. You receive coin from father, and eventually, you will have your own lands with incomes. There is a concept from beyond the Dothraki called wergeld." Elaena's voice was softer now, more the tone she took when teaching. "When you maim or kill someone, the family is entitled to compensation. You should pay restitution to the families of those you have slain."
Aemond nodded. "I am not sure how much is appropriate; can you help with me with that?"
Elaena smiled. "I can, and the Dragon Bank can loan you what you do not have now." Her tone shifted again. "You are shrewd, Aemond. You are taking appropriate steps to recover from a disastrous mistake. But I know an act when I see one. You are trying to appease me, not doing what you think is best."
Aemond again nodded. "You caught me there, sister. But I am your junior, not yet wise to all the ways of the world. Should I not lean on your guidance instead of my own understanding? This is a novel situation I find myself in, should I not stand on the shoulders of those who have come before me?"
Elaena let out a soft laugh. Aemond was being rather obviously sycophantic by regurgitating the lessons and phrases Elaena had used before.
"I already complimented your shrewdness, Aemond, no need to press it further," she replied. Elaena turned to leave.
"Elaena," he began, a serious tone entering his voice, "I am sorry. I would never risk you. You are…" his tongue betrayed him and he couldn't think of the proper words. "You are… more than any of my other siblings and my parents. I have learned ten times more from you than any Maester. I am sorry."
She nodded. "I appreciate that. I'll have paperwork drawn up for the loan. Consider writing a letter of apology to Prince Qoren as well. I need to change and get ready to take our sister flying. You've made a grievous error, Aemond. It cannot be so cleanly washed away, but you are taking all the appropriate steps to mitigate the damage."
And with that, Elaena was gone, and Aemond was left to ponder what he must do in the future.
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Published:2024-02-24Updated:2026-05-20Words:319,557Chapters:58/?Comments:1,547Kudos:3,725Bookmarks:1,071Hits:221,293
A Young Woman's Inevitable Dance of the Dragons
Failninjaninja
Chapter 39
Notes:
As always - praise MARch_Of_Time for proofreading and enhancements to the chapter!!
Chapter Text
"Good intentions. But that answer doesn't meet Tanya's standards. What she needs is quality." -From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 7
Viserys was well pleased with the outcome of the latest small council meeting. With the stunning victory his brother and good-son had accomplished, Lys and Myr were more than eager to assure the Seven Kingdoms that they wished no hostilities and would cease all piracy in the surrounding waters. In exchange for the crown refraining from moving into the 'Disputed Lands' – a territory that had seen over a century of on-and-off conflicts between those city-states – both cities agreed to continue trading food from those lands to Tyrosh.
For one night of conflict, I have even brought peace to a corner of Essos.
His good-sister had proposed moving some of the freed slaves to Westeros to aid various projects the Dragon Bank sought to accelerate. While there were concerns about the cost, the Master of Coin assured the small council that the wealth taken from Tyrosh was more than sufficient to offset the additional expenses. The captured ships further eased the task.
Houses Frey, Beesbury, Velaryon, Selmy, Manderly, Arryn, Lefford, Reed, and Falwell had already found areas for them. Other houses were more cautious, but it was a start. Viserys was beginning to think his reign was uniquely blessed. What had started as a strike to the heart of his family had turned into a windfall for the Seven Kingdoms.
Conflict aside, it was time to refocus his energies on what he believed would be the greatest gathering of lords during his reign. Two royal weddings held simultaneously were unprecedented in the annals of Westeros. Though he had been dissuaded from some of his more extravagant ideas, it would still be the grandest wedding celebration in a hundred years!
To that end, he had summoned his wife to discuss various aspects. Some details were minor, but they still held significance. He did not wish to tread on his wife's feet, or as his daughter called it 'micromanage,' but certain matters required his attention.
"To my lingering sorrow, I know that you and Rhaenyra do not enjoy each other's company. But please, no open displays of animosity," Viserys commanded his wife. "I also ask that you reach out to her and invite some of her serving staff from Dragonstone. Larys tells me they are the finest in the realm for sweet confections."
Alicent's mouth thinned. "It will not be me who starts hostilities, but I will do as you say. I have already corresponded with her on a few matters regarding the celebration. For all her faults, she does love Elaena, as we all do, and she would not wish to ruin the festivities."
"Good, good. There has been too much strife; these weddings will mark a turning point, for Westeros and this family. The next generation will not have this bad blood between members of the realm. Ser Criston and Ser Laenor at odds, you and Rhaenyra, Daemon and your father. No more."
Before Alicent could argue, Viserys raised his hand, demanding she listen instead.
"I will not argue about who was at fault for any of this; it no longer matters. Since we have failed to set a good example, we must instead give them an opportunity to interact. Starting at the weddings, by seating them at one of the far tables together – my children, Daemon's children, and Rhaenyra's children – feasting, conversing, jesting, and getting along with one another. After the wedding, perhaps as soon as a year from now, I intend to send one child from Dragonstone to King's Landing, and one of mine to Dragonstone.
Alicent looked stricken. "You can't think to send one of our children to that den of debauchery."
Viserys struggled not to reveal his anger at such a statement. He could not quite master his features, but pressed on in a kindly fashion.
"No one will do harm to a child, let alone my child. Send minders, both spiritual and physical if you feel it is necessary. Perhaps some natural friendships will occur at the wedding, making our selection easier."
In truth, based on the ages it would be Aemond, Daenora, or Uthor. It probably shouldn't be Aemond either, and if Lord Borros agrees to the betrothal, it would be good for him to be at Storm's End.
"This is a mistake, Viserys. You turn a blind eye, but all the realm knows that neither Rhaenyra nor Laenor has been faithful. Ask your Master of Whisperers what rumors abound in this very city."
His temper finally frayed.
"Enough! You speak poison to our children over my daughter, and I am sure my daughter speaks poison of you." It had gone on long enough. He couldn't prevent the venomous talk, but he did not need to hear it himself. "No more, not another word about your base accusations against my daughter. Tongues will wag, but I will reiterate that should they wag loud enough to reach my ears, they will go missing. Have I made myself clear, wife?"
Alicent glared at him and lifted her chin. "You have, Your Grace," her words clipped.
He closed his eyes. Why must it always be so difficult? The one tragedy of his rule was the strained relations with his family. What he was embarking upon now was most necessary. Rhaenyra might well be just as angry as Alicent, but he cared not. The next generation would be better and inherit a land under one, unified House Targaryen.
***
The Sealord of Braavos chaired the conference of notables. He had limited the Iron Bank to only six of their keyholders, lest the meeting grow too crowded. Although the meeting was held in Braavos, it already included the head priest of the Moonsingers, a Red Priest of R'hllor, a member of the House of Black and White, two notable magisters, a wealthy merchant, and, of course, his own First Sword.
The dignitaries from other cities included a delegation from Myr, led by the second most powerful magister in the city. Delegations from Lorath, Pentos, and Norvos were also in attendance, though he had limited them to just three representatives from each of those cities. A ship captain from the remnants of the Tyroshi fleet was the only representative from that conquered city. The surprise came when the Volantis delegation arrived with a blue-lipped Warlock of Qarth.
Had he already been in Volantis on some business?
"The Free Cities, and any other allies who wish to join, must make the Seven Kingdoms pay for this treacherous assault! We must stand as one and declare war on Viserys!"
The Tyroshi captain was angry, but looking around the table, others were not. Concerned, yes, but not angry.
"Perhaps," said one of the delegates from Pentos, "you should of have thought twice before trying to assassinate the most dangerous man in the Seven Kingdoms."
"We did no such thing!"
"How would you even know?" The Myrish magister scoffed. "You own naught but your own vessel and your home, and now not even that. Your presence here is merely because you are the only ship that managed to escape Tyrosh's utter and total defeat.
"Why would we even…"
"Enough, you've spoken your piece," the Sealord said with finality. "A man must look forward, not behind him, yes?"
The Tyroshi captain did not look like he agreed, but he did not risk speaking further.
Good. That slaver's bluster meant less than nothing with Tyrosh itself so thoroughly conquered, and it was irksome to hear him speak as if it were otherwise.
The Pentoshi delegation looked to each other, and then one stood. "Prince Daemon and Lady Laena were our guests for a time. They are accounted as friends to us; we should take King Viserys at his word."
Lorath, Norvos, and Myr disagreed vehemently. The Sealord found it curious how passionate the normally distant Lorathi were and made a note to investigate why. They were in favor of punishing the Seven Kingdoms and entering a formal alliance against the dragons.
"Volantis has not spoken, what do you favor?" the Sealord asked.
"We are concerned by the encroachment of Westeros into Essos. Our friend from Qarth believes the utmost caution is necessary."
The blue lipped Warlock gave an enigmatic smile.
"The court of King Viserys is one of power. I do not speak only of dragons. The city reeks of sorcery, and Qarth will not be part of any efforts against Westeros. I urge all to do likewise: you do not just deal with martial strength, but with a sorcerer beyond your ken."
The Red Priest nodded. "We tried to slip ears into the city, and they were swiftly caught and dealt with. Our next step was to send one of our own order, but hearing your warning, perhaps not."
Magic was not something to be trifled with. It was frequently more dangerous and less useful than those who sought to employ it. Those who could master it, though, were dangerous beyond compare. He glanced at the representative of the House of Black and White. Their powers were queer, and the type of sorcery that could be utilized was equally troubling.
The Myrish were distraught, no doubt hoping Volantis and its power would be behind them.
"Mystical nonsense, dragons and men are what should be feared!"
The Sealord ignored that comment and instead looked directly at the Warlock. "Who is this sorcerer?"
"The one we hold in fearful respect, the one that we surmise has apprentices in his craft who may be dangerous as well, is none other than the Hive Master himself. The Golden Glamourer, or, as some know him, the Arcane Apiarist, is the mastermind behind the power of King Viserys. He sits in his councils. He arranges the Dragon Bank to fund the war on the Stepstones. He no doubt had a hand in… enhancing the Dark Storm, allowing him to act as his agent."
There were some frowns, many likely did not know of him. The keyholders of the Iron Bank exchanged glances. One spoke slowly.
"There have been dealings with their new bank, but we have not dealt with him directly. Your description does not match what we know of him."
The Warlock gestured. "Why would it? Their Seven Faiths have no love for sorcery. He no doubt has more arcane elements to focus his attention on than the minutiae of banking. Beware the Bee Lord's sting. His agent is the Dark Storm, a truly malevolent specimen of sorcery, carefully nurtured and funded," there was a sense of dark awe in the Warlock's words, that alone unnerving the Sealord most, "and when one city dared attempt to strike him down, overnight it was conquered. Overwhelming, crushing, enduring retribution - his ensorcelled wings oh-so swiftly deliver."
The wizened head priest of the Moonsingers strode forward, voice low and plaintive. "Such dire warnings we can only redouble, for the moon and skies are conduits through which innumerable magics might flow. Indeed, to the west they are shadowed by a great, Dark Storm. A Velaryon, born among the salt and wave, favored is he by the winds and waters to conquer them so."
The old man raised his arms, as if beseeching the skies, "A Dragonrider, the one who mounts Seasmoke, he who turns the seas and skies black with the soot and smoke of his conquests! He who is at home in the night, the storm, the dark! He who, through unending slaughter, dyes ever more islands in blood and adds them to his domain."
The priest, his tone so solemn and steady as to enrapture all listeners, lowered his hands, "Bloody red, he stains his conquests. Islands surrounded by sea and sky, conquered and taken by storm. Islands through which trade flows like lifeblood across the seas. Thricefold the symbolism. Thrice the workings of sorcerous power." To punctuate his words, the Moonsinger raised three fingers, "Seas of Smoke. Skies of Storm. Islands of Blood. With these as centerpieces, forged and entwined through the vessel of one such as the Dark Storm, the Bee Lord could have worked enchantments of unknowable power. The likes of which not seen since our order hid Braavos from Valyria."
By the end of his words, the priest's aged voice was naught but a hoarse whisper, yet still it carried through the room, "Such a sorcerer is a master beyond the greatest workings and lores of the Moonsingers, and with offerings in blood of such magnitude? All that is touched by the seas would thus contend with a man like forces of nature in battle, thricefold and all the greater for it."
The silence in the hall grew cavernous as nervous gazes flickered between the somber priest and the Warlock, whose eerie smirk and knowing nods subtly confirmed the Moonsinger's urging. Even the Red Priest looked unnerved.
"So you would counsel us to do nothing? Just pray that Westeros does not gobble up another of the Free Cities?" the magister from Myr looked pained and more than a little aggrieved, his voice strangled.
The Warlock spread his hands. "I propose you be good neighbors and seek to trade with them. One of the scions of House Velaryon is on a trip to the easternmost reaches of Essos. Some of our ears have learned that they are on the hunt for specific types of seeds and plants. Some of the descriptors are of those we do not recognize, but we suspect could be powerful magical reagents. If the Conjurer of Coins can obtain what he desires through peaceful trade as opposed to conquest, we believe he will be content. Indeed, for it was disruptions in trade that first drew his and his agent's brutal ire eastward."
The gathered powerful murmured at that. The Sealord wasn't yet convinced. He did not wish for war, and in truth, rejoiced that one of the cities that dealt in slavery had been conquered. Still, the mood had shifted; there was no further talk of military alliances. The cities had decided to instead seek the way of bribery and would be sending wedding gifts and representatives to King's Landing.
The Myrish aren't happy. They'll continue to tinker with their weapons of war, and my own ears will copy those plans. Scorpions that could reliably kill dragons would alter the balance of power. Even if our cities could not be so swiftly taken as Tyrosh – the Seven Kingdoms could easily strangle trade in the Narrow Sea. Westeros is a dagger at our necks until we have an answer, until then that warlock has the right of it. Trade, coin, and peace are the way of it.
***
The Maesters had cleared her for flight and… other activities.
Really now, Vaelar's apprentice assists with childbirth. To think he would be discomfited by the very subject that precedes it!
Laena had enjoyed making the man squirm so delightfully. She was happy and in a lively mood with those around her. Visenya was healthy, her husband victorious, her brother alive, and Elaena had proposed a plan that ensured Maegor would be cared for and cherished. Laena would visit him often, of course, but keeping him in Tyrosh with her and Daemon would have done him no favors.
She was leaving Visenya behind, but only for a time. In a few more months, once she had gained enough strength and size, Visenya could be carried on dragonback. More than anything, Laena longed to reunite with Daemon, to feel his arms around her again. The challenge of ruling Tyrosh together thrilled her as well. While the Stepstones saw plenty of travelers, the trappings of true civilization were absent from those rugged islands. Tyrosh, by contrast, promised far greater delights.
Her flight from Driftmark to King's Landing was an easy one. Vhagar rumbled in mild protest at having to land so quickly. Laena placed a reassuring hand on her tough scales and murmured softly in High Valyrian. She wouldn't be long. Just a quick, private audience with her good-brother, the King, and then she would collect young Hamish Arryn.
Hamish was tasked with establishing the Dragon Bank branch in Tyrosh and aiding in the relocation of freed slaves who wished to settle there or elsewhere. Elaena had sent thoughtful letters outlining potential economic challenges in Laena's new domain, particularly the risks posed by a large number of idle hands without a means of sustenance. Such a situation could lead them to rely on the largesse of her and Daemon or, worse, drive them to theft and other crimes.
Viserys had always been kind to her, and they spoke for several hours, much to the evident annoyance of the King's wife, Alicent Hightower. Laena, feeling charitable, chose to see it as nothing more than a dutiful daughter showing loyalty to her father. Otto's enmity toward Daemon had never been a secret, after all.
Young Hamish arrived with several bags filled with books. Laena wondered how the Arryn of Gulltown had adjusted to not being chosen as Elaena's husband. Clearly, he was thriving in King's Landing. Men thrice his age had bowed their heads and carried out his orders before he finally turned to her.
"Lady Laena, you have my thanks for agreeing to take me." Hamish smiled widely and bowed respectfully.
"It is no bother, Vhagar will hardly notice the weight," Laena replied.
"I imagine not. And do not worry, I will stay out of Prince Daemon's way. I don't believe I made a good impression on him when we met," he smiled wryly.
Laena raised an eyebrow.
"I refused to spar with him, which he took as a craven course. Perhaps it was, but I saw no benefit."
"Ah, 'tis no matter. I plan to keep Daemon thoroughly distracted upon my arrival."
He chuckled. "If you don't mind my saying it, the prince is a fortunate man."
Laena laughed. Hamish was not so easy to tease as the up-and-coming Maester!
The flight from King's Landing to Tyrosh was a long one to do all at once. She could have easily landed at Storm's End, but she was eager to arrive, and Hamish had no objections since he, too, wanted to start his task.
Upon landing, she was greeted by her brother. They embraced at length, the brush with the Stranger having only strengthened their sibling bond. It was a stark reminder that even the most puissant of warriors was not invincible. Laenor had always been a capable fighter, though never one to top the lists. Laena suspected her brother's true potential had only emerged in the crucible of a life-and-death struggle. She studied his features – he looked worn but healthy, and he was smiling.
"I trust Myr and Lys have not dared try anything?"
"Nary a peep from them, save agreement to the King's terms." His lips thinned. "Watch your husband. I fear he is eager to swallow the rest of the Triarchy."
"I shall do my best. I know the King's mind as well as you on this, and I will add my voice to his message. Where is mother?"
"At Storm's End, she gave it even odds that you would be stopping by. With you and Daemon here and the other cities too frightened to try anything, she'll be returning to Driftmark."
Laena nodded, slightly disappointed at having missed her, but relieved to know her mother would soon be watching over Visenya, at least for a time before she resumed her place on the small council. Her retainers would see to Visenya's safety and care, but a babe needed family.
They spoke a bit more about the mood of the city. It was mixed, for Daemon had a fearful reputation, but since the city had not truly been sacked, the people remained cautiously optimistic. Aside from a handful of rapes and a few unnecessary killings, the city was largely untouched. The wealth had been confiscated, but those with vast riches were all tied to the Archon and needed to be stripped of their power anyway. Daemon had the culprits of these crimes executed by feeding them to Caraxes.
By the time their conversation had finished, Hamish had slipped off with a pair of knights, one of whom she recognized as a finalist from a recent melee tournament.
Finally, it was time to see her husband. The guards escorted and then announced her. She passed carpeted halls, with tapestries from Westeros. It amused her because those tapestries must have been brought in with the invading force. The Seven Kingdoms had been quite confident in their victory.
Somewhat less amusing was seeing two women hastily slip out the door just before her arrival. She understood that a man had desires, but she had been expected today or on the morrow. Even so, Daemon remained a glorious sight to her eyes. He moved with an effortless grace that was near hypnotic, and when their lips met, she felt the same hunger stirring deep within her as when he first won her hand.
"Ahh, Daemon, I have missed you. How I wish I could have seen you on the day of your Conquest."
He made a happy sound in his throat as his hands roamed. There was little further talk for some time, but eventually when they had sated their desires they spoke.
"My love, your brother is well pleased with what you have accomplished. I spoke with him at King's Landing, and he knows he can trust you to rule this city well." Laena was curled up next to Daemon, her fingers idly tracing patterns on his chest. "He also expressed his faith in the strength of your reputation to prevent any further conflict. Your brother cherishes being known as a peaceful king."
Daemon laughed. "My brother has a King's art in using honeyed words to cut to the quick. Lys and Myr will be mine, but it will not be right away."
"Hmm," her voice practically purred at the thought of seeing Daemon bend Essos to his will. "I'll not try to dissuade you, but I also do not wish for strife between you two. I know how much that hurt you, despite your words."
"Bah," he grunted, but also took her hand and kissed it before setting it back on his chest.
He'll behave, for now.
Laena had always thirsted for challenge, which was why her match with Daemon suited her best. Trying to rein in a dragon like him – powerful, mercurial, and vain – would never be easy. But if things were too easy, she would grow bored. For the near term, at least, their time and energies would be focused and kept busy ensuring the city was safe, loyal, and prosperous.
***
For Selene Falwell, the opportunity to serve as a handmaiden to the princess was an exciting one. Not only would she have the chance to know a dragonrider, but there was also the possibility of gaining her assistance in securing a match. In truth, in many ways, she envied Elaena. The princess was but a few months older than her and had snatched the heir of Golden Tooth from the grasp of Westerlands women. Kevan wasn't the most important match, but he was one of the most sought after. His house held significant wealth, and he was said to be kind – nothing like some of the more... aggressive noble sons.
Selene liked to think that she resembled the princess most among the new handmaidens. Her hair was a shade darker, and her eyes were green instead of blue, but they were the same height!
If only I could carry myself with her refined elegance. She moves so effortlessly – I wager she's never tripped over her own two feet!
Lanna Reyne's reddish-blond hair marked that the Reyne family had some blood from outside the Westerlands mingled into their heritage. She was also tall, and her bosom was twice the size of Selene's or Princess Elaena's! Selene might have felt threatened by her, but Lanna was already betrothed to the young Jaren Lannister of Lannisport. It was a grand match, given that he was fourth in line for Casterly Rock, and even should Jason and Tyland not produce any heirs, he would already one day rule Lannisport. The only issue with Jaren was that he was just ten – seven years Lanna's junior.
That girl is far too forward with some of the knights, she's betrothed!
In contrast to Lanna, the last handmaiden to the princess was Cerenna Sarsfield. At eight-and-ten, she was the eldest of them all. Like Selene, she wasn't betrothed. She was pretty enough but dressed in clothing more typical of a septa. In her case, what you saw was what you got, as her piety and faith in the Seven were frequently spoken of.
When they arrived at the Tooth, Selene had expected to accompany the princess during needlework. Perhaps she would brush her hair and help her choose what to wear. Serving maids could do the same, but in practice, it was a good way to bond with the one you served as a handmaiden. It was a chance to discuss the news of the realm, potential matches, and even names for their future children!
She had quickly been disabused of that notion. Elaena had been polite, courteous, if a trifle cold. She explained that she was very busy assisting the Master of Coin, working with Lord Lefford and his son to prepare changes to the Lefford lands, and caring for Viktoriya. She did do needlework, but she didn't need help getting dressed. While she listened intently to gossip, she did not share her own from King's Landing. No, she made it clear that Selene and the others had to be useful.
Lanna sighed in annoyance. "Mother's mercy, this is ridiculous. Why is the language so base, isn't it supposed to Valyrian?"
Cerenna tsked. "It is a bastardized version of it. And you don't know High Valyrian, so don't pretend."
Selene coughed to cover a laugh. It would not do to get on Lanna's bad side. The Reyne lady would be far more influential in the future than Cerenna. She wondered if Cerenna even sought marriage – she seemed happiest in a sept.
"I've heard High Valyrian, and it sounds so much more refined than what they speak in Tyrosh." Lanna paused and then smirked. "Say, Cerenna, what do you think of these freed slaves, the ones who don't even follow the Seven, arriving in their thousands to the Westerlands?"
Cerenna tilted her head, almost like a bird. "I think it's an opportunity. These people were yoked by cruel heathen masters. They were freed by those who serve the Seven. Many will be illiterate and know nothing of our ways, but in time, basic gratitude should compel them to venerate the Seven-who-are-One."
Lanna looked annoyed and then glanced toward Selene.
"You say little, what is on your mind?"
"I'm just focusing on getting it right. Princess Elaena said this was important. The freed slaves coming here do not speak the Common Tongue at all," Selene replied.
"That's stupid," Lanna huffed. "We are to be handmaidens, not translators. Tyrosh is a trading city; surely, there would be some who speak the Common Tongue among them. I should talk with the princess. Someone who arranged this gave her the short end of the stick."
The door opened, and in walked said princess. She wore a slightly amused smile upon her delicate features as she entered.
"It was I who arranged it that way," Elaena said, her voice smooth. "I want the integration of freed slaves within Westeros to be successful. The arrivals who speak our language are heading for other houses that joined me in my efforts to see them relocated here. To that end, they are receiving many who can communicate. I, however, will oversee the more difficult group to work with, and you will be assisting."
Lanna lowered her head, quite far Selene noticed. "Ah, I did not know that, Princess Elaena. Forgive me for my ill-chosen words."
"You have done nothing wrong. In fact, I appreciate you speaking up when you see something that implies disloyalty."
The three handmaidens exchanged glances at the implied threat.
"I swear it upon the virtue of the Maiden that I will do so, princess." Cerenna said in a solemn tone.
Both Lanna and Selene quickly said they would promptly report any disloyalty, but without the show of piety. Cerenna was obnoxious with it in Selene's eyes.
"Ah," the Reyne scion began somewhat nervously, "we four are young women. Will we have guards around us when we interact with the slaves… I mean, freed slaves?"
Elaena nodded. "Yes, especially early on. A few of our dashing tourney contenders who have obtained knighthood will be assisting, along with the Lefford household guard."
"Your Grace…" Cerenna said with some trepidation in her voice. "I know your Knights of Victory have been anointed and sworn to the Seven, taking holy vows to defend us as the Warrior would bid all men of quality do, but until recently, they were free riders and sellswords. I would feel better if more established knights were guarding our virtue and our lives – ones from established knightly houses."
Selene saw Elaena's features slip for the slightest moment from the polite cordiality with which she had been speaking.
"Come with me, all three of you."
The three obeyed, wondering where she was taking them. They stepped into the open courtyard and watched as the beautiful silvery dragon descended. Viktoriya. Sunlight scintillated off her scales, casting additional hues in the light.
"Would any of you like to touch her scales?"
Selene was terrified, but she would not shame herself or her family. Good relations with the King's most cherished daughter would be vital for her future.
"I… I will." Selene said.
Elaena took her by the arm and softly said, "She won't hurt you. Here, yes, that's it. See how still she is? She knows you're nervous and is being considerate."
The scales felt odd, not unlike the hide of a lizard, but significantly harder. They were warm to the touch, and she found the experience a positive one. One by one, the others did the same: Cerenna, with a mumbled prayer as she closed her eyes, and Lanna, with her back straight and head held high.
Ruined a bit by your arm trembling, but a good effort.
"Now, back away and put your hands to your ears," Elaena commanded.
They did so and then Viktoriya roared. Even through Selene's hands the sound was loud. It reverberated through her and her heart thudded in her chest. The dragon then spewed fire vertically up into the air. The flames reached nowhere close to where they watched, but Selene could feel the deadly heat even from the distance.
"Precautions will be taken. You are mine to protect. Just as the Knights of Victory who serve me, some of whom having sworn oaths of vassalage, are part and parcel of my household. You will not denigrate them. Should you feel that anyone has done you harm, or may do you harm, bring your concerns to me. Everyone you interact with will have witnessed my dragon's capabilities, just as you have. Everyone from Tyrosh will have witnessed their former masters' city fall in but one night to the might of our dragons. To them, dragons are symbols of awe beyond measure. I doubt any will risk Viktoriya's wrath, let alone mine."
Selene joined the others in nodding their agreement. If their throats were anything like hers in that moment, they too found speech a burden. Elaena, however, just smiled. A deadly creature spewing fires hotter than any forge was no cause of alarm for her.
Targaryens.
"Now, let's head back inside. I'd like to see how you've been progressing, and afterward, we will join my betrothed and future good-father for lunch."
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