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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)

Characters:

Tanya von DegurechaffViserys I TargaryenRhaenyra TargaryenSyrax | Rhaenyra Targaryen's DragonAlicent HightowerOtto HightowerAegon II TargaryenLaenor Velaryon

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WarOriginally Posted Elsewhere

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Published:2024-02-24Updated:2026-05-20Words:319,557Chapters:58/?Comments:1,548Kudos:3,728Bookmarks:1,072Hits:221,514

A Young Woman's Inevitable Dance of the Dragons

Failninjaninja

Chapter 52

Notes:

It has been awhile! I hope you enjoy the latest installment of Laenor's Lament... err I mean A Young Woman's Inevitable Dance of the Dragons.

As always HUGE special thanks to MARch_Of_Time for insanely helpful editing, planning, and enhancing this story.

Also a shout out to the community, it kind of put my mind onto this story again and 'sparked' (among other things) me starting to work on it again. They chat and talk about some good ASOIAF fics there, not much Tanya, but if you like the Game of Thrones pieces I highly recommend you check it out.

Chapter Text

Chapter 52

"I have to respect their free will, yet I still find it unfortunate." -From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 2

Alicent felt not joy at her son's victory. He defied the Seven, the Warrior specifically. Her son's dismissal of the Seven hurt her more than she could express in words. Even should the very worst of her fears be realized, and Rhaenyra ascend to the Iron Throne and put her family to the sword, she knew that the Mother would grant mercy to them after their deaths. But for Aemond? After his repeated blasphemies, she feared the lowest layer of the Seven Hells awaited him.

Where did I go wrong? I sacrificed so much to be a good wife and mother. I raised seven children and it has caused me nothing but grief.

The daughter of her heart was not even at the festivities. The King had asked Ser Kevan, and he had responded that she felt obligated to tend to her nephew. Alicent could not even take joy in Baela loudly complaining that her betrothed had not only lost, but had gotten himself injured. Oh, how that would have rankled Rhaenyra to hear!

It made for an awkward night, though at least it kept Laenor away from the table as well. Her husband jested with his brother and the Lord of Golden Tooth, while Alicent sat quietly. Daemon was less dangerous than Ser Laenor but a greater aggravation. Her husband loved his brother despite his constant vexation, and when Daemon acted in brotherly companionship, it could only mean he was plotting…something.

One of the lords offered a prayer to the Mother and a toast to a swift recovery for Prince Jacaerys, and Alicent's stomach churned again. She feared a reminder that it was Aemond, the boy who had mocked the Warrior, who had caused the injury. Her husband did not seem to blame the boy, thankfully.

Lord Reyne spoke with curiosity, "Has there been news? The way he fell I fear for the use of his leg."

Alicent saw Daemon lean back in his chair. "Did you cheer when Prince Aemond struck with his lance, my lord?"

The Westerlands lord cast an uneasy look at the Rogue Prince. "I, well, it was a well-struck blow. Half the realm cheered. Not for the prince's injury, of course."

Can they not change the subject?

"Lord Lefford," Alicent began, "this dish is remarkably savory, but I cannot quite place from where it originated."

The genial lord was nodding. "Thank you, Your Grace. We have begun including some Tyroshi ideas in our feast preparation. My good-daughter recommended we expand our palates in this time of widespread trade and prosperity, and we always have enough traditional dishes for anyone who finds it disagreeable. This particular…"

I chose well. He does like to go on. A harmless man who has become fully enchanted by Elaena. Thank the Seven I was able to raise Elaena properly. Back then I did not have so many children. It was easier to be more focused, and that made the difference. Elaena and Aegon have turned out well. Helaena disappoints at times, and I fear she will never wear the crown well, nor do much aid to Aegon's cause beyond her dragon, but she has not even come close to committing the follies that Aemond and Daeron have. It wasn't my fault; it was that I was overburdened!

Despite what she told herself she could not help but feel she had failed Aemond.

The source of her despair weighed in. "It seems, much good has come from the taking of Tyrosh. Labor for the various improvements across Westeros, my uncle's realm expanding to a proper Paramount Seat, and now even our dining has been enhanced. Imagine what more and greater riches could be won were we to further liberate more of Essos."

Her husband's face clouded over. "Aemond, you have covered yourself in glory with today's events, but my policy is clear. I desire peace with Essos, not more conflict. The only reason we went to war with Tyrosh is because of their heinous attack and attempted assassination of my good-son."

Aemond was nodding. "Yes, you have made that clear, but have you forbidden free discourse on the matter? My sister, Elaena, is not here, but–"

"Because of you," Rhaena muttered, but Aemond continued on.

"–she often discussed with me and our other siblings the scourge and foul nature of slavery. She viewed it as very inefficient. Ask the freed people of Tyrosh, some who are serving in this," he raised his cup toward Lord Lefford, "welcoming hall. I wager they would enjoy learning that their brothers and sisters in Lys and Myr could throw off their shackles as well."

My son thinks himself clever. But even in his cleverness, he cannot stop his true nature from bleeding through. I could well believe gentle Elaena had strong views on the abomination that is slavery. She would call it inhumane, an affront to dignity, and cruel. And yet he calls it inefficient!

Viserys looked annoyed, but it was Daemon who spoke up.

"Our King has made his view known. Should he change his mind, I would be the first to agree with you, nephew. Often escaped slaves from Lys flee in makeshift vessels of the crudest kind in an attempt to find succor on our shores. I constantly have to remind my lady wife that while most have truly escaped their masters, some are clever ploys to get close and attempt to slay us." Daemon glanced at his brother, then back at Aemond. "Convince your father in private councils and Caraxes will gladly fly beside the Bronze Fury, but this is a feast, not an open council to make pleas and arguments before the Protector of the Realm."

Alicent looked between her son and good-brother and felt disquieted.

What is going on? Daemon hates all of my children. What is this?

Viserys nodded. "My brother has the right of it; it is unseemly to have this talk at this table. Private council or no, I have made my guarantees to Lys and Myr. We do not seek further conflicts. All of Essos has extended the hand of friendship to us, and trade has flourished. Myr has even signed agreements to help the North produce more glass gardens for dangerous winters."

"As you wish, Your Grace," Aemond bowed his head, in uncharacteristically humble submission.

Talk continued of a more frivolous nature, but Alicent was more discomfited than ever. She needed to talk to her children, and yet she failed to see the purpose at times. Ever since she had tried to forbid Daeron from seeing his dragon, before his exile to Gulltown, she knew her writ over them all had waned thin indeed. It was a mixture of pity and something else, something that chilled their gazes and made even smiles feel distant. Aegon had told her to consider it alike how one would describe colors to a man blind man from birth. That was the difficulty in explaining to a non-dragon rider what foolishness she had tried with Daeron.

But the mistake aside, the explanations aside, it did her heart no favors to see the change in the way her own children looked at her.

***

All night, Daeron had prayed to the Seven. His entire mind and attention were upon the seven aspects. His affinity for the Smith, or the nature of knighthood being that of the Warrior, did not change how he approached his prayers. He gave equal time to each of the seven aspects, and to Him who embodied them. It was acceptable to devote one's life toward a particular face of the Seven, but he would honor them all, for the oaths of knighthood were sworn to all.

Without drink, food, or rest, he held his vigil until dawn was nearing. The septon had brought the oils to anoint him, and the one who would knight him drew near. Daeron had long considered who would do so. A part of him had wanted it to be his father, but his father, the King, had failed in his duty to the Gods and to the realm. Instead, it was Ser Harrold Westerling, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

The venerable old knight was honorable, leal, and a true knight through and through. His white cloak a symbol of the purity. Daeron knelt as the Kingsguard touched his shoulder with his blade.

"In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave."

I will never fully retreat from what I must do. Though, Lord Arryn taught me that a tactical retreat was not a surrender of principles.

"In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just."

Justice must reign above even love of family or personal favor.

"In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent."

Those who have not committed the sin are not responsible and must be protected if at all possible.

"In the name of the Maiden, I charge you to protect all women."

Women are the sacred carriers of our bloodlines; they must be protected.

"In the name of the Smith, I charge you to be strong."

I will be strong, and when justice is done, I will create edifices to bring honor to my creator.

"In the name of the Crone, I charge you to be wise."

Wisdom must temper my path, boldness is necessary, but a rash, even if honest word that allows evil to prevail is foolish.

"And in the name of the Stranger, I charge you to remember that all men must die, and that your oaths are held until that day."

Daeron swore the oaths with every part of his essence.

"Then arise, Ser Daeron Targaryen."

He did so. More important than being a dragon-rider, a prince, or a Targaryen, he was now a knight, an oath-sworn servant of the Seven, a higher power than even that of the King. He felt a sense of peace and purpose within him. He would live out his oaths every day to the best of his ability.

Daeron soon sought out his brother, Aegon. The dawn had pierced through the fog of the morn, and in like manner he needed to lift the pall his rash words had cast over his family.

"Ser Aegon," he said with a smile.

"Ser Daeron," the elder brother couldn't help but reply back.

"About the other day, regarding you and Helaena. That was uncouth of me. I allowed my frustration, and my fear of Aemond sitting upon the Iron Throne, to press you with a hasty suggestion. By all accounts our sister is a worthy wife, and she does not deserve the accusation."

Aegon nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Daeron." He paused in evident thought. "If I were to ask you to swear upon the Seven not to repeat what I am about to tell you, a thing that may ease your concerns, would you do so?"

Oaths to the Seven are not taken lightly, but Lord Arryn had taught him that knowledge is power. To chart the best course, one must first know the currents.

"I swear it upon the Seven that I shall hold what you tell me in confidence."

Aegon stared at him for a long moment, and then said, "We have not consummated our marriage. We are waiting until Helaena is older, that she might face the birthing bed with greater confidence. Elaena suggested it, despite our grandfather's urging that we try for children immediately. However, we intend to begin soon. So, please, no more talk of setting her aside."

Daeron's eyes widened in surprise. If Elaena said younger women faced harder hardship in birthings, then he would trust in her judgement. It was not what the Maesters had taught him in the Citadel, but while they were learned men, they did not know all.

"Thank you, brother. That does lift my spirits. I pray that she proves fertile and gives you man sons to carry your name and preserve the kingdom from the nightmare that would be Aemond."

***

Forrest Frey found Lord Lefford's hall a grand place. Golden Tooth was more ostentatious than the Twins or Riverrun, but it was done with an elegant flair. Not that he particularly cared overly for such things, but his wife's complimentary commentary on the matter sat well with him.

To join the House of the Dragon as husband to the Realm's Blessing would have been a high honor.

But it is hard to feel dissatisfaction when such a woman is now at my side.

Sabitha Vypren was different in a number of ways from Elaena. Her features were sharp, her hair dark, and her tongue far less polite. Forrest enjoyed her directness, even if her statements were oft harsher than necessary. She was a match for him in wit, and even in arms. Forrest had been shocked when Sabitha said she wished to train with him. He had won, but she proved quick and able, and fought with a desperate and effective cunning that was difficult to teach.

Forrest had no desire to hold her back from the training yard, and woe be unto any man who spoke a contrary word to it. They were not so far from the North, which had women warriors at times, and nor should any Frey so hastily dismiss an opportunity. It was simply not in Forrest to wish his wife less capable.

What fascinated him as well... was that Sabitha had said she would be eager to gratify his marital rights, but also that she would gladly ignore any of his dalliances were she permitted to have her own – with other women!

The princess may lose her poise if someone told her what Sabitha got up to! I almost wish to tell her of it, just to see if that perfect serenity she wears so well can be cracked.

"Show them why the princess should have chosen you on the field today," Sabitha had teasingly instructed him, the look in her eyes stirring him greatly.

Forrest had laughed. "If it were down to skill at arms, Ser Baldric Selmy would have been chosen. But nonetheless, my lady love, I shall endeavor to impress."

The tourney was full of some of the greatest knights of the realm. Not quite so many as at The Twin Weddings of Gold and Silver, but still a respectable showing. The tourney organizers had done what was typical – arranged the lists so that the greatest participants fought the unknown and weaker entrants. The purpose was not to curry favor, but to ensure that the final matches were the most anticipated.

His first joust had him bring down a hedge knight with no name. His next was a young lad from the Vale. It wasn't until later in the day that he faced his first challenging foe, Ser Arryk Cargyll of the Kingsguard. They splintered two lances against each other before he signaled Sabitha with his lance and then rode like the winds of the Seven Hells were upon him. His lance splintered perfectly upon his foe's shield, and Ser Arryk went careening into the dirt.

His next was the aging Lymond Mallister.

The Lord of Seagard may well be thrice my age. Certainly, has been participating in these tourneys longer than I have lived.

Forrest winced when his elder went down, but the man was hardy and raised his hand, signaling he was well, as his squires helped him to his feet. The man nodded toward Forrest with respect, and he was now within the top eight.

The other seven included Ser Criston Cole, Prince Daemon, Ser Steffon Darklyn, Ser Willis Fell, Ser Gyles Belgrave, Ser Jon Roxton, and Ser Artyr Dayne. Forrest had a few moments to exchange words with Artyr.

"You are up against Ser Criston, do you think you can win?"

The talented knight from Dorne gave a slight shrug. "He is skilled, it can go either way. I will need to ride flawlessly. What of you, you have already unhorsed one Kingsguard, will you succeed against Ser Steffon?"

"I have a lady to impress, so yes, I must."

"Fortune and the Seven favor you then, ser."

Forrest watched in admiration as Ser Criston and Ser Artyr broke seven lances against each other's shields. He could not tell who would prove the victor when it came to the King's judgment.

"Such a clash of valor! Well done to the both of you, but there can be but one victor. An impossible choice, but needs must. Ser Artyr Dayne is the victor!"

There was polite applause. Many of the knights from the Marches and the Reach did not like the Dornish, to put it lightly, though their bloodthirst had waned somewhat as the King's grip and influence over Dorne grew more pronounced with the passing years. Forrest saw his old suitor-rival, Ser Alan Beesbury, applaud enthusiastically for his good-brother, and loyalty made Forrest do the same.

Most like, my dear wife will scold me for cheering so prominently for one of the Dornish.

Prince Daemon overthrew Ser Jon, and Ser Willis defeated Ser Gyles. Then it was Forrest's turn, and his lance struck the chipped shield of Ser Steffon with a fury. Incredibly, the knight retained his horse despite being almost fully twisted around, but he called a pause before the second pass. A squire raced over to him, and they conferred for a moment.

It was announced that Ser Steffon had twisted something in his shoulder and could not properly continue. Forrest exhaled in relief; the man was good. With a groan, he realized he was now up against the Rogue Prince, the Lord of the Stepstones and Tyrosh, and one of the finest riders in the realm.

Grimly, he spurred his horse forward, and Daemon struck flawlessly. Stubborn defiance roared in Forrest, and he willed himself to stay seated despite the dizzying force. His squire handed him another lance, and they galloped toward each other. This time, Daemon's lance moved at the last second, striking obliquely to the left of his shield. He didn't get it properly set this time, and Forrest felt a momentary sensation of flight before slamming against the ground.

Ser Artyr proved the victor in his match, and now the finals were between the two of them. A short intermission was called for a new tandem competition, arranged by Lord Lefford, or more likely Princess Elaena. It was not the chaotic fury of the grand melee, nor was it like a duel before the Seven. This was a fight between pairs, where they could and should, if he understood it correctly, work together as opposed to individually.

He saw little of it, for his squires had to help him remove his armor, yet he caught the tail end as he made his way to Sabitha's seat.

"I hope you are not too disappointed."

"Nonsense, Forrest, you performed extremely well and brought honor to House Frey." Sabitha gave him a welcoming kiss before continuing. "Your esteem is raised, and if I quicken with child, mayhap the match you sought will be found pleasing."

Having been freshly wed, Forrest hoped for a child soon. If it were a boy, perhaps a match with Visenya; if it were a girl, then a match with Fraedrik would be most welcome. His desire to wed into the House of the Dragon, by another name or no, was still something he strongly wished for.

The final joust was about to start, and he heard some of the nearby lords betting. The sun was setting soon, so it was fortunate they got on with it. Both Daemon and the knight from Dorne rode impressively. However, Daemon seemed particularly ferocious, and on the third tilt, the knight of House Dayne fell from his steed.

Viserys was up, cheering for his brother, and the strength of House Targaryen.

"My King!" Daemon bellowed. "I humbly request a boon to mark this auspicious tournament."

Forrest saw his wife's gaze turn sharp as she studied the two brothers.

"Within reason, perhaps," the King shouted back down.

"My nephew suffered a grievous wound. My lady wife tells me that the Maester even suggested the limb be removed, but was overruled by my good-brother. Family is important, my brother; I see that now more than ever. I say to you, Rhaenyra should be here, for her children, for the sake of Prince Jacaerys, who even now lies with a frightful wound. End her time in the Vale, or at the least, let mercy move you and allow her to visit her wounded son!"

Forrest's wife tilted her head. "How interesting. We all heard rumors and knew Rhaenyra's extended visit to the Vale was a punishment by her father, but it is still quite tawdry to speak of it so openly."

The King looked conflicted and a hush fell over the stands.

"You speak well and have honored our house this day. Rhaenyra should be sent for and allowed to visit her son. I will then speak with her and see if she still wishes to continue her studies in statecraft with Lady Arryn."

"My thanks, Your Grace." Daemon bowed his head and then saluted to the crowds to some significant cheering. The Realm's Delight may not be as popular as the Realm's Blessing, but she was still the Heir, the wife of the Dark Storm, and the mother of a wounded prince.

"Explain it to me," Forrest asked.

"Rhaenyra did something to upset the King. Likely the business with the Iron Isles, Tyrosh, and the Stormlands. My ears have not been able to pick out the details, but the rumor had it that she was being sent into exile much like Prince Daeron for his rather treasonous accusations that marked a scandalous end to the Twin Weddings of Gold and Silver." Sabitha explained.

"You would think the North would prove a more punishing exile than the Vale," Forrest quipped. "Is this then a setback for the 'Greens' that you have oft warned me of?"

"Perhaps, or it is more rope for Princess Rhaenyra to hang herself with. The hearts of Targaryens are difficult to uncover. I suspect there is a faction pushing for greater expansion into Essos. Led by Daemon, Laena, and the Dark Storm. Ironically I think Rhaenys, despite being the mother of Laena and Laenor, is opposed, as is Elaena and of course Viserys."

Forrest scratched at his chin. "I'd not enjoy opposing Ser Laenor, but my house will side with Elaena if our opinion is asked for."

She tsked and shook her head. "Better not to venture any opinion at all. The ground shifts too quickly for that. If you wish to speak privately with Elaena and make our position known, well and good, but be careful in your cups at the feast."

"You know I am."

She clasped his hand. "I do, but I would also caution you against even speaking with Elaena of it. Rhaenyra is the Heir, and she will be the one who charts the course of the Seven Kingdoms. And if even some of the Greens, like young Aemond, desire war, it would not be good for our house if we are seen as laggardly in joining the drumbeat."

My wife is wise, but I must follow what I deem is right. Peace has brought untold prosperity to the Seven Kingdoms. I do not fear war, but I would rather not have to fight one. Especially if it's on the bloody waters of the Narrow Sea!

***

Rhaenyra was ecstatic at being free. She knew she owed a debt of gratitude to Jeyne and Jessamyn. They had vouched for her to her father and had been pleasant dinner companions. She wished they had been more accommodating as a distraction, but in truth, they both paled compared to Laena's beauty. They were clearly in love, and she did not resent them for staying true to their own relationship, but it had been disappointing all the same, as she had so little to do in the Eyrie.

The Eyrie was a lonely place, and even with Jessamyn's explanation that Jeyne did not want to deal with frustrating lords who kept pressuring her to marry, it did not change her circumstance. The time away from her children and her lovers had been terrible, but it had given her much-needed perspective. Perspective enough for her to say all the right words to her father, who had rescinded her exile in full. She had been polite with her sister. She had missed her, but some things could not so readily be forgiven.

For too long I have followed in my father's footsteps. My generosity has been taken advantage of time and time again. Now things will change.

Most importantly, she had seen to Jace and thanked the Gods that Laenor had stopped the Maesters from doing something foolish. Mellos had infected so many of his order with black pessimism. Her son could have been maimed for life!

Arriving with everyone back on Dragonstone, she was greeted by her other precious children alongside Laenor, Harwin, Lyra, Laena, and Daemon. After a great many hugs and tears, she told her children she had to speak with the others.

Lyra went to leave with the children, and Rhaenyra was glad she had not needed to ask her. When they left, Daemon walked forward, and she thrust out her hand, placing it against Daemon's chest.

"Save it. I have something I must tell all of you." She glanced at Harwin. "You must stay, my protector and leal knight, but these words are not directed at you. Unlike the others, you have done naught but love and defend me."

Harwin looked confused but bowed his head. "Always, my princess."

Daemon was taken aback. "Rhaenyra, what is this? I thought I was clear in the letter – the only reason you are free from the land of sheep-fuckers is due to my actions. I had to play the humble courtier and win a tournament just for the chance to see you freed. And now I am greeted with this?"

"You are!" Rhaenyra replied, fire in her voice. "You, and so many others, have taken advantage of my good nature, my generous nature. I have done so much for this family, for all of you, and have received precious little in return."

Laenor looked confused. Laena appeared hurt. Daemon was angry. Harwin, her steady rock, merely looked troubled and concerned.

"Laenor. I have done more than any wife in the Seven Kingdoms would do. You married into the royal line, and yet I let you have your passions with Joffrey, even when it risked my inheritance. I could have easily cast you aside once I learned of your… nature. But I did not, nor do I regret doing so; you have been a father to my boys." She moved closer to her husband and took his cheek in her hand. "I cherish you, husband. But I have done favor after favor for you, even letting a man maimed be my Master-at-Arms, just because I care for you and wanted to give your lover purpose."

"Rhaenyra," Laenor's voice was aggrieved as he began, "Joffrey fulfills his duties well. Our boys respect him, and he has taught them well."

"That is not the point, Laenor. The issue is that I did that for you, where others would not. I tell you true, I do not regret it! What I regret is that I receive no gratitude for it, no respect from you. You think it right to advise me to forgive slights from my sister, to give away a dragon egg after she wronged me. You were wroth and cross with me after all I have done for you."

Laenor opened his mouth, with Elaena's name on his lips.

"Do not speak to me about my sister! I love and cherish her dearly, but the wound she has done to me was grievous. She is another who lacks gratitude. It was I, all those years ago, who hectored my father to let her fly on a dragon. Alicent would have forbidden her from flying until she had reached her maturity, and our father was weak enough without a counter-voice to allow Alicent to run roughshod over him."

Rhaenyra felt moisture at the corners of her eyes. Everything was so unfair. It was as if her family did not know or acknowledge any of the efforts she had made over so many years.

"I lauded her with praise to all who would listen! I urged all of you to protect my sweet, gentle Elaena." She whirled on Daemon. "Have I not constantly defended her when you seek to bring up the specter of her loyalty to the Queen?"

Daemon frowned. "You have, much to my disappointment, for you foolishly still believe her wedded to your cause."

Rhaenyra shook her head. "AGAIN! It is not my purpose to discuss the nature of my sister's loyalties, only that I have ever defended and protected her from others. But is there gratitude? She gave wise counsel, which you convinced me to ignore, but what does she do when her way is not met? She whispers in Father's ear, and I am trapped in the Vale. Where is her loyalty? Where is the gratitude?"

Daemon smiled. "We are of a like mind; she has been utterly ungrateful."

Rhaenyra stared daggers at him. "Oh, but I have not yet come to you, uncle."

Daemon moved to speak, but Laena touched his arm. "Let her share what she feels. She has been away long in a place where you have few friends, my love." Laena's beautiful lips curved in a half-smile. "Please, Rhaenyra, unburden yourself and tell us your thoughts in full on where we have wronged you."

Rhaenyra gave a bitter laugh.

"Ah, sweet Laena. You have such a way with words. You and Daemon have been the largest recipients of my blessings. If it were not for me vouching for you both, you would still be in Pentos! If it were not for me, who knows what would have happened in the birthing bed? I flew faster than I had ever done before and brought my personal Maester to tend to you! When Daemon left you with bitter words, whose shoulder did you cry upon?"

She turned away lest they see her come undone. Rhaenyra breathed and wiped her eyes and turned back toward them.

"And you both sought to humble me, me! The Heir! The future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms! You made me beg to have you in my life again because I did not dance to the tune you had set for me. And when I danced to the tune, who ended up bearing the brunt of it? Was it the one who orchestrated it? No. You were forbidden from your war, and the counters of your coppers suffered, but you stayed with each other, your children. It was I who was exiled from everyone I cared for!"

Harwin went to soothe her physically, but she shook her head and he stepped back.

"I am not finished. Daemon, I have done more for you than any other. I protected you when you bruised my sister. It was I who convinced her to sing pretty words to father on more than one occasion. It was I who opened my home to you. And you disrespect me, made me grovel, even after I gave you what you wanted! Where is your gratitude? Where is your respect for your future sovereign?"

Rhaenyra could tell Daemon was furious, and she saw Laena's hand on his arm. She wondered what silent communication was passing between them.

"You feel misused," Daemon said finally. "No doubt that bitch in the Vale spoke with you, and she slanted your view of every one of my actions and every possible slight. The truth is, I do the same with you that I attempted with my brother. You are right in that your too-generous nature has led you astray. You are weak. You need someone to protect you, someone to make the hard decisions that you cannot. Take heart in the truth that I do want what is best for you and that I will ensure your reign will be greater than the Conqueror's! The entire world will be laid at your feet – but only if you give me a free hand and let me!"

Rhaenyra stared at her lover. Even now, his vibrant confidence sang to her heart. This was a Targaryen, this was the Rogue Prince, the swagger, the boldness, all the things she had fallen in love with. Were she any other noble lady, his protection and guidance may well be necessary.

But I am not a gentle Elaena. I am not a cautious Rhaenys. I am the Heir! The Blood of the Dragon runs through my veins as thickly as it does Daemon's.

"You do not see me as a Queen. You see me as a tool, but I am no man's tool. I am Rhaenyra Targaryen, first of my name, rider of Syrax and one day Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. You will either learn to respect that, or you will be banished from my presence, and when I am Queen I will find a more fitting Lord of Tyrosh!"

Daemon looked at her, fury etched on his face. Harwin took a small step, placing himself closer, ready to intervene should it become necessary. Ever her loyal knight.

"You speak of ingratitude, but who was it that freed you from the Vale?" Daemon asked, heatedly.

Rhaenyra nodded. "I pay my debts. Laena requested the last remaining unclaimed egg, the same egg that my sister Elaena wishes for. For your noble efforts in securing my release, you will have it."

Laenor sighed, and Rhaenyra glared at him, but he said nothing more for the moment. Laena stepped forward, reaching out to embrace her. She let Laena's hug envelop her. "Thank you, my cherished one. Visenya deserves a dragon of her own. Thank you."

Rhaenyra did not return her affection. "Laena, you are the softest velvet to my uncle's Valyrian steel. I will always harbor affection for you. You are welcome in my bed, as is he, provided you both understand that I am Queen. But I cannot trust what your honeyed words say; you are too good at what you do. You will never advise me again on any matter. I wonder, will you still seek out our idyllic nights together if you know it will not profit my uncle's desires?"

That look of hurt on your face… is it genuine, or another game you play? Gods, I was so angry at my father for what he did, and still am, but I needed the time away. Laena's soft touches and glib words are deadlier than Daemon's tantrums and demands.

"Of course, Rhaenyra, unless my Lord Husband says otherwise, I will always relish time with you, within the bed and without. You are my dearest friend, always."

Daemon was still on the cusp of speaking, but it was Laenor spoke first.

"My lady wife, you believe you have been misused. For my part, I cannot recall every word I spoke to you, but I never meant for you to feel that I am not thankful for the arrangement we came to. I know Joffrey is eternally grateful for his position, and from the depths of my being, I appreciate what you have done for him."

His gaze held hers. "Nonetheless, I believe your view is clouded by the recent hurts and your longing for your family. Before you make any rash decisions, such as what to do with a dragon egg, you should take time to pause and reflect. Whatever you–"

"Laenor!" Laena cried. "Why would you deny your niece a dragon?"

"Because it would mean denying Elaena's son the same, and she made the request first. Rhaenyra may have defended Elaena, but Elaena has done the same! It was she who summoned the Maesters so quickly that they saved my life. It was she who suggested placing the egg beside me when I was in the embrace of the Stranger. I owe her a debt, sister."

Daemon shook his head. "It is already decided, and there is more. Laena has struggled with the birthing bed, and we will attempt but once more, as I would not see my wife follow in the footsteps of my brother's. Should I not have a proper son born, then I would ask to adopt Aelyx to be my heir."

Rhaenyra blinked. "I have just been reunited with my son and you…"

"And that decision would be more than a year away!" Daemon roared, his temper already thinly held now coming to life.

Rhaenyra felt a spike of her own rage surge. "And this is exactly what I am speaking of! You beg favor of me and then you yell at your future Queen? Kings have mounted heads on spikes for such an offense. Control yourself, or I may well reconsider giving Visenya an egg."

She shook her head.

"No. I am to be a Queen, and so I will be. I have already made my decisions. Visenya will have her egg, and I will hear no more of it from anyone. As for my son, I will consider it once I am assured you have learned proper deference, uncle."

Laena's nails were digging into Daemon's wrists, and the prideful man finally lowered his head a fraction of an inch. "Your Grace, I must see to Caraxes."

The dragon's roar could be heard, and Rhaenyra granted him leave to depart. "You may all leave me. I wish to be alone with Harwin. The rest of you can sup with me on the morrow, and you can let me know if you see me as your Queen or if you wish to depart."

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Published:2024-02-24Updated:2026-05-20Words:319,557Chapters:58/?Comments:1,548Kudos:3,728Bookmarks:1,072Hits:221,514

A Young Woman's Inevitable Dance of the Dragons

Failninjaninja

Chapter 53

Notes:

BIG THANK YOU TO MARch_Of_Time for proofreading, anatomical & pregnancy fact checking, and enhancements!

Also if anyone wants to make TikToks about this fanfic... feel free! Seen some neat ones about other fanfics in ASOIAF where they splice different scenes together to tell a different story from HOTD/GOT/Other Period pieces.

NOTE - I think the narrative makes it clear, but there is a several year time skip we are now in year 130.

Chapter Text

Chapter 53

"By the time the wisdom of her actions comes into question, it's safer to follow through without hesitation now that the course has been decided." -From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 7

Kevan smiled as he saw little Alys trace her tiny fingers over the words while he read them aloud to her. She was a curious child, and no doubt before long she would begin reading just as fast as Fraedrik had. The little pale blonde mop on her head indicated her Westerlands blood, but the purplish tint to her eyes came from the House of the Dragon.

Elaena had once explained to him that just because her own eyes were blue did not mean that her blood did not contain the schematics for purple eyes. As an example she used her late grandmother, Princess Alyssa, who had one eye green and the other violet, yet both her great-grandparents had only purple or blue eyes. It was one of those pieces of lore that he simply trusted her to be correct about when it came to the ways of House Targaryen.

Regardless, little Alys joining their family became the next treasure in his heart.

His father had been moved greatly by the decision to name her after Kevan's grandmother, his father's mother, Alys Lefford née Westerling. Elaena had said that it was appropriate and fair, since she had pushed for her firstborn's name to honor her own history, so the next child should honor Kevan's. He had not thought such equity was needed, but he did not protest greatly. His father's joyous smile was quite pleasing to him.

Kevan was sure his own lips were caught in similar smiles all the time, these days.

After finishing her story, he put little Alys to bed and walked out of her room, nodding to the two guards who quietly intoned, "Ser Kevan."

The men who guarded his family were chosen for their loyalty and their ability. Kevan was told that they had undergone a rather rigorous winnowing process overseen by his lady and several of the Knights of Victory whom Elaena employed. From the tales he'd heard, it was not a process for the faint of heart, but that any who succeeded could be relied upon to the extreme.

On this, he and Elaena readily agreed, even if he was lacking experience as to her methods. Kevan would have none but the best protecting his family. Assassins had once gotten far too near his wife all those years ago, and despite all the love and joy in his life he would never forget the cold resolve those events had built at his core. No blades in the dark would ever be allowed near her again, let alone their children.

The new keep they'd designed and built together was key to this, as the place where their family would reside and be protected for the foreseeable future. It was located near the center of Silvervale, the completed city.

Well, mostly complete.

For over half a decade the city and its defenses had been built up, truly staggering sums of gold invested in its completion as the Crown and the Dragon Bank prospered like never before.

The roads were all paved in gray, with marble, gray granite, and slate being the most common building materials. Mostly due to Lady Selene's influence, even colorful banners flying throughout the city and the clothes of its people often included silver designs, while most decorative filigree was done in polished gray metals or even real silver in wealthier areas.

A city of gray and silver tones, situated in the vale below the Golden Tooth, over which a magnificent silver dragon oft flew. There had been talk of other names, but Silvervale had stuck. His lady wife had been a bit amusingly exasperated about that, but in her own words, a recognizable brand held its own kind of power.

And Silvervale was a name on many tongues indeed.

The keep itself was part family home and part vicious fortress. Half of it was underground with extensive shelters and reserves of its own, which was somewhat surprising, because the bunker project had separate construction sites well outside of Silvervale. But if one factored in all of the defensible locations built throughout the city, the entire extent of Silvervale itself could be considered mere outlying defenses for the central keep.

Assaulting the city was guaranteed to make any invader suffer horrendously bloody losses, while still providing infrastructure for regular guard patrols and keeping order on the streets.

Districts segmented the city crosswise, with walls and gated guardposts between each. Intruders attempting to storm from one district to another could be trapped within enclosed spaces and fired upon from every angle. When fully garrisoned, every step of the main roads would be within range of tower outposts. Mandatory 'building codes' and firebreaks were set in place to prevent fires from spreading, and the use of stone in construction reduce that danger further.

On and on the defenses went, every bit of it planned or approved, built hand in hand with city gardens and tree-lined boulevards, decorative fountains and separate wells, expansive sewers and cisterns.

By every measure, Silvervale was a marvel and testament to his lady wife's vision for a city planned out in near entirety ahead of its construction.

Despite his father being the Lord of Golden Tooth, he too oft stayed in the new city.

The great baths were almost certainly a reason, alongside being near his grandchildren.

Elaena, with the aid of several ingenious craftsmen, had devised a way to harness dragon fire to heat water. A stone furnace was built for Viktoriya to loose her flame into, and great bronze pipes ran from the heated chamber into a network of channels and pumps. With the pull of a lever, steaming water flowed as though by magic.

Kevan had been particularly intrigued by a complex mechanism to super-heat and funnel boiling waters from the same reservoir as the bathhouses out onto attackers attempting to breach a specific trapped zone by the entrance to the inner keep.

There were smaller tubs for private bathing, but Kevan's favored luxury, as with many others, was the great ever-heated bath, vast as a feast hall and warm as summer. Steam drifted lazily across the surface and clung to the air like a soft veil, while the stone floors around it were always pleasantly warm beneath the feet. Kevan knew the water circulated and was 'filtered' of dirt and detritus. It was a luxury that not even King's Landing or Oldtown could boast.

When he arrived, his beautiful lady was waiting for him. The bath was open to others at times, but after the hour of the bat, it was reserved just for his family. Over the last several years, she had matured into her appearance. Stately and striking all at once, she had never grown quite to the height of most ladies, but her manner and poise always made her shadow seem cast tall. Her figure had grown fuller as a mother, yet even more elegant in proportion. Her hair remained long and silvery-white, held in braids when she rode Viktoriya, but now hung loose as she lounged in nothing but her skin.

She shifted her eyes to him over her shoulder, tired blue irises seeming to glow warm as they met his own.

"Husband, did Alys give you any problems?"

"Nay, she has her usual quiet disposition. I believe she will be gentler than our spirited Fraedrik."

He had finished disrobing and savored the warmth on his skin before pushing himself through the water to glide toward his wife, enjoying a quiet kiss upon his arrival. Elaena had been so… transactional during the early days of their marriage when it came to affection. His quiet, gentle efforts had paid off over the years, and the hesitation was gone. Their touches were easy and lingering, and it was not just for the purpose of conceiving that they lay together as man and wife.

"With Fraedrik having just celebrated his sixth name day, it is time for him to have his own dragon. The smallfolk on Dragonstone have occasionally glimpsed a dragon they call Gray Ghost, and I believe I can corral it for our son to attempt a bond."

Kevan nodded. The thought of his son being near a dragon not yet bonded was a fearful one, but he trusted his wife in all things, draconic or otherwise. Indeed, Elaena's incredible affinity with her Viktoriya still astounded, for never would he have imagined in his youth a dragon mirroring its rider's will so effortlessly. Still, he could not help but feel a trace of bitterness over the situation.

"Are we sure your sister will not object to you poaching a dragon on her island?"

Rhaenyra had gifted the egg they had hoped to have for their son to Daemon and Laena for their daughter Visenya. Since then, no other eggs had been recovered from Meleys or Syrax. In King's Landing, Helaena's Dreamfyre had laid a clutch of three eggs. When they had arrived, it was shortly after Helaena had given birth to the twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Two of the three eggs had been given to those twins, and both had hatched. The third egg had been given to Helaena's brother Uthor, though it had not hatched.

Kevan had been in King's Landing when the Maesters predicted a difficult birth for Helaena. Her abdomen had swollen faster than that of a normal woman carrying a child. Princess Helaena had predicted she was carrying not just one, but two babes. Maester Mellos said that was just an idle fancy of hers, but Elaena had declared it true and spent months in King's Landing with her sister. In Kevan's eyes, that should have meant the third egg could have gone to Fraedrik instead of Uthor.

Elaena does not like me speaking ill of Helaena, so I will not bring it up again. Still, to have two of her sisters deny eggs to her own line was hurtful. Though I feel this pain largely at the thought of how it must hurt for her, she herself hardly seems to pay it much mind. I fear her family is oft more callous to her love for them than they ought be.

Elaena's eyes flashed. "It is a wild dragon; it is not even known if it nests properly on Dragonstone. I do not believe it will cause any issues. Rhaenyra may nurse a grudge, but they would not be able to catch Gray Ghost safely, so it is not as if I am taking anything from her. She welcomes me easily enough when I visit."

Kevan knew that was true, as he often joined her on her excursions. Rhaenyra was an affable host, though there was often a tension in the air between jests and toasts. He wondered if it was all due to Rhaenyra's anger at Elaena for her temporary exile half a decade ago, or if it was some other spark. Harwin's wife seemed troubled, and Laenor ever seemed like a caged beast. Were he not the Dark Storm, Kevan would have taken Laenor's sweating, worried expressions, and too-quick movements as signs of anxiety, but the heir of Golden Tooth knew they could be nothing more than a desire to wage the brand of warfare he had mastered in the Stepstones and Tyrosh.

Though I do not know why, my wife finds my thoughts on Laenor quite amusing. In this one area, I am bemused by her seeming misunderstanding of the martial bearing and nature of the Dark Storm. He has doted upon my clever Elaena all her life, even heeded her sage council on matters of strategy, as is appropriate for all she has done. Unlike nearly everyone else in the realm, I am confident Laenor would not vent his wrath on me, thanks to my marriage to her. Yet it has surely painted a different image of the kind of man Laenor is in her mind. Between his chained frustration, whatever had Lyra so concerned, and past slights, some days in Dragonstone feel far too fraught with tension to make for a truly enjoyable visit.

Elaena traveled to and fro across the realm. Visiting King's Landing and Dragonstone was common, but she also journeyed to other locales, most recently White Harbor. The North had called their banners and won a sharp victory over the Wildlings. The young Lord Stark had told the King that no aid in men and arms was needed, but supplies and food would be welcome, as Winter was nearing and aiding the Night's Watch on a deeper ranging to end the threat of Wildlings for generations was his desire.

The King had told his small council that he wondered if young Cregan was overeager to make a name for himself. Some argued it would be a waste of coin in pursuit of one lord's vainglory, with the Wall standing proud and well-manned. Elaena, however, had spoken with her father and convinced him that the treasury could easily bear the costs. With the new crops and glass gardens now available in many of the strongholds of the North, Elaena was confident that even a harsh Winter would not lead to starvation as it normally had, though it would still be difficult with so many men called to fight beyond the Wall.

"You know your sister best, my love. Will I be joining you?"

Elaena shook her head. "No, it would be best with just the two of us." She relaxed into his embrace.

Some time passed in easy silence as Kevan combed his fingers through his wife's hair, gently scratching her scalp and tracing soothing patterns upon her neck.

She loosed a long breath of pleased comfort, nestling her head to rest more fully into his collar. Kevan held her closer and tucked her deeper into the crook of his neck.

Warmth and smooth skin shared with such a heartfelt embrace... it brought a euphoric satisfaction to the efforts he'd long devoted. A dream come true.

"We had agreed upon two children, Kevan, but Fraedrik and Alys have brought me such joy that I would not mind another. Only… when I am with child, I cannot be fully ready if ill befalls my family."

Kevan smiled gently; his wife always took on so much herself.

"I am in no hurry. I would be delighted with another child, but it sounds as if you have some concerns."

"Indeed, I do. Another assassination attempt on Daemon occurred. Hamish writes that he is not sure if it is a genuine one or not. My uncle has enemies aplenty, but false flag or no, he will once more attempt to present his case to my father. The troubles in the North concern me, and Aemond… Aemond is stirring trouble in Essos all on his own as well. The small council will likely see a number of retirements soon, and ears are killing ears in Gulltown, King's Landing, and Lannisport. Knives are being sharpened, and while we are safe in Silvervale, the rest of my family is not."

Kevan held her tighter in his arms, and with a squeeze of reassurance added, "As the Starks are wont to say, Winter is Coming as well. You are still only five-and-twenty, plenty of years of left to birth more children, if that is what you desire. There is time if you would prefer to wait until after the winter has passed."

"I am of two minds, but let us see how my undertaking with Gray Ghost goes first."

Kevan nodded his agreement. "In the meantime, we can always practice." She lifted her head and met his gaze with a sultry smirk, no longer awkward or cheeks dusting red at the idea of pleasure for pleasure's sake.

Gods, I am a blessed man.

***

Ser Medrick Manderly watched as Lord Umber swatted down two Wildlings with one sweep of his great blade. The heavy weapon bit deep, sending a spray of blood that steamed briefly in the frigid air before freezing into red crystals on the snow. The North's warriors surged, and the half-starved Wildlings came undone. This was not the knightly jousting of tournaments in the south, but butchery in the frozen snow. Battle was dangerous, even if Medrick was more than a match for any foe he had come across. There were other dangers, however. The cold itself had led to more injuries than clashes with the enemy. Toes and fingers were the most common casualties over the last month. Many men had awoken to find their extremities black and lifeless. The Maesters had been forced to saw them off amid curses and screams.

Medrick smashed his shield into the face of a man in furs. Without armor or a shield of his own, the man was open to countless attacks. On the other hand, Medrick was fully armored and nearly invulnerable to his foe's weapons. They often used not even proper castle-forged steel, but poor-edged weapons prone to breakage. A bone-tipped spear glanced off his vambrace with a dull thud. It was a simple truth: a man in plate armor could be far less skilled than a man not in plate armor and still easily prove the victor. Medrick Manderly was not unskilled, and his battle reflexes more than matched his foes'. Those twin advantages combined to allow him to cut a bloody swathe that his squires and men-at-arms were hard-pressed to keep up with in the now pink-colored snow.

Medrick did not relish this duty. He had been wed for only a few weeks before the banners were called by Lord Stark. Bella Frey was a delightful young woman, quite enamored with him and pleasing to look upon. She was loyal, devoted, kind, and agreeable to be around. And yet… he could not help but wonder what life would have been like with someone like Princess Elaena.

In the post-battle celebration Lord Cregan Stark spoke with his commanders, which included Ser Medrick.

"The stories they tell beggar belief. The dead walking? Ridiculous, it would seem. And yet there is little cause to doubt that that is what they truly believe," Lord Stark said in a cold tone.

"Something sent the Wildling tribes south. They weren't ready for this conflict; half of them are starved, and winter has yet to truly come," Lord Umber rumbled. The man was even bigger than Lord Selmy and Ser Harwin Strong, the two largest men Medrick could recall ever seeing.

Medrick knew that was true, though it was colder where he was beyond the Wall at the moment than what White Harbor would face even in the harshest of winters. He shivered; he couldn't quite imagine so harsh an icy temperament as true winter this far north.

"Might it be a trick?" Medrick asked. "A rival group of Wildlings creating fear through clever use of disguise and sleight of hand? Or perhaps some woods witch brewed some sort of poison or vapor that makes men see horrors, and then the tale spreads?"

Stark grimly chuckled. "Wildlings don't tend to be that clever. You've been in the south too long and picked up all their games, ser. Take it as no slight, for your time in the south has proven a great boon to the North." Stark's lips curled into a smile, "And, if needs must I ever venture into the south, I would have you at my side to explain the twisted ways of the lower Seven Kingdoms. But as to the Wildlings, no, I do not think it likely."

"Surely you do not think the dead truly walk?" Lord Bolton said with an air of skepticism.

Cregan grimaced. "The Wall was built for more than to keep Wildlings away. The old tales are not the pretty songs southron children sing by the hearth. They are the words our fathers carved into weirwood hearts when the world was younger and darker."

Seven preserve us. Is Cregan suggesting the dead do truly walk?

"I do not ask you to believe in children's tales. I ask you to look at the fear in the eyes of men who have lived their whole lives beyond the Wall, men who eat their own dead when hunger bites deep enough, and tell me what could frighten them more than starvation?"

The lords murmured among themselves, some carefully scoffing at the conceit. Others declared that strategy should never be based on Wildling belief, for they are wild and strange to other men. Medrick finally cleared his throat.

"Lord Stark, I cannot say whether your words are true or not. But my father's house has pledged itself to your family. I will ride where you command. What do you intend to do about this threat?"

Cregan's eyes met his own. They were unflinching, and Medrick returned the gaze evenly. He recalled the tales of how the old Kings of Winter could see beyond the ordinary, glimpsing the fate of men and lands alike. How Torrhen Stark had knelt – not from fear, for all knew he had none, but because he foresaw the devastation that would befall his realm had he resisted the Conqueror.

"Our task is not done. We go further north, either to end the threat of more Wildlings or to uncover the truth for ourselves."

***

Helaena rarely remembered her dreams these days. Their importance had retreated in her mind, as she could still never understand what was true and what was mere flights of fancy. With them no longer as memorable, potentially due to the dietary changes her sister had suggested, and her coming to peace with the thought that it was impossible to tell if one were true or not, she was far less concerned when one stood out.

It did not, however, stop her from waking with a scream of terror. Her husband lightly embraced her, whispering softly, "All is well. I am here, Helaena."

Helaena clung to him for a moment, the dream far starker than any she had had in the last couple of years. As usual, it was all a jumble. She grabbed the parchment and quickly sketched what she still recalled.

Aegon looked over her shoulder as the pair of too-blue eyes appeared under Helaena's hands. Then came another sketch, a large dragon consuming a smaller one. She could not recall, or perhaps had not seen in her mind's eye, the coloration of either, but it was clear that one was far larger. The final image, the one that filled her with fear, showed a rat biting her son, Jaehaerys.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were born together, something she suspected had caused the exasperated and venerable old Maester Mellos to resign his position and allow it to someone who might have better fortune in understanding the House of the Dragon. She wished him well and wondered what he would write in that book he was laboring over.

The new Grand Maester was less sour of disposition than the old one, though Maester Orwyle's selection by the Maesters of Oldtown had caused friction with Princess Rhaenyra, who had urged her father to select someone else regardless of the Conclave's decision. Helaena preferred not to pay too much attention to the noisier individuals of the court, as it only made her head throb.

It was with some humor that she realized her twin babes were quite noisy, yet she found she did not mind when it was them. Like the sound of heavy rain upon the window, she quite liked being around them and being their mother.

Even Alicent… ah, my mother, seems to treat them with patience and adoration, more so than I ever felt from her when I was being reared. Father had once said that being a grandsire was a precious, unmatched joy. 'Tis good for her to have time with them, for I can see the cares of the court melt away when she is with them.

Sometimes Helaena felt guilty that she did not shoulder a larger burden for her mother, but it was not who she was. She knew Aegon was to be King after their father passed, yet the careful plotting and whispered, honeyed words to the right noble or knight were a game she knew she would never be good at. What concerned her was how Elaena would react to such a thing. She had always been clear that all were duty-bound to obey the lawful sovereign, and that the King had the power to appoint an heir. Aegon had said that Elaena would be unhappy, but if all the lords raised up their voices as one and backed him, their sister would come around as well.

"What do you think these mean? Do they worry you?" Aegon asked, lifting one of the sheets. "You've drawn these eyes before, with a backdrop of snow. The Citadel says we are in autumn now, and the air has taken a cooler turn. Is that why this might have come to you?"

"Perhaps," Helaena said softly, "those eyes scare me. See how I have drawn them? They are unlike the eyes of any person."

"A beast then? Perhaps some Northern monster, a cousin of a dragon? The old tales, with the recent trouble with the Wildlings, have grown quite fanciful."

It didn't sound right to Helaena, but she did not know what would sound correct either. Speaking of dragons, it was nearly time for her children's dragons to be moved to the Dragonpit. The risk of them sparking flame accidentally was too great.

"I know not. It is the dragon consuming another that feels more pressing. I know you tell me to fret not over the succession, and that all is well, but it has the feel of an omen."

Aegon sighed and took her hand, pressing it to his lips. "I do not wish you to worry, so I do not share my fears with you. I hope that the succession will be clear. Grandfather says he has things well in hand, but I do worry. With Aemond taking the Bronze Fury to Essos, I sometimes wonder if it would be easier just to follow him there, despite our differences."

Helaena shook her head. "Essos? No, we could just live in Silvervale. Rhaenyra may mislike Ali–our mother, and you and your brothers, but if we sheltered under Elaena's wings we would be safe."

Aegon gave her a sad smile. "The bond between the children of Aemma may not be what it once was, and who would truly rule if Rhaenyra sat atop the Iron Throne? Daemon? The Dark Storm? Even if it is her, her children hate us. I fear we would only bring trouble to one who deserves it least. Essos would be better if the worst comes, but even that may not be safe. So, I will do what I must."

Helaena did not know enough about the intrigues, but she knew he looked every bit a King in that moment. Resolute, solemn, and while fearful, he also possessed a quiet, courageous strength that made her proud of her brother – her husband.

The last drawing he looked at with a frown, then his lips turned upward. "Rats, again. We now employ an army of cats; I think our son shall be safe from those vermin."

"I am sure you are right. Come, let us return to bed. I will not let dreams overworry me. I know you will keep us all safe."

***

Laena Targaryen made her way through the crowded streets of Tyrosh, her eyes taking in the lively bustle around her. The air held a mix of saltwater from the harbor and the sweetness of wine and perfumes. Around her, her bodyguards created a protective cordon. She knew there were others among them, dressed in the clothes of merchants and smallfolk along her route to the Dragon Bank. Princess Elaena had provided sound advice indeed all those years ago, and despite the tension in the air, she did not fear assault by the people she and Daemon ruled.

The riot of color gave way to the black, red, and gold of the Dragon Bank offices. Out front stood several more armored men. She was escorted inside and soon brought to one of the sitting rooms, where Hamish Arryn greeted her.

Time had brought a steadiness to his stature and a knowing confidence to his eyes, almost always paired with his easy smiles. The man had relished his position at the Bank for years, every challenge being met with clever ploys or decisive cunning, and his enthusiasm for handling such responsibilities showed no signs of waning.

He always dressed in fine attire with a neat appearance, a well-kept beard now framing his jaw and granting his smirks a particularly mischievous tilt, especially when he had a jest or jape to tell. What Laena found most amusing was his insistence on silver accessories ever since her husband had stuck him with that silly little moniker out of spite. The 'Silver Falcon' was meant as a lesser shadow of the Gilded one in Gulltown, but from what Laena had heard, few in Tyrosh would ever compare Hamish Arryn of the Dragon Bank unfavorably.

None seemed to enjoy the jest more than Hamish himself though, for he'd embraced it fully and had in recent years taken to wearing a half-cape over one shoulder made of metallic silk, layered with falcon feathers of polished silver and affixed at his collar with a silver-winged dragon pendant.

"Ah, Lady Laena, a pleasure as always." Hamish greeted her warmly.

Twice a week they met and went over the finances for Daemon's realm. Daemon made many broad decisions, but the minutiae were left to Laena. She, in turn, was familiar with all of the details, but leaned on the young lord from Gulltown to review the ledgers. He always wore a friendly face, and her daughters got on well with him. There were others from Westeros in Tyrosh, but they did not have Hamish's refinement.

"The streets remain on edge; what troubles the people?" Laena asked.

"They fear reprisal over the latest attack on Daemon. The games grow bloodier, and those accused of treason may not be truly guilty. They are afraid of whom Daemon's men will accuse next, and then sentence to fight or die. More oft than not, it ends in fighting and dying."

Laena frowned. "There is evidence, testimony from others of their guilt."

"Yes," Hamish drawled, "evidence from guardsmen and friends of the guardsmen. You should speak with your husband; it is evident there is a quota now to keep the numbers up for the pits. Still, we dance upon a knife's edge. The fear and displeasure they hold toward Daemon are dulled by the excitement of the games. I recommend pressing for other amusements, more contests not to the death, but to first blood, or even matches against wild beasts, where the pit fighters have hope of victory."

Daemon would not like that. Her husband was wroth over the state of the world. Rhaenyra had allowed Aelyx to be named heir to Tyrosh and the Stepstones, yet she insisted he divide his time, half the year on Dragonstone and half with Daemon. Laena had managed to convince Daemon that it would look better to the Realm and cause less grief toward Rhaenyra's claim if they announced the betrothal of Visenya and Aelyx as well. The wedding would occur when Visenya came of age and that would befog the situation enough, while Daemon would have the leeway to groom his bastard as his heir.

Laena lamented that she had not been able to give him a son without affliction, which would have precluded the entire ordeal. Her latest attempt had nearly killed her, and it would have been a pitiful death, one where she had neither Rhaenyra nor Elaena at her side. Her mother and brother had come, but even then the tension with Daemon was strained, for he had raged at 'yet another girl.'

Her final daughter, Naerys, was a delight to her, but Daemon paid her little mind.

At least 'tis indifference instead of loathing.

Daemon longed to go to war with Essos. He longed for a trueborn son unlike Maegor. He longed for Rhaenyra to return to the more biddable woman she had been years ago. He longed to strike down Otto, Alicent, and the rest of the Greens. He longed for much, and for the last several years he had been stymied.

Now that thoughts of her son had come to mind, she asked, "How is Maegor doing with his duties? One-and-ten still seems young to be tasked with such important work."

Hamish grinned. "He is doing more than well; your son's mind is a rare thing. Though I must confess, my pride is stung, for I have not bested him even once this year at Cyvasse. I almost feel he is wasted on financial matters; it seems as if he should be working with craftsmen to invent new tools and new applications for existing ones. The Dragon Bank funds quite a few of such creative enterprises in Westeros."

Laena felt warm pride suffuse her. The boy had been primarily raised by Elaena, but she credited herself for making him feel welcome here in Tyrosh and furthering his studies. She had told her daughters to do the same, and they had listened. Maegor was cherished here among his closest kin, all save Daemon.

"That is wonderful to hear. If he wishes to be a Maester, he can attend the Citadel. If he prefers to design devices, I will see that he has coin. If he wishes to continue work at the Dragon Bank, all the better. I am glad he will have a place in this life where his talents are of use."

They went over the accounts, and Hamish again urged her to speak with Daemon. He also suggested that with some of the surplus, feast days for the people, where free food and wine might be provided, could ease rising tensions. Feasts with roasted meats, fresh breads, and flowing Essosi wines might remind the people of Daemon's generosity rather than his wrath.

Attempting such a thing with Daemon is difficult, for he almost relishes the thought of a rebellion as an excuse to use Caraxes again. If he could wage his war with Lys and Myr, he would gladly have a feast day commemorating additional jewels being added to the crown of his kingdom. Alas, that will have to wait until Rhaenyra is Queen.

She wished him well and returned to the manse. The heavily guarded building was adjacent to the recently constructed barracks. It housed Targaryen, Stepstones, and Velaryon knights, men-at-arms, and sellswords. A few Knights of Victory served as officers there, and it was a strong bulwark in case of direct attack. It was a pity that their dragons were far too large to be housed next to their estate.

Her four daughters were well protected there, though soon it would be time for Baela to fly with Moondancer to Dragonstone. She was betrothed to the future King of Westeros, a future that promised much for her. It would be difficult for her to be parted from the rest of the family, especially her twin sister, Rhaena.

Daemon was lounging in bed with a pretty thing from Lys, Saenya, who had already borne one bastard son for him. She had purple eyes and silver-gold hair. She claimed that her ancestors were of Old Valyria, and that the blood of the Dragon ran down to her. The woman was a full decade and a half younger than Laena, and while time had only lightly touched her and Daemon, it still had left its mark upon them.

Laena's bosom had swollen quite full over the course of her many pregnancies, but somewhat unevenly, and her skin was a little less taut. While clothed, few could tell; but unclothed, she knew she was not as perfect as she once was. Saenya's own breasts were perky and plush, and currently pressed into Daemon, causing Laena to feel a pang of rare envy.

"Welcome back, my lady. I was growing impatient for your return. Were the Arryn boy not so craven, I'd worry over the time you spent with him."

Laena smiled and advanced forward, gracing Daemon with a long kiss. "He manages to live in a city ruled by a man who still bears a grudge against him, from when he acknowledged that man as so far superior a warrior as to make any crossing of blades pointless. He cannot be that craven, my love."

Daemon waved the topic of Hamish aside with a sneer of contempt and questioned her about her recent trip to Dragonstone.

"Rhaenyra remains the same as ever. I dare not try to breach her prohibition on advice, but I am hopeful that when weighty decisions come to her, she will seek counsel from me. I jest with Joffrey and my brother, and seek to make a good impression on her children. I fly Vhagar with my nephews and make plans for the upcoming wedding with Jace and Baela." She smiled at her husband. "It will take time, but a wedding with a tournament, and the hope of grandchildren, will soften her heart, you will see."

"I tire of waiting. The amusements of Tyrosh grow stale."

"Do they, my lord?" Saenya giggled, still at his side. "My sincerest apologies. Once you have freed Lys and our kin from Old Valyria, you will find fresh pleasures."

Laena ignored her. "If they grow stale, then perhaps it is time to begin to slow the extent of pit fighting. Allow for more battles to first blood, as opposed to death. Perhaps create unique games and challenges. The city is nervous; thousands die during the games, and they fear your guard sees treason where there is none."

Daemon looked vexed.

"We have bloody spectacles, costly in lives, yes, but they keep the populace in line. As a distraction, and as a reminder that any betrayal of my family will lead them to the pits."

Laena suppressed a sigh. Her husband was not interested in changing how things were run at the moment. She did not let any of her disquiet appear on her features. She knew his heart, and her annoyance at his decision would only compound his frustration with her inability to bring Rhaenyra to heel.

"As you say, Daemon. Now, remove this distraction; let it be just the two of us."

Daemon looked from her to Saenya.

"No, I would have the company of you both tonight."

Her blood boiled, even as she kept the smile upon her visage while the former slave from Lys smirked at her. Laena was hurt by her husband's dismissal of her requests, and she felt a pang in her heart. In her youth, the idea of Daemon doing this would have been a welcome challenge – a fight, a torrid contest to win. But now… she had only wished to rest with her husband and enjoy a gentle night together, just the two of them.

I grow weary of these games as I age. Or perhaps it is that I feel I am failing my prince. I am… unused to it. I dare not push Rhaenyra, but perhaps I can find a way for others to press a difficult decision on her shortly before I arrive…

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Chapter 1013 - 52