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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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Published:2024-02-24Updated:2026-05-20Words:319,557Chapters:58/?Comments:1,548Kudos:3,726Bookmarks:1,072Hits:221,375
A Young Woman's Inevitable Dance of the Dragons
Failninjaninja
Chapter 44
Notes:
A MASSIVE thank you to MARch_Of_Time for this chapters editing and some very nice dialogue and description enchantments.
Chapter Text
Chapter 44
"Complacency is the greatest threat. I always want somebody watching my back. It's simple, Visha. The enemy is coming eventually. This is what it means to be ready." -From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 13
Two years into his marriage, Aegon could sense his grandfather's impatience. Based on Elaena's advice, he and Helaena had not yet truly consummated their marriage – not in a way that would lead to a child, at least. There were concerns that Helaena was infertile, and his grandfather had already begun talking of having her set aside.
The idea alone set Aegon's teeth to edge in a way he found hard to even articulate, his grandfather's presumption stirring a muddy vexation deep within, a lingering one only comforted by holding Helaena close until her joy and contentedness saw it fade from him. Aegon had countered any possibility of this by loudly and frequently telling his father how blessed and pleased he was with his sister as his wife. King Viserys being well pleased that his daughter would not be set aside, Aegon's grandfather dare not broach the subject.
Helaena was a delight, but the night terrors she now suffered from filled Aegon with worry down to his bones. They were growing more common as of late, and even were she older and more suited for childbirth, per Elaena, he worried over how her body would handle it. She had grown pale and somewhat thinner. It wasn't as noticeable to others, but to him, he saw it.
Helaena was crying out in her sleep, and Aegon was torn as to what to do. He slipped from their bed, opened the door and ordered one of the household guards to fetch the Grand Maester. He waited beside her until the man arrived with his usual concoctions. When his wife woke from her terrors, she was often unhinged, and sometimes he feared she would hurt herself.
He always did his best to hold her, gently but firmly pressing her limbs between them to lessen any thrashing, ensuring her head remained far from harm. It helped to an extent, and even in her sleep and terror, Helaena leaned into him as if by instinct. Aegon felt a surreal gratitude, never having imagined that the strength he gained from relentless training under Cole, even with only mediocre skill, would be turned to so invaluable and heartfelt a purpose.
Aegon gently caressed her, touching her face and whispering her name in hopes of getting her to more calmly rouse from the depths of her terrors. After a few moments, he lightly pinched her arm, and then she suddenly made to sit up, flinching and hesitating when the weight of Aegon's own careful embrace slowed her.
She squirmed to face him, awkward and without leverage to move well.
"No, no, no, no, no. Not like this! They're safe but she's not! My mother, no! PLEASE!"
Even as he took in her panicked words, Aegon remained sharply aware of her extremities and guided her posture into one without much risk of rapid motion, "My love, you had a nightmare. It pains me to see your health wane so. Look, I've brought you some tea, to grant you a measure of relief."
Helaena looked at him wild-eyed, but her body eased some in response to his presence seemingly without her realizing. "I have to remember, I can't forget. It's cold. The winter, it's coming, and it will be cold. And lonely. No, not for years, my children. They are safe this time." Tears were streaming down her face. "But is this one real? Listen, Aegon, you must listen to me."
The Grand Maester looked on with an admixture of pity and resolve, handing him a cup, "My prince, this avails us not. Best administer it to her quickly. She'll rest easier and won't even recall. It feels cruel, but it is better for her."
"No!" She tried to slap the cup from Aegon's hand, but with his prepared hold and her arms pressed between them, he was quick and avoided her clumsy strike.
"Don't! Write it down before I forget! When father dies, they come for us! Fire and Blood! Rats in the dark! They'll hurt her, they'll hurt her..." Helaena was rocking now within his embrace, arms wrapped around herself and still largely pinned against Aegon's chest as she curled into herself and him both. "We have our own, but it will be too late. The cold encroaches the soul… but no, no, that isn't right. It isn't right, she's not there! It's an eye for an eye, but he still has an eye."
"My prince…" Mellos began again.
Aegon took his wife's face in his hands as gently as he could, his broader shoulders and bent elbows encompassing her slighter, weakened frame.
"No! Listen, Aegon, it's our children or our mother! She can only stop one, don't you understand, no!"
It stabbed at his heart to know her nightmares so often revolved around family, confused and contradicting though they were, for Aegon too suffered nightmares of failure, worries over the threats he must face if he were to protect the throne from the wanton whims of his siblings. But he felt no greater helplessness, even against the Dark Storm's wrath, than he did over his wife's own suffering.
"Dearest Helaena, beloved of my heart," Aegon pressed their foreheads together with care, allowing everything he felt to leak into his words and show in his eyes as they stung. Her own dream-misted and despairing gaze locked onto his as he pleaded.
"This torment you face, I know not the answer to it. I know not what to even make of it. All I know is that to see you suffer more and wither like this will shatter me as surely as any fate your dreams imagine. So please, for me, will you not accept this care? Might you not have concern for yourself and your health as much as you do worry or fear for our family?"
Helaena struggled limply, distraught, but her resistance was resigned, her expression defiant but so utterly exhausted. The memory of her tearstained face and despondent sobs as she alternated between nodding or shaking her head would burn itself into his next nightmares, Aegon could tell already.
A pair of servants arrived to help hold her steady as Aegon delicately parted her lips and poured the drugged substance into her mouth, holding it shut until reflex forced her to swallow.
"Mother… tell her not to… winter…" And Helaena fell still, her breathing slowly evened out.
Aegon gently kissed his wife's brow. He forced his emotions down and breathed as Elaena had showed him all those years ago. His lifeline against the tempest inside his heart.
"Is there nothing more that can be done?" Aegon asked as they moved some distance away, his voice torn between fury and worry – at his own inability, at the gods for their cruelty to his wife, at all those around the couple who forced their situation into one of such peril and stress.
Mellos shook his head. "My prince, if we give her dreamwine or milk of the poppy every night it will become a dependence. She is not this bad as often; we must stay the course."
Aegon was troubled. He knew his family's history.
"Grand Maester, could it be what she sees is a portent of the future? We are of the same blood as Daenys the Dreamer, who saved our family from the Doom."
Mellos patted him on the shoulder. "There are many who suffer under night terrors. Why, I recall three decades ago we once had a man that studied at the Citadel who claimed to dream of the future. His tales were so outlandish! Imagine believing that dragons would one day be gone from Westeros, preposterous." The old man scoffed, then looked down at Helaena. "Sometimes a mind can grow troubled, get her out more and into the light, and avoid humoring her delusions. Have you not said yourself that she argues with herself on what is real and what is not? When it grows bad, we can mix the same drink for her and ensure she forgets the worst of it. For normal nightmares, it will not be needed."
Aegon nodded, even though the Grand Maester's words grated on him for their dismissiveness. Elaena said there wasn't a point in taking advice from experts unless you were prepared to listen to said experts. While they had been determined to keep secret the disturbing terrors that afflicted Helaena, Aegon now resolved to include Elaena next time she visited.
She studied at the Citadel for a time when she was younger, hadn't she? She was also pushing the idea of subsidizing less harsh soaps for the smallfolk. Her knowledge of mystic lores and forgotten remedies had even managed to help save Ser Laenor from horrific poison, somber and disturbing as that line of thought was. She had personally helped Aegon with managing his tempers beyond anything the Maesters or adults had offered. If anyone could suggest a more permanent solution where he and others failed to soothe Helaena's mind, he could trust it to be Elaena.
"Thank you for your help, Grand Maester."
"It is my privilege to serve. As ever, I am pleased to see how you handle the stresses laid before you. You follow in your father's footsteps well," Mellos complimented.
Aegon looked him in the eye. Though his Maester Robes were not green, it was quite clear where he stood in matters of politics. Aegon supposed he should be grateful, but power within King's Landing had always been the Greens' stronghold.
It is everywhere else that is the problem.
Daeron in exile to Gulltown, forbidden from his dragon or his family. Aemond still not able to win Lord Baratheon's approval for a match. Daemon growing ever more powerful as the riches of Essos flow to his realm. The Lannisters had grown timid, and Oldtown was visibly out of favor with the crown. The Dark Storm an ever-looming menace made all the more troubling for his terrifying rational control and restraint. If the man were to ever truly let loose, his mercy and forbearance exhausted, Aegon shuddered to imagine...
No, things were not going well, and all his grandfather would say was that he had a plan! It drove Aegon to the edge of wrath at times, seeing that self-satisfied and condescending smile… but he controlled himself. Suppressed his rage as Elaena had taught him. Decisions were to be made in the cold light of rationality, not with emotion.
I'll scream my rage into the skies when I take Sunfyre out next. Until then, I will control myself. I am the master of myself. I am a human. I am in control. I am a rational being and I will not act erratically. I shall not act counter to my own will.
Feeling better after having mentally recited his personal catechism, he lay down next to his now calmly sleeping wife, cradling her in the crook of his neck and beneath his chin, wrapping her tight and letting worries for the future fade away.
***
Thraezarys soared through the clouds as a riderless Moondancer playfully gave chase. At only eight years old, Rhaena was ecstatic to be able to fly. She had once been envious of her older sister Baela for having a dragon, and when Silverwing had been stolen from her, she had wept bitterly.
Her father had promised her a dragon – one way or another – and, in time, he had made good on his promise. The dragon known as Sheepstealer had been corralled with the help of her cousin Elaena, and Rhaena had been able to bond with it. It had been scary to approach, but Elaena never looked worried or concerned at all, as if there was simply no way for Rhaena to fail. That and the many other dragons guarding her nearby helped much to firm her courage, and then there was no trouble at all.
Rhaena had been sad to see the lovely sheep being eaten, but her father had told her that it was the nature of sheep. Some creatures – and some people – had a purpose. Either to be eaten or to be the eater. She was a Targaryen, blood of Old Valyria, which meant she was the latter, as was Sheepstealer. Seeing her own joy reflected on the faces of all the other dragonriders present – and that special understanding in their eyes – Rhaena could believe it.
Only the name Sheepstealer was not Valyrian enough for her father, so he and her mother helped Rhaena choose a new name. Thraezarys, in honor of her being unclaimed for so long, was the name they had agreed upon. And what a dragon she was! Almost identical in size to Silverwing, she was more than worth the wait and the heartache Rhaena had endured two years prior.
Moondancer was not yet old enough to bear Baela's weight, but the playful, smaller dragon enjoyed flying after Thraezarys. Rhaena was looking forward to the day her sister could join her in the clouds. Her mother was away, and her father didn't have time to play right now. She guided Thraezarys back down from the clouds to land in the area cleared for her dragon. There, waiting for her, was the escort that would take her back home.
The city of Tyrosh was more interesting to her than the islands of Driftmark or Dragonstone. She really liked how Dragonstone looked, but there was hardly anyone there, aside from family, of course. Her betrothed was there, but she didn't care about such things. She thought he was kind of annoying and wished she were to wed his older brother instead.
I have the bigger dragon; shouldn't I get the bigger brother?
Her mother had just laughed and said that it didn't work like that. She didn't let it bother her too much; it wasn't as if she got to see either of them very often anymore. Tyrosh had so many pretty things and colorful objects, but it wasn't nice having so little family nearby. She wondered if her father would let her fly over and visit.
Probably not, I don't really know the way.
Baela was waiting for her when she returned. "Did you have fun?"
Rhaena grinned. "I did! Moondancer is growing so quickly; I'm sure you'll be able to join me soon."
"Not very soon. Mother says she's a healthy dragon, but not growing as fast as some. When our mother says it's safe, you'll let me ride with you, right?"
Rhaena agreed happily. They said dragons didn't like having another rider and that only riders with strong bonds could get a dragon to consent to it. She knew Thraezarys – and while their bond might be fresher than a cradle dragon's, it was just as strong!
The two twins went to see what their father was doing. Not finding him in their family quarters, they looked in his throne room. It wasn't as grand as the Iron Throne, but the seat didn't have pointy bits. Their father wasn't there, either.
"We could just ask one of the guards," Baela pointed out.
"Where would the fun be in that? Let's go check the kitchens; maybe he was hungry."
Baela fixed her with a look. "Don't be silly; he would just have a servant bring him the food."
Rhaena mulishly insisted, and sure enough, he wasn't there either.
"I know," Baela said, "the practice yard!"
They hurried on toward there, and while they saw some soldiers fighting each other, their father was not among them. They returned to the main hall, where they saw a man in fine clothing being followed by two knights. Each wore silver accessories of some kind, often dragon pendants or fancy wing designs, which the twins recognized immediately.
"Hamish!" Baela shouted. "Have you seen our father?"
The man turned and gave them a friendly smile. "He's off visiting a friend. Is there something you need? You know you need only ask, and any of the guards or servants will fetch it for you." He paused and tapped a finger to his chin, leaning a little and giving a ridiculous conspiratorial wink that never failed to amuse. "Or mayhaps you wish to hear of how my own grand conquests on the great battlefields of the marketplace measure up to your father's exploits? I'm sure I have a victory or two worthy of royal attention!"
The two silvery knights behind the man glanced towards the silver symbols adorning his robes, then their own armor, and exchanged wry grins like the jest included them as well.
Hamish had always been a man of good cheer since they met him. Rarely had they seen him without a smile or trinket to gift, and most only ever spoke compliments of him. Despite spending all his time on boring things like coins and trade, he always had a clever jest ready, sometimes his wit stealing laughs from the twins and others whenever they least expected!
They especially loved how he told and exaggerated tales of outwitting scheming magisters or beating them at their own tricks, and of what wondrous gifts the fleets he managed brought back for them – including some from their cousin Elaena, who wrote from time to time on name-days and the like. Their father always made funny faces after such meetings with Hamish, too, but he wouldn't ever praise or laugh at the stories and gifts.
After the Dragon Bank came to Tyrosh and kept bringing all those nice things, their father had sometimes muttered or sneered about him as the 'Silver Falcon' – but Hamish only ever seemed delighted when called by that name. He'd really started wearing more fancy silver decorations and wing symbols after that.
Rhaena answered for the two while Baela giggled. "We just wanted to find him and see when our mother would be returning. Maybe see if he would take Baela flying, or let her fly on Thraezarys with me."
"He's not overly fond of me, but I'll have a servant send him a message that you requested to go flying as a family. As for Lady Laena, she should be home in a few days. Lord Baratheon enjoys company, so she may stay an extra day or two, but she won't be gone long. I myself am headed into the city, so I fear any tales from me must wait 'til evening."
Having their answer, the twins went off to find some non-draconic forms of amusement. Perhaps the gardens would have more excitement to be found!
***
Kevan was overjoyed. His wife was with child! He thanked the Seven upon hearing the news, which had brought a brief frown to Elaena's face before vanishing as swiftly as it had come, making him question whether he had truly seen it. Reading Elaena's moods and expressions would be a challenge for a lifetime, but one he was glad to take on.
Married life with Elaena was very… busy. Her stamina and ability to just keep going were borderline monstrous. It was all Kevan could do to keep up. She was precise and exacting in every deed, her demeanor so confident and her performance ever intimidatingly exemplary. So much so that Kevan would feel it a sin should he ever be cause for disappointment, or cause for a frown to mar his wife's statuesque face when she did so much to lead – when she let him close enough to share in her heart's desires. Between reviewing ledgers, inspecting worksites, flying on Viktoriya, meeting with craftsmen, 'mentoring' her handmaidens, and visiting a variety of locations, including Dragonstone, King's Landing, and Sunspear, it was a wonder they had any time to themselves as man and wife!
Time was arranged, naturally. Elaena worked out when their bedding would be most likely to produce a child, and the 'task,' as she called it, was scheduled. She was rather efficient at ensuring a successful outcome, commanding and deft in a disciplined way that left Kevan himself breathless and spent, but at times, he wondered if she still derived any enjoyment from it.
From the very beginning, she had been honest about having no taste for such things, and Kevan had long accepted that she took her pleasure in cerebral endeavors, perhaps to the exclusion of the physical. But every now and then, it seemed she did, and that led to a certain level of awkwardness later, which was perplexing.
And bringing it up just leads to her altering the subject so bluntly that I feel a boor for even attempting to discuss it.
Despite the... ordered structure to their relationship, Kevan found himself loath to offer complaint almost without realizing. Elaena had continued to grow in the years since their marriage, taller and more regal, her beauty more and more refined, mature, mesmerizing. Exquisitely so. By her eighteenth name day, Elaena's voice had gained a low heft and husk to its undertone, and with the way she spoke and held herself, those listening could not help but surrender their attention as her words glided to their ears like a strong and smooth tide.
When his wife focused upon him with the full weight of her gaze and spoke with such authority, her voice melodic and subtly sonorous, Kevan felt his skin tingle and lightning zip down his spine, only further contributing to the... efficiency of the whole ordeal. The experience was unforgettable, but never had Kevan dreamed he would find such unique joy in his marriage regardless of it being an infrequent occurrence.
But whether his wife was wielding authority, effortless and in her element, or quietly intense at a desk in her study with just the two of them, Kevan felt as if each moment were artwork. He could not keep his gaze from tracing Elaena's enduring elegance, enjoying the glint of life sparking in her eyes, whether cold and aloof or warm and interested, all painted upon a face and figure that surely put both Maiden and Mother to shame.
But if there were a time where she grasped his heart such that he felt it clench within his chest, it would be when he saw her shift, saw her soften. Princess Elaena Targaryen's controlled demeanor and quietly powerful presence came as naturally to her as Viktoriya did to flight, but the moments when he saw his wife catch herself, and then relax in his presence... his heart might burst were the feeling any stronger.
By the day he imagined what it would be like when their child joined such scenes in his most treasured memories, the three of them together. What look would show in her eyes, at such a time? Would that rare, gentle smile she seldom showed then grace the world more often?
Kevan wished he knew whether it was a son or a daughter, but above all, he prayed that his wife would emerge in good health. Her mother had died in childbirth, and her family had warned him that Elaena regarded the birthing bed with great trepidation. No sign of such worry had manifested, but as Kevan well knew, her moods were difficult to discern. If she ever felt fear, it was oft said that none had seen her let it show.
Also regarding matters difficult to discern, the political situation in the Westerlands had been relatively quiet. Both Kevan and his wife had suspected that Jason Lannister would stir up trouble, but so far, he had been unexpectedly accommodating. It unsettled Kevan. It was not the usual behavior of any Lannister when dealing with a vassal.
The coin Lannister had provided, meanwhile, along with additional lending from the Dragon Bank, had upended Golden Tooth and its surrounding lands.
Kevan had his own role in managing certain projects within his portfolio. It was acceptable to delegate, but on the items he oversaw, Elaena expected him to know exactly what was going on. There was no formal discussion about who should make the decisions; Elaena simply took charge. And since all those decisions had led to positive outcomes, Kevan did not even attempt to wrest control from his sharp-witted wife. That Elaena acted so with utmost poise and near-unilateral preeminence only further reduced any chances of objections from Kevan. Her effectiveness and leadership could not begin to bother him when it so clearly suited his wife as both a royal princess and Lady Lefford, and dragonrider besides.
My wife!
The thought still never failed to bring a smile to his lips. Kevan's days were long, yet energizing and productive. Through their efforts, they had successfully integrated the freed slaves and improved life for all across the Lefford lands.
The King had even ridden on the back of his son's dragon for a visit! It was good to see Prince Aegon, if only briefly before he flew back to King's Landing. Viserys had intended to stay for only a week or two, but ended up staying for two whole months. Kevan's father had thoroughly enjoyed hosting the King of the Seven Kingdoms, and no small measure of 'ripple effects' – as Elaena called them – had washed over the other houses of the Westerlands. Many nobles great and small sworn to Casterly Rock now sought succor and sway with the Golden Tooth.
Events beyond the Westerlands were less stable and productive. Several other kingdoms that had taken in the freed Tyroshi slaves were not acclimatizing as well as those in the Lefford lands. Septons had tried to convert some, and while they had found success, it had not been enough to satisfy the Faith of the Seven. In some cases, things had turned ugly, and some of the freed Tyroshi had committed terrible acts. Or so it was said. With the accused no longer having heads, the full truth would never be known.
Elaena had worked with the other lords and encouraged volunteer knights, many of whom were Knights of Victory, to patrol freely in the areas where they worked, without charging the host house for their service. This had helped, though it also raised other concerns.
Kevan also knew the subject of Daeron was a touchy one. They had discussed it, and Elaena had freely stated that, of course, Rhaenyra's children – at least most of them – were bastards. That she confided this to him and expressed her trust in him like so made Kevan feel closer to her than any in the world, though the scandalous confirmation was separately disheartening in other ways.
Elaena had said that, in a more perfect society, anyone could speak freely without fear of losing their tongues, but that they lived in an imperfect society. She had been quite displeased with Daeron for failing to consider the consequences of his statements. Kevan had half-expected her to defy the King's edict and visit Daeron, but she had scoffed at the idea and reminded him of what she had said.
'He's the one in charge, why would I undermine him openly? Daeron is learning a valuable lesson. Do not tell the boss what he doesn't want to hear, no matter the truth of it. Especially not in public, and even less at a grand gathering of influential nobles!'
But all that aside, Kevan arrived at their chambers to find his wife writing out a letter with more force than she typically did.
"Is all well, beloved?"
Elaena's face lifted and showed her open exasperation. "My unruly uncle is stirring up trouble. Hamish tells me he's gathering men and supplies. Further adventurism in Essos isn't beneficial. Other lords haven't handled the freed slaves as well as I hoped. We need more time before even considering an attempt to absorb more."
"Where will Lord Daemon strike?" Kevan asked, eyebrows rising in surprise at the news.
"Myr or Lys. Lys would be easier and likely less damaging all around. With it not being on the Essosi mainland we might avoid a broader conflict. I've also managed to ensure a healthy partnership with Myr through a mixture of threats and beneficial agreements."
Kevan smiled. His clever wife had learned the secrets of glassmaking and had helped the Freys and Manderlys set up shop to make use of those techniques in the ports. However, the glassware they were making was of low quality and rather ugly looking. They would allow for glass gardens in the North to no longer be so cost prohibitive, but would not expand operations to other uses.
However, his clever wife had demonstrated extensive knowledge on how Myr produced glass, and how Westeros could easily undercut and disrupt their monopoly. She could significantly hamper their economy, or they could help invest and provide expertise in starting production of the lower quality goods in Westeros to create more glass gardens. They had wisely chosen the path Elaena wished them to tread.
It amazes me that even at her own wedding celebration, she was reaching arrangements with foreign powers to strengthen trade and peace. Without her efforts, Tyrosh would have suffered great shortages and merchants may well have shunned their needs, forcing Westeros to send many vessels to keep them going. Piracy, even with the threat of dragons, would have made those journeys costly.
He credited Elaena with the brilliance of the deals, though it was also true that the Essosi powers were terrified of Westeros after the lightning strike on Tyrosh.
"Perhaps we can dissuade him from targeting Myr. I recall you told me they have a new scorpion model that launches spears with greater speed."
His wife nodded, her silvery hair shimmering with the movement. She had let it grow even longer and more majestic after the wedding, still immaculate in waves and braid patterns that reached down to her thighs. He carded a hand gently through the looser silken locks nearest her neck, offering a light caress of her shoulders to ease their stiffness.
Elaena allowed him this casual affection and contact, though was slow to acclimating or accepting it. The occasional relief in muscle tension while she was preoccupied seemed to have won her over eventually.
"They do, but mostly, I want to avoid war altogether. Father has made his intentions clear, but if Daemon takes Lys quickly, it creates problems when it comes to holding him accountable. Caraxes, Vhagar, Thraezarys, and possibly Meleys means that any attempt at confronting him with force would tear the realm apart."
"You don't include Seasmoke? The Dark Storm is his good-brother."
Elaena just smiled.
"Elaena, I know you share a unique relationship with Ser Laenor. You saved his life by calling for aid so swiftly that night, and he clearly dotes on you. He even threatened me to ensure I treated you properly before we wed. But he's still the Dark Storm, and such a man is inscrutable."
A strange look passed Elaena's eyes and Kevan wondered if he would ever know all there was to know about his wife. He longed for that. He wanted them to be fully united, no secrets, alike and together and of one mind. He could think of no one greater, no one he would be more honored to share life with. It wasn't so simple though, as Elaena insisted that a promise or oath to keep others' secrets applied to all, even her husband. And in matters of royalty and dragons, Kevan could admit having no grounds to intrude save bonds of affection. He knew this even before he was selected as one of the final suitors. He had promised her all the leeway she asked, and she had been honest and upfront about her restrictions. But he could still dream of more... for Elaena alone seemed capable of making dreams into reality.
"My analysis is that Ser Laenor wouldn't side with Daemon against my father, but it doesn't change the calculation. That's why I'm writing to my sister and Rhaenys. The Seven Kingdoms are prosperous, and Essos has been exceedingly accommodating, far beyond my original expectations. Everything is going so well. We cannot allow the spark of war to ruin it all."
For all Elaena's assuredness, Kevan knew she also harbored fears of disaster. She often spoke of how setbacks and failures were like snow falling down a mountain. A little didn't seem cause for concern, but if allowed to continue, it would become an unstoppable avalanche.
Kevan felt the stiffness return to her shoulders in force as she spoke, her body communicating the stress he doubted she would ever openly give voice to. And for all that Elaena's voice was a delight to listen to, if it meant supporting her properly, he would pay even closer attention to her condition directly. He waited for her to finish and then stole a kiss.
"Let not these concerns lead to anxiety. Nor should you permit it to overwork you. You bear our child, and that is stress enough to one's health. There is no need to keep such a busy schedule."
Elaena's expression did shift ever so slightly toward annoyance. Few would have caught it, but Kevan, having been by her side these last two years, was most perceptive to such shifts.
"I pace myself; writing a letter is hardly an exertion to be concerned with. Your worries are good-natured, but this is outside your wheelhouse."
One other positive sign in his relationship is that Elaena did relax around him in gradually more and more ways, her hesitations also decreasing with time. The phrases she used were ones that weren't common in Westeros. When speaking with those less close, she didn't use them as often, but not so with him. Her natural preferences for speech were something she'd had to suppress while at court, and only after seeing how much of his radiant wife had been stifled so, in all those little ways, did Kevan come to comprehend the sadness in such a thing, comprehend how ruthlessly she controlled herself.
The ancient peoples of Essos really did have an art in using words, I can see why she developed a taste for their uses. Such a shame so few would understand her that she must mask her love for them. One day, I'll have to read some of the texts she references. Not that I have time these days! Even though my portfolio of projects is significantly smaller than Elaena's, it's all I can do to stay afloat! Truly, to remain as poised as ever under such burdens, her limits astound me. The depths of her mind are fathomless in a wholly different way than men like the Dark Storm. And she wonders why I worry for her health?
"Shall I summon the expert opinion of a Maester? I am certain they will say the same."
"No, the Maesters do not know me as well as I know myself. I assure you, I take quite deliberate and thorough pains to safeguard our child's health as well as my own. I will not allow any other outcome, not in this. There is also far too much to be done for me to take a vacation for half a year or more," Elaena said, finality in her tone. The utter, unyielding confidence in her captivating voice rose gooseflesh on Kevan's arms and neck, but he pushed the striking sensation aside.
Kevan demurred for the moment and made plans to include her handmaidens in a unified front at a later date, hopefully one where his wife wasn't irritated with her 'irrational family members.' Another sign of trust in him was Elaena's verbal diatribes about how foolish some of her kin were. Chief on that list was Daemon, followed by her sister Rhaenyra, her grandfather, her mother, and occasionally her own father. Such occasions were experiences that no mummer could possibly capture when recited with the kind of vehemence or seething restraint Elaena could manage.
Kevan's wife was dangerous for his heart in many ways, he discovered. To know such thoughts lurked within her mind, while otherwise remaining so impeccably polite and controlled...
"Very well, beloved. We have not yet spoken of it, but will the birthing take place here or in King's Landing?"
"Here," came his wife's immediate response. "We've made this place far more secure, and I don't want to be gone for too long. There is work I can do in King's Landing as well, but too many other distractions are there. And once there, my father will insist that I stay longer than I need."
Kevan smiled. "Most like, that does sound like the King. We might have another royal visit for the birth. Do you think your siblings will attend?"
Elaena shrugged. "I know not, this is the first child I have borne. I suspect some will, so we should be prepared regardless."
"Will your sister release an egg to us?"
Syrax had laid a clutch of three eggs recently, with Alicent requesting two for her children, something that Rhaenyra had refused. One would likely go to Visenya – whose second egg had never hatched – and one would be reserved for Aelyx should he never claim a wild dragon.
"Ideally, yes, though it would create tension with my mother. In theory, the proliferation of dragons across other houses would normally be a concern, but my father told me at the wedding that should I be fruitful and Viktoriya lay eggs herself, they could stay within my family." A faint smile appeared on her face, a wry humor reflecting in her eyes. "Not the best decision for a sovereign, but given my loyalty and work on behalf of his rule, it's a suitable reward."
"Excellent, well, I can't see your sister denying you. She and Lady Laena have not gotten with child for the last two years, so it would appear they have a spare, so long as they continue denying the Queen her request."
Elaena nodded, and the two passed into companionable silence. Kevan luxuriated in merely being in his wife's presence. The way her delicate hand did plant itself upon her chin, and her brow furrowed in thought, made for quite the appealing view, a masterwork painted by the gods for his eyes alone. The little smiles she made when completing a complex plan or task. The way she glided a hand down a length of her hair when deep in consideration. The way she didn't even realize when he'd sent for a maid to refill her favorite tea, reaching for the warm and fresh beverage he placed nearby almost on instinct. Seemingly always with practiced poise and regal countenance, then unguarded like this when in intimate privacy. The difference between the two, her demeanor and the clashing impressions public and private both compounding into a relentless assault on his heart.
Lanna would call it 'adorable,' and Kevan thought that a fine descriptor, indeed.
***
Laena landed Vhagar, and an honor guard of Baratheon soldiers escorted her into Storm's End. For once, it was not raining. Borros Baratheon greeted her warmly and immediately conducted the formal guest right. In this case, the bread was honeyed and quite delicious.
"How fares your mother?" Borros asked.
"She is well, through she grows weary on the small council."
Borros nodded. "Aye, made up of money grubbers, lickspittles, and cripples, I can see why Jocelyn's daughter would mislike the task. Has she considered letting the role of special advisor to the King fall to her son? Mayhaps he would bring those curs in line."
Laena kept herself from grimacing. The insult toward Larys Strong made her think of her own child's impediment. Instead of responding as she wished, she swallowed her pride, for the sake of the task her love had given her.
"My brother might swiftly part heads from necks if he were there! Perhaps best the task continues to fall to my mother."
Borros roared with laughter more than the jest warranted. Laenor was a more forgiving soul than people would think, nor would he ever slay a member of the small council over a disagreement.
As they entered the hall, a welcome feast was being quickly assembled, and Laena spotted Aemond Targaryen. The lad neared ten-and-five, tall and handsome, resembling a younger version of her husband.
The Targaryen blood overpowers the Hightower in this one.
"Lady Laena," he nodded, "what brings you to this humble abode?"
Borros frowned at her side. "Watch your tongue, boy, Storm's End has a long and storied history."
"Come now, my lord, it was a simple turn of phrase. Lady Laena resides in Tyrosh and likely rests her head upon a bed of sapphires. We are all humbled by her wealth," Aemond replied, amusement twinkling in his eyes.
Laena let out a small laugh. "That would be quite uncomfortable and impractical. Children are so imaginative, aren't they, my lord?"
Borros grinned, pleased by Laena's response. "Aye, you have that right of it. Little boys do have active imaginations."
Aemond narrowed his eyes, and danger lurked in them. From beyond the castle walls, they heard a roar. Laena knew it to be Vermithor, and not for the first time, she wondered what would happen if her Vhagar fought against the Bronze Fury.
The feast proceeded apace, and Laena would have had to be deaf and blind not to sense the tension between Lord Baratheon and Aemond. For her part, she helped Borros needle Aemond throughout the meal, and the young man was growing more irritated, his tongue becoming harsher still.
"Princess Elaena is with child?" Aemond interjected as Laena and Borros discussed the news.
"Yes, she is. I'm surprised you did not know," Laena commented.
"Oh, I must have forgotten to mention it. The Maester read the letter, and I meant to have it given to you, but I had more weighty matters to attend to."
"You kept word from me about my sister's letter?" Aemond rose, rage etched into his face.
"Sit down, boy. It came but a week ago, and now you know," Borros waved his hand dismissively.
"You had no right to touch any message meant for my eyes, you illiterate oaf."
"Oaf?" Borros snarled.
Laena thought it amusing how that was the part he took offense to. The bite of honeyed fruit she took tasted almost as sweet as the delicious byplay unfolding before her.
"I came here to wed one of your daughters, to honor your petty house because Targaryen and Baratheon blood had mixed well in the past. But you dangle them like prizes, when it is I who far outstrip any other potential suitor you might possibly have. I, a dragonrider and Prince of the Seven Kingdoms!"
"I said SIT DOWN!" Borros roared. "I will not have you insult me in my own hall. You ungrateful, pompous shit. Do you want to go another round? You are so slight and fragile; I fear you'll end up with more than just bruises next time."
Laena stayed in gleeful silence at what she was witnessing. Another roar echoed, and Laena's mirth dried up as she saw the terrified looks on the faces of those in the hall.
"I am done with this insignificant place," Aemond snarled, stalking toward the door. Several guards barred his path.
"Think carefully, my lord. You cannot hold me here, Vermithor will never allow it."
Borros spat on the ground. "Off with you, and do not darken my halls with your misbegotten arrogance. I will let your father know of your disrespect, and even should you beg to be admitted again, you will be refused."
Aemond said nothing further as he left Storm's End.
"I apologize if my coming has provoked him. I fear he likes me not," Laena said.
"He likes little and less. The boy spends his time reading like some worthless Maester. 'Tis not your fault, my lady. This has been brewing for some time. I would not have my daughter marry any who would disrespect their would-be good-father. Had he shown me an ounce of gratitude or respect, I would have approved a match," the Lord of Storm's End said sourly.
"For the best then, my lord. And who can say what the future holds? My husband and I are hoping I will soon carry another child, should the Gods will it. If it is a son, I would be well pleased to have a powerful lord such as yourself as his good-father."
Borros smiled. "You are wise as you are fair."
"You are too kind. After the feast is completed, I do have a request from my husband."
Her host was intrigued and once they were satiated on food and drink, they met in his solar along with his wife, Lady Elenda.
"My lord, my husband greatly respects your battle prowess and has often wished to fight alongside you again. That time draws near."
Borros looked surprised. "Against who?"
"Essos. Though not all at once. Daemon dreams of uniting the world under one banner. Such things do not happen over the course of years, but over decades. The time to move forward with the next step is soon at hand, but there are difficulties, and your aid will overcome many at once." Laena leaned forward. "We need your help."
Borros looked skeptically. "The Grand Melee during the paired wedding showed my strength, yet you have dragons. What do you need of me?"
"My good-brother, Viserys the Peaceful lives up to his moniker."
Borros looked confused, but Laena pressed on. "The King does not wish for war with Essos, but war will come regardless. Our ears have learned of plots to take back Tyrosh, and we have faced assassination on more than one occasion," Laena lied. Well, they had faced assassination, but there was no plot to return Tyrosh to Tyroshi rule.
"I would not betray my oaths to the King," Borros said firmly.
"No, we are not asking you to. We are asking for your help to preserve the peace by striking down our enemies in one swift stroke. Viserys has given you no command not to punish the enemies of Westeros. He has not told you, 'Lord Borros, do not hunt down pirates who attack your ships,' has he?"
He shook his head, still wary.
"All you must do is send your fleet, and your men to help hunt down the foul brigands who went against your house," Laena said simply.
"But there has been no such occurrence." Lady Elenda observed slowly, eyes flickering to the side with unease.
"A harmless deception, for the good of the realm." Laena's voice shifted, taking on a more vulnerable tone. "My Lord, I live in fear within my own domain. The threats against me and my children cannot be so easily faced by mighty Vhagar. Poison nearly claimed my brother," she allowed a tremor to enter her voice, "and it has already been attempted once in Tyrosh. I do not possess the Dark Storm's vitality. Can I not count on your aid to dispel this cloud that hangs over my head?"
"But why am I needed? Forgive me, my lady, I understand this is frightening, but I still do not comprehend," he said, striving to sound reassuring.
"Your men are valiant and will prove invaluable. But more than that, we seek to unite many houses so my good-brother cannot easily drive Daemon into exile. We will stand together and strike with the swiftness of thunder once more. Will you join this cause? Will you help protect my family?"
Borros Baratheon grabbed her hand. "We shall! Let it never be said that House Baratheon does not raise its banners for kith and kin!"
No, we don't need you to call your banners. Just fly a few when we strike. You rightly understand your muster is not what will be key to our victory. But now that I have your agreement this evening, I can ensure you don't do anything stupid before we are ready.
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Published:2024-02-24Updated:2026-05-20Words:319,557Chapters:58/?Comments:1,548Kudos:3,726Bookmarks:1,072Hits:221,375
A Young Woman's Inevitable Dance of the Dragons
Failninjaninja
Chapter 45
Notes:
As always give MARch_Of_Time some love for not only editing but coming up with some FIRE lines.
Chapter Text
Chapter 45
"I can see that she's examining me. Honestly, I didn't expect to lose myself to such an extent. But once the words are out, there's no taking them back. After she observes me at length, Lieutenant Degurechaff replies deliberately, like a shrine maiden delivering a divine message." -From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 1
Jace felt good about the height he was gaining. It wouldn't be long now until he could enter a joust – maybe a year or two. At ten and two, he was four years off from adulthood, but he longed for it. He longed to be able to enter the lists and prove himself capable. He was an able rider, and Ser Harwin said he had excellent instincts.
He knew that martial talent was only one facet of his future. He was destined to be a king – a heavy burden, and one he strived to be ready for. Currently, he was in High Tide, dining with his grandfather.
"And that is why the essence of power for any major kingdom is naval," Corlys said firmly. "Yes, dragons are a fine substitute for defeating your foes, but you won't see dragons bringing grain to and fro."
"It echoes what I've heard before, grandfather – that logistics is the heartbeat of any kingdom, and waterways, coasts, and ports are the arteries through which lifeblood must flow."
Jace recalled a particularly striking example from his younger days, when his Aunt Elaena had visited. In fact, he remembered her using that exact phrasing, so strong were those moments in his mind. His younger self had wanted to know all about his father's glorious one-night conquest of Tyrosh. How they'd done it, why they won so overwhelmingly, who fought whom, how many ships had they fought, why the fleets were where they were or were not - he was eager to learn all and forge himself into a man capable of such feats.
Though he was a loving father and a powerful warrior, Laenor Velaryon was not a man to oft speak of his own fearsome deeds, a rare but stubborn humility. Jace had learned not to test his father on this, both out of respect and no little wariness. So a younger Jace had pestered any kin who would listen for more details to sate his hungry mind.
Aunt Elaena had answered him steadily, took his curiosity seriously, and treated him with calm respect. Where other adults shied away from complexity and left details vague as if he were dumb, or eventually learned to ignore him, Elaena would answer with a kind of simple clarity, flowing from one idea to another, that made everything seem obvious.
Even while she played with or entertained Jace's younger siblings, she explained with a gentle patience. In turn, Jace had given her words great weight, and listened with rapt attention.
She had answered all of his first questions with a single one in kind:
'What if they had attacked Tyrosh without a fleet?'
Unraveling the consequences from this one question, one after another cascading into endless problems, had taught Jace the limitations of dragons when one sought to conquer, and keep one's conquests. If one could not even attack and hold an enemy island off the coast despite all the armies of their entire realm, then what wars could they win?
But Elaena had not stopped there.
Once she saw him beginning to understand, she asked him to consider what to do if they only had a small fleet. Or an unreliable fleet. Or a large fleet that could be beset upon by other large fleets at the worst time if other nations got involved. To truly hammer the point, she had outlined a 'scenario' - as she called it - asking him how the Seven Kingdoms would invade Dorne, if they had been truly responsible for the assassination attempt on his father.
Jace's childish anger at the time, still full of half-hearted hate for the Dornish assassins who invaded High Tide, saw him eagerly attempt this 'thought exercise.' His answers then had been foolish, he would readily admit, too steeped in awe and pride for his father, in the glory of reputation and knighthood.
Then she asked him to think of how to do it without a fleet.
He still shuddered to think of the cold, bleak horror painted by his aunt's grave words, her kind voice almost sad and frustrated, but powerful and riveting as he could not help but listen to her spin a tale of doom. Any choice he could make or question he asked, only further revealed disaster in the end. It was as enthralling as it was mortifying, and Jace would never again doubt that armies without logistics were akin to bodies without hearts.
When he'd said something similar back then, Aunt Elaena had given him a small smile and said he'd make a better king than most. He treasured that memory along with the likes of flying his dragon for the first time.
His grandfather's praising response shook him out of his reveries.
"Precisely, my boy! No matter how vast and fearsome a host may be, if it does not have food, it is worthless. Gods be good, let it be so that I will have long since passed before your reign begins, but I would have you remember these lessons regardless."
"I shall, Lord Corlys. Between dragon power and sea power, there is nothing the Seven Kingdoms cannot achieve."
'Tis true, with our might we are a match for any enemy. Even if some of those would be far more troublesome than others.
His grandfather smiled. "Good, good. Well, will you stay for the feast, or will you be off again?"
In truth, Corlys' stories and lessons were fascinating, but Jace had gotten his fill. However, the man was without his son, daughter, grandchildren, or wife at his side, and Jace believed it was good for him to dine with family.
"I would be honored to stay; I can always leave in the morn." Jace paused. "What do you think of having someone other than your wife help oversee the Small Council? When I am wed to Baela, I would not wish to be so long apart as you and Rhaenys have been of late."
Corlys waved aside his concern. "I do miss her, but she's best suited to watch those vipers. One of us should be here ruling over Driftmark. It will not be forever, and we have seen each other half a dozen times this year alone. Though perhaps it would be best to allow Laenor a chance to rule while I stay in King's Landing for a time. But then I would be separating him from his own wife. In any case, some level of hardship is required to hold power. 'Tis the way of things."
Jace didn't quite agree. Castellans existed for a reason, but he wouldn't hector his grandfather over it. Perhaps, when he reached maturity, Jace would ask to take on that role. It was best to look the enemy in the eye and show that you are unafraid, rather than sit and wait.
"As you say, grandfather. It seems as if my Aunt Elaena's match has borne fruit. I miss her more frequent visits to Dragonstone," Jace said, changing the subject.
"She's another you should consider listening to. If you'd hear Lord Beesbury speak of it, she is the one who truly runs the Dragon Bank," he said with a laugh. "Gods watch over her during the birthing. The weakness of the mother did not pass to Rhaenyra, but who can say if it will not find Elaena?" Corlys said in a grave tone.
Jace felt his eyebrows draw down, for he had already well learned to value his Aunt Elaena's words. To hear that her knowledge extended even further than he recalled was heartening and piqued his interest, but his grandfather's later words...
"I wouldn't worry so. Elaena has always had such vitality and energy. I could not imagine her being laid low by the birthing bed."
Corlys shook his head. "In that, my young prince, you are mistaken. My own daughter has the energy of three, and she too had a close call while doing a mother's duty. What goes on inside the womb, not even the Maesters can guess. It is a mystery. Liken it to that of a sea captain, if you will. Even the best can be beset by a sudden storm through no fault of his own."
Jace nodded uneasily; he didn't like to think that his kind aunt would face such danger.
I should visit before her labors near… just in case.
The next morning, he flew back toward Dragonstone. There, he would have lessons in dueling with Ser Harwin, lessons with Maester Gerardys, and perhaps a game or two of Cyvasse with Aenar. The routine was comforting, but he wished he could see his betrothed more often, as well as Daemon and Laena. The conquest of Tyrosh was a magnificent event, but the distance was frustrating. He could visit them in the future, but for now, there was still concern about unrest there.
Luke had been glum of late, ever since he was told that Arrax was still not quite large enough to safely ride. It wouldn't be long now, but his brother was impatient. Jace would try to cheer him up, but until he could fly in the clouds with him, Luke was determined to view everything in the worst light. Well, Jace could understand the impatience, but there was little sense in dwelling on it day after day.
'Tis a good thing I will be King and not him. It would be hard to imagine the dreary cloud that would be cast over the realm with a ruler who only dwells on what he cannot have in the moment.
***
Daeron moved his heavy horse piece deep into enemy territory. Across from him sat Isembard Arryn, Lord of House Arryn of Gulltown and known as the Gilded Falcon. Isembard had firmly carried out the King's will, but he had not been odious in its execution. Daeron had proved obedient and cordial and had been denied little – save for what the King had explicitly forbidden, the things Daeron wished for most, his family, and his dragon.
Isembard moved his dragon to defend against the assault, and Daeron immediately advanced his elephant to support the attack. Isembard studied the board and withdrew his crossbowmen. Daeron pressed forward, but after a quick exchange of pieces, Isembard emerged with numerical superiority – his offensive had failed.
"A daring move, but one doomed to failure," Isembard commented. "My young friend, know that letting an opponent win is only helpful if he does not realize that is what you are doing."
Daeron smiled. "I did not allow you to win, but it is true this was not the best strategy."
"Oh? Is not the purpose of the game to defeat your opponent?"
"Not always. The strategy I used was one I wished to test. Rather than playing to my strengths in our respective positions and winning a grinding technical victory, I opted to put my pieces in a unique circumstance that would give me experience in future games. It made for a more enjoyable game and taught me that this strategy is either ineffective or in need of refinement. Time well spent, my lord."
Isembard laughed. "Very good, Daeron. You have grown much in your time in Gulltown. I believe I could appeal to your father, though I must be certain. Tell me, what will you say of your royal nephews?"
Daeron bowed his head. "I have a plan for that as well. I wish to speak an oath to the Septon, and perhaps repeat it to the High Septon when I am granted leave to return to King's Landing. That I will forevermore refrain from speaking of their birth in any capacity."
The man in fine clothing across from him was nodding sagely. "Thus, you will never be forced to admit they are trueborn children of Laenor and Rhaenyra, for your oath binds you."
Daeron remained silent. Better to be patient than to misspeak at this critical juncture.
"You tread a dangerous line, but given where you place your ultimate loyalties, I understand. In fact, I am even willing to advise the King that this will bind your tongue more securely than any royal decree."
"Thank you, my lord. You have been a gracious host, and have treated me better than I would have thought."
Isembard smiled. "It is always wise to befriend those with power. You, Daeron, are a dragonrider. You are a prince. You have opportunity to make mark upon the world. I am a great believer in an exchange of favors, but a one-for-one agreement over specifics is gauche and demeans us. Keeping a ledger over such matters offends the sensibilities.
Always another lesson.
"I hold no quarrel with this, and a friend you have proven to be, but I am curious what favors you would wish of me."
"A time may come when my own house has a prospect for more. My liege lady will have no heir of the body. An opportunity when age or accident brings the Stranger to her door."
Daeron nodded. "So long as we are clear, I would countenance nothing that could hasten that day."
There was no guarantee Jeyne Arryn wouldn't live another forty years, but Isembard's plans extended years, if not decades or even generations. His young son was heir to much wealth, but little true power outside Gulltown and this portion of the Vale. As Paramount Lord, with the wealth of Gulltown at his disposal, it would elevate the branch house of Arryn to the heights of power, second only to the Targaryens and Velaryons. Isembard was ambitious, but also cautious. Elaena had used the phrase, 'measure twice, cut once,' but with Isembard it was more like measure three times, obtain a second review, consider it further, measure a final time, and then cut.
And given how my rash actions led me to this predicament, I cannot say he is wrong.
"I would expect nothing else, and I also know that you will never betray the path of righteousness, and would never call upon you to do such a thing, nor permit others to work toward an end with base means," Isembard replied smoothly.
I wonder if that is true. You've done well by me. You are wise and ambitious, but I have never seen you do anything untoward. And yet… I know you are a master at wearing many guises. How can I know you speak the truth, when I know your talents for deception?
"It is good that we are of the same mind. Do you think the King will lift his sanction?" Daeron asked.
"It's hard to say, but I believe the time may be ripe. Joyous news arrived of your sister, Elaena, being with child. It may be more advantageous to ask after the birth, but there is the risk that if some tragedy were to befall the child, mother, or both, the King may be even less forthcoming in mercy."
Daeron grew cold at the thought of something happening to Elaena.
"I ask that you seek leave of my punishment sooner rather than later, my lord. I would like to visit her before she enters labors."
Isembard agreed and even said he would seek to enlist aid from those who might have the ear of the King. Daeron longed for his exile to end. He found comfort when he prayed in a Sept, but always after he left, the longing for his dragon and for his family would strike him. He had not done wrong by speaking up, but neither had he done right. Isembard had taught him patience. If a move yielded no fruit, what purpose was there in making a move? Better to wait until the critical juncture, the correct time where a wrong could be righted, to do something.
"If you are successful in convincing my father, I intend to reside with my family in King's Landing. But I would welcome the chance to return regularly and speak with you over a game or two of Cyvasse."
"Of course, my prince." His smile was warm and inviting, but it always was with those in his favor. "My home will always be open to friends."
***
Rhaenyra was taken aback at the flash of rage that flew over Daemon's face.
"What do you mean, 'no?'" Daemon hissed.
"My father hopes to be remembered as Viserys the Peaceful, dearest. But what you are suggesting would bring war upon us."
"A war we would win swiftly. These cities will fall one by one, and fear of drawing our ire will keep the rest at bay until it is too late. The time to strike is now. My wife has secured Baratheon cooperation, and we have our excuse. Lys will fall as Tyrosh did, and Myr will follow in turn," Daemon reasoned, his voice quick and harsh. "The rest of Essos will be mollified when we claim it is only the Triarchy we wish to punish for their past transgressions. We have never gone to war with Volantis or Braavos."
Rhaenyra thought back to the almost painfully damning reasons Elaena had given in her letter condemning further wars in Essos. She recalled them as she spoke to her lover. "We are still integra… integrating the Tyroshi. The Seven Kingdoms having a foothold in Essos itself will turn them all against us. My father has taken great pains to reassure the ambassadors of the various cities that we seek no further expansion. Would you have him break his word of honor?"
Daemon stalked around the table and seized her chin, locking eyes with her.
"Who has put those words on your lips? Was it Rhaenys?" he demanded.
Rhaenyra glared up at him. "You think I do not know what goes on in the realm I will inherit?"
Daemon's harsh laugh flushed color into her cheeks. He released her jaw. "You are often a delight, but matters of state are not what interest you. Someone has been whispering in your ear – someone bound by secrecy."
They must have talked to Rhaenys about this, but she most like tried to dissuade them. Daemon thinks she then told me, but it was truly Elaena. I don't wish to cause further animosity in either direction…
"You know my sworn shield's brother is the Master of Whisperers, yes?" Rhaenyra lied through her teeth, her voice dripping with scorn. Larys was in King's Landing, and Rhaenyra was on Dragonstone, so there had been no talk or reports from Lord Larys Strong about the realm.
Daemon studied her carefully before nodding. "So you refuse me knowing your realm will not grow? You do not want to be Queen of all the world? To indulge in every delicacy from every corner, every form of silk and jewel at your fingertips—is that not what you desire?"
Rhaenyra leaned back, fiddling with her wine cup. It was an enticing thought. But still… it had been Elaena's words, yet her logic rang true. Their father had given his word, and to make the world believe him a warmonger and untrustworthy would be a cruel blow.
"When I rule, we can consider it. Or we can take it to my father and lay it before his judgment. But I will not support going against his word, Daemon."
Daemon stared at her in silence for a long, tense moment, eyes considering before he shifted. "After all I have done for you? I have supported you, stood by your side, protected you from Alicent and Otto, and now you deny me what is mine? Assassins from Essos nearly killed Laena! Do you care so little for us?"
Rhaenyra swallowed from her cup.
"I do care, but there's no certainty it came from Lys or Myr," she said as she tried to regain her stomach for defying Daemon with drink.
"Who else?" Daemon let his voice drop low. "Who else but those who know they have wronged us? Will you seek vengeance only after one of us is slain? Does a corpse make a better bed companion for you?"
Rhaenyra shot to her feet. "You go too far!"
"Too far? I do not go far enough! You deny my adoption of my son. I acquiesced so that your claim would remain stronger and so he could be by your side. You withhold support for necessary action, and you care more about my brother's reputation than the lives of the two you claim to love."
Daemon turned away and stalked away from the hall, and Rhaenyra's heart lurched in her chest.
"Daemon, wait! Please!"
Daemon opened the door to the private sitting room adjoining Rhaenyra's bedroom. She chased after him before he could reach the next door leading to the hall.
"I would not see you leave with a bitter heart. Come, return, and we can speak more," she said in a quieter tone, mindful that beyond this room was a hall that servants frequently traversed.
He looked at her. "You must choose, Rhaenyra. Me and Laena, or those who seek to bring us down. I will not let you sacrifice my children on the altar of my brother's reputation."
Rhaenyra thought desperately. "They can stay with me on Dragonstone, Laena too. You can employ food tasters and guards. If they try again and there is evidence, we can take it to my father. Then I can support you in your ideas of conquest."
Daemon's face shifted slightly, his countenance softening. "Not even Dragonstone may be safe. Essos is home to the Faceless Men." He advanced a step and caressed her face. "Do you know that Laena weeps with fear sometimes? My brave and beautiful wife fears not for her own sake, but for Baela, Rhaena, and Visenya."
She closed her eyes as Daemon pressed his forehead to hers.
"You love your father, but he is weak. Above all else, we must look after each other. Can you not see that?"
Rhaenyra wavered, she didn't, perhaps couldn't, deny him outright. She had to try to convince him, so she wracked her mind seeking a possible alternative.
"Yes… yes… of course, but there are considerations beyond. What if your actions spark even more fear in Essos, and they become more serious in their attempts on you and Laena? Would it not make sense to avoid upsetting so many cities that are making overtures of friendship? Would not the risk become even greater?"
Daemon's face twisted at her words.
"Ever an excuse to not do anything. Truly you are your father's daughter," he said with spiteful contempt.
Worry and fear turned into a flash of rage. Rhaenyra responded with a slap to Daemon's face, only he caught her hand, used his other to seal her mouth and push her against the wall away from the door.
"And now you even raise your hand to me? Me?"
Rhaenyra tried to speak, but words failed her, and Daemon simply held her there, studying her as a cat might study a mouse.
"I am leaving now. Do not speak as I go. I cannot tell you what I will or will not do about the threats against my family, against our family. But unless you fly to Tyrosh and apologize to me and to Laena for your betrayal, we will have nothing to do with you."
Daemon let his grip linger for several more seconds before releasing her and stalking out of the room.
Rhaenyra shut the bedroom door and fell onto her bed, tears coming freely now – tears she had held back while arguing with her uncle. She truly knew not what to do. She needed Daemon and Laena in her life, yet… upsetting her father, Elaena, and doing something she knew was most like the wrong choice for Westeros felt impossible.
Gods, what am I going to do?
***
Selene Falwell frowned as she examined the cloth. "The yield improved, yet not to the level expected."
The weaver looked nervous. "Perhaps the loom still needs more refinement, my lady. The shuttle's speed is good, but the tension on the threads could be causing unevenness."
Selene sighed, tapping a finger on the edge of the table. "The foot-powered loom should be making more of a difference according to the inventor, but it seems there's more to be done. We'll mark this as a partial success."
"As you say, my lady."
Selene dismissed the weaver and then went back to reviewing the letter from the Reach. The Alan Bridge was nearing completion; that would make Elaena happy. The two years had seemed to go by in the blink of an eye. She had no idea her days could be filled with so much effort, with her mind pulled in so many directions. It shocked her that, as much as she and the other handmaidens did, it was a pittance compared to Elaena's own workload.
In truth, Selene loved what she was doing. Elaena had opened an entirely new world for her, and she was fascinated by it. Important decisions about her future needed to be made soon, as she now had several potential offers of marriage. Her own father had advised her that whichever match kept her in the good graces of Princess Elaena was the one she should pick. The princess, someone who valued self-determination, had simply said that whichever match pleased Selene would be the one she desired as well.
The problem was that few men were like Kevan Lefford. Few would tolerate their wives having such autonomy and power. Additionally, Selene did not wish to leave Golden Tooth and its new wonders. The bones of a new city were being laid down, one that would one day compete with the other great cities of Westeros. Elaena had shared her vision and had admitted there would be difficulties that only the vastly improved roads and economic efficiency could overcome.
Every major city in Westeros was also a port, but the Lefford lands were landlocked. Elaena had said that urban planning would be important, and if done correctly, they would be enjoying some incredible amenities thanks to the water systems that Elaena had dubbed 'plumbing.'
Hmm a heated bathing area you can walk into sounds divine.
But first, the work must be done. Returning to the matter of suitors, she considered once more her problems. Ser Medrick was everything she once thought she wanted in a match, but it would require her to move to White Harbor.
And be parted from all this heady progress? Be parted from the wonders Elaena builds here?
He was fair to look upon, chivalrous, a great warrior, and took an interest in her. And yet, she struggled. She had four other potential matches, and three paled in every aspect, save for location, compared to the future Lord Manderly of White Harbor. She liked Medrick, but she did not like the idea of the cold North. The last option was one not as fair to look upon, but could grant her more of what she desired. Lord Larys Strong had spoken plainly that he had no desire to keep her from her work; in fact, the few in-person discussions they'd had in the last couple of years showed he was insatiably curious about the work going on in Lefford lands. Obviously, she knew part of his curiosity was due to his role as secret collector and revealer, but the spark of life in his eyes when they spoke of such matters was difficult to feign. Even if such interest was conflicting to consider in retrospect.
Larys had said that he had no lands given to him, though the King may well reward him for loyal service, but that he would be tied to King's Landing for the foreseeable future. His needs were minimal: a few weeks a year by her side to produce a child or two, though the travel could prove annoying or disruptive for them both. Most like Elaena would simply take her along on her frequent trips to King's Landing, but she sometimes took Kevan and three would be too many. He would also be able to provide a sizeable bride-price for her father, though her father already approved of her efforts enough that she had little need to please him further.
This appealed to her desire to stay a part of what Elaena was doing in the short-term, but there were other considerations. She didn't like the look of him, both in general and in his oft-strange demeanor; she knew many ladies would openly scorn and pity her for being tied to a man with such an affliction. Others would be wary of ever speaking to her about anything of note, due to her husband's role on the small council.
Perhaps most disturbingly, the idea was present and she knew from Elaena's own elaborations in the past that marrying one with malformities would risk any children of hers or her descendants inheriting the same or worse. Such a thing was disquieting to the extreme, and no small problem.
Still deep in thought, she was joined by Cerenna Sarsfield.
"You look troubled," the pious woman remarked.
"I am contemplating the future, but it is not something you can assist me with. How is she doing today?"
"Her mood is as always," Cerenna said simply, "and she's still stubborn about reducing her daily tasks. I tried to speak with her about it while I did her hair, but she shut it down quickly."
"We figured as much, but it was wise to make the effort," Selene replied. "How are the new arrivals settling in?"
"Well enough, they can see how prosperous the Tyroshi we took in are doing, and the comparison has made them pliable." Cerenna's expression changed to one of satisfaction. "I've won over several more converts to the Faith of the Seven among that group."
"So long as it is clear that wasn't a requirement, you know how Elaena feels about those who come falsely to the Seven," she warned.
"I do not forget the instructions, no requirement was made of them, they chose to come freely after I spoke about how much the Maiden and the Crone has helped me in my life's path," Cerenna replied.
"Good, you came here with purpose, what was it?"
Cerenna nodded, "The Dark Storm has arrived and there will be a feast within the next two hours."
"Ser Laenor? Did Princess Rhaenyra come with him?"
She shook her head, "No, it was just him. One of the guards said that he seemed remarkably hurried. I thought Lord Lefford's immediate announcement of a feast was premature, but he insisted."
"Why wouldn't we want to honor Ser Laenor?"
"The Dark Storm… hurried? Elaena has not spoken to her good-father before he made the announcement. It will be embarrassing if he doesn't have time to feast. I can think of few reasons for a man such as him to be hurried."
Selene pursed her lips; she had a point.