Destiny of the Dragons: A Dream of Restoration - Bloodraven2599 (2024)

Chapter 1: Second of His Name

Chapter Text

The dress that had been picked out for Rhaenyra was similar to some of the ones she already had. A long black gown with a red interior decorated with scales, shallow upward points of the sleeves at her shoulders, three golden clasps down her chest and stomach shaped like dragons that closed the dress at the front, but this particular dress was detailed with golden outlines and emblazoned with twin dragons in gold thread facing one another on either side of the button line.

Her pale hair was tied back in a plaided bun and small subtle gold earrings dangled from her lobes.

She wore nothing upon her brow, not even a simple headpiece of fabric like the one she wore during the ceremony when she was first named heir.

Rhaenyra could still remember standing before the mirror as Alicent helped her get ready.

Now, twenty years on, Rhaenyra was in the very same chamber in Maegor’s holdfast, standing before a mirror as she had been so long ago, though this time it was Baela and Rhaena who were helping her dress.

The two girls ran their fingers along the seams of the dress, pulled the ruffles and creases away and brushed off any stray hairs.

Both were as sullen and melancholic as Rhaenyra, Baela even having flickers of anger in her eyes and Rhaena trying to comfort the princess with empathic smiles whenever they caught one another’s gaze in the mirror.

When the girls were done, Rhaenyra turned to face them both directly, looking into their eyes as they forced smiles in attempts to comfort her and Rhaenyra responded by taking their hands and holding them, allowing the three of them to take solace in one another’s company for a moment.

Rhaenyra was glad to have them as well as her sons and Daemon around her, else ways she might never have been able to survive the grief, betrayal and humiliation she’d been subjected to in the last fortnight since her father died.

When the three of them were ready they left the chamber and made their way through the Red Keep towards the throne room.

The walk from Maegor’s to the great hall was probably the longest in her life, each step she took felt like a mile with the weight of her heavy-laden heart pulling her back.

When Rhaenyra and her two stepdaughters turned the corner into the throne room, it was filled with lords, ladies and knights of the realm.

Hundreds of people lined up in rows from wall to wall save for a long narrow path leading from the doors to the Iron Throne at the end of the hall.

Otto had summoned as many of the nobles of the realm to King’s Landing for the ceremony as he could reach but had only given fifteen days' notice by raven.

Most of the nobles had travelled night and day to reach the capital in time, but Otto did not wish to delay any longer than he had to.

He wanted as many lords of the realm assembled as possible but more than that, he wanted the matter put to rest quickly and cleanly with no room for plots or defiance to brew.

Rhaenyra took a sharp breath of courage through her nose and walked down the middle row with a stiff lip and her head held high.

Six pillars stood between her and the iron throne, the two closest to the door were bare, though one would soon carry a statue of her late father Viserys the Peaceful upon it.

While the Greens may have blatantly repudiated Viserys’s wishes of the succession and defaced much of the Red Keep with statues and stars of the faith to replace Targaryen heraldry and old valyrian mosaics and tapestries, at the very least they had been kind enough to give her father an epithet worthy of the good man he was.

One day, most likely long after Rhaenyra was gone, the statue adjacent to her father would bear the visage of her brother Aegon whose line would carry on the legacy of House Targaryen on the Iron Throne rather than Rhaenyra’s.

Beyond the two empty columns reserved for Aegon the Usurper and Viserys the Peaceful were the statues of Jaehaerys the Conciliator and Maegor the Cruel and beyond them Aenys the Gentle and Aegon the Conqueror.

As Rhaenyra continued down the line, stalked by the stone carvings of the kings of old, her eyes glanced over to either side of the rows at the assembled nobles.

Some looked to her with empathy and solidarity, the loyal who had stood by her.

Some looked at her with disappointment and anger, mostly those who had lost kin to the Greens’ executioner for refusing to abandon Rhaenyra and now they judged Rhaenyra for giving up.

Some looked to her with remorse and sorrow, those who had bent the knee to the Greens and felt guilty for it.

Some looked at her with smiles of condescension and antagonization, scorned suitors from her youth, close friends of the Greens and those who had always believed her gender made her unsuitable as a ruler.

Then there were some neither hateful, remorseful or kind to her, but seeming altogether uninterested one way or the other.

Rhaenyra, Baela and Rhaena joined their family four rows from the front, on the right side with the Small Council, the Hightowers and the Lords of the Great Houses ahead of them and at the very front row were the Greens themselves.

At one point or another, the people ahead of them glanced back at Rhaenyra and she saw their faces.

Some looked at her triumphantly and patronising, Jasper Wylde, the Lannister twins Lord Jason and Ser Tyland and Ormund Hightower.

Grand Maester Orwyle seemed remorseful and embarrassed when Rhaenyra caught his eyes, perhaps not as readily complicit in the coup as others were.

None of the Greens dared glance back at her, not Otto, Alicent, Helaena, Aemond or Daeron, their eyes were forward, looking upon the empty throne of the conqueror as they waited.

Rhaenyra glanced down her row to the faces of her family.

None of them were happy, some were sullen, some were angry and some were disheartened.

Daemon stood by Rhaenyra’s side, his eyes forward, gloomy and tight-lipped.

Rhaenyra took his hand to quell him but it did not do much to temper him.

Had it not been for the dream they all had shared and their agreement to follow it, Daemon would probably never have gone along with any of this.

Jace was also visibly angry, more so than Baela but less so than Daemon.

Luke and Rhaena seemed terrified but seemed to calm one another when they joined hands.

Corlys and Rhaenys faced the matter with grace and their heads held high, no strangers to the disrespect and humiliation Rhaenyra was now being subjected to.

When Rhaenys glanced over to Rhaenyra she gave her a confident nod of respect as though assuring her that she would survive this farce as Rhaenys had once done.

A short while later, the royal fanfare was played by the trumpeters at the door and all eyes turned to the entrance.

Standing at the entrance flanked by his Kingsguard and several men-at-arms was Aegon.

One of the two trumpeters then announced Aegon’s entrance.

“Aegon of House Targaryen, second of his name. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. ”

The new King was dressed in a fine tunic of green, emblazoned with two flaming gold dragons facing one another in gold silk embroidery. A gold chain necklace hung around his neck and round two golden seals clasped his cloak to his shoulders, long black gloves on his hands and sheathed upon his belt was the ancestral dagger of house Targaryen which carried the secret legacy of the conqueror’s dream and adjacent from it was the royal sword Blackfyre and upon his brow was the valyrian steel crown of Aegon the first that had not been worn since the days of Maegor the cruel.

The sockets that once held the large rubies were empty and only the small seven-sided ruby in the centre remained.

The seven kingsguard followed behind Aegon as he walked pridefully down the centre of the hall, but behind the seven were four more men dressed in kingsguard armour, un-cloaked, which greatly vexed Rhaenyra.

Behind the Kingsguard came the Men-at-arms, now dressed in green tabards over mail with the gold Targaryen dragon, pauldrons, gauntlets and open-faced barbutes of steel.

The banners in the Red Keep had all been changed to match, now trading black and red for green and gold.

While the Targaryen name may remain, the Iron Throne now belonged to the Hightowers and all knew it.

With the Citadel and the Starry Sept in Oldtown, the Hightowers now had influence and sway in all aspects of the realm.

Everyone heeded the word of the Maesters, the Septons and the King and now all would heed the will of the Hightowers.

It made Rhaenyra disgusted and ashamed, her family’s legacy was now a puppet of an overly ambitious house of liars and snakes.

Rhaenyra’s solace came from the assurance that while the Targaryens’ will over the Iron Throne would soon be drowned out, Rhaenyra’s family would not linger in the seven kingdoms to watch their house’s downfall.

After this farcical performance of debasem*nt for the amusem*nt of the Greens, they would be free to pursue the destiny presented to them in their dreams on the night of Viserys’s death, a righteous purpose for them to pursue or a fool's errand into the jaws of death, only time could tell.

Aegon eventually reached the steps of the Iron Throne, ascending its steps and sitting upon the thousand blades of Aegon’s fallen enemies.

The smug and self-pleased look upon Aegon’s face boiled Rhaenyra’s blood, he didn’t even care about any of this, not the factionalism between the Blacks and the Greens nor the duties of the realm, he was just enjoying the pride and vanity the crown and throne gave him.

When Aegon was seated on the throne, his seven kingsguard standing before him at the throne’s base with the four un-cloaked kingsguard off to the side, Otto Hightower stepped forward, a new hand of the king badge pinned on his fur-lined green long coat.

The previous one he had worn, Rhaenyra had ripped off his chest and cast off the cliffs of Dragonstone when Otto came to give terms of peace.

Rhaenyra did not mind him wearing this new badge, a newly made broach crafted specifically for the Hand of King Aegon, that was fine.

But Rhaenyra would not stomach seeing him wear the old badge she had thrown away, a badge given to him by her father, placed on his breast as a mark of trust and love, he had no right to it.

Despite the twists and turns in their relationship over the years, Viserys had perhaps regarded Otto as his closest friend, or at least the nearest thing to.

Let him wear Aegon’s badge, but not the badge of the man he’d betrayed, Rhaenyra would not have it.

“My lords, ladies and knights of the realm!” Otto began, announcing his voice to the entire chamber.

“A little over a fortnight has passed since our beloved King Viserys the Peaceful breathed his last and his rightful heir, Aegon, succeeded him as King.”

Daemon scoffed, causing Rhaenyra to squeeze his hand to try and contain him.

“In the hours that followed the succession, uncertainty and dispute throughout the realm brought on by the obsolete former assertions of Viserys’s desired heir threatened to tare the realm into strife and war. This looming threat of war possessed the potential to bring an end to the ninety-year age of peace that began with Jaehaerys the conciliator. However, in a desire to honour their shared father, their dynasty and the prosperity of the realm they both love so very much. King Aegon and his dear sister, the former heir, Princess Rhaenyra, came together in diplomacy and set aside their hostilities to share the support of their father’s wishes to have Aegon sit the Iron Throne.”

A painful lump welled up in Rhaenyra’s throat and her heart ached.

Otto’s false narrative of her father’s wish to see Aegon as king felt demeaning to listen to without resistance.

“The King recognises that many of you, much like the Princess, questioned the authenticity of Viserys’s rectification of his succession and pledged themselves for Rhaenyra as Queen with intent to challenge the rightful king with force in the event of war. But in his infinite wisdom and mercy and in the name of peace and prosperity, King Aegon made a solemn promise to his sister to grant amnesty to any knight or lord who had pledged to her in the treasonous conspiracy against King Aegon’s lawful ascension to the throne.”

Rhaenyra closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself in the face of the frustration brought on by Otto’s words, calling Rhaenyra and her allies treasonous conspirators against Aegon, a fowl distortion of the truth.

“Now, to solidify the continuation of Jaehaerys and Viserys’s peace, all lords, ladies and knights here will swear obeisance to King Aegon in perpetuity so that there will be no further question of his legitimacy. Regardless of whether you pledged to Rhaenyra or Aegon at the time of Viserys’s death, now is the time to unite under the one true king and ensure the continued prosperity of your houses and the realm.”

Otto then called each of the Lords of the Great Houses to kneel before the Iron Throne and pledge obeisance to him just as had been done so long ago when Rhaenyra was named heir.

First Lord Borros Baratheon took to his knee before Aegon.

“I Borros Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, promise to be faithful to King Aegon, I pledge fealty to him and promise to defend him from all enemies in good faith and without deceit, I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

Lord Borros was brisk and to the point with his pledge, saying the words plainly, standing up and returning to his position.

Lord Borros was proud, grumpy and self-interested, his loyalty to Aegon was not earned by any morals or beliefs but instead purchased by the betrothal between his daughter Floris and Prince Aemond.

Next came the Castellan of Highgarden, one of the regents who represented the infant Lord Lyonel Tyrell.

“In the name of my liege Lord Lyonel Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, Lord Paramount of the Mander, Defender of the marches, High marshal of the Reach and Warden of the South, I Ser Walton Hewett, Castellan of Highgarden and joint-regent of the Reach, promise to be faithful to King Aegon on behalf of myself and my lord, I pledge fealty to him and promise to defend him from all enemies in good faith and without deceit on behalf of myself and my lord, I swear this by the old gods and the new on behalf of myself and my lord.”

Next, Ser Oscar, grandson and heir to the bedridden and elderly Lord Grover Tully stepped forward and knelt.

“In the name of my grandsire and liege Lord Grover Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident, I Ser Oscar Tully, promise to be faithful to King Aegon on behalf of myself and my lord, I pledge fealty to him and promise to defend him from all enemies in good faith and without deceit on behalf of myself and my lord, I swear this by the old gods and the new on behalf of myself and my lord.”

Next was Lady Jeyne Arryn, Rhaenyra’s kin through her mother, she glanced back at Rhaenyra for a fleeting second before taking the knee.

“I Jeyne Arryn, Lady of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, Warden of the East, promise to be faithful to King Aegon, I pledge fealty to him and promise to defend him from all enemies in good faith and without deceit, I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

Next, Lord Jason Lannister stepped forward all too gracious and happy, his voice proud and boisterous. So long ago, Rhaenyra had spurned him and his betrothal and the infinitely proud man had never forgotten it.

“I Jason Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport and Warden of the West, promise to be faithful to King Aegon, I pledge fealty to him and promise to defend him from all enemies in good faith and without deceit, I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

Lastly, Lord Craegan Stark took to his knee and spoke.

“I Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, promise to be faithful to King Aegon, I pledge fealty to him and promise to defend him from all enemies in good faith and without deceit, I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

With the great lords now pledged to Aegon, it was finally time.

“Princess Rhaenyra! Step forward!” Otto called out.

Subtly murmurs and mutterings filled the room, but the click of the heels of Rhaenyra’s shoes overshadowed the hushed gossiping of the noble lords.

When Rhaenyra reached the steps of the Iron Throne, the Kingsguard stood lined up in front of her, Otto off to the left at the base of the throne and Aegon looking down at her, holding Blackfyre in his hand.

For the good of the realm , she told herself, I have my own destiny to follow.

With that, Rhaenyra dropped down to her knees.

“I Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, promise to be faithful to King Aegon, I pledge fealty to him and promise to defend him from all enemies in good faith and without deceit, I swear this by the old gods and the new. I recognise the legitimacy of Aegon Targaryen, my father’s tru— true heir. I forfeit my… I forfeit my illegitimate claim to the Iron Throne and…”

Rhaenyra took another shaky breath.

The speech had been prepared for her by Otto, a humiliating speech meant to tare down Rhaenyra and show her submit and yield to Aegon before all the Lords of the realm to break any hope that she could lead any further resistance against her brother.

Rhaenyra’s pause in the speech unsettled Otto who gave a stern glare to her.

Criston Cole tightened his grip on the hilt of his blade, probably under orders to slice her head off there and then if she did not go through with it.

Rhaenyra glanced over to the front line to her right where the Greens stood.

Her eyes went to Alicent, sad and worried, silently pleading for Rhaenyra to end the matter peacefully.

The knife in Rhaenyra’s heart from Alicent’s betrayal still stung.

The night before her father’s death Alicent had toasted Rhaenyra and said she would make a great Queen. She had pleaded with Rhaenyra to stay in King’s Landing so they might better mend their relationship.

Then the next day she crowned Aegon as King and sent Otto with a torn page from one of their history books to convince her to forsake her claim to the throne in the name of their friendship that she had once again discarded.

But for all Otto’s farcical ramblings of Aegon’s legitimacy, he spoke a few small truths, one key above them being that disputing the succession would bring an end to the long peace that began with Jaehaerys.

If Rhaenyra was the true Queen, then what kind of Queen would she be if she plunged the realm into despair and chaos for her own desires?

The realm would remain united under the House Targaryen and who knows, perhaps when Otto breathed his last, the Hightower influence would dissipate and the Targaryens would return to a house of their own mind.

Perhaps Aegon’s son Jaehaerys would be as mighty and wise a man as his namesake.

But if Rhaenyra challenged Aegon’s claim, fire and blood would be the end result.

Rhaenyra had said to Daemon that her oath reached beyond her personal ambitions.

Aegon had united the Seven Kingdoms, Jaehaerys stabilised them and her father Viserys maintained them, all in the name of the coming war against the darkness in the north and the conqueror’s dream.

Now it was Rhaenyra’s turn to do her part in readying the realm for the Prince that was promised, not by conquering, conciliating or conserving, but instead by surrendering.

With determination and fortitude in her soul, Rhaenyra looked forward and continued her pledge.

“And I beg forgiveness for my sedition and treason against my brother and give gratitude for his mercy and generosity. Long may he reign and his son Jaehaerys after him and the rest of his line from this time until the end of time.”

Rhaenyra glanced over to Otto who gave a nod coupled with a wicked smile, when she read his eyes, they said to her, good girl, as though Rhaenyra were a dog broken into submission and brought to heel.

The hateful glare Rhaenyra replied to Otto with was one that she hope he read as f*ck you.

With the grovelling and debasem*nt completed in its entirety, Rhaenyra stood up and bowed before the brother who had usurped her and returned to her family.

Smug faces of traitor lords dogged her as she returned to the row at Daemon’s side, gripping his hand and breathing deeply.

Next, the many lords and knights that filled the room came and pledged their fealty to Aegon one at a time, some happily loyal to Aegon, some reluctant, some indifferent, but they all knelt and they all said the words.

Lord Corlys went up and mouthed the words reluctantly, playing the part just as Rhaenyra had been made to do so.

Lord Bartimos Celtigar, Lord Simon Stauton, Lord Gormon Massey and many others who had stood by Rhaenyra, all playing their role as Rhaenyra had instructed them to do so.

As the ceremony continued, Aegon began falling asleep on the throne while the hundreds of nobles took turns bowing to him only to be betrayed and nicked by the throne which awoke him.

When just about every Lord and landed knight had made their pledge, Rhaenyra’s legs stiff and sore from all the standing and watching, all thought that the matter would soon be dismissed, but Otto had one last matter to address.

“Now, one final matter to be addressed. Ser Steffon Darklyn, step forward,” Otto commanded.

Ser Steffon of the Kingsguard stepped out from the line of seven and turned to face the King and the hand.

The crowds began gossiping again and Rhaenyra exchanged confused looks with her family down the row, all equally vexed as she was.

Ser Steffon had been one of the Kingsguard knights sworn to her and had guarded her family for years on Dragonstone. When the succession crisis broke out, he and his sworn brother Lorent Marbrand had both pledged to her as Queen along with Ser Erryk Cargyll who had fled the Red Keep with Rhaenys and brought Rhaenyra her father’s crown.

When Rhaenyra first agreed to terms of peace and surrendered her claim, she sent the three kingsguard back to Aegon and declared she would not let them be called oathbreakers for the loyalty they showed to her.

“You may remove your helm,” Otto declared.

Ser Steffon hesitated for a moment but removed his helmet as commanded.

A squire then came and collected the helm, taking it away.

Rhaenyra thought it odd since Steffon could have easily held the helm to his breast until whatever was about to happen concluded.

“Please remind the court, Ser Steffon, your oath of the Kingsguard, to whom did you first swear it?” Otto asked.

Steffon hung his head for a moment before raising it and speaking.

“I swore my oath first to King Jaehaerys the wise, Lord Hand. Then to his grace King Viserys when he succeeded his grandsire,” Steffon’s voice seemed reluctant and full of despair, as though he knew what was coming and did not like it.

“And when King Viserys died, to whom did you swear to?” Otto asked.

Oh, gods no, Rhaenyra thought to herself as her heart quickened.

“To the King's named heir, Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Princess of Dragonstone,” Steffon said, his voice containing a glimmer of pride in his words.

Otto smiled to himself as he nodded.

“Ser Steffon, you have served the realm long and faithfully, every man and woman in the seven kingdoms owes you a debt and the Iron Throne owes you many thanks. However, no matter how capricious King Viserys’s rectification of his chosen successor may have seemed in his final hours, you did forsake the rightful King in the name of a usurper. Traditionally, such a transgression would call for any number of penalties from execution, gelding, exile or sentence to the Night’s Watch. But in keeping with King Aegon’s promise to Princess Rhaenyra to grant unconditional pardons to all who sided with her the King has decided to release you from your oath with grace and respect. You will set aside your cloak and armour and your entry in the white book will attribute no insult or dishonour to your dismissal. Ser Steffon, do you accept these terms?” Otto asked.

This can’t be happening, Rhaenyra thought.

Ser Steffon did not deserve this, he was a good man, a just man and a fine Kingsguard knight. He deserved no such disgrace as to be cast out of the order he had pledged to.

“I do,” Steffon declared.

Otto raised his head high.

“Ser Rickard Thorne, step forward,” Otto commanded.

One of the four un-cloaked Kingsguard knights that had followed the seven in then stepped forward and took a position next to Ser Steffon.

Now Rhaenyra knew what was going on and she was powerless to stop it.

“Ser Rickard, you have been chosen to join the brotherhood of the Kingsguard, to swear fealty to the King and serve him and his household as their protectors. Do you accept this responsibility?” Otto asked.

“I do, Lord Hand,” the knight replied.

“Then kneel and speak the oath,” Otto invited.

The knight dropped to his knee while Ser Steffon undid the buckles of his cloak and pulled the white cloth cape from his back.

“I swear to ward the king with all my strength and give my blood for his. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall guard his secrets, obey his commands, ride at his side, and defend his name and honour.”

And when the words were completed, Ser Steffon clipped the cloak onto Ser Rickard’s back.

Ser Rickard then took Steffon’s place in the line of the cloaked seven and Ser Steffon left the chamber down the aisle between the two crowds.

Next, the process repeated with Ser Lorent Marbrand surrendering his cloak to a Ser Gyles Belgrave.

After Ser Lorent, Ser Erryk Cargyll gave his cloak to Ser Marston Waters.

The three knights who had pledged to Rhaenyra had all been undeservedly stripped of their cloaks, but there was still one un-cloaked kingsguard left.

Who else would the Greens decloak?

Ser Willis Fell, whose cousin Lady Fell had been executed by the Greens for refusing to abandon Rhaenyra?

Ser Arryk, Erryk’s brother whom Otto might not trust after his brother’s decloaking.

Certainly, Otto did not mean to strip Cole of his cloak, for he was the Greens loyalist ally, people even now called him the Kingmaker, for declaring and crowning Aegon in the Dragonpit.

Rhaenyra then looked to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

No, she thought.

“Ser Harrold Westerling, step forward.”

From what Rhaenyra knew, Ser Harrold had interpreted his oath as forbidding him from partaking in the succession crisis and had refused to pledge to either side until a clear successor was named.

When Rhaenyra surrendered, Ser Harrold returned to Aegon and pledged himself.

Not an opportunist or a coward waiting for which side won, but instead an honourable man who did not wish to betray his oath in a time of uncertainty.

“Ser Harrold, please remind the court of your oath of the Kingsguard, to whom did you first swear it?” Otto asked.

“I swore my oath first to King Jaehaerys, Lord Hand. Then to his grace King Viserys when he succeeded the throne and was promoted to the rank of Lord Commander following the death of my predecessor Ser Ryman Redwyne, then to King Aegon when he succeeded his father,” Harrold announced.

“When King Aegon was first named as his father’s heir, was your pledge of allegiance immediate?” Otto asked.

“No, Lord Hand,” Ser Harrold replied, his voice clearly showing pain in his words.

“For what reason did you hesitate to fulfil your oath?” Otto asked.

Harrold exhaled.

“A Kingsguard knight serves at the pleasure of the King… or Queen. I believed that to take sides in the succession dispute was a dereliction of my duty to act impartially and without personal agenda. I believed the only appropriate action was to wait until the matter of Viserys’s succession had been settled.”

“Admirable pursuits, Ser Harrold. But the fact of the matter remains, Princess Rhaenyra yielded her claim and Aegon is the rightful King… a king you abandoned in times of uncertainty.”

Rhaenyra took the first step to challenge Otto’s ruling, but Daemon held her back by the wrist.

“Steady,” he said to her quietly.

They were almost free of the matter, if Otto smelt even a whiff of defiance, he’d have them all killed before they could leave the Red Keep.

Rhaenyra was helpless to defend Ser Harrold’s position.

“Ser Harrold, you may not have sided with Rhaenyra in her conspiracy, but you did fail your oaths to the Kingsguard by failing to stand by your King’s side through his ascension. But your refusal to be complicit in the plot against the King has not gone unnoticed. You will be afforded the same graceful exit from the Kingsguard as presented to your former sworn brothers. Your posting as Lord Commander will be succeeded by Ser Criston Cole. Do you accept?” Otto asked.

Ser Harrold’s head hung low.

“I do, Lord Hand,” Ser Harrold replied.

With that, the last newly named Kingsguard knight took Ser Harrold’s cloak and then his place, Ser Hobert Hightower, of course.

Ser Criston Cole seemed quite pleased with himself, now Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

Rhaenyra was surprised the newly assembled seven still wore white cloaks since green was clearly more their colour.

Just when they seemed done with the ceremonial sycophantic display for Aegon’s pleasure, Otto began a chant.

“All hail King Aegon, second of his name! Long live the King! Long may he reign!”

The crowd echoed Otto’s words back at the throne and then the ceremony was finally ended.

Rhaenyra led her family out of the great hall past small clusters of chatting nobles who glared at her as she passed them by.

When they were outside the throne room and a short distance away from the other small rings of gossipers, Rhaenyra halted and turned, forming her own little audience ring with her family.

“I want to tell you all how proud I am of how gracefully you all dealt with this matter,” Rhaenyra explained.

The Princess slid her arms around the shoulders of Luke and Baela who stood on either side of her.

“This has been a great trial for all of us… but we survived and we did it with our heads held high and now the worst is behind us,” Rhaenyra declared, affectionately moving a strand of hair out of Baela’s face and extracting a gentle smile from her.

“So will the Hightowers allow us to leave then?” Jace asked.

Rhaenyra nodded.

“Otto is very enthusiastic about us following through on our venture. By undertaking this voyage, the crown gets to keep Dragonstone after we abandon it and doubtless, he’ll replace those that follow us east with nobles loyal to him,” Rhaenyra declared.

“More to the point, Otto believes this quest is doomed in failure like all that came before it. In his mind we will remove ourselves as a threat by readily killing ourselves rather than provoking assassins and cutthroats to come after us,” Rhaenys declared, her arm around Rhaena’s shoulder.

“In any case. I’ve already received a document of written permission from Aegon — or rather from Otto and signed with Aegon’s name — ensuring that we, our households, our dragons and whomever else voluntarily chooses to follow us may leave with no objection from the crown. Otto has also assured me that the embargo placed down by Jaehaerys will be repealed at the next Small Council meeting.”

The group nodded, all pleased to hear Rhaenyra’s news.

“Once we and our allies return to our castles around the Blackwater, we can start assembling our ships and recruiting whatever families, sailors, soldiers and knights wish to join us on this great exodus. It will be hard to say how many will wish to follow us on this venture, but since the time of Aenar the Exile, the ways of Old Valyria have been well-heeded by those who live on the Blackwater. The dragon dream you all shared on the night of Viserys’s death will serve as a beckoning to our cause,” Corlys asserted.

“With any luck, I imagine we’ll be dining at the Sealord’s palace and recruiting Braavosi ships to join us within one turn of the moon,” Daemon declared confidently.

“Perhaps more than one turn, Daemon,” Rhaenyra interjected, drawing concerned looks from her family.

“Since we arrived at the Red Keep, I have been approached by Lord Merryweather and Lady Caswell, both of whose predecessors were murdered by the Hightowers for remaining loyal to me. Both had heard rumours of our planned voyage and expressed a desire to join us, believing they could no longer safely dwell here in Westeros after what happened to their family members. A number of small lords and knights have also approached me and expressed a desire to join us,” Rhaenyra explained.

Corlys’s expression shifted to intrigue.

“Perhaps we could take this opportunity while so many lords and knights are gathered to prod out any who might be tempted to join us on our voyage. Daemon, I saw Lord Duncord Sunglass earlier. He was a valued ally to us in the Stepstones and if memory serves he pledged his forces to Rhaenyra. Perhaps we could round up Lord Simon and Lord Bartimos to convince him to follow us to further glory,” Corlys suggested.

Daemon smiled and nodded.

“My captains in the City Watch were removed by the Greens during the coup, but they still command the loyalty of the men, as do I. Perhaps I could rustle together between five and six hundred men.”

“Is that not dangerous? Wouldn’t the Greens take that as sedition if we start recruiting lords of the realm to join us?” Rhaena asked.

“On the contrary, Otto welcomes it, he even encouraged me to seek out nobles to join me on this quest. You saw what he did to the Kingsguard that pledged to me. In his mind, all the nobles that join us will perish with us should our expedition fail. Otto Hightower wishes to rid himself of as many of our allies as possible and replace the rulership of their seats with his own list of friends,” Rhaenyra explained.

Rhaenyra’s family exchanged looks with one another in contemplation.

“In that case, we should revisit our list of allies that pledged to us in the beginning. The great lords and stronger houses will most likely remain in their ancestral seats, but the middling and lesser nobles that pledged to us will probably face great disparity for having joined us and might fare better joining us in our new domain,” Rhaenys suggested.

Rhaenyra nodded in agreement.

With that, the family turned to continue on to their guest chambers in Maegor’s holdfast, but Rhaenyra stopped when she saw the three un-helmed and de-cloaked kingsguard knights standing together away from the nobles that flooded the halls, speaking amongst one another with grim expressions.

“Go on without me. I will rejoin you soon,” Rhaenyra declared to her family.

Rhaenys and Daemon’s eyes darted from her to the Kingsguard knights, seeming to comprehend what she intended to do and both nodded to her in agreement.

Rhaenys held the princess’s hand and smiled for a moment before continuing to Maegor’s.

Rhaenyra was nervous to approach the former Kingsguard knights, had it not been for their loyalty to her and her subsequent surrender, they would never have been stripped of their white cloaks.

The Princess could only imagine how deeply they resented her for all she had cost them, but she would not hide from them or whatever scoldings they wished to lay upon them, she owed them all too much.

Rhaenyra approached the four men meekly, each of them falling silent and turning their attention to the princess.

Each knight bowed respectfully to her as she came near and addressed her by her title.

“Sers. Please hear me when I say… how truly very sorry I am for all this. You all served my father greatly for many years. This disrespect you have been forced to endure is the most grievous of errors and my part in this miscarriage of justice will haunt me for the rest of my days,” Rhaenyra declared, bowing her head.

“Your words are appreciated, Princess, but unnecessary,” Ser Steffon declared.

“As Kingsguard knights we are sworn to obey the will of the King and in twenty years, the King’s will to see you succeed him never faltered,” Ser Lorent added.

“We stand by our decision to pledge to you. We recognise the true line of succession. To continue to serve under Aegon would be to defect to a usurper,” Erryk added.

Rhaenyra was flattered and humbled by the continued loyalty of her knights who could so easily resent her for their dismissals and she would not have blamed them if they did.

Then Rhaenyra’s eyes turned to Ser Harrold who had not pledged to her but had been stripped of his cloak nonetheless.

“Princess Rhaenyra. My brothers have told me of your plans to abandon Dragonstone and the voyage you and your household intend to take. Is this true?” Ser Harrold asked.

Rhaenyra nodded.

The old Westerling knight smiled.

“I have known you all your life, Princess. As your sworn shield I have watched over you since you were a little girl and as Lord Commander, I stood by your father’s side as he staunchly remained committed to you as his chosen heir. When Otto Hightower planned to insert Aegon as King, he demanded I take my knights to Dragonstone and kill you, Prince Daemon and all your children. It was for that reason I resigned.”

Rhaenyra took Ser Harrold’s hands and gently smiled.

“I am ever in debt to you, old friend,” she asserted.

Ser Harrold seemed to light up at the princess’s words.

“Well… It seems that myself and my former sworn brothers are now unburdened by any oaths of allegiance and this quest you mean to undertake could pose many dangers. I may be an old man with not many years left in me, but if you will have me… It would be my honour to serve you from now until the end of my days,” Ser Harrold declared.

A shaky breath escaped Rhaenyra as joy and astonishment filled her.

Ser Steffon, Ser Erryk and Ser Lorent all nodded in agreement.

Of her father’s final seven, four now wished to serve her.

“It would be my honour to take you into my household, my brave and loyal knights,” Rhaenyra said graciously.

The tender moment was cut short when Ser Lorent and Ser Harrold stepped past Rhaenyra, causing her to turn around and see her two new sworn shields blocking the path of the now Dowager Queen Alicent, accompanied by Ser Arryk.

Alicent stopped in her tracks and looked with concern at Ser Lorent and Ser Harrold.

The former Queen Consort hardly seemed like a threat, but Rhaenyra was flattered to see her knights refuse to let her approach Rhaenyra unannounced at her own leisure.

“Please excuse me, Sers,” Alicent said gently as she tried to step forward between them, but when the two knights remained impassable, Alicent stepped back shyly.

Ser Arryk gripped the hilt of his sword, seeming to prepare for trouble.

To prevent an incident, Rhaenyra raised her hand, signalling her knights to stand down.

“It’s alright, Sers. She may approach,” Rhaenyra assured them.

Alicent looked with surprise as Lorent and Harrold shuffled to each side, opening the gap between them and allowing the Queen through.

“These knights now answer to you?” Alicent asked, curiously.

“Sers Harrold, Steffon, Erryk and Lorent have agreed to join my household as my sworn shields… as they are now free to do so, your Grace,” Rhaenyra replied stiffly.

Alicent nodded silently.

The Dowager Queen seemed like a timid little girl, worried and shy.

The confident and cold woman who hated Rhaenyra so passionately was now gone and had reverted to how she had been when she first became Queen, guilt-ridden and sorrowful towards Rhaenyra.

Perhaps there was sincerity in the wishes of reconciliation she had presented at the dinner and the page she had sent to Rhaenyra was meant as a sincere gesture of love.

But while Rhaenyra had agreed to surrender her claim for the good of the realm, she would not be unconditionally magnanimous towards Alicent.

A betrayal is a betrayal and feeling guilty afterwards was not grounds for immediate absolution.

“You have performed a virtuous service to the realm here today, Rhaenyra. The crown owes you a gracious debt for the concessions you have made in the name of peace and prosperity,” Alicent began, speaking warm and adoring words to Rhaenyra as though there was not a great rift between them.

“Thank you, your Grace,” Rhaenyra replied icily.

Alicent’s eyes darted down to the ground.

“I understand that you must see this as another betrayal. To name Aegon as King and then invoke our friendship to convince you to accept terms of peace, but I swear to you that all I did was for the realm. Rhaenyra, I beg you, we have lost too many years letting politics and factionalism divide us. I do not wish to lose you again, not when we were so close to finally mending things. With the succession settled what left is there for us to fight over?" Alicent asked.

"Very diplomatically put, Your Grace. How inconvenient for me that you could not come to such a harmonious state of mind before your family took everything from mine."

Alicent's jaw hung open for a moment as she looked at Rhaenyra with sad and desperate eyes.

"Perhaps if we could talk — If I could better explain — Could we speak in private?” she pleaded.

“I’m afraid that I am pressed for time, your Grace. My family and I will soon be returning to Dragonstone in the next few days. We have much to prepare for,” Rhaenyra explained.

“Oh,” Alicent replied with surprise and concern.

“Y-yes, I had heard about your planned… expedition, from my father.”

Alicent’s eyes of worry lingered on the Princess for a moment.

“Rhaenyra, you cannot truly mean to go on with this plan, do you?” Alicent asked, taking another step closer to Rhaenyra.

“I do. On the night of my father’s death, I, Daemon, all our children and even Princess Rhaenys shared a dream. We have discussed it and agreed this dream to be an omen of things to come, like the one of Daenys Targaryen.”

Alicent took Rhaenyra’s hands into her own.

“Rhaenyra. I know you must harbour grievances towards me for my actions, but I beg you not to go through with this. This quest you mean to undertake has been attempted many times in the last two centuries and none have ever succeeded. If you remain on Dragonstone, your family can remain safe and contented with your eldest sons and Daemon’s daughters standing to inherit both Dragonstone and Driftmark. Perhaps in time, I could come visit you — if you’d have me. We could mend things between us… be as we once were in our youths,” Alicent pleaded.

As much as Rhaenyra truly wished that all the bad blood between them could just be forgotten, the pain was still too great.

It was not just a crown they had stolen from her after all, but also a daughter. The pain and shock of hearing of her father’s death and the Greens' betrayal had pushed her into labour long before her term and her beloved Visenya was born without life, an ill-formed corpse covered with scales, mangled and noosed in its own umbilical cord.

Rhaenyra would have traded a thousand crowns and thrones for her daughter to have lived, but such things were beyond her grasp.

Rhaenyra pulled her hands out of Alicent’s grip.

“There is nothing left for me here, your Grace,” Rhaenyra declared sternly.

Alicent looked shattered by Rhaenyra’s words.

“Please, Rhaenyra. Is there truly nothing I can do to fix this?”

Rhaenyra thought for a moment and while she did not feel comfortable asking Alicent for anything, there was something she required.

“Before I leave I must speak privately to King Aegon. There is a matter to be discussed if he is to truly succeed my father as king. The meeting must be private and he must bring my father’s valyrian steel dagger. If you can arrange that I would be… grateful to you,” Rhaenyra explained.

Alicent seemed perplexed.

“You wish to speak to my son, alone and with a knife?” Alicent recounted, perhaps thinking Rhaenyra wished to kill Aegon.

“His Kingsguard can wait outside at every entrance and kill me if I even touch your son and I will vow not to touch the knife, but it is paramount he brings it and that we are alone. This is something private and important. When my father first named me heir he gave me a closely guarded secret, if Aegon is to be king, then that secret is for me to give to him and him alone,” Rhaenyra declared.

After a moment of contemplation, Alicent nodded in agreement.

With that, Rhaenyra bid the Dowager Queen a good day and left with her sworn swords, marching towards Maegor’s to be with her family.

Chapter 2: The Song of Ice and Fire

Chapter Text

In the late afternoon, a servant from Alicent’s staff arrived at Rhaenyra’s chamber and informed her that King Aegon would meet with her. Rhaenyra chose the meeting place in the chamber room where Balerion’s skull was kept, the same place where Viserys first told Rhaenyra the closely guarded secret of the Targaryen kings.

Rhaenyra went to the chamber alone a little before the hour of the wolf when the meeting was set to take place.

The Princess brought a waist-high brazier from the corner of the room to the base of the great stone pedestal that Balerion’s skull was mounted on.

She lit the cast iron bowl herself using one of the wax candles that illuminated the onyx-black skull of the Conqueror’s dragon.

Rhaenyra then stood patiently, looking up at the skull, the gaping dark sockets that once carried the crimson-red eyes of the Black Dread.

Red eyes of the last living creature to have seen Valyria before its doom.

When Balerion died, the last living memory of the Dragonlords and the Freehold withered away and Valyria’s memory now only existed in the revisionist compilations of Maesters, scholars and storytellers.

The most advanced and powerful society in the known world, now a distant memory as the great Empire of the Dawn had been before them.

Rhaenyra pondered her quest, the great enterprise she intended to lead her family, their dragons and their allies on.

She was no fool, she knew the histories, she knew no such venture had ever succeeded and had no reason to think hers would be any different.

But her dream, was so clear, more real and more detailed than her strongest memories as dragon dreams were described to be.

In the dream, she soared through the mists and clouds of the sky as though she were on dragonback and through the mist she looked down and saw a barren mountain, like the Dragonmount on Dragonstone.

As Rhaenyra drew closer through the sky she saw extending out from the slopes of the southern face of the mountain, a great city of dark stone, an echo of the diorama in her late father’s chambers.

The ancient city of Valyria, crumbled in some areas but still standing tall, the great structures endurant and surviving in the face of the doom.

The histories recorded that the wizards of Valyria did not cut and chisel stone, but worked it with fire and magic as one might work clay and their structures were stronger and more endurant than any other stonemasonry.

In the dream, Rhaenyra descended through the sky and drew nearer to the palace of the dragonlords at the volcanic face.

She soared with such speed she felt as though she were going to slam into the palace walls.

Then she suddenly slowed and drifted through the open gates of the palace like a branch of wood on the water.

She continued deeper into the palace until finally, she arrived at a great dark stone chamber, even larger than the throne room of the Red Keep.

The chamber was lined with two rows of pillars with ringed braziers at their bases that illuminated the room.

Targaryen banners of black and red hung from the high ceiling, great crowds filled either side of the room and at the end of the long grim hall upon a high and wide stone dais up a flight of eight steps with a grand throne shaped similar to the one in the audience chamber on Dragonstone, like a seat chizzled into a large asymmetrical mound of jagged rocks, though this one was much taller and grander and fashioned entirely from dragonglass and the seat was up another flight of stairs carved into the dragonglass mound.

Standing upon the dias, she could see many familiar faces, Daemon, Rhaenys, Corlys, all her and Daemon’s children, some lords she knew like Bartimos Celtigar, Simon Stauton, Gormon Massey, Gunthor Darklyn and others as well as some faces she didn’t recognise also standing there with those she did.

Finally, Rhaenyra’s eyes set upon the great black throne and saw herself sitting there, upon her brow was a crown of steel with great batlike wings that framed her face and three dragon heads protruding from the front encrusted with ruby eyes.

The following morning when Rhaenyra woke, she dismissed it as nothing more than a dream and the next morning after that day, Rhaenys arrived on Meleys to inform Rhaenyra and Daemon of Viserys’s death and Aegon’s treason.

It wasn’t until later when Rhaenyra saw one of her son Joffrey’s drawings in his chamber that she thought differently.

Not more than a child’s scribbles with a reed pen on some spare parchment, but it clearly showed the dias and the dragonglass throne and when Rhaenyra pointed the stick figure on the throne out to Joffrey he said it was her.

When Rhaenyra showed Daemon, he was deeply vexed, for he too had seen such an image in his own dream.

Rhaenyra checked with all her family and one by one, Rhaenys, Jace, Baela, Luke and Rhaena all confirmed to have had the exact same dream and all on the exact same night, the night Viserys passed.

Even little Aegon responded to the picture, pointing to the stick figure on the throne and saying ‘mama’ and while baby Viserys did not know how to speak yet, he too seemed to respond to the shape of the throne in the picture.

Rhaenyra discussed with Rhaenys and Daemon how all of them having the same dream on the same night was far beyond mere coincidence all the while Rhaenyra continued to ponder her contemplations of surrendering her claim for the good of the realm and in the name of the fulfilment of the song of Ice and Fire.

When Lucerys returned from Storm’s End, recounting having narrowly escaped Aemond and Vhagar in the storm, Rhaenyra was finally convinced, for she had already lost one child with Visenya and did not think she could bear to loose any more.

Rhaenyra spoke with her loyal lords and explained her family’s vision of Valyria, taking it as an omen like the one of Daenys the Dreamer that foretold the doom and made her intentions clear.

Once Rhaenyra had passed on the secret of the Conqueror’s dream to Aegon and rallied all those who would follow her back to the lost motherland of the Targaryens and their dragons, she would sail the narrow sea, stopping at every port from Braavos to Volantis, offering any pioneering soul who would follow her a place in her coming realm.

Most would scoff and call them mad, but the legend of Daenys had solidified the validity of Targaryen dreams and a shared dream of ten was sure to beckon at least some pioneers and glory seekers to follow them.

A short while later, Aegon finally arrived, but not alone as he was instructed to be.

Flanking him on either side was his mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent and his grandfather, the Hand of the King Otto.

Aegon no longer wore the namesake’s crown, but still carried the Conqueror’s other two valyrian steel heirlooms, the dagger and Blackfyre hanging from his swordbelt.

“What is this? I asked to speak to the King alone,” Rhaenyra declared sternly.

Otto furrowed his eyebrows as he glared at the Princess.

“If you think I would allow the King to be left alone and unguarded in the presence of one who challenged his birthright to the throne and who requested he bring a weapon to this private meeting, then you are sorely mistaken, Princess.”

Once again Otto was overarching, already he thought himself more the King than his grandson, but such was essentially his plan all along.

“This conversation I must have is private. If Aegon is to be king, he must know a closely guarded secret reserved only for the King and his heir,” Rhaenyra explained.

“Anything you wish to say to the King can be said in front of me. As the King’s Hand, it is my duty to advise Aegon on all matters and to steward his will in his absence. It would have been your father’s will that I help Aegon carry this burden,” Otto declared.

Rhaenyra smirked in disgust at the Hightower second son.

“And yet in the last three decades since my grandfather Baelon’s passing, neither Jaehaerys nor my father ever saw fit to trust you with this knowledge. This secret has been closely guarded since the time of the Conqueror himself and if Aegon wants to be the one to betray it to outsiders, let him, once he hears it from me he can do with it as he will, tell whom he wishes, but I will not be the one to give this secret to the likes of you, Otto.”

Otto angrily opened his mouth to continue arguing but Aegon finally found his voice.

“Enough. Grandfather, please. You heard her, once she tells me I’m free to tell whoever I want. Just wait outside, it’s not worth the headache,” Aegon said dismissively.

Otto scowled for a moment and glanced at Rhaenyra and back to Aegon.

“Your Grace,” he finally said in submission before storming off.

Alicent glanced at her son and to the woman she once loved as a sister and then followed Otto out.

When the chamber doors closed and the room was empty, Rhaenyra and Aegon looked at one another for a moment, lingering in the silence from the opposite sides of the room.

“Thank you for coming to meet with me, Valonqar,” said Rhaenyra, switching to High Valyrian to protect the contents of their conversation.

Even though Otto had agreed to leave the chamber, he was an indomitably proud and ambitious man and was probably listening at the door, paying no regard for his king’s wishes.

A hesitant look rested on Aegon's face for a moment but then he shrugged and spread out his arms.

“My... mother... she said it is - it was something important. She is - also said you - wanted me to - bringing - this,” Aegon recounted in broken and unfluent High Valyrian, gripping the hilt of their father’s valyrian steel blade.

“Yes I did,” Rhaenyra declared looking down at the dagger, her words switching back to the common tongue when she realised she'd never be able to hold a conversation with her brother if that was the best he could speak in their ancient mother tongue.

Rhaenyra stepped back from the brazier and motioned to it.

“Please, place the blade in the flames,” Rhaenyra requested.

Aegon winced in confusion.

“Are you mad? You want me to put Father’s blade in the fire?” Aegon asked.

“Calm yourself, brother. It’s Valyrian steel. It will not melt,” Rhaenyra assured him in a calming voice.

After a moment’s pause, Aegon approached the brazier, drew his dagger and put the blade in the flaming bowl, leaving the handle sitting on the edge.

“Now, while we wait for that to warm, let me ask you a question, Aegon; When you look at the dragons, what do you see?” Rhaenyra asked, looking up at Balerion’s skull, just as she had when their shared father posed the question to her twenty years ago.

Rhaenyra could see her brother glance at her from the corner of her eye and then at Balerion.

Aegon huffed as he pondered his answer.

“I don’t know. I suppose… power? When the Dragonlords of Old Valyria were swept away with the doom, we Targaryens became the last dragon masters in the world and with our dragon rider blood, that power could not be taken or stolen by others. Aegon the first united the seven kingdoms with them, who could stand in his way?” he asked.

Rhaenyra bobbed her head, seeing the merits in Aegon’s words but also the flaws in it.

“Dorne did. They resisted Aegon the dragon and managed to slay Meraxes in the process, robbing us of our second-largest dragon of the time. Then the Rebel dissidents, the Faith Militant and the Lords of the Realm resisted both his sons, Aenys for being too weak and Maegor for being too strong.”

Aegon and Rhaenyra turned to face one another, looking into each other’s eyes.

“The dragons can buy you a great deal of sway over the people of the realm, but if you are too weak they will resist you because they don’t think you have the balls to use dragonfire on them and if you are too strong they will resist you because fear of death becomes trivial in comparison to a life of suffering under a cruel leader. You cannot just expect the realm to accept you and let you do as you please because you have a dragon. That hubris was what Aenys and Maegor almost let bring our Dynasty crashing down and ending our sacred mission. Now that you are King, it is your duty to maintain the realm and pass it to Jaehaerys when his time comes and make sure he is ready to carry the realm to his heir or fulfil the mission himself.”

Aegon was vexed by Rhaenyra’s words.

“What mission?” he asked.

Rhaenyra glanced over to the brazier, the reddening blade not yet bright enough to reveal the hidden message yet.

Not yet, Rhaenyra thought to herself.

“When I had this conversation with Father, years ago, he told me that the idea that we control the dragons is an illusion and that for all the power they give us, they should never have been trifled with in the first place. It was control over them that made the Dragonlords so heedlessly greedy and drunk with power. It was that arrogance and vanity that led the doom and destroyed the Freehold. Regardless of whether or not the world would be better with or without the dragons, the fact remains they are real and we have them. Therefore we must wield our power over the dragons with respect and humility, not arrogance, or the doom will come again in one shape or another. I must heed the lesson more than you,” Rhaenyra admitted.

“You mean you really intend to go through with this voyage to reclaim Old Valyria?” Aegon asked.

“All those in our family of the dragon blood that are beholden to me rather than you shared a dream with me. I believe it to truly be a dragon dream. Just as Daenys’s vision led our scions to safety from the doom, now the visions are calling us back. Perhaps to remake Valyria in a new shape, one wiser and humbler than the Freehold. A power that is less bloated, corrupt and insatiably greedy than what it once was,” Rhaenyra pondered as she looked up once again to Balerion.

“Our father had a dream too. One he first thought was for my— for our late brother Baelon. A dream of a son being born wearing the iron crown of Aegon the Conqueror that he placed upon the iron throne amidst the sound of battle and roaring dragons.”

“I know. my mother told me. She said Father reminded her of the dream when he named me heir at his death,” Aegon declared, looking at Balerion.

Rhaenyra frowned, imbittered by the lies that Alicent used to circumvent her father’s true will.

“Oh… sorry,” Aegon said awkwardly and uneffectionately when he noticed Rhaenyra’s expression.

“If it's any conciliation, I don’t believe a word of it either. Father had every opportunity to name me heir and never did. Even when his mind was addled these last few years, he never changed it. Then suddenly just as he died he told my mother without any other witnesses. Ridiculous. I even tried to leave all this behind. I wanted to run away and leave all this responsibility and mess for Aemond to deal with, but he and Cole brought me back and my mother made me play my role… and truthfully, it does suit me, don’t you think?” Aegon asked smugly.

Rhaenyra responded only with a single arched eyebrow and an unimpressed expression.

“Perhaps this was all meant to be. Our father’s dream. Me being named as heir, building my list of allies and followers and learning to rule. My family’s dream of Valyria right when father died and you took the throne from me. Perhaps this is where our destinies diverge, brother. Some grand design of the gods or fate or some other force. Maybe I am meant to lead half of our family back to Valyria for some unknown purpose, while you remain here and continue our family’s mission in Westeros,” Rhaenyra pondered.

“You keep saying that. What mission?” Aegon asked, getting a bit frustrated.

Rhaenyra’s eyes went to the brazier once again, the valyrian steel blade now bright red.

It was finally time.

Rhaenyra walked leisurely over to the brazier, circling it with her hands locked together.

“This blade has a long history in our family. The furthest back we can trace it is to Aenar the Exile who brought it over from Old Valyira. Aenar then passed it to Gaemon who passed it to his son, also named Aegon, and on and on down our line from dragonlords to kings. Since Aenar it has changed hands through our family leaders fourteen times. For a long time, I thought I would be the fifteenth.”

Rhaenyra wanted to reach for the hilt and pick it up, just one last time, pretending she truly was her father’s successor as he had always believed she could be. But she would not, this was now Aegon’s destiny, she had to move on and finally part ways with any ambition she had to carry the blade or the legacy of the Iron Throne.

“Go on, take it.” Rhaenyra welcomed.

Aegon hesitantly reached in and pulled out the dagger.

After a moment of holding the blade away for fear he would get burned, Aegon noticed something upon the glowing red blade and examined it closely.

His awe-struck face was cast in red light from the hue of the glowing blade.

As Aegon looked at the Valyrian glyphs revealed by the flames he began to speak them.

“From... my heir prince's the blood oath comes, they have the music of snow and fire?.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at the hopelessness of her brother's Valyrian before offering him aid. "It says, from my blood comes the Prince that was Promised and his will be the song of Ice and Fire," Rhaenyra corrected leaving Aegon looking a bit embarrassed.

“When Aegon converted to the faith of the Seven, he was forced to dismiss the Anogrion on Dragonstone and disband the last pyromancers that served under him. When they died, their craft from old Valyria was lost. The inscription on that blade is one of the last remnants of their ancient sorcery, Aegon commissioned they put those words there before the conquest,” Rhaenyra explained.

Aegon continued to look with vexation at the blade.

“Alright… but what does it mean?” he asked.

Rhaenyra moved closer towards her half-brother.

“We’ve spoken of this new dream my family and I have had of a restored Valyria. We’ve spoken of Father’s dream of a child born with the Conqueror’s crown. We’ve spoken of Daenys Targaryen and her vision of the Doom. But there was another dreamer in our bloodline… the Conqueror himself,” Rhaenyra explained.

Rhaenyra’s younger brother was taken aback by the revelation.

“Make no mistake, Aegon was a dragon at heart and his conquest was tethered to ambition, but it was not ambition alone that prompted such a daring conquest. What Daenys saw and saved her family from was a terrible calamity, but what Aegon saw was much worse… the end of the world of men as we know it. Twenty years ago my father told me this when I was standing right where you are now. He said it is to begin with a terrible winter gusting out of the distant north with forces of pure darkness riding on the winter winds containing an evil that will destroy the world the living,” Rhaenyra recounted.

Aegon’s expression was now serious and focused, heeding Rhaenyra’s words with an appropriate understanding of their importance.

“The Starks mean to betray us?” Aegon asked with a furrowed brow.

Rhaenyra shook her head. “Further north,” she corrected.

“Wildlings?”

Rhaenyra appreciated Aegon was taking the prophecy seriously, but the next bit would be hard to explain.

“Fear is a powerful motivator. Just as Aegon was driven to unite the Seven Kingdoms for fear of this terrible darkness, the First Men of ancient times were driven to build a mighty wall of ice and stone, a hundred leagues wide and seven hundred feet tall defend from this same darkness. Not wildlings, but something more powerful and terrifying,” Rhaenyra tried to explain.

Realisation seemed to wash over Aegon.

“What? The… the White Walkers, from the old wet nurse stories?”

Aegon’s expression was now disbelieving as though Rharnyra had played a prank on him.

“Ancient texts from the Red Priests of Asshai speak of a reincarnated warrior that fought against the White Walkers, the Prince that was Promised who will bring the dawn and the old northern legends of the First Men talk of a second Long Night that will come when the White Walkers return. This is real brother. Written about in the far north and the far east long before the Doom of Valyria. This is all very real, little brother, I swear it.”

The seriousness in Rhaenyra’s voice seemed to shake Aegon back into a serious state of mind.

“This secret was passed from Aegon to Aenys and Aenys passed it to his own son, Aegon the Uncrowned. When Maegor usurped the throne and killed the young Prince Aegon under the Gods' Eye, the secret nearly died with him, but when Aenys told Aegon of the prophecy, he also imparted the wisdom onto Aegon’s sister-wife Rhaena for they were to rule together. Rhaena in turn imparted this secret onto Jaehaerys when she joined him at Storm’s End after he announced his claim to the throne, bringing him both Blackfyre and this dagger,” Rhaenyra explained, holding Aegon’s hand up as it clutched the dagger, the red glow and the Valyrian glyphs now almost entirely faded.

“Jaeharys told father when he was named heir and father told me. Now it is yours to do with as you will. Heed it. Ignore it. Pass it on to your son Jaehaerys. We know not when the coming war against this northern darkness will arise. Maybe in two hundred years, maybe in a generation, maybe a decade, maybe a year or even a month. But either you, your son or your descendants will be the Prince that was Promised. It’s up to you now.”

And with that, the burden was lifted, the legacy of the Conqueror’s dream was now another’s problem and the pressures of House Targaryen’s duty to fulfil the prophecy was no longer something Rhaenyra’s line needed to worry about.

Rhaenyra imagined it would be painful, as it would mean she would finally let go of her claim to the Iron Throne in its entirety, but in truth, it was actually quite liberating.

“Now you carry all the wisdom of the Targaryen Kings and it is up to you to carry the dynasty forward. I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, little brother,” Rhaenyra said as a parting courtesy as she turned to walk towards the doors of the chamber.

“Now hold on! That’s it? You tell me this big secret and a massive history lesson and now you're just leaving?” Aegon asked in a whiny voice.

Rhaenyra turned to face Aegon.

“As a courtesy to our father and out of respect for the safety of the seven kingdoms and our dynasty at large, I have shared this secret with you. I’ve played my part and now you must play yours, whatever that may be,” Rhaenyra explained, not sure what else her brother expected from her.

She’d given him seven kingdoms in their entirety bloodlessly and the legacy that their father had entrusted to her. There was not much else for her to give him.

“Don’t you have any… advice? You were father’s heir. You must have some plan for how you intend to maintain the dynasty. Give me something at least,” Aegon pleaded.

Rhaenyra took two steps back towards Aegon with scorn in her eyes.

“I have given you everything,” She declared sternly.

Rhaenyra huffed and rolled her eyes, trying to drum up some last piece of advice to give her dim-witted half-brother.

“I don’t know… Get a feel for what the realm needs and try to meet those needs. If the realm is in famine, try to find food. If the realm’s coffers are low, look for expenditures that can be cut and ways to increase wealth, preferably with trade. If you think the realm is strong enough and you have enough of an advantage and a realistic plan to execute, you might want to try your hand at conquering Dorne, completing your namesake’s conquest. Be your own King, not a puppet for your grandfather’s will. Remember you are a Targaryen first and your goals align with the needs of the seven kingdoms, not Oldtown. Do whatever you feel you need to in order to usher the Iron Throne peacefully from our father to your son. Building a legacy is all well and good but don’t let your pride endanger what our family has been working towards for the past hundred years. If you act selfishly and lead the realm into squaller you will be remembered in the same breath as Aenys and Maegor.”

Just when Rhaenyra thought she was done, she recalled what Erryk had told her of Aegon when her lords and knights first tried to plead that she not surrender her claim.

Rhaenyra had heard in great detail the illicit and repugnant vices Aegon was fond of.

The child fighting rings, the rape of servant girls, surely Rhaenyra could not let such vulgarity go unaddressed when she had the new King’s ear.

“A few last morsels of advice for you, Aegon. Now that you are king, when you feel the need to gamble, you can arrange a tourney instead of watching innocent children kill each other with sharpened nails and teeth and when you are feeling lustful you can hire as many whor*s as you wish to come pleasure you rather than force yourself upon innocent serving girls. In short, dear brother of mine, do not allow yourself to become a f*cking monster,” Rhaenyra commanded angrily, causing Aegon to stand there, pouting like a scolded child.

She had no way of telling if her words would resonate with the king or if he would just discard them and continue his wicked vices.

It was beyond Rhaenyra now.

The Princess continued her strides out of the chamber, exiting through the doors where Alicent waited with interlocked fingers and Otto paced back and forth impatiently with folded arms.

Sers Arryk and Criston waited on either side of the door.

When Otto saw Rhaenyra exit the chamber he glanced at her like a deer startled by a hunter and then marched into the chamber, probably to demand Aegon recount the entirety of their conversation.

Maybe Aegon would tell Otto everything, maybe he would tell him nothing, Rhaenyra did not know, she did not care.

She loved the seven kingdoms and wished the Targaryen dynasty that branched from Aegon all the best, but it truly was not her problem anymore. Valyria was her future now and perhaps her doom as well, but that was what fate had allotted to her.

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent called to her, but the Princess continued her strides.

“Rhaenyra, please talk to me,” she begged.

“The hour grows late, Alicent. I wish to go to bed,” Rhaenyra declared.

Alicent made her choice. She had made many choices. Yes, Rhaenyra had made mistakes too, she’d wronged Alicent and betrayed her trust, but Alicent’s wrongdoings were much grander and far more freshly felt in Rhaenyra’s heart.

Rhaenyra would not waste the late hours of the night reconciling with someone whom she did not expect or desire to ever see again after she left Westeros for the East.

She wished to return to her chambers and take to her bed, then come the morrow she would continue her preparations and recruitment of allies for this grand voyage to reclaim the ancient birthright of the dragonlords.

Chapter 3: What We Bring With Us

Chapter Text

Daemon sat against a tall spined cushioned chair by the hearth of his and Rhaenyra’s guest chamber in Maegor’s Holdfast.

The Rogue Prince sat with his legs crossed, picking dirt from beneath the nail of his middle finger with his thumb.

Rhaenyra stood in the middle of the chamber speaking with Lord Lyonel Debbing and Ser Oswald Wode, two nobles from the Riverlands who had pledged to Rhaenyra at the beginning of the war.

The two newest recruits to their grand fleet meant for their departure to the east.

Over the past three days since the pledging ceremony for King Aegon, many lords and knights had come to offer themselves to Rhaenyra for the voyage.

Some were devoutly loyal to Rhaenyra as their true queen, some fearful of ostracism and shame from the crown and their allies for having pledged to Rhaenyra and others ambitious and idealistic about their voyage to Old Valyria.

Most of the wealthier and larger houses had no interest in joining them, though sympathised with their cause.

Jeyne Arryn and Cregan Stark came to pay respects and offer good fortune to Rhaenyra, but neither of them wished to trade their kingdoms for a fool’s hope based on dreams.

But while the more powerful lords wished to remain in Westeros, some second sons, cousins and bastards of their houses wished to join them and carve out their own legacy in the world.

Lord Corlys had left for High Tide the previous day to begin amassing the Velaryon fleet and recruiting whomever of his smallfolk wished to settle Valyria with them.

Leaving with Corlys were their allies from houses Celtigar, Stauton, Massey, Bar Emmon, Darklyn, Sunglass and Rollingford, all going to their own castles to do the same.

Lord Alan Beesbury had left the capital with Lord Thaddeus Rowan and Allun Caswell’s widow. They intended to collect their households and join Lord Alan in Oldtown where he had ships and ferry their houses and whatever other knights and peasants wished to join them to the Stepstones to wait for the fleet assembling in the Blackwater.

It felt to Daemon as though they were merely picking for scraps, mustering up only the most devoutly loyal, the heedlessly ambitious and everyone more desperate than them to escape the Greens.

Lord Alan Beesbury was a direct bannerman of the Hightowers and yet couldn’t very well continue to serve under them after they murdered his father, Lord Lyman.

Ser Steffon came to Rhaenyra earlier to inform her that he had recruited his squire, two stewards and four guardsmen to join them.

Ser Harrold later came in to inform them that one of the Red Keeps maesters, Mickon, along with Ser Howland Sharp and a castle blacksmith had also decided to join them.

Rhaenyra called it wonderful but Daemon called it slim pickings.

Daemon himself had managed to sway twelve of the dragonkeepers who served at the pit to join their brethren on Dragonstone, promising them that Old Valyria would once have skies filled with dragons again.

Daemon’s Gold Cloak captains were rounding up troops as well.

When Aegon took over, Otto stripped two of Daemon’s captains, Garth the Harelip and Balon Byrch of their positions, but they still had the loyalty of their men.

Ser Randyll Barret had been forced out years earlier, but still kept in touch with the other foot soldiers loyal to Daemon whom Otto had removed over the years and was now bringing them back into the fold.

Lastly, Ser Luthor Largent’s loyalty to Daemon had never even been discovered by Otto and his spies and now his garrison was entirely committed to Daemon and Rhaenyra’s cause.

After a long discussion, Rhaenyra was finally finishing with her two new followers from the Riverlands.

“I look forward to seeing you join us. I will send a raven to Lord Stauton telling him to expect you and your households in the coming weeks,” Rhaenyra said graciously.

Lord Lyonel and Ser Oswald bowed to Rhaenyra and departed the chamber.

When the two Rivermen exited the chamber, Ser Erryk was waiting outside the door and came in as the two men left.

“Is that the last visitor Ser Erryk?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Almost, Princess. Grand Maester Orwyle wishes to be granted an audience with you,” Erryk explained.

Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged concerned looks, neither of them sure why Aegon’s Grand Maester would wish to see them.

Daemon glanced over at his scabbarded arming sword, resting upon the wall in the corner of the room, contemplating taking the co*cksucking traitor’s head with one nice clean swing and feeding it to Caraxes.

The Prince did not dare to bring Dark Sister to court. Otto’s terms of the pledging ceremony demanded that they surrender their weapons upon their arrival until the pledging had been completed.

In the past, while Blackfyre was inherited by the patriarch of their house, Dark Sister was awarded to the most skilled warrior of their house. If Daemon gave Dark Sister over to Otto Hightower willingly, then Aegon would have awarded the sword to that cycloptic c*nt Aemond.

The half-blind twat had already stolen Vhagar away but Daemon would not let him steal Dark Sister too. Jaehaerys bestowed the blade on Daemon himself, it was his, just as it was his father’s before him and he would not give it up, especially not to the Greens.

Rhaenyra’s castellan, Ser Robert Quince, was keeping Dark Sister for Daemon back on Dragonstone. Quince was also charged with guarding Joff, Aegon and Viserys and readying the island inhabitants for the great voyage.

“Send him in,” said Rhaenyra, her voice filled with caution and reluctance.

Ser Erryk stepped back out and brought in the Grand Maester carrying a stack of leather leather-bound books in his arms.

“Princess,” he greeted, bowing low.

“And Prince Daemon,” he added when he caught sight of Daemon out of the corner of his eye.

“What can I do for you, Grand Maester?” Rhaenyra asked coldly.

Orwyle’s sad expression suggested he knew he was unwelcome.

“I… have brought you a gift, Princess. You will recall your father was a great lover of the histories and a great admirer of Old Valyria. During my time in the Red Keep, first as an attendant of my predecessor, Grand Maester Mellos, and later when I was elevated to the office myself, I collected a few volumes regarding the history and culture of the Freehold over the years for your father to read. Given your father’s passing and the great expedition you are preparing for, I felt his collections would better suit you than gather dust in the library,” Orwyle explained.

Rhaenyra’s expression softened towards the Maester if only a little bit.

“Thank you, Grand Maester that is very kind. Are these all of them?” she asked, looking at the three books stacked in Orwyle’s arms.

Orwyle’s expression lit up with momentary surprise and confusion and led to gentle laughter.

“Oh gods no, Princess. Your father’s collection is over seventeen books as well as maps, charts, drawings and of course his grand diorama. I can have it all collected and ready for transport by the end of the day if it pleases you. No, these… these are far more personal,” Orwyle said gently as he ran his fingers over the face of the top book of the stack.

“These are your father’s meditations on Old Valyria. His contemplations, revisions, theories and examinations of the Freehold and its way of life. The first two volumes are written entirely in his own hand, but early on in the third volume, it was becoming harder for the King to write as his condition worsened and so I was given the task of dictating his contemplations, but the words and thoughts are all his,” Orwyle explained.

Rhaenyra looked down at the three books, vulnerability and sadness in her eyes as she took the stack into her own hands.

Daemon also felt moved by the Grand Maester’s gesture or more accurately moved by having access to his wiritings and his private thoughts, a gateway into Viserys’s mind that could make Daemon feel like his brother was still there and mitigate the pain of his absence.

Viserys’s interest in the Freehold was one of the few things they could bond over, the two being natural Valyriophiles like their father.

“King Viserys had the makings of a fine scholar in the studies of Old Valyira. I took the liberty of transcribing his journals and sending copies to the citadel for posterity, but the originals are yours. And if I may be so bold, your father would be very proud of you, Princess. Not only of this great quest you mean to undertake but also your resolution to honour his legacy by preserving the peace, at great sacrifice to your own station and entitlements. Far more than just a trivial gesture I think you would agree.”

Orwyle’s grovelling and pandering interrupted Daemon’s contemplations on his brother and seemed to break Rhaenyra’s train of thought judging by the shift in her expression.

“Really? In what way was it a sacrifice? I was a usurper, was I not? And you Grand Maester, did you not support the rightful King Aegon when my father died?” Rhaenyra asked, challenging the Grand Maester’s treason.

Perhaps Rhaenyra would let Daemon take Orwyle’s head yet.

The Maester’s eyes blinked rapidly as he sadly glanced down to the ground.

“It is true, Princess. I did stand with Aegon… and I did so because I was scared, scared that resisting the Greens would be my end as it was for Lord Beesbury,” Orwyle explained with a shaky breath.

“When the Queen brought news of the King’s death, the Lord Hand, Lord Jasper and Ser Tyland made us privy to their schemes to see you supplanted for Aegon. The rest of us knew nothing of such plots, not even the Queen herself. Lord Lyman made himself outspoken in his objections to such actions and challenged the Queen’s claims that Viserys had ever even changed his succession at all. Lyman’s support of you was a passionate show of loyalty, it is important to me that you understand how fiercely he stood for you, while I on the other hand remained silent and counselled him to do the same, but he refused to be part of what he called treason and seizure… and for that Ser Criston killed him. He tried to force Lyman back into his seat with such ferocious force he threw Lord Beesbury’s head against the table, puncturing his skull against his council totem.”

Daemon was disappointed when he heard that Lord Lyman had died and even a bit angry when he discovered Lyman’s death was due to his loyalty to Rhaenyra.

Beesbury had been a faithful servant to the realm since the days of Daemon’s grandfather, he was responsible, frugal and astute and had been instrumental in funding Daemon’s Gold Cloaks when he took command of the City Watch.

“Your words are appreciated, Grand Maester, but unnecessary. Lord Lyman’s staunch loyalty and his unjustified murder were already reported to me in detail by Ser Harrold,” Rhaenyra explained.

Daemon smirked bitterly.

“Ser Harrold also had other things to say about that particular meeting. Apparently after Lord Lyman’s murder, Otto and his co*cksucking collaborators revealed their plans to have Rhaenyra, myself and our children — our children — murdered. Be quick and be clean, that's what Otto told Ser Harrold before he resigned, wasn’t it?” Daemon asked, looking at Rhaenyra.

“And when the queen had the tiniest scrap of decency to at least object to our murders, you counselled her that our deaths were the best recourse. Care to elaborate?” Daemon asked, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair.

Orwyle’s chin quivered fearfully as he struggled to find his words, glancing back and forth between Rhaenyra and Daemon.

“I— I felt that to keep the peace, hard choices would have to be made. I knew that the Hand and his allies would not stand down in their pursuits to make Aegon king and I did not expect you to surrender your claim, Princess. It was my fear that should two rival claimants both contend for the Iron Throne, a civil war was inevitable. It would not only have been a war between houses but also a war between dragons and dragon riders. My wish was only to see the transition of power cost as few lives as possible. My words were purely pragmatic and not easily said,” Orwyle explained.

“Oh yes, I’m sure it must have been very f*cking hard of you to advocate all our deaths,” Daemon mocked.

“Princess, you yourself sacrificed your claim to the throne in the name of peace in the realm. Can you not see why I felt it necessary to make such a sacrifice?” Orwyle asked.

Rhaenyra continued to study Orwyle, cold and silently.

Daemon giggled.

“Interesting word, sacrifice . It can mean something important you give up with great reluctance or a lamb you care nothing for and slice open upon an altar. Would you equate you sacrificing our lives in the name of peace with Rhaenyra sacrificing her rightful claim to the throne or were we just lambs to you?” Daemon asked.

Orwyle seemed rightly terrified and unable to speak, gulping in fear.

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, disinterested in Daemon’s tauntings of Orwyle.

“That is quite enough. Thank you for giving me my father’s journals and I will gladly take his collections. Now I would like you to leave,” Rhaenyra commanded, turning her back on Orwyle.

The fearful Grand Maester bowed low and scurried off out of the chamber, probably terrified Daemon would kill him if he lingered any longer and Daemon probably would have.

With the door of the chamber closing, Rhaenyra went to the settee in the chamber and sat down, looking down at her father’s journals.

Daemon could not help but feel sentimental as he looked at the leather-bound books sitting in Rhaenyra’s lap, wondering what words his brother had written.

When Rhaenyra looked up from the books and shifted her gaze to Daemon, he turned away, not wishing to appear sappy and emotional.

“Well, that was eventful. A handful of petty and middling lords, some old dusty books and my brother’s playset to add to our grand fleet,” Daemon mocked, unsatisfied with how little they were amassing for their voyage.

“Small numbers set apart, Daemon, but they add up to great numbers when put together and in time we will have more,” Rhaenyra counselled her husband.

Daemon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looked at his wife with seriousness.

“Tens adding up to hundreds is not the same as hundreds adding up to thousands. Soon the whole world will know of our shared dragon dream and do you think the only ones who will heed it are those who wish to become our lackeys? The powers in the East will pine for the lost treasure and ancient magic of Valyria. They will covet the power of Old Valyria and ride the tail of our portents to seize our birthright for themselves. There will be a war before Valyria is ours, Rhaenyra,” Daemon cautioned.

Rhaenyra set the books to the side and stood up slowly.

“We have our dragons, which give us a stronger claim and a better chance of claiming Valyria than any other. Some may wish to take Valyria for themselves, but many in Essos will still pledge their loyalty to us instead and with each city we visit our numbers will surely grow,” Rhaenyra declared.

Daemon shook his head and scowled.

“I doubt our numbers in Essos will increase by that much. The Doom has lingered and claimed ships for two hundred years, anyone ambitious enough to believe Valyria is now conquerable on the word of dreams is most likely arrogant enough to think they can take such power for themselves. As for those too timid to challenge the power of us and our dragons, I would wager they would have no stomach for taking our word on Valyria’s safety either. To me, it seems unlikely there will be a large enough middle ground of those too afraid to challenge us and yet brave enough to follow us to Valyria.”

Rhaenyra smacked her lips and tilted her head, clearly exhausted by Daemon’s pessimism.

“So what are you suggesting? We give up on Valyria and remain on Dragonstone as Aegon’s vassals because we do not have as many followers as you would prefer?” Rhaenyra asked.

“I am saying that this scrap heap of lords and knights willing to follow us are nothing to get excited about. Anyone willing to give up on Westeros and follow us clearly doesn’t have much to stick around for, meaning they don’t have much to offer us. These castle workers and lesser nobles that bow before you may speak sweet words but they are trivial in our effort to build strength to retake Valyria,” Daemon declared.

“They are offering us numbers and able bodies to resettle Valyria. We know not how many of the seven cities remain or what condition they are in, but we will need craftsmen, carpenters, blacksmiths, families and all sorts of people to turn them from ruins into living cities once again. These castle workers and lesser nobles may seem trivial to you, but they will be the beating heart of our Valyria,” Rhaenyra declared.

Daemon still felt that scraping together the least of the realm was beneath him and Rhaenyra but would push the matter no further since such a squabble would be irrelevant.

Daemon stood up and took his sword from the corner wall, fastening the sword belt around his waist.

“Where are you going?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Out. I’m sick of being cooped up in the holdfast,” Daemon declared.

“With your sword?”

Daemon glanced over at Rhaenyra, one of her eyebrows was arched in judgment.

“For protection. I am not about to entrust my safety to the goodwill of the greens,” Daemon declared.

Rhaenyra sighed.

“Behave,” she warned him.

Daemon nodded and walked towards the door.

When the Prince exited out of the chamber, Rhaenyra called Ser Erryk inside from his position guarding the door.

“How is our new guest fairing? Is he eating?” Rhaenyra asked when Ser Erryk came close.

Daemon didn’t know what guest Rhaenyra was referring to and shut the door as Erryk began to give his answer.

Daemon strode down the halls of Maegor’s circling the stone courtyard that stood in the centre of the holdfast.

The open courtyard brought in the bright midday sunlight and fresh air which Daemon was in dire need of.

Since arriving in the Red Keep to pledge featly to Aegon, they had rarely left Maegors, especially Rhaenyra and the children.

Even with the defacement of the Red Keep with the andal statues and iconography that were so popular with the Hightowers, they at least felt safe the last time they visited the Red Keep, because Viserys was still King and Rhaenyra was still heir, but now things had changed.

The Red Keep was Otto’s now, the whole of the seven kingdoms were now Otto’s and he had gotten everything he wanted.

A petty and insignificant knight, the second son of Oldtown, brought to court by Lord Lyman as a favour to his sworn Lord Hobart Hightower, now the true King on the Iron Throne, with his idiot brat Aegon no more than his drunken marionette.

But Daemon had never and would never fear the old f*cker and would not hide in Maegor’s Holdfast because he was now considered unwelcome in his family’s ancestral home.

Daemon knew not where he was going, only that he was heading off.

Perhaps he would check with his Gold Cloak captains and see how the recruitment was going or perhaps he’d head down to the Dragon Pit and take Caraxes for a few laps around the city.

Or maybe he would just walk around the keep, let himself be seen by the Greens and let them see that he was not afraid.

Daemon made his way down the stairs and crossed the bridge over the sworded moat out of Maegor’s Holdfast.

As he walked through the castle, he received glances of judgement and spite from everyone from the lowly castle workers to the turncoat lords and courtiers who served the Greens.

Daemon could faintly hear them mutter amongst themselves about Daemon’s audacity to walk about the castle so confidently and freely.

Daemon had half a mind to slice all their heads from their shoulders, but such would only frustrate Rhaenyra, which Daemon would rather not do.

“Good day, Prince Daemon,” a smug and contemptuous voice greeted.

Daemon stopped in his tracks and turned to see the Lannister twins, Lord Jason and Ser Tyland, standing before him.

Identical in almost every way and yet somehow in Daemon’s eyes, both were paradoxically more despicable to look at than the other.

Daemon did not know which one had spoken to him, but it did not matter for they both looked equally snide and itching for an argument with the prince.

The two brothers could have easily just murmured snide remarks in the privacy of their own company, but instead, they chose to draw attention to themselves and engage with Daemon to exact a reaction from him.

Daemon surmised it was a matter of pride for the two brothers, a spoil of victory.

The two golden-haired sh*ts had conspired to overthrow Rhaenyra and won, now Daemon was but a titless prince with no allies at court while they were favoured by the King and the Hand with titles of a great lord and a member of the small council.

Daemon couldn’t do anything. They could provoke him, tease him and lord their treason over him and Daemon could not kill them, attack them or retaliate in any way he wished or they would go crying to Otto and Daemon would be punished.

Daemon huffed and turned to face the Lannister twins.

“Lord Jason, Ser Tyland,” he greeted stiffly.

“We haven’t seen much of you these past few days, what brings you out from Maegor’s Holdfast?” Ser Tyland asked, as though Daemon had to justify his comings and goings in the keep to them.

Daemon snorted in disgust.

“I go where I want, Lannister,” Daemon declared.

Lord Jason smirked in response.

“Indeed. Understandable, really; walking about the halls, revisiting various points in the castle. If I were in the same situation as you, I might do the same,” Lord Jason began.

“The Iron Throne, the small council chamber, Balerion’s skull altar, the white sword tower and all the other historic places throughout the keep. I don’t imagine you’ll ever be seeing such sights again after you leave in the next few days.”

Tyland smiled at his brother.

“Yes. A trip to Valyria of all places. No one has ever survived such a venture in the two hundred years since the Doom. Though I suppose if, by some miracle of the gods you do manage to survive, you and your family will have a new home where you and your niece-wife can be King and Queen of whatever barren ash heap remains. Your very own kingdom in Valyria. Either way, I doubt we will ever be seeing you again after your journey east,” Ser Tyland declared with a smile.

Daemon wished so dearly that he could kill the two lions where they stood, but instead, the prince smiled and giggled when he thought of something better.

“What humours you, my Prince?” Ser Tyland asked.

“Oh, nothing… it just occurred to me that — if we succeed in our quest to reclaim Valyria — we will most likely happen upon whatever remains of your ancestor King Tommen the Second and his fleet and your family’s long lost Valyrian steel sword, yes?” Daemon asked.

Jason and Tyland exchanged vexed looks.

“Yes. Brightroar,” Jason replied.

Daemon giggled once more.

“The craft of working Valyrian steel in forges is rare but still known in the world today. I imagine the blade of a valyrian steel longsword would have enough metal to be reworked into let’s say… a shovel head,” Daemon suggested.

The Lannisters seemed puzzled by Daemon’s words.

The Prince then took two steps forward and looked at the two brothers with bitter intensity, causing them to lean back in fear.

“You two should best hope we fail and die in Valyria. You should pray to the gods nightly that the Doom remains and claims us or that your ancestor’s fleet is never found, because I make this solemn vow to you; when I find Brightroar, I will remake it into a shovel with a golden lion pommel and give it to the dragonkeepers as a gift, then in the centuries to come, Brightroar will be used to spade dragon sh*t.”

The Lannisters looked appalled and angered by Daemon’s words because they knew that by Daemon’s reputation, he probably would not spare any effort to inflict such spite upon them and Daemon was sincere in every word he had said.

Lord Jason opened his mouth to speak but could think of nothing to say.

Perhaps only now the Lannisters were truly contemplating the possibility that their quest to reclaim Valyria might actually succeed, even by the slimmest and slightest of chances.

Daemon smiled and walked away, leaving the Lannisters silent and concerned about the dreaded possibility that Daemon’s words might be proven true.

After a little more wandering through the Red Keep, Daemon eventually found himself at the great double doors of the throne room, one of them ajar, which intrigued Daemon.

Daemon’s brow furrowed with his curiosity peaked and he approached the slightly open door, sliding through the gap without touching the door.

Inside, he found the back of a tall man in a leather doublet with long white hair falling down to his back and a diagonal black strap running around his head.

Prince Aemond.

The prince was standing at the end of the hall, staring at the Iron Throne a few paces away from the sword-covered dias it was mounted on.

Daemon had not seen his estranged one-eyed nephew in two days since the night after the pledging ceremony.

Aemond summoned all the Targaryens, both Greens and Blacks, to the throne room and made a demand for justice.

With Viserys gone, there was no power above the Blacks and Greens to protect to keep the peace.

With his brother sitting on the throne, Aemond reminded them all the law that anyone who attacked a royal should have the offending limb amputated.

Then, Aemond made the brazen declaration that Lucerys Velaryon was no royal, no Velaryon and no trueborn son of Princess Rharenyra.

Aemond demanded that Luke put out his own eye as he had refused to at Storm’s End, calling him a bastard and Lord Strong.

The former Kingsguard sworn-swords stood to defend Lucerys, while Daemon, Jacaerys and even Baela readied to fight.

Meanwhile, Aemond and Ser Criston were prepared to take Luke’s eye by force.

It was Alicent who demanded Aemond and Criston desist and pleaded with Aegon to stop such madness, even Otto advised Aegon not to indulge his brother’s vengeance.

Otto cared not for Luke and probably would have preferred he lose an eye for taking Aemond’s, thinking Luke was less of a royal than Aemond.

Otto’s counsel was motivated purely by not wishing to rock the boat and provoke a fight with Rhaenyra when he was so close to being rid of her peacefully.

After that, Aemond was escorted from the hall and confined to a guest chamber in the Hand’s tower until the Dragonstone Targaryens were gone.

Given his presence in the throne room, it seemed to Daemon that he was allowed to roam the castle as he saw fit, but forbidden from approaching Luke or Maegor’s Holdfast.

Daemon moved softly through the throne room, being careful not to let the heels of his boots create a sound that might alert Aemond to his presence.

He meant not to attack or harm the Prince, but to observe him and perhaps give him a fright if the opportunity presented itself.

Aemond remained as still as a statue, his hands clasped together behind his back as he stared up at the Iron Throne.

When Daemon got as close as the two pillars closest to the throne, he causally but quietly went over to the pillar on Aemond’s blindside and leaned against it with his arms folded, watching Aemond glare up at the throne in silence.

Eventually, Daemon got bored of watching and waiting for Aemond to do something or notice him so Daemon decided to stir a reaction from his nephew.

“If you want to sit—” Daemon began in High Valyrian, causing Aemond to startle and draw his sword, spinning to face Daemon.

“--Then you’ll need to get closer than that.”

Daemon remained relaxed, not even moving as he leaned upon Aegon’s pillar with his arms crossed.

The one-eyed Aemond settled and sheathed his sword.

“I did not think to see you here, Kepus. Come to pine one last time for the Iron Throne, for old times’ sake?” Aemond asked, reciprocating High Valyrian speech to his uncle.

Daemon smirked.

“You seem to be doing plenty of pining yourself,” Daemon declared.

“Are you just going to stand there and drool like a hungry dog or are you going to actually sit on it?” he asked, switching to the common tongue.

Aemond glanced over to the throne once again and back to his uncle.

“I am not the King,” Aemond declared bitterly.

Daemon scoffed and rolled his eyes in reply.

“Who gives a f*ck? A chair is a chair and an arse is an arse. I’ve been sneaking up there and enjoying the view since I was three and ten.”

“That makes you insolent and impertinent, Uncle.”

“Thank you.”

“I, on the other hand, am not as you are. That seat is reserved for the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, it is for my brother to sit, not I.”
Daemon sighed in disappointment.

He had many opinions on Aemond, but for all he did not like about the boy, one of the things he respected about him was he seemed a smart lad, at least smarter than his siblings.

“Don’t be naive, nephew, foolishness is not a good look on you. Your brother may wear the crown but you seem astute enough to see that Otto Hightower is the real ruler of the seven kingdoms,” Daemon declared.

Aemond stood sternly, refusing to answer, probably too proud to admit Daemon was right while too perceptive to say he was wrong.

“What do you care? You're leaving the Seven Kingdoms behind. Travelling east to reconquer Old Valyria,” Aemond asserted.

Daemon bobbed his head from side to side, contemplating Aemond’s words.

“Too right. We’re done with Westeros. If and how you wish to piss away the legacy of Aegon the Conqueror is your business. It matters not to us anymore.”

Aemond faintly smiled as he took a step closer to Daemon.

“Of the two of us, you seem more likely to piss everything away. They say the Doom still holds Valyria two hundred years on and that it remains a cursed land. They say it is bordered by three sea storms west, south and east of its blighted shores. They say the winds there are poison with the smell of ash and brimstone,” Aemond declared.

Daemon stood up straight from the pillar and took a step towards Aemond.

“Sailors and travellers said that two hundred years ago when they tried to reach Valyria and turned back at the first sign of trouble. But two hundred years have passed and who is to say that the case remains the same?” Daemon asked.

“No one has ever survived a journey to Valyira in the two hundred years since the Doom,” Aemond protested.

“No one has ever returned. Who is to say how they died or how far into Valyria they made it before they did?” Daemon challenged.

Aemond sighed and glanced down to the ground then back to Daemon.

“Speak truthfully to me, uncle. This dragon dream you all supposedly shared. Was it real?” Aemond asked.

Daemon smiled and glanced at the throne.

“I never put much stock in dreams, portents or any of that nonsense. I’d always thought that dragon dreams were a long-forgotten magic, no longer seen in the world today. Then I had a dream, clearer in my mind than a memory and a few days later I saw that dream scrawled on a piece of parchment by little Joff and then I found out that the rest of my family had shared the dream with me on the same night. Yes, Aemond. Yes, it’s true,” Daemon declared.

Aemond seemed unsettled by what Daemon had said, sighing with a shaky breath.

“I didn’t have this dream. You, my half-sister, Princess Rhaenys, your daughters, my sister’s strong boys and your sons with her. Yet the gods, fate, destiny, or whatever powerful force commands these dreams did not see fit to choose me to go to Valyria,” Aemond declared bitterness in his voice.

Dameon was unsympathetic to his nephew’s plight.

“Why would you? You're a Green. A Hightower’s lackey. Your place is here, dwindling in your brother’s shadow.”

Daemon was no stranger to feeling inadequate and undervalued as a second son, a fate that Aemond would now endure.

“And yet it is I who has studied the histories of the Freehold and mastered our mother tongue. I am the one who poured over my father’s journals and compendiums of Old Valyria. I am the one who studies history, philosophy and statecraft, I train with the sword and I ride the largest and oldest of the living dragons. If being second born to my mother’s womb bars me from the throne for my unqualified brother then the glory of Valyria should be mine,” he declared, anger in his voice.

Daemon giggled in mockery of Aemond.

“I do empathise with your plight, Nephew. Truly, I do. In fact, if I didn’t despise you and your malignant branch of my brother’s bloodline so much I might actually ask you to join us. Your astute, skilled and Vhagar would be a mighty addition to our cause. But the fact remains, we all hate you, me especially.”

Daemon cared not for Aemond’s feelings, in fact, he hoped that his words would sting for his nephew to hear, but Aemond probably didn’t care.

Daemon took another step closer to Aemond and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Take care, Nephew. I am sure you will have a long and fulfilling life. Serving under your brother, riding Vhagar through the sky as no more than a peacetime spectacle and attending to your new Baratheon bride and when that life is over, I am sure you will be remembered… as a footnote in your brother’s story.”

With that, Daemon patted the imbittered one-eyed prince on the shoulder and walked off, smirking to himself as he headed for the doors out of the throne room.

Between provoking the Lannister idiots and the one-eyed twat, Daemon had up himself in a significantly better mood and was now contented to return to Maegor’s Holdfast.

Daemon retraced his path back the way he came, half hoping he might run into a Hightower, Jasper Wylde, Criston Cole or any other smirking traitor c*nt who was in dire need of humbling.

But, alas, Daemon made it back to Maegor’s without running into anyone to antagonize, only the silent craven judgers who murmured at him in their own little cowardly circles.

As Daemon arrived back at his and Rhaenyra’s chamber, he noticed that Ser Erryk was no longer standing guard at the door, which Daemon found odd.

When Daemon reached the door, he heard gentle laughter from within, which only further perplexed the Prince.

As the door opened, he found Ser Erryk standing vigilantly inside and Rhaenyra on the settee with their children.

Jace and Luke were standing over the settee, smiling.

Baela and Rhaena were sitting on either side of the settee with Rhaenyra in between and sitting at Rhaenyra’s hip held under her arm was a small child with pale hair eating a sugared pastry.

At first, Daemon thought the child was his son Aegon, but instantly remembered that little Aegon was back on Dragonstone.

The child was covered in ragged burlap garments, his pale mop hair dry and dishevelled and his face smudged with dirt.

It looked like a beggar child with valyrian features had been pulled from the slums of Flea Bottom and was now being doted on adoringly by Daemon’s family.

The wide-eyed child smiled softly as Rhaenyra and the children giggled and smiled at the boy.

All eyes turned to Daemon as he entered.

“Daemon. Did you enjoy your walk?” Rhaenyra asked with a smile as she affectionately ran her fingers gently through the child’s hair.

Daemon’s brow furrowed.

“The f*ck is this?” he asked bluntly.

Rhaenyra and the children gave Daemon a stern glare, probably judging him for his poor manners, but the pale-haired boy just looked blankly at Daemon as he finished his pastry.

“Daemon, there is someone I would like for you to meet. This is Gaemon,” Rhaenyra explained, gently rubbing the boy’s shoulder.

“Who the f*ck is Gaemon?” Daemon demanded of his wife.

Daemon recognised the name, an old Valyrian name.

Aenar the exile’s son was named Gaemon, known as the greatest of the Targaryen dragonlords on Dragonstone before the conquest.

One of Daemon’s uncles bore the name, Gaemon was the eleventh of the fourteen children of Jaehaerys and Alyssane’s brood, who had died three months after his birth, eight years before Daemon’s birth.

Rhaenyra scooched out from Gaemon’s side and let Rhaena take the small boy under her arm.

The Princess then stood up and walked over to Daemon, pulling him to the side while their children distracted the child with smiles and sweet gentle words.

Rhaenyra brought Daemon to the corner of the room away from the settee with Ser Erryk by her side.

“Who is he?” Daemon asked with seriousness in his voice.

“A child. An orphan child. Ser Erryk is taking him on as his squire when he’s old enough but as a former Kingsguard knight who had sworn off worldly possessions when he took his oath, Ser Erryk has no means of providing for the boy. I have agreed to foster the boy on Ser Erryk’s behalf,” Rhaenyra explained in a hushed voice.

“I mean who are his parents? Where did he come from?” Daemon asked.

Rhaenyra huffed out air through her nose.

“You remember what Ser Erryk told us about Aegon? His more illicit and repugnant vices?” Rhaenyra asked.

Daemon recalled Erryk trying to convince Rhaenyra not to surrender her claim by telling her of Aegon’s acts of debauchery, raping serving girls and betting on child fighting pits.

Erryk had also said that when his mistresses, whor*s or his victims brought his bastards to him to care for, he took the children and dumped them in the fighting pits.

The pieces in Daemon’s mind suddenly fit together.

“No,” Daemon said with disgust as he shook his head.

He would not foster one of the usurper’s common-born bastards.

“The boy has no other family. If we don’t take him in, he will end up in the fighting pits, mutilated and forced to kill for the pleasure of others,” Rhaenyra pleaded.

“So be it. He is Aegon’s whor*son. He doesn’t belong here,” said Daemon.

Rhaenyra scoffed at her husband’s words.

“When we leave Westeros, we will be abandoning the Seven Kingdoms to whatever fate they will endure under Aegon. Hundreds more orphans like that boy will suffer in the fighting pits for years to come while we galavant off to find our new Valyria. If I cannot save all of them, then at the very least I will give this one child sanctuary in our new kingdom,” Rhaenyra declared.

Daemon winced in disgust.

“The bastard son of a traitor. Not even a Targaryen, a Waters.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes peered sternly at Daemon.

“It’s not the name of our family that gives us our power, it’s the blood, our blood, his blood. He is the blood of the dragon, Valyria is as much his birthright as it is ours,” said Rhaenyra.

“So that’s it then? You would give one of our dragons or dragon eggs to Aegon’s bastard and hope to make him a loyal dragon rider?” Daemon asked.

“Why not? He’s a sweet young boy, close in age to our Aegon, he’d make a good companion to our boys. We are the last of the blood of the dragonlords. If we are to rebuild Valyria to its former glory then we will need as many dragon riders as we can muster.”

Daemon glanced over to the boy again and then back to Rhaenyra.

“And how many of these orphans will we be taking on?” Daemon asked.

Rhaenyra frowned.

“Most of them are too far gone… feral and murderous. We were able to salvage two dozen of the young ones, not yet mutilated or forced to fight. They’ll be taken to Dragonstone and given to families to be looked after. Gaemon is the only one of Aegon’s brood we could find… at least the only one still alive and unspoiled. Aegon’s children are usually the quickest to go,” Rhaenyra explained sadly.

Daemon grunted bitterly.

“I will not raise Aegon’s halfbreed as my son,” he declared.

“I am not asking you to. But do not treat this as though it is a discussion. I am taking this boy on as my fosterling. You need not be happy about it but you will accept it,” Rhaenyra declared.

With that, Rhaenyra left Daemon’s side and rejoined the children who were adoring the small child.

Just like that, Daemon was now once again in a bitter mood.

Though Daemon was not happy about it, there was nothing he good do about it either.

It seemed now that Aegon’s bastard, Gameon, would be joining them on their quest to Valyria.

But who was to say what would become of him?

Perhaps he’d perish in their trials, perhaps he’d make something of himself, Daemon cared not, just so long as the little whelp kept out of his way.

Chapter 4: What We Leave Behind

Chapter Text

The final day had arrived, it was time to leave King’s Landing for the final time and return to Dragonstone.

Despite her father’s pleadings on the night of his death that the house of the dragon remain united for the good of the realm and the sake of King Viserys’s loving heart, the Targaryens had been irreconcilably riven into two halves of green and black.

Now it was time for Rhaenyra and her family to leave King’s Landing, leave the seven kingdoms and leave Westeros for good.

The dragon dreams were calling them back to their ancestral homeland and it was their destiny to heed it, but that did not make the matter easier.

Rhaenyra revisited many places in the Red Keep where she had grown up, her old room in Maegor’s Holdfast, the Small Council chamber where she poured cups of wine for her father’s council as a young girl, the throne room where she took one last look at the chair she would never sit and the old Kings who proceeded her father.

Finally, the last area she visited was the godswood, the small courtyard where the great pale wirewood tree stood with crimson foliage.

Rhaenyra reminisced about her childhood and her many afternoons in the godswood, sitting under the tree reading history books with Alicent frightfully terrified of old Septa Marlow’s wrath if they didn’t study enough while Rhaenyra enjoyed antagonizing the old bat.

The world seemed so much simpler back then with no factions and no schemes. House Targaryen stood proud with ten dragons and the Seven Kingdoms united beneath its banner in peace.

Then her mother died and the world fell apart around her, everything that had once been so sweet to her became bitter and sour.

The past twenty years had not been all bad, they had been good at times and terrible at times but the world never seemed so bright or as innocent as it was when Rhaenyra was young.

Dragonstone had been a sanctuary for Rhaenyra over the past few years.

Since she and Daemon had wed, they had shared a contented life raising their children together, their dragons roaming free on the island and themselves free to be happy.

The threat of the Greens was always lingering on their horizon, but as long as their father still drew breath, they could afford to be safe and happy.

Rhaenyra looked at the red tear-streaked face carved into the pale tree face, like an old friend weeping at their last goodbye.

Rhaenyra’s silent moment of reminiscence and lamentation ended when the sound of shifting grass behind her reached her ears, perhaps the fringes of a dress sweeping against the ground of the godswood.

Rhaenyra turned about-face and saw her assumptions proved true as the fringes of a green silk dress detailed with golden outlining swept over the short grass.

The Dowager Queen Alicent approached the Princess slowly, a shy look on her face and a small wooden box the size of an apple held in her hands.

“I thought I might find you here,” she said gently with a smile, looking about the courtyard.

“Many memories in this place.”

Rhaenyra looked around and nodded to the Queen.

“Yes, your Grace. Good ones… and bad ones.”

The smile melted off Alicent’s face like wax to a flame.

She gulped with a pained expression on her face as though swallowing a coarse rock.

“Yes. Bad ones,” Alicent agreed, glancing over to a small tree of Bravossi Malvales, the red flowers in bloom, though Rhaenyra knew not why.

Alicent’s eyes returned to Rhaenyra and then she glanced down at the box in her hand.

“I see you’re all ready to leave,” Alicent asked, noticing Rhaenyra’s garments.

Rhaenyra wore a dark red leather riding coat with tight sleeves, a high collar and an opening at her waist allowing her legs to move freely. The princess also wore a pair of leather gloves, breaches with a harness belt around her legs to strap into Syrax’s saddle and knee-high leather boots.

“Yes… soon enough. Is there something I can do for you, Your Grace?” Rhaenyra asked coldly.

“I’ve brought you something. Something your father would have wanted you to have,” Alicent explained.

The Dowager Queen stepped forward and offered the small box to Rhaenyra which she cautiously accepted.

Rhaenyra flipped open the latch on the lid of the box and slowly opened it.

What Rhaenyra found inside sent a chill down her spine, her stomach turned and her heart quickened.

A flood of emotions overwhelmed her as she looked down at the red velvet interior of the box containing a small golden signet ring engraved with a falcon upon it.

The ring of Rhaenyra’s mother, the late Queen Aemma.

Rhaenyra had not seen the ring in twenty years since her mother’s passing and did not know what had become of it.

“Your father kept the ring with him all these years. I’d often find him staring at it when he thought he was alone, sometimes in tears. You deserve to know that after all these years, your father always loved your mother more than anything… more than me, at least,” Alicent admitted.

Rhaenyra was unsure of what to say to Alicent after such a kind gesture and a humble declaration. In part, Rhaenyra wanted to comfort and thank Alicent but at the same time, she still felt aggrieved for the part Alicent had played in usurping Rhaenyra’s crown.

Instead of saying anything kind or cruel, Rhaenyra’s mouth hung open for a moment as she hesitated to speak at all until finally Rhaenyra relented from speaking and looked back to the ring.

To see her mother’s ring in the godswood while standing before Alicent brought back one of the bad memories Rhaenyra spoke of.

Something that had happened many years ago.

Alicent had summoned Rhaenyra to the godswood and confronted her on a scandalous matter that would have ruined Rhaenyra’s reputation and most likely have seen her disinherited.

Rhaenyra stroked the crest of the falcon on the ring with her thumb.

“Your mother was a great woman, Rhaenyra. I remember her as kind and beautiful,” Alicent declared.

“She was,” Rhaenyra agreed, looking away and trying to blink away the tears that were welling up in her eyes.

“And yet I betrayed her memory,” said Rhaenyra.

A surprised look appeared on Alicent’s face, confused by Rhaenyra’s words, but if this was to be the last Rhaenyra rever saw of her once dearest friend she would at least clear the air with her one final time and leave all that had transpired between them plain and bare.

“I lied to you. A lie of omission, but… I did manipulate the truth to suit me. Years ago in this very place, you asked me to my face if I f*cked Daemon in one of the pleasure houses on the Street of Silk. I swore it on my mother’s memory, but while I can say confidently that what I told you was true, you and I both know it was but a half-truth,” Rhaenyra declared.

Alicent gently shook her head with a sorrowful look in her eyes.

“Rhaenyra,” she said genlty.

“No — I must say this. I must have this out, not only for you but for me too. I have made decisions in my life and I have not always faced how they have effected other people. To move forward and lead in Valyria, I owe it to those who would follow me to be better than that. I tried to f*ck Daemon in that pleasure house. We kissed and we began to undress, but he stopped it and walked away from me. He had… many reasons for stopping, some moral, some personal and in the end he left me half naked in the back room of that pleasure house. I told you that I did not couple with Daemon and that was true, but I would have and I wanted to.”

Alicent’s eyes began to redden, tears forming in her glistening pupils.

“I then returned to the castle, where I seduced and bedded Ser Criston. After all these years I have surmised he told you as much. So, there you have it. Everything I told you was true but I said it in such a way that I was distorting what had happened to cast myself in a favourable light. I lied to you because I did not yet fully trust you. I thought if I told you, you would give such information to your father to be used against me to make Aegon the heir,” Rhaenyra explained. She had many grievances against her old, ones she believed far greater and for more unforgivable than what she had done to Alicent, but she could not hold her head high if she did not say what was owed so Rhaenyra swallowed her pride, took a deep breath and spoke the words.

"Alicent... I am sorry."

Alicent whimpered as her own tears streaked her cheeks, the Queen now resembling the face of the wirewood tree.

The way Alicent began to cry when Rhaenyra finally said the word sorry seemed as though it was the word she had been waiting for all these years, a word that could have ended their division so much sooner.

When Alicent settled herself and wiped the tears from her face, she cleared her throat to speak.

“I too owe you an apology. I owe you many apologies,” Alicent declared as she took a breath.

“The night of your mother and brother’s funeral. I went to my father to be comforted. He then asked me to check in on your father, in his chambers… and suggested I wear one of my— my mother’s dresses.”

Rhaenyra’s lip tightened. The audacity of Otto Hightower’s ambitions was far more insolent than even Rhaenyra had previously thought. His ploy for the throne had begun the same night of her mother’s funeral? Otto could not even wait so much as a week out of respect for the dead?

“I did not know— or rather I refused to admit to myself what was truly going on. I lied to myself and said in my own mind it was all innocent. I told myself it was just me sincerely showing kindness and comfort to the King, but deep down I knew in my heart what my father was expecting of me. I seduced a grieving man after his wife’s death. I seduced my best friend’s father to satisfy my father’s ambitions. I’m sorry, Rhaenyra, I’m so sorry,” said Alicent, her voice going high as she began to cry once more.

Years ago, Rhaenyra would have raged against Alicent for finally admitting to such acts, calling her a whor* and traitor and any other word that came to her mind, but time had changed Rhaenyra’s perspective.

For all the resentment Rhaenyra once had for Alicent’s actions, she was just a girl when her father pressured her into seducing Viserys, not but four and ten and made to wear a grown woman’s dress to distract her father from the truth that she was just a girl.

In that moment, when she put aside all the anger for what Alicent had done later and thought only of the first division between them, Rhaenyra felt as though such a great and burdensome weight was finally being lifted from her shoulders and if not all the years of pain between them at least the stains of the first grievance between them were now gone.

But not all the pain was gone, for all that they were willing to cast aside, Rhaenyra could not so easily forgive Alicent’s years of cruelty and plotting on both her and her children, her seizure of the Iron Throne and driving Rhaenyra to such grief that it cost her Visenya.

Rhaenyra was not oblivious to what Alicent had done in favour of Rhaenyra. Ser Harrold Westerling made it abundantly clear in his recounting of the coup that the only reason Rhaenyra and her family were not slaughtered by Otto Hightower’s brigands was because of how staunchly Alicent defended her, refusing to let any harm be done to her.

Rhaenyra did not wish to hate Alicent anymore but it was not something she could control.

“Furthermore… I am so sorry, that I failed you when Viserys died. But I swear to you, I believed — I still believe — I was following his wishes and what he asked of me,” Alicent explained.

And like that, Rhaenyra felt a great wall rise up between them once again, taller, thicker, wider and colder than anything Bran the Builder could fashion.

“Please just hear me!” Alicent begged, stepping forward and taking Rhaenyra’s hands.

“The night you left for Dragonstone, the night Viserys died… He spoke to me of his dream, the dream of a male babe born with the Conqueror’s crown. He said he believed it to be true. He spoke Aegon’s name and said that the dream of him was true and said that Aegon was the prince that the dream promised,” Alicent explained.

Rhaenyra tensed up, her heart thumped wildly in her chest.

The prince that was promised.

Rhaenyra was so certain her father would never forsake her, so assured that Alicent had to have been lying, but now Rhaenyra wondered if Alicent had been truthful about what she had heard, or at least what she thought she had heard.

“The Prince that was promised? Did he say those exact words?” Rhaenyra asked.

Alicent’s expression turned to concern.

“Yes. He said that Aegon would unite the realm against the coming cold and dark,” Alicent replied.

“Did he call it his dream of Aegon or Aegon’s dream? Which words did he specifically say?” Rhaenyra asked.

“I— I can’t remember. He was struggling to speak, he was very tired and weak. Rhaenyra what is this all about? You’re scaring me,” Alicent explained.

Rhaenyra looked at Alicent blankly as more tears rolled down her cheeks.

“From my blood comes the Prince that was Promised and his will be the song of Ice and Fire.”

Alicent seemed to recognise the words, her brow furrowing.

At that moment Rhaenyra realised the truth, Alicent had not betrayed her, at least not intentionally and her father had never abandoned her even with his dying breath he asserted her as his heir.

“That’s what Viserys said, the song of Ice and Fire, but I don’t know what it means,” Alicent explained.

Tears of pain and relief ran freely down Rhaenyra’s face as she closed her eyes and raised her head to the sky.

Rhaenyra wanted to cry more but instead, she began to laugh.

A gentle sad laughter at how cruel and comedic the gods had been, all that had transpired over a simple misunderstanding.

“He never meant for Aegon to be King,” Rhaenyra said with a sniffle.

Alicent’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“He said Aegon’s dream. Meaning Aegon the Conqueror’s dream, not a dream of your son Aegon. Aegon’s dream was the song of Ice and Fire and that is what Viserys was speaking of,” Rhaenyra tried to explain.

“No. No, he told me. He said that he told me the dream long ago and that I had to be the one to make Aegon king. He said that it had to be me,” Alicent retorted.

“I think in his addled state he thought he was speaking to me. I was the only one he ever told of Aegon’s dream and that I must be the one to unite the realm,” Rhaenyra tried to explain, but Alicent was only getting more and more confused.

“Rhaenyra, I don’t know what you're talking about,” Alicent asserted.

Rhaenyra huffed out a breath of air.

“Ask your son about the song of Ice and Fire, Aegon will tell you the truth of it,” Rhaenyra assured Alicent.

Rhaenyra did not have the time, the energy nor the heart within her to explain Alicent’s great folly and how she almost brought civil war to the Seven Kingdoms by misunderstanding a dying man’s mutterings.

Rhaenyra could not bring herself to break Alicent’s heart by making her realise what she had done, worse she did not wish to dredge such matters up herself as they would only bring chaos and trouble.

It had taken every ounce of courage, mercy and grace from Rhaenyra to agree to forsake her birthright, she had lost many supporters and was now bound by a solemn vow to do no harm to Aegon.

She had come too far to exact her claim now and it was best the truth remained buried until after she had left the Seven Kingdoms behind, then Alicent could learn the truth from Aegon and do with that knowledge what she will.

Valyria was Rhaenyra’s future now, she could not linger on paths untaken, she could not regret her decisions and she could not change her mind, no matter the fluke of misinformation that had cost her the Iron Throne, she had to accept it.

“What is all this about Rhaenyra?” Alicent asked.

Rhaenyra gave a disheartened shrug.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s too late to do anything about it. Aegon is King. Forget it all,” said Rhaenyra.

“What matters is now I know that my father never forsook me, he never doubted me, not even once... and now I must try to make him proud in a land half a world away. And while your grievances against me are still strong, at the very least, now believe you truly thought you were doing the right thing and following my father’s will. I understand now that you believed you were doing what my father wished,” Rhaenyra explained.

Alicent still seemed to be confused by Rhaenyra's words.

"Does- Does this mean you forgive me?" she asked.

Rhaenyra looked away and sighed.

“A part of me really wants to... Even after everything that has happened between us, I still miss the way we once were. Everything I can forgive, about your courtship with my father, I do. But there are still deep wounds that I cannot just close at will. Wounds I fear will never heal,” Rhaenyra explained, making Alicent tear up once again and bite her lip.

“You spent years undermining me and my position, elevating my enemies at court, encouraging slanders against my boys, calling them bastards and me a whor* unfit to rule in your whispers and gossiping behind my back. And by naming Aegon King - to the seven hells with what you wrongly thought my father wanted - do you know what your choice did to me?! Your betrayal drove me to such shock and grief my labour came prematurely. My daughter, my Visenya, she was born breathless and mangled because of the pain you thrust upon me by putting a crown on Aegon's head and declaring war on me! My child Alicent! My child!" Rhaenyra snapped.

"I- I'm so- so sorry," Alicent snivelled through tears.

Alicent was distraught and broken by Rhaenyra's rebuking, but it was in no way tasteful or gratifying for Rhaenyra. She had no vindictive pleasure from watching Alicent sob in pain but nor could she forgive her for all she had done. A part of Rhaenyra wanted to walk from the godswood and leave Alicent there in her pain and regret, but she would not. What kind of ruler would she be in Valyria if she believed in letting pain warp her into dealing out the same senseless cruelty that Alicent had once inflicted upon her over the years?

"But… just because there are things I cannot forgive now, that doesn’t mean that I never will,” Rhaenyra assured her, offering an ounce of hope to console her childhood friend, at least in part.

“I still have the page you sent me. I will keep it close and carry it with me to Valyria. I don't know if I can ever forgive you for what you did for my children, I think a part of me will always hate you for it... but perhaps if my heart can find peace with it... I will consider having the page sent to you and if you receive it it will mark my forgiveness and you may be permitted to travel to Valyria so that we might- fix things,” Rhaenyra suggested. An offer so that Rhaenyra could walk away without being remembered by Alicent as cruel and unfeeling, even if she might have deserved it, but nothing that would put an obligation on Rhaenyra to forgive Alicent if she felt it was undeserved and in Rhaenyra's heart she truly felt it would never be.

Alicent’s lip quivered.

“That is all want,” Alicent declared through her tears.

The little girl within Rhaenyra's heart who still loved Alicent like a sister wished to reach out and embrace her, but the vengeful mother and betrayed heir wished to spit in her face and undo all the consoling she had imparted. To keep from doing either Rhaenyra simply said "Farewell, Your Grace," and walked passed her old friend and out of the Godswood.

She dared not look back, not hesitate, not halt for it would only make it harder to leave, but she had to leave.

She loved Alicent, she hated Alicent, she wanted to stay, she wanted to go, like the gods and ripped her apart and put her back together as some wretched cursed creature of love and hate tearing her apart from within.

Rhaenyra cleaned herself up, wiped away the tears and soldiered on, marching through the Red Keep one final time.

She hated Alicent, she reaffirmed to herself, perhaps because it was true or perhaps because she thought telling herself such would make it easier.

All her luggage and belongings were already loaded on the ship and all their followers from King’s Landing were already boarding the nine ships headed for Dragonstone.

Now that Rhaenyra had finished with seeing the Red Keep one final time, she was ready to leave.

The Princess was joined by Ser Harrold and Ser Steffon who escorted her down to the carriage that waited for her in the courtyard and took her down to the docks.

Rhaenyra looked out the window, taking a final glance at the streets of King’s Landing as the carriage rattled on down the street.

Of course, she was only heading down to the River Gate, to see off her ships and her allies.

It was at the Dragonpit that she would finally leave King’s Landing for the final time.

Rhaenyra exited the carriage at the docks, Ser Harrold and Ser Steffon dismounting their horses and joining her side.

The nine ships bearing black sails marked with the red three-headed dragon were lined up along the docks, people bustling up the gangplanks to board.

Knights, household guards, men of the city City Watch, maesters, castle workers, rescued orphans from the fighting pits, dragonkeepers, some families of King’s Landing folk and all others who wished to join them.

Sailors were also loading cargo onto the ships as well.

Ser Erryk and Ser Lorent stood with Rhaenyra’s family, overseeing the ships getting loaded up and Rhaenyra went to join them.

Smiles from Rhaenyra’s family appeared on their faces when they saw her approach.

“Are you alright, Princess?” Rhaena asked, probably noticing Rhaenyra’s bloodshot eyes from all the crying.

“I’m fine. Just a little emotional saying goodbye to the Red Keep,” Rhaenyra lied, not wishing to go into detail about what had happened with Alicent.

Standing in front of Rhaena, now cleaned up and dressed in a new black and red doublet was little Gaemon who was fiddling with his fingers anxiously.

Rhaenyra went down on one knee in front of the boy and rested her hands on either shoulder.

“Now Gaemon. You're going to go on the ship with Rhaena, she’ll look after you and so will Ser Erryk and these knights,” Rhaenyra explained, gesturing to the four former Kingsguard that surrounded them.

“When the ship lands, you’ll be on Dragonstone and we will meet you there, do you understand?” Rhaenyra asked.

The sweet little boy nodded with a gentle smile.

Rhaenyra’s entire family adored Gaemon, save for Daemon who was stiff and cold towards the boy.

Rhaenyra then stood up and faced the rest of her family, all but Rhaena were wearing tunics, coats, riding gloves, cloaks and swordbelts.

“Is everything ready?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Almost, Princess. Just loading the last of the supplies and rounding up the rest of the passengers,” Ser Lorent explained.

Rhaenyra nodded.

Soon after as they continued to watch the ships load up, a Targaryen man-at-arms approached them.

“Princess. If you could spare a moment,” the soldier asked, bowing his head.

“What is it?” Rhaenyra asked politely.

“There is a situation with your flagship. Captain Oswin says that a stowaway has demanded passage on the ship and refuses to leave. He claims he is an honoured guest of yours,” the guard explained.

Rhaenyra exchanged vexed looks with her family and then followed the soldier over to Captain Oswin’s ship, the Brightwing, the very ship Rhaena, Gaemon and the Kingsguard knights were set to board on their journey to Dragonstone.

A few sailors and men-at-arms stood at the foot of the gangplank with yelling coming from aboard the ship, two voices arguing back and forth.

Rhaenyra recognised one of them, Captain Oswin, the other sounded familiar but she could not place it.

Rhaenyra looked back to Daemon who was equally perplexed.

The Princess then climbed the gangplank with the second voice becoming clearer as she climbed closer to the deck.

“Good sir! You would not know an honoured guest of the Princess if he kicked you in the balls and f*cked your wife! Both of which I’m inclined to do, you sh*t-devouring sea rat!” the familiar voice barked.

Before Rhaenyra even reached the top of the gangplank she already knew who was aboard causing trouble.

When Rhaenyra finally came to the deck of the ship, she saw standing before Captain Oswin, surrounded by several boxes and chests of luggage, a dwarf standing on the deck.

The dwarf had a pot belly, a short grey beard, long stringy hair parted in the middle that dangled down past his shoulders, a bulbous nose and a pronounced forehead.

He dressed in lavish black and red garments outlined with gold and many jewelled rings on his stubby fingers.

“Mushroom?” Rhaenyra said with surprise, not expecting the beloved crass dwarf jester of her father’s court to be aboard.

“Ah! Princess! There you are! You see, told you I was her honoured guest you insolent f*ck!” Mushroom snapped to the captain.

“What are you doing here?” Rhaenyra asked through gentle laughter.

Mushroom’s face scrunched up and he made a fart noise with his mouth.

“Come now, Princess! You don’t actually expect to leave me behind with these god-awful Greens while you go pioneering into the unknown, do you? How can you write the fable of the reconquest of Valyria without Mushroom the Magnificent and Mighty!”

Rhaenyra chuckled, flattered and surprised at the dwarf’s pledge to join them.

“This won’t be an easy journey, you know. After Dragonstone, we will sail along the coast down the Free Cities and after Volantis it’s straight to Valyria. We know not the dangers that lie ahead,” Rhaenyra explained.

Mushroom snorted.

“Oh, stop sweet talking me, Princess. I’ve already agreed to come, you don’t need to grovel. When the legend of the new Valyria is written, it will say Mushroom conquered the Doom with nothing but his wits and his massive co*ck!” the dwarf announced as he grabbed his crotch.

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but titter with Daemon giggling behind her.

Rhaenyra then exhaled and glanced over to the distraught Captain Oswin.

“It’s alright, Captain. He’s with me,” Rhaenyra said with a smile.

“Ha! You see! Told you! Now then, move my luggage into the captain’s cabin! Chop! Chop! Hoist the yard! Raise the mizzenmast! Trim the sail! Hop to, you lazy f*ckers, we’ve got a lost empire to reconquer!” Mushroom commanded the angry crew as he clapped his hands together.

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but go to her knee before the impertinent dwarf and embrace him.

Mushroom had been a constant source of joy and laughter in Rhaenyra’s life and she adored him greatly and knowing he would be there made her heart weigh a little bit less heavily.

After reining Mushroom in and smoothing things over with the captain and the crew, Rhaenyra and Daemon returned down the gangplank and explained what had happened to their family.

The former Kingsguard knights were rather disappointed at having to share a ship with Mushroom, who often made jest of them and their oaths of celibacy.

Rhaenyra also gave the box containing her mother’s ring to Rhaena to keep hold of until they arrived at Dragonstone, to which Rhaena obligingly agreed.

When the ships were all stocked up and all the crews and passengers were accounted for, Rhaena, Gaemon and the four sworn swords climbed the gangplank of the flagship while the rest of the family watched as the nine ships cast off.

When the ships were all sailing down the Blackwater Rush, Rhaenyra, Daemon, Rhaenys and the three young ones returned to the carriages and took one final ride through the city to Rhaenys’ Hill where the Dragonpit stood upon its summit.

They took the dirt side road along the cliffs of King’s Landing to the large black gates into the side of Rhaenys’ Hill where four dragonkeepers stood waiting to greet them.

The monastic order of men and women tasked with guarding and taking care of the Targaryen dragons.

Their heads were shaved, many had burns on their skin and they wore dirty grey robes over red undershirts, carrying dragon glass daggers and long wooden staffs.

While the acolytes and elders of the order may have seemed humble shepherds of the great winged serpents, they were an order of capable warriors, trained to combat any who might harm or try to disturb the dragons or any who would wish to do harm to the Targaryens they served.

There were seventy-seven Dragonkeepers overall, twenty-eight on Dragonstone and forty-nine at the Dragonpit, but with the twelve from the Dragonpit that had chosen to join them on their venture to Valyria and now sailed aboard one of the nine ships inbound for Dragonstone, Rhaenyra’s number was now up to forty Dragonkeepers at her side.

Rhaenyra and her family disembarked from the carriages and approached the Dragonkeeper elder.

“Rytsas, Dārilaros Rhaenyra ,” the Dragon Keeper Elder greeted as he approached Rhaenyra and bowed.

The Dragonkeepers kept to a very strict way of life, isolated from the influence of outside cultures, shedding their Andal roots and giving themselves over entirely to serving the Targaryens and their dragons. They spoke High Valyrian as their first language and always to one another and to the Targaryens or any others of Valyrian blood like the Velaryons or the Celtigars. Upon reaching the rank of Elder, the Dragonkeepers would cease to speak the common tongue entirely, taking a vow of silence in all tongues except Valyrian, relying on the acolytes to translate their words, even though they could understand the common tongue perfectly.

In some ways, the Dragonkeepers were more devout in their service and protection to the Targaryens than the Kingsguard, but Rhaenyra would never say such things aloud.

“Rytsas, Urnerys. How fare you today?” Rhaenyra asked politely.

The Elder took in a sharp breath and grimaced.

“The saddest of days, Dārilaros. For this will be the last time so many beloved dārilarossa and zaldrīzesse will grace the Zaldrijudirys with your presence. But also the most joyous of days, for today you set on your quest to reclaim Valyria,” the Elder explained.

Rhaenyra managed a faint smile at the Elder’s words of encouragement for their quest.

“I wish the rest of you could be coming with us, Urnerys,” Rhaenyra said gently, but the old Dragonkeeper shook his head.

“Daor. Your quest is a mighty one, but we Urnerysse are an order of dutiful servants. You have plenty of our brothers and sisters to follow you on this grand voyage, the rest of us must remain here. Your siblings need us to help protect and look after Vēsperzys, Vagar, Ēdrurzys and Tessarion. More than that, all the unhatched eggs here cannot be abandoned. We serve the zaldrīzesse and the House of Targario, not the factions within them.”

Wise and admirable words from the Dragonkeeper. If only the rest of them could act as the dragonkeepers did, as Rhaenyra’s father did, not letting factionalism between the Blacks and Greens divide them, then the Targaryens would be truly insurmountable.

“I wish you and your brothers and sisters good fortune as you continue to serve my family here in the kingdoms, Urnerys,” said Rhaenyra.

The Dragonkeepers then led the six Targaryens into the great dark cavernous halls of the Dragonpit stables beneath the domed arena.

Within the cavernous stone halls, lit by torches and the sunlight through the open gates, six dragons came forth, crawling out of the dark through the network of great caves.

There were three overarching breeds of dragon, dārys, zolka and anne.

Anne breed dragons were so named because the word anne was valyrian for horse, the animal whose skull greatly resembled that of the anne breed dragons’. Anne dragons were strong, durable and resilient, challengers of great distances and the harsh defiance of the elements and their speed was exceptional as well. They were generally suited for long journeys, speed and outlasting storms and harsh weather and terrain.

The zolka breed dragons were similarly named for their wolf-shaped skulls and zolka translating to wolf in the valyrian tongue. Zolka dragons were feared prowlers and hunters among their kind, agile and precise predators bred to hunt, attack and snatch their prey in air, land or sea. Zolkas were also revered for being fearsome even in the face of foes greater and deadlier than themselves.

The skulls of the dārys breed dragons resembled no known animal in all the known world, so instead they were named for their status as the mightiest and greatest of the dragons and so named, dārys, which meant king .

The dārys were naturally the fastest growers of the three dragon breeds and the more dārys dragons reached the mighty size of Balerion, the greatest of the dārys dragons under the House of Targaryen.

But while the dārys dragons were generally faster growers and most of them grew bigger than other dragons, a dragon's true size and speed of growth came down to each dragon themselves.

Vhagar, for example, was an anne breed dragon and yet she was now almost as large as Balerion the Black Dread and Dreamfyre, another dārys dragon, while greater in size than most other dragons, did not grow much anymore and was much smaller than her contemporary, Vermithor.

The first of the six dragons to come out ahead of the rest was Arrax, the smallest and youngest of their dragons.

A young and growing zolka he-dragon, yet big enough to ride, if only just. His scales were pearlescent white with pale red highlights, very small rows of horns on either brow and pronounced pale red barbed fins running down his neck.

As a young dragon, Arrax had a somewhat volatile temperament and an aggressive streak, but such was the way with zolkas, especially juveniles, but while Arrax had mettle he lacked discipline and experience.

Luke had explained he had barely been able to keep Arrax from attacking Vhagar when he fled Storm’s End, despite the she-dragon being five times Arrax’s size at least.

From another tunnel through the caverns, came Moondancer, another young zolka, this one a she-dragon.

A slender pale green dragon with tiger stripes. The she-dragon’s crescent-shaped horns, crest and wingbones were dark, her tail was longer and more slender than most other dragons her size and leading down her spine was a tall pronounced barbed fin mohawk that was tallest upon her brow.

Luke and Baela went to their dragons, nuzzling their heads against their dragons’ and stroking them while speaking words to them in Valyrian.

Luke then climbed atop Arrax.

“Māzīs, Arraks. Naejot,” Luke commanded with Arrax crawling forward towards the gates out of the pit.

Baela then went along Moondancer’s side.

“Demās, Hūrlilio,” Baela commanded, bringing Moondancer to sit.

Then Baela climbed up the saddle of her dragon and mounted her, hooking the safety straps of her saddle to the belts of her leg harness and then followed Arrax and Luke out of the dragonpit gates.

The next dragon to approach was another zolka, Jace’s dragon Vermax.

Vermax was greater in size than Moondancer or Arrax, he was already a young adult, but also a thriving zolka and growing larger every year with great potential in him.

Vermax was a dragon with olive green scales, pale orange wing membranes and pronounced upward-curved horns.

When Vermax came close, Jace climbed atop and drove his dragon out to join Arrax and Moondancer.

Next Meleys was led out of the tunnels by the dragonkeepers, and Princess Rhaenys went to mount her.

Meleys was not only the swiftest of all the anne breed dragons - or any of the living dragons for that matter - but also a great beauty and was known as the Red Queen for her distinctive scarlet red scales with pink membranes.

Her head was completely covered with bright copper-coloured spikes that formed a lion-like mane of horns that seemed to be combed backwards, giving her both a fearsome and elegant look and her bright orange eyes.

The next dragon made his presence known with the shrill, high-pitched, raspy and choppy roar that stemmed from this particular dragon’s deviated septum.

Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm then made his presence known, a mighty zolka he-dragon of great size, but also a very unique dragon.

Caraxes was born oddly, ill-formed some would say. More than just a deviated septum, his neck and tail were especially long, giving him a long serpentine physique from which he derived his epithet, the Blood Wyrm.

Many of the Dragonkeepers said he would probably never fly due to his odd shape, but dragons were very adaptive creatures and his body found a way.

Caraxes’s arms remained long and slender and his wings grew wider and more flexible, a long forked fin grew at the end of his narrow tail and wing-like membranes grew on his legs to support the aerodynamics of his body.

Now Caraxes stood proud as one of the fiercest and most violent of all the dragons.

His scales were red with black highlights, two demon-like horns extending out of his brow and sinister golden eyes.

Finally, the last dragon to come out behind Meleys was Rhaenyra’s own mount, Syrax.

A dragon of the anne breed, smaller than Caraxes and Meleys and yet bigger than Vermax.

Rhaenyra had named her dragon after the Old Valyrian goddess of wine and festivities, having been taught about the ancient gods by her father in the form of bedtime stories.

Syrax was a strong and healthy dragon with yellow scales, green eyes and two sets of long pronounced curved back horns.

Her regal physique and proud mannerisms resembled that of a proud bird of prey, perhaps an eagle, a hawk or maybe even a falcon, like the sigil of her mother’s house, Rhaenyra liked to think that to be the case.

While Daemon went to mount Caraxes, Rhaenyra went and approached Syrax.

When Rhaenyra came close to Syrax, she began to stroke her dragon’s nose affectionately.

“Gevi, Syraks, gevi. Are you ready to go home?” Rhaenyra asked.

As Caraxes was already making his way out of the dragonpit, Rhaenyra moved towards the hip of Syrax as she sat down to allow Rhaenyra to mount her.

Before leaving, Rhaenyra said her final farewells to the dragonkeeper elder and then climbed onto Syrax’s back.

From atop her saddle, Rhaenyra then urged Syrax forward and drove her out of the dragonpit she had grown up in for the final time.

Caraxes, Meleys, Vermax, Moondancer and Arrax were all waiting with their riders outside the gates of the Dragonpit, waiting for Rhaenyra to lead them home.

With a deep breath, Rhaenyra gave the command.

“Sōvēs Syraks!”

And with that, Syrax flapped her great wings and began to climb into the air, followed by the other five dragons.

With the five dragons following behind them, Rhaenyra and Syrax led the dragons on one final lap around the city, circling the walls and the seven gates, passing Flea Bottom, the Street of Steel, Fishmonger’s square, the Street of Silk, the Grand Sept and the Dragonpit once again and then finally Rhaenyra broke the lap off and flew towards the Red Keep, soaring Syrax over its towers and out over the Blackwater, the nine ships that had set off from the docks making good speed on the Blackwater bay towards Dragonstone.

Rhaenyra would not dare turn around, not dare look back, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t.

Westeros was behind her, the Iron Throne, the Seven Kingdoms, the Red Keep, the Greens, all of it was now behind her and that was where she would leave it.

Her past would remain where it was, but her future was now clearly ahead of her and that future was Valyria.

Chapter 5: The Town of Hull

Chapter Text

The port town of Hull was alive and vibrant with life as the great crowds of sailors, merchants and fishmongers shuffled through the marketplace. The sound of the crashing waves and the squawk of seagulls were drowned out by the overlapping voices in the market, bartering, haggling and arguing over goods.

The dockside town lived in the shadow of old Driftmark castle, a dark and grim-looking castle, fashioned in the style of old valyrian architecture, but not built in the same craft as the mighty indomitable structures of the Dragonlords.

In its current state, it looked as though it were a blackened ruin, damp and the walls marked green and white with moss and salt-stains.

When people got close enough to the castle, it stunk like rotten wood from the docks.

It was no surprise to anyone when Lord Corlys used his great wealth to construct his new castle of High Tide and established it as the seat of House Velaryon.

Driftmark castle still belonged to the Velaryon household and was still maintained as best it could be, with one of Lord Corlys’s relatives acting as castellan of the castle in his sted.

The most recent castellan of Driftmark was Lord Corlys’s brother, Ser Vaemond, before his recent demise and now the castle was left vacant.

For Addam, who had grown up in Hull, it didn’t matter one way or the other who lived in Driftmark Castle, but with the changes that were being spoken of throughout the town, he felt like that might soon change.

Addam pushed his way through the market past the crowds, trying to keep up with his brother Alyn ahead of him and trying not to lose Nettles or the brothers Josed and Arin behind him.

Josed who was the tallest and strongest of the five of them was carrying the box of samples through the market as they made their way to Barden’s warehouse.

After the threat of the civil war between the Targaryens ended peacefully following King Viserys’s death, the blockade on the gullet was lifted and they were finally able to pick up their shipment from Braavos.

Addam and Alyn’s mother Marilda the Mouse was one of the best ship captains and merchant traders in the narrow sea.

The Velaryons may have built their fortune trading with the great houses and nobles of Westeros and Essos, but when it came to the small folk trade, Addam’s mother was the beating heart of Driftmark’s consortium amongst the commoners.

Eventually, the five traders made it through the crowds to the door of the warehouse.

Alyn gave a swift knock on the door and Mott came to answer.

Mott was a big ugly oaf of a man, hairless, one eye blind and glazed over, with several scars, tattoos on his arms and a long knife tucked into his belt.

Barden’s enforcer and his most prized of the hired thugs.

No one liked Mott, not even Barden, but he did what he was told when he was paid which was all Barden had to like about his big ugly cutthroat.

“Morning Mott,” Alyn greeted.

The oaf grunted and stepped to the side, letting the five of them into the warehouse.

When Mott closed the door behind them, the loud chorus of chatter and bartering from outside was reduced to a muffled noise.

The warehouse was a large spacious and open building with barrels, boxes and crates spread out all across the room.

The five sailors were escorted through the warehouse past the boxes to the backroom where Barden’s office was.

Through the door, they found Barden, a fat ugly man in a fur-trimmed silk coat, several rings and jewelled necklaces to make him look all fancy and rich.

Barden sat behind his desk with his ledger sitting in front of him and several golden ornaments displayed on the table to show off his false prestige.

“Ah, the Mouse’s boys come to grace me with their presence,” the fat merchant greeted as he saw the brothers Addam and Alyn enter.

“Good day, Barden,” said Alyn, offering fake pleasantries for the sake of diplomacy and negotiation.

Barden gestured to the two seats in front of his desk, welcoming Addam and Alyn to sit.

Josed and Arin stood behind them while Nettles leaned against the wall behind them and crossed her arms.

Mott stood vigilantly in the doorway.

“You boys recently made a trip to Braavos and back, yes? So come on then, what have you brought old Barden?” he asked, flipping open the lid of a small ornate box, taking out a small prune and swallowing it.

Alyn looked back to Josed, signalling him to come forward and open the lid of the chest.

Inside were several cloth pouches all tied up with string and labeled.

“Our trip to Braavos was very successful. Here we have some samples of our supply. Eight barrels of Saffron powder,” said Alyn, taking out one of the sacks and putting it on the table.

“Seven crates of Sarnori silk in red, green, blue and purple.”

Another sack was pulled out and put on the table.

Alyn continued to list off all they had collected and the amounts from their last voyage.

When all the samples from their stock were laid out in front of Borden the old trader unwrapped a few and examined them and then leaned back in his chair, huffed and drummed his fingers together.

“Some, fine quality items here… yes I can see several potential buyers of mine who would buy these. Tell you what, I’ll take them off your hands and I’m prepared to give you… six moons on the dragon for it,” Borden declared.

Addam and Alyn looked at one another and scoffed.

Borden’s clients often bought their goods for double what they were able to get them for in Braavos and the traditional agreement had always been fifteen moons on the dragon.

“That’s a joke, right? Is this some kind of new sh*tty bartering method or something?” Addam asked.

“fifteen moons on the dragon as per usual,” Alyn asserted.

Borden huffed and shook his head.

“Afraid not, little mice. There’s a new order on the horizon and things are changing on Driftmark,” Borden explained.

“What are you on about?” Nettles asked from behind them, getting a bit frustrated.

“Didn’t you hear? The Sea Snake’s relinquishing Lordship of the Tides, he’s f*cking off with the dead king’s discarded daughter to the ends of the known world or something like that. Soon enough, Vaemond’s boy Daemion will be our new master,” Borden explained.

“We know, what of it?” Arin asked, not seeing the relevance either.

“What of it? Half the Velaryon fleet is abandoning Driftmark to go off galavanting with Corlys. Soon, the source of House Velaryon’s power — their trade — will be cut in half and Daemion will scramble to reclaim that power. For Daemion to keep up the flow of the shipping lanes, he’ll need more ships and more ships means he needs money to buy and make them. To get more money without dipping into the Velaryon fortune, he’ll get it the old-fashioned way, taxes!”

Addam and Alyn glanced at one another, not sure how Borden’s rant connected with his refusal to pay what he owed.

“Ugh, use your heads, boys. We’ve been living the easy life here on Driftmark all these years. Lord Corlys had more gold than he knew what to do with so he never went too strict on the taxes. Now, Daemion is going to come down on us like a hammer to a nail. Docking fees, tariffs, trade route tolls, tax deductions, they’ll all go up, not to mention the bribe levy for keeping the Velaryons off our backs for our smuggling and illicit trades. When Daemion is lord, every fishmonger, merchant, shipwright, fencer, proprietor and sailor will be blindsided by real taxation that the Sea Snake never bothered with. Soon, no one on the island will be able to make a dragon without Daemion taking fifteen moons first. If I’m to make any money, I need to earn more than I lose, so I can’t be affording to give away too much money to the likes of you.”

“And if things are getting as bad as you say, how are we supposed to keep up? Six moons on the dragon is barely a little over breaking even with what we pay. What are we supposed to do?” Alyn asked, getting frustrated.

Borden leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard while he was deep in thought.

“I’ve got it,” he said with the snap of his fingers.

Borden then leaned in with Alyn and Addam sitting forward, eager to hear what he had to say.

“I don’t f*cking care,” Borden declared outright.

Arin scoffed.

“We’re wasting our time here. Come on, he’s not the only buyer on the Island.”

“That’s right. If you don’t want to buy our goods for a proper price, we’ll find somebody who does,” Addam declared rising to his feet at putting the sample bags back in the chest.

“And who would that somebody be? Flat nose Pete? Eggel? Samburn? Rod the Dodge? Salty Sorren? Pouch Sleeves Orandell? Penotshi Syirovan? They’re all gone— or soon will be,” Borden declared.

The five young sailors who were heading for the door stopped in their tracks and faced Borden once again.

“The f*ck are you on about, Borden? All the merchants in the entire consortium are gone ? Gone where?” Addam asked.

“Anywhere but here. Some to the Free Cities, some to Oldtown. I bought them out,” Borden explained.

“Bought them out?” Nettles repeated, scoffing Borden’s words back to him.

“Yes. Their clients, their benefactors, their warehouses, their stocks, their transporters, their appraisers, their fencers, all mine now.”

“f*ck off, you can’t afford to buy them all out and why would they sell you their businesses? Taxes are one thing, but the Stepstones are secure, our shipping lanes in the south are reponed,” Alyn declared.

“Are you deaf? Did you hear a f*cking word I said? The Velaryon fleet has been split in two. Westeros’s ports will dominate the trade through the narrow sea, yes, but it won’t be here on Driftmark. By the time Driftmark gets enough power to utilise those shipping lanes, Oldtown, Lannisport, White Harbour and the Arbor will have secured trading contracts with all the Essosi ports. Besides, King Aegon Targaryen now sits the throne,” Borden declared.

“What does the King have to do with this?” Josed asked.

“Open your eyes. Otto Hightower’s grandson is king. The Hightowers now effectively rule the seven kingdoms. That means that the King will favour the Hightowers and Oldtown’s ports with all the best trade contracts on the narrow sea and when the crown taxes the ports to build up its coffers, the Hightowers will pay halfpennies in their taxes and the brunt of the tax will have to be picked up by the other big ports, Driftmark included. Driftmark will be bleeding its wealth within three turns of the moon, I convinced all the other merchants in the consortium that if someone were to thrive on Driftmark, it had to be one centralised power with no competitors. I convinced them to abandon a sinking ship and flee the storm, now they’re all off to build their fortunes somewhere else and I am the one who owns the consortium now,” Borden explained.

The sailors were mortified at what Borden was telling them.

“You called a meeting of the consortium while we were sailing to Braavos?” Addam asked, disbelieving of such a betrayal. Borden had always been a leech of a man, but there were men in the consortium who had known Addam’s mother since childhood and counted her as a dear friend. The golden rule had always been to look out for number one, but even Addam could not believe some of them would betray her in such a way.

“I saw an opportunity and I took it. Now you have an opportunity to either sell me those goods and be grateful for whatever scraps I give you or sit on your arses with some silk and spices you can’t do sh*t with. What’s it going to be, boys?” Borden asked.

Addam and Alyn looked at one another, both disheartened and angry.

“We’ll need to talk to our mother about it,” Alyn finally said.

“Of course,” Borden said, with a crooked smile of false courtesy.

The five of them then stormed out of the room and out of the warehouse, closely stalked by Mott all the way to the exit and back out to the Hull market.

“That fat slug-gutted f*cking c*nt!” Nettles snapped as she stomped through the marketplace.

“How could this have happened so quickly? The consortium just dissolved and sold out to Borden while we were away in Braavos?” Josed asked.

“You heard what he said. Everyone panicked when the Sea Snake decided to leave with the exiled princess,” Arin replied.

When Princess Rhaenyra surrendered to her brother Aegon, all of Driftmark released a breath of relief, believing to have averted the ruin that would have been brought down on them by war. Yet it seemed that the politics of peace had brought just as much strife to them as war would have.

As they pushed through the market, the group came across a small crowd surrounding a man standing on a box wearing a blue quilted doublet emblazoned with the Velaryon badge and holding a scroll of paper that he was reading from.

“-all citizens of Driftmark are welcomed and encouraged to join your liege lord, Corlys Velaryon, and his lady wife, Princess Rhaenys, in the expedition east to follow the Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen to the lost lands of Old Valyria!”

Addam had seen a few such men around Hull since they returned from Braavos, barkers welcoming everyone and anyone to join the Princess Rhaenys on her expedition to reclaim the lost Freehold.

Families, sailors, soldiers, tradesmen and any curious soul were welcome to join them, after all a kingdom needs a population.

When the barker spoke of the dragon dream shared by the Targaryens of Dragonstone and their vision of Old Valyria’s reclamation, Addam exchanged looks with Alyn and Nettles, both sharing Addam’s expression of concern.

When the three of them first heard of Princess Rhaenyra’s dream and her planned expedition to Valyria, they were all shaken with awe and disbelief.

Addam could still recall the dream in his mind, clearer than a memory, every detail perfectly memorised without effort. The great city beneath the volcano, the mighty palace at the volcanic base and inside the great hall with the Targaryen banners.

Standing on the dais where the throne was, Addam saw many faces he didn’t recognise, strangers in well-dressed clothing, some valyrians, but Addam never expected to see himself, Alyn and Nettles standing there looking back at him, dressed in elegant armour and fine clothing and sitting upon the throne wearing a steel dragon crown was a valyrian woman.

When Addam told Alyn and Nettles about his dream around the breakfast table the next day, they were both shocked and each of them explained that they had the same dream as well.

The three of them gawked at one another in confusion, unsure how they had all had the same vivid dream on the same night.

Addam and Alyn’s mother dismissed it as mere coincidence, but it seemed far too mystical and specific to be just a random coincidence.

Every small detail each of them recalled from the dream was identical for all three of them.

Then when they returned from Braavos and heard of the dragon dream, a dream shared by ten Targaryens on the night of King Viserys’s death, Addam did the numbers in his head, the number of nights that had passed since they had the dream and the nights since King Viserys’s passing were the same.

No matter how persistently Addam, Alyn and Nettles pleaded that it meant something, Marilda brushed it off and told them to stop pressing the matter, almost seeming scared of it.

The five of them continued on, leaving the marketplace and continuing on through the town of Hull.

Eventually, they made it back to the Mouse House, a tavern bought and owned by Addam’s mother.

It was the home and headquarters of Marilda’s shipping company.

A tall two-story building with an open square courtyard filled with tables and chairs where the patrons came to drink and a tree growing in the middle of the courtyard, providing shade to some of the tables in midday.

While the primary source of income for Marilda and her sailors was trade, the Mouse House was a way for the wives and families of her sailors to provide for themselves when they were away on long voyages and a place where they could all live together.

Addam’s mother always claimed that one day when they were rich enough, they would build a new Mouse House, a big palatial manse overlooking the harbour where they could all live together.

They found Marilda talking with Josed and Arin’s father, Simon, one of her best sailors.

At that moment, the five young sailors all looked at one another, playing a game of chicken over who would be the one to tell Marilda what had happened.

With the five of them urging one another to be the one to approach Marilda, the Mouse eventually spotted them.

“There you are,” she greeted walking towards them with a smile on her face.

“How was Borden? Did he manage to fetch a good price for the goods?” she asked.

Addam gulped and looked at his brother and three friends, all of them nervous and sullen.

When Addam next looked at her mother, the smile melted off her face.

“What happened?” she asked.

First, they told Marilda what had happened and she displayed a great deal of anger and frustration. Then Marilda told the other sailors at the Mouse House and they were also greatly angered.

Then Marilda and the other sailors went down to confront Borden and returned an hour later disheartened and grim.

That night, Marilda closed the tavern to the public and gathered all the sailors who served under her and their families in the tavern and explained what had happened and a chorus of anger and outrage filled the Mouse House.

“How are we supposed to feed our families?” Dorwald asked.

“We don’t need Borden! Let’s strike deals with the buyers ourselves!” Taggert shouted.

“We don’t know the buyers and they’re all in business with Borden!” Laira declared.

For the next few hours, the Mosue company argued back and forth about what to do and how to survive.

Eventually, Marilda called an end to the gathering, the night was rolling on and they were achieving nothing, only more panic.

Everyone who didn’t live at the Mouse House went home and most of the Mouse House residents went to bed.

Addam found himself sitting at a long table in the courtyard with Alyn, Nettles, his mother at the head of the table, Arin, Josed, Simon and a few others.

All of them were disheartened and glum.

A depressed silence lingered for a moment until Nettles finally spoke up.

“We’re f*cked aren’t we?”

Marilda looked glumly to Nettles for a moment, nursing a cup of ale in her hand and swallowing a mouthful.

“Looks like it, dear.”

Not exactly an awe-inspiring speech.

“We’ll tread the waters for now, but if things get as bad as Borden says, we might have to sell off the ships. The families will probably have to split up, some can get work at the docks, the shipyards or with the fishing crews. Some might be able to get jobs on ships with the other crews with the bigger companies. We’ll be able to keep the Mouse House running,” Marilda explained, trying to be pragmatic but also optimistic if the worst should come.

“And what happens to me? Do I go back to thieving?” Nettles asked sadly.

Marilda quickly placed her hand over Nettles’s, giving her comfort.

“You're not going anywhere. Your family now.”

Nettles had a rather rough upbringing before being taken in by Marilda.

Her mother was a dockside whor* and her father — well, no one knew who her father was, though most suspected it was a solider or sailor who enjoyed her company in the pre-war celebration when Daemon Targaryen and Corlys Velaryon set out for the Stepstones.

Her mother died when she was young and she grew up in the brothel where her mother worked.

When she was twelve, the madame told her to earn her keep and gave her to some fat ugly old man to lose her maiden head to and Nettles slashed his eye and ran away from the brothel.

Nettles grew up on the streets, moving back and forth between Hull and Spicetown, stealing to survive.

She had a horizontal scar across the bridge of her nose after getting slashed by a knife when trying to steal a man’s purse.

One day, Nettles got caught trying to steal from the Mouse House and many in Hull had a grudge against her for her thieving, to save her from losing her hand, Marilda agreed to take the girl on as her ward and made her a part of the Mouse Merchant Company.

Since then, she’d become something of a little sister to Addam and Alyn.

“If we are going to survive this shift in power, things will get tough before they get easy. Perhaps if we offer to sail our cogs for Lord Daemion himself, he might reward us for our services,” Marilda suggested.

Nettles and Alyn both looked to Addam with serious expressions.

“Tell her,” Nettles whispered to him.

“Tell me what?” Marilda asked looking at her two sons and her ward.

Addam cleared his throat and lowered his head.

“Actually mother, there might be another way… What if we were to move?” Addam asked nervously.

Marilda leaned back in her chair.

“Move? Move where? To Oldtown?” Marilda asked.

Addam knew his mother would not like his suggestion and took a deep breath.

“No, not Oldtown. What if instead of going to Oldtown or the Free Cities or staying here we went with Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenyra?”

Marilda scoffed and shook her head.

“Valyria was once the power of trade in the known world, the largest fleet in the world. Imagine what we could accomplish if we joined that power at its foundation,” Alyn added, supporting his brother.

“Valyria is cursed! Cursed and dead. There is nothing left in that land but sinders and ash,” Marilda declared.

“How do you know? No one has seen it in two hundred years,” Addam declared.

“And do you know why no one has seen it in two hundred years? Because no one has survived a journey there,” Marilda declared.

Nettles shook her head

“But in our dream—”

“Enough! I will hear no more about dreams. Not your dreams and not the Targaryens’ dream either,” Marilda declared.

“But mother, how could we all have the same dream on the same night? It has to mean something,” Alyn insisted.

“It doesn’t! You did not have dragon dreams, you are not Targaryens and you are certainly not Velaryons!”

The family name rang out in their ears as Addam and Alyn looked at one another glumly. All their lives their mother had been reasserting for them that they were not Velaryons, though there were very few in the Mouse House who were actually fooled by it, no matter how much they avoided speaking of it and no matter how often Alyn shaved his head each morning.

“We never said we were,” Addam replied with knitted eyebrows.

“We know exactly who and what we are mother. We do not need you to remind us,” Alyn.

Their mother stuttered her words for a moment before speaking.

“Of course, forget I said anything” she finally said looking away.

“And yet you did say something,” said Nettles.

“I wasn’t talking to you!” Marilda snapped, bringing the entire tavern's eyes to her as everyone fell silent.

Everyone eventually went back to their own meals and conversations, while Addam, Alyn and Nettles looked down sadly.

Marilda huffed in dismay.

“When Corlys Velaryon leaves High Tide, we will remain here and we will swear fealty to Lord Daemion and that will be the end of it,” Marilda declared, bringing an end to the debate.

Addam stood up from his seat in a huff.

“Where are you going?” Marilda asked.

“Out! I’ll be back when I’m back,” Addam declared as he stormed out of the Mouse House.

Addam needed to get away and clear his head.

He was so angry. Angry at Ser Daemion, Borden and everyone else for f*cking over his family. Angry at his mother for so stubbornly dismissing what he, Alyn and Nettles felt was their calling. Angry at Lord Corlys for taking what pleased him from their mother and turning a blind eye to both him and Alyn all their lives.

Addam walked and walked, passing through the moonlit streets of Hull.

When Addam got to the outskirts of the town he kept walking along the coast, the crash of the waves serving as his companion.

He passed small clustered shipwrecks along the shore and discarded fishing nets.

Addam kept walking along the coast until Hull was but a distant dot of torchlight in the distance and then Addam went inland from the beach, moving through the grassland as he continued on.

There was someone Addam wanted to see, a close friend he hadn’t had a chance to catch up with since returning from Braavos.

This particular friend had been living on Driftmark for nearly six years, going where he pleased and dwelling where he wished on the island.

About four years ago when Addam was fishing on a small skiff down the coast from Hull, he got a particularly big catch all by himself and that was where he first met his special friend, who took Addam’s catch and scared him off.

Every once in a while, Addam would find this special friend around the same area along the coast. He didn’t seem to mind Addam as long as he kept his distance at first and Addam watched him from a safe distance with fascination.

He was very fickle, warning Addam off sometimes when he got too close and on other days welcoming Addam to approach.

Addam often brought him fish and let him eat to his heart's content, loving the taste of smoked salmon.

Then something changed about two years ago and Addam’s friend was no longer fickle in his treatment towards Addam, from then on he was always kind and warm to the young sailor and never growled at him for getting too close.

Addam finally reached the little grassland area where his friend made his dwelling and there he was.

“Hey, boy! Did you miss me?” Addam asked jogging up to the great big dragon nesting in the field.

Seasmoke yelped with joy and moved his head to nuzzle Addam affectionately.

“I missed you too,” Addam replied smiling and gently laughing as he stroked Seasmoke’s nose.

Since the murder of his rider, Laenor Velaryon, Seasmoke had dwelled freely on Driftmark, roaming the island as he saw fit, beholden to no one.

But while Seasmoke was now wild and free, he still had his rider’s saddle on his back.

Addam had no idea why Seasmoke was so friendly to him, suspecting that maybe Seasmoke’s bond to Addam was similar to that of the Dragonkeepers he had heard of. Or maybe Addam reminded Seasmoke of Ser Laenor, for reasons that Addam could not speak of, perhaps the the same reasons why Addam and Alyn were able to have the dragon dream.

Since the dream, Addam had been reconsidering his understanding of his relationship with Seasmoke.

It was well known that the Targaryens had sired many bastards across the islands and coasts of the Blackwater through the right of the first night or just through simple promiscuous affairs but they also would often marry into the other two Valyrian houses in the Blackwater, namely the Celtigars and the Velaryons. His mother's family had dwelled in the Blackwater for generations, there was a chance of at least a drop of Valyrian blood on her side and on Addam's father's side he knew there was all too plenty of the old blood of Valyria. Though Addam was forbidden to ever speak of it, he knew where he came from.

Perhaps what Addam, Alyn and Nettles had experienced truly were dragon dreams.

Addam glanced to the saddle on Seasmoke, entertaining the possibility for a fleeting moment but looked away, not willing to take the risk.

As much as Addam wished that Seasmoke accepted him in such a way, he couldn't help but question the validity of their bond, for Addam was not even a true Velaryon and he knew as well as anyone that if any man or woman, even a Velaryon or a Celtigar, tried to mount a dragon without the blood of the forty ruling dragonlord families of Old Valyria, would be killed for such insolence.

“I suppose you’ll be going with the others... to Valyria. That's your real home, where your ancestors are from,” Addam said glumly, running his fingers through Seasmoke’s goatee of dangling fins from his chin.

“I wish I was going with you,” said Addam, resting his head on Seamoke’s snout.

Addam knew that his dream wasn’t just a dream, fate was calling him east.

He may have just been a lowly merchant sailor from a sh*tty little town like Hull, but against all reason and in defiance of every law of status and position, he knew his destiny was Valyria.

Chapter 6: Preparations and Hopes of the Future

Chapter Text

From a window on the upper corridors of the castle of Dragonstone, Princess Rhaenys could see that over twenty ships were assembled off the coast of the island, ships bearing black sails marked with the three-headed red dragon upon them.

More than twenty ships and only a mere fraction of the great fleet that had already pledged itself to the great voyage.

Princess Rhaenys’s husband, Lord Corlys had returned from Driftmark the previous day with good tidings of a further forty ships pledging to their cause, not nearly the entirety of the Velaryon fleet but still a great number.

Dragonstone and Driftmark were still rounding people up to join their voyage, for they would need families and settlers to populate Valyria once they had reclaimed it.

Their allies around the Blackwater had also sent ravens to inform them of their progress.

Claw Isle, Sharp Point, Stonedance, Duskendale, Sweetport Sound, Rook’s Rest and all the rest had reported great turnouts of recruitment and mustering ships.

It would still take some time to rally all their supporters and to ferry whatever small minor houses from the Stormlands, the Riverlands and the Reach would join them, but with time they’d be ready to set sail.

The howl of dragons insnared the Princess’s attention, drawing Rhaenys’s eyes from the water to the misty summit of the Dragonmount where the winged firebreathers circled the sky.

Meleys, Caraxes and Syrax danced and dived through the air, playfully chasing one another around the island.

Beyond the Dragonmount, Rhaenys could faintly see the mist-shrouded silhouette of another dragon rising and diving through the air.

Too big to be Grey Ghost or Sheepstealer, perhaps Vermithor or Silverwing or maybe even the Cannibal.

The Cannibal's true name, almost forgotten now, was Morghon, a valyrian name given to him when he was hatched during the Century of Blood.

A large and vicious Zolka-type dragon with coal black scales, green eyes, ibex-like horns, a thorny beard, tattered wings and barbed fins running down his spine.

He laired at the back of the Dragonmount in a low rocky clearing that none dared ventured to.

The great beast earned his name from the smallfolk because of his feasting habits on dead dragons, newborn dragons, and dragon eggs.

In addition to the bones of the dragons he had eaten, his lair was also littered with the bones of younger Targaryen relations from the time before the Conquest who had tried to claim him as well as farmers, shepherds and sheep on the island that had gotten too close.

Rhaenys would have felt nervous about letting young dragons such as Arrax, Tyraxes and Stormcloud fly freely on the island with the Cannibal around, but he would not dare touch the young dragons while Vermithor still dwelled on the island.

All on Dragonstone knew that the Bronze Fury was one of the only dragons the Cannibal feared other than the likes of Vhagar and Balerion himself, and Vermithor had the scars to prove it.

When they left the island for good, neither Rhaenys nor any other of the Targaryens would miss the Cannibal.

Rhaenys’s attentions were then caught by the howling pur of Vermax as he came flying over the castle with Moondancer following behind and Arrax swooping around from the left.

There was something about seeing so many dragons circling the skies freely that brought such life to Dragonstone in Rhaenys’s eyes and it made her wonder what Valyria must have been like in its prime as well as what it would be like in years to come if their grand quest was successful.

For the first time in many years, Rhaenys could not help but feel excited and eager for what was to come.

Stirring inside her was a warming satisfaction of being part of something bigger and grander than herself and those she loved.

All the trials of the past had worn her down over the years, each one more difficult than the last.

Her parents, her grandparents, her many aunts and uncles both Targaryen and Baratheon, so many cousins, the Iron Throne had been publicly denied to her twice and just when it felt like there was nothing left to lose, the gods saw fit to snatch her children from her.

The years had made the world dark and bitter in her eyes and taken the joy from it.

She had grown tired of the feuds and politics of the throne and when Viserys died she felt it not as a call to arms but rather just another loss she had to mourn and she’d dismissed the dragon dream as no more than a night fantasy.

Rhaenys had no just cause or greater good to fight for and no desire to be used as a prop in the war between Rhaenyra and Aegon, she only wished to take Baela and Rhaena back to Driftmark and wait out the storm of fire and blood as it crashed around them.

Rhaenys had not predicted how immovable her granddaughters were, neither wishing to abandon their father, Rhaenyra, Jace, Luke, Joff or their two little half-brothers.

Rhaenys had so despised how Daemon had dared to assume that she would join them against the Greens and yet Rhaenys had ignorantly surmised that her granddaughters cared no more for Rhaenyra than she did, a misconception that Baela had clearly straightened out for her.

Now, Rhaenys was grateful her grandaughters refused to flee with her, for it allowed the Princess to see Rhaenyra as she truly was. Losing a father, a daughter and a crown in a few hours was enough to drive anyone to anger and violence and yet Rhaenyra held her supporters back as they pleaded for dragonfire and war, wishing to prevent destruction and bloodshed as best she could.

Duty before ambition, mercy before vengeance; a true queen like the one Rhaenys had seen herself standing beside in her dream of Valyria.

Rhaenys still didn’t know if Rhaenyra was involved in Laenor’s death or not, but it felt less and less likely as she saw more of Rhaenyra.

By the time Corlys arrived on Dragonstone, wishing to abandon Rhaenyra and renounce Jace, Luke and Joff whom he truly did love deep down, it was Rhaenys who convinced him to join Rhaenyra.

For the first time in a long time, Rhaenys saw someone she could believe in, someone who had broken through Rhaenys’s cynicism and shown her hope for the realm again.

Now she, her granddaughters and all the rest felt an overwhelming calling from the dragon dream they had shared like a divine calling of sorts ushering them away from Westeros and onward to Valyria for its rebirth.

Rhaenys knew there were still trials ahead and she knew she would never fully recover from Laena and Laenor’s deaths and Viserys’s passing was still fresh, but at the very least for the first time in a long time, she felt she had permission to allow herself to hope again.

Rhaenys finished staring out the window at the ships and dragons and continued on towards the Chamber of the Painted Table.

The castle was alive with preparation, every servant and castle worker packing up and taking down the tapestries, banners and statues and clearing out all the chambers in preparation for the approaching exodus.

There were still weeks ahead before they set out for Braavos, but the household wanted to be prepared.

On her way through the twists and turns of the dark stone corridors, Rhaenys passed Aegon’s Garden and stopped in her tracks as she walked along the dark stone cloisters, looking out to the courtyard garden filled with tall pine trees, wild roses, towering thorny hedges, a small cranberry bog and a black stone dragon statue on a pedestal in the middle.

What caught Rhaenys’s eye as she passed by was the Rhaenyra’s lady-in-waiting, Elinda Massey playfully chasing Joff, little Aegon and Gaemon around the dragon statue while little Viserys sat on a rug on the grass playing with wooden toy figurines with the two midwives.

Little Gaemon had become favoured amongst Rhaenyra’s household, especially by the boys close to his age.

Rhaenys had never admired Rhaenyra more than when she took the young boy into her household in a pure act of magnanimity.

Rhaenys smiled to herself and continued on.

Eventually, the labyrinth of passageways through the great island fortress of the dragonlords led Rhaenys to the Chamber of the Painted Table, where she found her family.

Rhaenyra stood at the end of the table closest to the hearth, the lands of always winter carved into the table before her.

Corlys, Daemon, Jace, Luke, Baela, Rhaena, the former Kingsguard and the Maesters all stood around the table during the meeting.

Maester Gerardys was Rhaenyra’s wise and trusted servant of many years, neither his loyalty nor his wisdom ever failing her, Maester Mickon was an assisting maester of the Red Keep who had served since the days of Grand Maester Mellos but now wished to join them in their expedition to Valyria and lastly, Maester Kelvyn, who had served for decades at High Tide and had come with Corlys to Dragonstone, also wishing to be among the first to chronicle what had become of Valyria since the Doom.

The painted table bore map markers as it had done when they first convened their black council at the beginning of what they all believed would be a war over Viserys’s succession until Rhaenyra made her sacrifice, but now the markers were to indicate all those in the Seven Kingdoms who meant to follow them on their voyage.

Those with ships on the eastern coast or those without ships whose houses were located furthest north and east would convene at the gullet.

Supporters from the Vale and the small few from the North would join them at Braavos while those in the Stomrlands would meet them off the coast of Tyrosh and Myr.

Those with ships and houses in the west and south would sail around the Dornish coast and await them in the Stepstones with Lord Corlys’s ships that were securing the area and they would sail east together as one massive armada combined with whatever allies from the Free Cities pledged to join them.

It would be the duty of those houses with ships to ferry those without them along on their shared voyage.

“Our envoy to the Sealord of Braavos has returned with written permission for our fleet to dock in his port and an open invitation from the Sealord Lysano Otherys to his palace as his honoured guests,” Corlys declared.

Rhaenyra nodded to Rhaenys as she joined the council before turning her attention to Lord Corlys.

“Do you believe the Sealord will wish to offer us support in our quest, Lord Corlys?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Hard to say, Princess. I doubt he will leave Braavos, but it is not out of the question to expect we might solicit ships and allies from his court. He is a very ambitious man and seeks strong allies, Valyria would make for the strongest,” Corlys surmised.

Dameon leaned in, placing his hands on the table.

“I should imagine the Ortherys family will become fast allies of ours. They like me quite well,” Daemon declared with a smug look on his face.

“You’ve had dealings with them in the past?” Rhaenyra asked, surprised by Daemon’s remark.

“In a manner of speaking— Years ago, Laena Velaryon was betrothed to the son of a Sealord of the House Ostios. When the Sealord died, his idiot drunkard of a son wasted his family fortune on wine, women and lavish things and ended up on Driftmark looking for sanctuary and a bride to replenish his coffers. I couldn’t have that, so I challenged him to single combat for Laena’s hand, killed him and took Laena as my wife. When I killed the son, the Ostios family went extinct and the Ortherys family, which had strong ties to the original twenty-three founders of the Ironbank through some of their maternal lines, was elevated to take the Ostios family’s place as Keyholders. Laena and I received a rather lavish wedding gift from the Ortheys family in gratitude.”

Baela and Rhaena smiled to themselves as they listened to their father recount the story of how he married their mother.

“Well, let us hope then that their gratitude remains endurant all these long years later,” Rhaenyra said.

“What about your ally to the south of Braavos, Prince Reggio Haratis of Pentos?”

Daemon nodded his head.

“An old and honoured friend. As Prince, he stands as a figurehead for the city while the Magistrates rule in his name, when the city faces hardships and turmoil, the Magistrates use the Prince as a scapegoat and kill him, replacing him with another noble. Years ago, Reggio wished for Laena, myself and the girls to settle in Pentos, using our dragons to protect the city and Reggio’s credit for such actions as well as our support would keep him safe from the Magistrates. His wish to ally himself with powerful dragonriders will not have subsided,” Daemon explained.

“Do you predict he will have any conditions by which we garner his support or some form of assurances or collateral?” Rhaenyra asked, gently stroking her fingers along the edge of the table in front of her.

Daemon shrugged.

“He’s a very amiable and open-handed man much like my late brother, though when last we dwelled in Pentos, Laena surmised he wished to solidify our alliance with a marriage pact between his sons and our daughters,” Daemon explained.

“Well, that’s not an option,” Lucerys declared adamantly, looking down at the markers on the table.

All eyes in the chamber fell on Luke and after a moment he looked up and saw everyone staring at him and only then did he seem to realise he’d spoken aloud.

Luke began to stutter and blush with embarrassment.

“I-I only m-meant,” he tried to say.

“It’s alright, Lucerys. We know what you meant,” Rhaenyra said with a smile.

What the boy meant was that Rhaena was to be his bride and he would not have anyone take her from him, but the sweet young boy was not bold enough to say such things outright.

Rhaenys’s eyes then shifted over to her granddaughter Rhaena who too was blushing, but hers was with a smile, the young girl rendered completely smitten by her betrothed.

Over the past few weeks, Rhaenys had also seen the attraction between Baela and Jace, the two often staring at one another with coy smiles and longing looks or taking long walks together through the halls or outside the castle walls, constantly flirting.

The more Rhaenys thought about it, Rhaenyra’s proposal of wedding the girls and boys together might not have been as desperate or as sudden an offer as she had originally thought.

Rhaenyra and Daemon had been raising the girls alongside her own sons for years with Baela spending half her time at Driftmark as Rhaenys’s ward.

Perhaps the union of the four had been something Rhaenyra had been pondering for years, seeing the signs of their affection for one another.

Rhaenyra beamed with appreciation of Luke and Rhaena’s adorableness before moving on.

“And what of the Triarchy? We may control the Stepstones — or rather the Iron Throne controls the Stepstones — but will Tyrosh, Myr and Lys not hassle us on our voyage south?” Rhaenyra asked.

Corlys nodded his head, his eyes filled with concern.

“That is something I have wondered myself. I was able to secure the islands with garrisons, watchtowers and a fleet of twenty ships, but I was evaded by two of the Triarchy’s most formidable commanders, Racallio Ryndoon and Sharako Lohar. If the Triarchy wishes to challenge our passage through the Stepstones, Ryndoon and Lohar will rally the fleets of the three islands and most probably Dorne as well,” Corlys cautioned them.

Daemon snorted and shrugged.

“These past years you have been fighting in the Stepstones you were without dragons and our fleet will have eleven. The Crabfeeder may have resisted us by hiding in the caves on the islands, but no force can withstand dragons on the open sea. My father, Uncle and Grandfather taught Prince Morion Martell that lesson the hard way,” Daemon explained.

Rhaenys knew exactly what Daemon was referring to.

The fabled Fourth Dornish War was when both her and Daemon’s fathers, Aemon and Baelon and their grandfather Jaehaerys mounted their dragons, Caraxes, Vhagar and Vermithor and set out to battle the great armada the dornish navy, pirates of the stepstones, Myrish sellsails, pepper coast corsairs.

The war made its way into the history books as the first of its kind in many respects.

The first and only war to last one day and one battle; the first and only war to end with the complete annihilation of one army and not a single casualty on the other; and the first war and only war in which the King and his two eldest sons fought the entire war by themselves before allowing so much as one footsoldier under their command to risk their life in battle.

A testament to the three great men they were.

Rhaenys was just a little girl but remembered so clearly the day they left for Storm’s End to draw up battle plans with her cousin Lord Bormund Baratheon.

Her grandsire, father and uncle were all dressed in black plate armour decorated with dragon scales.

Jaehaerys’s armor was chased with bronze and his black cloak was trimmed with a golden border and velvet red interior.

Sheathed at her grandsire’s hips at his belt were Blackfyre and the Valyrian steel dagger with the dragonbone hilt.

Her father, Aemon and her uncle Baelon wore similar but not identical suits of black armor and plain blood-red cloaks, Baelon carrying Dark Sister at his side.

We’ll be back soon Rhae, I promise, her father had said to her before he left.

Even though Rhaenys believed her father and could never recall a promise he had ever broken, she couldn’t help but cry as she saw the three dragons fly away.

It was not every day one saw her father, grandfather and favourite uncle fly off to war.

“These two are not the same as Drahar, Daemon. Racallio Ryndoon is a skilled warrior and talented mariner true enough, but his true weapon as a commander is his mercuriality and ficklness. In all my nine voyages I have never seen one so unpredictable nor as ridiculous as this man, a flamboyant madman whose only consistency in his stratagem is its nature of being both theatrical and illogical.”

“Laenor mentioned him to me many years ago, shortly after Joff’s birth. A tyroshi giant who wears women’s frocks and dyes his beard purple. Is that the truth of it?” Rhaenyra asked.

Corlys nodded bitterly.

“I fought him many times in the Stepstones. I did not believe the truth of the women’s frocks until one time I met him on the battlefield with two swords in his hands and two melons in the breasts of his dress. He was an insufferable perplexity in my campaign.”

Baela, Jace, Daemon, Luke and a few others in the chamber smirked, snickered and chortled, probably amused by the idea of a man going into battle with prosthetic breasts made from melons.

“And what of this Sharako Lohar? What can you tell us of him?” Jace asked, leaning on the painted table.

"She," Corlys corrected, surprising and intriguing those gathered around the table. It seemed that the Triarchy did not resent following a woman either.

“Now, she is a commander that wins with skill and intellect. Eccentric in a similar fashion to that of Ryndoon, but a bit more... coherent. She is brutal, strong and aggressive but also hardy and jovial in battle. She goes into battle carrying seven knives along with a sword, her men who love her refer to her as a man when they speak of her - I know not why - and apparently, she and Ryndoon have a playful wager about which of them can woo the most wives to their respective harems. A skilled mariner, but also a woman of cunning acumen. When it comes to maritime tactics, her weapon of choice is misdirection. It was herploy that saw me grievously injured,” Corlys explained gesturing to the cut on his neck that was now almost fully healed.

The wound that had spurred the Driftmark succession crisis in the days leading up to the night of Viserys’s death.

“Well, if these two are as dangerous as you say, then I agree we should make efforts to take greater precautions on our way southward than just relying solely on dragonfire. But I would prefer we used diplomacy first. Since the Triarchy first reared its head at the Crabfeeder’s backing nearly two decades ago, one of their greatest goals has been to resist and undermine the Seven Kingdoms. Westeros’s unity, stability and power over dragons have made the Iron Throne the most prominent power in the known world since the Freehold. The Triarchy fear that power and the possibility of reconquest by the Freehold’s successor in the shape of a mainly andalic nation. That same fear of such power and the prospect of subjugation spurred Dorne to ally with them against the throne. We have more dragons, dragon eggs, dragonkeepers and Dragonriders than the Greens, meaning if the Triarchy allows us safe passage to the east, unmolested, we will be doing them the favour of moving the majority of House Targaryens dragon power across the summer sea and away from their doorstep.”

The council nodded in agreement.

Maester Gerardys began speaking of Volantis when a servant came into the room carrying a stack of pages of parchment in his hands, his arrival drawing the attention of all in the room.

“Forgive me, Princess. You wished to be brought the draftsmen’s final renditions upon their completion,” the servant said.

Rhaenyra’s expression lit up.

“Yes, please,” Rhaenyra said, welcoming the servant forward.

When the servant came close to Rhaenyra, she welcomed him to lay the parchments out on the table.

Upon each sheet of parchment was a convincingly realistic sketch of an individual’s portrait, each of the pages bearing a different face.

“Yes, these are perfect,” Rhaenyra declared as she shuffled the sheets of paper around and admired them.

Rhaenys instantly recognised the faces of the portraits, all the faces she had seen before in the dragon dream.

Dragon dreams were not like common dreams, the prophetic visions were unfading, every detail branded upon one’s mind and more endurant than even the strongest of memories.

“Those are the faces we saw in the dream,” Daemon declared, picking up one of the sheets and looking at it.

“Yes, a little experiment I tried with Jace, Luke, Rhaena and Baela. I summoned five of the best artists we could reach and had each of them accompany one of us to a private room, we then listed off all the unidentified individuals we saw in the dream and each of us carefully and meticulously dictated their physical descriptions to the artists and oversaw their renditions. We then compiled the portraits, compared them and identified the most accurate parts of each version. Then we commissioned the most skilled of the five draftsmen to create the final interpretations by combining the most accurate features from each version,” Rhaenyra explained.

“They came out very good,” Rhaena said, holding one up and looking at it closely.

“But we still have no way of telling who they are,” Jace pointed out as he held up another one.

“Well, that’s not entirely true,” Daemon said holding one up and showing Rhaenys.

Of all the strangers standing with them on the dais, Daemon and Rhaenys were the only two to recognise one of them, the one on the page Daemon was holding up.

The two cousins had told Rhaenyra who the face belonged to which surprised her and what was even more surprising was the identity of the man.

A fairly old man, gaunt and pale with short-cut white hair and a thick beard, a cold and grumpy expression and thick stern eyebrows.

A man dressed in grey robes and a maester’s chain.

Corly’s eyebrows furrowed, recognising the face.

“Is that—?”

The Sea Snake could not even finish his own sentence, too surprised and bewildered to say his name.

Daemon nodded to Corlys.

Ser Harrold and Ser Steffon were surprised too upon seeing the sheet of paper, both of them also recognising the face.

“Our uncle, Vaegon Targaryen. He’s an Archmaester at the Citadel,” Rhaenys finally said.

“Do you mean to say Prince Vaegon was part of your dragon dream as well?” Ser Harrold asked.

“That is what Daemon and Princess Rhaenys have claimed. Personally, I will have to take their word on it, I have not seen the Archmaester since I was a very small child and remember very little of him,” Rhaenyra explained.

Daemon circled around the table and gave the sheet of paper to Sers Harrold and Ser Steffon, both nodding, concurring with Daemon and Rhaenys’s assertions.

“Lord Beesbury has agreed to treat with him and request he join us on the voyage. Mayhaps he too has had the Dragon Dream and shares our ambitions to see Valyria restored,” Rhaenyra suggested.

The council’s eyes then turned to the remaining portraits of the strangers they had seen in the dreams.

Two of them bore valyrian features, one a young man in his twenties, short white hair parted in the middle and a well-trimmed beard. Another portrait showed a beautiful young girl with white hair, perhaps sixteen years of age.

The next two portraits showed a pair of young men, probably brothers, one bald and one with dark dreadlocked hair and when Rhaenys looked at them, both in the drawings and in her memories, they bore a striking resemblance to Corlys.

The last portrait was of a young woman with tan brown skin, more clearly seen in the memory than the drawing, curly black hair falling down to her shoulders, a horizontal scar across her button nose and big brown doe eyes.

“Should we make copies and spread them around the Blackwater,” Maester Mickon asked.

Rhaenyra smiled and shook her head.

“No, I think not,” she said softly as she looked at the drawings.

“I think we are meant to find these people and I think they are meant to find us. When it is time, they will present themselves to us, we just have to be patient,” Rhaenyra said happily, looking to her council.

Rhaenys shared Rhaenyra’s optimism, they were all part of something bigger now and the thing that Rhaenyra was trusting in, the thing that made her so confident that all would work out was the same thing Rhaenys had recently become reacquainted with… hope.

Chapter 7: The Call of Destiny

Chapter Text

A week and two days had passed since the failed negotiations with Borden and things had not faired well in the Mouse House since.

Profits in the tavern had remained gainful, but with the consortium falling apart and its remnants being cannibalised by Borden, the sales of the goods they’d secured from Braavos had been challenging, to say the least.

They’d managed to sell off two-thirds of their cargo to some traders and merchants for half-descent prices and ended up selling the rest to Borden for his minuscule offer.

In the end, they came out making more money than they spent on the cargo, but only barely, certainly not a great profit.

Addam knew just as well as everyone else that if things kept going the way they were headed, the Mouse House would go broke within two turns of the moon.

Already some of the newer and more desperate members of Marilda’s fleet had resigned to find work elsewhere.

Addam was in the courtyard of the Mouse House having breakfast with Alyn.

There was a depressed and bleak mood hanging over the Mouse House since they returned from Braavos, like an omen of despair hanging over their heads.

Addam was completely melancholic and without an appetite, instead shuffling his eggs and sausages around on his plate while he glowered in sullen silence.

“You should really eat… you need to keep your strength up,” said Alyn, sitting across the table.

“I’m not hungry,” Addam huffed, glancing off to the side.

“Come on, Addam. Eating is better than doing nothing,” the younger brother declared.

“We’re already doing nothing, it doesn’t matter if we eat or not. Borden is cutting us out of the consortium and we’re doing nothing; Daimeon Velaryon is preparing to take control of Driftmark and tax us into oblivion and we are doing nothing; the Targaryens are preparing to set sail for Valyria without us and we are doing nothing,” Addam declared.

The muffled yells of feminine voices drew Addam and Alyn’s attention to the shuttered window of their mother’s room.

“Nettles is doing something,” Alyn pointed out, recognising one of the two arguing voices.

For the past week, Addam, Alyn and Nettles had been taking turns arguing with Marilda about joining the Targaryens on their quest, but she would not listen.

It didn’t matter how detailed their account of their shared dream was or how strong their cut feelings were, Marilda would not budge on the matter and the worst part was they didn’t know why.

When Addam argued with her she got especially angry when he mentioned the Sea Snake, which might have had something to do with it.

Addam knew his grandfather was the best shipwright in Hull and built some of the Sea Snake’s best ships in his early voyages, but perhaps Lord Corlys had a bad history with Marilda, though Addam was not sure what could have happened between the two to make Addam’s mother so bitter.

Addam considered telling his mother about Seasmoke and Addam’s relationship with the dragon, hoping that might convince her but he feared she might bar him from seeing Seasmoke anymore if he revealed the truth.

“You know, maybe staying here on Driftmark isn’t the worst thing in the world,” Alyn suggested, trying to find a silver lining in the matter.

Addam looked to his brother with a vexed expression.

“Are you jesting with me? Borden’s taken control of trade, the Velaryon fleet is about to be cut in half and we’re going to lose our entire trade,” Addam reminded his brother.

“I know, but there might be a way to keep the fleet going, you see I met a man,” Alyn began.

“Oh, you met a man? Get out the good ale everyone! Alyn met a f*cking man!” Addam chastised.

“Would you shut the f*ck up and listen, idiot?” Alyn retorted.

Addam rolled his eyes and sighed.

“So, this man works with the fishmongers’ guild and—”

“Stop. Alyn, if you're suggesting we become fishmongers then you’ve completely lost your mind,” Addam declared.

“But, listen. What I’m suggesting is that if we sail out across the Narrow Sea, the Summer Sea and the Jade Sea, we can collect different kinds of fish and bring them back here alive and farm them in a netted off cove and—”

“Do you even listen to yourself?” Addam asked, wondering if his little brother knew how ridiculous he sounded.

“Well, what would you suggest?” Alyn asked.

“I suggest we go to Dragonstone, stand before the Princess and pledge our loyalty to her. If she truly did have the same dream as us then she’ll know our faces,” Addam declared.

“And how the f*ck do we lowly merchants get an audience with the Princess? Hmm? Just sail past her fleet, dock at Dragonstone, stroll up to the castle past her dragons, men-at-arms and knights and say hello?” Alyn asked.

Addam opened his mouth to speak, contemplating Seasmoke for a fleeting moment, but then banished the thought from his mind and closed his mouth.

The yelling between Marilda and Nettles from the second floor was getting louder and Nettles’s curse words were becoming clearer through the walls and window shutters.

“Seven Hells. I’ll go check on them,” Alyn muttered getting up from his seat and walking towards the wooden stairway up to the second floor.

After Alyn was out of sight, Addam huffed in dismay and got up from his seat.

Without saying a word he walked out of the tavern and began to stroll through the streets of Hull, aimlessly wondering.

When Addam passed by a stall selling apples, he bought one with a coin tucked into his belt.

Even the price of fruit on the island was going up, everyone raising their prices in preparation for Ser Daemion’s taxes when he became Lord of the Tides.

Addam bit into the apple as he walked down the streets between the crowds of Hull’s townsfolk.

“Morning Addam,” Old Hogar the butcher was at the window bench of his shop chopping the head off of a rather large zander, his leather apron and wooden bench covered in blood.

“Hobb. What’s the latest,” Addam asked coming closer to the butcher.

“Five zanders, six pikes and seven squids just in this morning. Do you want some?” Hogar offered.

“Got anything fresh that wasn’t swimming this morning?” Addam asked, leaning his elbow on the bench and taking a bite out of his apple.

“Ahh, a couple of sheep hooked up out the back if you’re in the mood for some mutton,” Hogar explained.

“Usual price?” Addam asked.

Hogar’s expression turned to an apologetic one as he sighed.

“Raised by a third, I’m afraid, me boy,” Hogar explained.

Addam huffed.

“Not you too,” he muttered.

“It’s the whole town, the whole f*cking island. Everyone’s scrambling to make more money so that they have enough when Daemion takes over. Half the Velaryon fleet is readying to leave for Dragonstone. You're a sailor, shouldn’t you of all people know to batter down the hatches when the storm is coming?” Hogar asked.

“Actually the wise sailor flees the storm,” Addam explained.

“Well, I’ll take your word for it,” Hogar replied as he continued to hack away at the meat.

Addam glanced out to the docks at the coast edge of the town and the ships harboured there.

Addam took another bite from the apple and huffed through his nose.

“Have you considered doing that?” Addam wondered aloud.

“Doing What?” the old butcher asked.

“Fleeing the storm. Settling down somewhere else before this whole mess with the Sea Snake abandoning the island hits us? Find somewhere else and start over?” Addam asked.

Hogar snorted and shook his head.

“No. Driftmark is my home. My family’s lived here for… ooof , six generations I think,” Hogar declared scratching his head.

“What about you? Do you think you could ever leave Driftmark permanently?”

Addam thought for a moment, glancing up to the old Driftmark castle he used to play in the shadow of as a boy, the marketplace, the sound of seagulls and the crash of the tides on the beach in the air, the smell of sea salt and cooked fish in the air.

Hull had always been his home and he loved it dearly, yet still, he couldn’t help but feel there was more out there for him.

He’d tasted the splendour of adventure during his voyages with his mother and since then Addam had always possessed a romantic adoration for the horizons of the sea and a pining need to go beyond them and find what mysteries were beyond his sight.

Since the dream he had and with everything that had happened with him and Seasmoke, it now felt like what he was searching for beyond the horizon was no longer a mystery, he finally knew where he was heading and had only to set the course, but his mother fought him at every turn and now he could see his dream fading away as he stood stagnated in place.

As Addam felt his destiny slip further and further he could not help but blame Hull for it in part, no matter how irrational such a grudge may have been.

Addam shrugged.

“I love Hull, but… when you are a child, an island like this feels like the whole world, then as a sailor you get older and go to other ports and at a certain point, Driftmark starts to feel too small for you. Does that make sense?” Addam asked, scratching the back of his head.

Hogar bobbed his head.

“It makes sense to you and that’s what counts,” the old butcher declared.

Addam smiled at the butcher’s wisdom and bid him good day before continuing on through the streets closer to the port.

Addam passed many more stalls and shops, where spice merchants, fishmongers, cheesemongers and other proprietors displayed their stock.

By the time Addam reached the docks, he’d reduced his apple to a core and discarded it.

Carracks, cogs, merchenters, fishing sloops and galleys either lined up along the docks or anchored a short distance out from the port with the crews using dinghies to get to and from the shore.

Addam could see some of his mother’s ships anchored off the coast, though how much longer they would remain his mother’s ships was yet to be seen.

Driftmark and Hull were turning against them and they needed a fresh start, yet Marilda would not listen, she was so stubborn and adamant that they remained there.

All signs pointed to the Princess’s voyage, that was their route to salvation, but she would not listen.

Addam’s attention was then caught by a small cluster of people standing around one of the dock piers, gossiping amongst one another as a group of men came walking down the pier.

When Addam spotted them through the crowd, he recognised a handful of them were wearing armour, either of Velaryon or Targaryen men-at-arms and between the soldiers was a group of five men with shaved heads, covered in small burns and soot, dressed in ragged dirty robes and carrying long wooden poles, at a glance Addam could not tell if they were some kind of priests or perhaps shepherds.

“Good morrow, Addam,” George the harbormaster greeted, coming to Addam’s side and claiming his attention.

“George,” Addam replied, shaking hands with the keeper of ships.

“Planning on heading out to your ships?” George asked motioning to the cogs.

Addam shook his head.

“No, just wondering around… try to clear my head and all” Addam explained.

“I get it,” George replied with a nod.

Addam cleared his throat and returned his eyes to the new arrivals at the pier.

“What’s all that about?” Addam asked.

George glanced over to the Velaryon and Targaryen guards and to the robed men.

“Dragonkeepers,” George explained.

Addam’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Dragonkeepers?” he repeated.

Addam did not know much of them, but he had heard they were some kind of order of servants who guarded and tended to the Targaryen dragons for them.

“Aye. Princess Rhaenyra sent them to find Ser Laenor’s dragon, Seasmoke. They say she wants to bring all the unclaimed dragons she can get to Valyria with her. Since Seasmoke’s been spotted nesting down here a lot in recent years, this is where they’re going to start their search,” George explained.

Already? Addam asked himself as his heart sunk to his stomach.

He wasn’t ready to part ways with Seasmoke, he hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye yet.

Now the dragonkeepers would lead Seasmoke back to Dragonstone and he would go with Rhaenyra to Valyria, leaving Addam, Alyn and Nettles behind.

“Sorry George, there’s somewhere I have to be,” Addam explained hastily, sidestepping away from the harbourmaster.

“Alright,” George said, slightly concerned by Addam's sudden haste to get away.

Addam would not let Seasmoke be taken away so unceremoniously without so much as a farewell.

If Addam was to miss out on his destiny, he would at least let his friend have closure with one last goodbye.

Some would say that a dragon was just an animal with no emotions and only dumb and simple thoughts, but that was not the case, Addam saw it in his eyes, he saw it in his behaviour, he was smart and he felt things. He may not have had as complex a mind as a human but Addam knew Seasmoke was no common animal.

When Addam got to the edge of Hull, he began to sprint, wishing to find Seasmoke before the Dragonkeepers and say his goodbyes.

Addam imagined that if the Dragonkeepers saw him anywhere near Seasmoke they’d probably kill him.

Eventually, Addam got back to the spot where he often found Seasmoke nesting. The grass was ripped up and the soil blackened from Seasmoke’s flaming breath, with charred bones of sheep and countless fish littering the blackened patch of land, but Seasmoke was nowhere to be found.

Oh no, Addam thought to himself as he looked around the charred field.

Addam had no way of knowing where Seasmoke was from one minute to the next, he went where he pleased and Addam had no way of finding him.

As Addam paced around the charred field of blackened bones, he huffed in dismay, wondering if he’d missed his last chance to see Seasmoke, wondering if the Dragonkeepers would find him first and take him away.

Addam couldn’t fully explain what it was between him and Seasmoke, but it was deep and powerful, or at least that’s what Addam thought. Perhaps the connection was all in his head and it was just something Addam was projecting onto the great dragon.

Maybe his bond with Seasmoke was no more special than what existed between the dragons and the dragonkeepers.

But still, Addam wished he could have seen him one last time.

Just as Addam was about to give up and go back to Hull, he heard a loud screeching howl carried on the air and his spirits lifted.

It was as though Seasmoke had heard his wish and come to him.

Addam turned around and saw the pale, silver-grey dragon sore through the air coming closer and closer.

As Seasmoke made his descent, his wings flapped as he came close to the ground, blowing gusts of wind through Addam’s dreadlocked hair and the thud of the dragon’s clawed feet touching the ground shook Addam causing him to adjust his stance to keep himself from falling.

“There you are,” Addam greeted as he approached the dragon.

The young sailor then began to stroke and nuzzle Seasmoke’s snout as he had done so many times before.

As Addam revelled in his friend’s presence, a lamenting sigh escaped him.

“I have some news for you and you're not going to like it,” Addam explained.

From what Addam could tell, Seasmoke didn’t understand what Addam was saying, but could at least infer the jist of his words from his tone from time to time.

Even so, Addam enjoyed talking to Seasmoke, even if only to imagine he could understand him.

“The dragonkeepers are here. They’re here to take you away, to Dragonstone,” Addam explained in a soft voice.

Seasmoke let out a sad whimper, most likely in reaction to the sad tone of Addam’s words as opposed to what they actually meant.

“I know, I know. But it’s alright, really it is. You’ll have plenty of your own kind to play with. You’ll be with other dragons. And the place you are going… that’s Valyira. That’s your home, your real home. In a few years, you and the other dragons will hatch lots of eggs and rule the skies there as your ancestors did, then you’ll be so happy you won’t even have time to remember a silly little sailor like me,” Addam explained, his words breaking his own heart as he said them.

“But no matter what, no matter how far you go, I will never forget you, my friend,” Addam explained as he rested his forehead on Seasmoke’s nose.

“Ao!” an angry voice cried out.

Addam turned and saw two of the five dragonkeepers standing on the shallow hill overlooking Seasmoke’s nest.

f*ck, I’m dead , Addam thought to himself as his heart began to race.

“Issi ao ribazmoqitta?! Jiōragon qrīdrughagon hen zirȳla sir!”

Addam had only learned a handful of phrases in bastard valyrian, but not enough to know what the Dragonkeepers were shouting at him.

Seasmoke raised his head and snarled at them.

“Jiōragon qrīdrughagon! jiōragon qrīdrughagon sir!” another one shouted as the five began to descend down the hill.

When he saw the little black glass-looking daggers at their hips, Addam backed away from the two Dragonkeepers in fear for his life, getting closer to Seasmoke which only made them angrier.

“Ao mittys! Kessa ossēnagon ao! Dakogon sir, doru-borto valītsos!” the other one shouted.

If Addam had to guess, they were saying you have committed crimes against the Targaryens and will die for your impertinence.

The two dragonkeepers slowed their approach as they got closer to Seasmoke, which only prompted Addam to remain close to him.

“Bisa mittya valītsos gaomas daor ȳdragon Valyrīha. Jikagon jiōragon se dohaeraysse naejot ȳdrassion gō ziry gets ossēntan!” one of them commanded and the other ran off up the hill, probably to get the Targaryen and Velaryon men at arms to slay Addam.

Addam was terrified, he knew they would hunt him down and kill him if he tried to run, there was no way out.

Addam then had a thought, a mad stupid insane thought that was bound to get him killed.

The young sailor glanced at Seasmoke’s saddle and for a moment was entranced by it.

Addam then glanced up to Seasmoke, looking at his eyes and while it may have all been in his head, Addam could swear that Seasmoke’s eyes were communicating something to Addam… permission.

Addam looked to the Dragonkeeper who was full of anger. He glanced to Addam, to Seasmoke and to Seasmoke’s saddle and then back at Addam and began to shake his head.

“Ȳdra daor sesīr pendagon nūmāzma ziry,” he said in a commanding voice.

Addam could infer the Dragonkeeper knew what Addam was about to do and was not approving, but he had no choice.

Addam raced under Seasmoke’s wing and began to climb the leather netting leading up to the saddle.

“Daor! ao mittys! skorkydoso kostagon ao?! kesā addemmagon syt aōha ánghowa!” the Dragonkeeper shouted.

“ Jiōragon ilagon hen konīr!” The Dragonkeeper shouted just as Addam reached the saddle.

The saddle was very nice, with a tall leather seat-like backrest, a large stump covered in meral fish scales and the Velaryon crest mounted in front of him with leather padding and two grips beyond it, Addam surmised the stump was something he was meant to lean against while holding onto the grips at some point.

There were also many buckles and straps but Addam did not know what they were for.

“Alright, Seasmoke! Fly!” Addam commanded, but Seasmoke did nothing.

“Come on! They’re going to kill me! I need you to fly!” Addam commanded, but Seasmoke simply glanced back at him and purred.

“Skorkydoso gōntan ao—?” the Dragonkeeper said softly as he looked at Addam with wonder from down below.

Just then, the other Dragonkeeper returned from over the hill followed by the other three.

The Dragonkeeper standing before Addam glanced at his peers as they ran down the hill and then back at Addam.

As the Dragonkeepers came close they looked at Addam with wonder and shock and the Dragonkeeper in front of them raised his hand, signalling him to stop.

“Sōvēs!” the Dragonkeeper shouted at Addam.

“What?” Addam asked.

“Sōvēs, Ao mittys! Sōvēs sir! Sōvēs!” The Dragonkeeper shouted waving his arms up and down.

“What in seven hells is Sōvēs?” Addam asked.

“Skoros ēza māzigon toliot ao, lēkia? Ao jaelagon zirȳla naejot sōvegon?” one of the other Dragonkeepers asked the one shouting sōvēs .

“Embrorbrion ēza iderēbagon zirȳla. Issa iā kipagīros,” the lead Dragonkeeper declared.

“Mēre hen laehurlion isse zaldrīzedruo,” another Dragonkeeper said.

“istis sagon,” said another.

Eventually, the five Dragonkeepers returned their attention to Addam.

“Fly! Sōvēs means fly! Give him the command!” one of the younger Dragonkeepers shouted to Addam, speaking in the common tongue.

“Sōvēs?” Addam repeated unconfidently.

“No! You must command him! Say it as an order!” the Dragonkeeper yelled.

Addam didn’t understand why the Dragonkeepers were helping him or why he was trusting them, but he did as they bid, perhaps fearing that if he refused them and tried to get down from Seasmoke, they would kill him anyway.

“Sōvēs, Seasmoke!” Addam shouted in a commanding voice.

With that, Seasmoke roared, flapped his wings and leapt up

Addam felt like he was about to be shaken off the saddle, but dug his legs into the saddle’s curves and leaned forward over the leather padded stump, grabbing hold of the two handles in front of it.

Seasmoke flapped himself into the air and then began to soar forward over the grassland of Driftmark.

“Woaah!” Addam cried as he clung on for dear life as Seasmoke sored forward.

Hopefully, Addam’s experience keeping his balance and holding fast during sea storms would prepare him for riding a dragon.

Seasmoke continued to flap his wings, climbing higher and higher into the sky and then spread out his wings and let the wind carry him forward.

The air was flying into Addam’s face as strong as the sea winds, his dreadlocked hair fluttering like a flag behind him.

Addam eventually summoned up the courage to look down and saw the vast grassy plains of Driftmark on one side and the great blue water of the blackwater on the other side.

Everything seemed so small from up high, like the view from the crow’s nest of one of his mother’s cogs but even greater.

Addam was astounded and amazed by what he saw below, it was as though his view of the entire world had changed forever.

If his heart was not racing so quickly and his senses not so strongly alive, he might have thought he was dreaming.

Even while up in the air, he was having trouble reconciling the reality of actually being up in the air and riding Seasmoke. He’d pondered and fantasised about such things so many times but in his heart he never truly believed it would ever happen and yet there he was.

As Seasmoke continued to fly forward, they began gaining down towards Hull and Driftmark Castle.

Suddenly Addam became worried that if he was seen riding Seasmoke, it would cause an uproar in the town.

“Alright, Seasmoke! Land!” Addam commanded, but the dragon did not respond.

Addam wondered if Seasmoke couldn’t hear him over the wind.

“Land!” Addam repeated but the dragon refused to listen.

Just then Addam realised that he didn’t know how to tell Seasmoke to land in valyrian.

“Oh f*ck!” Addam uttered to himself, realising he had no way of telling Seasmoke where to go.

“Go back, Seasmoke! Back!” he shouted in futility.

Addam looked around the saddle for something to use to give Seasmoke a signal to stop.

Addam then spotted two long leather cords tied to the saddle that connected to the thick metal bolts he often saw on Seasmoke’s lower neck.

Reins , Addam thought to himself.

The young fisherman grabbed the two reins and pulled on the left one, hoping it would bring the great big dragon to bank left.

The action worked for a fleeting moment as he began to turn, but as Seasmoke banked left he leaned on his side and Addam almost fell out of his saddle, snatching hold of one of the handles beyond the stump.

“Wooah! f*ck! f*ck! f*ck!”

As Seasmoke levelled out, Addam slid back into his seat and clutched onto both handles and squeezed the saddle seat between his thighs, too terrified to let go.

Addam’s entire body felt like a hundred thousand fishooks were prodding him all over his body and he could feel the rapid thump of his heartbeat in the veins of his neck.

When Addam looked up, he saw that not only had Seasmoke corrected his position to a horizontal flight, but also corrected his course back towards Hull and it seemed at some point during Addam’s failed attempt to rein Seasmoke in, they’d descended closer to the rooftop level of the town.

Addam took a deep breath a peered his eyes as his entire body tensed up, hoping to whatever gods were listening that Seasmoke wouldn’t crash into the the town.

As Seasmoke speared through the skies over Hull, Addam could hear the screams and cries of those below as they ran and ducked for cover in the streets.

“Sorry!” Addam shouted out to the townsfolk as if it were some conciliation for bringing a dragon flying over the town.

Seasmoke seemed to know what he was doing, soaring and flapping his wings over the rooftops and always adjusting himself left and right so neither his feet nor his wings ever hit anything, but Addam feared that sooner or later, the dragon would hit something.

“Up Seasmoke! Up! We need to go higher!” Addam shouted, but as usual, Seasmoke wouldn’t listen.

Addam took a deep breath and grabbed hold of both reins once again and pulled back, sending Seasmoke flying upward away from the houses.

As Addam felt Seasmoke begin to pull to the left again, he released the reins and grabbed onto the handles once more.

Once again, Seasmoke banked, circling around as he continued to climb the air with the flap of his wings, but this time Addam held tight and was not almost thrown from the saddle.

Addam then saw Driftmark castle come into view as Seasmoke circled towards it and for a moment Addam clenched up as he feared the dragon would crash into it, but just as Seasmoke came close to the walls he soared cleanly over them, or so Addam had thought until he felt Seasmoke shake like a dingy that had just crashed into another and when Addam looked down from the saddle, he saw some of the bricks of the battlements along the walls of Driftmark fly down to the ground having been knocked loose by the kick of Seasmoke’s foot.

“Oh, sh*t,” Addam grunted to himself.

Seasmoke continued to fly, banking east of his own accord and flying out to the open sea.

For a while, Seasmoke flew over the sea along the coast of Driftmark as they continued further east until finally they passed the eastern shore of Driftmark and continued on out to the open sea.

After a short while, when Addam glanced back, he saw Driftmark shrink smaller and smaller in the distance until it was almost gone, which terrified him.

Addam knew nothing of the valyrian language except how to make Seasmoke fly and could not properly control the dragon with its reins, leaving him stranded in the sky and at the mercy of Seasmoke’s will.

For all Addam knew, by the time they landed, they would be in darkest Asshai in the Far East.

Addam’s fears quickly subsided as another island began to grow in size on the horizon as he approached it.

As Seasmoke ushered Addam towards the island, he wondered for a moment what Island it was, but then he realised that only one island was so close to Driftmark to its east… Dragonstone.

As Addam and Seasmoke got closer, he could see the details of the island more clearly.

The large dark austere castle, similar in design to the old Driftmark Castle that Seasmoke had knocked the battlements off; the great big smoking mountain which Addam assumed was the Dragonmount; the cluster of anchored ships with black Targaryen sails and blue Velaryon sails.

Then Addam saw screeching silhouettes of what he thought were seagulls, but quickly realised were too big to be such and then realised were dragons.

Addam became ensnared in pure awe as he got closer, seeing the dragons in more detail. He had never seen so many dragons before, come to think of it he had never seen more than one dragon before.

More than just dragons, the Targaryens were down there on the island.

The faces that Addam had seen in the dream flashed before his eyes and he wondered if this was the day he met Rhaenyra Targaryen, the woman in the dark steel crown shaped in the three-headed dragon.

As a sailor, Addam was naturally somewhat of a superstitious man but had never been what people would call spiritual, but now with all that had happened, Addam was developing a stronger and stronger belief in destiny.

All Addam had to do now was wait for Seasmoke to land on the island.

When Seasmoke got close to the island, he began to get lower and Addam believed he meant to land, but instead, Seasmoke began to soar and dive through the air, flying low over the island close to the ground.

“No, Seasmoke! Land! Land dammit!” Addam shouted again in futility.

Seasmoke then climbed through the air and came close to the castle, almost taking the heads off some guards standing on the battlements.

“What is wrong with you?” Addam shouted, confused by Seasmoke’s erratic behaviour.

As Seasmoke banked again, coming close to one of the walls of the castle, Addam could see some people standing on a balcony.

As Addam came close he shouted out with all his might “How do you land this thing!”

But he was gone before he could hear a reply if there even was one.

Seasmoke continued on away from the castle and after flying along the island for a bit, he went out to the open sea again.

“No! Take me back Seasmoke! Take me back!” Addam shouted.

Seasmoke continued on out to the open waters and now Dragonstone was starting to disappear in the distance behind him.

For a while, Seasmoke continued to soar over the sea and Addam became terrified again as he did not know his destination.

Nothing that Addam had done to control Seasmoke had worked so he chose to remain still and silent and wait out the ride.

Eventually, after a short while, Addam could see land in the distance, not an island but instead the mainland.

Grass-covered hills beyond a beach spanning from one side to the other.

If Addam had to guess, Seasmoke had brought him to Cracklaw Point.

As Seasmoke approached the beach, he began to slow, circling a point on the beach and then flapping his wings as he came in for a landing.

When Seasmoke settled onto the beach surface, Addam began to dismount the dragon, every joint in his body buckling and every muscle aching.

As Addam began his trembly descent down from Seasmoke’s saddle, he lost his grip halfway down and landed on his back in the yellow sand of the beach.

After lying there for a moment, Addam tried to scramble to his feet, falling over twice before finding his footing, though his legs were like a newborn baby lamb.

Addam then walked a fair distance away from Seasmoke before turning about face to look at the silvery-grey dragon.

“What in seven hells was that?!” Addam asked angrily.

Seasmoke looked at him with a blank expression, not understanding his words.

“Where the hell were you trying to take me?! You almost bucked me off half a hundred times! I told you to land a hundred f*cking times but you wouldn’t listen!” Addam shouted.

Seasmoke remained silent, looking down at his rider and tilting his head.

“You know what! I’m going back to Driftmark! You stay here! This was a stupid idea in the first place!” Addam declared angrily as he began to storm off.

Seasmoke began to crawl forward on his legs and wings behind Addam causing him to turn around and raise his hand.

‘No! You stay! Stay here! I don’t know what stay is in valyrian but f*cking stay!” Addam commanded.

Seasmoke seemed to get the message and remained where he was as Addam stormed off.

Addam marched down the beach, further and further away from his dragon, hoping he’d find a town, or fishing village close by.

As Addam continued to walk, he heard Seasmoke’s howls from behind him but ignored them.

When Addam made it far enough away that he could only faintly see Seasmoke in the distance, he looked on ahead and could only see the beach continuing on into the distance ahead of him, completely deserted.

The young sailor from Hull sighed, turned around, retraced his steps along the beach and returned to the dragon, who sat waiting for him.

When Addam got close to Seasmoke’s snout he began to gently stroke it as he had done so many times before.

“I’m sorry,” Addam said softly as he sighed.

“That wasn’t fair of me. You couldn’t understand a word I was saying… you still don’t. I asked you to fly and you flew.”

Seamoke nudged Addam with his head again making his new rider smile.

“I know it must have been hard these last few years, without Ser Laenor. But I’m here now, I’m here for you, boy,” Addam declared softly

“I’m here for you.”

At that moment Addam heard a powerful and melodic high-pitched howl on the winds that drew his and Seasmoke’s attention.

Addam and his dragon glanced up to the clouds and saw a yellow dragon soaring through the air.

The dragon flapped its wings and came closer, landing on the beach a short distance away from Addam and Seasmoke.

The yellow dragon was differently shaped to Seasmoke, especially its head, sleeker with longer and straighter horns and a more pronounced snout.

The rider dismounted the unknown dragon and walked out perhaps twenty paces ahead of the dragon. Addam responded in kind, stepping out roughly twenty paces ahead of Seasmoke but a greater distance was still between the two of them than with their dragons.

From a distance, Addam could see the rider was a woman with white hair tied back, dressed in a dark dress with tight sleeves and already Addam had a good idea of who he was looking at.

After a moment, the woman began to walk towards Addam while he stood in place.

As the woman drew nearer, her face became clearer and Addam recognised her more and more.

When she was perhaps ten paces away from Addam, he was now certain that she was the woman Addam had seen sitting on the throne in his dream wearing the dark steel dragon crown.

And while Addam had only ever seen her face before in a dream he knew her name, for there was only one person she could possibly be, Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The way she looked at him, the way he was probably looking at her, it was like a look between two old friends who had not seen each other in years.

At that moment, Addam was certain that the dream he had was the same as hers and that they had been looking for each other long before their meeting.

Overwhelmed by all that had happened that day, his flight with Seasmoke, his confirmation of his place in the dragon dream of the Targaryens, his new sense of destiny and purpose in the world, it was all so much.

The look between the two individuals required no words or explanations in those first few powerful moments.

Addam thought desperately about what to say to her until he found the only words he could think of.

Addam dropped to his knee and bowed his head.

“My Queen,” he said solemnly, letting the Targaryen woman hear his voice for the first time.

Chapter 8: Converging Paths

Chapter Text

Nettles had been on a ship a hundred times during her time as Merlida’s ward, voyaging to and from the Free Cities as well as the ports of White Harbour, Gulltown, Duskendale, Tarth and even as far as Saath and Morosh a few times, and yet for the first time in years Nettles was feeling greensick.

The sway of the tides rocked her belly making her nauseous and uncomfortable in a way it hadn’t since she first started to develop her sea-legs.

But this was not a normal sea voyage, rather than standing on the deck of one of Merlida’s merchant cogs, Nettles was bellow decks in the captain’s cabin of a galley bearing Targaryen sails.

After her argument that morning with Merlida about her stubborn desire to remain on Driftmark in spite of the dreams they had and the benefits of sailing to Valyria, Nettles went into town with Alyn to look for Addam.

Their search was in vain until they saw the dragon Seasmoke swooping through the air sending the town into an uproar.

Alyn and Netty only saw bits of Seasmoke’s low fly over Hull and while they did see what looked like a person on the dragon’s saddle they didn’t even consider it could have been Addam until a handful of people who had been closer to Seasmokes swoop identified him.

Within the hour, the whole town was in an uproar about Addam and Seasmoke with Alyn and Nettles hiding in the Mouse House with Merlida and the others, just as confused and as filled with questions as everyone else.

Everyone who knew Addam best was sceptical about Addam being a dragon rider, but Nettles and Alyn would look at one another with concerned expressions.

They had shared a dragon dream, which made them wonder what else they could do.

Later, the five dragonkeepers who came to the island to collect Seasmoke and their guards came to their door, brought to them by the townsfolk who identified Addam as the dragon’s rider.

They sat down and asked many questions, or at least the younger ones did, translating for the two eldest ones who only spoke Valyrian but seemed to understand the common tongue fairly well.

They asked about Addam’s linage, his history, who he was and where he came from, what he did and how long he had been affiliated with Seasmoke, the latter question being one that none of them knew for as far as any of them were aware, Addam had never even seen Seasmoke before, other than one story that he told them years ago about how the dragon stole an impressively large haul of fish he had caught from him, but no one believed it to be true. As always, Marilda remained very reserved about the parentage of her boys, not daring to incur the wrath that might dwell within the heart of the Princess Rhaenys and her dragon.

By midday, a second Targaryen ship arrived at Hull adding more guards along with one of the former Kingsguard knights sworn to the Princess Rhaenyra, Ser Lorent Marbrand.

The knight arrived at the Mouse House, telling the Dragonkeepers to return to Dragonstone and then called on Merlida, Alyn and Nettles by name, commanding them to follow him by order of Princess Rhaenyra and Lord Corlys.

The three of them were led through the streets of Hull, surrounded by Targaryen men-at-arms as they passed the gawking townsfolk who gossiped amongst themselves in hushed voices.

As they walked, Nettles felt a sore lump in her throat and her heart thumped in her chest, seeming to quicken with every step she took.

It was the sheer mystery and confusion of the situation that made her so afraid. She was overwhelmed by how little she knew, scared and confused.

None of them would dare ask Ser Lorent a question, perhaps too scared of what answers he might give.

The one thing that Nettles had pieced together was that what everyone was saying about Addam must have been true. It was far beyond coincidence that half of Hull swore to have seen Addam flying Seasmoke off towards Dragonstone and half a day later, a ship from Dragonstone arrived bringing a Kingsguard knight who was seeking Alyn, Nettles and Marilda out by name.

The Kingsguard knight brought the three of them onto the ship he arrived on and put them in the captain’s cabin.

Then the two Targaryen galleys, one that transported them and the other that transported the Dragonkeepers, set sail taking them both away from Hull and off towards Dragonstone.

Alyn, Nettles and Merlida remained silent and nervous through most of the journey.

There was nothing left to say between them really, for none of them had answers, only more and more questions.

Nettles sat on the edge of the captain’s bed, arching up the heel of her left foot up onto the ball and bouncing her leg nervously.

Alyn paced back and forth and around in circles and fidgeted his hands, resting them on his hips, crossing and uncrossing them and running them through the shaved sides of his dreadlocked hair.

Marilda remained silent and as still as a statue, looking out the window of the cabin to the waves of the Blackwater as they carried the galley across the channel between Driftmark and Dragonstone.

As they got closer and closer to the island, Nettles got more nervous and nervous.

Netty was no expert on dragons, but if she had to guess, she’d say that if someone who wasn’t a Targaryen or a close relation rode a dragon, it would be heretical like a commoner sitting the Iron Throne.

If Addam had truly managed to mount Seasmoke, he might have incurred the wrath of the Targaryens, especially Lord Corlys's wife if they discovered what strain of Valyrian blood Addam came from.

For months they’d been romanticising their dream of standing alongside the Targaryens in the city of Valyria, but what if they did not see it the same way? What if they saw them as a threat? Challengers to their power that needed to be swatted out?

What if they were being sailed right into their own executions?

A while later, the uncomfortably long silence was interrupted by the sound of voices above deck.

Though she could not make out the words being shouted, Nettles had been sailing with Marilda long enough to know by their tone what they were shouting, land had been sighted.

They were finally gaining down on Dragonstone, soon they would dock and who knows what would happen next?

A few minutes later the former kingsguard knight came and told them they would be arriving soon and a few minutes after that they watched from the windows as the ship they were on navigated an anchored fleet of ships.

A great armada of ships with sails marked with the sigils of the Targaryens, Velaryons and some other lesser houses.

There were no sails marked with the sigils of Celtigar, Massey, Bar Emmon or any of Princess Rhaenyra’s other great supporters, which only made Nettles wonder how grand the fleet would be when it was at full strength.

The decks of the ships were filled with sailors, tending to ship chores, talking with each other or fishing with rods hanging off the hull railings of their vessels.

Soon, the ship they were on dropped anchor and Ser Lorent returned to collect them.

The three of them were escorted above deck where Nettles could properly see the vast armada of ships around them and when she turned her head, the great island of Dragonstone stood before her.

From the deck of the ship off the coast from the island, the second seat of the Targaryens looked grim and menacing. The coast was black and rocky, the air seemed to have a light haze to it and seated upon a hill was the castle of Dragonstone, a rough and austere fortress with a strangely beautiful sense of brutality to it.

Nettles had never seen the island up close before, their trading cogs always giving a wide birth to the island of the dragons whenever they passed it sailing in and out of the Blackwater.

Something that took Nettles a moment to notice were the eerie howls in the wind that seemed like the distant echo of the sound made when a canvas sail was aggressively ripped and then came a purring high-pitched wail, also carried on the wind.

It was not until Nettles saw the distant shapes of snakes with batlike wings flapping and soaring through the air that she finally knew what the sounds were, the roaring of dragons.

Nettles had only ever seen dragons a handful of times in her life and always from a very great distance away, though sometimes she thought she saw a dragon but later realised it was a seagull.

When Addam and Seasmoke swooped over the rooftops of Hull and knocked a chunk of the battlements from Driftmark castle, it was the closest Nettles had ever seen a dragon and the first time one was close enough for her to see in detail, however brief it was.

Now, later the same day, she was looking upon the distant shapes of at least a dozen dragons flying through the sky.

Nettles’s entrancement with the sight of the dragons was broken when Ser Lorent ushered them forward a ladder on the side of the hull leading them down to a dinghy.

One by one, Alyn, Marilda and Nettles climbed into the boat, shared with Ser Lorent and a handful of men-at-arms and they were rowed to shore.

Rowing out from the second Targaryen ship that had returned from Hull with them was another dinghy carrying the Dragonkeepers.

When the two dinghies reached the shore, they all climbed out of their boats and landed on the wet sandy beach of the island.

From there, they were led by the guards to a flight of stone steps that led up to a gatehouse situated in a gap between a tall sheer and jagged wall of rocks.

On either side of the gates were two large stone dragon skulls standing guard over the island.

Two guards who manned the gates pushed the double doors open revealing a long narrow winding stone bridge that stretched over the cliffs and jagged rocks of the island and led up to the castle.

Ser Lorent led them on and they crossed the bridge, the sound of the gate closing behind them sending a terrorsome feeling into Nettles's gut for she felt that the point of no return had finally been crossed.

It was a long walk across the twisting and turning bridge with the steps rising gradually as they climbed higher and higher towards the castle.

Eventually, they crossed and reached the great and tall gates of the fortress walls which brought them into the courtyard of the Dragonstone castle.

The courtyard was filled with knights and soldiers training, servants carrying baskets and boxes and a smithy under a veranda roof.

Targaryen banners hung from the walls and more soldiers and crossbowmen patrolled the battlements.

When they entered the courtyard, many of the castle dwellers looked to Nettles, Alyn and Marilda, gossiping and whispering to one another as the townsfolk of Hull had done as they were escorted down to the ships.

“This way, please,” said Ser Lorent, leading them inside the castle while the dragonkeepers and some of the guards went off in their own directions.

The dark stone halls were grim and gloomy, lit by braisers and torches clutched by dragon-shaped wall sconces.

Even for a place like Dragonstone, the castle seemed rather hollow with very few ornaments, statues, tapestries or even Targaryen banners, but perhaps they were all packed away in preparation for their voyage to Valyria.

They didn’t pass many servants through the halls, corridors and stairways as they walked, leaving only the eerie echo of their own footsteps to haunt Nettles’s suspenseful thoughts as they walked through the castle closer and closer to their unknown fate.

Eventually, they were led into a very large audience chamber where a group of well-dressed highborns were assembled and occupying the middle of the room was a great table carved in the shape of the continent of Westeros.

After a moment, Nettles realised that it was the great painted table of legend, carved by Aegon the Conqueror in preparation for his campaign to unite all of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Princess,” Ser Lorent greeted, bowing his head as he stepped forward to the small group of highborns ahead of them.

When Nettles looked past the knight to the group of Highborns, she froze up and her eyes widened as though she’d just been surprised by a silent flash of lighting in the sky.

Standing amidst the group of highborns was a silver-haired woman, not just a woman but the woman.

The woman from the dream whom they saw sitting upon a throne of dragonglass wearing a dark rippled steel crown of a three-headed dragon with ruby eyes.

Her face was unmistakable but her attire was different.

There was no crown, instead just her beautiful pale hair pulled back from her face into braids while the rest hung down her back, neat and straightly brushed.

She wore a black high-collared coat dress clasped with gold dragons down the front and decorated with black fabric dragon scales on the shoulders.

Just as they had surmised, it really was Princess Rhaenyra they saw in their dream, beyond any doubt it truly was her.

She was standing over the painted table looking down at some pages of paper spread out over it when they entered and what was even more shocking was the person standing right next to her.

Not dressed in fancy clothing, just boots, grey trousers, a dark blue laced-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and a leather girdle belt wrapped around his waist carrying a dagger.

The man looked to Nettles, Alyn and Marilda and smiled as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

Addam, Nettles thought to herself, relieved and also disbelieving to see him alive, for all day she’d carried around the sick feeling that he had either been thrown from Seasmoke’s back into the sea, eaten by the dragon or killed by the Targaryens for daring to steal a dragon.

But he was alive and well and standing by Princess Rhaenyra’s side.

When Ser Lorent had the attention of those assembled in the room, he stood to the side and showed Marilda, Nettles and Alyn for all to see.

“May I present to you, Lady —er— Meri — Captain … Marilda of… Hull. Her son, Alyn and her — ward— Nettles” Ser Lorent introduced, clearly unversed on how to introduce untitled commoners in court.

Before Ser Lorent was even finished talking, Addam left the Princess’s side, walked right up to them and hugged his mother.

“You finally arrived,” he said with a smile.

“Thank the mother, you’re safe,” Meridla said as she clung desperately to her firstborn.

When Marilda released Addam from her grip he turned and hugged Alyn and Nettles.

“What in seven hells is going on?” Nettles asked Addam in a hushed voice.

In the span of one day, Addam had gone out for a walk, returned to Hull on the back of a dragon, flown off after accidentally attacking Driftmark castle and a former kingsguard knight had escorted the three of them to Dragonstone to meet the disinherited heir to the Iron Throne whom they had seen a little over a month ago in a shared dream.

“I can hardly believe it myself,” Addam explained with a laugh trailing off his words.

“What the f*ck were you thinking climbing onto a dragon’s back?” Marilda asked in a scolding voice as she slapped her son’s arm.

“It wasn’t intentional. I went to say goodbye to Seasmoke and then the dragonkeepers came over the hill shouting at me and I thought they were trying to kill me. I thought it was the only way to escape,” Addam explained.

“What do you mean you went to say goodbye to Seasmoke? How do you know Ser Laenor Velaryon’s dragon?” Marilda asked.

Addam looked at the three perplexed faces gawking at him.

“Alyn, do you remember a couple years back when I told you about how I went fishing down by the dunes and caught the biggest haul of fish I’d ever seen all on my own?” Addam asked.

Alyn rolled his eyes and nodded.

“Yes, yes yes. Arin, Josed and I told you that you were full of horsesh*t, but you insisted it was true, but when we told you to show us the fish you said it was conveniently eaten by a —” Alyn’s eyes went as wide and as big as a tuna fish.

“Oh f*ck, you weren't lying!” Alyn realised.

Addam smiled and nodded.

“Over the years, I’d go down to the beaches, the dunes and the moors and watch Seasmoke from afar, as the years went on, he let me get closer and closer. Now he lets me pet him and feed him fish and as of today, he even lets me ride him,” Addam explained.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Nettles asked, slapping Addam’s arm.

For a little over a month, Nettles and Alyn had been trying to figure out why three random lowly sailors like them would receive the dragon dream of the Targaryens, all the while Addam was hiding the fact that he had a dragon as a pet.

“Because I thought you might rat me out to Mother and I knew if she found out she’d forbid me from seeing Seasmoke again,” Addam explained.

Marilda slapped Addam’s arm three more times, angrily.

It took a moment before the four smallfolk sailors from Hull realised that Princess Rhaenyra was standing in front of them, smiling with amusem*nt as she patiently waited for the familial bickering to cease.

Marilda dropped to her knees with Alyn and Nettles following their lead.

“Oh please, forgive us for our impertinence, my Princess!” Marilda begged as she dropped down.

“No, no, please. There is no need for that,” the Princess said, urging them back to their feet.

“You are here as my honoured guests and I take no offence at you prioritising the safety and well-being of your son over courtly customs. In fact, I admire it in you,” she said with a smile.

“Princess Rhaenyra. My mother, Marilda the Mouse, the best ship’s captain in all of Driftmark — bar Lord Corlys of course,” Addam said, glancing over to a tall man in dark blue clothing and a sleeveless open robe with long white dreadlocked hair.

Corlys Velaroyn, the Sea Snake.

Everyone on Driftmark knew his name, not only because he was their liege lord, but also because he was a legend amongst sailors, the great mariner of the nine voyages who brought Driftmark to such wealth and power that they supplanted the Lannisters and Hightowers in their fortune.

He looked as he had appeared in the dragon dream but Nettles did not match the face to the name until now. His resemblance to Alyn and Addam was striking to the point Nettles wondered what good Alyn's razor did to hide his features by shaving his head clean.

“And this is my brother Alyn and my — foster sister — Nettles,” Addam introduced.

When Princess Rhaenyra’s eyes fell upon Nettles, her skin tingled and inside her mind, she was squealing with anxiety and excitement. Nettles was just a common-born daughter of a whor* who had been theiving in the back alleys and market places of Spicetown and Hull all her life and yet now she was standing before the woman who was almost Queen of the entire country and surrounded by some of the most extraordinary men and women of her lifetime on an island of Kings and Dragonlords with the most powerful creatures in the world flying around above them in the skies outside.

Who in all the heavens and hells was Nettles to be among them? Who was she that the Princess of Dragonstone would even know her name? Not even a proper name, just the plural of an ugly little stinging plant, what her mother was thinking when she named her, Netty couldn’t imagine.

The smiling Princess took both Alyn and Nettles’s hands.

“It is so very wonderful to meet both of you again and properly this time,” the Princess said kindly.

“Forgive me, Princess. Do you mean to say we’ve met each other before?” Alyn asked nervously.

“I’d like to think so, in a manner of speaking. We all shared the same dragon dream and all saw each other’s faces, I would say that perhaps constitutes as our first meeting,” Princess Rhaenyra explained.

Nettles and Alyn smiled and nodded.

“Of course,” Nettles agreed.

“And it is a pleasure to meet you, Captain Marilda. Your son and Lord Corlys have both told me great things about you,” Princess Rhaenyra explained.

“And all of them true,” the Sea Snake declared joining the conversation.

Marilda’s eyes widened and her expression darkened as the Velaryon Lord came close.

“Though I feel I would be remiss if I did not amend your son Addam’s statement about myself being the best ship’s captain in all of Driftmark over you. It was never a secret you were always a finer mariner than I, Mouse,” the Lord the Tides declared in a soft and kind voice.

“It’s good to see you, Snake,” Marilda said softly, though her words seemed slightly sad and reluctant.

Mouse and Snake, Nettles thought. Marilda had said she knew the Sea Snake and it was no secret that her father, Aldym the Shipwright, was the master craftsman behind some of Lord Corlys’s best ships, including the famed ship from where he got his nickname, the Sea Snake. Her connection to Lord Corlys from which Alyn and Addam were sired on the other hand was a secret, but a poorly kept one at that. But Nettles did not realise how informally close they were to refer to one another by nicknames, she refused to ever speak of the Sea Snake making Netty think it was just a brief affair, but it seemed their relationship was steeped in a much more complex history.

There seemed to be an awkward tension between the two, with them struggling to look at one another for obvious reasons. Even Addam and Alyn seemed nervous, their parents who denied having ever having done the deeds that sired each of them standing in the same room looking to one another.

“I see you’ve met my eldest, Addam,” Marilda stated, breaking the silence.

“Yes. Flying over Dragonstone on Seasmoke was quite the first impression and when Princess Rhaenyra brought him to the castle, imagine my surprise to find out he was your boy,” Corlys said, speaking affably though with a hint of nervousness in his tone.

“Lord Corlys had many things to say about you and of grandfather. You never told us you were so close with the Velaryons,” Addam said.

“It was a long time ago,” Marilda declared sternly.

Again things became quiet and tense until Corlys cleared his throat to speak

“And this strapping young lad must be Alyn,” Corlys surmised, reaching out and shaking the younger brother’s hand.

“Neither of you will probably remember this, but I actually met you both when you were but tots in your swaddling clothes, neither of you much older than three years old,” Corlys declared.

Addam and Alyn both smiled awkwardly but Mairlda remained cold and looked away.

The smile melted off Corlys’s face as he noticed Marilda’s sour disposition.

“I was sorry to hear about your father, Mouse. Aldym was one of the greatest men I ever knew. A true friend and mentor and very much the reason I became the man I am today,” Corlys explained.

Marilda managed a faint smile and nodded.

“He was always very proud of you, Snake. Your nine great voyages brought such great joy to his heart. He always knew you were destined for great things, ever since he made that very first fishing boat for you when you were a lad,” Marilda explained.

Lord Corlys smirked.

“The Cod Queen was a fine ship. The first of many great works your father built for me.”

Marilda and Corlys shared a smile for a tender moment, but Mouse then frowned again.

“I never got the chance to say I was sorry to hear about your children. I only met them those few times, but they were a sweet pair of ankle biters,” Marilda stated.

“That they were,” Corlys said with a sad smile.

“Vaemond passed recently as well,” Corlys explained.

“I heard. Not sorry about that one,” Marilda said rather bluntly.

All eyes fell on Marilda, surprised by how callously she’d spoken of Vaemond’s passing.

“What?” she asked with a shrug.

“You lot should have heard how he talked down to my father, me and our shipwrights, even when he was a young man. Corlys will tell you,” Marilda declared.

The Sea Snake nodded.

“Yes… my brother was a— difficult man to say the least,” Corlys agreed.

“Difficult,” Marilda snorted.

“There’s a synonym for c*nt I’ve never heard before.”

A confident laugh rose up from the group of highborns assembled around the painted table.

Nettles's eyes drifted to the one who laughed.

Another familiar face that she had seen in the dream.

In the dream, he stood closer to the throne than anyone else.

A tall and thin man with shoulder-length silver hair slicked back and dressed in dark garments.

He had a wicked smile, slightly gaunt yet handsome features and dark foreboding eyes.

In the dream, he looked a bit different with his brow adorned with a coronet in the shape of a circlet made from two overlapping steel bands.

There was something about the man that stood out to Nettles, something almost familiar but she was certain she’d never seen his face before the dream.

“My husband, Prince Daemon. I’m sure you’ll recall his face from the dream,” said Rhaenyra, introducing the laughing man.

The Princess then introduced the rest of her family standing around the painted table, all of their faces recognisable from the dread.

There was Princess Rhaenys, whom Marilda knew as well with the two greeting one another as old acquaintances.

Then there were Princess Rhaenyra’s two sons, Jacaerys and Lucaerys as well as Prince Daemon’s two daughters Baela and Rhaena.

It felt to Nettles like all the pieces were falling into place and everything they’d seen in their dream was starting to take shape.

When everyone was introduced, Princess Rhaenyra once again took hold of the conversation.

“There are some pages I would like to show you three,” she said, leading Marilda, Nettles and Alyn to where she had been standing at the painted table.

Nettles could then see the pages of paper spread out on the table, now able to properly see them to be drawings.

Not just any drawings, but portrait sketches of Addam, Alyn, Nettles and three other individuals who were standing with them and the royal party on the dias closest to the throne in the dragon dream.

Nettles held up her drawing and examined it, Marilda and Alyn equally perplexed by the drawings.

The sketch of Nettles was not exact but fairly close, though the scar across her nose was a bit too thick and not as faded.

“It’s us,” Nettles said, looking at the pages wondrously.

“It is,” Princess Rhaenyra agreed with a smile.

“Princess Rhaenyra was showing these to me. They had some draftsmen mock them up a few days ago,” Addam explained.

“We have been desiring to find you just as you have been looking for us,” the Princess explained.

Marilda looked down at the two pictures of her sons with a gloomy look.

She then glanced over to Princess Rhaenyra.

“Forgive me, Princess. But I must ask. What is it that you desire from my family?” she asked.

Rhaenyra smiled at Marilda and then looked at Alyn, Addam and Nettles.

“I would like your help,” Princess Rhaenyra explained.

Marilda seemed anxious and unsure about what to say next.

“I do not know what help we would be, Princess. We are but humble merchants,” she said, seeming to be stubbornly naive in the face of all that had happened.

The look in Rhaenyra’s eyes seemed sympathetic as though she somehow understood Marilda’s frame of mind.

She affectionately rested a hand on Marilda’s shoulder and smiled once again.

“It has been a long day for you and your family. Why don’t you take leave in our guest chambers and perhaps we might discuss this matter in greater detail at dinner.”

Marilda nodded and the guards led them from the hall.

Once again Nettles was escorted through the dark eerie halls of Dragonstone, but no longer was she consumed by anxiety and fear, but instead hope, ambition, aspiration and a desire to seek out whatever destiny was being brought to them through the dream.

The howl of a dragon caught Nettles's ear from outside and she smiled, wondering just how similar a role to Addam she would play in Rhaenyra’s coming Valyria.

Chapter 9: Feasts and Agreements

Chapter Text

It was almost time for the dinner with their guests from Hull.

The sun had set and the dining chamber was being set up for the feast.

Rhaenyra had already switched to one of her black and gold formal gowns for the special occasions and had instructed that Captain Marilda and her children be given a variety of formal attire to choose from.

Before heading off for dinner, there was a pressing matter that required Rhaenyra’s attention first, bedtime.

After getting dressed, Rhaenyra went to the nursery where the wet nurses were tending to young Aegon, Gaemon and Viserys, all dressed in their white night clothes.

The Princess relieved the wet nurses and tucked the two older boys into their twin beds separated by a nightstand between them.

She sat on the edge of Aegon’s bed for a few minutes and listened to them recount all they had done during the day.

Just as Rhaenyra had hoped, Gaemon was becoming as close with Aegon, Joff and Viserys as if he were one of their brothers, a bond she wished to see grow as the years went on.

She also hoped the same would happen for Addam, Alyn and Nettles with them living among the Targaryens.

She had known them all for less than a day and yet she could already see in their eyes and hear in their voices the same enthusiasm and aspirations to fufil the dragon dream they had shared. The feeling of destiny that the dream was giving to all of them was something so precious and inspiring, but at the same time — for Rhaenyra at least — it was also terrifying and humbling to feel such a great weight pressed down on her shoulders and all that could be lost if they failed.

When the two boys were done regaling Rhaenyra with their exploits of the day, she then went to Viserys’s cot at the foot of Aegon and Gaemon’s beds and sat in a chair, beginning to rock him softy.

With Aegon and Gaemon getting more drowsy and Viserys almost asleep, Rhaenyra began to sing them all a lullaby to send them off to sleep.

“Drakari pykiros, tikummo jemiros, yn lantyz bartossa saelot vāedis. Hen ñuhā elēnī: Perzyssy vestretis se gēlyn irūdaks ānogrose. Perzyro udryssi, ezīmptos laehossi, hārossa letagon, aōt vāedan. Hae mērot gierūli: se hāros bartossi prūmysa sōvīli gevī dāerī.”

By the time Rhaenyra had finished, the little ones were all asleep with baby Viserys sucking on his thumb in his cot.

Rhaenyra smiled and embraced the moment of seeing her two sons and her ward sleeping so peacefully before quietly leaving the room.

She feared they might not have as many peaceful nights ahead of them, which made Rhaenyra worry.

She knew what the dragon dreams were beckoning them to do, but dragging such young children up and down the narrow sea from city to city was not a proper way to raise a child.

Rhaenyra was a year older than Joff when she went on her first royal tour with her mother Aemma to the Westerlands, though she remembered precious little of it.

Rhaenyra feared that the journey would be a bit too overwhelming for the little boys, but they would not be the only young ones on the journey, for the nobles that intended to join Rhaenyra would bring their families, as well as the entire scores of families that would follow them to Valyria as colonists.

But even more than just all the moving around as they travelled from Dragonstone to Volantis, the journey after that would only be more difficult.

No one had seen the land of Old Valyria in almost two hundred years, no expedition since the doom had ever returned and even sailors feared to so much as sail close enough to look upon the sea storms that surrounded it for fear to see such things was to be cursed, or so the superstitions went.

Rhaenyra knew not what awaited them at Valyria, but she would be a fool to assume that all dangers of the doom would not still be there waiting for them and she knew not how high a price of life was to be paid for them to succeed in their quest.

What kind of mother did that make Rhaenyra? To sail her children into unknown dangers on the whim of a dream?

After leaving the little ones, Rhaenyra went from the nursery to Joff’s chamber where he was lying in bed with Rhaenyra’s lady-in-waiting, Elinda Massey, sitting by his bedside.

Rhaenyra took Elinda’s place next to Joffrey, talked with him a short while and kissed him on the brow before singing him the same lullaby while she ran her fingers through his hair.

By the time Rhaenyra was finished signing again, Joff was peacefully sleeping.

When Rhaenyra turned her attention to the doorway where Elinda was standing, she noticed Daemon standing in the corridor behind her watching from afar.

He smiled ever so faintly as he watched Rhaenyra tend to Joff from the shadowy corridor.

Rhaenyra then softly kissed Joff on the brow and stood from his bedside, leaving the chamber with Elinda to watch over him a little while longer.

When Rhaenyra exited Joff’s chamber and joined Daemon’s side, he took her by the arm and gently led her deeper down the hall, glancing back as though to check they were not observed.

“A letter arrived from King’s Landing,” Daemon explained in a hushed voice.

The Rogue Prince then stopped in the hall and turned to face Rhaenyra and handed her a small scroll of parchment he held between his fingers.

“From Aegon,” he explained with a grim look in his eyes.

Rhaenyra sighed “From Otto or Alicent, you mean.”

The Princess unravelled the strip of paper and began to read.

My dearest sister

I hope this letter finds you well and in good spirits. The time of your departure for your grand quest to reclaim the ancient homeland of Valyria is close at hand. Know that you have the full support and prayers of all your family within the Red Keep. To honour you, I will be sending a precession from the Red Keep to Dragonstone to see you off on your grand voyage. While I will not be in attendance due to the many responsibilities of kingship, you will receive our dear brother Aemond upon Vhagar as well as my grandfather, the Hand of the King. They will see you off on your voyage and take over possession of Dragonstone after your departure.

Aegon II Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men

Rhaenyra winced with annoyance and rolled her eyes.

“The Vipers have invited themselves to our hearth,” Rhaenyra mused.

“It could be a trap,” Daemon suggested, though Rhaenyra did not concur with his paranoia and shook her head with disagreement.

“Something like this was bound to happen. Our ships from all across the Blackwater will be assembling here before we sail for Braavos. It is only natural that Otto Hightower would suspect that our purposes would be more nefarious than they actually are. I would hazard the Greens are speculating that our entire voyage to Valyria is nothing more than a ruse to allow us to assemble our allies into an armada here on Dragonstone and launch an attack on King’s Landing with all our combined ships and dragons. Otto and Aemond are bringing their soldiers and Vhagar to Dragonstone to ensure we travel east as planned and ensure we do not mean to double cross the peace accord,” Rhaenyra explained as she rolled the scroll back up.

Daemon grimaced with bitterness and glanced away.

“After all that humiliation and debasem*nt they forced us to endure at court, we now have to welcome Otto and Aemond into our home and spend the last days on Dragonstone kissing their arses?” Daemon asked, angrily.

“Otto and my brother Aemond will arrive here and we will welcome them as has been requested of us, but beyond that, we owe them nothing. They will be given ample treatment of highborns and we shall feed them and provide for their needs, but I see no reason to provide them with any ceremonious or special treatment,” Rhaenyra declared.

Daemon took a step closer to Rhaenyra.

Daemon smiled, all too happy to show Otto Hightower such a lack of courtesy when he arrived but after a moment his expression darkened and he leaned in.

“What do we tell them when they see that Seasmoke has a new rider?” Daemon asked.

Rhaenyra thought for a moment, equally concerned about how the greens would perceive the situation.

Both Otto and Aemond had been preparing for a war against their family for years and saw them all as a threat. It was the promise of travelling to Valyria that kept Otto and Aemond satisfied for both surmised that they would all perish in the doom during their journey.

If both Otto and Aemond were blindsided by a new dragonrider sworn to Rhaenyra as well as two more recruited for the same purposes, it might spark enough paranoia to set the two of them off and start a massacre on Dragonstone.

Otto Hightower's insufferable ambition for absolute power would not allow for any power in the known world to rival his own.

Rhaenyra sighed and glanced away.

“Let us not dwell on what we cannot change. We will deal with this mess later. Now, we have guests to entertain,” Rhaenyra declared, taking Daemon by the arm and leading him down the corridor.

Together Rhaenyra and Daemon made their way through the castle to the dining chamber where the long and wide table was set up with candles and places set for all their family and their guests.

It seemed that Rhaenyra and Daemon were the last to arrive with Jace and Baela chatting with Addam by the chamber’s hearth, Rhaena and Luke conversing with Nettles and Alyn and the Seasnake was speaking with Rhaenys and Marilda.

Marilda, Addam, Alyn and Nettles were cleaned up and dressed in borrowed garments and gowns. Nettles seemed to be wearing one of Baela’s dresses, Merlida wore one of Rhaenyra’s and from the looks of it, Addam and Alyn were wearing some of Daemon’s garments.

When Daemon and Rhaenyra entered, all eyes fell on them and everyone went to their seats.

Rhaenyra at the head of the table, Daemon to her right, Rhaenys on her left, then Corlys next to Rhaenys, Jace next to Daemon and the rest of the children down either side with Addam, Alyn and Nettles near the far end and lastly Merilda sitting at the far end of the table from Rhaenyra.

When they were all seated comfortably, Rhaenyra felt a silence linger that she seemed obligated to break.

“Well, then. Now that we are all here let us first begin by welcoming our honoured guests, Captain Marilda of Hull and her lovely children,” Rhaenyra toasted, raising her goblet with the rest of the table following her lead.

“You honour us, Princess,” Marilda responded.

After the first sip from their respective goblets, Rhaenyra nodded to the servants standing at the ready in the corners of the chamber, signalling them to begin bringing food in.

“Have you found the chambers provided to you accommodating?” Rhaenyra asked, trying to begin a conversation with her guests.

Marilda and her three children looked at one another with surprise, Nettles and Alyn even fighting back snickers and chortles.

“Your Grace, the chambers you have offered us are far more luxurious than we humble sailors are used to. To call them accommodating would be a gross understatement,” Nettles declared.

“Oh, of course,” said Rhaenyra, realising her blunder.

Soon the servants returned to the chamber with platters of food and placed them on the table.

As they began to eat, there remained an awkward silence hovering in the air.

Rhaenyra was unsure how best to approach what they needed to discuss. Between Addam claiming Seasmoke and the dragon dream, Rhaenyra did not know how to address all that there was between them that needed to be said.

Speaking with Marilda seemed to be the most challenging subject.

From what Addam had said to her, Marilda did not believe in their shared dragon dream and stood staunchly in opposition to them joining the voyage to Valyria.

It seemed as though Addam, Alyn and Nettles all understood that Rhaenyra wished them to join the quest but Marilda was still in denial and seemed to be under the impression that they had been brought to Dragonstone simply to retrieve Addam and would soon return to their normal lives.

Rhaenyra could sympathise with Marilda in such matters, the trek to Valyria would be a blind voyage into the land that for two hundred years had been regarded as the most dangerous place in the known world.

If Rhaenyra did not feel the call of destiny from the dragon dream and her family’s position was not put in such grave danger by the Greens usurping the throne, she too would be sceptical about such a voyage.

A mother’s first duty was to guard her family and every anxiety that Marilda held against being part of Rhaenyra’s quest was one she respected and understood.

For a while, the dinner progressed with light and casual conversation, with Corlys and Marilda speaking of the Sea Snake’s early voyages and commissioning ships from her father and stories of how the old shipwright taught Corlys how to sail.

“I suppose our journey east to Old Valyria will mark your tenth and greatest voyage, grandsire,” Baela suggested.

“Here here,” Daemon praised, raising his cup with everyone else following his lead.

Rhaenyra looked to Marilda sitting across the table from her, the Mouse’s cup was raised to the Sea Snake but the look in her eyes seemed one of respect and a wish of good fortune, but she did not seem eager or confident, as though the tenth voyage would not be something that she, herself, would take part in.

The Princess wished to no longer procrastinate or obfuscate regarding the matter.

“And I should hope that your ships and crews will play an instrumental part in ensuring the success of this great voyage, Captain Marilda,” Rhaneyra announced aloud, hoping that the Mouse would not take offence at Rhaenyra’s assumption of her ships joining their journey to Valyria.

Addam, Alyn and Nettles raised their cups all too happily to be included in the voyage, but Marilda looked as though she had just been struck across the face by the back of Rhaenyra’s hand.

“Am I to understand that my crews and I are under orders to join your expedition to Old Valyria?” Marilda asked, seeming more fearful than insulted as though Rhaenyra had just sentenced them to death.

The expressions of all those seated between Rhaenyra and Marilda suddenly became uncomfortable and confused.

“Of course not, I meant no disrespect. I only wish to convey my hope that you will join us, but I would never force you to accompany us,” Rhaenyra assured her.

Marilda’s eyebrows narrowed.

“So, if I wished to take my children and return to Driftmark, you will not stand in our way?” Marilda asked.

“Mother,” Addam said sharply.

“Of course not, you are free to come and go as you please. But I would caution you on what you would face if you did not join us and what you would gain if you did,” Rhaenyra explained.

Marilda’s expression became defensive as though Rhaenyra had just threatened her, prompting Rhaenyra to quickly speak up and explain her words.

“What I mean to say, Captain Marilda is that your children, both your sons and Nettles, are clearly extraordinary children blessed with the blood of Dragonriders, hence their shared dream with us and Addam’s claiming of Seasmoke,” Rhaenyra began to explain.

“You are mistaken, Princess. My boys are no Targaryens, nor am I or their late father for that matter. Their father died at sea when Alyn was just a month old and he was just a common sailor,” Marilda stated.

Lord Crolys glanced away and frowned somberly at Marilda's words, Alyn, Addam and Nettles looked nervous as tense at the shoulders and Princess Rhaenys faintly snorted as she took a sip from his wine cup.

“Now I don’t know how Addam claimed that dragon, nor how these three had that dream, but they cannot be of any relation to your house, I’m afraid,” Marilda explained defensively.

“Maybe not of recent generations, but perhaps further back in their bloodlines,” Rhaenyra suggested, perplexing Marilda.

“For generations, ever since Aenar the Exile settled here on Dragonstone, the blood of old Valyria has been spread throughout Blackwater Bay. Young Targaryen men and sometimes women sired many bastards not only here on Dragonstone, but also Driftmark, Claw Isle and other such places. The tradition of first night was also adopted, with Targaryen dragonlords putting their seed in newlyweds on their wedding night to bless the family with a dragon-blooded child as their firstborn. Needless to say, there are thousands of people in the Crownlands with Targaryen ancestry and over time the blood of Old Valyria has diluted through the generations of these dragonseeds , but we have also theorised that when those with Targaryen ancestry reproduce amongst themselves, even if their linage is far removed from the dragon blood through generations, their progeny will inherit the dragon blood from both parents and it will grow stronger. We believe it is possible that you, somewhere in your ancestry bear the blood of a Targaryen dragon seed and whoever the boys’ father was, also carried an ounce of valyrian blood in him and in your sons, enough of the old blood came together to reignite the flame of the dragon in their line. We also believe that Nettles is of a similar nature,” Rhaenyra explained.

Addam, Nettles and Alyn seemed mesmerised by Rhaenyra’s words, as though this new discovery were a divine blessing, but Marilda remained concerned.
“If what you say is true, then why are my children so special? My late lover, Nettles’ parents and I truly all carried the blood of your house in our ancestry, so why are these three so different from the countless other dragonseeds you speak of around the Blackwater?” she asked.

Rhaenyra shrugged.

“Because your three are the only ones who have been chosen by destiny. The dragon dream that binds all of us in this room together is our beckoning to Valyria. Also, Addam’s claiming of Seasmoke is a further sign of his rightful place amongst us,” Rhaenyra explained.

“And yet you also mentioned cautioning us against staying. What is there to be cautioned of should we remain on Driftmark if we are protected by destiny?” Marilda asked.

“I believe that destiny will protect you should you follow the path it has set before you as it has for us. But should you remain on Driftmark, with Addam being a dragon rider, he will undoubtedly be seen as a threat to the power of my brother Aegon and his court. The branch of House Targaryen that remains in the Seven Kingdoms might be prompted to violence against you and your family due to the challenge of power Addam’s bond Seasmoke represents,” Rhaenyra explained.

“And yet, your house would not see my family as a threat,” Marilda surmised.

“Of course not. It is my belief that your children will be integral in the formation of our coming regime. The Freehold of Old Valyira had a thousand dragons at the height of its power. There are only fourteen dragons here on this island, ten of those dragons will accompany us to Old Valyria, eight of those ten have riders and only three of those eight are adults. If we add Addam and Seasmoke to our numbers then it becomes four claimed adults, nine riders and eleven dragons. Also, if the two unclaimed dragons, Vermithor and Silverwing, were to bond with Alyn and Nettles, that would mean all eleven of our dragons would have riders,” Rhaenyra explained.

“What about the other three dragons on the island?” Nettles asked inquisitively.

“The three wild dragons. They will not listen to us. The two younger ones, Sheepstealer and Grey Ghost, go where they please and can rarely be found or settled by the Dragonkeepers,” Daemon began.

“As for the Cannibal. He is more a monster than a dragon anymore. An unceasingly vicious beast that preys upon all that live on the island, even his own kind. No Targaryen, brave, foolish or mad enough to try and claim him has ever survived,” Princess Rhaenys explained.

“We think he’s better off being left here for the Greens to deal with rather than infesting our New Valyria,” Daemon added, smugly.

“And what praytell becomes of us in your new Valyria, Princess?” Marilda asked.

Rhaenyra smiled.

“As my loyal Dragonriders, I would see you all made landed gentries in our Valyria with positions of honour and most likely titles of nobility to accommodate them. Your names will undoubtedly be etched into the history of Valyria and your descendants will be respected as noble valyrian bloodlines like the Velaryons and Celtigars,” Rhaenyra assured them, meaning every word of it.

All eyes fell upon Marilda, waiting to hear her answer to the generous offers Rhaenyra was making and after a suspenseful pause, a deep breath and looking at the faces of her three children, Marilda raised her cup.

“Then let us toast once more, in honour of our new relationship,” she said to the glee and joy of everyone at the table.

“May the bonds of friendship between our families transcend the coming centuries of the New Valyria,” Rhaenyra toasted.

And with that, everyone drank happily.

The dinner was a happy and unstressful affair from then on with them all joyfully sharing dinner, stories and laughs into the late hours of the night.

Chapter 10: Welcoming the Greens

Chapter Text

It was the final few days before they would leave for Braavos.

Almost the entire island was just about prepared to leave Dragonstone for good with all their ships and allies from across the Blackwater just about at the ready.

The halls of Dragonstone had become like a mausoleum, stripped of all life.

After they handed the castle over to Otto and Aemond, leaving the island for good, the two traitors would be left with nothing but a sparsely decorated castle, the Conqueror’s table and whatever retinue they brought with them from the capital.

Daemon walked down the grim hollowed-out corridors of Dragonstone, overseeing the preparations for the household’s departure from the castle with only that which they needed to live there over their last few days being left in the castle.

Statues, tapestries, banners and even furniture were being collected and packed away into wooden crates to be taken down the ships and packed away.

Daemon stopped and watched as a small dragon statue of onyx black stone was being boxed away, probably not to see the light of day again until they reached Valyria.

When the two servants carried the box off, Daemon continued on through the castle, looking for his wife.

Daemon soon found a clue leading him towards the right direction when he saw Ser Harrold standing guard outside at the doorway to a courtyard balcony that overlooked the lands outside the castle.

Ser Harold may have traded his white cloak and Kingsguard armour for grey steel plate and a blood-red cloak, but he still held himself like a Kingsguard knight and stood to his role, as did his sworn brothers, all proving their merit and their loyalty, white cloaks or not.

Daemon gave a respectful nod to the knight as he passed Ser Harrold by, stepping outside to the balcony where Rhaenyra stood, her hands upon the stone fence that bordered the courtyard as she looked down.

As Daemon got closer, he heard the screeching howl of a dragon from beyond the balcony and when Daemon was but a few paces behind his wife, he could see over the balcony what Rhaenyra was watching.

Down below in the rocky grasslands beyond the castle, Seasmoke stood perched upon a hill of boulders, three dragonkeeper acolytes pointing their staffs at him from below.

Standing a little bit behind the three dragonkeepers was the young Addam of Hull, dressed in a black doublet like a proper nobleman now.

By Addam’s side was a dragonkeeper elder, presiding over Addam’s interaction with his dragon and instructing him on how to give commands to an acolyte by the elder’s side, presumably there to translate the elder’s words into the common tongue.

A little bit further back from Addam and the two dragonkeepers were Jace, Baela, Luke, Alyn and Nettles, all watching as Addam trained with Seasmoke.

“How is our new recruit fairing in his training?” Daemon asked, claiming his wife’s attention as she turned around to face him.

“Very well. He’s having a bit of trouble keeping the translations of certain words straight in his head…. But he pronounces them well and Seasmoke responds very well to him. Usually, a dragon is a bit resistant when first given commands, but his preexisting relationship with Seasmoke seems to have firmly rooted their trust for one another,” she complimented.

The pale, silvery-grey dragon snarled and snapped, but Addam raised his hand and shouted out.

“Inkot! Embrorbrion! Doharās! Lykirī… Lykirī.”

Seasmoke began to calm and recoil at Addam’s words, impressing Daemon at how quickly the young boy was adapting to his role as a dragon rider.

The elder patted his hand on Addam’s shoulder with a smile and a nod of his head.

“Gevī, Valābrītsos,” the Elder complimented.

Daemon glanced over to Addam’s brother and the girl, Nettles, the two of them watching with awe as Addam commanded the dragon as though it were the most incredible thing they’d ever seen.

“Shouldn’t those two be trying their hands at claiming Vermithor and Silverwing?” Daemon asked, wondering why the pair were simply watching Addam as he commanded Seasmoke.

Rhaenyra glanced at her husband with a confused smile.

“They are still learning how to give commands in High Valyrian, Daemon. This is the closest either of them has ever been to dragons before. They are going to observe how Addam handles Seasmoke and then when they start flying, Jace and Baela will take Alyn and Nettles on their saddles while they guide Addam during his flight,” Rhaenyra explained.

Daemon would have preferred the two youths were training a bit more aggressively and trying to form bonds with the unclaimed dragons as soon as they could, but he respected Rhaenyra’s safer method.

They may have been green and unfamiliar with Dragons, but Otto and Aemond would soon be at their gates and would not take kindly to the recruitment of the Dragonseeds as they were now being called.

If Alyn and Nettles showed some true balls and claimed the two dragons already, then Vhagar’s arrival would be met by ten dragon riders and the second largest dragon alive, Bronze Fury, at their beck and call.

Even for one as daring and as belligerent as that rogue Aemond, it would be a humbling sight and would dissuade Vhagar and Otto’s retinue from causing trouble upon their arrival.

Rhaenyra felt that Otto and Aemond’s arrival was only a precaution for fear that their voyage was but a ruse meant to disguise their gathering of a fleet intended to attack King’s Landing, but Daemon felt there was more to it.

Of all the Greens, Otto Hightower and Prince Aemond were the most keen to see Rhaenyra, Daemon and their family wiped out.

So far from King’s Landing, Otto and his men could slit their throats while they slept in the night and Aemond could turn their fleet anchored off the coast of the island into charred driftwood with Vhagar’s flames.

When the ashes settled in the water and the blood on their bedsheets dried, Otto and Aemond could write their own narrative, one where Rhaenyra and Daemon conspired to betray their oaths and lay waist to King’s Landing.

Then Otto and Aemond could rest assured that their enemies were dead, all the dragons remained unclaimed or in possession of the Greens and they could save face in the history books and call the Blacks the provocateurs.

Daemon, however, would not let such things come to pass. He had instructed the castle garrison to be on high alert when the Hightowers arrived and if Otto wished to meet them with violence, Daemon would respond in kind.

The Prince leaned over the stone fencing around the edge of the balcony, watching as Addam tested his command over Seasmoke.

The soft sounds of footsteps from behind caught Daemon and Rhaenyra’s attention and brought them to turn around.

Rhaena was approaching them, dressed in a simple dark red gown with a gold necklace and her white dreaded hair parted in the middle and tied back, flowing down past her shoulders.

“There you are, Rhaena. I was wondering where you’d gone off to,” Rhaneyra greeted as the young girl came close.

“Not down there, training with the others?” Daemon asked, nodding his head to the Dragonseeds below.

Rhaena forced a weak smile onto her face and shrugged.

“I’ve… never had much luck with dragons. Besides, the expectation thus far is that Alyn and Nettles will be the ones to claim Vermithor and Silverwing,” Rhanea explained, fiddling with her hands as she looked away.

When Rhaena was a child, she shared a crib with a dragon egg, as per Targaryen tradition, but unlike Baela’s Moondancer, Rhaena’s egg never hatched.

For a long time, Rhaena felt as though her dormant egg was somehow a mark of shame she had brought upon their house.

Daemon never wanted her to feel that way, but while he excelled at a great many things, expressing sentiment and affection was amongst his failings.

When Daemon could not find comforting words to give Rhaena, he instead remained silent which ended up painting him as cold and distant in his daughter’s eyes, despite Daemon’s wish that he didn’t.

Her mother Laena was better at talking to her and consoling her insecurities. One of the things Daemon had always admired about Laena was how she matched his dauntlessness in almost every respect and surpassed him in courage when it came to expressing her heart.

Laena had always stressed to Rhaena how she never needed to prove anything and that just because her egg would not hatch, it did not mean that she would never fly a dragon.

Rhaenyra looked to her stepdaughter sympathetically and then welcomed her to join her side as they watched over the dragon taming below.

When Rhaena was at Rhaenyra’s side, they joined hands as they watched, at this point, Addam was stroking Seasmoke’s nose affectionately.

“You are right, Vermithor and Silverwing are the only two dragons we can control and bring with us to Valyria and with Alyn and Nettles matching the pair, many have assumed that they are meant for one another, but that is not a certainty. We will be bringing all our eggs from the hatcheries with us and Syrax laid a fresh clutch of three eggs before we went to King’s Landing for the Driftmark succession hearing. Perhaps Alyn and Nettles will claim Vermithor and Silverwing, or perhaps you will claim one of them and our dragonseeds will claim an egg, or maybe even the other way around,” Rhaenyra suggested, trying to make Rhaena feel better.

“I… just feel that if I was meant to be a dragon rider, it would have already happened by now,” Rhaena lamented.

“Nonsense. My father was six and twenty when he first rode a dragon and he was the last to mount Balerion the Black Dread, the mightiest of all the dragons. You are but fourteen years of age, a year younger than your mother when she claimed Vhagar. You have all the time in the world to claim a dragon of your own,” Rhaenyra assured her.

Rhaena seemed appreciative of the Princess’s words, but not entirely convinced by them, perhaps thinking Rhaenyra was conjuring kind remarks to ease Rhaena’s mind.

Rhaenyra’s eyes quickly picked up on Rhaena’s unshaken sadness and held Rhaena’s right hand with both of her own.

“But… you are right. I suppose there is a chance you could never claim a dragon. But to that, I ask you, so what? ”

Rhaenyra’s words surprised both Daemon and Rhaena.

“You are a brilliant, kind, willful and intelligent young girl. Years ago, when Aemond went to the dunes along the beach beyond High Tide, he bonded himself with Vhagar and stole your chance to claim her. Do you know why he did that?” Rhaenyra asked.

Rhaena thought for a moment but shook her head, unable to think of an answer.

“Because he believed in his own mind that without a dragon, he was nothing and that he needed one for him to be of any worth.”

Rhaenyra then put her curled-up finger beneath Rhaena’s chin and gently lifted her head so that she would meet the princess’s eyeline.

“You do not have a dragon, Rhaena… but you are already an incredible young woman and even if you never have a dragon, always remember that you shared the dream of Valyria with us and you were standing upon the dias in that throne room with us. I hope you one day have a dragon, not because you need one but because you deserve one. You are a daughter of House Targaryen and you must promise me that you will never let anyone make you forget that,” Rhaenyra instructed in her soft loving voice.

Rhaena’s face lit up as she nodded her head.

“I promise,” she replied with a growing smile.

Rhaenyra then kissed Rhaena’s brow and held her close while Daemon watched with a smile on his face.

When Laena died, Daemon feared that the only woman who could translate his aloofness into love for his daughters had been taken from him and he would never find a way to show them the affection and adorment that they deserved.

Luckily for Daemon, Rhaenyra lept at the task after they were wed.

As one who lost her own mother as a young girl and as one who had known and loved Laena since childhood, she tasked herself with stepping up to the role of mother for the young girls.

She never tried to replace Laena, merely honouring her memory by carrying on her mantle in raising Daemon’s girls. Rhaenyra would take Baela and Rhaena along the beaches of Dragonstone to collect seashells to make brooches and necklaces as Rhaenyra had done with Laena on the beaches of Driftmark when they were younger.

She would also sit with Baela and Rhaena in their bedchamber, snuggling up with them and trading stories of Laena and the way she was as a mother to the girls and as a beloved cousin to Rhaenyra.

The three of them continued to watch together in silence as Addam proceeded to mount Seasmoke and keep him steady as he buckled himself to the saddle.

Jace, Baela and Luke then left to mount their dragons with Alyn following Jace to mount Vermax and Nettles following Baela to mount Moondancer and only when Vermax, Moondancer and Arrax were in the air, would Addam give Seasmoke the command to fly so that the other three dragons could keep Seasmoke controlled in case Addam lost control.

While Addam waited for the others to arrive on dragonback, he leaned forward and patted Seasmoke on his scaly back.

“Princess,” a voice called from the doorway.

When Daemon, Rhaenyra and Rhaena turned around, Ser Harrold and Ser Lorent were making their approach.

“Otto Hightower’s ships have been sighted offshore. Three galleons with green sails marked with three-headed gold dragons,” Lorent explained.

Once again Otto Hightower came to Dragonstone as he had twice before; the first time to confront Daemon for taking an egg from the dragon pit and the second when he came to give Alicent’s terms of peace, but this was the first time his coming was marked by the sights of more than one ship.

“No doubt filled with enough soldiers to lay waste to the castle should their paranoias of our suspected schemes to attack are proven true,” Rhaenyra surmised.

“What of Prince Aemond?” Daemon asked, clutching the hilt of Dark Sister.

“The watchtowers sight nothing of Vhagar thus far. She might be lurking nearby,” Ser Lorent suggested.

“Ser Lorent, send word to the harbour master to keep the fleet in place but on alert — Oh gods, we have to warn the children that Vhagar might be close by,” Rhaenyra declared.

“No need. They’ll land their dragons in defensible positions when they see Otto’s ships on the horizon. Rhaena, find your grandmother and have her stand ready with Meleys,” Daemon commanded before marching for the doorway.

“Where are you going?” Rhaenyra demanded of her husband.

“To round up some men and receive Otto at the gates. I will hear his intentions before I allow him into this castle,” Daemon declared not breaking his stride.

“Daemon!” Rhaenyra called sternly, causing him to stop and turn.
“We are very nearly rid of the Greens once and for all. Do not let your personal desire to see Otto Hightower dead cloud your judgment. If bloodshed is to be split this day, it is because Otto Hightower and Aemond make their treachery known, nothing less,” Rhaenyra commanded.

Daemon nodded, somewhat reluctantly, but he heeded her commands.

Daemon gathered up Ser Steffon, Ser Erryk along with Ser Randyll Barret and twelve of his former Goldcloaks.

On Daemon’s orders, Ser Balon Byrch and Ser Alfred Broome manned the walls of the castle while Garth the Harelip and Robert Quince formed up in the courtyard in a ceremonial formation that would welcome Otto and Prince Aemond should they be peaceful, but should the greens attack, they would hold the gates and prepare for battle. Daemon personally commanded the crossbowmen to fire upon Prince Aemond and Otto Hightower first if violence was to ensue. Peace or war, Daemon knew that this would be the third and final time he greeted Otto Hightower on the bridge of Dragonstone.

With his men assembled behind him, Daemon exited through the gates of the castle and made his way down the winding stone bridge towards the gatehouse.

Coming up the stone bridge from the far side was Otto Hightower, heading a small group of soldiers with a pair of kingsguard knights following behind him.

The two groups met in the middle of the winding stone bridge with a few paces of distance between the two groups when they both came to a halt.

After a moment, the Hightower was the first to speak.

“Prince Daemon,” he greeted, sternly.

“Otto,” the Prince responded.

Daemon glanced out over the water at the many ships anchored off the coast of the island and then back at the Hand of the King.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Daemon japed, noting that the two had confronted one another twice before on the very same bridge in the exact same way.

“On that much, we agree,” said Otto.

Daemon could recognise the two kingsguard knights that flanked Otto, seeing their faces beneath their helms.

One was Ser Hobert Hightower, Ser Harrold’s replacement and a distant kinsmen of Otto named after his brother, the deceased Lord Hightower.

The other was the new Lord Commander, Ser Criston Cole, which further unsettled Daemon, for Cole had an unyielding hatred for Rhaenyra and her family and for Daemon as well.

If Otto and Aemond were conspiring to ambush them once and for all, the Hightower and Ser Criston were the ideal Kingsguard to bring along for the massacre.

Vhagar and the one eyed c*nt were still nowhere to be seen, the skies seeming settled for the time being.

“Your letter said that my dear nephew Aemond would be joining you… where is he?” Daemon asked.

“The Prince flies with his dragon… he will arrive when it suits him,” Otto declared sternly.

“And you have brought a pair of Galleons to escort your ship. Odd to arrive so heavily armed for a peaceful visit, no?” Daemon inquired, resting his hands overlapping upon the hilt of Dark Sister.

Otto was silent for a moment, probably trying to culminate some kind of diplomatic answer.

“Following your departure from this Island in the coming days, the island will be mostly abandoned. I have brought men to garrison the island under Prince Aemond after you have left and I have returned to the capital. The Triarchy and the Dornish might be emboldened by your exile, after all,” Otto explained.

Daemon quietly laughed and smiled, amused by Otto’s skilled politicking.

In the moments that followed, the echo of a great roar carried through the skies, bringing everyone’s attention to the skies above.

Another wailing noise carried itself on the wind, the unmistakable sound of a dragon’s cry.

Daemon recognised the particular howl well.

It was once a welcome sound, one that made Daemon think of his father and later one that made him think of Laena, but the sound of this particular dragon had become corrupted when she became the servant of his enemy.

Down through the clouds, the great and heavy queen of all dragons came descending into view. A mighty green she-dragon almost the size that Balerion had been when he last flew around King’s Landing with Viserys, large bloated and saggy from the long years she had lived and her wings tattered like old sails.

It took great heavy flaps to keep Vhagar in the skies, her own weight pulling her down in her old age, but she could still keep up with a young dragon like Arrax when Aemond chased Luke from Storm’s End.

The old dragon came down to the gatehouse at the foot of the stone bridge and landed on one of the stoney hills on either side of the gates.

Her landing was a difficult one, using her wings to slow her descent with heavy rapid flapping, hovering for a few seconds above the rocky hill before dropping down with a heavy thud and stumbling onto the surface.

Even in Vhagar’s old age, she was still the queen of the skies, but when it came to taking off and landing, Vhagar was slow and struggled to lift herself off the ground or properly land herself.

Seated upon Vhagar’s back, seeming but a small spec in contrast to the dragon he mounted, Prince Aemond gripped the heavy hawser rope nets that were used for Vhagar’s reins and clinging to the Prince’s back was a dark-haired woman in black and yellow riding garments and a dark cloak over the top.

Vhagar lowered her long saggy neck down near the gatehouse and allowed Aemond and his passenger to disembark, climbing down the rope ladder and dropping onto the stone bridge, the prince helding his companion down from the rope ladder.

Daemon relaxed himself, leaning against the fencing of the bridge and waiting for Prince Aemond and his lady friend to arrive at the midpoint of the bridge.

Eventually, the one-eyed f*cker triumphed over the steps and joined his grandsire, the formation of Green men-at-arms parting to the sides of the bridge to make a path for him and his lady.

Aemond dressed in a black leather doublet with a sleeveless longcoat over the top that went down to his boots.

By his side was a young beautiful woman with dark hair, pale skin and dark brown eyes, her black and yellow riding garments now close enough to show the detailings of stag antlers upon them.

Daemon now realised the woman Aemond had brought with him was his Baratheon bride, one of the proud Lord Borros’s daughters whom he’d carted off to Aemond in exchange for his easily purchased loyalty.

What was the girl’s name again? Daemon wondered.

Doris? Maris? Alice? Nerys?

The Prince could not recall.

“Come to welcome us to Dragonstone, Uncle?” Aemond asked as he came face to face with Daemon once more.

The Rogue Prince remained slouched against the stone fencing of the bridge.

“Of course. Welcome, Aemond and welcome to your betrothed… Lollys, wasn’t it?” Daemon asked with a false smile of pleasantry.

“Floris Baratheon, my Prince,” she corrected.

“Of course. Sometimes I struggle to recall names… Isn’t that right, Ser Crispin?” Daemon teased as he looked to the Kingmaker.

Cole remained silent and composed with a cold and grim expression upon his face.

“Otto says that you plan to stay here on Dragonstone with a garrison of men after we leave,” Daemon mused.

“I do. Dragonstone stands guard at the border of the Blackwater, it is the will of the King that I protect the crownlands from the Triarchy fleets should they be so bold as to come this far north, or any other adversary across the Narrow Sea,” Aemond declared.

“Well then, I hope you did the courtesy to ask the young Prince Jaehaerys for his permission before coming here,” Daemon said mockingly.

Aemond pursed his lips and huffed in aggravation.

“My nephew's permission?” he asked, wishing Daemon to elaborate on his words.

“Well… In a few days time when we depart the Seven Kingdoms for good, this island will be yielded from my wife to the Iron Throne and will naturally become the possession of the new Prince of Dragonstone. Am I not correct, Otto?” Daemon asked, glancing over to the old Hightower leech.

Otto was no more happy about Daemon’s words than Aemond was.

“Prince Aemond has been instructed by royal decree to command Dragonstone on the King’s behalf. For all intents and purposes, he is the Prince of Dragonstone until Prince Jaehaerys comes of age or King Aegon says otherwise,” Otto declared.

“Well then, all hail the Prince. We will surely be giving you every courtesy that goes with your station,” Daemon said mockingly.

“And yet I have not been given the courtesy of being addressed by the current Princess of Dragonstone. Where is my sister lurking, Uncle?” Aemond asked.

Daemon snorted at Aemond’s impertinence.

The usurper's younger brother dared to demand courtesy from the rightful queen.

“Rhaenyra is far too busy preparing for our voyage to tend to her little brother,” Daemon declared, causing rage to flare up in Aemond’s one good eye as he stepped forward, closer to Daemon.

“Careful, Uncle. For the sake of my mother’s pleas and for peace in the realm, I have held my tongue and left many of your insults unanswered, but even I have my limits,” Aemond warned.

Daemon stood up straight from his slouched position against the stone fence, impressed by the balls on his nephew.

“And what happens if those limits are tested?” Daemon mused, smiling at Aemond.

Daemon could see Otto, Floris and the two Kingsguard knights getting nervous and assumed the same was happening with Daemon’s men behind him.

“The young Strong took my eye because I spoke the truth. You’ve all plotted for years to usurp my brother’s throne. Then you surrender and plan to leave the Seven Kingdoms, but not before turning hundreds of lords, knights and their households to abandon their king with you. Furthermore, you take with you dragons, eggs, dragonkeepers and whatever else you feel entitled to and steal from my family. Even now you wear the sword that should be mine upon your belt, all the while claiming yourselves as victims cheated out of what is yours. Now, here I am and my would-be usurper sister doesn’t even do me the decency to show me the respect due to my house,” Aemond grunted.

Daemon took two steps closer to Aemond, causing him to shrink back.

The Rogue Prince’s blood was boiling, desperate to kill Aemond there and then.

The Green men at arms and the kingsguard reached for the hilts of their swords and with the prospect of fighting becoming more and more likely.

Vhagar roared from the gatehouse, clearly sensing the aggression between Aemond and Daemon.

From behind, Daemon could hear the howl of another dragon, a high-pitched wail that he knew very well.

When Daemon turned around, he saw Caraxes climbing over the rocky cliffs outside the castle and snarling at the Greens as he came into view.

What Daemon didn’t expect were the howls and roars of other dragons from beyond the castle.

Everyone, both in Daemon and Otto’s entourage turned and looked to the skies beyond the castle of Dragonstone.

Soon dragons emerged, flying out overhead and circling the skies above.

It was not just one or two, but several mounted dragons circling above.

Vhagar remained perched on the hill near the gate but roared angrily at the dragons as they danced through the skies.

Jace atop Vermax with Alyn sharing his saddle.

Baela on Moondancer with Nettles clinging to her back.

Luke mounted Arrax and Rhaenys on Meleys.

Addam rode alone on top of Seasmoke, killing any possibility of hiding the dragonseeds from the Greens.

All the dragons perched themselves on the cliffs near Caraxes or on the battlements of the castle walls and finally, one last dragon emerged, not flying in circles overhead, but landing directly upon the walls of Dragonstone above the gate into the castle.

Syrax with Rhaenyra mounted upon her back and Rhaena seated behind her on the saddle.

A show of superior strength, something to humble Otto and Aemond, killing any delusion they might labour under that they could prevail over the Targaryens of Dragonstone.

Daemon turned back to face Otto and Aemond, both perplexed, their eyes seeming fixed mostly on Seasmoke, vexed by the new rider.

“You wanted your sister to greet your arrival, yes?... Consider yourself greeted, Nephew,” Daemon said smugly.

Daemon then turned around and made his way back towards the castle, Ser Steffon and Ser Erryk following behind him as the former goldcloaks parted ways to make a path for them.

Otto, Aemond, the Baratheon girl, the Kingmaker and all the rest followed, but Daemon didn’t care either way.

Chapter 11: Lessons of Old Valyria

Chapter Text

It was another bright and sunny day in King’s Landing, the perfect weather for a flight on Syrax, but alas, Rhaenyra had her studies to attend to.Septa Marlow was a strict and grumpy old woman who got especially cross when Rhaenyra and Alicent didn’t take their studies seriously. Alicent was sitting next to Rhaenyra at their shared desk table in a chamber of the Red Keep while they awaited the Septa’s arrival. Alicent was getting nervous and picking at the corners of her fingernails again, worried she hadn’t done enough preparation for their lessons. Their current class was about the history of Old Valyria, a subject Rhaenyra had no fear of failing for obvious reasons.

“Stop fidgeting, you’ll be fine,” Rhaenyra said, gently reaching over and resting her hand over Alicent’s.

“Easy for you to say, you know everything about Old Valyria,” Alicent said meekly.

“Seven Hells, Alicent. Laena and I spent all afternoon yesterday letting you ask us everything and anything about Valyrian history and culture. You're just overthinking it,” Rhaenyra protested.

“But what if I forget something?” Alicent asked.

“Then give your best guess and if it’s wrong, the Septa will tell you. Here, let’s try; tell me how many dragonlord families there were?” Rhaenyra asked.

Alicent sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Forty. Everyone knows that,” Alicent replied.

“How many chapters were the families divided into?”

“Five. Eight houses to a chapter.”

“What were their names?”

“Rovegion, Prydor, Nandorion, Levissar and Drajai,” Alicent responded, listing off the five chapters.

“No, I mean the names of the forty dragonlord houses,” Rhaenyra responded.

Alicent’s eyes went wide and her mouth quivered as she tried to think up all the names.

“Ahh… Well — Targaryen, of course. Um, Balaerys, Varezys, Caleneos, Leofaryen, Agareon—”

Rhaenyra could keep a straight face no longer and broke down into laughter.

She could not figure out what was more amusing, the fact that Alicent actually thought the Septa would expect her to memorize all the forty Dragonlord house names or that she actually tried to list them off.

Alicent’s face scrunched up and she gave a gentle punch to Rhaenyra’s shoulder.

“That wasn’t funny,” Alicent pouted as she folded up her arms.

“It’s a little funny,” Rhaenyra protested.

When Alicent turned away in a grumpy manner, Rhaenyra settled herself.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Rhaenyra said, reaching over and hugging her best friend from behind. Rhaenyra playfully planted a kiss on Alicents cheek. “Do you forgive me?” she asked in an innocent voice.

“Alright, fine,” Alicent said with a sigh, turning back to face Rhaenyra.

“You seem a little bit more on edge than usual, is everything alright?” Rhaenyra asked.

Alicent shrugged. “It’s fine. Just a little tense with my family. My father’s in a bit of an uproar as of late,” Alicent explained.

“Is this because Daemon rejected your brother’s letter of introduction to be made a captain in the City Watch?” Rhaenyra asked.

Alicent turned to Rhaenyra and knitted her eyebrows. “How did you know that?” she asked.

“I’m the royal cupbearer, I hear things. Apparently, before Daemon left, he filled the last vacant captain position with Lord Lyonel’s son, Ser Harwin, and refused to give Gwayne any position other than barracks custodian,” Rhaenyra explained.

Alicent nodded. “My father’s not happy. He’s also very upset about your uncle abandoning his post recently. Do you know where the Prince has gone?” Alicent asked.

Rhaenyra shrugged. “He’s just pouting. With my mother's pregnancy getting closer, he’s worried he’ll be displaced as heir. He’ll bounce around the Free Cities for a month or two and be back in time for the birth,” Rhaenyra assured Alicent.

Rhaenyra changed the subject and went back to the topic of studying, continuing to quiz Alicent on what she knew. “Alright. Tell me. What was the purpose of the five chapters of the Dragonlord assembly?”

Alicent took a deep breath and gave her answer. “The five chapters were a loose and mostly ceremonial structure during the elections of the Archon. Each chapter would get together and vote on the five Preferentials. The Preferentials were the five dragonlords put forward by each chapter as the frontrunners for the archonship,” Alicent said confidently.

“Was it mandatory that one of the Preferentials be the Archon?” Rhaenyra asked.

“No. Any dragonlord could become an archon, but the Preferentials were the ones chosen as the best candidates by each chapter,” said Alicent.

“The Dragonlords were not always on good terms with the other houses of their own chapters, so what if a chapter could not agree on a Preferential and a majority ruling could not be reached?” Rhaenyra asked.

Alicent thought for a moment, closing her eyes and going through her thoughts. Finally, she recalled the answer. “The Eight houses of the disputing chapter will each list off who of the other seven houses they would most prefer to least prefer as the chapter’s frontrunner and the Dragonlord with the highest average would be put forth as their Preferential.”

“Very good, Alicent. Now, how many votes did a Dragonlord need to be elected?” Rhaenyra asked.

“A minimum of Thirty. If the election lapsed one fortnight, then whoever could achieve twenty-five votes would be elected and if thirty days passed without a decision, whoever had the highest vote at the next counting would win,” Alicent said confidently with a smile on her face.

“Top marks,” Rhaenyra said, playfully applauding Alicent’s great effort.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” a shrill strict voice declared as Septa Marlow entered the chamber.

A tall grim-looking old shrew in a plain grey dress and a pale bluish-grey wimple, the habit of a septa.The Septa gave a cold glare to the two girls, causing Alicent to straighten up and clasp her hands together while Rhaenyra leaned back in her chair in a relaxed position. Rhaenyra loved to tease and prod her Septa and make her mad, for when she was mad she would get flustered and loud and become quite funny. The Septa would often report Rhaenyra’s rebellious behaviour to her parents which they in turn reprimanded her for, but Rhaenyra never minded.

Septa Marlow took stern direct strides across the room to the decks across from Rhaenyra and Alicent’s and turned to face them, her movements sharp and quick like a soldier.

“Good morning girls,” she greeted.

“Good morning, Septa Marlow,” Alicent replied, but Rhaenyra remained silent which greatly upset Marlow and made Alicent worried.

“I’m afraid I did not hear you, Princess Rhaenyra,” Marlow said sternly.

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent whispered under her breath, begging her best friend not to stir up trouble again.

“Let us try again. Good morning girls,” Marlow repeated.

“Good morning, Septa Marlow.”

“Rytsas, Septa Marlow,” Rhaneyra replied, speaking in unison with Alicent, but using High Valyrian rather than the common tongue.

Septa Marlow’s eyes flared with anger as she looked at Rhaenyra, appalled. Alicent’s expression was both one of terror and hopelessness, her eyes saying oh, now she’s done it.

“What did you just say, young girl?” Marlow asked.

Rhaenyra presented a confused look, acting as though she had no idea what the Septa was talking about.

“I said, Rytsas, Septa Marlow. Did you not want me to greet you?” Rhaenyra asked, continuing to speak in High Valyrian, which the Septa did not understand.

“Rhaenyra stop,” Alicent begged quietly. Rhaenyra however had no intention of stopping, she was enjoying herself too much.

“What do you think you're doing? Stop it at once!” Septa Marlow demanded.
“Iksan vaoreznuni, Septa Marlow. I don’t know what you mean,” Rhaenyra replied.

Septa Marlow scoffed and grimaced. “Stop that gibberish talk at once, young girl!” Marlow commanded.

“I am speaking in Valyrio Eglie, I thought it only fitting since we would be discussing the Dāezōregon, today,” Rhaenyra explained.

“What is the matter, sweet Septa? Don’t you speak Valyrian?” the Princess teased.

“I am warning you, girl,” Septa Marlow said sternly.

Rhaenyra began to take advantage of the Septa’s lack of knowledge in Valyrian and began calling her unsavoury names in her mother tongue. “Uēpa bratsiot. Qrugh laehurlion. Hobrenka geralbar jaos.”

“I am trying to teach you about Old Valyria! I thought you might not resist me on this subject given how fascinated you are about your own heritage!” Marlow snapped.

“That’s because I already know everything about Old Valyria. There’s nothing you can teach me that I don’t already know,” Rhaenyra boasted in High Valyrian.

Rhaenyra had reached the point where she believed Marlow would burst into rage and anger and start berating Rhaenyra aggressively but instead something Rhaenyra did not expect to happen. Septa Marlow composed herself, stood up straight and became calm and statue-like, with no emotion on her face, which slightly frightened Rhaenyra.

“You think you know everything?” Septa Marlow asked, seeming to understand Rhaenyra’s remarks in Valyrian.

“You know only that which is remembered. Passed from the living of old to the living of today. What do you know of the secrets that are kept only by the dead… and the forgotten?” Marlow asked, her voice changing, becoming more echoey, somehow sounding like there were deeper voices repeating her words as she said them, which further scared Rhaenyra.

“If you wish to survive your coming trials, then there is much more of Valyria for you to learn, ānogar hen Aenar ,” Marlow explained.

Rhaenyra felt her heart sink, for the last three words Marlow said were in Old Valyrian and the words meant blood of Aenar.

Suddenly the room went dark and pale and when Rhaenyra turned to the window, the clear bright blue sunny sky was now overcast with dark stromclouds with thunder rumbling in the distance and what appeared to be snow falling, but a strange snow, more grey and sometimes black falling from the sky.

“Alicent, do you see this?” Rhaenyra asked, turning her head around to face her best friend, but the young Hightower girl was gone, her chair empty and no trace of her ever having been there. When Rhaenyra looked ahead to ask the Septa where Alicent had gone to, Marlow was gone too, also having vanished.

“Alicent?!” Rhaenyra called out in panic, her voice echoing more than it usually would.

There was no response and Rhaenyra was alone.

Suddenly, more noise came from the window, the sound of a low continuous rumble, more than just thunder, also the sound of screams and cries in the streets and the barking of dogs and the roar of dragons which only further terrified Rhaenyra. There was also a strange sound similar to the sound of gravel or debris from a statue being chizzled falling and the sound of smashing like wine glasses and pots were being thrown from people’s roofs.

Rhaenyra was terrified and confused. She got up from her desk seat as the room continued to shake, books falling off their shelves, a brass pitcher of water tumbling off a small table.Rhaenyra ran for the door and as she reached the threshold a violent shake just about knocked her over, but she managed to keep her balance and grip onto the doorframe to keep herself from falling. When Rhaenyra pulled herself out of the chamber, she was not in one of the hallways of the Red Keep, but instead in a very dark stone corridor, down one end was darkness and down the other was light.When Rhaenyra turned around, the door had disappeared behind her, but the nightmarish rumbling and sounds of panic and smashing remained, for she could hear it much closer down the corridor towards the light.

“Alicent!” Rhaenyra screamed once more, desperate to find her.

Then a low deep jarring noise emerged from the dark end of the corridor, a strange noise that seemed to drown the sounds of panic and turmoil coming from the light. Rhaenyra focused her eyes on the darkness for a moment, trying to see what was making the noise, but all she could see was the pitch-black abyss of darkness for a time until something emerged. A dim pale white glow cast itself up from the ground, casting light onto a dark figure approaching Rhaenyra.

The figure was dressed in a long grey hooded robe with baggy sleeves, his hands gloved with steel gauntlets, over his chest he wore a long thick front apron similar to the valyrian ceremonial garment worn by the priests of the Valyrian gods. Embroidered along the border of the apron was a long script of valyrian glyphs running around it and over the front of the apron was a series of spell runes and decorations of flames and dragons. The figure’s robe that he wore beneath his apron had a hood that was pulled up over his head and the face, cast in the light of the white glow, was a full face mask, moulded in the shape of a plain human, embossed with lines of script in valyrian glyphs and empty black sockets at the eye holes.

The white light that the figure was cast in was almost unbearable to look at and only the light only seemed to touch the masked man and not any of the corridor around him which only further terrified Rhaenyra. The Princess began to step back in fear of the slowly approaching masked man, her stomach folding over inside her.

“Fear me not, ānogar hen Aenar. I come here to teach you.”

The voice spoke in High Valyrian, but what was terrifying was that the voice came from inside Rhaenyra’s own head, not one but a dozen low deep voices speaking in unison.

In fear and panic, Rhaenyra ran away from the figure towards the light leading out of the corridor. When Rhaenyra emerged outside, she found herself standing in a city, an impossible city, one that she could not be in for it no longer existed. The grey stone city structures in the ancient valyrian brutalist architecture styles, great tall buildings around her, gargoyles of dragons and sphinxes on the flat top roofs.The streets were filled with people in tunics, cloaks, sashes, dresses and other garments similar to those worn by the Targaryens and Velaryons families, but these garments ranged in all different kinds of colours.What struck Rhaenyra the deepest was that all the men and women had pale silver hair just like Rhaenyra.

Valyria, the ancient stronghold of her forbearers, the city was alive and Rhaenyra was walking its streets. It took a moment for Rhaenyra to overcome the shock and realise how dire the city was. The Valyrians were panicking and screaming as they ran and bustled through the streets, the city was powdered in ash and Rhaenyra now understood what the grey snow she saw before in the window was. The sky was only getting darker, with black clouds rolling in, purple lighting cracking through and red hues of fire cast upon the black clouds.Then, Rhaenyra saw dragons flying through the sky, at least a dozen of them in the skies above.As people ran and screamed around her, she heard someone shout in old valyrian it’s the fourteen flames!

When the black clouds rolled over the city, it began to rain, but not drops of water, nor hail, instead daggers of dragonglass fell from the sky like barrages of arrows, cutting people up and killing many as they panicked their way through the streets. Rhaenyra dropped down to her knees, covered her head and braced for the dragonglass shards to rain down on her, but after a few moments of hearing them crash around her, she realised that none were touching her, no one seemed to notice her, she could feel nothing, she was like a ghost.

The sky was now completely black, the red-hued clouds of purple lighting all around the city making Valyria seem a hellish place. Towards the direction the clouds were coming down from, Rhaenyra could see a bright red glow on the horizon and the rumbling and shaking got heavy again. A massive reddish dust cloud came rolling through the city like a tidal wave and blasted through Rhaenyra, but she did not feel it.

Moments passed and the dust settled. The city was now veiled in a red smog, a few people Rhaenyra saw walking through the streets, stumbled and screamed and when Rhaenyra got closer, what she saw horrified her. The people’s clothing was charred black, their skin blistered all over, their hair shedding off their scalps and blood pouring from their mouths, ears, eyes and noses. Many began vomiting uncontrollably as they crawled on the ground in agony.

The nightmare was unseasing as Rhaenyra heard screams and crying all about and through the smog she could see dragons falling from the sky, howling in agony as they fell.

Why won’t it end, let this nightmare end.

Then, contrary to Rhaenyra’s wish, fire began to rain down from above, giant flaming rocks like catapult munitions coated in burning pitch. The rocks seemed to do no damage to the buildings they struck, seeming to break apart on impact and fall to the ground, raining rock, flame and embers on those unlucky survivors below and creating little fire in the streets. Rhaenyra remembered what she had learned about Valyrian architecture. It was often said that the old wizards of Valyria did not cut and chisel stone, but worked it with fire and magic as one might work clay and that the buildings of Old Valyria were as unbreakable as valyrian steel. But while the city might be resistant to the horrors of destruction neither the people nor the dragons were as Rhaenyra watched the pillars of fire strike the few dragons that remained in the sky and send them hurtling to the ground.

Another flaming rock came crashing down in the street ahead of Rhaenyra and the explosion of yellow fire cast the silhouette of a figure standing in front. Rhaenyra recognised the shape. It was a hooded man in sweeping robes and Rhaenyra knew it was the masked stranger that stalked her. Rhaenyra turned to run but coming up another street were two more men in the same attire, though the writing, runes and glyphs on their robes and masks was different, each of them individualised and unique.When Rhaenyra turned to the other street avenues, she saw more masked men in robes approaching her, twelve in all. each of them closed in around her.

“Do not fear us,” one of them commanded in Old Valyrian, speaking in Rhaenyra’s mind again.

“We do not wish you any harm,” another said, in a slightly different but equally strange voice as the other.

“What do you want from me?” Rhaenyra begged aloud, also speaking the mother tongue.

“We are here to teach,” another said.

“Teach? Teach what?” she asked.

“We are here to teach you the way,” another said.

“The way— What way? What are you talking about?!” she asked.

The twelve men, standing in a circle around Rhaenyra raised their arms up together in perfect unison and things changed. The smog cleared, the fires died, the clouds dispersed, there were no bodies, no remnants of the destruction, the city was now cold and dead, the sky was grey and a bit misty in the distance, some rubble and a few broken and collapsed parts of the city could be seen, there was something ancient about the city like centuries had passed, but Rhaenyra and the twelve masked men stood there unchanged.

“The way to restore Valyria,” the first masked man declared.

After a confused moment of looking at the ring of masked men around her, Rhaenyra became certain of two truths, one was that she was dreaming and the other was that the men in masks meant her no harm.Rhaenyra now recognised their garbs and masks to be the trappings of the sorcerers of Old Valyria, the practitioners of the eldritch and arcane practices of pyromancy and blood magic worked in the anogrion.

“Who are you?” Rhaenyra asked.

“We are the forgotten ones. We are the ones who heeded the words of Aenar and braced for the Vejes. We sleep between life and death, awaiting the progeny of Aenar to return and awaken us. Now the dream has been dreamt and we await you,”

The twelve then bowed to Rhaenyra together before standing upright.

“Your education has only just begun, Rhaenyra hen Targario.”

Rhaenyra was overwhelmed, surprised, astounded, terrified, confused, honoured and a thousand other things she could not name and just when she wished to ask a hundred more questions… she woke up.She was in the bed of her chamber on Dragonstone, Daemon lying next to her and her head servant, Annora along with two other servants moving around the room.

“Good morning, Princess Rhaenyra. Good morning, Prince Daemon,” Annora greeted.

The other two servants came over, bringing Rhaenyra and Daemon their robes.

“Time to wake up already?” Daemon groaned as he rubbed his eyes.

“Yes, my Prince. And an important day it is. Today we finally set sail for Braavos,” the young servant said with a smile as she held Daemon’s robe up for him.

Rhaenyra felt sweaty and terrified, trembling in her bed. She had seen the Doom of Valyria with her own eyes in the dream and she had been spoken to by the sorcerer of Valyria.Rhaenyra could remember every detail so vividly in her own mind, just as it had been for the dragon dream. When Rhaenyra’s other servant approached her with her robe, she became puzzled.

“Are you quite well, Your Grace?” she asked.

Rhaenyra realised that the terror of her nightmare was reflected in her physical state, but she could not speak of prophetic dreams so casually in front of her servants so instead forced a smile and gave a false reason.

“I was a bit restless last night, that’s all. Excited about the voyage I suppose,” she lied.

Rhaenyra then put on her robe, cleared her throat and glanced over to Annora.

“Annora. Could I have a moment alone with Prince Daemon… please? I’ll call you back in when we are ready,” Rhaenyra promised.

“Of course, Princess,” Annora replied respectfully, before gesturing her two fellow servants to the door.

When they were gone, Rhaenyra turned around and faced Daemon who seemed vexed by why Rhaenyra would want to have a private talk so early in the morning.

“What’s wrong?” Daemon asked, a serious expression on his face.
“Daemon. Last night… did you have a dream?” Rhaenyra asked in a serious tone.

Daemon thought for a moment and smirked, running his finger up Rhaenyra’s arm.

“Well, now that you mention it I did have a dream last night. You were there, now that I think of it, as was this sultry bitch I once knew from a brothel in Myr. The two of you were in bed together, kissing and welcoming me to join you and I—”

Rhaenyra struck Daemon in the arm, causing him to chortle.

“Not that kind of dream. I mean something different,” Rhaenyra explained.

When Rhaenyra first had the dragon dream of Valyria, she shared it with all her family and wondered if the same had happened with her vision of the sorcerers and the Doom of Valyria, but it seemed it hadn’t.

Daemon stopped laughing, noticing the serious look in Rhaenyra’s eyes.

“What’s happened?” he asked leaning forward.

Rhaenyra wasn’t sure how best to explain it and was not sure if she had enough time to explain it in detail.

“Listen to me, not a word of this to anyone else. At least not until we’re settled in Braavos tonight… I had another vision… another dream,” Rhaenyra began to explain.

Daemon’s expression lit up with surprise.

“Another dragon dream?” he asked.

Rhaenyra shook her head.

“No. Not exactly. It was similar in many ways, but… this one was not an omen. It was a message,” Rhaenyra tried to explain.

The Princess then went into detail about what she had experienced in her sleep starting from the very beginning with Alicent in Septa Marlow’s study over twenty years ago.

Chapter 12: The Voyage Begins

Chapter Text

The time had finally come. Rhaenyra wasn’t sure what feeling to expect now that the time was finally at hand, perhaps relief, excitement, a sense of adventure. But what Rhaenyra really felt now was terror, anxiety and second-guessing herself and the quest even though she knew it was too late to turn back now.

Rhaenyra stood at the balcony of her now empty chamber between the pillars, looking down as the last of the dinghies ferried the remaining members of Rhaenyra’s household from the island to the assembled fleet of ships.

The rest of their fleet assembled at Driftmark and Claw Isle, Cracklaw Point and Massey’s Hook would join them on the open sea as they leave the Blackwater Bay and cross the Narrow Sea to Braavos together.

The previous night, they had a great banquet to celebrate their departure, a half cup of wine limit of course, for a crapulous morning mind would do little good to anyone fairing the open seas. The banquet was hosted outdoors in the courtyard of Dragonstone where all the castle workers and soldiers could partake in the celebration. Naturally, Daemon insisted the servants position Otto, Aemond and their party at the table furthest away from the royal family and always the last to be served, Daemon enjoying the disgruntled stiff lips of Aemond, Otto and Ser Criston all the way through the night.

The banquet was all well and good but Rhaenyra’s night after that was a miserable and terrifying affair.

Such a terrifying dream, such a nightmare and yet far more than just that.

Rhaenyra was sure now that she had seen a vision of the Doom of Valyria as it happened two hundred years ago, the raining clouds of ash, the sky blackened out by great thunderclouds of fire and lighting, raining down shards of dragonglass and flaming rocks blasting down from the sky, exploding upon the ground as they impacted against the ground or struck the dragons from the sky. Then, great dust clouds of unimaginable heat blasted through the city, leaving people burned and blistered, their skin melting and bubbling and blood gushing from their eyes, ears, noses and mouths.

The Doom of Valyria was known as a grievous horror of unimaginable devastation and yet Rhaenyra had seen it with her own eyes, remembering every detail she saw just as it had been with the dragon dream.

She wanted to forget it, she wished she had never seen it, the horrors of Valyria lived up to their name and had been haunting Rhaenyra since she woke up that morning. Such wanton devastation, the likes of which Rhaenyra could not even have drummed up in her worst thoughts if she hadn’t seen it herself.

Worse yet, Rhaenyra knew from the histories that the city of Valyria was situated fifty leagues south of Fourteen Flames and yet the black clouds, burning rocks and poison-burning winds ravaged the city nonetheless, showing the sheer scope of the Doom’s reach.

Two hundred years had passed since then, but was that enough time for the doom to dissipate? And even if the Doom was gone, what state was the land in that Rhaenyra could think she and her people could live there? Were two hundred years long enough for grass to grow again and air clean enough to breathe? Was there any vestige of life left in the lands of her forebearers? What hubris could possess Rhaenyra to think she had it in her to reclaim that land?

But she had to hope, she had to believe.

The dragon dream would not have directed them to Valyria if there was not some way to overcome the doom, but Rhaenyra knew not what that path would be.

Then she recalled the masked faces of the sorcerers of Old Valyria who had approached her, telling her not to fear and calling themselves her teachers.

To Rhaenyra’s knowledge, the last of the Valyrian Bloodmages and Pyromancers were the servants of the Targaryen Dragonlords with a small lesser Anogrion on Dragonstone. But the order was disbanded by Aegon the Conqueror after he converted to the Faith of the Seven and his sorcerers were forbidden from passing on their wisdom. It was those last sorcerers who imprinted the prophecy of Ice and Fire onto the dagger of the Targaryen kings. Most of the sorcerers died out during the late reign of Aegon or the early reign of Aenar with many saying that Queen Visenya was the last practitioner of their ancient arts and with her death, the memory of valyrian sorcery perished.

If such was true then who were these masked men in Rhaenyra’s dream who claimed to be able to teach her how to restore Valyria?

Rhaenyra’s mind also pondered the pale white light that they were cast in, the twelve men never seeming to be truly immersed in their surroundings always seeming like they were in the dark with the white light as their single source of illumination. A discomforting light, to say the least, something strange and off-putting about it. Were these twelve sorcerers offering their wisdom to Rhaenyra some form of phantasms? Ghostly consciousnesses of sorcerers who died in Valyria, preserved somehow and projecting into her dreams? Were Illusions playing tricks on Rhaenyra’s mind? Or perhaps something else entirely.

Rhaenyra recalled them saying that they were the forgotten ones and claiming that they had heeded the words of Aenar.

But what could that mean? Twelve sorcerers who heeded Aenar’s portents about the Doom from Daenys’s dream? If so then did they somehow survive the Doom? How? And if so where were they? Caught between life and death and waiting for Rhaenyra they had said.

Rhaenyra had no answers, only questions, so she would have to wait for meaning, for something in her gut told her that what she saw was only the first of what she suspected to be many dreams.

She knew not yet if she was the only one to have this particular dream, but she suspected that when she told the others that night in Braavos, she would find herself to be the only one to have experienced the dream, as Daemon had not shared the dream with her and the contents of the dream seemed to be tailored to her, especially its beginning with Alicent and Septa Marlow.

Rhaenyra’s attention to the disembarking dinghies leaving the shore for the anchored ships was interrupted by the sound of long striding footsteps coming from the hallway out of Rhaenyra’s chamber. Probably Daemon, coming to fetch her so that they might depart. The footsteps stopped at the doorway to the chamber, Daemon most likely giving Rhaenyra a moment before summoning her away.

“Is it already time to depart?” Rhaenyra asked her husband, while her eyes still watched the small boats row out to the ships.

“I would not know,” said the person standing at the doorway, but it was not Daemon’s voice.

Rhaenyra turned her head and saw standing with his hands behind his back and a stern look on his face, her younger half-brother, Aemond. His one good eye glared at her coldly as he stood there in silence.

Rhaenyra was thrown a bit off guard by the surprise of Aemond appearing in her chamber unannounced, but she did not feel afraid.

“Forgive me… sister. I did not mean to intrude, but there seems to be no one left in the castle to announce me,” Aemond declared looking around the empty chamber as he took a step inside.

“Yes. I’m afraid anyone who would announce you to me is currently aboard one of the ships. What might I do for you, dear brother?” Rhaenyra asked pleasantly. Despite all that had transpired between them, she hoped to at least bid farewell to her father’s son with a modicum of civility, for the sake of decency alone if nothing else.

“You might do nothing for me, Princess. I had not expected to find you here,” Aemond said bluntly.

Rhaenyra was vexed by her brother’s words, wondering what he wanted in her and Daemon’s now empty chamber if he was not looking for them. After a moment, realisation washed over Rhaenyra and she nodded her head with a smile.

“Come to inspect your new chamber as castellan of Dragonstone,” Rhaenyra deduced.

“I cannot very well be expected to remain in my current lodgings. The tent cots and bedrolls I used to sleep on in the Kingswood during hunts were more comfortable than my current bed,” Aemond declared as he paced over to the wall and admired the great dragon carving that covered it.

Rhaenyra smirked to herself.

“Daemon’s idea of a crude prank, I’m sure. I imagine you shall not miss his spite when we depart.”

“No, I shan't,” the one-eyed prince responded bluntly as he turned his focus back to Rhaenyra. Something was different about Aemond, he always seemed relatively cold, but something made him seem angrier than usual as though Rhaenyra had made some sort of slight against him to provoke a stronger amount of disdain than he usually projected.

“Is something the matter, brother?” Rhaenyra asked as Aemond came closer, standing face-to-face with her next to the pillars at the threshold of the balcony.

“What did you say to my mother before you left?” Aemond asked sternly.

Rhaenyra’s mind went back to her last meeting with Alicent in the godswood, where the two women admitted their grievances against one another and cried together, trying to find closure and forgiveness. But while Rhaenyra sincerely tried to forgive Alicent, she couldn’t. The wounds were too deep and while Rhaenyra offered her hope that one day they might mend things, she now felt that such might have only been hollow words of kindness unsure if she would ever truly forgive Alicent, no matter how much she wished she could.

Rhaenyra also thought of how she had uncovered the truth of how Aegon’s usurpation had occurred and how Alicent in her foolishness had misinterpreted Viserys’s words and his true meaning of the Song of Ice and Fire. Rhaenyra had also prompted Alicent to seek Aegon and ask him for the meaning behind the words, believing that Aegon would tell her of the Song of Ice and Fire and Alicent would know her folly. In retrospect, it was a cruel thing to do. Rhaenyra knew of all the blood that had been spilled for the sake of Aegon’s claim; Lyman Beesbury, Allun Caswell, Lord Merryweather and Lady Fell were all murdered for Aegon’s ascent. More than that, if Rhaenyra hadn’t accepted the terms of peace, then an all-out war would have broken out. By knowing the truth, Alicent would be made to realise her actions and the despair brought on by them were all for a false desire she had manifested in her own delusions and all the blood on her hands was in the name of a mistake.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath before addressing Aemond.

“We spoke of private matters. Why? what has happened?” Rhaenyra asked.

Aemond seemed unsatisfied with the answer he was given.

“The day you left King’s Landing, my mother came to myself and Aegon in a miserable state and requested to speak with Aegon alone. I left the chamber, they spoke in private for a time and then my mother left and went to her own chamber in tears. In the weeks since, my mother has been alarmingly melancholic. She does not eat or sleep and she will speak to no one. It is as though she is a ghost. She is even—” Aemond paused for a moment, looking away and swallowing as though the next words were hard for him to say. “She is even hurting herself… biting and clawing at the flesh around her fingernails, bleeding herself.”

The look on Aemond's face seemed vulnerable and pained in a way that Rhaenyra had never seen before from an otherwise austere and composed man. If Rhaenyra could say no other kind word about Aemond, at the very least she could say he was a man who loved his mother and for that she respected him.

“It… it was not my intention to prompt your mother to feel such grief. I take no pleasure in knowing that she is hurting herself,” Rhaenyra declared.

For Alicent to feel guilt for her actions was a small victory for Rhaenyra, but she never wished for Alicent to return to the patterns of self-abuse that she had begun after her mother died, that was a step too far that Rhaenyra did not take joy in.

“Tell me then. What did you and my mother speak of? She will not tell me and Aegon will not tell me so out with it! What did you say to my mother to make her this way?” Aemond demanded angrily of Rhaenyra.

She could tell him. It would make no difference to her. Keeping the secret of Aegon’s dream was no longer something she needed to concern herself with, but still. Just because Aegon was now the custodian of the blade and its hidden truth, that did not entitle Rhaenyra to just hand out the secret to anyone. Rhaenyra had already crossed a line in setting Alicent on the path of learning the truth, with Aegon probably only telling her after learning Rhaenyra had prompted it. Now learning about Alicent’s current state she regretted her actions. If it was Aegon’s will that Aemond not know the secret then that filled Rhaenyra with a glimmer of hope that he was taking his duty as their father’s successor seriously and she would not betray the secret to Aemond behind Aegon’s back, for that would also betray the trust of her father, the Old King Jaehaerys, Rhaena the Black Bride, Aegon the Uncrowned, Aerys the Gentle and Aegon the Conqueror.

“I cannot tell you, Aemond,” Rhaenyra declared adamantly.

An angered look overcame Aemond, the fire in his right eye communicating a desire to strangle Rhaenyra there and then, but the young Prince had too much intelligence and restraint to go through with such actions and Rhaenyra knew that.

“You cannot ?” he repeated back to her angrily.

“Aemond. I should never have prompted your mother to seek this particular information from Aegon. It is a secret that none other than he should know and I have failed by letting my spite dictate my actions and directing your mother to seek such knowledge. I will not make that mistake again and there is nothing that I could tell you about what was said that would help you console your mother. What Alicent needs right now is to know that someone is there for her. She needs you, by her side,” Rhaenyra explained.

Aemond hesitated for a moment.

“I cannot abandon my post at Dragonstone,” he declared.

“Then enlist your grandfather, or your brothers, or your sister, or perhaps even Cole, or… anyone. Alicent does not fare well when she feels alone in the world,” Rhaenyra explained.

Aemond contemplated his sister’s words.

“With our father’s passing, Aegon and Helaena are now the King and Queen of the realm. It is their era in the seven kingdoms and they are the beating heart of the realm. Alicent is now a queen mother and queen dowager, high enough in status that she is isolated and far removed from others and yet now that our father is dead, she is regarded as naught but a relic from the previous reign. If you wish to lend her comfort, you must visit her, invite her here to Dragonstone to stay with you or ensure that someone is a part of her life or else she will be forgotten and left behind and lose herself forever,” Rhaenyra cautioned her brother.

Aemond took a moment to absorb what had been said to him but then became imbittered once more, perhaps resenting how vague and simple Rhaenyra’s help was.

Rhaenyra felt a shift in the energy between the two half-siblings and sensed that the topic of Alicent was at a close as Aemond glanced out to the midday sky above Dragonstone.

It was about time for Rhaenyra to leave, when she next glanced out the balcony, she saw the fleet on the move, sailing from the island at long last. Rhaenyra looked to her brother, wondering if he had anything else to say but he remained silent, his eyes still on the sky and his attention removed from his older sister. In that moment Rhaenyra felt regret deep inside her. She had never made a sincere effort with Aemond, nor any of her siblings really. She let her spite for her father and Alicent’s union poison her relations with her siblings. Once, a lifetime ago, she had sat Aegon on her lap during the hunt in the Kingswood on his second nameday and tried to teach him how to say her name. But beyond that, she had never tried to be a sister to any of them. The occasional kindness she offered them was usually an olive branch to Alicent. Rhaenyra protested Daeron being sent to Oldtown after seeing how close he was to Jace as a boy but put no real effort into keeping him in King’s Landing. She had offered Aemond the first choice of a dragon egg the next time Syrax gave a clutch and tried to have Jace wed to Helaena but when Alicent refused, Rhaenyra just as easily forgot such offers she had made.

Rhaenyra’s instincts told her to turn heel and leave the chamber, but she did not want that to be how she left things with her brother, not if she could do better.

“Will you be seeing us off?” Rhaenyra asked.

“I will have a good view of your dragons departing from here,” Aemond said, without looking at Rhaenyra as he watched the sky.

Not exactly the answer Rhaenyra had wanted.

“Then… I suppose this is farewell,” Rhaenyra suggested.

“I suppose.”

Rhaenyra surrendered. It was clear that Aemond wanted to speak no more and so Rhaenyra would not waste time trying to construct an amiable goodbye.

“Good luck to you, brother. I wish peace and prosperity upon Aegon’s reign and the Targaryen dynasty on the Iron throne,” Rhaenyra said as a final farewell before turning and walking away.

When Rhaenyra reached the door of her former chamber, she stopped as Aemond called her name. The princess turned back and faced Aemond, waiting to hear what he had to say. The Prince held his head up high and spoke.

“Don’t ever come back,” he said coldly.

Rhaenyra scoffed at the unnecessarily cruel words her brother wished to leave her with.

“I have no intention of returning Aemond, you need not be rude,” Rhaenyra asserted.

“It’s not about being rude, sister,” Aemond declared taking a few steps into the chamber.

“If you wish to conquer Old Valyria, then conquer it if you can. If you can’t or you change your mind then go somewhere else, go anywhere else, but don’t come back here. Don’t reclaim your seat on Dragonstone as your eldest Strong’s hereditary seat as my grandfather had promised you when he first offered terms of peace. When you leave, it doesn’t matter where you go as long as you don’t come back here,” Aemond warned.

Rhaenyra contemplated how seriously Aemond was speaking.

“You are a threat, Sister. You, your husband, your children, those dragonseeds as you call them. All your loyal followers and the number of dragons you command. You are too dangerous to live in Westeros peacefully while my brother reigns. So if you truly wish to honour my father’s peace then make sure that we never see each other again,” Aemond commanded.

Rhaenyra took her brother’s words to heart. As harsh as they may have been they were nonetheless true. This was a point of no return. Even if her doubts of Valyria prevailed she could never return to Westeros, it was not safe for her family to live there in peace any longer and that was something she had to reconcile with. After today, Dragonstone, the Red Keep, all of Westeros would be something she saw in her memories alone and she doubted she would ever see it again.

Rhaenyra nodded respectfully to her brother.

“Goodbye, Aemond,” she said at last before leaving the chamber.

As Rhaenyra made her way through the castle one last time, Aemond’s garrison was already refurnishing the halls with supplies from the ships, setting up green and gold Targaryen banners in place of where there had once been red and black banners. A few servants and soldiers stopped and stared as Rhaenyra passed them by, probably getting one last look at the would-be-usurper before she left Westeros forever.

She left the castle and walked all the way to the rocky foothill beyond it where Otto Hightower stood alongside Ser Criston and Ser Hobart as well as a formation of Green Targaryen men-at-arms there to ceremoniously bid farewell to the Targaryens of Dragonstone.

Syrax was nearby, flanked by some dragonkeepers that Aemond had brought from King’s Landing to tend to Vhagar during his stay on the island. All of the Dragonkeepers loyal to Rhaenyra were aboard the ships.

Daemon sat atop Caraxes saddle, looking down on Otto and striking fear into him. Meanwhile, all the other dragonriders were mounted and awaiting Rhaenyra. Rhaena, Nettles and Alyn were aboard Rhaenyra’s flagship, the Brightwing, with Joff, Aegon, Viserys and Gaemon.

Rhaenyra pulled her gloves from her belt and put them on as she crossed by Otto Hightower, not wishing to spare him a word, not even sure what she would say to him. She had no final scornful remark to give him, no last insult.

Rhaenyra intended to continue on past Otto and not spare him a second thought, heading straight for Syrax, but as she got closer, Otto couldn’t help himself and decided to speak up as she approached.

“Princess Rhaenyra. As one who has known you since you were a little girl and been a close and trusted friend of your father, allow me to—”

“No,” Rhaenyra said at once, stopping her strides in front of Otto and silencing the Hand of the King.

“Princess?” he asked as though he were confused by her no.

“I said no Otto. You have said and done enough in your wretched lifetime. I have no more time or energy to waste on the likes of you. I am finished with you, now be silent,” Rhaenyra commanded.

After all these years, Otto Hightower with his schemes and sabotages had become so tiring for Rhaenyra and now that he’d won and gotten everything he wanted, she just wanted to be done with him.

Otto’s expression seemed utterly aggrieved, but while his expression showed anger, he remained silent as he was bid and Rhaenyra continued on towards Syrax.

The dragonkeepers, ever impartial and respectful, bowed their heads to Rhaenyra as she approached and stepped aside while Rhaenyra mounted Syrax.

When the Princess was comfortably mounted on her saddle, she looked around at all the assembled riders around her, each of them nodding to signal their preparedness to leave and just as Rhaenyra was about to urge Syrax up into the sky, her eyes fell upon the castle of Dragonstone once more. Rhaenyra took a brief moment to stare at it as though she were saying farewell to an old friend but then shook herself free of her lamentations. Then with no more waiting, Rhaenyra commanded Syrax to fly and she flapped her wings into the air. Caraxes, Meleys, Seasmoke, Vermax, Moondancer and Arrax all followed her up into the sky and then Rhaenyra banked left and led the dragons around, soaring over the foothills until they found Vermithor and Silverwing being urged into the sky by other dragonkeepers brought by Aemond. The mounted dragons circled over the two great dragons of bronze and silver until they took to the skies and latched onto the thunder of dragons and following Syrax’s lead.

With all their dragons accounted for, with Tyraxes and Stormcloud on board the Brigthwing, Rhaenyra led the dragons out from the island, pursuing the fleet of ships sailing towards the horizon.

At long last, Rhaenyra felt the weight of the Greens and the threat they posed to her family lifted off her shoulders and freedom from the heavy manacles of the succession crisis, her gender and her children’s legitimacy fall off her wrists and ankles. Now it was time for Rhaenyra to find her new home, unburdened by tradition and duty. After so long, the great voyage to Valyria was underway.

As Syrax carried Rhaenyra through the air, she knew it was not only Braavos who waited for her beyond the horizon but also her future.

Chapter 13: At the Sealord's Palace

Chapter Text

It was their third day in Braavos and the city had welcomed them warmly, just as Daemon had predicted they would. The Sealord Lysano Otherys had graciously welcomed the royal party to stay with him in the Sealord’s Palace with the highborns in their party being accommodated as guests of wealthy Braavosis.

Their fleet of ships had been anchored off the coast of one of the outlying islands that shielded the lagoon of Braavos. The island they chose was located east of the Sealord’s palace and was the largest of the guarding islands with their migrants setting up camps along the beaches. Some who could afford to rent lodgings in the city at the local taverns did so and during the days, many of the refugees were ferried into the city to buy and trade or explore the city. Rhaenyra visited the migrant camp and walked along the beaches making sure that her people were well taken care of.

The dragons were situated on the long island directly north of the city where the dragonkeepers tended to them. They had managed to make the isolated island a dwelling for the dragons and convinced them to nest there, the keepers even camping there and setting up the warming nests for the eggs where the dragons would gather around and guard. But when dealing with dragons, an irrefutable truth was that they did as they saw fit, so while they nested on the northern island, they did not stay there. Already in the past two days, there had been a number of incidents.

When Arrax got thirsty, he invaded the Moon Pool and started drinking the water there. No one was hurt and Arrax didn’t even acknowledge the humans around him, thankfully, but he scared a lot of people.

Next, a fishing vessel returned to Braavos with a catch of two dolphins, both of which were stolen by Moondancer. Luckily the expenses for two dolphins were quite easy to cover, they even compensated the sailors for the snapped ropes and pullies used to haul the dolphins to the docks when Moondancer snatched them.

Next, Caraxes perched himself on the left shoulder of the Titan of Braavos as though he were the titan’s pet baby dragon. Daemon thought it was amusing and many others thought it cute, but many in Braavos did not take kindly to it. Braavos was founded as a safe haven for escaped slaves of the Valyrian Freehold and so the dragonlords of Old Valyria were deeply entrenched in their culture as the fabled villains, much like it was with the Dornish. Therefore, a dragon resting upon the shoulder of the city's symbolic protector was seen as culturally distasteful symbolism.

The closest the dragons had gotten them to a ‘diplomatic incident’ was when Vermax decided to perch himself on the roof of the House of Black and White.

Had Vermax sat atop the roof of any other building, had he landed on any other temple, things would have been fine, but of all the buildings he chose to cause a ruckus over, he had to pick that one.

Daemon wasn’t afraid of anything, but nor was he a fool. If Daemon were challenged to jump off a cliff into a shore of jagged rocks, he’d refuse, not out of fear but out of rationality for there would be no surviving such a jump. The same went for drinking poison or driving one’s own sword into his heart, it was not fear that kept him from doing such things, but intelligence and common sense. Daemon had come in and out of Braavos many times over the years since he was a young man and throughout his many visits to the city, he knew that it didn’t matter who you were or what power you commanded, you do not f*ck with those who dwell behind the black and white door.

The Sealord had sent an emissary to parlay with the worshipers of the Many-Faced God while the Targaryens and the Sealord’s household waited anxiously. When the emissary returned, he brought good tidings with him. The House of Black and White took no offence at Vermax’s actions, claiming that all the pigeons in Braavos had perched upon their roof at one point or another.

With so much chaos from their dragons after only three days, Daemon wondered how they would fare another few weeks at Braavos. At the end of the week, the Sealord would be hosting a great feast to celebrate the Targaryens’ visit to Braavos with the Keyholders of the Iron Bank and many of the wealthy merchants and business mongers of the city invited. Sealord Lysano had already given his blessing for the Targaryens to use the feast as a means to potentially recruit more ships, allies and migrants to accompany them to Valyria.

When they set out from Dragonstone and rallied their fleet from across the Blackwater, they had a combined number of one hundred and nineteen ships, most of the ships were Targaryen, Velaryon and Celtigar, but they also had ships from Houses Bar Emmon, Massey, Darklyn, Staunton, Sunglass and Rollingford. They also expected to pick up another eleven Velaryon ships when they passed through the Stepstones, hoping to recruit those that Corlys had left behind to garrison the islands. Furthermore whatever ships their allies from the Reach could muster would be joining them at Bloodstone as well.

Despite all the allies they had rallied to their cause, Valyria was a big country with seven major cities across it, if they still existed, which meant they would need more than they had if they meant to colonise the entire country once they settled there. To that end, they intended to recruit as many people as they could from across the free cities that would follow them to their ancestral homeland.

Daemon was not overly optimistic about the numbers. Most of the known world would laugh them off, thinking of their dragon dreams as fantasies or delusions. It was the expectation of death and failure that made Daemon feel so secure in their journey to Old Valyria being met with little to no violence. All would welcome them into their cities peacefully and wish them good luck, allow those who wished to join them to do so and then send them on their way, expecting them to perish and take their dragons with them and on the off chance they succeeded, all the cities they passed through would hope to forge alliances with the New Valyria and remind the Targaryens of what gracious hosts the Free Cities had been during their journey.

In the meantime, Prince Daemon was just trying to enjoy the trip as he leaned over the white stone railing of the waterside veranda in the Sealord’s palace. Daemon wasn’t doing anything in particular, just relaxing, breathing, watching the water sway and wabble in the sunlight. Out of character for Daemon? Perhaps. But Daemon would be remiss if he did not admit to himself that some of the best times in his life, were the quietest, most of all the years he spent travelling Essos with Laena and the quiet years on Dragonstone with Rhaenyra.

Soon Daemon’s quiet moment was put to an end when the door out to the veranda behind him opened. When Daemon turned his head, he saw Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys enter.

“There you are cousin,” Rhaenys greeted, “I was surprised when the servants said to find you here. Should you not be brandishing Dark Sister before the water dancers at the Moon Pool?”

“Is it a crime to enjoy a little bit of the serene now and again?” Daemon asked, shrugging.

Rhaenys scoffed.

“The Rogue Prince enjoying the quieter things in life? My, my. You must be getting old,” she prodded as she came to the railing.

“You would be the expert on getting old, cousin,” Daemon teased, extracting a snort from Rhaenys.

Daemon and Rhaenys had not always had a perfect relationship, but since Daemon’s youth when his bitter and impertinent tongue would lash any at court with barbed remarks, Rhaenys was the only one who bit back at Daemon which he always enjoyed and over the years it became how they expressed affection for one another.

“If you two are done trading barbs, we would have words with you and Rhaenyra. Do you know where she is?” Corlys asked.

“The guest wing courtyard, last I saw. She and Rhaena were helping the girl Nettles with her Valyrian,” said Daemon.

When the Prince’s eyes looked to the doorway that Lord Corlys and Rhaenys had entered through, he saw one of the Dragonkeeper Elders standing patiently with his hands clasped together in front of him. At first glance, Daemon assumed that the Dragonkeeper had come to tell them of another nuisance caused by the dragons but that was not the only reason he might have come.

On the night that they arrived in Braavos, sentries posted at the Arsenal of Braavos claimed to see the shadows of two dragons pass over the titan in the moonlight and hear their howls, the guards claiming the dragons came from the west. When the news was reported to them the next morning, Rhaenyra and most of the others assumed that two of their dragons had just circled around the city in the dark of night and only appeared to have arrived from the west, but Daemon was not so easily convinced. Daemon was concerned that Aegon and Aemond had decided not to leave well enough alone and had brought Sunfyre and Vhagar to Braavos for an ambush, but Daemon had patrolled the skies with Jace, Baela, Addam and Luke and found nothing. Later that day, reports came in from the farms in the Braavosian Costland claiming two unridden dragons were lurking about and feasting on the livestock. Daemon recognised the dragonkeeper standing at the door as one of the elders who went to investigate the two dragon sightings and if he had returned, then Daemon could only assume that the dragonkeepers had concluded their investigation.

“What news do you bring us from the south, Urnerys?” Daemon asked, switching to the valyrian tongue.

“A strange revelation, Dārilios. We have confirmed that the reports of the two zaldrīzesse unknown in the southern farmlands are true, furthermore, the identity of the two dragons has been discovered.”

For Daemon, that was all but confirmation of the Greens' treachery, either Vhagar, Sunfyre or Tessarion were lurking in the south preparing to ambush them. After all that they had been forced to concede to the ill-spawned Hightower runts that Daemon’s brother had sired, Otto and his malignant and greedy family couldn’t leave Daemon or Rhaenyra alone. If there was to be a silver lining in the matter, then perhaps it was that Daemon could finally have his war and slaughter the greens one by one, for to betray their surrender and attempt to ambush them was an act of war that must be met with fire and blood.

“Which dragons did you find, Urnerys?” Daemon asked, waiting to find out which of Otto Hightower’s grandchildren had come to attack them.

“It is Timpagis and Bianorlaodī. They appear to have followed the zaldrīzesse under our care to Braavos,” the Dragonkeeper explained.

A very unexpected and intriguing revelation to say the least. Timpagis and Bianorlaodī were the valyrian names not of any of the green dragons but of two of the wild dragons that dwelled near the dragonmount. In the common tongue, their names were Grey Ghost and Sheepstealer.

“Timpagis and Bianorlaodī?” Daemon repeated to the Elder, half expecting to have misheard him, but the old master nodded his head in confirmation. Daemon then looked to Rhaenys and Corlys who confirmed the Elder’s words and looked equally concerned to Daemon.

“What of Morghon?” Daemon asked cautiously, calling the sinister dragon known as the Cannibal by his born name.

The Elder shook his head in reply. “Morghon has not been sighted thus far. We believe — and prey — that he has chosen to remain on Zaldrīzdōron.”

Lord Corlys crossed his arms. “Can you give any insights as to why two of the wild zaldrīzesse would follow us to Braavos, Urnerys?” the Seasnake inquired.

“Zaldrīzesse are very complex and intelligent creatures by nature and there are any number of reasons why Timpagis and Bianorlaodī would follow us. Perhaps the shared exodus of all the zaldrīzesse and eggs brought here to Braavos igniting a communal feeling within them, drawing them to follow the mass migration of their own kind. Perhaps they felt that whatever so many of their kin were seeking in the east would interest them as well and resolved to follow your zaldrīzesse to their destination. Or perhaps with Vermithor and the other dragons gone, they were no longer protected from Morghon’s abominable habits,” the Elder suggested.

Daemon nodded his head somberly. “We must speak with Rhaenyra at once,” he asserted, leading Rhaenys, Corlys and the Dragonkeeper from the waterside veranda.

They made their way through the Sealord’s Palace to the guest wing courtyard.

A white stone open area at the waterside with a fountain at the centre, overlooking the great lagoon with the Titan of Braavos and the city in sight across the water. There was a thin canal of water that ran through the courtyard feeding into the fountain on either side from the lagoon with a pair of small stone arching bridges on either side of it to cross over.

Ser Harrold, Ser Erryk, Ser Lorent and Ser Stefon were scattered around the courtyard patroling the edges and watching over the royal household.

Sitting comfortably on the edge of the canal with their sleeves rolled up and fishing poles in their hands were Addam and Alyn, with Luke sitting by their side as well as Joff, little Aegon, Viserys and Gaemon hovering over them, looking at the water intently. Addam and Alyn had become very close with the royal children, forming brotherly bonds with Jace and Luke as they practised swordsmanship, learned High Valyrian and studied how to master their dragons together, with Addam and Alyn, in turn, teaching the boys how to fish and promising to take them sailing and the lagoon with Corlys later in the week.

When Daemon looked for his wife, he spotted her on the far side of the courtyard. Rhaenyra was sitting with Rhaena and Nettles reading books together on cushioned benches inside a stone-domed gazebo near the water’s edge.

Daemon led Rhaenys, Corlys and the Dragonkeeper Elder over the short stone bridge, passing the boys by as they were focused on their fishing.

When they reached the gazebo, Daemon could hear Nettles sounding out the syllables of valyrian words, Rhaenyra and Rhaena were clearly tutoring the girl on how to command a dragon. The young ones had been taken to the island where the dragons and dragonkeepers were dwelling the previous day to try and form their bonds with Vermithor and Silverwing, but neither dragonseed was able to form a bond, being roared off by the two mighty dragons. When Otto Hightower and Aemond came to Dragonstone, they were livid and terrified by the dragonseeds, feeling threatened and endangered by the prospect of the new riders. Rhaenyra assured the two that the three dragonseeds would accompany them to Old Valyria with Vermithor, Silverwing and Seasmoke, but Otto and Aemond were not satisfied and asked a thousand questions, who they were, where they came from, how many more there were, how could they be sure the dragonseeds would not be conscripted to fight against them. It wasn’t as though Otto or Aemond were in a position to do anything about them without starting a bloodbath so they just bit their lips and waited for the Targaryens to leave for Braavos. But given how resistant Vermithor and Silverwing were being to the dragonless youths from Driftmark, Daemon was beginning to question what was to become of them. He knew from the dragon dream that they were to play a part but what part they were to play was becoming more hazy as they continued.

When Rhaenyra spotted Daemon, Rhaenys, Corlys and the Dragonkeeper standing just beyond the gazebo looking at her, she knew they had something serious to discuss. Rhaenyra excused herself from the girls and encouraged them to continue studying before leaving them and approaching Daemon with the leather-bound book under her arm.

“Teaching the girl valyrian, I see,” Daemon stated.

“A study into the mysteries Valyria and the ancient arts,” said Rhaenyra, showing the book she was reading. “Maester Geraldys recommended it. It’s a good book to help teach Nettles our tongue and the Maester believes that it might help give me some insights into what I saw in my dream,” Rhaenyra explained.

The dream Rhaenyra was referring to was a source of great mystery and vexation. On the eve of their great voyage’s commencement, she had seen a vision of Old Valyria at the Doom and had been confronted by sorcerers of the Freehold to who spoke to her in cryptic words. When Rhaenyra told Daemon that morning, he knew not of what she was talking about for he had not experienced the dream and later that evening when they were settled in Braavos, she told all those who had shared the first dragon dream and none of them had shared Rhaenyra’s second dream. Since then, Rhaenyra had been fixated on learning about sorcerers from Old Valyria, trying to understand the meaning of her dream.

“I take it that we have news about the reports of dragons in the south,” Rhaenyra surmised as she noted the Dragonkeeper Elder among them.

“Let us talk more privately,” Daemon suggested, guiding Rhaenyra off to the side. The Elder then recounted all he and the other dragonkeepers had found of Grey Ghost and Sheepstealer lurking about in the southern farmlands along the Braavosi coast just beyond the city. Rhaenyra was greatly vexed, unsure how to take the news. She had not intended to bring Grey Ghost and Sheepstealer along on their voyage, but the prospect of them coming to Valyria and perhaps even eventually becoming ridden dragons was enticing, but at the same time Rhaenyra asserted to them that she was worried. After all the havoc that their dragons had caused in the city over the past few days, however innocent in nature, Grey Ghost and Sheepstealer were even more defiant towards control. Rhaenyra also claimed that she feared they might cause real harm in the city and galvanise their prospective allies in Braavos against them and when they travelled south, they had no way of knowing if the dragons would continue to follow them or if they would remain in Braavos.

As Daemon, Rhaenyra, Corlys and Rhaenys discussed what to do and how to deal with the two wild dragons, a manservant from the Sealord’s household approached them.

“Excuse me, Princess Rhaenyra,” he said, bowing his head.

“Yes, how may I help you?” she asked.

“The Sealord requests your presence and that of your husband, Prince Daemon, in the great hall,” the manservant explained.

“Of course, inform Sealord Lysano that we shall attend to him immediately,” Rhaenyra said cordially to the manservant as he bowed his head and left. Rhaenyra then turned back to Corlys and Rhaenys, “We shall readdress this matter later,” she promised before leaving with Daemon.

Ser Harrold latched onto the two as they made their way from the courtyard, following them two paces behind and to the left. The Great Hall of the Sealord’s palace was on the third floor through many hallways decorated with pedestals bearing busts of previous Sealords, models of various ships, nautilus and conch shells and salvaged treasures from sunken sea vessels. The hallways reminded Daemon a great deal of High Tide and the treasures that Corlys had collected on his nine great voyages.

They eventually found their way into the great hall, guarded by a pair of men armed with halberds on either side. Within the chamber filled with tapestries, rugs, tall windows and a dias upon which Sealord Lysano sat in a comfortable gilded throne.

The Sealord was an older grey-haired gentleman with a beard and a pot belly, draped in extravagant golden robes adorned with floral patterns, a golden chain necklace with a pair of twin keys marked on the medallion of it, a long golden cloak with an ermine mantle and a silk cap banded by a golden coronet set with jewels.

By Sealord Lysano’s side was a tall well-built man with several scars upon his face, a pointed goatee with curled ends of his moustache and his raven black hair tied back into a low ponytail. He dressed in a leather doublet over a grey shirt with forearm-length leather gloves and a red sash tied around his waist with a sword belt over it carrying a skinny little blade with an ornate handle. Aerio Brenar, the First Sword of Braavos and the Sealord’s sworn protector.

Standing between the Sealord and the Targaryens in the middle of the chamber was another individual, tall, wide-bellied and well-dressed, though Daemon could not see his face for he was directing his attention to the Sealord and his back was to the entrance.

“Ah, Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon. Thank you for coming on such short notice, but I have someone here who is eager to meet you,” said the Sealord motioning to the man before him. The man turned around and Daemon felt utter surprise as he recognised the individual. The tall man had short cropped hair now completely grey and a big bushy beard still red at the sides but the grey at his chin had expanded, the wrinkles on his face were more defined but his eyes remained the same. He dressed in extravagant robes of red with many rings and talismans of gold and silver. Reggio Haratis, the Prince of Pentos, a man Daemon had not seen in many years, not since Daemon had left Pentos to carry Laena’s body back to Driftmark for the funeral.

Upon spotting Daemon, Reggio’s eyes lit up, a smile grew on his face and he spread his arms out.

“Daemon Targaryen!” He greeted joyously, walking up to the Rogue Prince and embracing him. The unprompted hug was uncomfortably firm and Daemon had never hugged Reggio before but he awkwardly tried to be kind about it, patting Reggio on the back but wishing the embrace to end.

“Reggio, old boy,” Daemon greeted through knitted eyebrows but tried to seem happy to reunite with his old friend. Eventually, the Prince of Pentos released Daemon and stepped back smiling. Reggio then turned his attention to Rhaenyra, dropping his head and taking her hand. “An honour to meet you, Princess Rhaenyra. I am Reggio Haratis of Pentos, at your service,” he said.

“The honour is all mine, my Prince. Daemon, Baela and Rhaena have all spoken very highly of you. We intended to meet with you in Pentos on our way south,” Rhaenyra said kindly.

“We certainly weren’t expecting you to meet us here in Braavos,” Daemon said, speaking in a more accusative voice. If Reggio’s visit to Braavos had been some sort of planned political visit, then they would have heard of it from the Sealord, but instead, the Prince of Pentos had arrived without any warning of any kind which unsettled Daemon.

Reggio’s expression became unconfident and nervous.

“Yes well… there have been some — complications recently… in Pentos. Unforeseeable occurrences that have forced me to otherwise make my way here to the lovely city of Braavos, which Sealord Lysano has so graciously allowed me to enter,” Reggio said, looking over to the Sealord with gratitude.

“What’s happened?” Daemon asked with a sigh.

Reggio snorted. “What didn’t happen? First, a couple of the farms pulled in a below-average yield from the harvest, nothing too serious but enough to raise a few eyebrows at me; several of our trade ships were raided and seized by the Triarch during their war in the Stepstones against Laena’s father; lastly, we had an outbreak of scarlet fever, can you believe that? All in all, it’s been a pretty sh*tty year thus far for Pentos so naturally I could tell the magistrates were plotting to remove me by the year's end,” Reggio explained.

In Pentos, the Prince was a chosen noble who stood as the figurehead and ceremonial leader of the city, but he had very limited power of his own and the real rulers of the city were the magistrates. As Prince, Reggio lived a well and pampered life, and most of his duties involved presiding over balls and feasts and performing yearly rituals and formalities to appease the gods, but should the city face famine or lose a war or some other tragedy, the magistrates would use the Prince as a scapegoat. Any ill will in the city of Pentos would be blamed on the Prince who they would say had lost favour with the gods and the Prince would be ‘sacrificed’ by slitting his throat to appease the gods and the magistrates would continue to rule in good times and bad, their power never questioned because of the Princes they hid behind.

“I knew that my reign in Pentos was coming to an end, but when you sent me that raven asking for entry into Pentos on your way back to Valyria, I knew that presenting myself as an ally to the Dragonlords would be enough to quell the public and restore my image. The announcement of your coming did wonders in the first few weeks, but then… the ropes being used to hoist a statue that was being built in the city snapped and it fell, crushing twelve people. But did they blame the architects? No. Did they blame the stonemasons? No. Did they blame the Magistrates who commissioned the damn thing? No. They blamed me. I didn’t even know the bloody statue was being built,” Reggio explained in a flustered tone. “Anyway. I knew that would be the final straw for the public, so I gathered up my family, my household, as much gold, silver and precious gems as I could make off with and all the guards and soldiers loyal to me and set sail for Braavos.”

This was unfortunate news to Daemon, he had hoped to use the aid of Reggio to appeal to the nobles of Pentos to join them in their quest to Old Valyria, but those plans had been dashed. Now, when they entered Pentos, they would have no allies within it and would have to try and win over the magistrates and whatever new Prince was probably being installed at that very moment.

“I’m sorry to hear of your hardships, Prince Reggio, though I am glad that you and your family have made it to safety and found refuge here,” Rhaenyra said.

“Thank you, Princess, but while I am grateful to the Sealord for granting me sanctuary here — and I have every intention of repaying him for his hospitality — I actually was hoping I might find sanctuary… with you, Princess… both of you,” Prince Reggio explained.

Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged looks, both surprised.

“With us?” Rhaenyra repeated.
“I ask that you take me with you, Princess. Pentos is no longer safe for me or my family and while I could live quite comfortably as a rich man here in Braavos, they have their own nobility which my family is not part of. It would be the honour of my life if I could join you and your people in Valyria. Allow me to reform my house as a vassal in your coming empire, sworn to the dragonriders of House Targaryen in perpetuity,” Reggio begged, dropping to his knees.

Rhaenyra’s face lit up with joy and appreciation, clearly not expecting to win a new ally so quickly and so willingly.

“How many ships and people have you?” Daemon asked. It stood to reason that aligning themselves with Reggio would cut them off from seeking allies in Pentos of which he was now a fugitive and while Daemon had no intention of turning his friend away he at least wanted to know how little or how great they would increase in power with Reggio’s offer of allegiance.

“Seven ships, roughly a hundred and forty people,” Reggio explained.

A hundred and forty, Daemon thought in his head. Hardly a great number, but more than nothing at the very least. Reggio was a good man and a valued friend and their numbers would continue to grow yet.

“You and your household are more than welcome to join us, my Prince. We are in need of good men such as yourself and your household would be a valued addition to our fleet. I am sure we will find you lands and properties in Valyria befitting your station,” Rhaenyra asserted as she helped Reggio to his feet.

Sealord Lysano clapped his hands together.

“What a historic day this has turned out to be. I am sure that you shall be an invaluable addition to Rhaenyra’s cause, Reggio. You and your family shall remain here in my palace and at the upcoming feast when Princess Rhaenyra will present her cause to the keymasters, nobles and wealthy of Braavos, I am sure you will sing her praises,” the Sealord said graciously.

“You are too generous, good Sealord,” Reggio said, bowing his head.

“Think nothing of it. All I ask in return is that you remember our friendship in years to come when you rule Valyria,” the Sealord requested.

In those words, Daemon saw the truth of the Sealord’s amiability towards the Targaryens. He had given them hospitality and kindness while they passed through his city on their way to Valyria, but Daemon was convinced that the Sealord was not entirely convinced that their quest would amount to anything. The Doom of Valyria was a fact in the eyes of the known world and it was only natural that people would be scepitcal to believe it no longer held dominion over Valyria on the account of dreams. Sealord Lysano was half convinced that the Targaryens would recruit whatever nobles or wealthy people from Braavos who were foolhardy enough to follow them on their damned quest and they would all perish in Valyria, those of Braavos who perished with them would have their abandoned power annexed by those who remained behind like the Sealord and the dragons they took with them would all perish in the doom as well, removing some of the largest threats to power in the known world. Should they live and their quest succeed on the other hand, then the Sealord would have an ally in the new Valyria which would most definitely become the new seat of supreme power in the known world. To deny the Targaryens entry into Braavos and provoke animosity was an unnecessary and dangerous course of action. So long as they treated the Targaryens with kindness and hospitality and wished them well on their way to Valyria then two eventualities would follow; the first would be that the quest to Valyria failed and the Targaryens with their dragons would cease to be a threat; the second was that the quest to Valyria succeeded and their amiability was rewarded by the Targaryens, either way they would win. It was that train of thought that would ensure that the Targaryens would receive warm welcomes at all the ports of the Free Cities on their way to Valyria, with all their leaders hedging their bets, so to speak.

“Let us celebrate this union tonight. I would have all three of our families gather in the middle courtyard for a feast,” the Sealord announced and the Targaryens and their new vassal, Reggio Harratis, accepted.

Chapter 14: From Dreams to Drawings

Chapter Text

Visenya’s latest drawing was almost complete, switching between her string-wrapped graphite pen, her charcoal sticks and the handkerchief she used to smudge her drawings for shading. Visenya’s eyes were fixated on the parchment to a near obsessive degree, the vivid image in her mind seemed to her as though it were already on the sheet of parchment and Visenya was only tracing upon what was already there.

Art had been a passion of Visenya’s since childhood, she adored painting, sculpting and writing poems or composing music upon the harp, but drawing was always one of her most beloved passions. She also liked to write stories, usually about herself, running away from Volantis and going on adventures, seeing the wonders of the west or the east, claiming a dragon or fighting Dothraki raiders, bandits, pirates or dark lords of her own creation.

Usually, Visenya’s artworks were of the things, people and places she saw in Volantis or of the creations in her imagination. However, a little over two months ago, Visenya had a dream, a strange dream, more real and more specific, one that she could recall so perfectly at any moment, recalling every single small aspect in perfect detail. The dream had become a passion for her and she had translated the images from memory to parchment through her drawings.

She’d drawn the great mountain with the ancient city at its base. She’d drawn every building and landscape of the city she could think of. She’d drawn the palace and the great hall with the dragonglass throne. The faces of everyone she’d seen standing upon the dais, those of Valyrian features and those who were not.

She’d also drawn herself and her uncle Aerion as she had seen him and her in the dream.

She was now on her last drawing, this one was of the woman sitting on the glossy black throne, silver-haired and wearing a crown of steel shaped in the image of a winged dragon of three heads with ruby eyes. She was beautiful, regal and majestic and though Visenya knew not who she was or even so much as her name, she could not help but admire the crowned woman with valyrian features.

She had to be a Queen, Visenya thought to herself, a Queen, a ruling Princess or an Empress or some other form of ruling monarch. Why else would she wear a crown.

Visenya imagined her namesake, Visenya the Warrior-Queen of Aegon’s Conquest, would have looked similar to her, the way she commanded such power and respect with a graceful and dominating look in her fair eyes. Perhaps even the Good Queen Alyssane, Visenya’s great-grandmother, possessed such a regal and noble disposition, able to command respect merely by wielding her own confidence and expression with such grace.

As Visenya applied one final gentle stroke of the cloth along the charcoal shadings of the portrait, the image was finally done. Visenya held the parchment up gripping it with her blackened fingers at the top left and bottom right corners of the sheet.

Visenya exhaled through her nose and grinned with pride, happy with how her final piece had turned out. The rest of Visenya’s drawings of her dream were pinned up on the walls of her art study.

Visenya then pinned the drawing of the crowned woman on the wall with all the other portrait sketches from her dream and stepped back to examine it.

After revelling in pride for her artistry, Visenya wiped her hands together and on her brown leather apron to rid her fingers of the black charcoal and graphite on her fingers. She then went over to a small bowl of water and a stick of soap and gave her fingers a proper cleaning before drying them with a towel. When she was done, she took off her apron and pulled at the knot of the scarf that she was using to tie her hair back.

Visenya then walked over to the balcony of her study and gazed out upon the glorious and beautiful labyrinth of palaces, courtyards, towers, temples, cloisters, bridges, and cellars.

A city without slums, shops, hovels or peasants, or at least that was the illusion they tried to paint within the great black walls.

Curtained around the edge of the extravagant city of palaces was a great wall of black stone over two hundred feet high and detailed with carvings of dragons and iconography of Old Valyria.

Beyond the wall was the real city of Volantis, the great port city with the famed Long Bridge that ran over the Rhoyne and a view to the south of the summer sea that stretched out to the horizon.

But Visenya could not see or hear the real Volantis, for her the horizon was divided between the black walls and the blue sky above and from her balcony, the only evidence that the real Volantis was out there were the gilded domes and flame-coloured stone walls of the interlinked towers of the Temple of the Lord of Light that could be seen to the northwest.

When Visenya glanced down, she saw the finely made platform streets that curtained around the palaces, towers, gardens and temples and connected them through bridges.

Very few people walked the streets, save for slaves, servants, guards and children playing in the gardens, but all the nobles who lived within the black walls as citizens were carted around in chariots, mounts or litters carried by their slaves.

Even being taken from one’s own palace to a next-door neighbour required the use of being carted around on the broken backs of some other.

One noble Visenya noticed was lying on a cushioned litter being carried by four slaves at each corner and two more female slaves following behind, dressed in silk garbs of exotic dancers with chain colours around their necks that led to the hand of the fat noble lying on the litter as though it were a settee or a bed.

Visenya hated the nobles who lived within the black walls, Tigers and Elephants alike, she hated living in her grandmother’s palace, she hated slavery, she hated all of Volantis and all it stood for. Since her earliest memories of childhood, all she ever wanted to do was escape this wretched place with the black walls feeling like walls of captivity. Despite how much of a captive she felt, she knew it was ignorant, ungrateful and selfish to feel such a way, for the true captives in Volantis were the slaves who toiled and suffered for their cruel masters all the while Visenya lived a lavish and wealthy life that she so disgusted. The Elephants, Tigers and any other freeman wealthy enough to own a slave saw them as property, lesser than dogs in some households, but not Visenya.

When her parents died at sea, Visenya was taken in by her grandmother, but while she had sired fifteen children, twelve of whom lived to maturity and nine of which still lived, she was no sort of mother and spent her time at parties and masquerades rather than raising her children and Visenya was no different.

It was the slaves in her grandmother’s household who raised Visenya, who played with her, read her bedtime stories, kissed her scraped knees to make them feel better, fed her and held her while singing lullabies when she woke from a nightmare. The slaves were the ones whom she looked up to and cared for. It was the slaves who taught Visenya good manners and to say please and thank you, words Visenya’s grandmother rarely said.

“Mistress Visenya?” a voice called softly from the door of her art study, speaking to her in valyrian. Visenya turned around and saw Mansy standing there, one of her grandmother’s slaves. As a serving slave, Mansy was dressed finer than the common slave, wearing a simple blue cloth dress and her status was shown by the subtle tattoo upon her cheek of the outline of a jug, the common slave brand of the household servant. “Have you finished with your drawing?” Mansy asked courteously.

“Yes, this one here,” Visenya said enthusiastically, guiding Mansy over to her latest drawing.

“Oh, it’s beautiful, Young Mistress,” Mansy said affectionately, though as a slave it was not like she was allowed to say anything else about her mistress’s work. “Took me a while to get the eyes right,” she admitted stroking her chin.

“Well, I think you did a splendid job,” Mansy said with a smile.

Visenya smiled back at Mansy, who had been one of the many friends and companions that had helped raise Visenya to maturity. “Was there something you needed?” Visenya asked. Mansy nodded.

“Your Gōmuña wishes to see you,” Mansy explained.

Visenya sighed and nodded before making her way out of her study.

The halls of her grandmother’s palace were fancy and exotic, with red carpets running across the floors, the walls covered in murals and tapestries of ancient valyrian carnal activities and some gilded statues of dragons displayed here and there.

Mansy led Visenya through the halls to an indoor courtyard where she found her grandmother, Princess Saera Targaryen, the rogue daughter of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alyssane Targaryen, the madame of Volantis.

She was lying on a sofa, clad in a slim fitted sleeveless black dress and a purple shawl around her arms. A necklace in the shape of a golden dragon, earrings, rings and armbands of extravagant craftsmanship and her flowing white hair done up in a half-up bun.

A slave was on his knees at her feet painting her toenails purple and in her hand was a goblet, presumably filled with wine, as usual. Another slave stood behind her gently waving a large wooden pole with an ostrich feather fan mounted on the end to cool, Princess Saera. Their household Majordomo, Belario, was standing nearby, a slender bald man with a chinstrap beard, dark eyeliner, golden earrings and draped in fine robes and many rings.

Visenya also noticed two of their household guards standing at attention on either side of a group of seven people, three of them men and four of them women, all lined up. They were all very attractive people in their own right, gorgeous to behold, like figures portrayed in marble sculptures. None of them wore clothes, except for loincloths, wraps around the breasts of the women and slave collars around their necks. Their bodies had been rubbed down in oil, making their skin glisten and upon each of their left cheeks was a teardrop tattoo.

Clearly, Visenya was beholding her grandmother’s new selection of slave whor*s which she had recently bought to fill her pleasure houses.

Over the years Visenya had seen many of her grandmother's slaves come through their palace; old and young; fat and thin; boy and girl; defiant and submissive and all other kinds. Saera knew the rich and powerful of Volantis and made it her business to know their deepest fantasies and most lustful desires and worked to accommodate them. On occasion, if the price was right, Saera had even contracted herself out in the past over the years, which was how Visenya ended up with so many aunts, uncles and cousins.

When Saera began her career , she took service as a free woman in the pleasure gardens of Lys, dressed as a novice of the faith of the seven, playing the part of countless clients as an untouched innocent for the patrons to despoil. As a Princess of the Targaryen dynasty, the wealthiest men in the free cities paid high prices to sleep with her and after building a great fortune in Lys, she left for Volantis where she charmed her way into the households of the Elephants and Tigers and built her pleasure houses within the black walls.

Visenya once asked her grandmother why she used slaves for her pleasure houses rather than free people like her, to which Saera replied that an employee is paid every time they labour while a slave is bought once, used a thousand times and all the gold goes to her.

“Ah, sȳz ñāqes Talanna ,” Saera greeted as Visenya came forward.

“ Sȳz ñāqes, Gōmuña,” Visenyra replied.

“Do you like them? A fine selection of new workers, no diseases or deformities and three of them are unspoilt,” Saera said, presenting the slaves to her granddaughter.

“They look… healthy, Gōmuña ,” Visenya said stiffly.

“Yes. Indeed,” said Saera, scratching her chin as she mused over her selection of slaves.

“Belario, which of the boys is the unspoilt one?” she asked.

“This one, Darilios,” the Majordomo said, walking over to a slender handsome young boy with dark hair and deep eyes. Belario gripped the boy’s jaw and moved his head from side to side to give Saera a good look. Visenya hated how the masters handled their slaves, fondling them, feeling them up, smacking them about and treating them like furniture.

“How old is he? Fifteen?” Saera asked.

“Seventeen.”

Saera frowned and bobbed her head from side to side. “Lord Silandro has been wanting to despoil a fresh boy for some time now, but he usually prefers ones fourteen or younger. This one is pretty, I’ll give him that… and he’s slender too. Perhaps Lord Silandro will make an exception.”

Visenya was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, always feeling sick to her stomach whenever her mother examined her new whor* slaves.

“As for the two broken-in boys… I’ll test them myself tonight together and see how they handle. Have them brought to my chamber after dinner this evening. I’ll also take the girl with curly hair. What about you, Visenya? Would you like to have one? This blond girl here looks rather lovely,” Saera said, motioning to one of the slave girls in the line.

“No, Gōmuña,” Visenya replied uncomfortably, looking at the poor slave with pity. For years, ever since Visenya had her first moon blood, her grandmother had been offering her the sex slaves she carted through the palace, in the same manner, one would kindly offer someone an apple. On Visenya’s fifteenth nameday, her grandmother had a pair of freshly bought slaves, one boy and one girl, both the same age as Visenya, waiting timidly for her to lay with in her bedchamber. Visenya lay with neither of them that night, she was attracted to the boy and she was attracted to the girl, but freedom and choice were more important to her.

Saera tsked her granddaughter and shook her head, clearly unhappy with Visenya’s continued detest of slavery.

“Why must you always be so disagreeable, Talanna ? It matters not how much your heart bleeds for them, it will change nothing. Things are the way they are and the only person you are making miserable is yourself by resenting it,” Saera explained.

“Just because things are, does not mean they should be,” Visenya protested, but her grandmother only snorted with rolled eyes and took another swill of wine from her goblet. “Did you only summon me to view your new slaves or is there something else you require of me?”

Visenya’s grandmother nodded her head.

“Your uncle Aerion has returned to the city. He’ll be returning home today and I thought you might wish to know,” Saera explained with a shrug, knowing full well that Aerion was her favourite uncle and truly the only one she was remotely close to of all her family. She had begged him a thousand times to take her on as his ward to free her from her grandmother, but he always refused because of the dangers associated with his line of work.

Visenya’s heart fluttered and her face lit up, overjoyed at such good tidings. Much like Visenya, Aerion was a free spirit who detested the unsavoury practices of slavery and had spent most of his life away from the city serving first as a foot soldier in a sellsword company but rising through the years to the founder and captain of his own company, the Dragonfangs. Over the years they had amassed wealth and fame fighting in the disputed lands, protecting travellers from the Dothraki raiders when traversing the great grass sea and they had even commissioned a swan ship and been contracted as privateers for the Summer Isles, attacking and liberating slave transport vessels bound for Astapor, Yunkai or Mareen. In Visenya’s fantasies of escape from Volantis, she was often a member of the Dragonfangs, fighting and travelling alongside her uncle and his colourful mercenary friends.

Aerion was the youngest of her grandmother’s many children, born to a noble from the house of Nestaar while Visenya’s father was a Doreneos. Of her grandmother’s nine sons and six daughters, none of them were fathered by the same man, or at least that was the belief since some children’s lineage was hard to trace given how frequently Saera cycled through lovers and clients. Most of them, like Aerion and Saera’s father, were sired by the tigers of Volantis, who paid a high price to sire children of the old blood with a Targaryen like Saera.

“When will he be arriving?” Visenya asked with joy, elated at the prospect of seeing him again. Saera opened her mouth as though to speak but relented and glanced over to her majordomo since he probably knew the answer.

“Master Aerion entered the city half an hour ago and is setting up lodgings for his men in the city. He should be here in the palace within the hour I should hazard,” Belario explained.

“Just in time for lunch,” Saera suggested, “Now off you go. Go get cleaned up and make yourself look agreeable before he arrives.”

With that Visenya bowed her head lightly and raced off back to her room to properly wash up and get dressed in something more presentable.

In her chambers, Visenya got dressed into a pale blue gown with Mansy helping to clean her up and wash away all the charcoal and dirt and brush her hair. For the next hour after that, Visenya waited patiently for word of Aerion’s arrival, reading a book of valyrian poetry to pass the time.

Now and again Visenya glanced up at the drawings from her dream, looking at where she stood on the dias with Aerion close by, the only person from the dream she actually knew other than herself. Visenya knew she had to show Aerion when he arrived, wondering if it meant anything to him or if it was just a very strange dream that had burrowed its way into her head.

Soon a slave came to tell Visenya of Aerion’s arrival and she smiled with joy, thanking the slave and racing down the halls towards the foyer of the palace. There, at the bottom of the stairs, standing inside the closed doors of her grandmother’s palace was a tall handsome man in his mid-twenties, with short pale silver hair pushed back with a few loose strands falling down his brow, a short trimmed silver beard and deep blue eyes. He was dressed in a dark cloak over an armour suit cobbled together from studded leathers and mail, the hilt of his single-edged sword visibly sticking out from beneath his cloak and a leather sack hanging from his back from a strap that he slung over his shoulder.

“Kepus,” Visenya squealed in joy as she hurried down the steps. Her uncle began to laugh happily and spread his arms out accepting Visenya into an embrace when she reached him and lifted her up in the air.

“Look at you, you grow more beautiful by the day,” said Aerion, pulling away and looking at his niece’s face in detail.

“It’s so wonderful to see you. How did your contract in Qohor go? Are the boys alright? What news from the outside world? Tell me everything,” Visenya begged.

“Relax, Visenya. All in good time, I’m not racing off anywhere,” Aerion promised her as he put his arm around her shoulder and walked with her up the stairs.

“The contract went well and we didn’t lose anyone. It was just some big-chested and blusterous Khal who declared himself the Stallion who will mount the World and tried to take the city. We worked with the city’s soldiers and four other mercenary companies and thought up a plan to outsmart them. We dug trenches, filled them with spikes, covered them up with grass and their first cavalry line fell into our trap. Then we picked them off with arches and drew them into the forest of Qohor where we’d tied ropes between the stumps of the trees to trip their horses. Most were thrown from their horses and killed and those who survived we finished off ourselves,” Aerion explained.

Visenya was enamoured with her uncle’s stories of adventure and wished she could have been there to experience them.

The slaves and guards all bowed and welcomed Aerion back as they made their way through the palace to the dining courtyard where Saera was, already digging into the lunch set out for them.

“ Aerion my darling. Welcome home,” Visenya greeted, pleasant and joyous but not exactly overwhelmed with maternal love at her son’s return, but such was her way.

“Muña,” he greeted with a forced smile, just as unfond of his own mother as Visenya was of her.

Saera leaned her head to the side presenting her cheek and Aerion crossed the courtyard to peck a kiss on her cheek, which was the extent of his mother’s show of affection on her part.

“Come, join me,” she invited, gesturing to the lunch set out of them and so Aerion and Visenya sat on the couches and began to help themselves.

Platters of fruit, bread, cheeses and dried meats set out along with jugs of wine and empty goblets, save for Saera’s which was almost always full.

At Saera’s request, Aerion recounted his adventure of Qohor and facing off the Dothraki. Saera then veered the conversation to her own experiences with the Dothraki, talking of a Dothraki screamer who had been taken as a slave and made a gladiator in the fighting pits. She explained that the Dothraki warrior was untamed and refused to submit, always being kept in chains when not in the fighting pits. Saera was so taken by his great physique that one night she paid to have him chained down to a bed so she could mount the horse lord, making Aerion and Visenya uncomfortable with the details of her exploit and finishing off by suggesting that he might have been one of the five possible fathers of Aerion’s half-sister, Dareila.

“So what other news in the far west? Anything special happening in my beloved homeland of Westeros?” Saera asked before gulping down another mouthful of wine.

Aerion’s expression shifted seeming both surprised and uncomfortable.

“You mean you have not heard?” Aerion asked.

Saera looked to Visenya, neither of them sure what Aerion meant. When Saera turned back to her youngest son she simply shrugged and shook her head in response.

“No… I suppose not much word from Westeros has been coming to Volantis since the Seasnake’s war in the Stepstones.”

Aerion seemed unsure about what to say next, reaching out and taking a sip of wine from his goblet before speaking.

“Your nephew King Viserys is dead, Muña. A sickness took him a little more than two months past,” Aerion began.

“Oh,” Saera said, neither happy nor sad but just in recognition of the news. “Well, that’s a shame for him.”

It was disconcerting for Visenya to hear how indifferent her grandmother was to her own nephew’s passing. Granted she had not seen him since he was an infant, but he was still her family. But while Visenya was put off by her grandmother's reaction, she herself was more concerned about what else, her uncle had to say, especially in regards to matters of Visery’s succession. Since Visenya was a small child she had been fascinated with Viserys’s eldest daughter, Rhaenyra. As one who had dreamt so often of escaping to a life of adventure and great feats, the idea of a woman ruling the seven kingdoms had always astounded Visenya.

“And what of Princess Rhaenyra? Has she ascended the throne?” Visenya asked eagerly.

Aerion looked over to Visenya and softly shook her head.

“Apparently, on the eve of his death, Viserys overturned his twenty-year declaration that Rhaenyra should be queen in favour of Aegon. This rectification was reported by the Lord Hand, Ser Otto Hightower and his daughter, the Queen Dowager,” Aerion recounted. The signs of clear usurpation and falsehoods were clear in Aerion’s tone and his chosen words.

“Aegon was coronated and after a stand-off period between the two Targaryen factions, Rhaenyra yielded her claim for the sake of peace and prosperity in the realm,” Aerion explained. Visenya was disappointed, to say the least, having had high hopes of Princess Rhaenyra’s succession to the Iron Throne, but alas.

“I’m surprised that she was able to retain her position for so long. It was ridiculous to think she’d ever be queen after Aegon was born. Only a simpleton would think the realm would have accepted her, though she was of my sister Daella’s line through her mother, so perhaps simpleton was not far off,” Saera asserted, laughing at her own bitter little joke, but neither Aerion nor Visenyna was amused by it.

“So what has become of the Princess and her family? Did they swear obeisance to King Aegon?” Visenya asked.

Aerion took another sip of wine before answering. “As I understand it they did in the beginning, but when I left Qohor, there were rumours stirring that Princess Rhaenyra and her family planned to flee east and settle somewhere in Essos, but where exactly, I know not.”

Such intriguing and exciting changes of late, with the world taking on such a drastic series of changes. Two Targaryen factions split apart. Targaryens returning to Eossos, presumably with their dragons. Oh, how Visenya wished that the Targaryens would come as far east as Valyria, just to see the dragons and meet the Targaryens would be such a gift. At that moment, when Visenya was trying to picture meeting them in her head, she illustrated their faces with those of the people she’d drawn from her dream.

For months she’d been pondering endlessly who those people in her drawings were, what strange collection of Valyrian-featured and non-Valyrian-featured people gathered around the dragonglass throne with her and her uncle Aerion? Now she wondered if she had stumbled onto her answer. But of all the faces she saw in the dream, there was only one she truly knew the identity of and he was sitting with her at lunch.

After they finished eating, Visenya ushered Aerion away and took him through the halls to her chambers.
“Have new drawings for me to see, Visenya?” Aerion asked as he followed her down the hall.

“Yes, ones that I have been working on for a few months now,” Visenya explained, remaining vague on the details of her work.

“Then by all means, show me,” Aerion encouraged, having long been an admirer of his favourite niece’s artworks.

The moment of truth came when Visenya reached the door, possessing no clue as to what reaction would be to her art. Did they actually mean something or was it just a peculiarly vivid dream that Visenya was taking too seriously? Visenya opened the door and stepped inside, welcoming Aerion in. Aerion eagerly peered around the chamber looking for Visenya’s new works. When Aerion’s eyes fell upon the back wall of her chamber his expression shifted from a joyful one to a haunted frown as he looked at the drawings.

Visenya felt both relieved and nervous. The relief came from confirmation that her drawings and dreams did mean something and were not just fantasies but her nervousness came from the terror of the unknown and how she knew nothing of what any of this meant and that scared her.

In stunned silence, Aerion walked deeper into Visenya’s chamber looking at the drawings in greater detail from up close.

“You’ve seen these before, haven’t you?” Visenya surmised, now starting to think that Aerion might have had a similar dream to her, maybe even the same dream, maybe even on the same night. “I dreamt this a little over two months ago and as you said, that was when King Viserys died,” Visenya continued.

Finally, Aerion turned around and faced Visenya once more looking deep into her eyes for a moment and then saying, “It seems we have much to discuss.”

Chapter 15: A Braavosi Masquerade

Chapter Text

The week had passed by relatively quickly and the night of the feast had arrived, though over the week, as the guest list grew with more prominent Braavosi wishing to meet with the Targaryens, the event evolved from a feast to a lavish ball in the Braavosi fashion of a masquerade.

Braavos was well-known for its lavish masquerades with the most lavish being the city-wide ten-day celebration of the anniversary of the uncloaking of Uthero which consisted of a festival of masks and revelry. This event would be far simpler in comparison, being contained to the Sealord’s palace and consisting of the prominent and wealthy Braavosi as well as the Targaryens and their nobles.

The Targaryens, Velaryons and Dragonseeds had all chosen to style their masquerade costumes after the Gods of Old Valyria.

When Jace was picking his costume, he considered styling himself as Vermax, the god of travel, trade and languages, in solidarity with his dragon, but his mother persuaded him to dress as Arrax, the Ruler of Gods, lord of law, order, justice, governance, and strength, to show the Braavosi he was a leader and that the power that his mother would establish in Valyria would outlive her through him.

His costume consisted of a creamy white tunic with pointed shoulders embroidered with dragon scales of gold and bronze forming an inverted triangle from his shoulders to his chest and over the tunic he wore a golden silk shoulder cloak embroidered with a silver three-headed dragon with bronze eyes and claws.

While Jace admired the god Arrax and was fond of his brother’s dragon Arrax, he absolutely despised the outfit he was wearing for it was far too gaudy and flamboyant for Jace’s liking. The ancient valyrians of the Freehold admired colour, beauty and shiny things like any other culture, but that was not how they conveyed status.

For the Dragonlords of old, their sense of majesty and greatness came from the dragons, the source of Valyria’s might. For some people, dragons were not always pleasant to behold, depending on their colour, shape and age they could be considered ugly or scary and menacing, especially when you got a good look at their teeth, but all dragons were at their most beautiful when they were flying. From seeing the dragons in their kinetic beauty, the dragonlords developed a sense of high status from practicality and deeds done. The Valyrians idolised the dragons and the greatness of dragons came not from how they looked but from all the incredible things they could do from flying, breathing fire and living for centuries. To that end, the Valyrians chose to put value into those who carried their prestige in deeds done rather than insisting upon one’s status by cladding oneself in rich eyesores. Valyrians still valued gold, gems, colourful clothing and bright colours, but beauty and greatness were more or less segregated in valyrian culture.

Such concepts were evident throughout the House of Targaryen. The austerely beautiful fortress castle of Dragonstone was a good example; shaped in the ancient brutalist style of Old Valyrian architecture. The valyrian steel crown of Aegon the Dragon; it may not have been as pretty and colourful as a crown of gold, but gold was a weak material that was easy to break while valyrian steel was metal second to none and so the Conqueror chose his crown as practical rather than pretty. Blackfyre and Dark Sister; the two royal swords of valyrian steel, yet decorated sparingly. Even the colours of House Targaryen; black and red made for grim and dark aesthetics which further reflected their valyrian styles. Their outfits may not have been rich in material and colour, but they were rich in details with tailors and seamsters putting all their effort and passion into every dragon scale and flame that they embroidered into their garments which was more prastigious to the Targaryens than fancy bright silks. The Greens on the other hand, more Hightower than Targaryen, loved their gilded frocks and fancy colours which went well with their Andal stylings and seven-pointed stars.

The last affectation of Jace’s outfit was the mask sitting on his bed, a gold and bronze domino mask decorated with dragon scales with horns extending up from the brow and bat-like wings on either side of it. After picking the mask off the bed and putting it on, tying the two silk straps together behind his head, Jace went over to the mirror in his chamber to examine himself. His first thought was, you look like a damn fool, as he saw his costume in its entirety. The outfit reminded Jace of Sunfyre which in turn reminded him of Aegon which only made him dislike it more.

After gathering his courage and swallowing his pride, Jace turned to exit his chamber, ready to partake in the festivities. In the corridor, Jace found Addam and Luke in the hall, fidgeting with the sleeves and collars of their garments and asking one another if they looked presentable.

Luke wore garments of scales in the colours of dark blue purple, orange, red and yellow. His domino mask was painted as a sunset decorated with a sunburst on one side and a crescent moon and stars on the other. With Arrax taken by Jace, the god that Luke had chosen to personify himself as was Gaelithox, the Lord of fire, stars, moon, sun, and the dawn.

Addam on the other hand, wore beige, yellow and gold with scripts of valyrian writing scrawled across his dragon-scale tunic in gold leaf. After asking Jace and Luke for advice, Addam and Alyn had chosen the gods to dress as, with Addam choosing Vermax, the namesake of Jace’s dragon.

When Jace joined the two, they both looked at him and smiled.

“Ah, behold Luke, the king of the gods graces us with his presence,” Addam teased.

“Oh mighty Arrax, you honour us mere mortals,” Luke added on.

“Shut up the pair of you,” said Jace, rolling his eyes. When Jace looked to Addam he noticed that he seemed slightly more uncomfortable in his garments than Luke, probably due to never having worn something so fancy and outlandish before.

“How are you fairing, Addam?” Jace asked.

The dragonrider from Hull winced nervously. “It still feels a bit odd carrying a sword,” Addam said shyly looking down at his blade hanging by his waist from his belt. All of them had their swordbelts, though only for ceremonial purposes. While people would not often bring their swords to festivities and formal events, it was an old Braavosi tradition tethered to the water dancers and their pride in their weaponry.

Since officially joining them on Dragonstone, not only had Addam and Alyn been training as dragonriders, but also learning the skills assorted to knights, training with Jace and Luke in arms. Both brothers showed proficiencies with blades and the makings of fine knights. Despite Jace having at first been cold and unkind to the dragonseeds, projecting the insecurities of his nature onto the common-born dragonseeds, Jace eventually shook his petty contempt and insecurity and showed them the respect due to them which had rewarded Jace with strong friendships. The bond that the two sets of brothers had formed over such a short period of time was reminiscent of Jace’s friendship with Lord Cregan Stark, for as short as their friendship had been before his mother accepted terms of surrender from the Greens, it was powerful, just as it was with Addam and Alyn.

“I think it suits you,” Luke said reassuringly, patting Addam on the shoulder.

The next to leave his chamber and join them in the corridor was Alyn, dressed, cloaked and masked in draconic stylings of grey and dark blue; the persona of Aegarax lord of all creatures that walk, run, swim, or fly, Creator of the first dragon.

When picking their costumes, Jace, Luke and Addam had encouraged Alyn to dress as Vermithor, the Lord of smiths, artificers, craftsmen, artisans and sorcerers, believing it would make for good symbolism if he could successfully claim the bronze fury as his dragon, but Alyn refused feeling it too presumptuous.

Both Alyn and Nettles had been trying very hard to claim Vermithor and Silverwing, both going to the island where they nested and trying to claim them every day and practising on dragonback by sharing saddles with Jace and Balea, but, no matter how hard they tried, Vermithor and Silverwing would snarl and snap and even lash out at them with their flaming breath when either of them tried to get close. It was a vexing matter, to say the least, for surely it was their destiny to become dragonriders like Addam, yet neither of the two unclaimed dragons wished to bond with them. Perhaps they are meant to claim dragons from eggs yet to be hatched, also, Grey Ghost and Sheepstealers' sudden and unexpected appearance was another curious development.

“Finally dressed,” Addam teased as Alyn joined them.

“You know full well that I was already dressed before any of you,” Alyn replied.

“Until Luke told you that you had your tunic on inside out,” Addam chided, bringing the four of them to laugh.

The four then made their way from the corridor to the guest wing courtyard where Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys were waiting.

Princess Rhaenys wore a gown of purple, gold and black, styled in dragon scales and wings with a mask to match it with a golden slit pupil eye in a red sunburst on the forehead of her mask.

Lord Corlys wore garments of light blue and sea green, pointed dragon scales and rounded fish scales decorated on his garments, a chain necklace carrying brass seashells on it and a mask styled in the ocean waves.

“Well, don’t you boys clean up nicely,” Jace’s grandfather complimented as the four came close.

Rhaenys pinched her chin and examined them each with a smile. “Let me see… Arrax, Gaelithox, Vermax and Aegarax,” she listed off pointing to each of them as the correct god.

“Yes, exactly right, Grandmother,” Jace confirmed smiling.

“And what of you, Princess? Is this the personification of Meleys?” Addam asked, not yet familiar with the pantheon of Valyria.

Rhaenys smiled and shook her head. “No. Whilst I love the dragon who carries the name, the goddess is not really reflective of my… style. Meleys is the goddess of Love, lust and Fertility. No, I have chosen Tessarion, goddess of arts, music, healing and prophecy,” Rhaenys explained, gesturing to the third eye of her mask.

“And I see you have chosen Caraxes, Grandsire,” Luke pointed out as he looked at Lord Corlys’s outfit.

“Naturally. Lord of the Sea, patron of sailors and bringer of storms. In Old Valyria when the Freehold had the largest navy in the world, Caraxes was also considered the maintainer of the Freehold’s power and the harbinger of its might,” the Seasnake explained.

“So, if you are the King of the Gods, then pray tell, what has your mother chosen to dress as Jace?” Rhaenys asked her grandson, but Jace could only shrug in response.

“I’m not sure. She didn’t say. If I were to guess, I would say Meraxes, goddess of the skies and patron of dragonriders. Sending a message to prospective allies of her command over the largest thunder of dragons in the world and leading such a great assembly of power back to Valyria.”

“Really? I think she’d choose, Tyraxes, the goddess of Wisdom, knowledge, peace and skill, denoting to her virtues of leadership,” Luke suggested.

“Both very good suggestions,” Corlys complimented, smiling to his grandsons.

“If I’m not mistaken, Syrax is a valyrian goddess as well. Since Princess Rhaenyra’s dragon is named after the goddess, is there a reason she would not choose her for a costume?” Addam asked.

Jace, Luke and their grandparents began to snigg*r and chortle.

“Very much so, Adam,” Corlys replied.

“The goddess Syrax is the lady of wine, inebriation, jovial music, carnal pleasures and festivities,” Rhaenys explained.

Addam and Alyn joined in on the laughter, now realising the joke.

“Well that would certainly not be the right message to prospective allies for Rhaenyra,” Addam said.

The attention of the four was then caught by youthful laughter as four little youths dressed in colourful garments came running into the courtyard, pursued by their midwives.

Joff, little Aegon, Viserys and Gaemon were all dressed up in their costumes and full of energy. Jace and Luke had helped the boys pick their costumes, each choosing to be a minor god or demigod from Valyrian mythology rather than one of the fourteen principal gods known as the fourteen flames.

Rather than joining them at the main event, the boys would be with the other noble children in one of the courtyards where the Sealord had arranged for a pageant to keep the young ones occupied with games, food, circus performers and Mushroom volunteering his services to take centre stage for the children.

As the midwives tried to corral the energetic young boys, Jace’s mother and Prince Daemon emerged from the corridor arm in arm.

Princess Rhaenyra wore a gown of silver, grey and white detailed with scales and wings and two long tails of sheer grey fabric extending down her back from the shoulders of her dress.

Daemon wore a black and grey tunic and his mask was completely black and framed with dragon wings on either side and down his eyes were a singular stripes of silver.

Rhaenyra and Daemon joined them, Rhaenyra with a smile on her face while Daemon remained his usual stern self, perhaps just as comfortable wearing a costume as Jace was even if Daemon’s was far less flamboyant.

“Well don’t you all look lovely,” Rhaenyra complimented as she looked at all their outfits.

“As do you, Rhaenyra. We were wondering which goddess you had chosen for this evening’s event. Might you elaborate for us?” Rhaenys asked.

Rhaenyra presented her dress and smiled.

“I am Shrykos, the lady of beginnings, endings, transitions, and doorways,” she introduced.

“Symbolic of the new era of Valyria you will bring. Too perfect,” Rhaenys complimented.

“And Daemon, as if we even need to guess who you have come as,” said Corlys, for it was clear to all which god he had dressed as.

“Balerion, the lord of Death and ruler of the Underworld,” Daemon introduced, confirming what they all suspected of his costume, for it was hard to picture Daemon agreeing to go to the party dressed as anything else.

While they waited, the boys and Jace’s grandparents explained their costumes to Rhaenyra and Daemon, with Daemon making a joke to Lord Corlys not to let Daemon get too drunk or might try climbing on the Sea Snake’s back since he was dressed as the god Caraxes.

Soon after, the sound of clicking heels drew Jace’s attention back to the corridor where he watched the girls emerge from.

Rhaena was dressed in a pink and gold gown with off-the-shoulder ruffled sleeves, a pink mask with gold leaf sprinkling on it and a golden sunburst crown. Jace could only assume she was dressed as Meleys, the love goddess. When Luke turned his head and spotted her, his jaw dropped and his eyes widened, completely enamoured with his betrothed.

Near Rhaena was Nettles, dressed in purple and gold with vinery and leaves detailing her outfit, having seemed to have picked Syrax for her god.

Both girls looked beautiful of course, but when Jace spotted Baela behind them, he forgot either of them was there, he forgot anyone else was in the courtyard, it felt like Baela was the only person in the entire world. Jace’s heart began to flutter, his skin felt flushed and tingly and he feared he might begin to perspirate.

Baela was gorgeous. She wore a stunning long dark red sleeveless dress with a black lace corset of scales over it with a leather bat-like wing high collar and long black gloves that went past her elbows. Her hair was tied back in a bun with a few strands of silver-white locks framing her face, a black dragon wing-shaped domino mask, her lips painted dark red and silver earrings dangling on either side.

It was all too clear for Jace who she was dressed as, Vhagar the goddess of war.

Rhaenyra and Rhaenys went over to the girls, trading compliments of their costumes and confirming the goddesses they’d each chosen.

The Sea Snake then leaned forward and put a hand on Luke’s shoulder.

“Tell Rhaena she looks nice,” Corlys said in a whisper to his grandson.

“What?” Luke asked nervously, looking at the Sea Snake.

“When Rhaena comes over here, tell her she looks nice,” Addam whispered, joining the Sea Snake’s encouragement.

“Trust us, it will make her smile,” Alyn added.

“And getting the girl to smile is always the first victory,” said Addam.

When the girls approached them, Jace could feel himself tighten up, getting more nervous with every step Baela took closer to him, rendered completely defenceless by her beauty.

Nettles made japes with Addam and Alyn about each other’s costumes, Daemon and Baela complemented one another while Rhaena and Luke gravitated towards one another.

“Good evening, Luke,” Rhaena greeted.

“Good evening, Rhaena,” Luke replied, smiling nervously.

The two stood there in silence for a moment, smitten with one another.

“You look nice,” Luke finally said, remembering what the Sea Snake and the Hull boys had told him.

Rhaena smiled and shyly ran her hands down her dress.

“I look nice?” she repeated.

“You look amazing,” Luke corrected, making Rhaena’s smile grow.

Jace noticed, Corlys, Addam and Alyn glanced over to the pair and smiled with pride at Luke.

Finally, Jace came face to face with Baela.

“Evening, Jace,” she greeted.

“Evening, Bala” he replied plainly but with a smile, not sure what else to say.

“Well, don’t you make a fine king of the gods,” she complimented as she looked at his costume, but Jace snorted in response and shook his head.

“You're too kind, I look like a gilded eyesore. But you… you make for a vision of the goddess Vhagar,” Jace complemented, bringing a smile to Baela’s face.

“Do you like it?” she asked, gently swaying her hips from side to side, letting the edges of her dress softly sweep over the stone floor of the courtyard.

Jace wanted to say more than just a simple you look nice but didn’t want to copy Luke’s amazing, after a moment of thought Jace came up with his response.

“You look incredible,” Jace asserted.

Baela looked at him for a moment, her eyes fluttering and then her smile grew.

“Well then, since we are all here, I do not think we should keep our host waiting any longer, let us go,” Jace’s mother said.

Baela took Jace’s arm and they followed Rhaenyra and Daemon through the courtyard.

Their sworn swords led by Ser Harrold joined them on the far side of the courtyard and escorted them through the Sealord’s palace. First, they dropped the little boys and the midwives off at the children’s pageant where Mushroom was making a scene, dressed in a colourful cap and bells, his face painted, riding a donkey and waving around a wooden rod bound with strips of fabric and bells. The children at the pageant were a mix of the young ones from the noble families that had joined Rhaenyra’s fleet and the children of the rich and noble of Braavos.

After Joff, Aegon, Viserys and Gaemon raced off to join in, the rest of them continued on to the main central courtyard where the masquerade ball was being held.

Upon entering the courtyard, a herald standing at the door announced their party’s entry for all to hear. The courtyard was filled with music, Targaryen and Bravossi banners and countless masked people in extravagant outfits. Jace was able to see their people clustered together, wearing masks and costumes tailored to their noble houses, save for the Celtigars and Reggio Haratis’s party who dressed as valyrian minor gods.

Sealord Lysano Otherys wore heavy bright silk robes, his ermine mantle over his cloak and an ornate golden maks. By his side, his First Sword Aerio Brenar, dressed as the Titan of Braavos.

After entering the courtyard, everyone split up, perusing with the nobles who crowded the chamber and trading conversation. Jace and Baela stayed together, helping one another navigate the small talk among nobles.

Many of the nobles from Westeros were trying to sway various rich and powerful people from Braavos to join their venture to Valyria, sighting the great wealth and power of the freehold that could be regained.

As Jace and Baela passed their allies, they were often pulled in to exchange greetings with nobles from houses like Maris, Sollys, Reyaan and Zalyne.

They didn’t linger amongst the Braavosi nobles very long, simply exchanging pleasantries with them and describing the portents of their dragon dream before moving on.

“Not many of them seem too enthusiastic about the prospect of joining us,” Baela pointed out when the two were walking through the masquerade alone.

“I doubt many of them intend to. There is a lot of bad blood between Braavos and Valyria. Besides, our dreams are the only claim we have that Valyria is now safe to travel and the Iron Bank is known for sniffing out and veering away from bad investments,” Jace pointed out.

“So all this is a formality? Peaco*cking for our hosts?” Baela asked.

“I wouldn’t say that. Some will join us, not many and not those who have a lot keeping them here in Braavos, but a few. And while there’s a lot of doubt and scepticism about our quest, they’re open to the possibility it could succeed which is why they’re trying to form friendly relations with us now so that we might reopen them should our quest succeed,” Jace suggested.

“When did you become so wise?” Baela asked with a playful grin.

“Just embodying the character I suppose,” Jace said as he shrugged as he glanced down at his Arrax costume, causing Baela to giggle.

Jace and Baela then noticed an area of the courtyard where a dance floor had been set up with the masked Braavosi nobles dancing with their partners. Jace and Baela stood at the dance floor's edge and watched for a short while.

“I seem to recall you being quite a good dancer with Princess Helaena that night,” said Baela. “Would the great Arrax spare me a dance?” she asked presenting her hand.

Jace smirked. “I assure you I am not that good. Are you sure you are brave enough to risk embarrassment on the dance floor?” Jace asked.

“The mighty Vhagar fears nothing,” she assured him.

With that, Jace took Baela’s hand and led her to the floor. The two joined in with the Braavosi nobles, mimicking the steps and movements of the other dancing couples, doing their best to remain in time. Jace and Baela smiled and laughed at one another as they danced, once again the world fading away for Jace with Baela becoming his only focus.

Jace could have danced with her the whole night, but eventually, the song came to an end and the two applauded with all the rest and left the dance floor.

When a servant passed them carrying a tray of goblets, Jace took two and handed one to Baela.

“Well, that was fun,” Baela stated before taking a sip of wine from her goblet.

“And you always made it seem as though Rhaena was the better dancer,” Jace replied, taking a sip from his own drink.

“Oh, she is. But that doesn’t mean I’m not good,” Baela stated.

The two clinked their goblets together, looking deep into one another’s eyes behind their masks.

“So after Braavos, how many more of these little formalities will we have to do?” Baela asked, looking around the courtyard.

“Well. Since we’re harbouring Prince Reggio and his family, we’ll be skipping Pentos and sailing straight for the Stepstones where we will link up with the rest of Grandsire’s fleet and our allies joining us from the Reach and hopefully Maester Vaegon will be among them. Whether or not the Triarchy will accept us as visitors in their cities remains to be seen, but if they do not welcome us, then it’s straight to Volantis and Valyria after that,” Jace explained.

Baela took in a deep breath through her nose and smiled again.

“It's exciting, isn’t it? The closer we get. The more and more this feels like a reality,” she explained.

“I know what you mean. Valyria, the mightiest civilisation in the known world and we are meant to rebuild it, shape it, revive it… it’s almost terrifying,” Jace admitted.

Baela took his hand.

“It will be fine. We will succeed. Your mother will rule Valyria and after her, it will pass to you,” Baela said assuringly.

Jace stepped in closer towards Baela.

“It will pass to us,” he corrected, “You and me. Together.”

Baela nodded in agreement. “Together,” she repeated softly.

Baela then released Jace’s hand and moved it to his chest and he in turn moved his hand to her waist. The two then leaned in to kiss one another, their lips about to meet when a loud clatter of metal falling to the ground distracted them, turning their heads.

“Don’t turn your f*cking back on me you f*cking snake!” an angry voice shouted.

Jace and Baela pushed gently through the crowd where they found a man standing alone with a space being cleared out around him, clearly quite drunk. A servant was on his knees picking up a tray of knocked-over wine goblets and standing across from the angry man was Jace’s grandsire, Lord Coryls.

“My uncle was your f*cking friend! Your friend! He invited you into his hall so many times! Then when he died you conspired with this fat Ortherys c*nt to wipe out his bloodline and murder my cousin!” the man shouted at the Sea Snake and pointed to Sealord Lysano as the fat Ortherys c*nt.

“Who is that?” Jace asked, looking at one of the Braavosi nobles standing next to him.

“Harys Vollorum, nephew to the late Sealord of the Ostios house through his mother,” one of the nobles said.

“They say that when the Ostios Sealord died, his son who was betrothed to Lord Corlys’s daughter squandered his family’s wealth and went to Driftmark to claim the Sea Snake’s daughter and her dowry and ended up being killed by the Rogue Prince Daemon who took the Velaryon girl for himself,” another noble said, clearly not knowing who Jace and Baela were, their eyes more focused on the drunk noble.

Jace and Baela exchanged looks.

“The Vollorums are middling nobility in the city and when the Ostios family went extinct, the Vollorums’ petition to replace them as Keyholders was overturned in favour for the Ortherys house. The Vollorums insisted that the Ortherys conspired with Prince Daemon and the Sea Snake to murder the Ostios family. The Vollorum wealth has dried up considerably since then and Harys over there is a notorious drunk and gambler.”

“I am sorry, Harys. Your uncle was a good man, but your cousin was a drunkard and fool who treated my daughter as a means of garnering back lost wealth. He agreed to the terms of the duel for her hand and lost fairly,” Lord Corlys explained trying to deescalate the matter.

Harys drained his cup and threw it down.

“Horse sh*t! You conspired to murder my uncle’s family you ambitious curr! You poisioned my uncle and your daughter seduced my cousin!” the Vollorum screamed.

“I assure you, no such thing happened,” Corlys declared turning to walk away, having heard enough.

“Yes you did! You used your daughter to seduce my cousin and then seduce the Rogue Prince into killing him! Your Laena was a filthy, silver-haired, common whor*! A whor*!” he shouted.

Jace had heard enough. How dare that angry drunk speak of Baela and Rhaena’s mother so disgracefully? He gripped the hilt of his sword and pushed forward, but Reggio Haratis was nearby and held him back while his son grabbed Baela and held her back when she tried to march forward.

“It’s not worth it young, Prince, don’t let that bastard get to you,” Reggio pleaded.

Corlys was full of rage and being held back by Lord Celtigar and Sealord Lysano. Jace also spotted Rhaena trying to calm Luke who was reaching for his sword across the room while Ser Erryk pulled him back.

While Jace, Baela, Luke and Lord Corlys were all being held at bay for the Vollorum’s insults to Laena’s memory, it seemed no one had intercepted Daemon as he came out of nowhere behind the Vollorum, his mask discarded and striding at a quick pace. As Daemon came up behind Harys, the drunk noble turned in time to see the Rogue Prince’s eyes before he struck Vollorum across the face with a closed fist. Harys keeled over but Daemon would not let him fall, pulling him back to his feet by the collar of his garment and then proceeded to strike him across his face repeatedly, one punch after the other.

By the fifth or sixth consecutive punch, Vollorum fell to the ground, but Daemon did not relent, going to his knee and continuing to beat his victim with blood beginning to fly with every punch.

One of the female onlookers screamed in horror as the blood became more and more vivid and teeth began flying from Vollorum’s mouth.

Addam, Alyn, Ser Lorent, Randyll Barrett and one of Lord Celtigar’s sons took that as their cue to stop Daemon, racing to his side and trying to peel him off Vollorum. Daemon tried to shove them away and his last few punches only got stronger until at last they managed to hold him back.

The Sealord gave a signal to his guards and had the bloodied and dazed Vollorum dragged from the hall by his legs, the five men still restraining Daemon until Vollorum was out of sight. When Daemon settled and the five men began to loosen their grips he shrugged them off.

Jace noted the expressions of the Bravossi masqueraders, whispering and muttering to one another in a gossiping manner, clearly taking disdain at one of the Targaryen visitors assaulting one of the Braavosi nobles and beating him into an inch of his life.

Now we're in trouble, Jace thought to himself. As the descendants of slaves who had escaped the Valyrian Freehold, the Braavosi would not take kindly to a Targaryen being allowed to beat one of their own as he saw fit with no consequence.

The Sealord made his way to Daemon’s side and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Please, ladies and gentlemen, return to your drinks! Music! Let us not let one drunkard ruin these joyous festivities!”

With that, the music began again and people awkwardly and somewhat reluctantly reverted to their partying, though Jace understood that the mood would not return to what it had been.

Daemon stormed off and Jace noticed his mother pursue him.

“That Vollorum c*nt should have his tongue cut out. Any man who’d dare say a word against Laena Velaryon is one who never met her,” Prince Reggio declared adamantly.

“Thank you, Prince Reggio,” Baela said, glumly.

Jace could tell just by looking at her that she was deeply cut by Vollorum’s insults so Jace took her hand, ensuring she understood he was there for her and she looked at him managing a faint smile.

“Are you alright,” Jace asked softly.

Baela nodded, though she did so without confidence.

“Come, let us take some air together,” she suggested, leading Jace away and the two left the festivities to find a quiet place in the palace to be alone.

Chapter 16: The Dragon and the Worm

Chapter Text

After the spectacle brought on by Lord Vollorum’s drunken rage, the attending guests did their best to resume the pleasantries of the evening, but the mood was never quite as relaxed or jovial as it had been before the incident.

An awkward and uncomfortable atmosphere was lingering, unspoken of and ignored through displays of smiles and laughter, but never truly gone. Rhaenyra could see them gossiping in the corners of the courtyard, murmuring their judgements of the Targaryen visitors.

Rhaenyra did not begrudge Daemon for his actions, for they were justified entirely, but she did begrudge Lord Vollorum entirely, not only for his vile insults to Laena but also for causing such a matter to occur. Of course, there would be those who saw reason and merit in Daemon’s actions, defending the honour of his late wife, but for many, the incident would read differently. A descendant of the dragonlords of Valyria, who subjected the progenitors of Braavos’s people, maliciously beating one of their nobles before all of Braavos’s nobility and doing so with impunity would look to them as though the Targaryens were no different from the villains in their history books, treating the Braavosi as they saw fit and expecting no penalty.

Rhaenyra doubted many would wish to join their venture now, yet still, she made her efforts to charm and befriend the nobles of the city. She talked, laughed and danced with them in efforts of diplomacy and while she felt she had gotten through to some of them, she could see the apathetic and defensive eyes that betrayed the warm and friendly smiles they offered to the princess.

The Sealord Lysano approached and offered his sincere apologies and insisted that Vollorum was not invited and had weaselled his way in as part of the entourage of another noble family. Rhaenyra assured the Sralord she held no blame against him before moving on to check on her house. First, she went to Rhaenys and Corlys, both rendered sullen by Vollorum’s slanders against their daughter, but they insisted they were alright. Next, she checked in on Rhaena who was being comforted by Luke, but when Rhaenyra looked for Baela she could find neither her nor Jace, both probably having left after the incident. Lastly, Rhaenyra spotted Daemon, hunched over the balcony of the second floor of the courtyard, looking down at the festivities below with a goblet in his hand. Rhaenyra had tried talking to him immediately after the incident but he only grimaced and stormed off.

Rhaenyra had known Daemon long enough and well enough to understand when it was prudent to leave him be.

Instead, Rhaenyra focused his energy on trying to foster better relations with the Braavosi over the course of the next few hours until the late hours of the night when guests were starting to leave. As the night wrapped up, a small few Braavosi nobles left with promises they would talk with Rhaenyra again soon while some less promising prospective allies simply said they would consult with their house on Rhaenyra’s offers.

Most of the lords and nobles from Rhaenyra’s fleet had bid her good night and returned to their accommodations and even Luke and Rhaena had disappeared.

Rhaenyra found Rhaenys alone by the fountain in the middle of the near-empty courtyard and approached her. Rhaenys was in the midst of taking off her mask and rubbing her eyes as Rhaenrya approached, the two smiling at one another.

“That could have gone slightly better,” Rhaenyra suggested with a sigh as she looked around the near-empty courtyard. Following Rhaenys’s lead, Rhaenyra took off her Shrykos mask and let it fall to the ground, her face warm and her cheeks rosy from wearing the mask all night.

Rhaenys picked a pair of goblets off the rim of the fountain that seemed to have been left by some other guests and handed one to Rhaenyra.

“One of these days, just once… I would like to see our family attend a formal event where no bloodshed is drawn,” Rhaenys japed, bringing Rhaenyra to giggle.

The two clinked their goblets and drained their cups, finishing whatever wine was left in either of them to relax their minds after a long night. Soon after, the effects of the wine began to work and Rhaenyra felt more at ease.

Rhaenyra then glanced up to the balcony where Daemon remained, grim and sullen and with a more menacing face now than he had when he wore the mask of Balerion. Rhaenyra then turned back to Rhaenys, giving her a look saying that she should probably attend to her husband and the Princess nodded in understanding. Before heading off herself, Rhaenys raised her empty cup to Daemon in salute, probably appreciative of how fiercely and violently Daemon had defended the name of her daughter.

As Princess Rhaenys left, Rhaenyra turned and made her way across the courtyard floor to the steps up to the second floor where she found her husband moping over the balcony. She stood by his side, looking down at the fountain from above as he was doing and stood there for a moment in front of the railing in silence.

“Well?” Daemon said after a moment. “Go on then. Chide me, rebuke me, yell at me, do as you will.”

Rhaenyra looked at her husband for a moment, his eyes still fixated on the fountain and his expression still glowering.

“You lied to me,” Rhaenyra declared.

Daemon sighed and bobbed his head from side to side.

“Yes, yes. I promised you I wouldn’t cause a scene and I caused one. I—”

“Not… What I meant,” Rhaenyra declared, leaning on the railing next to her husband whose expression turned to confusion as he glanced over to her.

“Years ago, at Driftmark. We walked along the beach, talking of the lives we lived since we parted. We spoke of Laenor, of Harwin… and of Laena. I asked you if you loved her and you only said ‘ we were happy enough’ . That was a lie… You did love her,” Rhaenyra asserted, having seen how he responded to a man calling her a whor*.

Daemon remained silent, looking out across the courtyard but his eyes darted around back and forth as his expression softened, clearly thinking on Rhaenyra’s words.

“More than she knew… more than I was willing to let her see,” he said at last.

Rhaenyra rested her hand on Daemon’s arm, offering him comfort and while he remained there for a moment, he soon stood up straight and cleared his throat.

“The hour grows late. Let us retire,” Daemon suggested.

Daemon did not do well with his own heart, seeing the vulnerabilities of expressing love and grief as a weakness and tended to hide his deeper emotions from the world and sometimes himself. Rhaenyra knew that Daemon was burdened with heavy grief, not only for Laena but also for his brother and their Visenya.

Rhaenyra wished to hold him close and tell her husband it was alright to feel and express his pain, but she knew him well enough to understand that to even insinuate Daemon had pain in his heart would alienate him and cause him to fly into anger and stubbornness and frankly, Rhaenyra didn’t have the energy for it that night.

The Princess took Daemon’s arm and descended down the steps with him to the courtyard where the two walked back towards the guest quarters.

Ser Harold joined Rhaenyra and Daemon as they left the courtyard, his three former sworn brothers unaccounted for, probably watching over Rhaenyra’s children. With so many in her family and being in foreign lands wherever they went, Rhaenyra knew she needed to build up her Queensguard. Daemon, Ser Harrold, Lord Corlys and many other lords under her had urged Rhaenyra to start naming new members to her white cloaks, but such matters were not so simple.

As it stood, Ser Harrold, Ser Lorent, Ser Steffon and Ser Erryk were her sworn swords, not her Queensguard. Rhaenyra didn’t have a Queensguard, nor a small council, nor a Hand, nor anything else, how could she? She was not a Queen.

Everyone who was with her fleet had pledged to her as Queen at the call to war before Rhaenyra accepted the terms of peace with the Greens, even Addam had knelt to her and called her his Queen after she had first met him, but the truth is she was not yet a Queen again. She had surrendered the crown of Jaehaerys back into the inheritance of her brother’s branch of House Targaryen and was now an unlanded exile of her own accord. Perhaps she might name herself Queen of Valyira presumptive or Queen of the New Valyrians if that was the name her people chose to take. But Rhaenyra’s fear was that should she take the title of Queen while dwelling in the Narrow Sea, still so far from Valyria, Alicent’s son might take offence and interpret her declaration as a challenge against him. Rhaenyra had worked too hard and sacrificed too much to drive herself and her people into a war with Aegon now.

While Rhaenyra might wait a bit longer before staking her claim to any royal titles to fit her rule over Valyria, she would at least increase the number of sworn protectors even if not yet granting them white cloaks. Three for now, bringing the number up to the traditional seven, but perhaps the number would not remain there.

When Queen Visenya picked the first seven kingsguard knights, she did so to reflect the seven gods, but Rhaenyra had more than seven relatives in the royal house and might need to grow her ranks of sworn protectors in the future.

Daemon and Rhaenyra passed by the courtyard where the children’s pageant had been, though now it was empty with all the children having gone to bed hours ago. Further along, they saw Baela and Jace, sitting by the water’s edge of the guest courtyard, looking over the city of Braavos. Neither Daemon nor Rhaenyra disturbed them for they seemed happy and content together, Rhaenyra merely smiled and continued on to her chambers.

They found Ser Lorent, Ser Erryk and Ser Steffon at the corridor into the guest chambers, reporting that most of the royal household had turned in for the night and they were only waiting for Prince Jacaerys and Lady Baela. Rhaenyra assured them it would be fine and encouraged her sworn protectors to get some rest as Rhaenyra and Daemon continued on to their chambers.

Immediately when inside their room, Rhaenyra rolled her shoulders and reached behind her head to undo the braids in it. After such a long evening, Rhaenyra just wanted to be done with it all and get some rest.

Just as Rhaenyra was getting settled and the braids of her hair were coming loose, she was startled by the sound of a sword being drawn behind her. She jumped and spun around to see Daemon with his back to her, Dark Sister in hand and sitting in a chair by a small table along the south wall of their chamber was a stranger, or at least Rhaenyra thought it was a stranger.

“Guards!” Rhaenyra shouted, before returning her attention to the stranger with the rumble of footsteps coming down the corridor giving her comfort of her sworn swords’ movements.

Rhaenyra realised that the stranger was in fact, not a stranger, but instead a familiar woman’s face, one from a time long past that Rhaenyra had not expected to ever see again.

She garbed herself in a robe-like dress of grey, with loose hanging sleeves. She had an old scar across her throat, long black hair, straight and neatly kept and dark eyes. She looked incredibly youthful despite the time that had passed, for she should have been at least forty given the age she looked when Rhaenyra last saw her twenty years ago.

She was calm and relaxed, not fearing Daemon or Dark Sister, simply staring at Rhaenyra with a composed focus.

Ser Harrold burst through the door with Erryk, Lorent and Steffon behind him. Down the corridor, Rhaenyra could see Luke, Alyn and Addam standing in the doorways of their chambers with their swordbelts in hand and Rhaena peering out of her own room. Jace and Baela came running down the corridor from the courtyard with Jace’s sword drawn, all of them clearly having heard Rhaenyra’s call or at least the sworn swords response to it. Rhaenyra raised her hand singalling the young ones to hold their positions as her knights joined formation with Daemon, pointing the tips of their swords at the intruding woman.

With no fear in her eyes, the woman glanced at the blades pointed at her and then back to Rhaenyra.

“Good evening, Princess Rhaenyra,” she said in a thick foreign accent that Rhaenyra did not recognise.

“Lady Mysaria,” Rhaenyra greeted, recalling the name of the woman from long ago. Once she was Daemon’s lover and even by his own reports his future wife and mother to his child, but both turned out to be lies or at least did not come to fruition. Rhaenyra had now and again wondered what had become of her after Daemon went south with the Sea Snake, but never known.

Upon speaking her name, Ser Erryk’s head perked up and he turned to face Rhaenyra.

“You know her as well, your Grace?” Ser Erryk asked with a surprised look on his face.

Daemon and Ser Harold turned and looked at Ser Erryk with confusion and then glanced back at Rhaenyra.

“Why? Do you know her?” Daemon asked, equally vexed by Ser Erryk’s question as Rhaenyra.

Ser Erryk turned his eyes back towards Mysaria and tightened the grip on his blade as he pointed it at the intruder.

“Once, on the day of King Viserys’s passing, when my brother and I were looking for Aegon. One of her associates approached us and offered Aegon’s whereabouts in exchange for a meeting with Ser Otto. She calls herself the White Worm,” Erryk explained.

“I remember your face also, but if I recall correctly there were two such faces at that meeting,” Mysaria explained, making a joke about Erryk’s twin brother. “Your face is also familiar, Ser. You were one of the knights on the bridge at Dragonstone, standing with Otto Hightower,” she said looking over to Ser Harrold.

“What are you doing here,” Daemon asked coldly, pointing the tip of his blade to his former paramour’s throat.

“I come to speak,” she explained.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Daemon said dismissively.

“You are not the one I came to speak with,” she said, looking over to Rhaenyra once again.

“What’s going on in there?” Jace called out from the hall with his sword drawn, Addam, Alyn and Luke close behind with their own weapons and Baela seemed to have found a candlestick to arm herself with.

“It’s under control, just wait there,” Rhaenyra commanded.

Rhaenyra’s eyes then returned their focus to Mysaria, studying her composed face as she continued to stare at Rhaenyra. She didn’t seem like she was there to endanger Rhaenyra or she would not have made herself known. It seemed that the White Worm wished to speak.

“What brings you to my chambers Lady Mysaria?” Rhaenyra asked pleasantly.

“I was hoping that you and I might converse on certain matters,” the White Worm explained.

“Your Grace, she cannot be trusted. She’s a servant of Otto Hightower!” Erryk protested.

“I was betrayed by Otto Hightower,” she said angrily, “Your succession is not the only pledge that man forswore.”

Rhaenyra studied Mysaria’s face, the anger in her eyes that first flared up when Erryk accused her of being a spy for Otto Hightower. Clearly, she had developed some sort of grudge against him in the months since Aegon’s coronation. Rhaenyra also assessed the fact that the inginutive Lady Mysaria was able to infiltrate her chamber undetected and sit comfortably by her window and from the looks of the table, even had time to pour herself a glass of wine.

Mysaria could have just as easily poisoned that wine, or put an assassin in her chamber and made kept her presence in Braavos unknown. If she wished any harm upon Rhaenyra, she would have done something to harm her already. If nothing else, Rhaenyra’s gut told her that she was in no danger from Lady Mysaria, at least not directly and not on that night.

While there was a cautious and guarded voice inside Rhaenyra, telling her to have this outsider killed, imprisoned or banished, the voice was drowned out by her instincts and her judgement of the situation as she observed it and the latter won out.

“Give us the room please,” Rhaenyra asked of her knights, shocking and confusing everyone.
“Your Grace?” Ser Harrold asked, looking at his sworn princess as though she were mad.

“It will be alright. Wait for me on the far side of the door. She will have no way of exiting this chamber without passing you and if I am slain she will follow me in death,” Rhaenyra assured them.

The swords of Daemon and the sworn swords began to lower and their stances relaxed, but they were reluctant and hesitant to do so.

“She should at least be checked for weapons,” Ser Lorent suggested.

“Perhaps Prince Daemon would like to do the honours. After all, he was once very familiar with my body and would surely notice any irregularities that might indicate a concealed weapon,” Mysaria suggested, seeming to tease the Prince.

Daemon drove Dark Sister back into its sheath and approached Mysaira as she stood to her feet in front of him.

“Arms out,” he said softly and began to feel his way up her sleeves, checking for weapons.
“It has been a while,” said Mysaria, looking up at Daemon’s eyes.

Daemon slowed his search and lingered his attention on Mysaria directly for a moment before continuing to pat her arms down. “It has,” Daemon confirmed.

“You look well,” she complimented.

“As do you.”

From what Rhaenyra could tell, there was clearly tension between the two, but also some comfort at seeing one another again after so long.

“If I recall correctly, you saved me from the slums of Flea Bottom and watched over me through my crapulous slumber,” Daemon recounted as he finished patting down the second arm and Mysaria smirked.

“Then I offered you a tonic for your greensickness and you called me a common whor*,” Mysaria recounted.

Daemon hesitated as he moved his hands to Mysaria’s torso and then continued to search.

“Yes, well… sorry about that,” Daemon said with a shrug.

After completing her torso and her legs, Daemon nodded to Rhaenyra assuring that Mysaria was clean of concealed weapons. With the matter settled Rhaenyra gave a nod to her knights signalling them to leave and they waited outside, explaining the situation to the young ones.

“Wait,” Mysaria called as the knights began to leave the chamber.

“I would like for that one to stay so that he might corroborate my words when I speak of my meeting with Otto Hightower,” said Mysaria, pointing to Ser Erryk.

Erryk looked to Rhaenyra who nodded in agreement, wishing for him to remain while the rest left the chamber.

With the door closed, Daemon, Mysaria, Ser Erryk and Rhaenyra could speak freely. First, Lady Mysaria sat back down in her seat and Rhaenyra motioned her hand to the other seat at the window side table, asking Mysaria without words if she might take a seat next to her. Mysaria welcomed Rhaenyra to her side and Rhaenyra sat down next to her, with the small table bearing the wine jug and the goblets between them. Daemon, meanwhile, took his seat on the end of the bed with his arms folded and Ser Erryk stood at attention, watching Mysaria intently.

“It is nice to finally meet you directly, Lady Mysaria. We did not get the chance to be formally introduced at Dragonstone,” Rhaenyra explained as Mysaria poured her a goblet of wine and topped up her own.

“No, we did not. Though you made quite an impression with your dragon if I may say so,” said Mysaria. When the two goblets were filled, Rhaenyra raised her cup to Mysaria and waited for her to take the first sip before partaking herself, just to ensure the wine was not poisoned.

“Now then, to business,” Rhaenyra suggested, wishing to understand Mysaria’s reasoning for being in her chamber in the dead of night.

“Anywhere in particular you would like to start?” Mysaria asked.

“Well, forgive me if it seems a bit paranoid but perhaps you could tell me about your relations with Otto Hightower before we proceed. It’s just I would feel a lot more comfortable believing what you have to say when I can be more assured that you are not in league with that dreadful creature,” Rhaenyra explained.

“Of course. Many years ago, when Daemon went gallivanting off to the Stepstones with the Sea Snake to do battle with Crabfeeder, I returned to King’s Landing. The expectation was that I would return to service in the slums and brothels of Flea Bottom or the Street of Silk, living out my days f*cking enough money out of men to keep myself from starving and that was the way it went… at least for a while,” Mysaria began, recounting her story.

“What changed?” Daemon asked from the bed’s edge.

“I remembered what first drew me to your service. A desire to escape fear and entrapment, to be free and safe. I thought you could be the one to deliver me to such freedom and while you tried, your games of spite with your brother made me more afraid than ever… then you left me for your adventures in the Stepstones.”

Daemon’s eyes shied away from Mysaria for a moment, seeming to have some shame over abandoning her.

“After my return to King’s Landing, I realised that there was no one who would come to rescue me and save me from fear… so I resolved to save myself and save those around me. Then I began to plot and scheme with the whor*s, thieves, beggars and orphans of King’s Landing, working together to protect ourselves and each other from the dangers and squalor of King’s Landing, using the knowledge we collected to make our own way in the city. We blackmailed, bribed, extorted, stole and fenced. From there I was able to build my fortune and no longer had to work as a whor* to survive and I was finally free and able to free and protect others as I had wished others had done for me. With time I became one of the most powerful spymasters and information brokers in all of King’s Landing, with eyes and ears on every street and even the Red Keep itself. With such an abundance of information, I sought out someone with a great deal of wealth and a great need for my services,” Mysaria explained.

“And so you started selling your information to Otto Hightower, did you,” Daemon deduced, as he smiled at the White Worm in an impressed manner.

“Fine irony, no? When Ser Otto saw me on the bridge, he called me a whor* and demanded you banish me and even threatened my life and the make-believe baby you created for me. Then in the years that followed, I used my skills to sell him secrets and rinse him of his gold,” said Mysaria, sounding rather proud of herself.

“For years, I passed off information to Ser Otto and to others who were willing to buy from me. I then extended my network, bringing the desolate and weak under my protection and building a family of thieves, spies, orphans and whor*s. Not a traditional family… but it was my family.”

Rhaenyra noticed a slight falter in her voice when Mysaria said the words, my family, indicating something emotional had happened to her, perhaps some form of loss.

“While I had accumulated a great deal of power and influence in the shadows of the city, there were still things beyond my reach. Corruption and decadence that I did not have the resources to stop, so to put an end to it I waited for the right moment and that moment came at the passing of your father,” Mysaria explained and Rhaenyra’s intrigue was growing more and more.

“My spies within the Red Keep informed me of the King’s passing and I knew that the Otto Hightower, his daughter and their greens as you call them would seek to satisfy their ambitions by having your half-brother Aegon succeed your father to the throne. In that moment, the possession of Prince Aegon became the possession of power and so my associates snatched him in his drunken stupor and deposited him in a safe place, waiting for Otto Hightower’s lackeys to come to find him,” Mysaria explained glancing over Ser Erryk.

“So you used Aegon as a bargaining chip to route out this corruption you spoke of,” Rhaenyra deduced and the White Worm nodded in response.

“I’m sorry, you had Otto Hightower and the entire Greens’ plot under your thumb, you could have asked for anything you wanted, and you used it to strong-arm Hightower into trying to clean up corruption in King’s Landing?” Daemon asked as though Mysaria’s request was a weak use of such powerful leverage.

Mysaria grimaced at Daemon.

“The child fighting pits may be of little concern to the likes of you, Prince Daemon. But I for one could not bear to see children tear each other apart for the amusem*nt of others.”

Mysaria’s words struck Rhaenyra deeply as she thought of Gaemon who had laughed and played in the children’s pageant that night dressed as a valyrian demigod, but would probably be dead or mutilated and feral by now had Rhaenyra not sent Ser Erryk to rescue him and others like him from the fighting pits.

When visiting the refugee camp across from the Sealord’s Palace where her people were camped, she saw the few other orphans whom she had managed to salvage from the pits settling in nicely with the families that had agreed to take them in.

Rhaenyra then looked to Erryk, wondering if what Mysaria was telling her could be trusted or if she was merely playing on Rhaenyra’s love for Gaemon to gain her trust.

“Is this true Ser Erryk?” the Princess asked her sworn sword.

“There was an exchange of gold as well, but yes, Lady Mysaria’s prime focus was on ending the abuse of children in the fighting pits,” the good Cargylll knight confirmed.

Rhaenyra then returned her attention to the White Worm.

“I take it since the fighting pits and the abuse of children were still in play in the fortnight after my father’s death that this was the betrayal Otto Hightower committed against you,” Rhaenyra surmised, but her words seemed to provoke pain and anger in Mysaria’s face.

“In part, yes. But his betrayal is so much grander than just inaction. That night, after having met with Hightower, my manse was set ablaze in the middle of the night. The doors were barricaded from the outside and I barely escaped through a secret passage that I had installed with a handful of those who lived there with me. The rest burned and died, women and children, I had taken in and adored as my own… I can still hear their screams,” Mysaria explained, her voice wrought with emotion. “And it did not stop there. I tried to find the rest of my friends and loved ones who were part of my network, but most of them were hunted down and killed. Even myself and the survivors of my network were chased after by these murderers. One of them gave me this,” Mysaria explained, pulling back her sleeve and showing a cut along the inside of the forearm.

“The assassins were all mutes, their tongues cut out and all of them bore this broach,” Mysaria explained undoing the hook of a chain necklace she was wearing and putting it in her hand, she then pulled the chain upward, unthreading some kind of pendant and then putting it down on the table in front of Rhaenyra. The pendant looked somewhat like a Firefly fashioned in brass.

Rhaenyra picked up the broach and studied it, but she was unfamiliar with the imagery.

“What does this symbolise?” Rhaenyra asked.

“I do not know exactly. I was hoping you could tell me… but I suspect that Otto Hightower is involved,” Mysaria explained.

“Suspicion is not equal to proof. Daemon do you know this symbol? A mark of heraldry perhaps?” Rhaenyra asked, holding the broach out.

Daemon stood from the bed’s edge and approached Rhaenyra, taking the little brass bug and examining it.

“No… Definitely not Beesbury nor Ambrose… doesn’t look like Bettley either?” Daemon mused as he held the broach up to the light.

“If I may, my Prince,” Ser Erryk requested, holding out his hand and Daemon complied, dropping it into the sworn sword’s palm.

After a brief examination, Rhaenyra could tell from Ser Erryk’s face that he knew the symbol.

“You recognise it, Ser Erryk?” Rhaenyra asked of her knight.

“I do… set into the pommel of the cane used by Lord Larys Strong,” Ser Erryk explained, handing the broach back to Daemon.

“The Red Keep’s Lord Confessor,” Daemon grunted with detest.

“And a staunch ally of Alicent,” Rhaenyra added, recalling how Clubfoot always lingered around the Queen.

“So it was Hightowers who plotted against me as well as you,” Mysaria concluded.

“It would seem so. But I do not know what you want of me, Lady Mysaria. I sympathise with you, but if it is vengeance or justice you seek, I can offer you neither. My family has left Westeros and to return would start a war,” Rhaenyra explained.

“I know this. It may be vengeance and justice I want but it is not what I have come here seeking. I come to you because the last of my is in need of protection, as am I. We are hunted in the Seven Kingdoms and must find somewhere else to live,” Mysaria explained.

“And you want to come live in Valyria?” Rhaenyra deduced.

“I want to be safe. I want the last remnants of those whom I love and keep with me to be safe. I was once a slave, I was born a slave, raised a slave and passed from one master to another, I have been whipped, beaten and raped more times than I can count and I have always lived in fear. Now I fear once more, but not for me, instead, for those who matter to me. So I come to you. You, Rhaenyra Targaryen, the fierce young girl who came to Dragonstone and demanded her deceased brother’s egg returned to her. The woman who saved orphans from the fighting pits of Flea Bottom when no one else would out of pure heart alone. I come to you and beg you to let me join you and take service in your court. Weed out the liars and serpents who threaten you and guard you from deception and schemes. If you protect me and mine then I pledge I will protect you and yours,” Mysaria explained.

Rhaenyra thought for a moment, contemplating Mysaria’s words, glancing over to Daemon and Erryk who both waited for Rhaenyra to speak next.

“How many people have you?” Rhaenyra asked.

“I once had two hundred people in my family of rogues. Now I have twelve,” Mysaria explained.

“Regardless of whether or not I take you into my service. You and your people are welcome to join us. You will be accepted as citizens of our New Valyria and free to build new lives with us there. As for your desire to serve my household… you seem to have navigated my bedchamber in secrecy well enough, but I require more than that. This night was a sobering reminder of how easily people will turn away from us and our quest. I need to know the private thoughts of those around my house. Not just here in Braavos, but also potential allies and enemies in Lys, Myr, Tyrosh and Volantis. Who will wish to see us fail and who can be convinced to join us? For now, you and your people will be given shelter in our encampment on the shore, if you can afford to and wish to find accommodations in the city, that is also permitted. Over the course of our stay here in Braavos, bring me information that I can use and then perhaps we can discuss a future relationship,” Rhaenyra explained.

Mysaria then smiled and raised her cup and Rhaenyra did the same.

The two then clinked goblets and sipped from their wine.

While Rhaenyra hoped she was not being too trusting, she could not help but feel she had just made what would one day prove to be a very strong ally.

Chapter 17: The New Order and some Old Friends

Chapter Text

The midday sun was directly above, illuminating the courtyard in the Sealord’s palace in its entirety. Addam stood with Baela and Luke, watching from the second-floor balcony at the twelve knights forming a crescent around the edge of the courtyard floor.

Many other nobles also stood along the second-floor balcony, looking down at the knights, muttering to themselves and one another.

In front of the crescent line of knights, on the balcony above them, Princess Rhaenyra sat upon a tall spined chair with Sealord Lysano seated on one side and Daemon on the other and standing at either side of the three chairs were Ser Harrold Westerling and Jace.

After the mysterious White Worm snuck into Rhaenyra’s bedchamber so easily two nights ago, Rhaenyra had resolved to make good on her plans to grow her number of sworn swords.

The White Worm was there herself, watching from a balcony window across the courtyard from Addam, silent, subtly and graceful in appearance. In the past few days, she had come and gone, whispering secrets in Rhaenyra’s ear and disappearing again.

Rhaenyra seemed to trust her and yet her little stunt had made her feel the need to grow her Queensguard knights, though they were not yet called such and not permitted to take oaths or wear white cloaks since Rhaenyra had chosen to wait off on declaring herself Queen again, lest the Greens take it as a threat of invasion.

Daemon and the four Not-Queensguard knights had rounded up twenty of the best knights in their service, willing to become Queensguardsmen themselves and twelve of them had passed the trials set for consideration of being made a white cloak, each of them overseen and approved by Ser Harrold and the other three former white cloaks.

Each of the knights standing below was skilled enough to join the ranks of the Queensguard when Rhaenyra finally decided to establish the order, now it was just a matter of picking which three would three would earn the ranks.

Rhaenyra asked Daemon, Jace, Ser Harrold and the Sealord all to give their council on who should be chosen, each giving a different reply.

Sealord Lysano suggested Rhaenyra use an old method used by the Sealords of the past when picking a First Sword, which was to count up the battle scars on each man and choose the ones with the most, indicating their experience.

Daemon wanted Rhaenyra to choose the men with the fewest relatives and loved ones who would have nothing to lose and the least to give up by pledging to Rhaenyra.

Jace suggested men with the best balance between chivalry, loyalty, intelligence and skill, believing that being well-rounded was better than a master of one attribute and lacking in others.

Ser Harrold suggested Rhaenyra pick the ones most concerned with Rhaenyra’s safety and guarding the royal house.

Rhaenyra asked them all dozens of questions each, how they would best protect Rhaenyra and her family, how they would handle security, why they wanted to be sworn to her, why they wished to join them in Valyria, each of them giving Rhaenyra a better understanding of who they were and their capabilities. Ser Harrold Westerling seemed intrigued by some of the suggestions on how to increase security and protect the royal house.

After a few hours and listening to Rhaenyra converse with the twelve men, even spectators such as Addam knew all their names and the character of each of them.

Glendon Goode, Loreth Lansdale, Harrold Darke, Armon Hogg, Adrian Redfort, Merrell the Bold, Garrick Hall, Godrick one-arm, Roger Corne, Rennifer Crabb, Garibald Grey and Harmon of the Reeds.

All of them were good candidates and fine men in Addams opinion and when he spoke to Luke and Baela about it, they all agreed. How Rhaenyra intended to choose between them, Addam could not say.

The Princess was in the midst of listening to Ser Garibald Grey explain his strategy for ensuring the security of the royal house.

“In short. Your seven sworn protects should each hand pick and train seven men-at-arms that they trust and know personally who will make up the forty-nine most senior members of your household guards and while your seven sworn protectors cannot be with you every minute of every day, these forty-nine will be the only men allowed to carry watch over you and your family when your seven are resting or otherwise unavailable,” Ser Garibald explained.

“A fine suggestion, Ser Garibald. I am sure that my knights will take your words under advisem*nt,” said Rhaenyra, looking over to Ser Harrold who nodded.

After having had long conversations with all twelve prospective knights, Rhaenyra sat in silence and drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair, not seeming conflicted or to be struggling with the choice, but rather instead of sound mind and simply waiting for the opportune moment to speak.

After a moment, Rhaenyra stood up from her seat and approached the balcony edge.

“You are fine men, my noble knights. Each and every one of you has lived a life of honour and chivalry that you should be proud of,” she began, speaking precociously to whoever would not make the cut so as not to offend their honour.

Rhaenyra then began to pace up and down the balcony from collum to collum along the railing as she continued to speak.

“Over a century ago, when Queen Visenya first formed the order of the Kingsguard, she established it as a group of seven chivalrous and skilled knights, handpicked by the Queen to guard her husband and the royal household. Their oaths of fidelity were modelled after that of the ancient brotherhood of the Night’s Watch and their number was established as seven, in homage to the seven gods and the seven kingdoms. I can say with blatant honesty that if she were to have picked any one of you, then she would have made a fine choice for such an illustrious brotherhood of knights, but alas, there are only seven places and far more than seven of you and of the sworn knights I already have and intend to make my lifeguard when we reach Valyira,” Rhaenyra explained.

It seemed like this was the point where Rhaenyra would choose her three.

“But… I do not see why it needs to be. Seven was a good number for Visenya when her brother-husband Aegon was King. At the time of its founding, Aegon’s family consisted only of himself, one child and one surviving wife, but my family is much bigger. In Westeros, seven has always been a sacred number and for good reason. But we are no longer of Westeros, we are the New Valyrians and in Valyria the sacred number of old was and shall once again be fourteen,” Rhaenyra explained.

Many nobles around the balconies began to mutter and murmur in confusion. Jace, Ser Harrold and Daemon all seemed surprised as well and when Addam looked at Luke and Baela, they shared his confusion.

“When the time comes that I am ready to establish myself once more in a royal style and form a sworn brotherhood of knights oath-bound to protect me and my family in perpetuity, my knights shall reflect the sacred number of Valyria and number in fourteen. To that end, I can offer ten of you places in my sworn brotherhood when the time comes and for the time being you will serve as my sworn swords,” Rhaenyra declared.

“Can she do that?” Addam asked, leaning over to Baela.

Addam noticed a smile beginning to curl on Baela’s face as she looked at Rhaenyra with awe.

“I don’t think anyone can tell her what to do anymore,” Baela said, her voice filled with admiration.

Addam could understand what Baela meant, not only was Rhaenyra their leader, but she would also be the founder and shaper of Valyria when they claimed it. There would be no precedents, frameworks, or structures for people to reference except for the ones she created for them. Rhaenyra was to be the establisher of the order of things, just as Aegon the Conqueror once was.

Addam had been in awe and amazement of Rhaenyra since he first saw her sitting on the dragonglass throne in the dragon dream with no idea of who she truly was, but now his appreciation for the woman she was and the woman she would one day be was only growing.

“Ser Armon Hogg. Ser Godrick one-arm. Please step forward,” Rhaenyra requested, her expression seeming to dim, as though she was about to do something reluctant.

Addam could only assume that of the twelve assembled knights, Ser Armon and Ser Godrick were the two knights who would not be joining the fourteen.

It made perfect sense really, both were very skilled and good men from the way they presented themselves, but Ser Armon was an old man with a pot belly and grey hair and Ser Godrick was missing an eye, an arm and half his nose but was still very skilled with a sword.

“I understand this is… unorthodox, Sers. You have both presented yourselves as fine and worthy knights yet I must with heavy heart inform you that neither of you will be joining my sworn swords. Please understand that I wish to offer neither of you insults and I do not doubt your abilities or character. I also would like for both of you to know that I had considered lifting the number to sixteen for your sakes alone but…”

Rhaenyra was working very hard to do neither man any insult.

“I am seven and sixty, your Grace. These men are young and strong with a lifetime of service to offer you which I cannot compete with. To stand before you and be considered so meticulously is a compliment and I have proven to myself all that I wished to. Know that as a Queensguard or as a vassal, I am yours to command,” Ser Armon Hogg said bowing his head.

“And I may be blind in one eye, but I am not blind to my shortcomings. To even be able to keep up with these men is something I take pride in and the fact that you would have offered me a spot had there been enough extra slots available is a compliment in itself. You have my sword, your Grace, regardless of what colour cloak I wear,” the one-armed knight, Ser Godrick, said with a bow.

Addam was taken aback by such a gracious show of chivalry, the likes of which he thought only findable in fairy tale books. Addam and Alyn had been training in arms with Jace, Luke and the Queensguard knights with the promise of knighthoods when they were ready and now Addam knew the kind of knight he wanted to be when he earned his spurs.

Before the two gracious knights exited the courtyard, the remaining ten all bowed their heads to them in a show of respect.

With the remaining ten all gathered together, Rhaenyra’s fourteen sworn knights were now picked. Never before had a Kingsguard numbered so many, though when the time came for their oaths to be sworn, they would not be a Kingsguard, but rather a Queensguard or something similar to that effect.

With their future Queen presiding over them from above, the Knights’ faces lit up with grace and humility, such humble joy at having been chosen.

Rhaenyra smiled and then addressed her new sworn sword, naming them one by one while making eye contact with each of them.

“Ser Garibald Grey, Ser Glendon Goode, Ser Garrick Hall, Ser Loreth Lansdale, Ser Adrian Redfort, Ser Merrell the Bold, Ser Harrold Darke, Ser Rennifer Crabb, Ser Roger Corne and Ser Harmon of the Reeds. Each of you has demonstrated both in skills and in words, your talents in combat and your valour as anointed knights of the Seven Kingdoms. Your commitment to join us on our quest to seek out the restoration of Valyria is proof enough of your faith and loyalty to me and my house. With great joy and open arms, I welcome you into the service of my House and offer you my protection and loyalty in exchange for yours,” the Princess declared graciously.

Next, in near perfect unison, the ten knights then drew their blades and took to their knees, resting their swords in front of them and then began to recite oaths of the sworn sword, pledging themselves to Rhaenyra.

“I am yours, your grace. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if needs be. I swear it by the old gods and the new,” they chanted in a chorus of loyalty.

“And I vow to you one and all. You shall always have a place at my hearth and home, and an offer of meat and mead at my table. And I pledge I will ask no service of you that will bring you dishonour. I swear it by the old gods and the new… and the Fourteen Flames,” the Princess replied.

Another change that brought murmurs around the courtyard. Never before, at least to Addam’s knowledge had an oath of a sworn sword been made to the Fourteen Flames of Old Valyria.

Addam knew that there were still some small few among Dragonstone, Driftmark and Claw Isle who still worshipped the old gods of Valyria, at least in part.

Growing up in Hull, one of the popular deities outside the Seven was the Merling King that, according to some, the Velaryons worshipped as a persona of the valyrian sea god, Caraxes, while others on the island thought the Merling King was an alias the Drowned God or one of the Old Gods who fathered the wife of Durran Godsgrief.

The late Vaemond Velaryon was even an acolyte of the Old Valyrian faith and Addam had met the priests of the various cults of the Fourteen Flames that formerly dwelled on Dragonstone, Driftmark and Claw Isle, all of which had come with them on their voyage.

It seemed that Rhaenyra no longer wished to be subtle or reserved in her declarations of faith in the gods of her forebearers, declaring herself proudly a worshiper of the Fourteen Flames.

With the knights now sworn to her, the ten rose from their knees.

“We will celebrate your induction into the service of House Targaryen later, my knights. For now, rest, reprieve and make preparations to join our Household. You will answer to Ser Harrold Westerling, he will be your commander, mentor and brother, as will Ser Erryk Cargyll, Ser Lorent Marbrand and Ser Steffon Darklyn. Welcome to you all.”

With that, the knights were dismissed and began embracing one another and shaking hands, ecstatic and proud to be making their first steps towards becoming sworn brothers of Rhaenyra’s Queensguard and while they may not have yet taken the oaths or the white cloaks, for all intents and purposes, they were.

With the ceremony finished, Jace left his mother’s side and joined Addam, Luke and Baela, all of them ecstatic and amazed by what they had seen.

“Did you know Mother was going to do that?” Luke asked with disbelief.

“I don’t think she even knew she was going to do that until she did it,” said Jace, just as surprised as the rest of them.

The four of them made their way back to the guest quarters courtyard, recounting to one another how bold and daring Rhaenyra had been in the ceremony, dismissing old traditions and establishing her own. When they reached the courtyard, they found Nettles, Rhaena and Alyn, sitting on a bench, their riding clothes and faces darkened with soot and Nettles’s hair more frizzy and disorderly than usual.

From their grim demeanours and the state of their appearance, it was clear that their training session with the dragonkeepers had not gone accordingly, all three of them seeming to have failed yet again to establish a bond with either Vermithor or Silverwing.

The three had been trying very hard to bond with the Bronze Fury and his mate, but neither of the two dragons seemed to have any interest towards the three offered riders.

“I take it your training with the dragonkeepers was unproductive,” Jace deduced.

Rhaena, Nettles and Alyn looked up at Jace, staring daggers at him.

“What gave it away?” Rhaena asked facetiously in a glower tone.

Jace raised his hands in surrender, not wishing to antagonise any of the three.

“So which knights did the Princess choose for her Queensguard?” Nettles asked, seeming to want a distraction from the lack of progress in her dragon bonding.

Jace, Luke, Baela and Addam looked at one another and smiled before the four of them gave a full recounting of what Rhaenyra had done.

“Fourteen?” Alyn said in awe, completely baffled by Rhaenyra’s actions.

“And she really declared the gods of Valyria in her oath?” Rhaena asked, leaning her arms on his knees.

The four confirmed everything they had seen but Rhaena, Alyn and Nettles still struggled to believe it.

They talked together for a while longer until Alyn, Nettles and Rhaena left to clean themselves up and change their clothing.

Rhanea, Jace and Luke then sat with Addam in the courtyard and helped him continue his studies of High Valyrian until the others returned and not long after that, a servant came to fetch them.

“Princess Rhaenyra will be disembarking from the palace to visit the migrants’ camp on the eastern island and request your presence,” the servant explained.

It had been a couple of days since Addam had visited the camp, where all his childhood friends from the Mouse House were. He and Alyn had been so busy learning to speak Valyrain, training in swordsmanship and flying on Seasmoke’s back, he’d not had a lot of time to spare for them.

It was staggering to think back on how much their lives had changed in the past few months since that dragon dream changed their lives forever and to revisit their friends would be like a step backwards in time to an old life that was becoming a distant memory.

The young royals and dragonseeds made their way to the eastern dock of the Sealord’s palace where the dinghies were tied up.

Rhaenyra, Princess Rhaenys, Lord Corlys and Addam’s mother all sitting in the boats, accompanied by some of Rhaenyra’s sworn swords.

Addam’s mother Marilda had been staying at the Sealord’s Palace with them, but scarcely spent any time there, preferring the company of the smallfolk camped on the eastern island.

Addam ended up in the same boat as Princess Rhaenyra, with Ser Harrold, Luke and Nettles. Alyn, Jace and Baela ended up with Marilda and Rhaena got in with Rhaenys and Corlys.

When everyone was sitting in their boats, they began to row out towards the eastern island.

The lagoon of Braavos was glistening and tranquil in the midday sun as the three small boats rowed towards the lines of anchored galleons, cogs and carracks anchored off the coast of the camp.

“That was quite a thing you did, Princess. Adding so many sworn brothers to your future Queensguard. Fourteen for the Flames of Valyria. Practical with your large family and fittingly symbolic,” Addam complimented.

“I realise that such a drastic break in tradition was understandably alarming for many. I hope my sudden change was not too distressing for you,” Rhaenyra said to the others in the boat.

“Not at all, Mother,” Luke said, accomidatingly.

“I will admit it was a bit alarming that you had stated your intention to recruit three and ended up recruiting ten. But as unexpected as it was, it remained awe-inspiring to behold,” Baela declared with a smile on her face.

Rhaenyra returned a smile to Baela.

“In truth, I had been considering expanding the number of my sworn protectors beyond the traditional seven for some time now, but I had resolved to begin with only three the night Mysaria broke into my chamber. But… I don’t know. Something clicked in me when discussing the matter with those knights. When trying to pick three, I knew that I would summon those I rejected back to fill the remaining slots when I eventually did expand the ranks of my sworn knights, but then it struck me, why wait? I had ten ideal knights standing right before me, why spurn seven now only to ask them back later? Who was I trying to appease other than the traditions of a realm I am no longer part of? So in the spur of the moment, I decided to get a move on with structuring my new order and I intend to do much more before we first set foot on the black beaches of Valyria,” the Princess asserted.

“As it should be Princess,” Ser Harrold complimented as he rowed from behind the Princess.

Baela then looked puzzled as Ser Harrold addressed Rhaenyra.

“Forgive me, Rhaenyra. But, you talk of no longer clinging to old frameworks to appease the traditions of our former homeland and yet you still style yourself as princess . Why continue to deny yourself your rightful title? Everyone in our fleet knows you are our Queen in all but name, why not amend your title?” Baela inquired.

Rhaenyra sighed.

“I would… and I intend to. It is not fear of claiming my place that keeps me from doing so, but rather fear of the reception of Aegon and Otto Hightower’s reaction to such a declaration. You know as well as I that it is with great reluctance that Ser Otto lets us continue to live. He sees us as a loose end needing to be tied off or cut. While he hopes we will go to Valyria to be swept away by the doom, he still fears we intend to betray the peace we struck with Aegon, hence his little intrusion at Dragonstone before we left. To sail down to the Stepstones while styling myself as Queen will look to him as a reignited challenge to Aegon’s authority. I would rather wait until we are on the far side of the Stepstones, beyond Vhagar’s reach, before I publicly assume any titles that the Greens would find offensive,” Rhaenyra explained.

“Well, titled or not. You're still our Queen,” Addam asserted, proud of the alliance he had made with Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra began to giggle. “That’s what you called me when we first met.”

“And it’s true. I knew that even before I knew who you were. Unless you think that dragon crown you wore in the dream was just some fancy metal headdress,” Adam chided, bringing laughter from all in the boat.

“Speaking of dreams, have you any more insights into the visions you saw of the doom of Valyria?” Baela asked.

Rhaenyra shook her head.

“I conferred with the Maesters, the dragonkeepers and the priests from Dragonstone, Driftmark and Claw isle. It seems conclusive that the twelve men I witnessed were indeed valyrian mages, or some kind of apparition of them at least, judging by their attire, other than that we have been able to discern nothing. Maester Gerardys said that something seemed familiar, but wants to do more research before presenting his theories,” Rhaenyra explained.

The strange dream that Rhaenyra had been presented, just as vivid and as undiluting as the dragon dream had been an enigma for them, still yet to be solved.

As Ser Harrold continued to row, Addam glanced over to Luke who was breathing deeply and clenching his fists, the poor lad trying to battle his greensickness. Luke found it embarrassing to have been the former heir to Driftmark and the title of Lord of the Tides when he handled himself with difficulty on ships. During their first few days in Braavos, Addam and Alyn took Luke fishing and saw how he struggled to find his sea legs, but they promised to help make a mariner out of him.

Now, Addam was starting to feel guilty. After all the help Jace and Luke had been to him and Alyn with dragon training, valyrian and learning knightly skills, they owed the two princes so much and had done near nothing to repay them.

Soon enough, they passed between the anchored ships and arrived on the beach of the island. A great and wide tent village spread across the coast, all the villagers, farmers, sailors, workers and townspeople that had pledged themselves to Rhaenyra and decided to follow her back to Valyria, all gathered together on the island.

As the dinghies slid onto the beaches, Addam and Ser Harrold jumped from the small boats and pulled them onto shore, then helped the others out. The other two small boats joined them and the party all disembarked from the boats and began to walk among the smallfolk.

The way Rhaenyra connected with her people was awe-inspiring, walking up to the campfires and speaking so graciously with her subjects. Chatting with the fishmongers, traders and tanners. She truly seemed the Ream’s Delight, though now without a realm for the time being. Such resplendence and grace made Addam wonder how one so amiable, wise and regal could have been passed over for her brother Aegon, especially with the way Jace and Luke described his character.

Addam and the others followed behind and watched as Rhaenyra greeted and chatted with her people, earning their affection with such ease.

After a while of tailing and admiring the future Queen of Valyria, Addam glanced off to the left and saw the Mouse House crews in their little section of the camp village.

From the short distance, Addam could see so many familiar faces, Simon, Laira, Taggert, Dorwald, Hellna, Gord, Josed, Arin and so many others.

After asking leave from the Princess, Addam, Alyn and Nettles went off to see their friends, bringing Jace, Luke, Baela and Rhaena along to meet them.

Addam had only seen them a few times since they arrived in Braavos making everyone excited when Addam, Alyn and Nettles approached.

Everyone started off by chiding them on their fine noble garments and playfully asking what edicate they were meant to greet the noble dragonriders with.

The teasing ceased when everyone saw Jace, Luke, Baela and Rhaena close behind them, then everyone turned to stiff and formal and a few of them even dropped to their knees.

Addam, Alyn and Nettles tried to introduce the three royals as though they were just any other people but their friends from Hull were too awe-struck to relax around them, having never met royals before.

Addam, Alyn and Nettles then invited Jace, Luke, Baela and Rhaena to come sit with them along with Josed and Arin while everyone else returned to their activities.

The two sons of Simon were preparing fish, cooking them over a campfire.

“Nice haul lads,” Nettles complimented, noticing all the sardines they had caught.

“Thanks, we let the nets into the lagoon just this morning,” Josed declared.

“Pass us a raw one,” Addam requested, holding his hand out.

“Me too,” Alyn agreed.

Arin then tossed a pair of uncooked sardines over, one to Addam and one to Alyn.

“Might I have one too?” Jace asked politely.

“Yes, my Prince,” Arin replied kindly standing up and handing a sardine to Jace, bowing as he placed it in his hand, which made Addam, Alyn and Nettles chortle.

“Seven Hells, Arin. Jace isn’t God the Father prepared to smite you if you displease him,” Addam chided, but Arin gave him a serious look as though his comment might anger Jace.

“You weren’t much better when we first met, Addam. When my mother presented you to her court at the painted table you nervously bowed to everyone who came close,” Jace teased and playfully punched Addam’s arm.
“I was afraid your back was going to give out with all the bending you were doing,” Baela added.

It was strange to think that not so long ago, Addam and his siblings were no different from Arin and Josed. Terrified and made in the presence of nobles as though they were so mighty and magnificent, yet now he was on a first-name basis with the Princes and Princesses and other nobles and talked and joked around with them like they were no different from his fishermen friends. How strange Addam’s life and the lives of his friends and family had become in recent months. A dragonrider, a future landed gentry of Valyria and a close friend to the royal house of Targaryen and the noble house of Velaryon. It seemed almost too ridiculous and amazing to be true.

“I’ll have a fish too,” Nettles added with Rhaena and Baela also asking for one after her.

Soon they were all sitting around the campfire with fresh sardines in their hands.

“So how do you eat it raw?” Rhaena asked examining the fish in her hand.

“Here, I’ll show you,” Luke said pulling his dagger from his belt. The prince's blade was a golden-hilted, ear dagger commissioned and gifted to him by the Sea Snake.

“This is a trick my father taught me when I was little and we went fishing. It's called butterflying,” Luke explained as he began to cut down the gut of his sardine.

Jace then snorted in dismissal.

“Or you can just save the time and bite into it,” Jace declared, taking a bite out of the side of the fish.

“It's quicker and less of a hassle,” Alyn declared agreeing with Jace and biting his own sardine with Baela, Nettles and Josed following his lead.

“Alyn,” Addam groaned to his brother.

“Don’t Alyn me. Its the way fish are meant to be eaten.”

“Are you all mad? What about the bones?” Rhaena asked as she watched half of them eating the fish plainly.

“You just suck all the flesh off inside your mouth and spit the bones out,” Josed explained.

“Forgive my brother, your graces. All attempts to civilise him in his formative years proved fruitless,” Arin chided as Josed continued to bite into the side of his sardine.

“And these two are no different,” Addam declared, watching as Nettles and Alyn ejected the bones from their mouths into the fire.

“Why waste time cutting it open and pulling out the bones when you can just eat it?” Jace asked.

“Butterflying is the way Father taught us to do it,” Luke declared.

“No, butterflying is the way Father taught you to do it because you were too scared you were going to choke on the bones,” Jace retorted.

Alyn began to laugh. “The mighty dragonriding prince, killed by a sardine.”

“Alyn,” Addam said once more in a reprimanding tone which his brother did not appreciate.

“It sounds to me like the lot you are just too lazy to eat the sardines the right way,” Rhaena retorted.

“Thank you, Rhaena,” Addam said in full agreement with her words.

“Or maybe you're just too sensitive,” Nettles shot back.

Before long they were bickering around the campfire on the correct way to eat sardines in an endless back and forth.

“Alyn,” Addam said once more in a reprimanding as the argument continued.

“Keep saying my name like that, see what happens,” his brother responded.

The argument never got aggressive or especially heated, but was more a youthful exchange of affectionate japes and prods over something so simple and unworthy of debate. In truth, they were all enjoying it. The group of young ones were so caught up in the argument it was a while before they noticed Princess Rhaenyra and Marilda watching them bicker with amused looks on their face.

By the end of it they were all laughing to themselves about how silly the debate was.

Soon after, Rhaenyra decided to return to the Sealords Palace after having spent some time immersed amongst her people and left her children and her dragonseeds to continue talking with Arin and Josed around the midday campfire.

They talked for hours, eating sardines some cooked and some raw, some deboned and some with bones, some drizzled with lemon juice and some salted and comparing them.

Later, Josed and Arin asked about how Nettles and Alyn’s training with the dragons was going, to which they responded by glumly explaining their lack of progress.

“It’s like… they’re alright with me getting close enough, but if I presume to approach them, they get mad. Even when I try to be firm with them and show strength, Vermithor almost cooked me like one of those bloody sardines,” Alyn grunted, pointing to the cooking fish.

“You have to tell us, Addam. What’s your secret?” Nettles asked, looking over to her foster brother.

As all eyes fell on Addam, as he huffed and scratched the back of his head.

“It’s no easy to explain. Truthfully it was just… time. Time and fish.”

“Time and fish?” Nettles repeated.

“Yes. I’d go down to the beaches and the dunes and bring him fish, sit a short way back and not pester him. I’d just sit there and watch him and over time, he let me get closer. He got… used to me, I suppose.”

Nettles, Rhaena and Alyn pondered Addam’s words.

“Dragons are very sociable creatures… in their way. It's not a bond of master and subservient, it's a bond of affection. In a way, they see us as their pets and they follow our commands the same way we tend to dogs when they bark and ask for attention, food, or to be taken out and walked,” Jace explained, his words sounding very familiar to how Addam’s bond with Seasmoke worked.

“So we just… spend time with the dragons,” Alyn asked.

“Sure. Bring them treats, sit with them, talk to them, don’t approach them like you want something from them. They have to choose you as much as you have to choose them, so make them like you so much that they want to choose you,” Addam suggested.

Nettles looked at the sardines cooking over the fire, her eyes lost in deep thought and then she abruptly stood up and began to walk away.

“Where are you going?” Baela asked as Nettles began to leave.

“For a walk. There are… things… that I have to think about,” she explained cryptically as she wandered off through the camp.

After Nettles left, the rest of them continued to walk with the conversation drifting over to Arin and Josed telling them of word being spread around of a good spot along the coast for fishing marlin.

“We’re planning on taking the cog out tomorrow morning to look for them,” Arin explained.

“Need an extra pair of hands?” Addam asked, surprising his two sailor friends.

“I get plenty of wind in my face on Seasmoke’s back, but I’ve been missing the salty sea breeze,” Addam explained.

Arin and Josed exchanged smiling looks.

“Sure, It would be great to have you back out on the water,” Josed declared.

“What about you, Alyn?” Addam asked looking at his brother.

“Try and stop me,” he responded with a smile.

“And how about you Luke? Jace too, if you want,” Addam declared.

“Me?” Luke said with surprise.

“Sure. I’ll make a sailor out of you yet,” Addam declared reaching over and patting the prince on the shoulder. Luke smiled and nodded in response.

“Sounds fun,” Jace said in agreement.

And with that, the plans for the three sets of brothers on the morrow were set with Addam having high hopes it would prove to be a good day.

Chapter 18: The Gift of a Sheep

Chapter Text

A month had passed since the Targaryens first arrived in Braavos and they had little to show for it. The Iron Bank politely declined to invest in their new empire, most of the nobles had turned their backs on them save for one Lord Vargidos Nestoris who was eager to join their quest along with a handful of untitled wealthy merchants. Between the few men of power they had lured to their side and the small huddled masses of adventurers, travellers, sailors, scholars and water dancers that wished to side with them, they had gathered twelve ships to follow them on their journey south. In addition, with Daemon’s old friend, Prince Reggio Haratis, joining them, they had seven ships from Pentos, which was probably the greatest disappointment.

Daemon’s long-standing friendship with Reggio was what made Pentos seem the most lucrative ports for recruiting. With the Prince’s endorsem*nt and many of the nobles of the city having been charmed by Daemon and Laena and mesmerised by their dragons.

Now Daemon’s hopes of recruiting from Pentos were dashed as they could not visit Pentos on their way south while still harbouring Reggio and his family and thus the seven ships brought by Reggio were the most they would get out of Pentos.

When drawing up their voyage on Dragonstone, Daemon had thought Pentos would yield the most amount of ships and allies but now it would seem they would yield the least, though it was still unknown how many or how few they would recruit from Myr, Lys and Tyrosh, if any at all. Daemon and Corlys, along with all the Seven Kingdoms by association, were old enemies of the Triarchy, but recent word suggested that they might be more open to talks than Daemon expected.

The High Council of the Triarchy had sent a letter to Rhaenyra, agreeing to allow their fleet to pass through to the Stepstones and move on towards Volantis without issue. Clearly not wishing to incur the wrath of dragonfire.

Tyrosh and Myr, as well as their ally Prince Qoren Martell of Dorne, had permitted Rhaenyra to send envoys to their cities but all three insisted that their fleet remain in the Stepstones, meanwhile, Lys, contrary to its counterparts, had given full welcome to their fleet to visit Lys on their journey east.

It did make sense to a degree, the old blood of Valyria was strong in Lys and many of the old houses there still carried the silver hair of the dragon blood, as was the same in Volantis for some houses.

Regardless of their future prospects, Daemon was becoming well and truly bored in Braavos. All they did was plan, prepare and rub elbows with the highborns of the city.

Ser Harrold, Ser Erryk, Ser Steffon and Ser Lorent were heavily drilling and training their ten new sworn brothers to make them knights of equal calibre to that of the kingsguard.

The boys from Hull as well as Jace and Luke would train under the fourteen in the mornings as well, when they weren’t dragon riding, with Alyn sharing his brother’s saddle, or sailing in the lagoon together.

The girl Nettles was often very tired in the mornings and sometimes slept in, but other than that continued to try and tame the dragons and learn Valyrian, becoming very close with Baela.

The young bastard Gaemon was inseparable with young Joff and Daemon’s sons, playing with their wooden dragons in the courtyard almost every day.

Between polticing with the Bravossi, planning with her sworn lords and walking amongst her people, earning their favour, Rhaenyra found time to consult with experts in her court about the nature of the mysterious dream of valyrian mages, though nothing new was yet unveiled. Maester Gerardys mentioned something about glass candles but retracted his theory, saying he needed to do more research first.

There had also been more incidents with the dragons, damaging buildings with the wagging of their tails as they flew low over the city, scaring the city dwellers, snapping the mast off of a ship and the wild dragons wreaking havoc on the grazing sheep herds in the south. It was a miracle no one had been killed yet.

Meanwhile, Daemon was becoming idle, his flights on Caraxes’ back being his only solace in this festering month of endless boredom.

His agitation of being cooped up in Braavos, impatiently waiting for their voyage to continue even made him restlessness in the nights.

One such night, while Rhaenyra slept next to him, Daemon’s mind would not settle and so he left the bed, dressed himself and exited his chamber, walking aimlessly around the Sealord’s palace in the night while the city slept.

As the Rogue Prince wondered, he found himself up a flight of stairs and on the balcony of the floor above, overlooking the guest quarters courtyard. Daemon leaned over the railing and glowered for a time, looking down at the courtyard until something caught his eye.

A figure emerged from the corridor where the guest chambers were located. After a moment, Daemon’s eyes settled on the figure in the dark and discerned it to be Nettles, dressed in her riding gear, singed from Vermithor and Silverwings defiance, but otherwise unused by the dragonless would-be-rider .

The girl had a leather satchel hanging by a strap running diagonally around her torso and the girl was glancing from side to side, checking to make sure she wasn’t being watched, clearly unaware of Daemon watching her from above.

The girl then scurried off through the courtyard like a rat and intrigued, Daemon pursued in silence.

Daemon caught up to her as she passed him by when he came down the stairs and stalked her from behind, curious what the little urchin from Hull was up to.

Eventually, Daemon tracked her to the dock where the Sealord tied up his dinghies and pleasure barges to ferry him around the city. When Daemon peered around the corner, the girl was undoing one of the knots to a dinghy.

Daemon then stepped out from behind the corner, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, still unnoticed by Nettles.

“Going somewhere?” Daemon inquired, breaking his anonymity.

The girl gasped and yelped before covering her mouth, glaring at Daemon with wide eyes of surprise.

“The f*ck is your problem!” She hissed in an angry whisper, but Daemon only giggled in response.

“What are you doing here?” she inquired angrily but with the voice remaining hushed.

“Couldn’t sleep. What pray tell are you doing?” Daemon inquired, looking at the half-undone knot hitching the boat to the port in Nettles’s hand.

The girl raised her head and huffed, but then a serious and determined expression washed over her soon after.

“Finding my own way,” she said with ambition in her voice.

Daemon mused her words for a moment.

“So that’s it. Tried your hand claiming one of my grandparents' dragons to no avail and now you’ve had enough and wish to abandon our quest and go off on your own?” Daemon surmised.

“What?! No, you idio— uhh, Prince Daemon. I mean find my own way to claim a dragon,” Nettles explained.

Daemon was now intrigued by the young woman’s actions.

“How?” he asked with great intrigue.

Nettles looked around again and then back to Daemon once more with an evil and smug grin.

“If you can’t sleep and you’re interested, do you want to tag along?” Nettles offered.

Daemon snorted with surprise. In the past, he had rarely had much interaction with the girl and now she was smugly asking him to come along for some secret surprise scheme to claim a dragon.

Daemon considered turning about face and continuing to wander through the Sealord’s palace, feeling himself above such games, but at glancing back to the dark corridors of the palace, Daemon decided that whatever Nettles was playing at would be much more interesting than loitering in the stone halls.

With a huff and a shrug, Daemon finally said “f*ck it. Why not?” and climbed into the dinghy.

Once Nettles untied the boat, she stepped into it, sat down, drew out the oars and began to row them out from the dock to the lagoon. When they were out in the dark open water, the dinghy started to bank southward at Nettles’s steering, which surprised Daemon.

“Where are you going? The northern island is that way,” Daemon declared, pointing in the opposite direction to where the small boat was turning.

“I know. But we’re not going to the northern island,” Nettles declared.

“How are you going to claim a dragon by sailing away from where all the dragons are nesting?” Daemon asked.

“Not all the dragons,” Nettles declared.

The wild dragons, Daemon thought to himself with a faint smile.

“Full-blooded Targaryens have tried their hand at mastering those dragons. Rhaenys, my brother and I all tried our hands at claiming them in our youth. You think a dragonseed like you can fair any better?” Daemon asked.

“I’ve been making fair progress thus far,” Nettles asserted, once again surprising the Rogue Prince.

“Thus far?” he repeated, wondering if he had by chance misheard her.

It was hard to tell in the dark of night but it seemed like Nettles was smiling from the faint imprint of her face that was illuminated in the moonlight.

“Oh, this isn’t my first time out. I’ve been doing this every night for the past two weeks now,” the sly little orphan girl explained.

“And why have we heard nothing of this?” Daemon asked.

“Because my methods are perhaps the slightest bit… illegal. And if word got out about what I was doing, then it might cause an incident with the Braavosi,” Nettles admitted.

Now Daemon was even more confused but also more intrigued.

“Illegal, you say?” the prince mused with a smile growing on his face.

“Don’t worry, it's not murder or anything. Just a little harmless… procuring,” she explained.

“You mean stealing,” Daemon surmised.

“Well, yes. But procuring sounds a lot less nefarious.”

The boat ride lasted a while with all of Daemon’s inquiries into what they were doing and where they were going being met with comments like it’s a surprise and wait and see, which only annoyed the prince .

Eventually, they reached the shore of the mainland in the south of the lagoon, where the city’s farmland was and the wild dragons had been dwelling.

The two jumped out and pulled the dinghy onto the shore to keep it from being swept back out by the tide, then Nettles grabbed her pack from the boat and led Daemon further south.

They walked for about half an hour through the dark towards the foothills until finally, they reached a small sheep farm.

Nettles led Daemon over to a large boulder and the two crouched behind it, but Daemon did not know why since they were so far from the farm and the shepherds were clearly asleep like the sheep.

As Daemon looked at the sleeping sheep, he felt he finally had the final pieces to understand what it was that Nettles was playing at. “Sheep. You’re stealing sheep and giving them to Sheepstealer as gifts,” he surmised.

“Addam told me about how he earned Seasmoke’s trust by feeding him fish and letting the dragon get accustomed to his presence. I’ve been doing the same with Sheepstealer these past few weeks,” Nettles explained.

Daemon snorted to himself. “Stealing Sheep for Sheepstealer? Really? Isn’t that a bit… on the nose?”

The girl from Driftmark tssked the Prince.

“I’m so sorry, my Prince. I wasn’t sure what the other dragons' favourite foods were. At least with Sheepstealer, I had a good guess,” she explained with mockery in her tone.

“And why all the secrecy?” Daemon asked.

“Well. I surmised that with all the havoc the dragons have been unleashing and with you knocking that drunk noble’s teeth out at the masquerade, me helping myself to the sheep would be seen as a step too far,” Nettles stated.

Daemon shrugged. Stealing sheep like a common poacher was traditionally beneath him, but if the girl was truly making progress with Sheepstealer, then he might as well help out.

“So how do we do this?” Daemon asked, reaching for Dark Sister’s hilt and slowly beginning to draw it.
“Not like that,” Nettles protested, stopping Daemon from drawing his blade any further.

“I tried bringing Sheepstealer a slain one once, but he snarled at me more than when I brought him a living one. He seems to like them fresh,” Nettles explained, reaching into her pack and pulling out a pair of rope bundles.

“Just wait here. I’ll be back in a minute,” the girl explained, taking off her satchel and leaving it next to the rock for Daemon to mind.

The girl then scurried off into the dark, slowing as she got closer to the sheep.

As Daemon watched her from afar, struggling to see her in the dark of night, he couldn’t help but be impressed with her. So fearless and daring for one so young, with a truly adventurous spirit. She was vibrant, mischievous and dedicated. In part, she reminded Daemon a bit of Baela, but there was something else as well. A strange sense of familiarity that Daemon had felt since he first met the girl. At first Daemon considered he was just recalling having seen her in the dragon dream, but it was more than that. Her shameless grin, her ambitious glare, even her look, all things Daemon had seen before but he knew not where.

The girl managed to slink her way silently up to the sheep as they slept and then pounced like a wolf on one along the outskirts, wrestling her grip around it and roping its legs.

She then lifted the creature onto her shoulders and carried it back towards Daemon.

“Come on, let’s go,” she commanded in a hushed voice and with that Daemon took Nettles’s satchel and followed her across the open pastures.

Their actions seemed to have gone undetected by the sleeping shepherds and the two made their way to the slopes of the mountains a little way’s south of the farm.

Eventually, they reached a patch of dirt and torn-up grass, with a burnt smell in the air and Daemon saw several sheep skeletons scattered around, presumably charred if Daemon could see them properly in the light of day. Daemon immediately presumed he had been brought to where Sheepstealer met with Nettles and feasted on the sheep brought to him, though the big brown dragon was nowhere to be found.

“So where is he then?” Daemon asked, looking around.

“He’ll be here,” Nettles asserted, dropping the sacrificial leg-bound sheep on the ground.

“Now we just have to wait,” she said, wiping her hands together.

Daemon and Nettles sat down on the edge of Sheepstealer’s dwelling, watching over the little sheep as it bleated helplessly in the dark of the night.

“So,” Nettles began, seemingly trying to drum up conversation to pass the time.

“You mentioned you and some of your family members tried to claim Sheepstealer.”

Daemon scoffed and shrugged.

“When I was a boy visiting Dragonstone, I tried to claim Sheepstealer and Grey Ghost a few times. Sheepstealer was hard to find and when I did find him, he almost cooked me and Grey Ghost was ever illusive to me. I wanted to try my hand with the Cannibal, but my father forbade it,” Daemon explained.

“Was there something special that drew you to the wild dragons?” Nettles asked, but Daemon giggled in response.

“What was special was that they were dragons and I wanted a dragon. Dreamfyre would not have me and my grandfather strictly forbade the dragonkeepers from allowing children near Balerion, a rule he passed after an incident during my father’s first visit to the Dragonpit when he was six, so I turned to the wild dragons for possible mounts,” Daemon explained.

“Was Caraxes not your first choice?” Nettles asked.

“Caraxes was not an option at the time. He already had a rider in my youth. My uncle, Aemon Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone.”

“Princess Rhaenys’s father, yes?” Nettles asked.

Daemon nodded in response.

“He was a good man and he had the makings of a fine King before fate said otherwise, just like my father.”
“And what was he like — your father I mean?” Nettles asked.

Daemon felt stunted like he had been struck across the face unexpectedly. To describe his father of all men, it was not a simple task for there was so much to be said about such a man. Baelon had been in Daemon’s thoughts a lot of late, recalling memories of him from his youth with Viserys as he mourned his brother's death.

“My father…. My father was the greatest man I ever knew. He was one of the mightiest of all the Targaryens. A true scion of the line of the Conqueror and a credit to the reign of Jaehaerys. He was a second son with no pressures of greatness upon him and yet his achievements and feats in life were so numerous. His motivations were not out of vanity or thirst for glory but for the satisfaction of proving his merit to himself. He was a mighty warrior, braver than any man in the Seven Kingdoms, rider of Vhagar, wielder of Dark Sister. Yet despite the battles he won and the countless foes he slew… he was an inherently kind man, with such love and loyalty in his heart.”

When Daemon realised how sappy and emotional he was sounding he cut himself off and turned away, angry at himself for sounding like a lovesick girl.

“And your mother?” Nettles asked.

Daemon chuckled to himself, his thoughts filling with the few memories of his mother that he had. Images of a woman’s face with mismatched coloured eyes staring down at him and smiling.

“My mother. Princess Alyssa Targaryen. My father’s younger sister by a few years and married in the tradition of our house. She was much like Rhaenyra and Rhaenys, though more like Baela than either of them. She loved to hunt, ride both horse and dragon, climb and fight with wooden swords. She had no regard for custom or tradition, rules and the like. For those reasons, my brother Viserys maintained that I was her favourite. It was because of her spirit that my brother Viserys and I are technically counted among the youngest Targaryens to have ever ridden dragons. My brother was nine days old when our mother put him in his swaddling clothes and took him up into the sky on Meleys’s back for the first time and I was treated the same luxury a fortnight after my birth,” Daemon explained.

“She sounds like she was quite a woman,” Nettles complimented.

“She was,” Daemon agreed.

Daemon felt he had been prattling on about his own family a bit too long and didn’t like how much the girl Nettles was getting out of him.

“And what of you, Nettles? Who was your mother? Before Marilda, I mean?” Daemon asked.

“A whor*. A far cry from a great dragon-riding malcontent princess, but still my mother. She died when I was young and I spent the next few years in the brothel where she worked before I ran away to escape the same fate,” Nettles explained. “But, I suppose if Rhaenyra is right about the dragon blood in us that makes us dragonseeds, then I suppose she was at least a dockside whor* who descended from the Targaryens. That’s something I suppose.”

“And what of your father?” Daemon asked.

Nettles scoffed.

“You’d know better than I. He was one of your men after all. Before you and Lord Corlys sailed for the Stepstones, your army all gathered on Driftmark and had a pre-voyage party, drinking and whoring their way around the island. My mother f*cked one of the soldiers or sailors in your army and nine turns of the moon later, I was born,” Nettles explained.

Daemon recalled that night. He started the evening toasting to their campaign with the Sea Snake in the Hall of Nine, but ended up waking up the next morning in a brothel bed in Spicetown.

With all the conversation about their parents spent, Daemon switched the topic to something a bit more relevant, Sheepstealer.

“So, how close have you gotten to Sheepstealer these past few weeks?” Daemon asked.

“Fairly close. It’s been progressing slowly. In the past four nights, he has even let me stroke his snout and he seems more responsive when I speak to him in High Valyrian,” Nettles explained.

“Have you tried riding him?” Daemon asked.

“No.”

“Well, you should try tonight,” Daemon asserted.

Nettles glared at him as though he were mad, even in the dark of night he could see her eyes go wide.

“He’s only just gotten used to me. Wouldn’t trying to claim him be tempting his wrath?” Nettles asked.

“I know enough of Sheepstealer to know that he is a strong-willed dragon. He responds to strength, the same way I earned Caraxes’s respect when I claimed him. Be direct and assertive, but don’t be stupid. If he gets angry, calm him and if he refuses to calm down, slowly step back, but you will get nowhere with him if you do not try to command his respect,” Daemon asserted.

Nettles thought for a moment and finally nodded in agreement.

A short while later, the wailing of dragon cries was carried on the wind, an omen of Sheepstealer's impending arrival.

The bound sheep started bleating again, the poor thing clearly getting anxious and with good reason.

Soon the dragon came souring into view in the night sky, flapping his wings and descending into the dwelling.

He was a strong and formidable yet lean and scabrous anne-breed dragon. His back was prickled with rows of thorns with his apperance being similar to that of a lion-lizard in some respects. At the ends of his wing fingers between the membranes were long curled hooks that extended out and his scaly skin was blotchy and spotted, hard to see in the dark of night, but Daemon remembered enough of Sheepstealer on Dragonstone to recall the colours. Running along his arms and down from his head to tail was a dark colour that varied between seeming black or dark brown depending on which way the light treated it, the colour of his wings was mostly mud brown and dappled along the fingers of his wings or upon his snout or even under his belly was a pale lighter brown.

The dragon crawled towards the bound sheep as it bleated. First Sheepstealer sniffed his meal and then reared back his head and breathed fire onto the helpless creature.

Once his meal was cooked, he snatched it up with his jaws snapped it in his mouth thrice and swallowed it.

Nettles then looked back to Daemon and he nodded in approval and then the girl approached the dragon.

She was slow and respectful in her movements, cautiously approaching Sheepstealer, who was cautious but accepting of her approach.

When Nettles bowed her head and put her hand forward, Sheepstealer looked at her for a moment and then moved his head forward, nuzzling her hand.

“Gevi. Gevi,” she said gently as she stroked the dragon’s snout.

After a short while, when Sheepstealer was calm and comfortable with her.

Nettles started moving towards Sheepstealer’s back, which he seemed to be cautious of. Nettles’s task seemed rather trying since she would have to try and mount Sheepstealer without saddle or reins.

When Nettles gripped onto the scales of Sheepstealer’s back, the dragon swung his head around and snarled at her.

“Lykirī! Lykirī, Bianorlaodī! Dohaerās!” she commanded holding her hand out.

Sheepstealer’s snarl settled into a controlled growl and soon he turned away from her.

Once again Nettles tried to climb onto Sheepstealer’s back and once again he whipped his head back and snarled at her, this time the flames growing in his throat began to illuminate her face in orange. Dameon felt genuine worry for the girl, his heart quickening as the danger became more apparent. Daemon was a mere moment away from shouting at the girl to run but before he could utter the words, Nettles commanded the dragon once again.

“Daor, Bianorlaodī! Dokimarvose! Daor! Dohaerās!”

With that, Sheepstealer calmed himself once again.

Nettles looked at the dragon once again and hesitated to make another attempt to climb it.

Come on, Daemon said to himself.

One final time, Nettles began to climb onto Sheepstealer’s back and while he wasn’t happy about it and even tried to shake her off, she maintained her grip and climbed onto the dragon’s back.

She did it, Daemon told himself, feeling not only astonishment but also a strange sense of pride. An odd feeling since they had barely spoken to one another before that night, yet he now felt an instant connection to the girl.

“Sōvēs! Sōvēs, Bianorlaodī! Rybās!” Nettles commanded.

With what sounded like a momentary groan of reluctance, Sheepstealer began to flap his wings and Nettles let out a high-pitched laugh of joy as they began to rise into the sky.

Daemon watched from afar as the two ascended into the sky with Nettles and her new dragon joyfully howling their joy in the moonlight.

The laugh of joy Daemon heard her cry out as she flew was the first time he’d heard the girl laugh and strangely there was something familiar about that too.

Daemon’s mind began to wonder following the familiar thoughts he had of Nettles that had otherwise been untraceable until now. But suddenly he felt he could finally remember why the girl seemed so familiar.

The night before Daemon left for the Stepstones when he went down to Spicetown.

The whor* he was with, a beauty with curly black hair, dark skin, dancing in a sheer dress silk with bracelets around her wrists and ankles that jingled, captivating eyes and the most free-spirited laugh that drew Daemon to her, the same laugh Daemon had heard from Nettles.

The pieces began to fall into place and Daemon began to realise.

It's not possible, he told himself. She couldn’t be.

A dragonseed with the blood of the Targaryens.

A girl who reminded Daemon of Baela, a girl who seemed to him like his daughter.

Daughter, the word rang in his head as his heart thumped in his chest.

How could the gods be so spiteful and cruel as to torment him by taking his Visenya from him and giving him Nettles in her place? Nettles could never replace the child he had lost and would instead only bring about... complications that Daemon had no need of.

Daemon probably had two dozen score of bastards in the world, but all of them were far from him and of no consequence. But Nettles was a member of Rhaenyra’s court and a part of his life now and according to the dragon dream, part of his destiny.

No, Daemon said to himself.

The smell of the burning dirt upon which the sheep was laid wafted into Daemon’s nose, snapping him back to reality.

It doesn’t matter, Daemon told himself.

No one will ever know, he vowed.

And with that, Daemon made his way down the hills. With any luck, Daemon would make it back to the Sealord’s palace before the sun came up so that he might see Nettles present Sheepstealer to Rhaenyra.

Daemon was still very proud of Nettles, as his new friend… and nothing else.

Chapter 19: Learning from a Master

Chapter Text

Once again Rhaenyra was set amidst a dream, so strong and detailed it felt almost like reality, but this time she knew it.

There were certain signs she was in a dream, like that strange dazed disembodied feeling, as though she were disconnected from her body and even though she could touch and feel, there was a numbness to it, like when one partakes in too much strongwine.

Between the hopeful dream of Valyria’s future and the harrowing nightmare of Valyria’s past, it was as though Rhaenyra was becoming practised in the art of walking in unnatural dreams and becoming more learned in walking such peculiar realms.

Once again she was a child, the same age as she had been when she had dreamed of the Doom, but her mind was not fogged and addled as it had been last time, making her feel like the dream around her was a reality. She carried all the memories of the life she had lived making the body of a spry youth to be a peculiar vessel for one so much older and hopefully wiser with the passing of the years. Perhaps the masked sorcerers were trying to send her a message if this truly was their work.

Since Rhaenyra had her vivid nightmare, she had consulted with her family, the Maesters, the Dragonkeepers and the priests of the Old Valyrian Cults of Dragonstone, Driftmark and Claw Isles that had followed them. Anyone with insights into the histories of Old Valyria and the ancient crafts of the sorcerers who gathered in the Anogrion of old.

Their discussions on the matter were long and in-depth, contemplating all possible meanings for the dream Rhaenyra had received. The trappings and masks that Rhaenyra described the twelve to bear all matched the descriptions of the ancient sorcerers of the Freehold, but the last remnant of that order was disbanded over a century ago by Aegon the Conqueror, a reluctant course of action when he converted to the Faith of the Seven.

Maester Gerardys made an interesting observation when Rhaenyra spoke of how the sorcerers were cast in the hue of a white light that seemingly came from nowhere and was for some reason unbearable to look at.

The Maester described how four glass candles were brought to the Citadel from Valyria a thousand years before the Doom and had been kept there for centuries, one green and three black. It was said that these glass candles were crafted by the Valyrian wizards and lit a white flame that gave off an unpleasantly bright light that did strange things to colours. It is claimed that when the glass candles burn the sorcerers can see across mountains, seas and deserts, give men visions and dreams and communicate with one another half a world apart.

While the Maesters could not master the secrets of the glass candles, Gerardys contemplated if there were really other sorcerers who survived the Doom, hidden away somewhere. Such would mean that the twelve men were either the successors of the old Valyrian sorcerers, or perhaps Valyrain sorcerers themselves, using the self-enchantments of prolonged life spoken about in the old stories.

What if they were speaking to Rhaenyra through the powers of the glass candles? The white, uncomfortable glow they were cast in was the white flame of the candle.

Maester Gerardys theory was the most intriguing and explanatory of all the propositions that had been presented.

When Rhaenyra asked who they were, they had said to her; We are the forgotten ones. We are the ones who heeded the words of Aenar and braced for the Vejes. We sleep between life and death, awaiting the progeny of Aenar to return and awaken us. Now the dream has been dreamt and we await you.

The way they spoke of Aenar as though they knew him and said they had heeded his warnings of the Doom it was all fitting together. Now Rhaenyra was eager to uncover the mystery further.

In her youthful form, she was dressed in her dragon riding clothes, but no dreamlike manifestation of Syrax was anywhere to be found. Instead, Rhaenyra was alone in a vast and open dark chamber.

It seemed similar to an indoor amphitheatre, with a crescent of rising tiers of seats forming a semi-circle in the chamber with isles of stairs running up the crescent of rising seats that divided the forum into five sections. The floor in front of the crescent of seats was strange and yet fascinating. A polished black and red marble floor that looked as though it were fashioned from an onyx black ocean with ripples of crimson-red blood flowing through it.

It took Rhaenyra a moment to notice the small stone chair on a shallow dias with pole-mounted torches at each corner of the platform.

“Do you know where you are?” a familiar and unsettling voice asked in a low deep voice. When Rhaenyra heard it last, it was one of a dozen speaking in unison, but now the voice was alone.

Rhaenyra turned around and saw one of the sorcerers, probably the first one whom she had seen in the dark corridor, but it was hard to tell since they all dressed so similarly in masks robes and aprons, with only the different scriptings of Valyrian glyphs upon their attire to tell them apart.

Rhaenyra instinctively took two steps back, unable to so easily set aside her anxieties and mistrust for the masked stranger.

The sorcerer strode towards her with his hands clasped together behind his back and then came to a halt, waiting for Rhaenyra’s answer.

Quickly, the Princess looked around the chamber trying to discern her location. Clearly Valyria again due to the architecture and style of the chamber, but where exactly, she was not sure. She looked at the forum of crescent seats and noticed at the top of each of the five sections, there were five banners, each with a different glyph on them representing a different valyrian name.

Rovegion, Prydor, Nandorion, Levissar and Drajai, the five chapters of the forty Freeholder families. Rhaenyra quickly pieced together where she was, glancing over again to the mounted chair surrounded by torches and then back to the sorcerer.

“This is the senate chamber of the Freeholder Lords. This is where the forty dragonlords along with their heirs, advisors and court sorcerers would gather together to administrate the Freehold,” Rhaenyra said with awe and astonishment, disbelieving that she was actually standing in the chamber.

Rhaenyra then turned her attention to the mounted chair.

“And this… this is the archon’s chair, where the elected ruler of the Freehold would preside over the Senate,” she mused as she looked at the chair.

A seat of limited power, in charge of the day-to-day administration of the Freehold, lest the forty dragonlords debate and vote every day on every small matter of governance in Valyria. The Archon was also charged with keeping order and control in the Senate but was still subject to their consensus and ruling. Only in dark and desperate times could an Archon take absolute power in a time of emergency, but such power would be rescinded when such crises were averted.

“For nearly two hundred generations, this chamber was the beating heart of power in the known world. The mightiest civilization since the great Empire of the Dawn,” the sorcerer began as he paced around the chamber, looking up to the rising tiered rows of seats. “Near limitless power, fanned by the flames of ambition and spirit in the hearts of the Dragonlords to keep the Freehold strong and tempered only by bureaucracy, political deadlock and endless debate to keep them from growing too rapidly, it kept them restrained. But the heart of a Zaldrīzesāeksio is the same as the heart of a zaldrīzes and zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor.”

Rhaenyra took the sorcerer’s words to heart, for they were similar to the wisdom of humbling reality that her father had imparted upon her, warning her of the hubris and arrogance of the dragonlords.

“At any given session, this chamber would be filled. The forty dragon lords, each of them accompanied by their brothers, sons, advisors, sorcerers and retainers. At least two hundred people would fill these seats. And above, in the gallery looking down on them, giving their voices. Land Owners, Priests, Guild Masters, Mages, Bureaucrats and Military Officers.”

The sorcerer motioned his hand to the balcony that ringed around the circular chamber above the crescent of senate seats.

“A thousand voices of free men in this chamber at any given session and yet only one of them had the grace and humility to admit that Valyria was not indestructible. That voice belonged to Dragonlord of lesser standing from the Prydor chapter… your scion, Aenar,” the sorcerer explained as he turned to Rhaenyra.

Aenar the exile who heeded his daughter Daenys’s warnings of the coming Doom and fled the Freehold. If it hadn’t been for Aenar, then the Targaryens would have perished along with the rest of Valyria.

With over two hundred years of hindsight on the matter, Rhaenyra had never before contemplated how much of a gamble Aenar had made in heeding the dream of his daughter.

He had sold off all his lands, holdings and properties in the Freehold and the Lands of the Long Summer and bought himself stewardship of an outpost fortress in the west which became Dragonstone. Rhaenyra knew the stories of how Aenar’s rivals chided him and laughed at his exile, accusing him of cowardice for his family’s declining status within the Freehold. Rhaenyra had always thought the Freeholders’ insults to be blind bluster and arrogance, but she only thought it so because she knew that their slanders were followed by the doom. At the time, Aenar’s decisions must have seemed so blind and foolish.

Only now that Rhaenyra was following a similar path did she really understand the difficulties that must have weighed on her ancestor’s mind that must have weighed upon his head. To sacrifice thousands of years worth of status and wealth on the whim of a dream while those around him laughed and called him foolish, cowardly and mad. So many times since her father’s passing and the great dragon dream, Rhaenyra had questioned herself and the decisions she had made.

Yet Aenar’s hope was slighter still, for only his daughter had the dream and he could only take her word for it, but despite it all, he persevered, put aside the pride and the arrogance of invincibility that the dragonriders of Valyria had grown perpetually drunk upon and single-handedly saved his family and cemented them as the last bastion of Valyrian might that would see rise to the Seven Kingdoms united under the Targaryen dynasty.

As Rhaenyra, in her youthful form looked upon the seats of the Senate, she moved closer to them, coming up along the side of the Valyrian Sorcerer, no longer as cautious of him as she had once been.

“You knew him, didn’t you?” Rhaenyra asked.

The sorcerer turned to face Rhaenyra, though his silence coupled with the blank expression upon his face mask left little to be interpreted by the Princess.

“You knew Aenar… my ancestor,” Rhaenyra rephrased, granting clarity to her question in case the sorcerer was confused beneath his hood and mask.

Though it may have seemed an abrupt and unfounded conclusion, Rhaenyra had noticed signs suggesting such to be the case.

The way the sorcerers kept drawing Rhaenyra back to Aenar and speaking to her in reference of the last Targaryen Dragonlord to see Valyria. The visions of the Doom and of the Freehold Senate chamber with which the mage spoke of with such familiarity. Even their riddled words, calling themselves the forgotten ones and claiming to have heeded Aenar’s warnings of the doom and now sleeping between life and death in wait for Rhaenyra.

Right or wrong, Rhaenyra had drawn her conclusions and she was convinced that the twelve she saw whom she believed to be speaking to her through the glass candles were not acolytes or successors of Valyrian sorcerers but rather the very sorcerers themselves. Men trained in the eldritch arts of fire and blood within the halls of the Anogrion.

At last, the sorcerer spoke.

“Yes, I knew Aenar. A resolute and dignified man. Though I knew the mages who served him better than the Dragonlord. I took their endorsem*nts into Aenar’s warnings of doom and their choice to follow him in his exile west with great respect.”

The sorcerer then stepped closer to Rhaenyra.

“After Aenar’s departure, the signs of the impending calamity became more apparent. The Fourteen Flames tremored more frequently and the birds and beasts began to have fits of oddity now and again. We few who considered Aenar’s warnings investigated further and found that the Vejes’s inevitability increased. Both our elders and the Dragonlords refused to listen to us. So we few who knew what was coming resolved to survive,” the sorcerer explained.

Rhaenyra was amazed, confused, overwhelmed and excited all at the same time.

“Who are you?” she asked with wonder in her voice, the kind of childlike wonder that fit her youthful form.

The sorcerer placed a gauntlet-clad hand over his chest.

“You may call me Master Raegoth of the Mages Guild, or at least I was referred to as such when there still was a Mages Guild in Valyria.”

Rhaenyra was astounded. An actual Valyrian mage still existed, twelve in fact, but she knew not the details of how.

“And where are you?” she continued, wishing to know where she might find this mage and his peers.

“Buried, yet neither living nor dead. We hibernate in one of the deepest vaults beneath the Anogrion in the city of Valyria protected with spells and incantations to protect us from the Vejes. Our minds are tethered to the endless flame of the glass candle we have gathered around, but our bodies are locked in a state of near agelessness with the passing of each year being the equivalent of one heartbeat for us. But at the cost of our preservation, our spell cannot be undone by our own hands. Our bodies are as statues awaiting the intervention of others to free us.”

After all this time, all these long centuries, these sorcerers had been alive, watching the world through the light of the glass candle. Silently and patiently awaiting the day one might be able to trek to Valyria and free them, which led to Rhaenyra’s next question.

“Why now? Why wait so long to reveal yourselves to my house?” she asked.

Master Raegoth began to pace around the senate room.

“For centuries we have watched in silence as the world has unfolded around us. Silent voyers who shadowed the steps of the peoples of Essos and Westeros. We have stood as witnesses and custodians to the history of the House of Targaryen, first as Dragonlords and then as Kings. But our focuses have also remained with Valyria, watching it shift and shape over the centuries. We did not reveal ourselves because Valyria was not ready to be returned to. Even now, with the sea cooled, the air clean and even green returned and the birds and beasts no longer half-formed corruptions, Valyria is not exactly what one would call safe, young one.”

It was difficult for Rhaenyra to process what was being said to her, the air of Valyria was clean, the seas cooled and green returned. Then there was what Raegoth had said about the birds and beasts.

Was there still wildlife in Valyria? Rhaenyra wondered.

After seeing the Doom with her own eyes in her last dream, she couldn’t imagine anything living in such a landscape. The term half-formed corruptions also caught her ear, suggesting that whatever creatures had been clinging to life in Valyria had been doing so by only a small margin. Though the way Raegoth described it, it seemed that the fauna had healed with the flora.

“What changed your mind? Why reveal yourselves now?” Rhaenyra asked once again.

Master Raegoth stared down at Rhaenyra, or at least he seemed to be doing so through the black eyeholes of his mask.

“The dream,” Raegoth said suddenly.

The Great Dragon Dream that they had all shared. Now Rhaenyra understood why she had been chosen by Master Raegoth and his colleagues.

“The time is nigh, young one. Your dream marks the portents of Valyria’s resurrection. The gods have spoken and you, Rhaenyra Targaryen, will answer them,” Raegoth declared.

“But what about the dreams you have shown to me? Why did you show me Valyria’s doom and why bring me here to the Senate room?” Rhaenyra asked, looking around the chamber. “Furthermore? Why bring me back to my memories of my studies with Alicent and Septa Mordane?”

Raegoth looked at her for a moment before continuing.

“Tell me, child, have you ever thrown a rock into a river?” Raegoth asked.

Rhaenyra was not sure what relevance Raegoth’s question bore, but she knew enough of Valyrian history to know that the wizards of the Freehold often spoke in riddles but their wisdom was always bountiful once divined.

“I suppose I must have thrown a stone or two into a river as a child. Probably when I was bored at camp when my father was hunting in the Kingswood,” Rhaenyra suggested, indulging Raegoth’s question.

“And what prey tell happened to the water upon being struck by the rock?” Master Raegoth asked.

Rhaenyra shrugged. “The rock made a splash and sunk, the water rippled and then kept flowing.”

Master Raegoth nodded, seeming satisfied with Rhaenyra’s answer.

“An exercise in futility, no? One casts a rock into a river to disrupt its flow, but the ripples correct themselves and the water continues to flow. The Vejes almost saw the end to the Valyrian way forever, but through us and through Aenar, five thousand years of our people’s heritage endures. But if you return to Valyria and restore it, what good is any of it if the Doom is provoked once again by the greed and vanity of future generations of your new Valyria?” Raegoth asked.

Now Rhaenyra felt she was starting to piece together what Raegoth was trying to convey.

“So you showed me the Doom, not because you wanted me to understand the horrors of the past, but to be wary of the dangers in the future, should Valyria fall down the same path once again,” she surmised.

Raegoth nodded.

“And that is why I showed you the Vejes. That is why I have chosen to shape you in the guise of a youth and remind you of your tutor. These dreams are your lessons, Rhaenyra Targaryen. Just because your heart is ready to reclaim Valyria does not mean your mind is prepared for it,” the wise mage explained.

Now it all made sense, Rhaenyra was to be his student and he would teach her not only how to conquer Valyria but also how to maintain it and ensure no travesty like the Doom would ever happen again.

The day Rhaenyra lost her father, she felt more alone and vulnerable than ever before. Even in his weakened state, he used all he had in him to pull himself up onto the Iron Throne one last time to defend her and Luke from the Greens and Vaemond’s plotting. Without him, she felt like she and all that she loved were constantly exposed and danger lurked behind every corner. Now once again Rhaenyra felt safe and guarded by this masked sorcerer who offered his aid to her, a guiding hand to lead her forward in such dark times.

In her memory of her lessons with Septa Mordane and Alicent, she had so blusterously boasted that she knew everything about Valyria, but now that she stood before an apparition of one who had seen the Freehold with his own waking eyes, she could only feel embarrassed for having made such assertions in her youth.

“Teach me, Master,” she asked of the masked mage in all humility and respect.

A sound came from beneath Master Raegoth’s mask that sounded like an amused giggle.

The sorcerer then began to pace slowly around the chamber looking around the senate seats.

“Your first lesson is a simple and broad one, but more integral than any other. You have resolved to have Valyria, but the paramount concern is what do you intend to do with it once it is yours?” Raegoth asked.

Rhaenyra thought for a moment before answering.
“Restore it,” She declared.

Master Raegoth ceased his pacing and turned once again to face Rhaenyra.

“Restore it to what? To this? The Freehold as it once was?” he asked looking around the chamber. “It was the Freehold that led to its own destruction. To plainly restore it is to cast a stone in the river and the Doom will begin again, perhaps in decades, centuries or millennia,” Raegoth explained.

“Then how do I avoid it?” Rhaenyra asked. “You speak of the arrogance, greed and vanity of Valyria being its downfall. Show me what happened so that I will not make the same mistake. How did a power such as this become as it was in the doom?”

Master Raegoth nodded, seeming to approve of Rhaenyra’s question.

A strange thing happened then. The colours of the chamber changed, becoming more vibrant and strange. White became as bright as fresh fallen snow, yellow shone like gold, reds turned to flame, and shadows became so black that they looked like holes in the world. The shifting colours were uncomfortable to behold and the chamber seemed to shimmer around Rhaenyra but then everything started to settle, but she was no longer in the Senate chamber of the Freehold.

Now Rhaenyra was on the black rocky slopes of a tall mountain that stood before her surrounded by a murky grey haze, or at least it seemed like a mountain at first, but she quickly realised it was a volcano with smoke rising from the summit. When Rhaenyra looked around, she found Master Raegoth standing near her.

“Where are we?” she asked.

The mage looked up to the Volcano’s peak.

“This is Blēnon Arraks,” Raegoth explained. “Over there is Blēnon Aegaraks,” he said pointing to another Volanco in the distance to the right of them.

“And that is Blēnon Gaelithoks,” he added pointing to another distant volcano in the opposite direction.

The Fourteen Flames, a chain of fourteen volcanos that went almost coast to coast across Valyria, each one named for one of the fourteen prime gods of the Valyrian Pantheon.

“They’re more beautiful than I imagined,” Rhaenyra said with awe as she looked to the smoking tops of the mountains in the distance in either direction, though the ones further away were hidden beneath the veil of murky haze.

“Indeed. Valyria has always been lovely to look upon, but beneath the beauty, there is a foulness,” Raegoth explained.

Before Rhaenyra could ask Raegoth what he meant the sound of a loud crack in the distance followed by a yelp caught Rhaenyra’s attention.

She turned around and saw a cliff ahead of her, overlooking the distant landscapes of Valyria to the south.

When Rhaenyra heard another crack followed by another yelp, she walked towards the cliff to see what the noise was.

Upon reaching the cliff’s edge, she looked down and realised with horror what the noise was.

About thirty feet below the cliff’s edge was the rocky black ground at the volcano’s base and what Rhaenyra saw broke her heart.

A large cave entrance burrowed into the base of the volcano with lines of men and women in ragged clothes, soot-covered faces and burns all over their bodies, chained together in a line walking into the cave with an adjacent line next to them coming out burned, freshly blistered, exhausted and injured carrying buckets out of the caves.

Those who came out looked as though they had been burned at the stake as they limped their way out of the cave, one man collapsed on the ground as he walked out, with gems, gold and silver spilling out of his bucket as he fell to the ground.

One of the chained men walking into the cave looked at the man lying down with dread before continuing on into the cave.

The chained men and women weren’t alone, for they were accompanied by men dressed in suits of black armour of plate and scale with open-faced helmets similar to the ones worn by Daemon or the kingsguard. Most were armed with spears and tall square shields while others were armed with long black barbed whips which they used to strike the chained people for seemingly no reason at all.

Rhaenyra knew now what she was seeing. The soldiers were men of the Valyrian Legion and those in chains were the slaves, forced to work in the volcanic mines.

What truly upset Rhaenyra was the sight of a man in ornate black armour with white hair, sitting atop a large green dragon, similar in size to Syrax, watching apathetically as the slaves marched into the cave.

Raegoth took a position standing next to Rhaenyra as they watched the endless lines of slaves that stretched out beyond her view feed into the cave and those covered in fresh smoking burns and other injuries crawl out carrying treasure out with them.

In a short time, Rhaenyra saw enough buckets of jewels and rare metals hauled out of the mines to build a fortune.

Rhaenyra could do nothing but watch in horror and disgust at the cruel works of her ancestors until finally, Raegoth broke his silence.

“With our navy and our dragons, the Freehold was thought to command unchallengeable power in the world by harnessing the skies and seas, but we drew our strength from a third domain as well, the land. Not just the farms, forests and groves in the lands of the long summer, but also the deep cavernous mines that we carved into the bases of the Fourteen Flames and lesser volcanos.”

“What’s down there?” Rhaenyra asked with disgust as she looked at the injuries of those who emerged from the caverns and noticed fewer came out than those who went in.

“Endless wealth. Bountiful troves of rare metals are hidden deep within the Fourteen Flames. This is but one of fourteen mines, each manned by thousands of slaves every day,” said Raegoth.

“Why? Why so many?” Rhaenyra asked in horror.

“Those who toiled in the mines did not last long. The deeper they dug, the hotter the rock became, burning them at the touch, poisoning their lungs and cooking them alive like pheasants in an oven. Sometimes when they broke through a wall in search of gold, they would find steam, boiling water, or molten rock. Certain shafts were cut so low that slaves had to crawl or bend to navigate them. Hundreds died each day, claimed by the red darkness, giving their lives for more treasure that the Valyrians did not need.”

Raegoth had no facial expression due to his mask, but his voice clearly portrayed lamentation for the needless death over exuberant wealth.

“Why so much? What could they possibly need it all for that they would decide it was worth so much life?” Rhaenyra asked in frustration.

“It was never about need, young one. The Dragonlords knew the dark perils of the mines that ran beneath flames, but they were blinded by their greed and competitiveness. Forty squabbling houses, bloated, jealous and covetous, never satisfied no matter how much power they possessed and so they sent their slaves gathered from a hundred different nations into hot mines to face fire, rockfalls, firewyrms and poison air, hauling precious stones and gems up the lines to further the wealth of their masters,” Raegoth explained.

Rhaenyra knew her history but she had always seen their practices in slavery to be an error or a simple lapse in morality for her forebearers not the gluttonous barbarity she now understood it to be.

“All of this. All of it just to prove themselves superior to one another? Greed and vanity. Heedless ambition for power and glory. They had more wealth and power than the rest of the world combined and rather than share it they jealously hoarded it for themselves and coveted more?” Rhaenyra asked.

“A thirsty animal can drink from a river until their needs are quenched and they can continue to drink abundantly thereafter, but try to drink the whole river and eventually the animal will burst. That was how this led to the fall of Valyria,” Master Raegoth explained.

The old sorcerer then turned to Rhaenyra.

“The Dragonlords cared nothing for their slaves, but they cared about extracting their riches from the red darkness and to that end they commissioned us, the mages guild, to encant the Fourteen Flames and hold their fires at bay, so that their slaves could survive long enough to haul jewels and ore from the mines. Centuries passed and the pressure of the roaring flames within the heart of the fourteen mountains grew, held at bay only by our magic, but when the Dragonlords started jealously assassinating the household mages of one another to undermine one another’s power, our spells became useless,” Raegoth explained.

“And without the spells, the Fourteen Flames erupted and the Vejes followed,” Rhaenyra surmised.

Raeogth nodded and once again the bright extenuation of colors came and went with her surroundings changing once again. She was still on the cliff below the volcano but the salves and soldiers were gone. Now the sky filled with dark clouds and the air was cloaked in a red haze, the land was barren and grim and purple lighting cracked in the clouds above her.

She already knew that she had not moved and had simply been transported forward in time to Valyria after the Doom had begun.

As terrifying as the visual was to behold, Rhaenyra did not feel despair or horror, but instead resolute and decisive.

“You need not fear, Master Raegoth. I will not make the same mistake as my forebears. The red darkness will remain buried under my rule and no man or woman will ever wear a slave’s shackle in my Valyria,” Rhaenyra asserted.

“You are not tempted by the treasures within those caverns?” Raegoth asked, perhaps testing her, but the Princess only scoffed.

“If what you showed me was but a few minutes' worth of slaves hauling riches claimed from the Fourteen flames from one mine alone, then I will surmise that there is enough treasure hoarded in the cities of Valyria to last a thousand years at least. I will seek what my people need to prosper, not greedily covet every ounce of wealth and power in the world,” Rhaenyra promised.

The old sorcerer then bowed to Rhaenyra.

“You have learned fast young one. Now you may return to the waking world, but be prepared, for we shall visit you again in the coming nights. There is more you need to learn,” Master Raegoth explained.

And just like that, Rhaenyra’s dream began to fade away and she slowly began to feel more disconnected with the manifestations of Valyria as she reaclimated her senses to the bed of the Sealord’s palace as she began to wake up.

Her eyes were now open, in more ways than one.

Chapter 20: Preparations in Volantis

Chapter Text

Distant word from the west had drummed up all sorts of attention within the Black Walls of Volantis. Everyone, especially the Tigers had gotten into a flurry of excitement with the Triarchs convening the senate, summoning every wealthy landowner and noble family leader to convene.

While Aerion’s mother owned her palace and the buildings where her pleasure houses were conducted, owning buildings within the city did not constitute as landowning and while she had f*cked at least one member from virtually every Elephant and Tiger house and styled herself as a Princess, she was technically not a noble recognised by Volantis.

However, so long as she was rich and lived her life in pleasure and abundance she did not care about her status in the Senate, or lack thereof.

However, for this particular matter, the Triarchs had invited Princess Saera as a special guest of the city, hoping she would play a vital role in the matter.

During his contract in Qohor, Aerion first learned of the passing of King Viserys and the abdication of Princess Rhaenyra following King Aegon’s usurpation.

He’d heard rumours and gossip of Rhaenyra’s intention to take her family and her dragons and flee east into Essos, but no one knew where exactly.

Since returning to Volantis, he’d shared with his mother and his favourite niece what he had learned about their Targaryen cousins with the news soon spreading to his half-siblings and their families.

While Aerion was not very well connected with the gossiping of his family and the Volantine nobility, he could imagine that what he had told his mother had probably circulated around the highborns as fresh bavardage for the Tigers and Elephants to feast on and make conversation over.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later that more detailed accounts of what happened reached the city and spread through it like wildfire. Not just Viserys’s death and the battle lines that were being drawn between the two factions of Targaryens before Rhaenyra’s surrender, but also a piece of information that illuded Aerion in Qohor, Princess Rhaenyra’s destination.

Half the Targaryen royal family with their dragons and vassals, all coming to Volantis was enough to drive the entire city into an uproar of anticipation, with everyone wildly excited for the coming arrival. More than that, Volantis, the city that regarded itself the last bastion of the Valyrian Freehold in Essos, was turned upside down by the revelation that the Targaryens, the last bloodline of the forty dragonlord houses would take their dragons and recolonize Valyria, claiming a mighty dragon dream that they had shared, calling them back to the Freehold. The Tigers and a fair few some of Elephants quickly became enamoured at the prospect of being part of the restoration of Valyria and being rewarded by the Targaryens for their assistance in such a quest with boons of wealth, power and status.

For Aerion and his niece, this was far more than an exciting visit from the west. When Aerion first had the strange dream on the road to Qohor, he thought nothing special of it, though did take note of how vivid it had been and how unshakable the dream had been in the months that followed. He thought the dream odd as it showed him standing amidst a court of silver-haired and common-haired people that he did not recognise save for himself and Visenya standing amongst them.

It was not until Visenya showed him her collage of drawings, perfectly recreating his dream upon the parchments, that Aerion realised that there was more to his strange dream than he had previously thought.

The pair of them visited the Volantis Hall of Lore and consulted with the scholars and archivists who told them about how in the time of the Freehold those who carried the Old Blood of Valyria possessed the gift of oneiromancy through what they called ‘Dragon Dreams’. Since childhood, Aerion had heard the stories of how his forbear Daenys the Dreamer had convinced her father to flee Valyria before the Doom after having such a dream.

When word of the Targaryen quest to reclaim Valyria led by a shared dream reached Volantis, it did not take long for them to surmise the connection. They quickly realised that the self-exiled Princess Rhaenyra was the woman whom they had seen seated upon the dragonglass throne, crowned with a three-headed dragon of valyrian steel with six ruby eyes.

Their presence in the dream could only mean that they had a part to play, Aerion and Visenya. They may not have been Targaryens in name, but they were the scions of the Old King Jaehaerys and Aegon the Dragon and their paternal lines were strong in the old blood of Valyria as well. Now all there was to do was wait for the arrival of the Targaryens alongside all of Volantis.

On the day of the senate meeting, Aerion’s mother had the entire palace in an uproar. As a special guest of the city about to address the senate, Princess Saera spent the entire morning from first light trying to pick a gaudy and splendid dress to wear to the session.

Since first light, she had tried on and fussed her way through a dozen dresses, each one more fanciful and outlandish than the last.

Finally, she settled on a long shimmering purple silk gown with jewellery, necklaces and earrings of golden chains and scales adorning her as well as a long silk shawl detailed in many colours with dragons and flames.

Her hair was also done up in a ridiculous fashion and decorated with a golden tiara perched upon it.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked as she twirled and presented herself to Aerion and Visenya in the courtyard, neither of which were particularly impressed by her ridiculous outfit.

“You look — err— lovely, Muña,” Aerion complimented.

“I’m sure the senate will be most pleased with you, Gōmuña,” Visenya added.

While Aerion thought most of his mother’s attire was gaudy, he had to give credit where it was due in regards to her shawl, marked with dragons.

The shawl was a reminder to the senate that she was a Targaryen Princess and it would incentives them to rely upon her when dealing with Princess Rhaenyra in the coming months for she was their own blood and sister to three of Rhaenyra’s four grandparents.

Even though she had no relationship with any of them, the Triarchs and the nobles would lean upon her for help to negotiate with and befriend the dragonriders from the west and would undoubtedly give her favour and reward for her assistance.

Aerion knew his mother to be many things in life, vain, aesthetic, hedonistic, shameless, amoral even, but above all Aerion recognised that his mother was perhaps the most cunning and intelligent woman he had ever met.

Having attained so much power and influence to do as she pleased, she rarely wore veils of misdirection to manipulate the men of power in Volantis anymore, but she still knew how to play a role to get what she wanted. She was clever and patient and had made half the men and many of the women of power in Volantis into her marionettes at one point or another.

Now she saw an opportunity, the Triarchs and the Senate would turn to her to mediate with the Targaryens and thus the Targaryens would rely upon her to communicate their interests to the powers of Volantis making everyone reliant on her and she would no doubt wield such favour on both sides to gain more, as was her way.

Soon one of the palace guards came into the courtyard and approached Princess Saera.

“Dārilaros Saera. Your sons Naelarr and Maegor have arrived,” the Guard explained.

“Oh, good. Go fetch them,” Saera commanded with a smile.

An uncomfortable chill ran down Aerion’s spine as he turned and exchanged grim looks with Visenya.

Naelarr Aertaris and Meagor Vhoscas, the only two of Aerion’s older half-brothers who occupied positions in the senate as patriarchs of their houses and neither of them were men Aerion was particularly close with.

Just like Aerion and all his siblings, Naelarr and Meagor were sired by well-paying Tigers who wished to sire children of the purist and the highest calibre of the old blood.

Naelarr was the older of the two of them, the fourth of their mother’s nine sons. After his father’s death, he became the patriarch of the noble Aertaris family and put his family’s money to work in an effort to make even more money. He had mines and farms in various locations and a fleet of ships to ferry his goods and wealth back and forth, but the main product that he traded in was slaves — of course — and he was a good friend to the masters of Yunkai, Astapor and Mereen.

Maegor on the other hand, their mother’s seventh son, was much younger and only four years Aerion’s senior. Unlike Naelarr who was married and had children of his own, Maegor was still a youthful spirit and not yet settled down. After his father’s mysterious death two years earlier, he became the patriarch of House Vhoscas. Upon inheriting his father’s estate, he decided to burn through his family’s wealth beginning a spree of expenditures of weapons, horses, clothes and exotic pets from far-off lands, but his period of frivolity was short-lived. After reinventing himself with wealth and fineries, he began to win favour with the nobles by hosting parties and races to bring the people together and make himself well-liked and commonly associated with pleasure and enjoyment in the city.

Soon, Aerion’s two brothers arrived. Naelarr plump and round and short bearded, dressed in fineries of blue satin. Maegor on the other hand was muscular, stern and dressed in red and orange.

“My darling boys,” Saera greeted, reaching out her hands and greeting her sons. Cordial pleasantries, but no true sincerity. Upon their births, just like Aerion, they went to live with their fathers’ families and Saera was merely someone who came in and out of their lives frequently but insisted on being owed a mother's love from the men she had not raised.

They both were smart enough to know the kind of woman Saera was, but they also understood the power and influence she commanded within the city and played the parts of the doting sons to keep her favour.

As the two silver-haired sons embraced their mother, Aerion and Visenya rose from the couch they were seated upon.

After a brief embrace and exchange of pleasantries with their mother, the two noble lords turned their attention to Aerion.

“Brothers,” Aerion greeted respectfully, bowing his head.

“Good to see you, Aerion,” said Naelarr, stepping forth and firmly shaking hands with his younger half-brother. While Aerion resented Naelarr’s abhorrent slave trading, he was perhaps one of the more amiable of Aerion’s brothers and the two had a civil relationship.

“Word has it you have returned from another adventure recently, Novos was it?” Aerion’s brother Maegor asked as he came closer, his tone already antagonistic from the way he spoke.

Unlike Naelarr, Maegor was one that Aerion did not like, hating him in fact. He was self-righteous, cold, snide and bore a murderous temper that his household slaves endured.

“Qohor, actually,” Aerion corrected, speaking stiffly.

“Of course, my apologies. You and your cut-throats are always off galavanting from one place to the next, it is hard for me to keep track,” said Maegor through false pleasantries. “But such is the life of a mercenary I suppose, a life you were very eager to pursue… given how much you were willing to give up to follow it,” Maegor chided.

Maegor enjoyed making remarks about how when Aerion first left home to become a mercenary, he was disowned by his father. Lord Taenor Nestaar of the Tigers was an infinitely proud man and paid Princess Saera what he called a king’s ransom to sire him an heir, which he got in Aerion. Lord Nestaar was so proud to have his line continued on by a son who carried the blood of the Targaryen dragonlords and was mortified at how defiant Aerion was in the face of Volantis’s culture.

When Aerion left home to pursue a life as a sellsword, his father called it an embarrassment. The Tigers of Volantis thought their Valyrian blood made them so venerated that their feet barely touched the ground outside the black walls, carried around on mounts, litters and elephants. For the heir to house Nestaar to become a wandering mercenary and work for a living was too embarrassing for Aerion’s father and so he rejected his son.

When Aerion’s father died, Aerion’s uncle became the new patriarch of the family, but Aerion paid no mind, for he never wanted to be ruler of his family.

It was Aerion’s ‘embarrassment’ that made him unwelcome in the palace of House Nestaar, which was why he visited his mother’s home when he returned to the city.

“Come now brothers, let us keep things civil,” Naelarr asked of the two of them.

Aerion and Maegor looked at one another and silently agreed upon a reluctant truce.

Next, the two half-brothers turned their attention to Visenya.

Naelarr was pleasant enough with her, though Maegor’s eyes portrayed a more impure desires.

“My, my, sweet niece. Haven’t you aged… finely,” Maegor mused, softly holding Visenya by the chin for a moment before she brushed his hand away.

“Do not trouble yourself with how finely I am aging, Kepus. That is my business and of no concern to you,” Visenya asserted, making her lack of interest in her uncle clear.

Maegor’s expression began to darken for he was not in any way a fan of the word no, but before he could speak their mother clapped her hands together.

“That’s enough pleasantries. Come, my boys. We are expected at the senate,” Saera said at once.

With that, Nestaar and Maegor joined their mother, ready to escort her, but just before they left, Maegor turned back to Aerion once more.

“I’ll be sure to give your regards to your uncle at the meeting, Valonqar,” Maegor said with a snide smile.

Yet another snide reminder that Aerion had been stepped over as the lord of his family.

Aerion’s mother and half-brothers then left for the senate meeting and not a moment too soon.

Upon their exit from the courtyard, Visenya huffed as though an exhausting burden had been lifted and for them at least, dealing with family did tend to be such a burden.

“Well, at least that’s over,” Aerion said, glad to be rid of Maegor.

“Can you believe he honestly showed interest in me?” Visenya said with disgust, reviled at Maegor’s subtle advances.

“We’re of Valyrian blood, it’s a common practice for our kind,” Aerion said with a shrug.

“Yet I would sooner wed a sewer rat than him,” Visenya asserted.

Aerion giggled and smiled at his niece, but he was also troubled by how insistent Maegor had been. Since his early childhood he had grown up to idolise his namesake, whom his mother claimed was one of the greatest Targaryens because he got whatever he wanted by taking it, which Saera only admired.

Aerion understood he would need to keep an eye on his half-brother the next time he visited their mother’s place, lest he try something with Visenya.

“Well, I hope you don’t mind me leaving you for the afternoon but I’ll be heading down to see my boys,” Aerion declared, speaking of his mercenary company.

“That’s alright. I feel I need to bathe after being touched by Maegor and I think I’ll just have a quiet afternoon reading after that,” Visenya declared.

With his niece’s blessing to depart, Aerion left his mother’s palace and made his way out of the Black Walls, through the city streets and over the Long Bridge to a tavern on the south side of the Rhoyne where his mercenaries, the Dragonfangs, were renting lodgings.

Most of them were out the front of the tavern gathered around the tables, drinking, laughing, a couple gathered around playing a game of knucklebones and some entertaining whor*s sitting on their laps.

When they saw Aerion arrive they cheered and raised their cups and welcomed him to join them.

Aerion took a seat with a few of his higher-ranked men.

There was Rattles, a gruff skinny man with a crooked nose and a few missing teeth who wielded a flail with three chains hanging from the handle with twisted spikes of metal coiled around the chains. The twins, Stallo and Irrar from Myr, Stallo wielded a bow and quiver and Irrar a pair of warpicks. Tontor of the Summer Isles, a great big hulk of a man who carried a spiked cudgle and an axe. Lastly, there was Silvero, a water dancer from Braavos and Aerion’s lieutenant, dark-haired with a trimmed beard.

While they may have seemed like an unruly band of outlaws and villains, they were good men and reserved brutality only for those whom they met on the battlefield.

“So, are those fancy-dressed highborns off to discuss the impending Targaryen vist then?” Stallo asked as Aerion sat down, speaking to him in the common tongue rather than Valyrian.

“They are indeed, though its really just a formailty. Everyone knows that they are going to welcome the Targaryens with open arms and ask my mother to act as a mediator, it’s just a vote to make it all official,” Aerion explained, pouring himself a cup of ale.

“And what about this dream of yours? The one you and Visenya shared. Don’t you think the Triarch would instead prefer you as a mediator if you're supposed to be part of this whole prophecy?” Silvero asked.

Aerion snorted in response.

“My niece and I are not the most popular of people in the city and I doubt the senate and the Triarchs will take our word for our dreams to be legitimate until Princess Rhaenyra arrives to corroborate them,” Aerion explained.

“But you will meet with this Rhaenyra, won’t you?” Rattles asked, seeming excited or eager.

“I heard that the Targaryen exiles are bringing all their dragons with them, even the unclaimed ones,” Irrar added, seeming to suggest there might be a dragon for Aerion in the future.

Since Aerion first confided in his battle brothers about his and Visenya’s dream, they had been nothing but supportive with many of them speaking of their excitement to see Valyria.

They had followed him all across Essos into countless battles and now the Doom of Valyria seemed like the next adventure of conquest for them to undertake

“Easy, boys. I have not even met with the Princess Rhaenyra yet. I am not yet sure what part I have to play in her kingdom,” said Aerion, trying to temper his friends' enthusiasm.

“But if you and Visenya are meant to be by her side in Valyria as the dream suggests then that makes things very clear, you’ll no doubt be one of her vassals,” Stallo declared, taking a big leap in his assumptions.

“You might be the start of a new house of the forty dragonlords and we could be your retainers,” Silvero suggested.

“Enough, enough, enough,” Aerion pleaded, trying to settle his friends.

“Yes, I promise that when Princess Rhaenyra and her host arrive, Visenya and I will petition an audience with her and offer our services to her and I promise that if she accepts me, I will bring all of you to Valyria with me. But let us not make any assumptions at this point. Prophecies are dangerously confusing things,” Aerion explained to them.

“Only to those who do not know how to understand them,” an unfamiliar female voice declared.

Aerion turned around in his seat and looked behind where he was sitting.

Standing in the middle of the streets of Volantis a few paces from Aerion and his friends while the citizens of the city bustled around her was a tall pale woman with high cheekbones, dark velvet-red hair and a dress to match. Around her throat was a gold chocker necklace made of interconnected elongated hexagons with a red gem set in the central one.

Clearly a red priestess from the Temple of the Lord of Light in the city.

“Move along, Priestess. My prophecies are not your own,” Aerion said dismissively, believing his dragon dream to be no consequence to those who waited for the Prince that was Promised, the only prophecy R’hllor’s worshipers concerned themselves with.

“Many paths can seem unconnected until they reach their shared destination. You should trust in the path presented to you, for great things may yet come from it,” the Priestess suggested in her soothing voice.

Aerion turned away and returned to his cup.

“I will follow my destiny as I see fit, thank you,” he said.

“Then may you find your way to the new dawn swiftly, for the night is dark and full of terrors,” she said and after that, Aerion could hear her footsteps as she continued on down the street.

While Aerion listened to her words, he did not heed them, for between mystic prophetic dreams, the coming arrival of dragons in Volantis and the prospect of seeing Valyria restored, Aerion had no time to waste of Red Witches to further complicate things. Instead, he just focused on enjoying the afternoon with his friends and would leave matters of prophecy until the Targaryens arrived in the city.

Chapter 21: The Stepstones

Chapter Text

After their ceremonious departure from Braavos, Alyn was enjoying being on the open sea once more. Upon their departure from the Braavosian lagoon, their fleet had increased by eighteen ships, eleven Braavosi and seven Pentoshi. The seven Pentoshi ships were those brought by Prince Reggio Haratis in his self-imposed exile from Pentos for fear of being killed by the Magistrates. The Braavosi ships had been rustled together by explorers, merchants, wealthy families, adventurous water dancers, scholars and pioneering peasants who had come together to follow the Targaryens to Valyria in hopes of being part of the new great civilization. Of all the nobles of Braavos, only one had been swayed to their cause with some of his family; Vargidos Nestoris who had pledged himself to Rhaenyra and would join the Westerosi lords and the Pentoshi Prince that had pledged to her as the bedrock of Valyria’s gentry in the new dynasty.

Alyn positioned himself along the starboard railing of the Brightwing, Rhaenyra’s flagship leading the great armada down the Narrow Sea.

The voyage from Braavos felt like trying to breathe with a knife’s tip at one’s throat. Alyn had sailed the Narrow Sea more times than he could count, its name always seeming misleading since he could look on the open sea from east to west and see no land on either horizon, but this time, the sea had never before felt so tight and narrow.

To the west, Westeros where the Greens and their allies on Driftmark and in the Stormlands waited for the slightest transgression which they could take as an invasion by Rhaenyra.

To the east, Pentos, the inhabitants of which wished to see Prince Reggio killed and would resent the Targaryens for harbouring him and his family.

Further south, Myr and Tyrosh, both of which had agreed to grant their fleet safe passage, but Alyn feared that if Tyrosh even caught a glance of ships or dragons off its coast, it might fearfully take it as a mark of invasion and launch a paranoid counter-attack.

Every time Alyn spotted even the faintest shapes of possible land on the east or west, he worried it might be enough to set chaos loose.

Every seagull from the west he feared might be Vhagar or Sunfyre on the horizon and every merchant vessel he spotted on the eastern skyline, he feared might be the first of a Pentoshi or Myrish fleet launched to attack them.

But whenever his anxieties struck, all Alyn needed to do was look up.

Eleven dragons flying overhead, eight of them with riders. Tyraxes and Stormcloud were small enough to be carried on the deck of the dragonkeeper ships but joined their kin in the sky for hours at a time before taking a rest on the ships once again.

While the dragons could have easily flown to the Stepstones in a short time, they chose to remain with the fleet, guarding the ships on the voyage south.

Since the fleet’s voyage from Braavos, the Stepstones was a two-day trek, sailing both night and day, the eight riders camped the previous night in the lands between Pentos and Myr, gouging their dragons on livestock and resting in the open plains with Vermithor, Silverwing and Grey Ghost following suit.

The next morning the dragons rejoined the fleet and would remain with them all the way to Bloodstone.

As Alyn looked up to the sky, he saw Seasmoke and the newly saddled Sheepstealer dance and flap through the sky with Alyn’s brother and foster sister on the backs of the two winged serpents. As Alyn watched the two dragons soar and play with Vermax, Arrax and Moondancer in the sky, Alyn became ashamed of how green with envy he had become.

Addam’s preexisting relationship with Seasmoke was one thing, but Alyn and Nettles had started their training with the Dragonkeepers together, learned High Valyrian together and made failed attempts at claiming both Vermithor and Silverwing together.

Alyn was proud and elated for Nettles having claimed a dragon, espeically when he first found out, but when Alyn and Nettles entered Braavos, they watched together from the ship’s deck as Addam was carried into the city on Seasmoke and when they left the city, Addam had joined Nettles in the sky, but Alyn had been left behind on the ship’s deck.

The sound of children’s laughter on the ship deck distracted Alyn from his wallowing in self-pity. When the sailor from Hull turned his head, he watched with amusem*nt as Lady Rhaena played with the young Princes.

The young boys Joff, Aegon, Viserys and Gaemon were playing a game where Rhaena would chase them around the mast of the ship.

“Alyn,” a voice called, from the quarterdeck where Lord Corlys stood next to the helmsman at the wheel, the Sea Snake’s hands rested on the railing.

“Come here a moment,” the legendary mariner beckoned to him.

Alyn climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck and joined Lord Corlys.

“You sailed for many years with your mother’s merchant consortium, yes?” the old lord asked.

“I did, milord. My mother practically raised Addam and me on ships,” Alyn confirmed.

The Sea Snake nodded with a gentle approving smile.

“Take the helm then, let us see you bring the fleet into port here in the Stepstones,” Lord Corlys invited, giving an assuring nod to the helmsmen that he may step down.

After a moment of hesitation, Alyn stepped forward and took command of the Brightwing’s wheel. Upon his fingers gripping around the spoke handles of the wheel he felt both humbled and nervous. He has sailed a ship many times, but never anything bigger than a merchant cog and certainly not a galleon leading a massive fleet of ships.

“Steady on, Lad. You're doing fine,” Lord Corlys commented with a smile, seeming to notice Alyn’s worry.

“First time steering a galleon, milord,” Alyn explained. The Sea Snake laughed gently to himself and nodded.

“The first ship I ever commanded was a fishing boat called the Cod Queen that your grandfather crafted for me when I was sixteen. I used it to sail from Driftmark to Dragonstone and back again. When you sail as many ships as I have, you learn that it is all reductive to the same principles on the wind and tide and only a matter of compensating for the size and power of your vessel,” Corlys explained imparting his maritime wisdom upon Alyn.

Alyn then began to relax into his position of sailing the ship, feeling more confident as he held the wheel. As a lad, he used to dream of sailing with the Sea Snake, being accepted by him, mentored by him, but as he grew older and the cold shoulder of the great Sea Snake grew as frosty as the shivering sea, Alyn began to resent him and now that fate had brought them together, Alyn knew not what to make of this kind and nurturing figure who seemed to be trying to make up for lost time.

“Have you ever been to the Stepstones before, Alyn?” Corlys asked.

“I’m afraid not, Milord. During my years on the sea, the Stepstones have rarely remained… stable enough for travel,” Alyn explained, alluding to the evolving power struggle between the Triarchy and the Seven Kingdoms.

Lord Corlys nodded in agreement with Alyn.

“Two wars in twenty years, both of which I fought in,” said Corlys.

“I had considered joining the Velaryon Fleet to fight in the Stepstones a few years ago, to serve Driftmark and my lording house. Addam was considering joining the Shipwright guild at the time and I was a brash boy and looking for adventure. It never amounted to anything though, Nettles and my mother talked us into staying with the fleet,” Alyn explained.

“A pity for me. Had I possessed a man such as you with us in the Stepstones, perhaps I might not have suffered this wound,” Corlys said, gesturing to the scar on his neck when he pulled down the collar of his tunic.

Alyn chuckled and shook his head.

“You speak too highly of me, Milord. I doubt my presence would have changed anything,” Alyn replied humbly.

The fleet kept sailing on the open sea a while longer until eventually the dragons flying leisurely above them roared and began to hasten their flight south, leaving the fleet behind.

“It seems the dragons have spotted land up ahead. We’ve reached the Stepstones,” Corlys deduced as the dragons sored off further south.

“Captain Oswin. Singal the fleet we will be making landfall soon,” Corlys commanded.

Signalling horns then blew, sending the message down through the fleet as Alyn continued to sail the Brightwing on southward.

Soon enough, just as Lord Corlys had predicted, the archipelago of islands that stood between Dorne and Tyrosh came into view.

Prior to leaving Braavos, Rhaenyra had assembled her lords, nobles and ship’s captains, delegating the fleet across islands to take refuge while they stayed in the Stepstones rather than cramping them all together on one island.

The royal household and most of the nobles would be situated on Bloodstone, the largest of the islands, with Lord Corlys guiding Alyn on where to sail to reach it.

As they approached the islands, the fleet was greeted by Velaryon ships, the fleet left by the Sea Snake to garrison the shipping lanes and control the islands.

As they sailed deeper into the archipelago, Alyn could see more anchored Velaryon ships, as well as watchtowers on some of the coasts flying the silver seahorse on blue banners.

The fleet began to fan out with everyone sailing off to their assigned islands and eventually they reached the island of Bloodstone where the dragons had flown off ahead to and were now circling above.

As they circled around the island to find the beach to anchor off of, a small ugly cobbled black stone castle came into view.

“When we first waged war against the Triarchy, that castle was not there, only the network of caves where the Crabfeeder dwelt. After we took the islands, we built that as a stout little fortress connected to the caves where Prince Daemon styled himself King of the Narrow Sea. After the Triarchy retook the island, they expanded upon it over the past seven years, turning it into that,” Corlys explained, looking up at the cobbled black castle.

As the Brigthwing came around to the beach, Corlys commanded the sailors to douse the sails and drop anchor.

As the Brightwing came to a halt, Alyn noticed a few other ships anchored off the coast of Bloodstone already, the banners above the mast showing the houses of Beesbury, Rowan and Caswell, the houses from the Reach who had pledged to Rhaenyra and sailed their ships from Oldtown to join them.

The Reachmen and Velaryon ships waiting for them in the Stepstones would bring the largest single increase in numbers their fleet could expect on their journey to Valyria, though Alyn could not speak for the numbers.

Once the ship was anchored, the crew began to run out the dingies and lower them into the sea. Corlys and Alyn then left the quarterdeck and helped Lady Rhaena and Elinda Massey bring the young boys into the boats and they all rowed ashore together.

The beach was a large cove of sand curtained by a crescent of cliff wall all around them with the black castle of Bloodstone looming over them and the dragons circling above.

As they walked across the beach, Lord Corlys recounted to the little boys the story of how the beach was once the battlefield where they defeated the Triarchy the first time.

He described the heroic actions of Joff’s father Laenor on Seasmoke’s back and how Aegon and Viserys’s father, Daemon, lured the Triarchy out of their hiding holes.

As they got closer to the cliff face, Alyn spotted a group of Velaryon soldiers standing guard outside of a cave entrance with a raised portcullis over it.

The lead Velaryon soldier approached them while his men behind him held the banners of house Targaryen and Velaryon.

The soldier came to his knee before Lord Corlys.

“Milord, it gladdens me to see you return to us in good health,” the soldier said.

“Thank you, soldier. How fares the fleet?” Corlys asked.

“It fares well, Milord. Your ships and men are ready to sail with you to Valyria. One of the thirteen ships you left here to garrison the territory left with all the men who wish to pledge themselves to the new Lord Daemion Velaryon, the rest remain loyal to you. We received the Queen’s allies from the Reach a few weeks past. The Reachmen ships combined with our own brings the total of twenty-six ships at Queen Rhaenyra’s disposal,” the soldier explained.

Alyn quickly combined the numbers in his head, twenty-six ships at the Stepstones combined with the one hundred and thirty ships from the Blackwater, Braavos and Pentos put their fleet at one hundred and sixty-two ships in total.

A number far greater than what Aenar Targaryen brought from Valyria to Dragonstone yet infantismal to the likes of Princess Nymeria when she fled Ny Sar for Dorne.

Whether what they had was enough to reconquer Valyria remained a question that only time would tell with Princess Rhaenyra’s dreams of communication with the valyrian mages had only led to further uncertainty as to what they would find.

The sorcerer who had spoken to Rhaenyra had cryptically described fresh air and greenery returning to the land but had also spoken of birds and beasts still roaming it, the kind of which they did not yet know.

The Velaryon soldier then led them into the torchlit cave network, which consisted of many wynds, turns, corridors and caverns converted into chambers with the Velaryon banner on display along the cave walls.

Every Velaryon soldier they passed in the caves bowed and complimented lord Corlys as they passed through.

The little ones, Aegon, Joff, Gaemon and Viserys clung to the adults in fear of the dark and eerie caverns.

Up several flights of stairs in the caves, they finally reached the staircase up to the ground floor of the castle atop Bloodstone.

The sight of sunlight through the windows relaxed the little ones and made them less fearful.

The soldier continued to lead them on through the halls, presumably to wherever Rhaenyra and the rest of the dragonriders were.

As they walked, Alyn could clearly see that Daemon had Dragonstone in mind when they first built the fortress, but it had ended up looking like the grim damp and ugly castle Driftmark that loomed over Hull.

Eventually, they were led into a cold and grim great hall with a black stone throne at the end of it.

Inside the hall were all the dragonriders, still dressed in their riding garments with their gloves tucked into their belts.

Among them were several Velaryon ship captains and some well-dressed nobles that Alyn could only assume were the Reach Lords that had pledged to Rhaenyra.

The little ones quickly raced off and clung to Rhaenyra’s legs, greeting her lovingly and bringing a smile to her face.

“There you all are,” Rhaenyra greeted with a smile as they came into the great hall.

“Lord Corlys, I was just speaking with your captains and our newly joined reach lords. This is Lord Alan Beesbury, Lord Thaddeus Rowan, Lady Caswell and Ser Tom Flowers,” Rhaenyra introduced to the Sea Snake.

“The honour is mine, my lords and lady. Your additions to our fleet are most welcome,” Corlys said with a respectful half-bow.

“Not exclusively of our own numbers. Several small lords and landed knights who joined us are currently camped on the other islands, Footly, Grimm, Mullendore, Costayne and others,” Lord Rowan explained.

“I look forward to meeting them,” Rhaenyra assured them.

Rhaenyra then cleared her throat and turned to the group of reach lords.

“There is one more I would like for you to meet, though I am sure most of you will recognise him already,” Rhaenyra said, looking at Corlys, Alyn and Rhaena.

The Reach lords then parted and allowed an old silver-haired Maester to step forward, one that Alyn recognised as a face among those standing upon the dias in the great Dragon Dream.

A pale and gaunt man with a stern look on his face.

“Archmaester Vaegon, it has been too long,” Corlys said, stepping forward and shaking the elderly man’s hand.

“Lord Corlys,” the Maester replied, shaking hands with the Sea Snake.

Alyn remembered being warned about the Archmaester, the only face from the Dragon Dream that the Targaryens recognised. The last living son of the Old King Jaehaerys and uncle to Princess Rhaenys and Prince Daemon.

“I am glad that you will be joining us on our journey to Valyria,” Corlys said kindly.

“I had a strange dream of people I haven’t seen in years and people I have never seen before standing in Valyria and then I found out some of those people shared that dream with me from the other side of the country. I felt it would be derelict in my duties as a Maester if I did not investigate this strange occurrence,” the Archmaester explained bluntly.

Alyn could already tell from the few words said by the old Targaryen maester that he was most likely a gruff and stern man with few skills in amiability.

Archmaester Vaegon then glanced over to Alyn and Rhaena and studied their faces and then looked at Rhaenyra’s youngest children.

“I recognise all these faces from the Dragon Dream that we all shared, but if memory serves two more individuals were standing with us before the throne in the dream. A young man and a girl, both valyrian in features. Where are they?” the Archmaester asked, looking around the chamber.

“We have not yet encountered them, uncle. It is our belief that they are set to cross paths with us in the near future of our journey,” Rhaenys explained.

The Archmaester seemed less than impressed with the answer.

“You asked Lord Beesbury to seek me out and relay your request that I join your quest and have summoned a grand fleet to ferry us to Valyria and yet you assume two individuals whom you know nothing of will naturally find their way into your path without any action being taken to seek them out?” Vaegon asked, looking at Rhaenyra.

“We believe these two yet-to-be-found valerian-featured individuals would have shared the Dragon Dream with us, as we all have and will know to look for us in Lys or Volantis where Valyrian blood is still strong,” Rhaenyra explained.

“Lord Corlys and Lord Celtigar are of Valyrian blood, both appeared in the dream and yet you told me before Lord Corlys’s arrival that neither he nor Celtigar had the dream themselves. You speak truthfully about Lys and Volantis in regards to the old blood, but many descendants of Targaryen bastards still dwell all over the Blackwater, like these dragonseeds as you called them. Mayhaps these two individuals we seek were left behind in the Blackwater,” Vaegon suggested, seeming to be looking for any kind of hole in Rhaenyra’s course of action.

Rhaenyra seemed tired both from her long ride on Syrax’s back and from Maester Vaegon’s critiques and huffed through her nose.

“I suppose that is a risk we will have to take,” she said finally.

“Now. We’ve all had a long journey from Braavos, all of us are quite weary. Let us retire to our chambers, we shall convene with all my lords and nobles here in the great hall at the hour of the Bat.”

With that, the brief meeting in the great hall was adjourned. When a Velaryon soldier came to escort them to their chambers, Jace, Alyn, Luke and Addam were placed in the same room due to the limited space in the castle.

A dark and dreary room with four rickety beds in it and when some of their luggage was transported to the room from the ships, it only got smaller. Alyn didn’t mind, having spent years bunking with his fellow sailors in ships hammocks, to Alyn any room was better than no room.

The four of them got a couple hours of respite, talking amongst themselves and the three dragon riders even taking a chance to change out of their riding garments.

Soon the sky began to redden with the evening setting of the sun, marking the approach of the hour of the bat and the impending meeting of the Princess and her vassals.

When the servants came to summon them to the hall, the four of them left to attend.

Upon returning to the great hall, they found a crowd waiting for them, gathered around.

All the lords and knights from Westeros had assembled, both those that left Blackwater Bay with them and the new lords from the Reach. Prince Reggio was there, as well as Vargidos Nestoris, Mysaria the White Worm, Maester Gerardys and Archmaester Vaegon.

Princess Rhaenyra sat in the chamber’s throne surrounded by four of her Queensguard with the other ten sworn swords spaced out around the borders of the room.

Alyn, Jace, Luke and Addam joined the others at the throne end of the room and waited for the meeting to begin.

Whenever everyone had arrived and Rhaenyra was ready she began to speak.

“Thank you for coming, my lords, ladies and knights. At long last the two fractions of our fleet are united and we are about ready to push on eastward. Not only do we now have ships from our allies hailing from the reach but also more ships from the Velaryon fleet which have been garrisoning the Stepstones since Lord Corlys’s victory. Furthermore, we have ships and allies from Braavos and Pentos. But such allies have not been sought out in all settlements along the Narrow Sea,” Rhaenyra explained, causing murmuring among the crowd.

“While staying in Braavos, we sent word to the three Triarchy cities of Myr, Tyrosh and Lys, requesting permission for our fleet to visit their ports to recruit prospective allies in our journey. Of the three cities, only Lys has welcomed our fleet to visit them. However, I did receive permission from Tyrosh and Myr to send envoys to treat with them and request allies. In response to Tyrosh and Myr’s offer, I have decided to send out my loyal dragonriders as my emissaries,” Rhaenyra explained.

Rhaenyra’s suggestion was well received by all her nobles.

“Prince Jacaerys and Lady Baela,” Rhaenyra called out, summoning the two young dragonriders to stand before her in the middle of the chamber.

“After careful thought and consideration, I have decided that you two shall go to Tyrosh to treat with the Archon and the nobles there and try to sway their people to join our cause. Charm them, share with them the details of our Dragon Dream and remind them of the ancient power that once ruled from Old Valyria,” Rhaenyra commanded and both Jace and Baela nodded in compliance before stepping to the side.

“Next, Addam and Prince Lucaerys,” Rhaenyra called with the two of them coming out of the crowd to stand before her.

“You two will take Arrax and Seasmoke and go to Myr and visit with their Conclave of Magisters to plead our cause. But but wary, for this is a slave city I am sending you to and any who wish to join us must be made aware that slavery will not be tolerated in our coming Valyria,” Rhaenyra commanded.

Both Addam and Luke nodded and joined Baela and Jace to the side.

“Lastly, Princess Rhaenys and Nettles,” Rhaenyra called, surprising everyone since she’d named her envoys to both Tyrosh and Myr.

When Nettles and Princess Rhaenys came to the middle of the chamber, both with confused looks on their faces, Princess Rhaenyra began to speak again.

“In addition to Tyrosh and Myr, I have also received permission to send two dragonrider envoys to a third prospect. It is my wish for the two of you to treat with Prince Qoren Martell of Sunspear,” Rhaenyra declared, her words not going over well with her vassals who began to murmur.

“Your Grace, Dorne is the ancestral enemy of the Seven Kingdoms dating back to their unified establishment under your ancestor, Aegon the Dragon,” Lord Bartimos Celtigar declared.

“We have fought four wars against them and the southern lands of the Stormlands and the Reach have been subject to raids and skirmishes over the course of a century,” Lord Gormon Massey added.

“I know the histories, my Lords. But my focus in this matter is not the histories but rather the future. I have offered a future in our new Valyria to all in Seven Kingdoms and the Free Cities, it is only fare that Dorne be granted the same offer for them to accept or decline. Remember my lords, we are no longer of Westeros and no longer carry the bad blood of the Seven Kingdoms,” Rhaenyra cautioned them, seeming to settle the minds of some.

“You will all leave tomorrow bearing written letters from myself to the leaderships of your assigned cities and will be given one fortnight to entertain the hospitality of these cities and sway whomever you can to join our cause. After the fortnight has lapsed, we sail for Lys.”

Shortly after that, the meeting was adjourned.

Just like that, Addam and Nettles would be off on adventures to Myr and Dorne while Alyn would be left behind, the embarrassment of failing to claim a dragon working its way deeper in like a knife being pressed in.

Alyn took the opertunity to slip out of the chamber alone and unseen while the nobles all crowded around and talked.

Alyn then got lost twice as he walked the halls, looking for a way to step out for some air.

Eventually, Alyn found his way to an outside walkway of the fortress and relaxed himself, resting his hands on the battlements.

In the distance, Alyn could see the dragons circling in the red sky as it grew darker and dark.

Three of those dragons were still unclaimed and Alyn would not wait idly while Addam and Nettles travelled off on dragonback. Rhaenyra had given them all a fortnight to enlist allies while they dwelled on the Stepstones and Alyn vowed to himself that, come the end of that fortnight, he would be a dragonrider in his own right.

While his silent oath to himself lingered in his mind, filling him with ambition and determination, he watched as the dragons circled in the darkening sky.

Chapter 22: The Horrors of Valyria

Chapter Text

In the dreary great hall of Castle Bloodstone, Rhaenyra had reformed her Black Council that she had once convened on Dragonstone at the onset of the War of Ravens, as they were now calling the standoff period before Rhaenyra’s surrendering of her claim.

Rather than the painted table of Aegon the Conqueror, Rhaenyra and her councillors now gathered around a simple dining table with scrolls, maps, sea charts and lore books of Old Valyria spread around.

Attending the council Rhaenyra had gathered Bartimos Celtigar, Simon Stauton, Ser Alfred Broome, Robert Quince, Maester Gerardys, Archmaester Vaegon, Lord Gunthor Darklyn, Lord Simon Bar Emmon, Prince Reggio Haratis, Beesbury, Debbing, Rosby, Rowan, Wode, Perryn, Chambers, Bigglestone, Footly, Grimm, the New Lord Fell and new Lord Merryweather, Mullendore, Caswell, Vargidos Nestoris of Braavos and of course her sworn swords among others.So many of their faces Rhaenyra had seen before standing at her side in the dream, only recently recognising their faces among those assembled upon the dias or standing before the throne in the great hall.

Rhaenyra stood at the end of the table with Rhaena by her side, while Lord Corlys poured over the maps of Old Valyria standing next to Alyn and Daemon stood on the far end of the table across from Rhaenyra with Dark Sister leaning against the table.

The rest of Rhaenyra’s dragonriders had left on their missions to treat with Tyrosh, Myr and Dorne two days past and in their absence, Lord Corlys and Archmaester Vaegon suggested they draw up plans of how they intended to colonize Valyria when they departed Volantis.

Lord Corlys was in the midst of giving an overview of what was known.

“Very little has ever been reported of Valyria since the Doom with the endurant superstition being that anyone who even glanced at its coastline would be cursed to meet their near demise. But what is known is that following the eruption of the Fourteen Flames, the landmass was split in two with the Fourteen flames that spanned the width of the country sinking into the ocean, creating the smoking sea,” Corlys announced as he dragged his finger across the sea that ran through Valyria on the map.

“From what these maps have shown, the regions south of the fourteen flames suffered greater calamity than the north, with most of the south falling into the sea and separating into three main islands with countless smaller ones around them. The capital city of Valyria is here, at the heart of the main central island,” Lord Bartimos Celtigar said, pointing on the map to the ancestral city of the dragonlords. “This is the largest of the three main islands and two more of the seven cities are located there. Tyria to the north and Draconys to the south. Upon leaving Volantis, we should base ourselves there, colonise the capital city, establish our fleets in the other two outlying cities and grow our dominion from there your Grace.”

Lord Bartimos was clearly enthusiastic and confident in their success but Rhaenyra was a bit apprehensive at being so bold as to sail to the city of Valyria directly.

“The City of Tyria lies on the southern coast of the smoking sea and would have been directly in the face of the Fourteen Flames during the Doom, I fear it is very unlikely there is anything left of it, or Oros for that matter. The Valyrians used sorcery to make their cities endurant, but not even I think the two cities could have survived such direct wrath from the calamity. Also, we do not know yet what state Valyria is in. In my dream, Master Raegoth spoke to me of the air of Valyria now being cleansed of poison and of greenery returning to the land, but he also spoke of beasts returning to strength, the kind of which we do not know,” Rhaenyra explained to her vassals.

“The Princess speaks wisely. I have been reading through the old histories in preparation of our journey, my lords and I have come across rather troubling writings,” said Maester Geradrys.

“At the height of Valyria’s power, the Dragonlords held possession of a city in the Basilisk Isles off the coast of Sothoryos. This city was called Gogossos and the Valyrians used it as a penal colony for their worst criminals. The histories describe Gogossos as a safe space where the Valyrian Bloodmages could practice the most eldritch and vial forms of forbidden magic without fear their experiments would bring harm to Valyria across the sea. These grim practices included using dark sorcery to crossbreed animals — sometimes with humans — creating many forms of heinous creatures,” Gerardrys recounted, causing the assembled nobles to show disgust and revulsion which Rhaenyra shared, having seen what cruelties her ancestors were capable of in her dream. “The Dragonlords then had these chimeras and monstrosities shipped back to the Freehold where the Dragonlords decorated their menageries with these beasts.”

“You believe these creatures may yet live, Maester Gerardys?” Rhaenyra asked.

The old and loyal Maester nodded his head.

“In the writings, it describes that these creatures were not of nature but rather they existed in defiance of it, many of the early attempts producing ill-formed still-birthed mutations. It is said to strengthen their creations, the Bloodmages bound their creations with an indomitable will to live woven into their blood, establishing an inborn nature in these creatures to survive no matter what. If these beasts truly existed in the Freehold at the Doom, the dark spells by which their nature was written would have pushed them to survive the Doom no matter what,” the Maester concluded.

Rhaenyra thought for a moment, taking the Maester’s words to heart. Gerardys was a wise and ingenuitive man of his own right, having deciphered Master Raegoth’s use to glass candles to communicate with Rhaenyra using the slim information she had given to him.

“If we are to speak of prospective dangers that we will face in Valyria then there is one question we should all be asking ourselves. What of the dragons? Did all of them perish in the Doom or did some survive? What if there are still dragons there, isolated from dragonlords and driven mad by the Doom, beasts as large as Vhagar and as feral as the Cannibal?” Lord Gormon Massey asked.

“Or the Firewyrms who dwelled and burrowed beneath the volcanos?” Lord Simon Stauton.

“My Lords, please. Let us not allow this situation to turn unruly. There is still much we do not know and making ourselves paranoid with speculations will do us no good. When next the mages of Valyria commune with me in my dreams, I will beseech them to provide me with all we need to know about safely reaching and claiming Valyria. But I highly doubt there are any dangers there that can challenge our dragons,” Rhaenyra asserted.

“Do not be so certain,” Prince Vaegon said, claiming everyone’s attention.

All eyes turned to the Archmaester as he looked down at the map of Valyria.

“There might be more insight into Valyria than you realise, Princess,” he said as he turned his eyes to Rhaenyra.

“What do you mean, Archmaester?” the Princess asked.

Vaegon took in a deep breath and exhaled.

“Are there any here who know the story of the princess commonly called Aerea Targaryen?” Vaegon asked looking about the chamber. Rhaenyra was vexed by what Vaegon meant by commonly called as though her name was some sort of an alias.

Maester Gerardys was the one who spoke up.

“Uh, I believe you are referring to your cousin, Archmaester. The elder twin daughter of Aegon the Uncrowned and Queen Rhaena Targaryen. She and her twin sister Rhaella were born at Casterly Rock during the reign of Maegor the Cruel after their father was slain in battle beneath the God’s Eye,” Gerardys recounted.

“Do you know the story of her demise?” Vaegon asked.

Gerardys hesitated for a moment.

“If memory serves, she claimed Balerion the Black Dread as her dragon and disappeared from Westeros across the Narrow Sea. She returned a year later with a strange illness and died quickly with Balerion covered in scars. With her death, the mystery of her disappearance was left unsolved,” Gerardys concluded.

Maester Vaegon nodded.

“The princess’s demise occurred before I was born, but as I matured, I read through Grand Maester Benifer’s journals about the night and while my father was apprehensive about talking of the matter, Septon Barth was more pliable in being convinced to talk,” Vaegon explained.

“He told me of a long and comprehensive conversation spanning hours that he had with my father following the Princess’s demise. By the end of the conversation, the two had come to agree upon one thing that they believed to be true… Aera had been to and returned from Valyria,” Vaegon explained, causing worried voices to arise in the chamber.

“So Valyria can be travelled to and survived?” the young Lord Beesbury asked, seeming to try and find a silver lining but Vaegon snorted in response.

“If you could call it survival, my lord. The Princess made it back to Westeros true enough, but her death was so horrid that Septon Barth was made to question his faith in the seven. Even years later when he recounted to me what had happened, he remained haunted by it,” Vaegon explained.

Rhaenyra felt unsettled by Vaegon’s words.

“How did the Princess die?” she asked of the Archmaester, though she feared that she might not like the answer.

Vaegon looked to Rhaenyra for a moment and breathed in as though he was readying to tell a story.

“More than a year following her disappearance, Princess Aerea returned to King’s Landing on the thirteenth day of the fourth moon of the 56th year of the Targaryen Dynasty. In Maester Benifer’s writings, he described her as almost unrecognizable; she was stick thin, and whatever clothes she still wore were nothing more than tatters. Her hair was matted and a tangled mess, and her eyes were bloody. After speaking the words "I never" , Aerea collapsed. Benifer and Ser Lucamore Strong of the Kingsguard then carried her to Benifer’s chambers. While Benifer did what he could to heal her, Septon Barth had been summoned to administer the rites of the dying. Only the two men witnessed her last hours; the maester forbade all others, including the king and queen, from entering. Benifer gave Aerea milk of the poppy and, to reduce her fever, immersed the princess in a tub of ice, but nothing helped. She had arrived at the Red Keep in the morning. By the hour of the bat, after sunset, Septon Barth announced that Aerea had died. She was cremated the next day at sunrise,” Vaegon explained.

“Is that all?” Corlys asked.

“As far as common knowledge, yes. It was announced to the public that Aerea had died of a fever and that was to be the end of it. But Benifer’s writings and Barth’s confessions to me lent more light on the matter, concealed from public knowledge. Ser Lucamore said that the princess's fever was so hot that he could feel it through his armour. She had blood in her eyes and her body had something inside her, something moving, until the king forbade him from speaking of the princess. Benifer’s accounts of Aerea’s death were not public, I only found them by chance while rummaging through Grand Maester Elysar’s private collection of chronicles written by past Grand Maesters for posterity. Meanwhile, Barth’s account to me of what he had seen was far more detailed. He said to me that Aerea's fever was one unlike anything he had seen before. The septon described her as burning, with red skin and having barely an ounce of flesh upon her bones, appearing gaunt and starved,” Vaegon continued.

“Gods be good,” Ser Lorent muttered.

“Barth reported that swellings moved underneath the princess's skin, possibly searching for a way to escape and causing great pain. He said he would never forget what she whispered to him and that she often begged for death. It seemed to Barth as if Aerea was cooking from within. Her flesh grew darker until it resembled pork cracklings; smoke came from her mouth, nose, and her… private areas. The Princess's eyes cooked within her skull until they burst. When the princess was lowered into the tub of ice, slimy, unspeakable things making horrible sounds emerged from under her skin—one as long as his arm—but the creatures of heat and fire died from the cold of the ice,” Vaegon continued.

Many of the nobles looked uncomfortable, disgusted or nauseous from Vaegon’s tellings.

“And these — creatures — were believed to be from Valyria?” Daemon asked.

Vaegon nodded.

“That was the theory, though the definitive origins of the creatures that lived inside Aerea remain unknown and only a matter of speculation. For many, Princess Aerea’s claiming of Balerion came as a surprise, given she was but a small girl of two and ten. A dragon so large and so fearsome bending to the will of a spirited child seemed odd. But while Aerea’s bonding and claiming of Balerion is beyond dispute, Barth speculated that she was too young and small to command the dragon properly and that it was Balerion who chose the destination with Aerea being made a reluctant passenger. As likely the only living creature in the world that had known Valyria before the Doom, Barth suggested that Balerion decided to return home, where accursed creatures as those found inside Aerea now live.”

A silence lingered before Prince Reggio Haratis tried to break it.

“Well, it will take more than burning worms to stand in the way of our quest,” the exiled Prince japed, trying to cheer them up.

“There’s more,” Vaegon declared, killing the smiles that Prince Reggio had managed to create. “Aerea was not the only one who returned injured. Balerion returned with many wounds and half-healed scars. The dragon bore a huge jagged rent down his left side, almost nine feet long, and fresh blood still dripped from the wound, hot and smoking.”

“I remember those scars,” said Daemon, “When I was a young man, I asked the Dragonkeepers which battles the Black Dread had got those maulings from, but they told me it was forbidden to speak of… I suppose now I know why.”

Vaegon nodded in agreement.

“It was because of what happened to Aerea that my fatherissued an edict forbidding any ship suspected of having visited the Valyrian islands or sailed the Smoking Sea from landing at any port or harbour in the realm. Any Westerosi who visited Valyria would be executed.”

Rhaenyra recalled the edict, having agreed with Otto Hightower and Aegon to have the edict repealed so that they could travel there without breaching Westeros’s laws.

Rhaenyra sighed and drummed her fingers on the table.

“There is much to consider my lords. It seems there are more dangers that Valyria may present which we have not yet considered,” the Princess declared.

As Rhaenyra looked at the map of Valyria, everyone waited for her next words.

“I will consult the mages when they next contact me in my dreams and see what insights they can give to such dangers we may face. In the meantime, perhaps we might make preparations for a more cautious path,” Rhaenyrea suggested walking along the table.

“Perhaps instead of ambitiously going straight for Valyria, we instead first take to shore here, north of the fourteen flames on the western coast,” she stated pointing to a point on the map.

“Then we can move a short distance inland and establish our first toehold, here, in Telos.”

Rhaenyra’s finger then moved a short horizontal distance to the east on the map where the furthest northwest of the seven cities of Valyria was situated.

“Here we can establish ourselves, defend ourselves, take shelter, begin rooting our new dominion and start farming the Lands of the Long Summer — if they still exist. Later, when we are ready and acclimated to Valyria and whatever dangers it may hold, we can expand outward to whichever of the other six cities still remain,” Rhaenyra declared.

Rhaenyra’s vassals mused her offered course of action for a moment before Lord Corlys spoke up. “A wise and cautious strategy, Princess.”

The rest of Rhaenyra’s vassals followed Corlys’s lead and complimented Rhaenyra’s offered plan.

After that, Rhaenyra dismissed the council for the time being and declared they would discuss the matter again when new information came to light.

Rhaenyra then left the hall with Ser Harrold and Ser Erryk following behind her as she made her way to her chambers, wishing to take a short reprieve before moving on to her next meeting.

“What is my next engagement, Ser Harold?” Rhaenyra asked as they walked.

“Prince Vaegon and Maester Gerardys have joined together with the twelve Maesters from the citadel that followed Vaegon and all the other Maesters from the houses that have pledged to you along with all the scholars, loremasters and archivists from Pentos and Braavos. Two hundred and fifty-seven men in total, Princess. They wish to petition you to allow them to begin drafting a preliminary code of law for Valyria, though only a framework for you to reject or administer,” Ser Harold explained.

It seemed a bit soon to Rhaenyra to start drafting laws for a country that did not yet exist, but Rhaenyra understood the importance of maintaining order and would meet with the gathered wise men.

Finally, Rhaenyra made it back to her chambers and entered through the door with Erryk and Ser Harold taking positions at either side of the door.

Inside, Rhaenyra found her Lady-in-waiting, Elinda Massey speaking with a young girl whom Rhaenyra did not know.

A young sweet-faced girl with blond hair and innocent blue eyes.

“Princess,” Elinda greeted with a curtsy and a smile as Rhaenyra came in with the girl doing the same, though she seemed very nervous as she did it.

“Who might this be, Elinda?” Rhaenyra asked with a kind smile as she looked at the girl.

“You will recall you asked for a new handmaiden for your staff, well as instructed I asked around and found an old friend of mine from King's Landing. This is—”

“Dyana,” Ser Erryk’s voice spoke with surprise behind Rhaenyra.

The Princess turned around and saw the Cargyll knight standing at the door looking at the girl with awe while Ser Harrold looked at Ser Erryk with a vexed expression.

Rhaenyra looked back and forth between Ser Erryk and the girl whom he had called Dyana and could tell from their surprised expression that they knew one another but did not expect to see each other.

“Are you two acquainted, Ser Erryk?” Rhaenyra asked.

The Cargyll knight struggled to speak for a moment before finding his voice.

“She… was a servant in the Red Keep.”

Rhaenyra then turned back to the young girl.

“I-It is good to see you again, Ser Erryk,” Dyana stuttered shyly.

The knight bowed his head to the girl and for a moment Rhaenyra saw what looked like shame upon the knight’s face. Ser Erryk then closed the door to Rhaenyra’s chamber to give them privacy.

Rhaenyra then returned her attention to the girl.

“Dyana, yes?” Rhaenyra asked, wishing to make sure she got the name right.

“Yes, your Gra— uh, Princess,” she said nervously.

Rhaenyra smiled gently.

“It’s alright. I have not yet officially reclaimed the title of Queen yet, but I have been called both Princess and Queen interchangeably these past few months, not even I can be sure how to be addressed these days,” Rhaenyra stated, extracting a light smile from Dyana which Rhaenyra took as a victory.

“Ser Erryk said that you worked in the Red Keep as a servant, I assume that’s why Elinda has chosen you to become my new attendant,” Rhaenyra surmised with Elinda nodding in confirmation.

“Yes, Princess… Th-that is until you came to King’s Landing to swear to King Aegon. I was among those recruited by your people to join your venture to Valyria and left on one of your ships the day you returned to Dragonstone,” Dyana stated.

“And what did you do in the Red Keep before you decided to join us?” Rhaenyra asked.

Dyana seemed worried and hesitated for a second but soon spoke.

“I was an attendant in service to Princess Heleana and P-Prince Aegon, as well as their children,” she explained.

Curious a girl so young would leave home and the service of the King and Queen to serve a self-exiled heir who wished to resurrect a long-dead empire in a cursed land. She did not seem a spy, but Rhaenyra felt that there was some detail being kept from her with the way the sweet girl avoided the princess’s eyes.

Whatever it was, Rhaenyra did not feel any threat from the kind girl.

“Well, Dyana. I look forward to getting to know you better while you are in my service,” the Princess said welcomingly.

The girl smiled and bowed once again.

“Thank you, your Grace,” she said softly.

“Come, I’ll introduce you to the Princess’s young ones,” Elinda said, welcoming Dyana to follow her from the chamber.

As the two women approached the door, Rhaenyra called to Elinda.

“Could you send Ser Erryk in, please,” she requested and her lady-in-waiting complied.

When Elinda and Dyana were gone, Ser Erryk was standing before her and the door was closed, Rhaenyra felt safe to speak.

“Is something the matter, Princess?” Ser Erryk asked.

“How well do you know that girl, Dyana?” she asked, studying Ser Erryk’s face which quickly turned to shame once more.

“Not very well, Princess, though she was in the service of Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena and as Aegon’s sworn shield at the time, we encountered one another frequently,” Ser Erryk explained.

“And is there anything else you wish to tell me?” Rhaenyra asked, prompting the knight to speak of whatever he and Dyana seemed to be trying ot hide.

Ser Erryk hesitated for a moment, looking down to the ground with a sullen expression before once again meeting Rhaenyra’s eyes.

“I have already spoken to you of Dyana before, Princess, though not by name,” Erryk said cryptically.

At first Rhaenyra did not recall Erryk having spoken of a serving girl who worked for her half-siblings, until finally, she remembered a conversation she had with Erryk when he outlined the many forms of depravity that Aegon partook in, one being the violation of a young servant girl on the day before petitions for Driftmark were heard.

“Oh gods,” Rhaenyra said to herself as she realised who Dyana was and what Aegon did to her. Now the girl's actions made perfect sense, had Rhaenyra been in such a position she would wish to travel to the far side of the world if her rapist had become the most powerful man in all of Westeros.

Rhaenyra now felt ashamed of how curious she had been of Dyana, having used her authority to pry from Ser Erryk a secret that was not his to share.

“Thank you, Ser Erryk,” Rhaenyra said, dismissing her sworn sword, her mind still coiled around the matter of the poor girl now in service to her.

Ser Erryk turned heel to leave but stopped himself and looked back to Rhaenyra.

“Princess. I am oath-bound to obey you and to keep no secret from you. But my oath prevented me from helping Dyana when she was… forced upon. Now my oath has deemed that I must tell you a secret that was never mine to share,” Ser Erryk said, struggling to explain his wish for Rhaenyra to keep his confidence and not confront the poor girl with her tragic past. Ser Erryk was clearly struggling to ask a favour of the woman he was sworn to serve but Rhaenyra understood.

“I have no intention of prying any further into that poor girl’s past, Ser Erryk. Rest assured I intend to treat her with respect and kindness as a member of my household,” Rhaenyra assured her knight.

Ser Erryk then bowed his head in gratitude and left the room, closing the door behind himself.

Rhaenyra was finally alone and walked to the window of her chamber, looking out over the waters of the Stepstones, dozens of ships sailing openly through the water, mostly Velaryon, and the dragons flying freely above.

It seemed so tranquil and beautiful, thousands of people all loyal to Rhaenyra and her family following them to a new homeland where dragons would reign freely with more allies presumably set to be brought back when the rest of the dragons returned from their diplomatic ventures.

But as safe and as happy as she was supposed to feel, Rhaenyra felt a deep sadness within her, tethered to the void in her belly.

The void came and went and had done so for months, one day to the next, sometimes for minutes sometimes for days. Some nights it kept her awake. When she felt it, Rhaenyra could gorge herself on food until she felt full but the empty cavernous pit in her stomach remained. A feeling that had remained with her since she lost her daughter, her beloved Visenya.

Only when Rhaenyra was alone, did she feel she had permission to give herself time to grieve her loss, to feel the emptiness of her womb, the phantom of her daughter’s absence. All these months since her father died, Rhaenyra had been set on her quest to reclaim Valyria, but sometimes she asked herself what the point was of reclaiming Valyria if she was unable to share it with her daughter. Jace and Baela would rule it after her and Daemon, she had no doubt about that, but her daughter deserved to be part of it. Valyria was the future and the future deserved to belong to Visenya.

It was during moments of grief such as this that Rhaenyra felt not only grief, pain and emptiness but also hatred… hatred for Alicent, who had made Aegon King, which had caused the shock that had induced her labour.

Rhaenyra had put such effort into forgiving Alicent and had tried to clear all the bad blood between them in their last meeting, but still, the loss of Visenya haunted Rhaenyra. She knew now that Alicent had misinterpreted Viserys’s words and blindly thought that Aegon was Viserys’s chosen heir, but how could she ever truly forgive someone who had caused Rhaenyra to lose her child? And ignorance was no excuse.

When Rhaenyra stood in the Godswood and promised to hold onto the page from the history book, she promised that should the day ever come that Rhaenyra was ready to forgive Alicent completely she would send the page back to her as a sign of closure and love.

Many nights, on Dragonstone, at the Sealord’s Palace and even once since arriving at Bloodstone, Rhaenyra had held onto the page and sat by her hearth, considering casting it into the flames and cutting herself from Alicent entirely. She had even held the page over the flames, her anger tempting her to release the page and let it burn, but no matter how angry and grief-stricken she became, she could not follow through with it.

For all the pain Rhaenyra felt, she had to hope that one day, hatred would no longer be carried in her heart.

Rhaenyra remained standing at the window for a while yet, waiting until Ser Harold came in to usher her to her meeting with the Maesters and scholars, but in the meantime, she would watch the dragons and ships pass while she cradled her stomach and thought of her Visenya.

- MAP OF VALYRIA -

Chapter 23: Tyrosh

Chapter Text

It was a bright and sunny afternoon on the fifth day of Jace and Baela’s diplomatic visit to Tyrosh. They had been welcomed as guests to the Archon’s palace, though at first they were received reluctantly with the Tyroshi clearly being apprehensive at welcoming Targaryens and their dragons after the wars in the Stepstones.

Jace and Baela were met with particular fridgidness due to the past actions of their fathers, Laenor and Daemon, who led their dragons into battle against the Crabfeeder and his men, thousands of which were Tyroshis who were burned in battle by dragonfire.

The reception the two young dragonriders received was cold and stiff with very few nobles willing to come and meet with them and hear their offers of joining Valyria, but Jace and Baela worked together to quickly turn things around. As heirs to their parents and the presumptive future rulers of Valyria, the pair took it upon themselves to win over the Tyroshi and gain their favour.

In a few short days, they had charmed and impressed the Archon and many of his nobles, with more and more coming to see them every day as their popularity grew.

Jace did his best to build on the diplomatic skills he had developed when speaking to Lady Jeyne Arryn and Lord Cregan Stark, both of whom he held in the highest regard. To connect with the Tyroshi and earn their affections he complimented the beauty of their city and pointed out all the benefits Valyria would gain from having influences from their culture.

Jace spent hours talking with each noble lord and wealthy merchant in Tyrosh one by one, earning the respect of each of them. The nobles who spoke with Jace seemed to go into the conversations expecting an ignorant youth but walked away impressed with how well-versed in history, philosophy and statecraft Jace was and how comprehensive he was of the political standings in the Narrow Sea.

But while Jace was working hard to earn the respect of the Tyroshi, he knew he would not be half as successful without Baela. Ever elegant and clever, she had charmed her way into the hearts of half the nobles of the city and made them laugh and smile, entertaining them with her wit and intelligence. She displayed the same kind of amiability and delight that she often described her mother to possess as well as a regalness similar to Jace’s mother and the Princess Rhaenys.

By the fifth day, the Archon had received over fifty nobles for lunch with Jace and Baela as the main attractions and after lunch, the two dragonriders demonstrated their skills of flying Vermax and Moondancer over the city which only further impressed their hosts.

By the mid-afternoon, Jace and Baela were in one of the chambers of the Archon’s palace, drinking goblets of wine and being doted on by the Tyroshi nobles in their bright and expensive garments with their hair and beards dyed colours of blue, green, maroon, pink, purple, scarlet and vermilion.

While Baela was across the room entertaining a gaggle of nobles swarmed around her, Jace was conversing with his own flock of nobles as they drank wine and talked, among them was the Archon, Gyllan Maegyris, a tall man with red dyed hair streaked with yellow like flames and an orange and red beard.

Jace took a sip from his goblet to wet his throat after regaling yet again, the detailed dragon dream they had shared and how Alyn, Addam, Nettles and Archaemster Vaegon had come into their path.

“Remarkable. Simply remarkable,” Lord Ennar said in astonishment, a thin blue-haired noble in purple and gold silk robes.

Jace had received similar such reactions from many of the nobles to which he had recounted the dragon dream to, though there were some sceptics in the ranks.

“And after your fleet departs the Stepstones, you stop first at Lys and then eastward to Valyria?” Lord Forah asked.

“We will stop first at Volantis after Lys, but from there our path to Valyria is direct,” Jace assured them.

“And would we be correct in assuming that the Velaryon ships that currently garrison the Stepstones will leave with you?” asked the elderly Lord Orloran who was bald and hid the grey of his beard with green dye. It was clear that Lord Orloran had no intention of joining their venture but instead wanted to know what opportunities would be left for the Triarchy after the Targaryens departed east.

“They will,” Jace confirmed, “and we intend to leave them as they are. What becomes of them after we have left is of no consequence to us. But I would caution you, my Lord, the Seven Kingdoms will be as covetous of repossessing those islands as the Triarchy.”

Jace’s declarations were neither meant to insight or deter Tyrosh from reclaiming the archipelago, but instead give fair warning to the dangers of yet another war.

“You need not worry, young Prince. The Triarchy is strong, as is our alliance with Dorne and we have the finest maritime commanders under our yoke, our friends in Lys have an eccentric young admiral, you may know her name, Sharako Lohar. And of course our very own mad giant to vanguard our effort,” the Archon said, pointing across the room to one of the guests.

This particular guest had visited the Archon’s palace almost every day since Jace and Baela arrived, but did not talk with them much, only watched them and smiled, other than that he wined, dined and entertained the nobles with ridiculous dances and crude jokes in a fashion that Mushroom would approve of.

He was easy to spot from across the room since he towered over everyone else, almost seven feet in height, though his posture was stooped and his shoulders lopsided with a gait in his stride.

The giant had a beaked nose, a broad face and many scars to decorate it. His tangled hair was long and brushed back and dyed purple with streaks of orange in it. His long frizzy beard was dyed the same colour and his moustache was curled at the ends.

The giant had fancy golden beaded earrings, jewelled rings on every finger, a few gold teeth that were visible when he smiled and several bangles on his arms.

He wore a long open purple silk robe over a dark blue frock embroidered with golden thread.

Racallio Ryndoon, the devious, flamboyant, contradictory Captain-General in the Triarchy’s fleet, who was often spoken of as a madman.

Both Jace’s father Laenor and his grandsire the Sea Snake had spoken of him and his odd habits. Thus far, Ryndoon had exceeded every odd tale and yarn that had been attributed to the mad giant. The previous night, during a great lavish feast, the giant came in garbed in a sheer dress and a face veil as though he were an exotic dancer and thumped around the hall as he wildly danced for all to enjoy and laugh at.

While Jace couldn’t help but find him amusing, he was unsettled by how observant Ryndoon was of Jace and Baela despite not approaching them. He’d said barely a few pleasant words of greeting to them but no more than that, which was odd since he often heard Ryndoon across the room profusely talking with the Tyroshi.

Neither Jace nor Baela had taken any interest in talking with Racallio since he was not a prospective ally, having no lands or titles beyond a military rank in the Triarchy’s navy.

“You do wield a mighty power in the seas, my lords. It gladdens me that my house will no longer meet you as enemies,” Jace said endearingly to the colourful Tyroshi.

While Jace’s words seemed well received by most, he received a stern hrmph from Lord Orloran.

“Rather open-handed of you to be so gladdened by our ceased animosities, especially when your father and current step-father spent close to three years raining dragonfire down upon our forces, furthermore your grandsire the Sea Snake spent another seven years waging war against us on the seas.”

The Archon and the other nobles did not reprimand Lord Orloran but nor did they seem to share his sentiment of judgement upon Jace, but rather they seemed intently observant of Jace, seeming to await his response to Orloran’s challenge, curious to see how he handled himself, like the faces of an audience awaiting the next scene of a farce.

Jace smiled to himself and looked at Lord Orloran.

“If the histories serve me correctly, Tyrosh, Lys and Myr often fell into war with one another following the Doom of Valyria, fighting over both the Stepstones and the Disputed Lands. Yet after almost two centuries of bad blood and animosity, three mighty cities with such grim shared histories came together to form a greater power. It is in that same spirit that my mother wishes to offer the good lords of Tyrosh and the common people the chance to join our quest to reclaim Valyria,” Jace stated.

“But only free people are permitted within your new Valyria, yes?” Lord Ennar asked, tilting his head.

Jace gritted his teeth for a moment but kept his composure. Like Myr, Lys, Volantis and even Pentos through a technicality, Tyrosh was a slave city with three men in bondage for every free man on the island.

“Slavery will have no place in Valyria if that is what you are asking, Lord Ennar,” Jace explained, reiterating what Jace and Baela had declared forthright since they were first asked the question days earlier.

Lord Ennar seemed unamused by Jace’s declaration.

“For the better part of five thousand years, the Freehold monopolised upon the practice of slavery across the known world. Now you wish to return to Valyria and resurrect your ancestral birthright but desire to dispense with one of its most lucrative forms of trade. Why bother to bring back the Freehold if not to its full strength?” Lord Ennar asked.

“We have no intention of bringing back the Freehold, my Lord,” Jace corrected. “The frameworks by which the Freehold was structured were what led to its demise. To resurrect the Freehold from the doom only for it to fall again in the coming centuries would be an exercise in futility. It is not our intention to rebuild that which has proven to collapse, but rather to take the strong foundations and good materials to build something better in its place. What specific shape that might take, I cannot say for certain but I feel to have the wise lords of Tyrosh join us would only enhance what we are creating,” Jace explained, trying to further entice the lords to join them.

“And in this vision of an improved Valyria, where Andal customs reign supreme, what place will the good people of Tyrosh possess?” one of the Lords asked.

It took a pause for Jace to construct a diplomatic answer but he quickly thought of something.

“If you will indulge me, my lords, the other evening, my betrothed and I were taking a stroll through this fair city to admire its beauty. On our walk through the streets and waterfronts, we found many different temples and shrines from all kinds of faiths lining the streets,” Jace began.

“Yes. We have no organised faith here in Tyrosh, all are welcome to believe as they see fit,” the Archon answered.

“And I have noticed that to be a repetitious theme here in Tyrosh. Not just diversity in faith, but also the many dialects of Valyrian spoken in the city, your bustling trade with numerous ports and even your vibrant mixture of bright colours. A city built from amalgamation. That is my mother’s vision for Valyria, a new country styled after not only the Freehold or the Seven Kingdoms but also the influences from all the Free Cities, Tyrosh among them.”

The amused and flattered smiles of the lords and the Archon boded well for Jace, or so he thought, but the lords then turned their attention to other matters, seeming to have gotten bored and drifted away from talks of Valyria with the young prince.

As some of the nobles left Jace, the Prince glanced across the room to Baela who locked eyes with him and subtly nodded her head off to the side, signalling a wish to talk.

The two excused themselves from their conversations and walked parallel along the indoor fountain situated between them and met at the outskirts of the chamber, becoming wallflowers standing side by side, watching the Tyroshi nobles as they laughed and drank amongst themselves.

“I see you were charming more lords over there with the Archon, any prospects?” Baela asked.

Jace grunted and shook his head.

“Old men with comfortable lives, no taste for risk or sacrifice on the promise of dreams. Though in years to come, we might see allies in diplomatic relations in matters of trade and the like,” Jace suggested as he looked to the men he had spoken with. “What about you? Any leads?” Jace asked.

Baela shook her head.

“I thought I was on to something with the Lord of House Irnys, they have a large trading fleet and showed interest in our cause and most of their family members spend more time at sea than on Tyrosh,” Baela explained, gesturing to one of the lords across the chamber.

“Sounds like a good candidate, what was wrong with him?” Jace asked.

“I found out that their trading fleet makes the majority of its profit trafficking cargo from three major cities, Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen,” Baela explained.

Slavers , Jace thought to himself, shaking his head in disgust.

“The Valyrian Free -hold and the Free Cities. Have the great slaver nations of Essos always been blind to the irony of their supposed pride in freedom or does it trace back to some form of deliberate jest written in bad taste?” Jace pondered aloud, though quiet enough that only Baela could hear him.

“We should speak again to Lord Lazello Adarys, he showed great interest in our cause and seemed rather open to relinquishing his slave holdings,” Baela suggested.

“Agreed, his family own some of the wealthiest weapons forges on the island, swaying him to our cause would be a great asset,” Jace agreed.

They had already won the houses of Mopyr and Pahrys pledged to them, selling off their lands, business and holdings. The two lords had also liberated their slaves who would join them on their journey as free men and women, though they did not have much choice in the matter since if they decided to stay on the island, they would be swept up and made slaves by the other houses, at least by following their former masters to Valyria, they could live freely.

Jace wasn’t sure what he hated more, that the emancipated slaves they were rescuing were joining them on their journey to Valyria purely because they had no alternative and thus still technically did not have the freedom to choose, or that there were thousands of slaves being left behind.

When they first set out from Bloodstone, Jace’s mother had warned Jace, Baela, Luke and Addam that while slavery remained reprehensible and abhorrent, they could not forcefully bring liberty to either Tyrosh or Myr without burning both the cities to the ground and insight a war with the Triarchy. Rhaenyra encouraged them to convince whomever pledged to join them to emancipate whatever slaves they possessed and bring them back to the Stepstones but also made them promise to act as envoys and incur no strife between their fleet and the Triarchy.

At Jace’s suggestion, the two decided to take a reprieve, putting down their goblets and retiring to their chamber in the guest wing of the Archon’s Palace.

The chamber afforded to them was a lavish room with a balcony overlooking the island city with Vermax and Moondancer dancing about in the sky like large scaly seagulls in the distance.

Technically, Jace and Baela were not meant to be sharing a chamber, but when the Archon’s steward asked if they would require one chamber or two, the pair hesitated until Baela said one.

Still betrothed and yet to be married, but so far from the prying eyes of those who knew them, unchaperoned and possibly facing death as they travelled closer and closer to the most dangerous place in the known world, they dared to be intimate. They were careful and the Archon as well as his staff were accommodating, unjudging and kind enough to discretely provide them with moon tea to avoid any complications.

They were nervous on their first night together, wondering if something would go wrong, if they’d be caught and it would cause some kind of scandal, but they were not fools, they knew who their family was and how dismissive of chastity their relatives were and saw no reason why they could not be intimate, both having wanted to be together for so long and having no time to waste on a wedding with all the more pressing matters going on.

The deed was done and had been done many times since to their shared pleasure and since then they had only grown more intimate and comfortable with one another, if such a thing were even possible.

Jace had told the Tyroshi of his mother’s vision of what Valyria could be, but Jace had his own vision for it too.

When he woke up these past few mornings in his chamber, Baela sleeping in his arms of their shared bed, looking out over the balcony to see Vermax and Moondancer flying in the golden light of the rising sun, that was his vision for Valyria, to have a lifetime of mornings such as those, with dozens more dragons in a place where he and his family could be safe in perpetuity.

Baela sat down on a cushioned settee and huffed out in exhaustion.

“Funny, back when we first resolved to undertake this quest, I thought that our journey to Valyria would be more adventurous. Rough living on the coastline of Essos, hunting and dragon riding, battling bandits, pirates and Dothraki raiders as we pioneered our way towards our ancestral homelands to face even greater dangers. Instead, we go from city to city, party to party, looking for allies, recruits and sponsors for our journey,” Baela stated as she rubbed her temple, clearly tired of all the hours of perusing and chatting with the stuffy Tryoshi nobility.

“Battling brigands and living off the land would have been the easy path,” Jace jested, cheering Baela up.

“The worst of it is how these nobles like to tantalise us. They ask us so many questions about Valyria and our Dragon Dream only to declare they are not interested,” Baela said.

“I hate it when they do that,” said Jace sitting down on the settee next to Baela as she leaned back and rested her head on his shoulder while the two watched as their dragons flew about in the skies.

“But you do realise what they’re really doing, don’t you?” Baela asked in a more serious tone. Jace nodded his head, having thought many times on what Baela was alluding to.

There was a reason why the Tyroshi nobles who had no interest in joining the Targaryens asked so many questions about their journey, what they knew, where they were going what they saw in the dragon dream. It was all part of a secret agenda that Jace and Baela were already aware of, even though the Tyroshi tried to hide it.

“They’re not interested in joining us,” Baela began.

“But they are interested in Valyria,” said Jace, completing her thought.

The Tyroshi were gathering information for their own expedition to Valyira if they believed it could be taken, just as many nobles from Braavos had done when they passed through there.

“For two hundred years, every single person who has ever tried to sail to Valyria has never returned or died quickly after. For two hundred years the world has feared the Doom and kept its distance. Now we have declared our intention to go to Valyria on the account of dreams and they wonder if we are lying, mad, cursed or telling the truth. So they watch and wait, all the while weighing the risk, using us like songbirds in the mines to discern if the Doom is really gone,” Baela recounted.

Jace nodded his head.

“When one of our ships returns to Volantis for supplies, trade or anything, it will send a message to the world that Valyira is alive and ripe for the taking. Our dragons make us the most dangerous power in the world, the Seven Kingdoms and the Free Cities are hoping to usher us to our deaths by allowing us to lead ourselves into the Doom, but when we survive… they’ll come for us like vultures to a carcass. Not just the Tyroshi and the Bravossi, but the Pentoshi, the Lynese, the Volantine, Dornish, Ghiscari, Dothraki and even the Greens will come for us again. We have the largest assembly of dragonriders in existence, to reclaim Valyria is to make us so dangerously powerful that we might as well make a declaration of war against all of the known world,” Jace said, rather grimly.

“We still have genuine allies here and in Braavos, ones who wish to grow in power by keeping our confidence, Sealord Lysano and Archon Gyllan among them,” said Baela, trying to be optimistic.

Jace bobbed his head from side to side.

“True enough, but power seekers will aspire to play upon the fear of us to usurp power from them, or they might turn on us, I cannot say. Maybe some cities will side with us or leave us be, but someone will see us as a threat and come for us. Assassins to kill us or our dragons, a competing attempt to conquer Valyria and take all the treasure and secrets of sorcery for themselves before we can find them, perhaps a coalition between the Free Cities and the Seven Kingdoms. Whatever the case, there’s going to be trouble… maybe even a war,” said Jace, thinking pragmatically about the challenges that they faced.

Baela adjusted her head, resting it upon Jace’s chest.

“And here I thought we’d escaped the threat of war,” Baela said somberly.

“Yet now it seems to be waiting for us at the end of every path,” Jace added, putting his arm around Baela.

“Well then… I suppose we’ll just have to win,” Baela suggested, sitting up and turning to Jace, her mischievous grin that Jace adored was clear upon her face.

The two leaned in and began kissing, caressing one another as Baela began to lean back on the settee but the mood was killed by a loud and rhythmic knock at the chamber door that made Baela gasp and the two quickly pull away from one another.

After straightening themselves up, Jace cleared his throat.

“Come,” he called out, as the two dragonriders sat composedly and looked to the chamber door.

The door opened and Jace saw the most unexpected individual standing in the doorframe.

Racallio Ryndoon, the mad giant.

The great purple-bearded hunchback sea warrior came sashaying into the chamber with a wide smile, his jewellery rattling with every step he took.

“Prince Jacareys, Lady Baela, I was wondering if you might be so kind as to grant me a moment of your time,” he said in a deep voice, but his accent was fancy and highborn and there seemed to be an effeminate affectation to the way he spoke.

Jace and Baela exchanged unconfident looks but seemed to reluctantly agree, both of them uncomfortable to be in a room with one of their grandsire’s enemies.

“Please,” Jace welcomed, motioning to the settee across from Jace and Baela.

The giant smiled and came joyously marching across the room with heavy stomps and dropped down on the settee with a loud thud that Jace thought might break the settee.

Ryndoon then spread his legs and arms out and let out a relaxed breath.

“Oooh, this is a lovely chamber, my darlings. Oh, our Archon is positively spoiling you little gems,” Racallio said as he looked around the chamber.

“That’s a lovely bed you have there. Do you get around to much f*cking in it?” Ryndoon asked ever so casually as though it were commonly said in polite conversation.

Baela let out a scoff to disguise a reluctant laugh.

“Mind yourself, my lord. I will not suffer insults to my betrothed,” Jace warned.

Rydoon seemed surprised by Jace’s words.

“My Lord? I’m afraid i am no lord, my Prince. I am but an oversized ugly whor* who keeps busy with a career as a naval commander,” Ryndoon said.

Jace had never heard a man call himself an ugly whor* before, let alone say it with such pride.

“Is there something we can help you with, Captain-General?” Baela asked.

Racallio thought for a moment and then glanced down at the small table between the two settees, his eyes widening at the silver fruit bowl in the centre of the table.

“Hmm, now that you mention it I am rather peckish. Do you mind?” he asked, gesturing to the bowl.

Jace and Baela exchanged puzzled looks and shrugged, allowing Ryndoon to eat the fruit.

The giant then rubbed his hands together and pulled the silver bowl towards himself and then began to devour the fruit like a ravenous animal, hunched over and stuffing his face with the fruit, open-mouthed chewing and grunting.

When Racallio noticed the disgusted glares on Jace and Baela, he dropped the fruit and swallowed his mouthful and dropped the fruit.

“Forgive me, dears. As you will find, I am a gluttonous bitch,” Racallio said in his fancy and effeminate speech as he wiped his mouth and sticky hands with his expensive purple robe.

He dressed, spoke and pranced about like a gentle and womanly figure, yet ate, swore and stomped about like a brute.

Jace could not figure from one moment to the next what kind of a man he was dealing with, lending credence to the Sea Snake’s assertions of Ryndoon’s reputation of mercuriality and fickleness.

Suddenly the screech of Vermax in the open sky caught Racallio’s attention.

“Ah! Magnificent creatures those dragons. Flaming breath, great wings, scales like steel, long long necks. Oh, if only I had a neck so long. The things I would do to my wives. the things I would do to myself ,” the purple-bearded giant said as he stared out the balcony at the two dragons while Jace received a flash of disturbing images in his head derived from Ryndoon’s comments.

“Your reputation proceeds you, Captain-General,” Jace said, not sure what else to say.

Ryndoon’s eyes widened as he placed a hand on his chest.

“I have a reputation? How flattering. All naughty and nasty I should hope,” the Mad giant said followed by a high-pitched giggle.

“Your reputation was reported to us by our grandsire, the Sea Snake. Up until recently, you were an adversary of his,” Baela explained.

Racallio clapped his hands together and smiled with joy.

“Oh, how is my dear Corly-boy? I’ve been missing him terribly. Of all my playmates sent south by the Seven Kingdoms, he was always my favourite. I kept trying to kill him but he refused to die, which made him just so much fun. Does he miss me?”

Jace and Baela looked at one another once more, still unsure why Racallio was in their chamber and unsure if he was truly a madman from the way he behaved and talked.

“Is there something you want, Captain-General?” Baela asked starting to grow impatient.

Ryndoon paused for a moment and thought hard, stroking his purple beard.

“Now that you mention it, I’ve always wanted to have both a co*ck and a c*nt between my legs simultaneously, I mean the possibilities are endless and my—”

“Captain Ryndoon!” Jace said at once, his patience spent. “You have barged into our chamber asking for a moment of our time, now what is it that you desire to speak to us about?”

Racallio pursed his lips and widened his eyes as though he were surprised by how rude Jace was being.

“I came to congratulate you,” he said as though it were obvious.

Neither Jace nor Baela knew what Ryndoon was talking about and were now more confused than before.

“Congratulate us on what?” Baela asked.

“On recruiting the great Captain-General Racillio Ryndoon to join your quest to Valyria. Also, I have not come empty-handed, a large number of my men and their families are happy to follow along with us, I assure you that you will adore them, the most lovable f*ckers one could meet. Also, I am a rather well-liked bastard among the commoners and will hopefully be able to sway some to join our quest. Also, I intend to sell off all my properties here in the city and use the wealth to buy and emancipate as many slaves as I can. With the going rate on slaves these days, we could expect to see five hundred slaves freed.”

Jace and Baela were stunned and baffled by the wave of information they had been hit with, stuttering in confusion and bewilderment.

“You intend to join us?” Jace asked, still in disbelief.

“Your welcome,” he said throwing his arms in the air.

“So how do we consummate this alliance? A handshake? A toast? Sex? I’ll have you know I am a prolific f*cker and you two are a delicious pair of little treats,” Racallio said with a lustful look in his eyes directed at both of them.

“But-but… why? Why would you want to join us?” Baela asked.

Racallio snorted.

“The lure of magical dreams drawing fools and madmen from across the sea to follow dragonriders head first into the most dangerous place in the world? Of course, I’m coming with you,” Ryndoon said happily.

“But you don’t know us. You haven’t asked us any questions. You don’t know what we will ask of you or what kind of country you will be helping us form,” said Jace.

Racallio smiled.

“I know all I need to know. I asked no questions but I have watched you and listened from afar. For five days I have watched you and I like what I’ve seen and not just sexually,” he asserted once again making the conversation awkward.

“But won’t you be missed? You are an integral commander for the Triarchy and it has been implied that they intend to retake the Stepstones. The war could be reignited,” Jace cautioned the purple giant.

“Oh yes, they’ll be livid without me. My gorgeous whor* Sharako will have to pick up the slack for me, oh how I adore that lovely bitch, she’s a true treasure. But honestly f*ck the Triarchy and better yet f*ck them with a spiked maul. I never liked the slave-mongering c*nts anyhow, especially not the ones here in Tyrosh” Ryndoon said, his face turning bitter.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe there are women in need of f*cking at home for me, but I look forward to talking with you both in the days to come,” Racallio declared in a happy tone once more before standing up and dancing his way out of the chamber and closing the door behind himself.

For a few seconds of silence, Jace and Baela sat on the settee trying to make sense of what had just happened.

“It appears we have a new… ally,” Baela surmised.

“One we managed to garner support from without even trying, that’s something I suppose,” Jace said as he shrugged.

Again they were silent for a few more seconds until finally, Jace thought of something that might help.

“Wine?”

“Most definitely,” Baela replied with haste.

Jace then leapt to his feet and strode across the room to get two goblets and a jug of strong wine to help the two young dragonriders settle themselves after such a peculiar meeting.

Chapter 24: The Court of Sunspear

Chapter Text

While the past week had proved otherwise unproductive since Rhaenys and Nettles arrived in Sunspear, at least the Princess finally had an opportunity to satisfy her curiosities about Dorne.

In all Rhaenys’s long years, she had never seen the unconquered seventh kingdom of Westeros, the elusive final piece of the Conqueror’s ambition. In her formative years, Rhaenys was always a little afraid of Dorne. When she visited her mother’s family in Storm’s End, her Baratheon relations talked of their skirmishes and battles in the dornish marches. As a Targaryen, Rhaenys was always apprehensive towards Dorne, not only were they the only kingdom to resist the Targaryens, but also they were the only people to fell a dragon.

Meraxes, the mount of Rhaenys’s namesake, was slain by a scorpion bolt through the eye.

Rhaenys had always seen her family as great and powerful, but the Dornish ability to resist them so defiantly made her fear them. When her father, uncle and grandfather flew to war against the Dornish she feared for them until they returned victoriously.

Now, years later, she was having lunch in the great, domed, Tower of the Sun with Prince Qoren Martell and his children, overlooking the Sandship where Meleys and Sheepstealer are perched upon the bow of.

Despite the arid desert landscape of Dorne, the castle of Sunspear was beautiful.

It had lovely palm tree gardens in the courtyards, ornate sandstone arches, elaborate tile work and intricate patterns and geometric designs on the walls and ceilings.

On one of the upper floors of the Tower of the Sun, where Rhaenys and Nettles were having lunch with the Martells, the stone floor was covered by a long red rug with many patterns on it with a large square table covered in an arrangement of Flatbread, figs, olives, stuffed dates, oranges, cooked lamb and other such foods.

Four heavily cushioned and blanketed settees faced one another, sitting on one was Prince Qoren Martell and his wife, Princess Arenna of house Dalt, as well as Prince Qoren’s two paramours, Nyra Sand and Elrie Shell, both of whom seemed just as romantic with each other and Qoren’s wife as they were with him.

On the settee to Qoren’s left was Rhaenys and Nettles and across from them was the Prince’s three trueborn children.

Prince Qoren had dark black hair streaked with grey, a short beard and deep brown eyes. He clad himself in a fine orange robe emblazoned with patterns of yellow sunbursts and a red silk sash tied around his waist.

His eldest daughter and heir was Princess Aliandra Martell, with flawless olive skin, dark brown doe eyes, long straight black hair and dressed in a slender sleeveless orange dress with a bronze armband coiled around her left bicep in the shape of a snake and long earrings.

Her younger sister Coryanne was similar, though a bit shorter and slightly plumper with more curls in her hair and she wore amethyst gemmed earrings and a matching necklace.

The young Prince Qyle was barely a man, with a messy mop of tangled black hair, a handsome slender face and barely enough dark whiskers on his upper lip and chin to constitute a beard.

Prince Qoren had been accommodating but frigid towards the two dragonrider envoys, welcoming them to his home and offering general hospitality while they tried to find allies, but he only showed as much kindness as was expected of him.

“Thank you again for inviting us to eat with you, my Prince,” Princess Rhaenys said respectfully.

“Of course. Think nothing of it,” Qoren replied graciously.

“We felt that since just about every other Dornish noble has turned you away, it was the least we could do,” said Princess Aliandra, a snide look on her face.

“Aliandra,” the ruling Prince spoke in a reprimanding voice.

In the past seven days since their arrival, Prince Qoren’s children had made their dislike of the Targaryens and the Seven Kingdoms plain, but their father did his best to keep them reined in.

“No, it’s alright,” said Rhaenys. “Your daughter speaks truly. Already the first half of our visit here in Sunspear has lapsed and we have not secured a single recruit to our cause highborn or otherwise.”

A disappointing truth, but not an entirely unexpected one. Every noble they had spoken with, every lord, every peasant, every merchant, every person they beseeched to join them turned them away.

A century of war and bad blood had seemingly polluted any hope of an alliance and the old hatred for their ancient Valyrian persecutors who drove Nymeria and Rhoynar from their homeland was the only thing they seemed to hold tighter than their hatred for their Targaryen enemies.

“What were you expecting?” Prince Qyle asked with a snort.

“That’s enough, Qyle,” Qoren reprimanded, sternly looking at his son.

Rhaenys took a sip from her goblet of wine and managed a great smile.

“What a great loss for us, then. It is Princess Rhaenyra’s wish that the pioneers whom will help birth our new Valyria be drawn from many different kingdoms so that Valyria might be enriched by the amalgamation of these cultures. What a shame that the mighty Rhoynar will not be able to impart their influences upon the foundations of our new domain,” Rhaenys said, hoping to sway Qoren’s support.

Prince Qoren looked at Rhaenys for a moment before answering.

“I am sure your new Valyria will thrive just fine without us.”

The Prince’s words only further weakened Rhaenys’s hopes.

“You must understand, Princess Rhaenys, Dorne has an ancient history of persecution from the Freehold. The dragonlords of Valyria were to us as the… white walkers were to the people of the North, the monsters we feared in our childhood nightmares,” Prince Qoren explained.

“Braavos has a history of persecution as well, their city was founded by escaped slaves of the Freehold and yet we were able to secure eleven ships of willing Braavosi who wished to join us on our quest,” Nettles explained.

Qoren glanced over to the young girl, unimpressed by her words.

“Braavos may have similar foundations to us, escaping the grasp of the Freehold, but they do not share our history. Tell me, did Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives decide that Braavos was his property and demand all Braavosi bow to him under the threat of death? Was every settlement under Braavos’s rule burned at least once by Balerion and Vhagar in vengeance for successfully defending themselves against the dragon Maraxes?” Qoren asked, looking at Nettles sternly. “For Braavos, the persecution of the dragons is an old legend, for Dorne, it is recent history.”

Rhaenys and Nettles looked at one another in silence, with expressions of dismay upon their faces.

“Even today, the old men and women of Dorne weep for their fathers, brothers, cousins, uncles and husbands who were massacred by your own father, uncle and grandsire,” Princess Aliandra snapped bitterly.

The lip of Rhaenys’s wine goblet had nearly reached her mouth when Aliandra started talking, but she paused and lowered the goblet at hearing Aliandra’s words.

Princess Rharnys looked into the defiant and impertinent eyes of Princess Aliandra for a moment before speaking.

“Your father is right, Princess. When my namesake, Queen Rhaenys, and her dragon Meraxes were slain, it was an act of defence by the Dornish, there was no crime in it. We can all agree that everyone has the right to defend themselves from invaders,” Rhaenys declared, with everyone around the table nodding.

“But make no mistake, in the past four wars between Dorne and the Seven Kingdoms, the Targaryens have not invaded Dorne since the first. It was your Vulture Kings and the rogue dornish warriors who have launched endless incursions into the Stormlands and the Reach. When your great-grandfather Morion Martell, assembled his mighty armada of ships to invade the Stormlands, Vermithor, Vhagar and Caraxes left no survivors, that is of no dispute. But it was not my grandfather who started that war, he merely ended it,” Rhaenys declared, not allowing her father, grandfather or uncle Baelon to be slandered by some smirking entitled princess of Dorne less than half her age.

A fiery look of rage grew in the Princess’s eyes but before she could bite back at the Targaryen Princess, her father interjected.

“That’s enough, all of you,” Prince Qoren said at once before turning to look once more at Rhaenys. “Arguing about old blood feuds will do none of us any good. The truth is that it no longer matters who was in the right and who was in the wrong, our animosities have been lingering for so long that it is now personal for both sides and let us leave it at that.”

The Prince’s words carried grace and wisdom and Rhaenys nodded her head to him in respect.

“Agreed, my Prince,” she said kindly.

“But blood feuds or not, the truth is that we are comfortable here, Princess Rhaenys. When our ancestor Nymeria of Ny Sar, settled in this land, she set her fleet of ships aflame and declared that the Rhoynar would run no longer, for this is our home. Dorne may seem an inhospitable and arid land to the likes of you, but this is our place in the world, earned with the sacrifice and hard work of our forebearers. To go back across the Summer Sea in search of a new home is a mouth of spit in the eyes of those who pioneered, fought and sacrificed for us to call this place home. Dorne may be hot, dry, coarse, rough and hard, but it is ours and we earned it and that means something… it means everything,” Qoren explained.

And like that, Rhaenys felt her hopes of changing the minds of the dornish dashed away. It seemed already like there was no hope of soliciting allies, but Rhaenys would not return to the Stepstones for another week, lest some minor small prospect might present itself, though Rhaenys doubted it.

The Queen Who Never Was could do not much more than bow her head to Prince Qoren in respect.

“Forgive me, if my petitions for allies among your people have caused any disrespect to you, my Prince,” she said ever so softly, truly humbled by his words.

The lunch was rather sombre after the conversation with not much being said afterwards.

When the lunch was concluded, Rhaenys and Nettles excused themselves and walked through the castle of Sunspear together.

“For such a barren wasteland of a country, the Dornish seem fairly attached to it,” Nettles noted, seeming to have comprehended none of what had been said by the Prince.

“These people came here over a thousand years ago, after surmounting stroms, diseases, and slavery in their flight west from their Valyrian oppressors. After that, they spent the next thousand years battling Gardeners, Durrandons and Targaryens. I suppose endless miles of sand seem so much more important when they are mixed with generations of your ancestors’ sacrifice,” Rhaenys explained.

Nettles seemed to appreciate the Dornish resolve in greater understanding judging by the look on her face as she contemplated Rhaenys’s words.

“So if our prospects in recruiting allies are all but dashed, what is our resolve then Princess? Back to Bloodstone?” Nettles asked, but Rhaenys quickly shook her head.

“No. Rhaenyra and Prince Qoren agreed on a fortnight before we return to the Stepstones and we must be seen to follow through on that agreement.”

“Even if it results in nothing?” Nettles asked.

“Especially if it results in nothing. This Journey to Valyria is bound to have many dangers ahead and will require our followers to endure and surmount many tribulations. If we give up halfway through this diplomatic mission because of its fruitlessness, what faith will that inspire in our followers? Rhaenyra needs us to be resolute and hopeful and seen as such by our people, thus we shall remain here in Sunspear until it is time to return to the fleet. Perhaps Jace, Baela, Luke and Addam will be more successful in their own ventures if the gods are more favourable to us,” Rhaenys suggested.

“So what are we to do in our remaining week here in Sunspear?” Nettles asked as they continued to walk through the halls.

“Try and uncover any remaining rock that an ally might be found under and beyond that, perhaps we can spend our days working on your dragonflying. You are still in need of more practice if you are to properly rein Sheepstealer,” Rhaenys explained.

“I— thank you, Princess Rhaenys,” Nettles said gratefully, seeming surprised at the offer presented to her.

“I had hoped that Prince Daemon would assist me in my dragon-riding, but he has seemed… very distant recently. Since joining the quest, I haven’t had much interaction with the Prince, but on the night he helped me claim Sheepstealer we seemed to be bonding… then he turned very cold to me and seemed to be going out of his way to ignore me,” Nettles explained.

Not entirely out of character for Daemon, since his mother died when he was a little boy, he had always acted as though attachment and love were a weaknesses and insisted on pushing those around him away and acting like he didn’t care half as much about people as he actually did.

“Does that bother you?” Rhaenys asked.

Nettles shrugged.

“I don’t know. We seemed as though we were developing respect for one another and on the path to being good friends, then he just… started ignoring me.”

“You will find that can tend to be a part of the Prince’s nature… even towards those he loves most,” Rhaenys explained.

As the two walked through the halls of Sunspear castle, Rhaenys found herself and Nettles at the open door to a chamber she had not seen before, a dark room, with a single skylight in the middle of the chamber.

The chamber seemed uncharacteristically dark and eerie in comparison to the rest of Sunspear.

“What’s this?” Rhaenys mused aloud.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I’ve been down this way before,” Nettles replied.

Directly beneath the skylight, was a stone slab with some kind of thin long metal rod held in two wooden stands spaced apart.

Rhaenys glanced over to Nettles who seemed just as curious as her and then led her companion into the chamber, slow and cautiously.

As the two walked deeper into the chamber, they saw the walls were painted with mosaics, illuminated dimly by the light bouncing off the stone slab. The mosaics showed burning towns and villages on one side with three dragons flying over in colours of black, white and green with riders on their backs and on the mosaic on the opposite wall, a falling white dragon with a bolt in its eye and its rider falling to her her death.

Rhaenys then turned to look at the stone slab beneath the skylight and saw clasped in the wooden stands, was a long metal rod, longer in size than Rhaenys’s body, with a four-sided spiked arrow head at the end.

Already Rhaenys knew what she was looking at and it scared her.

The scorpion bolt fired from the walls of the Hellholt and felled Meraxes by piercing her eye.

While Meraxes skull had been returned to the Seven Kingdoms and her bones were kept as trophies of the Ullers, it was never said what became of the bolt that slew the great conquest dragon.

Rhaenys dared to reach out ever so slowly and touch the cold metal shaft of the bolt, a tingle running through her arm as she felt the bitter iron.

A reminder to the dornish and now to Rhaenys that they were not indestructible, they were vulnerable, just as the Freehold had been vulnerable to the Doom. It made Rhaenys apprehensive of the dangers they were yet to face but also desperate to reach Valyria even quicker. When Rhaenyra sacrificed her claim, they became without a home or a place in the world and the scorpion bolt was a reminder that they were vulnerable to any enemy and if they were to survive they needed to find a new place to belong and keep safe from other kingdoms and cities that saw them as a threat.

To that end, to protect her family, Rhaenys hoped to see their journey end sooner rather than later.

“Come, let us be away from this wretched room,” said Rhaenys looking around the chamber of sacrilege that deified dragon-slaying.

And with that, Rhaenys and Nettles departed to find other ways to make themselves useful as they waited for their return to the Stepstones.

Chapter 25: Kindred Spirits

Chapter Text

The eleventh day of the fortnight in the Stepstones was nearly at an end with the descending sun and in three days time, the envoys to Tyrosh, Myr and Dorne would return with whatever ships and allies they could muster, yet Alyn had made little progress in his pledge to claim a dragon.

He’d tried everything, singing to Vermithor and Silverwing, feeding them, approaching them, but the proud dragons would not accept him no matter how hard he tried. The more firmly and willfully he tried to bring the dragons to heel, he would soon enough taunt flames from them, sending Alyn fleeing, almost getting burned a number of times.

Both he and Rhaena had sought out Grey Ghost but found him nowhere, the shy dragon remaining ever faithful to his name.

He had spoken long with the dragonkeepers about how he might earn the trust and respect of one of the dragons and asked Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon the same, but the advice they gave proved to make little difference when Alyn tried to apply it.

Yet despite the countless times Alyn had been spurned by the dragons, he was not deterred from his pursuits but rather all the more resolute in achieving his goals as their time in the Stepstones neared its end.

After the sun had set, Alyn had dinner in the great hall of Bloodstone Keep, Rhaenyra at the head of the table with Daemon by her side, Rhaena across from her father, Lord Corlys, Alyn and his mother, Archmaester Vaegon and a few other chosen lords.

When the dinner was at an end, Alyn excused himself and went to his chamber where he collected his riding gear, gifted to him by the Targaryens and left his chamber in the night.

He made his way out of the castle and out to the rocky grassland of Bloodstone, the dragons nesting on the far side of the island from the castle.

With the stars and the moonlight to light his path, Alyn crossed the dark landscape with the sound of waves crashing into the rocks around the island carrying across the night winds of the Stepstones to Alyn’s ears.

When Alyn had approached the dragons before, he had always been in the company of others, mainly the Dragonkeepers, yet perhaps if he were to approach one of them alone, it might change their perception of him, an act of faith and vulnerability to win their favour.

It did not take long to cross the island, though Alyn began to slow his steps as he got closer to the nesting area, hearing the snarls and growls of Syrax and Caraxes, warning him to keep his distance, the dragons untrusting of one lurking about in the night.

Caraxes was lying couchant upon a small rocky hill above Alyn, the Blood Wyrm rearing his long neck back as he snarled mistrustingly at Alyn, causing the sailor from Hull to bow his head and take three steps back in fear.

Alyn continued on his path but remained with his head down and slow in his movements, never turning his back on Caraxes until the red dragon curled his head around in his arms and returned to sleep.

When Alyn passed Syrax, the she-dragon was similarly apprehensive though less hostile, shielding the young hatchlings Stormcloud and Tyraxes from Alyn with her wing.

After a few more slow and cautious movements until Alyn was safely beyond Syrax, he freely moved forward to seek either Silverwing or Vermithor, who would be nesting nearby.

It was hard to find his way around in the dark, but up and down a few rocky hills, Alyn soon found the Bronze Fury resting in the fields.

The second largest of the living Targaryen dragons, with only Vhagar beyond him.

Nearly a century old, with bronze scales, a pale grey mane of thorns with many scars and one broken horn upon his head from his many battles with the Cannibal, protecting the young dragons from the beast.

Before approaching the great dragon of the Old King, Alyn took a look around his surroundings, his heart racing as he contemplated how alone he was at present, even though that was his intention.

When he first formulated his plan to try and claim a dragon alone, it seemed like such a good idea, but now he felt foolish as he realised there were no dragonkeepers to save him if he incurred Vermithor’s anger.

Alyn did his best to banish his fears and anxieties from his mind and slowly began to make his way towards Vermithor, each step towards the sleeping dragon more hesitant than the last.

The resting dragon’s snoring was similar to the crash of the tides upon the shores below and when Alyn crossed Vermithor’s nostrils, his exhaling breath sent a warm gust of wind into the sailor’s face.

His head alone was the size of a carriage, which only made Alyn more apprehensive about trying to mount him.

Alyn side-stepped his way around the sleeping dragon’s head and skirted down along his neck to where the rope ladder up to his saddle hung down, his back so big it looked like another hill in the dark.

Alyn then cautiously moved forward, getting closer and closer to the rope ladder until it was right in front of him.

Alyn then reached out for the rope, slowly and carefully, but despite making no noise and not even touching the rope yet, the snoring stopped and a low rumbling growl came from Vermithor.

Alyn then grabbed onto the rope ladder with both hands and began to climb, hoping that reaching the saddle would be enough to prove him worthy in Vermithor’s eyes, but the Bronze Fury began to shriek and riggle and Alyn was thrown from the rope ladder dropping to the ground and landing on the grass below.

Vermithor then began to rouse and push himself up roaring into the sky and blasting pillars of flame from his maw.

Alyn tried to scramble to his feet.

“Lykrī! Vermithor! Lykrī!” Alyn shouted holding his hand out but Vermithor’s anger did not lessen.

The dragon began to growl and stare at Alyn, the golden orange light of his flames swelling within his mouth.

“Dohaerās, Vermithor! Lykrī!” Alyn shouted again, but the dragon would not listen. “Daor, Vermithor! Dohaerās!”

Vermithor threw his head back, prepared to unleash flame on Alyn so Alyn turned and ran as fast as he could.

As the blast of dragonfire was unleashed, the grass field in front of him was illuminated in red and yellow light and he could feel the heat of the flames behind him, but he did not stop running.

Even when Alyn crossed over a hill and left Vermithor’s line of sight he kept running for fear the Bronze Fury would pursue him.

It was not until Alyn found a wide dark cave burrowed into the side of a hill that he stopped to catch his breath.

You f*cking idiot, Alyn told himself.

Clearly approaching Vermithor alone and trying to mount him while he slept was not as clever an ideas as it had been when Alyn first drummed it up in his mind and it had only made Vermithor angrier.

As Alyn looked out of the wide and spacious cave entrance, he saw an orange hue cast upon the edges of the cave wall and when he turned his head, Alyn realised the arm of his gamberson was aflame. Alyn panicked and desperately began patting down his arm, extinguishing the flame and while there was a burning odour to his now singed sleeve, it had not seemed to burn through to his flesh.

With the flame extinguished and no sign of Vermithor, Alyn slid down against the cave wall, breathing heavily to slow his thumping heart and catch his breath.

Who was he fooling, Alyn was no dragonrider, no matter what the dreams of prophecy might say, he was just plain old Alyn the sailor, a man of no renown or importance.

It was Addam who was the special one, Addam and Nettles, whatever it was that they possessed, Alyn did not. Perhaps Alyn was cut from the same cloth as Rhaena and Archmaester Vaegon, maybe there were just some who were not meant to ride dragons.

Alyn leaned his head back against the cold stone wall of the cave and looked out at the night sky, listening to the tides break against the shores. He would dwell there for a short while, then when he was sure that Vermithor was rested once again, he’d navigate his way out of the dragon nests and make it back to Bloodstone castle.

As Alyn waited and listened to the soothing crash of the waves, a strange rumbling caught his attention, a strange one that at first sounded like a tremor in the earth, but quickly the sound distinguished itself as a dragon's growl.

Alyn looked around vigilantly for Vermithor in the sky, fear once again filling him, but the Bronze Fury was nowhere to be seen.

A moment later, Alyn’s fear turned to pure dread and hopelessness as he realised the growl was coming from behind him.

The sailor from Hull turned around and looked in the black abyss of the wide and large cave as the head of a dragon emerged from the darkness, illuminating it in the moonlight.

This dragon’s head was fairly large, clearly an adult dragon, it was hard to make out its colours in the dark, but to Alyn at least the dragon seemed white or grey. It was an Anne-type dragon the same as Meleys and Syrax with long straight horns protruding back and a gaunt almost skeletal face.

Already Alyn knew which dragon this was, Grey Ghost, one of the wild dragons like Sheepstealer.

Alyn began to hastily climb to his feet and back out from the large and spacious cave entrance that the adult dragon had managed to crawl into, but Alyn’s quick and fearful movements seemed to scare Grey Ghost instead as he recoiled back into the shadows.

As Grey Ghost sunk back into the shadows, Alyn’s fears began to dissipate, his head tilting to the left in confusion as the great and mighty firebreathing dragon recoiled in fear… from him of all people.

Alyn recalled what the Dragonkeepers had said of Grey Ghost; he was a notably shy dragon, who avoided men and their works for years at a time. Apparently, he preferred to feed on fish which made him seem kindred to Alyn in a way who loved the sea as Grey Ghost did.

Like all the hatchlings on Dragonstone, he was raised by the Dragonkeepers for a time before flying off and going wild like the Cannibal and Sheepstealer.

If so, then he should still recognise Valyrian.

“Timpagis?” Alyn called to the dragon, saying his name in Valyrian, though it was doubtful he recognised it. Grey Ghost was a name given to him by the smallfolk on Dragonstone and what name he had as a hatchling, Alyn did not know.

Though Grey Ghost had probably never heard his common name in valyrian before, Nettles said that Sheepstealer seemed respond to when she said his name in valyrian, perhaps responding to the phonetics and pronunciation familiar in High Valyrian and now Nettles had cemented Sheepstealer as his name which he responded to.

“Timpagis,” he called again, this time softer.

Slowly, the dragon’s head began to slither forward out of the shadows.

“Gēvi, Timpagis,” he said softly.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Grey Ghost,” Alyn said, speaking in the common tongue, he knew the dragon could not understand his words, but it was his soft tone that he hoped Grey Ghost would respond to.

“What are you doing all alone down here? Hiding from the other dragons? Yes, as am I. They can be quite scary, can’t they? I think there are a few things we have in common. We like to catch fish, we love the sea… and we love our freedom, don’t we? Yes, we love the wind in our faces and the sun above us as we venture out great distances.”

Alyn began to slowly move closer to the dragon with his hands raised, one beginning to slowly reach out towards Grey Ghost.

“And I’ll tell you something else, friend. You are not the big scary monster that others make you out to be. You’re just as sweet and lovely as the carrots in my brother’s stew, isn’t that right,” Alyn asked.

As Alyn’s hand reached out to touch Grey Ghost’s snout, the dragon reared its head back and began to panic and grow angry, the glow of flames in his mouth beginning to grow.

“Wow. Wow. Daor, Timpagis. Lykrī… Lykrī… Dohaerās,” Alyn called out as Grey Ghost began to relax and lowered his head, swallowing his flames. Clearly as shy as Grey Ghost may have been, he was not defenceless and not above violence when provoked.

“Let’s try that again,” Alyn said softly.

Once again, Alyn tried to reach out for Grey Ghost, once again Grey Ghost threatened him with fire and once again Alyn calmed him.

It took a few more tries, with Grey Ghost’s resistance lessening with every passing attempt.

“It’s alright, It’s just you and me… relax,” he said gently.

Finally, after sniffing Alyn’s knuckles and familiarising himself with his scent, Grey Ghost allowed for the sailor to rest his hand upon his snout.

The scaly textures Alyn felt beneath his fingers was unlike anything he had ever felt before, his connection with the dragon felt so strong too, like they truly understood one another and when Alyn looked to the dragon’s eye glistening in the moonlight, it was like looking into his own reflection rather than into the eye of an animal.

Is this the way it is for all dragonriders? He wondered.

Alyn then began to softly stroke down Grey Ghost’s snout and stood there for a while, in awe of how accepting Grey Ghost was of him.

Alyn then came alongside the dragon running his hand under the short thorny beard that went along his jaw.

Alyn wanted to get a better look at the dragon and walked out of the cave, hoping to beckon Grey Ghost to come to him out in the open, but instead, the pale dragon seemed to follow along with Alyn’s footsteps, crawling forward so that his head was never too far from Alyn.

When Alyn noticed this, he stopped and Grey Ghost stopped with him.

Alyn then began to test this, starting and stopping in his strides with Grey Ghost echoing his every move.

When they were out of the cave and the large dragon was out in the open, Alyn turned around and began stroking the dragon’s snout again.

He was a big dragon, perhaps somewhere close in size to Syrax and Seasmoke.

Alyn led his new friend around in a circle around the grass field outside the cave, crawling alongside the young man from Hull and then turned and stroked his snout once more.

“Now I’ve got an important question for you, my friend… do you trust me?” he asked with the dragon huffing air through his nostrils into Alyn’s face.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Alyn surmised.

“Embrot,” he commanded, bringing the dragon to lie down.

“Umbās… umbās,” Alyn gently commanded as he left Grey Ghost’s face and slowly moved down along his neck, keeping his hand upon the dragon’s neck so that he would not feel abandoned by Alyn.

When Alyn was far enough down Grey Ghost’s back, he took a deep breath and began to climb Grey Ghost’s back, unsaddled just like Sheepstealer had been when Nettles first mounted him.

Grey Ghost began to riggle and panic as Alyn began his climb, but Alyn kept his grip on Grey Ghost’s back horns and called for the dragon to be calm before continuing his climb, mounting Grey Ghost’s back as the dragon began to relax.

Now it was time for the hard part.

With his hand clutching onto the bristles of Grey Ghost’s back he shouted out “Sōvēs, Timpagis!” but Grey Ghost wailed in defiance.

“Dohaerās, Timpagis! Sōvēs! Sōvēs!”

Reluctantly, Grey Ghost began to flap his wings and Alyn clenched up tightly as Grey Ghost began to flap his wings and rise up into the sky off the ground.

Soon a wave went through Grey Ghost’s body as he flapped his wings heavily, lifting him into the air and almost bucking Alyn off entirely, but he kept his grip.

Once Grey Ghost began to sore and level out his wings, Alyn’s ride was smoother.

Alyn was enraptured and exhilarated by the experience, not only did he find gratification in succeeding in claiming a dragon but the sensation of flying on the back on one was more incredible than anything Alyn could have imagined. Now Alyn understood why Nettles and Addam flew their dragons with such addicted passion and he would soon follow suit.

Alyn was enjoying himself so much he couldn’t help but laugh and howl into the sky with Grey Ghost crying out, also seeming to be enjoying himself. It was as though together they had found symbotic confidence and Grey Ghost had shed his shyness.

Even in the dark of night, the Stepstones were beautiful from so high up, the island watchtowers, castle windows and ships’ lanterns creating little yellow lights below to give Alyn a sense of scale in the dark.

Alyn gave a few commands to Grey Ghost to test his control over his new mount and Alyn’s words seemed well received.

Alyn without reins or saddle yet, Alyn had to rely on vocal commands to direct Grey Ghost, though he also seemed to respond to the way Alyn toggled the bristles of his back from left to right, following the way he steered.

Alyn directed Grey Ghost to the sea and the pair flew low, soaring over the tides with the clawed toes of Grey Ghost’s feet cutting through the face of the water.

Alyn steered Grey Ghost up back into the sky, flying upward and climbing to the heavens in such an exhilarated and confident mood, Alyn couldn’t help but smile to himself, eager to test the new power he had accumulated.

He knew exactly what command he was going to give next and when he was high enough above the island Alyn took a deep breath and shouted the command.

“Dracarys!”

With the command, Grey Ghost released the flaming breath he had threatened Alyn with earlier and unleashed fire into the sky.

Alyn laughed to himself and patted Grey Ghost.

“Gēvi! Gēvi!”

After a while Alyn decided that he’d had his fun and he was now certain in the security of his bond with Grey Ghost and thus it was time to turn in.

Alyn directed Grey Ghost back down to the ground of Bloodstone but landed him near the castle of Bloodstone after circling it twice in plain view of the sentries on the walls whom Alyn could hear murmuring upon his landing.

Alyn laughed once more and patted Grey Ghost on the back before sliding down his side to the ground, walking along his side and stroking his neck and head once again, placing his forehead to Grey Ghost’s snout.

As some guards and servants came out of the castle, Grey Ghost began to get anxious but Alyn calmed him and commanded those who had come to see him to stay back.

“It’s alright, my friend. You are alright,” Alyn said softly.

“Go, on now. Go back to your cave and get some rest. On the morrow I will reintroduce you to the Dragonkeepers, I think we’ll work together better once you have a saddle on your back,” Alyn said.

The sailor then stepped back and allowed Grey Ghost to flap his wings and fly off, returning presumably to his cave where Alyn intended to find him on the morrow.

After Grey Ghost vanished into the dark of the night, Alyn turned around looking smugly at the awe-struck crowd that had come from the castle to greet him.

A young servant boy dressed in a red gamberson came running and pushing through the crowd to reach Alyn.

“Ser Alyn,” the young servant called.

“I’m not a Ser… at least not yet,” Alyn corrected, having only started learning swordsmanship and knightly virtues over the past few months since joining the Targaryens.

“Right, Se— uhhh, Alyn,” he said unconfidently, not sure if it was right to call him just by his name as though there was some degree of informality between them.

“The Que— the Princess, as in Princess Rhaenyra, wishes to see you in the great hall,” the servant explained.

Alyn was surprised that word had reached Rhaenyra’s bed chamber so quickly, but perhaps Alyn was sighted before his landing, his laughter and howls and testing the use of dragonfire, giving him away before bringing Grey Ghost in to land.

“I’m on my way,” Alyn said as he nodded his head, making his way through the crowd that parted at his coming, looking to him with reverence and respect, the newest of Rhaenyra’s dragonriders.

When Alyn made his way through the castle to the great hall, he found those of Rhaenyra’s sworn swords who were on watch, Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon in their nightgowns and robes, the same as Lord Corlys, Lady Rhaena, Vaegon, the White Worm, Gerardys, a few Dragonkeepers and some of the lords and knights.

It seemed half of them had gotten out of bed for the meeting which made Alyn worry that his news might not be well received by those stubborn and bitter at their loss of sleep.

Alyn’s mother, Merilda, was not there, having gone back down to the ships after dinner where she preferred to sleep.

Alyn immediately strode up to Princess Rhaenyra and dropped to his knee before her, bowing his head.

“Forgive me for disturbing your rest, my Princess, but it is my hope that the tidings I bring will more than makeup for the inconvenience caused to you. Grey Ghost has been tamed and bonded with, through me he is now at your command to serve as you see fit,” Alyn explained.

When Alyn looked up he saw a wide grin upon the Princess’s face, genuine appreciation glistened in her eyes and even the otherwise sullen Daemon gave a faintly approving nod.

“Rise,” Rhaenyra said gently, just as gently as Alyn had spoken to Grey Ghost.

When Alyn was back to his feet, Rhaenyra pulled him in for a brief but affectionate embrace which was applauded by others in court.

“Your resolve to serve this house and our coming dynasty in Valyria is a testament to the loyalty and determination that you share with Addam and Nettles. I accept your service as a dragonrider with great expectations of the noble feats you and Grey Ghost will undoubtedly perform in years to come,” Rhaenyra stated.

The nobles housed in the castle then began to crowd around Alyn and shake his hand, all their kind words were welcome but the one whose opinion Alyn held in the highest regard was that of Lord Corlys.

“Congratulations, Alyn. A well-deserved prize for all your hard effort. Grey Ghost is a dragon grown and to be the first to claim him and bring him to heel speaks to the might of the dragon blood within you,” Lord Corlys complimented as he shook Alyn’s hand.

Such words from the Sea Snake were humbling and prideful to hear, Alyn felt he would need to pinch himself to check he was not dreaming of such an astounding night, his only wish was for Nettles, Alyn and the others to be there to share in it with him.

The mood however momentarily soured, when Alyn noticed the Lady Rhaena storm off unnoticed out of the chamber, with only Princess Rhaenyra spotting her exit and pursuing her, followed closely by Ser Harrold, Ser Lorent and her two handmaidens Elinda Massey and the new common girl, Dyana.

Suddenly Alyn felt guilty and foolish for having flaunted his triumph so brashly in front of Rhaena, not thinking about how it would have made her feel. The few short weeks since Nettles claimed Sheepstealer had left Alyn bitter, insecure and jealous of the dragonriders and he could only imagine how Rhaena would have felt. Alyn hoped that the Princess could console her stepdaughter.

“So, you’ve finally found yourself a dragon, then,” Daemon stated coming close to Alyn.

“That is right, my Prince,” Alyn confirmed.

Daemon gave a small smirk in response.

“Well, claiming a dragon is all well and good, but commanding a dragon properly is another matter entirely. Tomorrow seek out Grey Ghost once again and bring him to the dragonkeepers. It will take them a day or two to get a saddle prepared and fitted onto him, but once you do, report to me. Caraxes and I will show you and the shy serpent the true might of a dragonrider,” Daemon declared, welcoming Alyn to join him in the skies for training.

Alyn was very excited and exhilarated and could not wait to take to the skies again, but for now, he was rendered completely tired from the exciting night he had been through and just wanted to return to his bed and sleep.

Chapter 26: After the Doom

Chapter Text

It was always strange when Rhaenyra found herself in her special dreams, despite being able to recall them in such perfect detail when awake she could never quite recall how they began, even when she was in them.

She found herself walking in vast pastures of grass with hills and volcanos in the far distance with smoking peaks like chimnies, but she could not recall how she got there from her bed in the keep of Bloodstone.

What she did know was that she had once again reverted in form to the young girl she had been around the time her father named her heir, two decades ago.

Already she knew she was due for another lesson from her dormant masters, but Raegoth was nowhere to be found.

Rhaenyra was clearly in Valyria once more, this time she could only surmise that she was in the lands of the long summer, rich and fertile lands that spread many leagues where the dragonlords kept their farms, forests and summer estates.

The lands were said to be so lush and held such vitality that they made the whole of the Reach seem as barren and hard as Dragonstone by comparison.

What state such lands were in at present was still a mystery to Rhaenyra, for she had only heard Master Raegoth mention in passing the restoration of verdancy and growth in the Freehold and if such restoration had extended to the Lands of the Long Summer or if they were once again as healthy and as fertile as they had been before was yet to be determined.

“Beautiful is it not?” a familiar eerie deep voice asked.

When Rhaenyra turned about-face, she saw Master Raegoth, hooded and masked like before, but this time accompanied by another who dressed the same as Raegoth, but the scripts of valyrian writing on his robes and mask, as well as the glyphs and symbols, were of different patterns and sentences. The two valyrian sorcerers were clearly they were uniformed to their guild, yet both of them distinct in their own way.

While thrown off guard sightly by the second sorcerer, whom she was not expecting, Rhaenyra glanced out to the landscape once more before looking to Master Raegoth.

“These are the lands of the Long Summer, aren’t they?” she asked.

Raegoth nodded in response.

“Indeed they are, child. A vital part of Valyria under the Freehold as they will undoubtedly be under your new domain,” the wise master said, coming to Rhaenyra’s side and looking out over the landscape with Rhaenyra for a moment.

“For centuries these lands hosted the crops and orchards that fed the Freehold with fruit, vegetables and wine. These pastures were used to graze our sheep, goats and cattle while the woodlands gave home to our boars and fallow deer . These animals fed not only our bellies but gave our dragons food to gorge upon,” Raegoth explained.

Next, the Master turned to face Rhaenyra directly, the black soulless sockets of his mask staring into her eyes.

“When last we spoke, child, we discussed the corruption and abhorrence of the Freehold’s practices and the foundations upon which your new dynasty would be built. This time your lessons will be on the physical foundations upon which your dynasty shall be built, Valyria itself,” Master Raegoth explained.

In the first moment, Rhaenyra contemplated if Raegoth and his companion meant to give her agriculture lessons and tour her through the regions of Valyria, but quickly she thought of all the questions she and her lords had pondered the mysteries of what state they would find Valyria to be in. They had discussed the smoking sea, the creatures crafted from the flesh-pits of Gogossos and Aera Targaryen, but all were but mere speculation without any actual answers. If the Doom no longer held sway over the lands then what had become of them? Perhaps now Rhaenyra would find such explanations from her masters.

Finally, Master Raegoth turned to his colleague and motioned to him.

“This is Master Sirioner, a wise and learned sorcerer well-versed in the practices of enchantments. He will be instructing you for this lesson,” Raegoth explained as his colleague bowed respectfully to Rhaenyra.

“An honour to meet you, awaited one,” the new Master said.

“The honour is mine,” said Rhaenyra as she bowed in response.

“Heed him well and he shall guide you forward,” Master Raegoth warned before disappearing in that vibrant exaggeration of colour caused by the glass candles that was so unbearable to witness.

Then Rhaenyra was alone in the grasslands with her new Master, awaiting his teachings.

The masked mage then walked forward and joined Rhaenyra’s side, looking out at the vast landscape with his hands clasped behind his back.

A few moments passed with Master Sirioner staring out at the distant forests, mountains and volcanos while Rhaenyra stood awkwardly by his side waiting for him to speak.

“Nature is such a magnificent thing,” he said at last. “Older and more powerful than any magic worked by the hands of man.”

Sirioner then casually took to his knee and softly ran his gauntleted hand over the grass as though he were stroking the coat of a hound.

Rhaenyra lowered herself and joined him on the grass.

“We sorcerers knew this and so my predecessors sought to make nature their ally. Through the workings of blood magic, the sorcerers of the early Freehold bound the soil, rocks, trees and rivers of Valyria with spells of resistance, endurance, fertility and growth. To combine magic with nature, the laws of nature must be observed and so a quid pro quo was established in these spells, magic that requires a price to be paid. To this end, the sorcerers enchanted the lands of Valyria to accept the deaths of all living things in Valyria as a sacrifice, claiming the essence of life from every death in the lands of the freehold from the smallest worm to the biggest dragon, feeding the magic which made Valyria’s lands grow fertile and strong.”

Sirioner then lifted his hand and waved it through the air, making an uncomfortable distortion of bright light appear once again and when it settled, Rhaenyra saw a deer grazing upon the pastures ahead of them. Not a westerosi deer, but a valyrian fallow deer with thin light brown fur dappled with white spots across its body.

The deer seemed very old and weak and shortly after it appeared it began to wane and eventually fell over dead, dropping lifelessly upon the grass.

“Be it time, hunter, beast or dragon, all things find their demise sooner or later,” Master Sirioner explained before waving his hand again with the landscape shimmering around them once more.

They remained in the same spot and the dead deer was there, but its carcass was in the midst of decomposition.

“The spells deem it that all life that expires within Valyria is taken by the land as a blood sacrifice, renewing these lands with new life. We give to Valyria and Valyria gives to us,” said Sirioner.

Rhaenyra was fascinated by Master Sironer’s teachings but also started to see clearly how Valyria became what it was.

“This is where the lands of the Long Summer came from, isn’t it? There’s nothing coincidental about the lands of the Long Summer being conveniently located in the midst of a peninsula of volcanic mountain chains where the Valyrians first hatched dragons, is there? It was these spells you speak of,” Rhaenyra surmised and her master nodded in response.

“An endless cycle of renewal, the rejuvenation of nature augmented and exacerbated by our spellcraft. The simplest and yet most ingenious use of magic, no? Enchanting nature to do what it does naturally but at an amplified state,” Master Sironer mused, seeming proud and awe-struck by the craft and Rhaenyra too was amazed by it.

But while Rhaenyra was amazed by such enchantments, she knew that the Lands of the Long Summer that she saw around her were visions of the long past of the Freehold before the Doom. If Rhaenyra was to claim Valyria, she needed to know what state the lands were in currently.

“This is truly fascinating, Master Sirioner. But this is the lands of Valyria before the Vejes, I need to know what has become of these lands in the two hundred years since,” Rhaenyra requested of her new master, hoping she would not seem rude or impatient.

Master Sirioner then looked to Rhaenyra and after staring at her for a moment, his expressions hidden beneath his mask, he responded with a nod.

Master Sirioner then waved his hand about and the landscape transitioned into a dark, red-hued landscape of barren land, flaming forests, mists of ash and smoke and clouds of red and purple lightning, once again Rhaenyra was being shown the Doom of Valyria.

“The great calamity. The retribution for Valyrian hubris finally paid in full,” said Sirinoer as he looked around.

“It’s horrible. So much destruction and death… everything burned and destroyed. How can there be any life in this horror? How can my people be expected to survive here?” Rhaenyra asked, looking with despair at Sirioner. How could Rhaenyra be expected to make such a scarred and ruined land whole again? Raegoth had mentioned that life had returned to Valyria, but after two hundred years from what she saw before her, she could only imagine the smallest semblance of life reforming there.

“The spells used to keep the wrath of the Fourteen Flames contained required continuous enchantments to keep the pressure of the contained fire at bay. When the Dragonlords began jealously assassinating the mages loyal to one another’s families, the spells weakened and eventually broke… causing this. But the spells bound to Valyria’s landscape were not volatile like the ones used to control the volcanos and so those spells endured.”

Rhaenyra was intrigued, wondering how strong a role the spells could play in healing the broken land.

“When the Vejes befell the Freehold, it massacred all in its path. Dragons, birds, beasts, fish, slaves, citizens and dragonlords, all gone. Millions of lives were lost all across Valyria and Valyria accepted these lives as a blood sacrifice to feed and nourish the nature of these lands,” said Sirioner, waving his hand again.

The landscape shimmered once more and the red clouds of ash and smoke were gone, now she stood in the wastelands of Lands of the Long Summer, the skies almost black with dark clouds that still crackled with red and purple lightning, but the air around her was clean.

“When does this take place? How much time has passed since the Doom?” Rhaenyra asked looking around.

“One month,” Sirioner explained, shocking Rhaenyra.

“One month?” she repeated in disbelief.

Having seen such calamitous destruction produced by the Doom across three dreams, she could not imagine the burning, toxic clouds of air to disperse so quickly.

“But that’s impossible. Across the first decades of the Century of Blood, pioneers from across the known world tried to claim Valyria and all were met with violent storms and poison winds,” Rhaenyra recounted, recalling the histories she had learned.

“And so they were. If you went to the boundaries of Valyria in any direction you would find those poison winds and wrathful storms at this point in our history,” Sirioner explained, but his words only vexed Rhaenyra.

“Look to the south,” Sirioner commanded, pointing in one direction with Rhaenyra following his finger with her eyes. In the far distance, Rhaenyra could see great black pillars flickering with red and purple, rising through the sky to the black thunderclouds above.

“What are those?” Rhaenyra asked.

“The Fourteen Flames and those flickering pillars are the Doom. Over the course of the first century after the fall of the Freehold, the Doom continued to spill fire, smoke and poison out from the peaks of the fourteen. Those pillars are the wrath of the doom being funnelled upward into the skies, contained by ancient spells. The excess of the Doom was then carried outward and spilled out into the lands and seas beyond Valyria, the Vejes becoming a dome within which Valyria was concealed and all who tried to come here in the first century before the Doom’s wrath was exhausted suffered its wrath.”

Rhaenyra was astounded by such magic, such wonders beyond her imagination.

“Were you the ones who redirected the Doom? Pushing the doom out to the boundaries of Valyria from within your tomb where you hibernate? Was this magic your craft?” Rhaenyra asked, but Sirioner shook his head and laughed.

“This is Valyria’s craft. The millions of lives lost empowered the spells that guard Valyria and Valyria used those spells to challenge the spread of the Vejes and banish it from its lands,” the Master said, as they looked out at the pillars of rising smoke and fire carrying up to the skies above.

“Come child, there is something here for you to see,” Sirioner explained, leading Rhaenyra a short distance over the dead soil that had once been the Lands of the Long Summer.

The master then knelt down and beckoned Rhaenyra to join him. When Rhaenyra knelt down next to the mage, she saw a small tuft of green grass and weeds, growing from between two rocks.

Such a simple and unremarkable tuft of greenery clinging to life in a wasteland, but at the same time a humbling symbol of defiance in the face of death and resilience in the miracle of life, fighting to survive in the most inhospitable places.

‘What is this?” Rhaenyra asked, looking down at the innocent little tuft of life in the otherwise decimated Valyria.

“A foundation,” Sirioner began to explain. “One of a few thousand small pockets of life all across Valyria that surfaced in the dawn of what you call the Century of Blood and grew to bring renewal to all that was once lost in Valyria.”

Sirioner then waved his hand once more and changed the landscape again.

They remained in the same spot just as they had all the other times Sirioner changed their surroundings with only time being the shift in the landscape.

Now the greenery was spreading, with patches and areas of grass spread out across the landscape all the way to the horizon and the dome of the Vejes was still lingering over the land.

“How many years on is this?” Rhaenyra asked, seeing progress in the land’s healing.

“Ten years,” Sirioner explained.

Once again Rhaenyra was astounded by the progress of such ancient magic commanded by the Freehold.

“Would you care to see five decades?” Sirioner asked before waving his hand once again and shifting the terrain to an even greener state, though not quite as fertile and lush as it had been during the time of the Freehold, but rather more akin to Dragonstone or the Vale.

The clouds of the Doom still hung over the land, but somehow it seemed lighter and less volatile with the cracks of lightning being fewer and less darkness covering the land.

Before Rhaenyra could even express her bewilderment, Sirioner spoke again.

“Now let us try for a century.”

Then with the wave of his hand, Rhaenyra thought she had gone around in a circle, for the land looked once again as it had been during the time of the Freehold and the clouds of the doom were gone, as were the pillars of smoke and fire rising from the Fourteen Flames in the south.

To think at the time of Aegon’s Conquest, Valyria was once again alive and vibrant. The almost jestful irony lay in such a revelation when one took into account that all of the Targaryens of Dragonstone preceding Aegon lay in wait for the moment that they could restore Valyria in some fashion in Essos, but the Conqueror turned his back on Essos and looked to Westeros to find their family’s future, oblivious to the restored state of Valyria that Rhaenyra saw around her.

If the blood sacrifice fueled enchantments upon Valyria had renewed to its vibrant state by the time of Aegon’s Conquest then Rhaenyra imagined it had remained stable and alive in the hundred and thirty years since, though uninhabited.

Uninhabited, Rhaenyra mused to herself, recalling what Raegoth had said in the previous dream not only about greenery returning to Valyria but also the creatures that lived there.

Then Rhaenyra recalled the horrific mystery of Princess Aera Targaryen and her passing and the discussion she had entertained with her council on the matter.

She had promised her lords that she would discuss the matter with her masters when next she spoke with them and now this was her opportunity.

“May I ask you a question, Master?” Rhaenyra asked, looking to her new masked mentor.

The sorcerer glanced down at her.

“I welcome it.”

Now that permission had been granted Rhaenyra struggled to ask the question, not sure where to start with such a subject, but she did her best.

“There is something… living in Valyira, is there not? Master Raegoth suggested that some form of life has endured and my conversations with my councillors have also entertained such a possibility. is it true?” she asked.

The masked figure’s silence suggested hesitation to speak but eventually, he found his voice once again.

“In the months leading up to the vejes, the birds and beasts of all kinds sensed its forbearance and fled south, east and west to the coasts. Not just the wild animals and the creatures of the land, but also the monsters of our crafting. For centuries, the Dragonlords and the Freeholders had been abusing the power of blood magic, experimenting on slaves, exiled criminals and animals in the flesh pits. The end result were various breeds of malformed and unnatural beasts that the dragonlords carted back to the freehold to be displayed in cages as novelties and spectacles. But no matter how far their nature had been perverted, the instinct of survival remained and so these beasts grew desperate as the doom approached and broke free of their cages, fleeing far from the cities.”

Rhaenyra looked to her master with seriousness as he continued to teach her of what had happened.

“When the Vejes struck, not even the furthest edges of the freehold were safe. The burning air and toxic winds decimated all living things that dwelled in Valyria, the few malformed and blistered creatures that managed to cling to life limped through their existences, learning to breathe burning air and drink poisoned water.”

Sirioner waved his hand again and the landscape seemed to regress, showing once more the Lands of the Long Summer freshly scarred by the doom with red and black skies and clouds of mist.

Rhaenyra wondered for a moment why Sirioner had brought her back to the doom but then noticed something moving through the mists, a four-legged creature, gaunt and staggering forward as it let out queer guttural bleats.

When the creature staggered a bit closer to Rhaenyra and she could see it in detail, though a part of her wished she hadn’t.

It was another fallow deer, but this one was… wrong, just wrong. It had six legs, two front legs and four back legs, all of them misshapen, deformed and spidery, with an arched bony hunched-back, its left horn was short, twisted and growing out of its eye rather than its temple and there were countless lesions, blisters and growths all across it.

Upon seeing the poor cursed creature, Rhaenyra found herself wondering if she could vomit in a dream and if she would also vomit in her waking body as well.

“The creatures that adapted to the doom lived cursed lives clawing to survive. When the blood spells bound to Valyria banished to doom to the skies and spilled out to the borders, those beasts and twisted creatures that endured and their descendants learned again what it was to breathe fresh air and drink clean water and their progeny grew healthy and strong once more.”

Once again, Sirionir waved his hand and changed the landscape, showing a herd of healthy uncorrupted fallow deer galloping across the Lands of the Long Summer towards a distant forest, which warmed Rhaenyra’s heart. But quickly Rhaenyra’s thoughts darkened as she considered all other kinds of creatures that survived, the beasts created in Gogossos, possibly even dragons feral and untrained and whatever abominable creatures destroyed Aerea Targaryen and subjected her to her cruel fate.

“And what of these other creatures, you speak of what became of them?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Now the vulgar beasts that once dwelled in cages for the amusem*nt of their creators roam free through the land in herds, packs and flocks, no longer pets, but predators who dominate the land. Some of them, not only the mutations from Gogoross but also the beasts native to these lands have… devolved since the Doom, becoming even more sinister creatures than the machinations of the mages,” Sirioner explained.

“Like the creatures that killed Aerea Targaryen,” Rhaenyra suggested, causing Sirioner to turn to her.

Raegoth had said that they had remained dormant but conscious through their connection to the glass candles for the past few centuries while they waited in stasis to be awoken, all the while watching Valyria and the known world through the candles’ visions and would have surely seen Aerea Targaryen when she and Balerion came to Valyria.

“You know of her ventures,” Sirioner surmised.

“It was believed that she went to Valyria with Balerion and since you seem to recognise who I am speaking of I assume that belief holds true,” said Rhaenyra.

Sirioner looked away and nodded with his arms folded.

“We watched her in silence through the Glass Candle, she and Balerion survived nearly a year here and overcame great peril until she went exploring the hot springs near the fourteen flames where the fire leaches dwell,” said Sirioner.

“Fire leaches, is that what the creatures that killed her are called?” Rhaenyra asked.

“You will learn what became of the girl before you arrive in Valyria, but you must pace yourself, there is much information you must contemplate in detail. You cannot take too much in at once,” Sirioner cautioned her, which only made her fearful that her lesson was coming to an end so she pushed to learn as much as she could before her dream ended.

“What of the dragons? How many still dwell in Valyria?” she asked desperately.

“No dragons, only their devolved descendants. When the pillars of smoke and fire carried the doom to the highest skies, the dragons that survived continued to live in fear of the sky and so the flaming breath and their wings were forgotten. Those descendants of the dragons that now live in Valyria are the ones that crawl, swim and walk, but none dare fly, save for the wyverns who grew small and learned to live in the treetops, flying low. Wyverns, Amphitreres, Lindwyrms, Drakes and Wyrms are all that is left of the dragonkin in Valyria,” Sirioner said somberly.

“But if there are no more dragons in Valyria, then what manner of beast wounded Balerion when he was here?” Rhaenyra asked.

“There was… one dragon that dwelled here after the Doom. Vassarion, the only survivor of the expedition led by his rider, Aurion Varezys. During the century that followed, he became feral and vicious until Balerion finally slew him over these skies, but not without great injury,” Sirioner explained.

“Can you show me?” Rhaenyra asked, but the sorcerer smirked in reply.

“Not tonight, Child,” he replied.

“Why not?” Rhaenyra asked. Her tone seemed to align more with the youthful form of her younger self that she was currently in rather than her true adult self.

“You have already seen and learned enough for one night. Return to the waking world, share what you have learned and contemplate my teachings. In the dreams to come more of your questions will be answered,” Sirioner explained before pressing his gauntlet finger to Rhaenyra’s forehead and suddenly Rhaenyra found herself waking in her bed in the Bloodstone castle, Daemon sleeping beside her, the sun rising through the window and new wisdom for her to contemplate about what waited for them in Valyria.

Chapter 27: The Sea Snake and the Rogue Prince

Chapter Text

The fortnight of reprieve on Bloodstone had finally lapsed with their dragonrider envoys returning to the archipelago from their diplomatic missions on both sides of the Narrow Sea.

In the early hours of the morning, Rhaenys and Nettles were the first to arrive on the wings of their dragons with no ships for them to escort from Dorne.

For two weeks they had toiled in Sunspear to try and win favour from the proud descendants of the Rhoynar only to find cold shoulders and up-turned noses. A disappointment to be sure but not entirely unexpected given the long histories between them and the Dornish.

Even without allied ships to bring with them, Corlys was all too happy to see their return, having missed his wife dearly, despite only two weeks away from one another.

Since his near demise when last he was in the Stepstones, Corlys had been confronted with his selfish mistakes of the past. After losing both his children he had abandoned his faithful and loving wife and strayed southward to distract himself with adventure and conquest and nearly paid the price for it.

Since then Corlys had vowed never to let his ambition and lust for wealth, fame and power stand between him and Rhaenys again.

Closer to midday, the outlying watchtowers reported the sighting of arriving ships from Tyrosh escorted by Vermax and Moondancer.

When Prince Jacaerys and Lady Baela arrived at the Bloodstone castle, they brought tidings of eighteen ships from the island of Tyrosh with the three noble houses of Adarys, Mopyr and Pahrys lessing off their lands and holdings, emancipating their slaves and pledging to their cause.

A truly wonderous effort by the Prince and his betrothed with Lord Corlys beaming with pride for his two grandchildren’s accomplishments. But as grand as the success of their diplomatic mission had been, Corlys asked twice for them to repeat themselves when they explained that Racallio Ryndoon and a score of his pirates and corsairs as well as their families had pledged to their cause.

The mad giant had been a constant source of strife, discord and frustration in Corlys’s second campaign over the past six years. He had clashed with Racallio several times and almost been killed on several such occasions.

To count Ryndoon as an ally was almost unthinkable to the Sea Snake and yet it seemed he was without choice in the matter.

By the late afternoon, Arrax and Seasmoke returned carrying Prince Lucaerys and Addam on their backs with ten Myrish ships behind them and the noble house of Fyllonnis among them. Not as successful as Jace and Baela but still more fruitful than the mission to Dorne.

When Lucaerys and Addam brought word of the ten ships from Myr, the Maesters quickly added together the total of ships from all ports thus far, bringing the number to one hundred ninety. Most of the Maesters surmised that the number of people in their fleet ranged somewhere around twenty thousand, perhaps a bit more or perhaps a bit less.

Twenty thousand people to restart an entire civilization. Some said that Twenty thousand was not enough to restart a civilization but others argued that more would come and that as few as two thousand was plenty. The Maesters began arguing with some insisting that researchers in the citadel had surmised that one hundred and sixty was the minimum number to build a civilisation while others argued a mere ninety-eight was the most that was needed.

Such numbers might prove true if they had generations to peacefully grow their civilization without threat, but they did not have such luxuries. Not only would their conquest of Valyria insight hostility from other civilisations, but also the Princess Rhaenyra’s latest vision dream with the Valyrian sorcerers had indicated great perils awaiting them in Valyria.

As the lead ships from Myr and Tyrosh sailed for Bloodstone to ferry the leaders to the castle to pledge themselves to Rhaenyra, Corlys excused himself from the castle to walk along the grasslands of the island.

On the morrow, they would sail for Lys, leaving the Stepstones behind, perhaps making this Corlys’s last time on the archipelago he had spent almost the combined sum of a decade trying to conquer across two campaigns.

As the Sea Snake walked along the rough grass landscape of the island with the salty sea breeze blowing through the air, he spotted someone he did not expect standing along the cliffs, glaring down to the sea below.

Daemon was there, not but a short distance from the castle, staring out to the Stepstones.

While the Sea Snake had meant to walk solitarily about the island to be alone with his thoughts, his curiosity drew him towards the Prince, wondering why he might be standing at the cliff edge alone.

Soon, Corlys’s feet found their way leisurely walking towards Daemon, wondering what thoughts were going through the incomprehensible mind of the Rogue Prince.

Perhaps five or six paces behind the Prince, Corlys called out his name, “Daemon,” to make his presence known.

Prince Daemon turned his head and faced the Sea Snake.
“What news, Corlys?” he asked, as though he thought Corlys had sought him out to deliver a message or fetch Daemon.

The Sea Snake shrugged and shook his head in response.

“There is no news to my knowledge, I came out here to walk and reminisce of the many years I spent among these islands. I did not however expect to find you here,” Corlys explained as he joined Daemon’s side, prompting the Prince to state his reasons for being there.

“The nobles and leaders from Myr and Tyrosh have been summoned to the island by Rhaenyra to meet with her,” Daemon explained looking down at two essossi ships anchoring off the coast of the beach cove of Bloodstone beneath the crescent of cliffs.

“And you wish to avoid exchanging pleasantries with them, so you intend to hide up here along the cliffs,” Corlys surmised.

“I care for the number of ships, refugees, swords and coins they’ve brought with them. Their names and their reasons for joining us are of no consequence. Besides, the more of these incessant gatherings of nobles I attend, the more I am driven to desire seeing Dark Sister plunged into my own gut,” Daemon declared.

“Hmm… I must admit that these endless court holdings and council meetings have been tiresome for me as well. All the squabbling with every lord and knight wishing to make their voices heard so they can set themselves with high status in our new Valyria is exhausting,” said Corlys.

“Save for that whining cur, Ser Alfred Broome who does nothing but moan about every setback and challenge we will face and question every decision. I have half a mind to feed him to Caraxes before the rest as a lesson for the lot of them to shut their f*cking mouths,” said Daemon.

Corlys laughed and nodded in agreement.

“Yes, that knight seems to have appointed himself the master of complaints… much like my late brother… Vaemond,” said Corlys, his tone becoming more serious as he spoke of his brother.

The Sea Snake’s eyes remained fixated on Daemon as the Prince looked at the ships below, studying his expression for any changes, but there were none to see.

It had been months since Daemon had slain his brother and he had said nothing of it. Corlys knew what kind of a man his brother was and understood that Vaemond’s greed and ambition had gotten him killed, but still his brother was his brother and had any other man killed him, then Corlys would wish vengeance, so why should Daemon be any different?

For many years Corlys had considered Daemon a good and valued comrade and friend dating back to when they first set out to the Stepstones nearly twenty years ago, but Corlys had made enough excuses for Daemon in the past and now he would have it out with him on two matters that he could not let pass unanswered.

After a moment, Daemon glanced over to Corlys and met his cold expression.

“So is that what this is about?” Daemon asked, his tone becoming equally as stern as the Sea Snake’s.

“Not, exactly. But now seems as good a time as any to have this out,” Corlys stated.

After a moment, Daemon scoffed and rolled his eyes in response.

“Word reached Vaemond of your wound that you received here in the Stepstones. He took advantage of both your weakened state and my brother’s and tried to whor* out the Velaryon fleet to the Greens in their usurpation so that he could have Driftmark rather than Luke. Viserys declared for Luke, Vaemond called Rhaenyra a whor* and her boys bastards, my brother called for your brother’s tongue so I took his head instead. What else is there to discuss?” Daemon asked, as though the matter was settled which only angered Corlys.

“He was my brother, Daemon! My blood. He was a selfish, covetous, grousing​​ fool, but he was still my family, just as you were Viserys’s!” Corlys snapped at Daemon, the mention of his brother bringing a flicker of emotion to his eyes.

“Years ago, when Aemma died, Otto called a Small Council meeting without you or Rhaenyra in attendance. That night, Otto and Grand Maester Mellos ambushed the rest of us by questioning the succession and insisting you be replaced as heir for Rhaenyra. They called you a tyrant, a second Maegor in the making, Mellos accused you of having it in you to kill the King and steal his crown. Your most vocal defender in that council meeting was your brother, who refused to hear anyone challenge your love for one another,” Corlys asserted.

“Yes, yes. I remember that meeting,” Daemon replied.

The Prince’s remark surprised and confused Corlys.

“Remember it? How could you? You were not there,” said Corlys as his eyebrows knitted together and Prince Daemon smiled coyly in response.

“My great-grand-uncle Maegor was cruel and villainous in many respects, but he did have unquestionable skills in certain professions… architecture among them,” Daemon explained with a wicked smile.

Now the pieces fit together in Corlys’s mind.

“Maegor’s tunnels,” the Sea Snake surmised.

“I navigated their passageways since I was two and ten, meaning nothing in the Red Keep was ever beyond my grasp. I heard that council meeting and I heard what was said. What of it? Why should my brother defending my name be of any consequence to the death of your own?” Daemon asked.

“I am trying to illustrate for you the bond between brothers! And why I cannot so easily dismiss Vaemond’s death, no matter what foolish actions he took before his death!” Corlys growled.

“Yes, but there is one flaw in your analogy, my old friend. My brother and I may have quarrelled and fought but we loved one another and I would never visit any real harm upon him… but Vaemond was going to kill you,” Daemon explained.

Corlys smirked in a confused fashion, finding Daemon’s assertion to be utterly preposterous. How could Daemon in all sincerity, think Vaemond, his own brother would wish to kill him.

Daemon could clearly see the disbelief on Corlys’s face and chose to then elaborate upon his words.

“What do you think would have happened if Viserys had not interjected on Luke’s behalf? If Otto Hightower had ruled in favour of Vaemond becoming your heir and you returned home following the breaking of your blood fever at Evenfall, what fate would have awaited you? While Rhaenys and your grandchildren were praying for your recovery, Vaemond had travelled to King’s Landing to pry your lands and titles from your lifeless body. If he found you lying weak and weary in your bed, returning to health with the expectation being that you would reaffirm Luke as your successor after you had healed, doubtless no one would listen to him the next time he vied to take your seat from your corpse. So frail and weak, do you think Vaemond would let you return to good health and snatch Driftmark away from him once again? He would have placed a feathered pillow to your head and told the realm the fever had resurged and claimed you,” Daemon declared.

Corlys was awash with rage, aggrieved by Daemon’s audacity to accuse Corlys’s own brother, whom he had murdered, of such an accursed act as to murder him in pursuit of his titles and holdings.

“I— I!” he stuttered angrily, but as he thought on Daemon’s words, his expression softened and the former Lord of the Tides exhaled in grief and disappointment.

“I know it,” he finally said in despair. “I have known it since I first heard that Vaemond tried to use my wound to displace Luke as my heir, though I had wished not to admit it to myself.”

Corlys looked out to the horizon and thought of all the times his brother had been sour and unsatisfied with his standing, craving more in the ways of power and status. His mutinous suggestions to try and seize command of the Stepstones campaign when they met their deadlock against Drahar during the siege of Bloodstone. His cutting words against Jace, Luke and Joff sprinkled like salt in his eulogy for Laena. All his grumblings which Corlys had dismissed as a sour personality was truly envy and discontent.

“I told Rhaenys when I first learned of Vaemond’s death that heedless ambition had always been a failing of our house,” Corlys remarked as the two looked out over the sea.

“Only to those who try and fail. For men like us, ambition is a strength,” said Daemon.

While the matter of Vaemond seemed settled, with no ill will being retained between the Sea Snake and the Rogue Prince, there was yet one more matter that Corlys needed to settle.

“And how far has your ambition taken you, Daemon?” Corlys asked, causing the Rogue Prince to turn to him with a furrowed brow.

There was one more death that Corlys needed an answer for, one that he could not forgive, not even for Daemon, his friend, his comrade, his former good son, the father of his granddaughters. Corlys had long speculated Daemon’s involvement and now needed to hear the truth of it.

“You say you would never harm your brother, even for your ambitions for the throne, but who would you kill to wear the crown? Who was it that stood between you ruling at Rhaenyra’s side and becoming King Consort?” Corlys challenged.

The sudden roar of a dragon far off on the other side of the island startled Corlys, causing him to grip the hilt of his eared dagger, for fear Caraxes had come to defend his master, but Corlys saw that it was only Silverwing flapping her wings in the stance when he glanced out across the island.

Daemon noticed Corlys’s grip upon his blade, but did not seem threatened, only half impressed in reality.

“I was wondering if we’d ever have this conversation,” Daemon said with a light yet wicked grin. “Do you really think I would kill your son?”

Corlys studied Daemon’s expression, all signs showing sincere disbelief in Daemon, but Corlys understood Daemon’s nature as a deceiver and did not trust his expression.

“You killed Rhea Royce to free yourself for marriage and seize Runestone,” Corlys reminded him.

Daemon bobbed his head from side to side and nodded.

“I did. But once again you draw comparatives without recognition of crucial differences in the circ*mstances. I hated my Bronze Bitch from the day my grandmother manacled me to her. Laenor was different,” Daemon asserted.

“How so?” Corlys challenged, unconvinced by Daemon’s words thus far.

Daemon then turned back to the sea and pointed across to a small jagged island in the distance.

“Do you remember that island, Corlys?” Daemon asked.

The Sea Snake recognised it instantly.

“Dwarfstone. Our base of operations during the campaign against the Crabfeeder,” Corlys recalled, a hint of nostalgia coming to him.

“For practically three years that’s one of the islands where we lived as we waged war on Drahar, pushing his forces back island by island until it was just us over there and him over here,” Daemon recounted.

While Corlys did feel an enjoyable sense of memory, he forced himself to remain angry with Daemon, not willing to cast aside his accusations of Laenor’s death over reminiscence for old war stories.

“What of it?” Corlys asked bitterly.

Daemon’s eyes remained fixed on Dwarfstone.

“When you decided to bring Laenor with us to the Stepstones, I was very dismissive if you’ll recall. He was but a boy, his dragon a young adult, both he and Seasmoke were green and untested in battle. Then as the only other dragonrider in our host, you made him my squire and put the responsibility of training Laenor and Seasmoke upon myself and Caraxes. At first, it was an annoyance, being forced to play wartime nurse-maid to my cousin’s son, but soon… well, soon I began to like the lad. He was a good squire, knew when to serve me and when to piss off, he heeded my instructions on how to command Seasmoke in battle and he was becoming a fine warrior. I knighted him myself with Dark Sister when we took Grey Gallows, remember?” Daemon asked, glancing back from the island to Corlys.

The Sea Snake averted his gaze, his heart heavy as he thought back at how greatly his son smiled when he felt the valyrian steel of Dark Sister upon his shoulders.

“Laenor was a good man and a fine knight. I trusted him. More than that, through Rhaenys he was my own blood and more kin to me than those Hightower runts that disgrace my brother’s line. Through Laena he was my good brother and the uncle to my girls. No Corlys… no, Rhaenyra and I did not plot to murder him. You knew who Laenor was, you remember the way he was with Lonmouth back on Dwarfstone, you’ve seen your grandsons with your own eyes—”

“Daemon,” Corlys said sternly, his tone warning Daemon of the lines he was about to cross.

The Prince took a sighing breath and continued.

“The point I am trying to make is… Laenor and Rhaenyra loved one another, but not in the conventional way a husband and wife love each other. On the other hand… Rhaenyra and I did love one another in that way. When Laenor died, Rhaenyra mourned him, but she knew the Greens were circling her and that without Laenor, she said she needed me by her side. So we wed and wed quickly, that is all,” Daemon explained.

A convincing and yet convenient story in Corlys’s ears, but still the more Daemon spoke the more truthful his words felt.

“Will you swear it, then? Swear that you did not conspire to have my son killed?” Corlys challenged, a final obstacle before the Sea Snake made his judgement.

Daemon exhaled, his eyes locked with Corlys and unceasing confidence in them.

Daemon then pulled Dark Sister from his belt, still in its scabbard and held it with both hands before Corlys.

“I swear before the Old Gods and the New, I swear with the Fourteen Flames as my witness. I swear upon Dark Sister, I swear upon the memory of my father Baelon the Brave who wielded the blade before me and upon the memory of my grandfather Jaehaerys the Consiliator who gifted the blade to me. I swear upon the memory of my mother and grandmother. I swear upon the memory of Laena whom I loved. I swear upon my sons and daughters and I swear upon the memory of my unborn child by Laena and my stillborn daughter, Visenya, by Rhaenyra. I. Did not. Conspire. To kill. Laenor.”

Corlys looked for a moment at Dark Sister, clasped between Daemon’s hands, one of his most prized possessions and then he looked up to Daemon’s eyes, still as confident and as serious as before with no hint of deception in them.

Even though Corlys still had an irking feeling that there was some piece of Laenor’s murder that was missing, he now knew in his heart of hearts that Daemon and Rhaenyra had not murdered his son.

Now feeling as though he could breathe once more, Corlys huffed out an exhausted breath as though a great weight had been lifted from his back and he rested his hand upon Daemon’s shoulder, nodding his head in appreciation for taking the time to clear Corlys’s mind and grant him a modicum of closure.

“I appreciate the lengths I made you go to to for this, Daemon,” Corlys said kindly.

Daemon shrugged as he put his sword and scabbard back into his belt loop.

“Truth be told, Corlys, your just about the only true friend I have after all these years. I can’t really afford to lose you as an ally,” Daemon explained, extracting a laugh from Corlys.

Just then the roar of dragons overhead caught their attention as Seasmoke, Sheepstealer and the newly saddled Grey Ghost flew overhead carrying their riders through the sky.

“Where are those three coming from?” Corlys asked.

“It’s the first time all three of them have been together with each having their own dragons. Just a recreational fight about the islands,” Daemon explained as the two men watched the young dragonseeds from Hull fly about in the sky.

When next the pair looked down to the beach they noticed that the dingies of the two ships from Tyrosh and Myr were beached on the shore, meaning that the leaders from the new recruits were presumably within Bloodstone castle, at present.

With no wish to encounter Racalio Ryndoon yet and Daemon wishing to avoid any form of court pleasantries, the two old friends decided to reminisce about their exploits during the first campaign against the Triarchy. The pair walking along the cliffs as they recalled their adventurous battle at Torturer’s Deep.

Chapter 28: Lys the Lovely

Chapter Text

After meeting with her new vassals from Myr and Tyrosh and a night’s rest, the fleet made ready to depart the Stepstones at long last and sailed out with eleven dragons leading one hundred and ninety ships onward southeast towards Lys.

By the time the fleet reached Lys the Lovely, the sky was gold and pink with the setting of the sun and the island paradise was illuminated by radiant sunlight, Lys was a beautiful sunny fertile island, teeming with palm and fruit trees. The Dragons flew on ahead of the ships as the island got closer.

When they first came up on the island they were greeted by a fleet of Lyseni war galleys striped with bright hues. Almost a hundred ships by the look of it all gathered together which made Rhaenyra worried, especially with their own fleet set to arrive, but Rhaenyra saw no signs of combat readiness on the ships and would not attack them blindly.

As Rhaenyra flew over the city atop Syrax, she could see the beautiful architecture, bright pale stone buildings with columns, alcoves and many bridges and aqueducts running through the city. Similar to Braavos in a sense but far more paradisical and clean, in a manner of speaking.

Founded as a wealthy trading colony by the Valyrian Freehold, the city of Lys was often treated by the rich and powerful houses of Valyria as a summer retreat to be visited.

As the eleven dragonriders flew over the city, with Vermithor and Silverwing in toe behind them, Rhaenyra could see great crowds amassed in the streets of the city, great mobs that spanned all across the island in fact and from what the Princess could see and hear… they were cheering.

While their fleet had been warmly welcomed in Braavos, such a greeting paled in comparison to the parade that seemed to be held in their honour as the dragonriders circled above the island. Rhaenyra could even hear buisines blasting and see confetti being cast from the windows of the buildings.

Of the three Triarchy cities, Lys was the only one to accept the Targaryen fleet into its ports, most among Rhaenyra’s council had surmised as much because of how thickly the Old Blood of Valyria coursed through the veins of the Lyseni nobility, with many of their silver-haired highborns proudly displaying their valyrian heritage. The same could be said of the Tigers of Volantis who also held their Valyrian heritage in the highest regard.

It was the strength of the old blood and the pride in the Freehold that Lys and Volantis held so strongly that made Rhaenyra’s supporters so certain that the two cities would be so lucrative in their vying for allies. Lord Bartimos Celtigar, who was also of the Old Blood, had boldly claimed that Rhaenyra would receive more pledges from Lys and Volantis than what they were able to gain from Braavos, Pentos, Myr and Tyrosh combined, but Rhaenyra questioned the validity of such a declaration.

The children and the dragonseeds seemed to be enjoying the praise and adoration that the Lysenei were offering, swooping low and twirling through the air to spur on the cheers and excitement, but soon the six dragons returned to join Rhaenyra, Daemon and Rhaenys.

The dragons landed on a farming island south of the city island upon which Lys was situated. The dragons landed on the far east on the island away from most of the farms and villages on the island, as per the Magisters' instructions when they sent their invitation to the island.

When the fleet arrived, the Dragonkeepers would establish themselves and the warming chambers for the eggs on the island’s eastern hook, similar to how things had been in Braavos.

When Rhaenyra and Syrax came up on the beach, the Princess saw a gilded pleasure barge with a canopy over the back half of it, beached along the shore, with two men armed with bannered spears, a group of rowers and another individual standing on the shore.

As the eleven dragons descended down to the beaches of the Lysenei farming island, Vermithor and Silverwing settled in the dunes not far from the shore where the barge was beached.

As Syrax flapped her wings rapidly in her descent, the great gilded dragon dropped down onto the sand of the beach, landing with a great thud that startled the nearby men from the barge who awaited them.

“Gevi, Syraks,” Rhaenyra said affectionately to her companion as she stroked her hand along the dragon’s scaly back.

Caraxes and Meleys descended down and landed on the grassy hill overlooking the beach, followed by Moondancer, Sheepstealer, Arrax, Grey Ghost, Vermax and Seasmoke.

When all the dragons were firmly landed along the shore of the island, Rhaenyra dismounted from Syrax’s saddle and slid down her side onto the beach.

With her feet firmly planted on land, Rhaenyra walked along Syrax’s side, stroking her gloved hand along her dragon’s neck affectionately as she softly shushed the purring dragon.

One of the benefits of all the travelling they had been doing over the months since Rhaenyra renounced her claim to the Iron Throne was the amount of time she got to spend with Syrax in the sky, much as she did when she was younger.

When Rhaenyra left Syrax, she walked down towards the shore where a well-dressed man stood flanked by a pair of lyseni soldiers carrying the bannered spears of their city, fluttering in the wind with the Weeping Lady of Lys depicted naked upon the banner as she was on the coinage of the city.

“Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen,” the well-dressed man said, bowing his head low with his arms spread out.

Once again, the distinction between Rhaenyra’s status as a queen or a princess had become muddled and blurred. A confusing and contradictory situation since last she left King’s Landing. Rhaenyra had decided to avoid claiming the title of Queen until she was beyond the Narrow Sea, lest the Greens take her use of the title as a threat to their dominion and provoke war, but now they were beyond the Narrow Sea and no longer needed to fear the Greens’ paranoias.

Yet still, Rhaenyra had not yet decided when she would resume the style of Queenship. It was not some trivial thing that could be done so easily, it was a declaration of power and status and the establishment of a dynasty that did not yet exist in a land that they did not yet rule. Perhaps she would reserve her coronation for her landing in Valyria, or perhaps wait until she ruled Valyria when it was untied. Mayhaps she would have two coronations, one in Lys or Volantis and one in Valyria. Aegon the Conqueror had two coronations, the first at the beginning of his conquest and one at Oldtown in the Starry Sept at the end of it.

But for now, Rhaenyra was in a strange place of status, both Queen but also not Queen and now was not the time to settle the matter so she just allowed the man to call her whatever title he pleased.

The other dragonriders had left their dragons along the beach and were walking forth to join Rhaenyra along the shore as she spoke to the well-dressed man.

“Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Nyessor Mopiros, ambassador to the illustrious Conclave of Thirteen and herald of Lys the Lovely.”

He was a well-spoken and fanciful man, dressed in bright colours and a golden medallion of status around his neck but what struck Rhaenyra about him was his silver hair, the kind that Rhaenyra usually only saw upon the heads of Targaryens, Velaryons and Celtigars.

More than anywhere else in the known world, the blood of Old Valyria still ran strong in the Lyseni, who are regarded as beautiful. Even the smallfolk in Lys had traces of valyrian features.

Back in Braavos, when they first received replies to their letters sent to the three cities of the Triarchy, Lys was the only one to openly evite their entire fleet to stay in their city and the Old Blood was porbably the reason for it. All the Free Cities, save for perhaps Braavos, idolised the Valyrian Freehold and the pride the Lyseni took in their bloodlines made their fanaticism for Old Valyria all the more grandiose.

While the Lyseni had openly warred against the Targaryens and the Seven Kingdoms for many years as part of the Triarchy, they could not turn down the prospect of being part of the rejuvenation of Valyria, hence such an open and hospitable welcome from the city.

“On behalf of his eminence, First Magister Lysandro Rogare, and the entirety of the City, allow me to welcome you, your family, your household and your magnificent dragons to Lys the Lovely,” the ambassador said graciously.

With Rhaenyra’s dragonriders catching up with her and forming behind her, she smiled to her host respectfully.

“We are happy to be received by you, Ambassador. And may I say that the city of Lys exceeds its reputation of divine beauty in all forms? Your people have truly crafted a paradisiacal abode here,” said Rhaenyra.

A few paces behind Rhaenyra on her right she could hear a disrespectful snort, undoubtedly originating from Daemon.

“We especially liked the fleet of war galleys formed off your northern coast. Is that standard practice for greeting guests, or should our fleet have something to fear when they arrive?” Daemon asked with cold suspicion in his tone.

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra uttered in a reprimanding tone, but the Ambassador seemed in no way offended by Daemon’s words.

“Forgive us, my Prince. Our intention was not to offend or threaten our gracious guests. Our fleet is amassing in preparation for departure, not maritime defence of the city. With the remainder of the Velaryon fleet in the Stepstones departing to join Your Grace’s voyage — a thousand gratitudes for abdicating the islands to us, by the way — the Triarchy has elected to take immediate action and secure the archipelago once again for ourselves. With Captain-General Ryndoon’s resignation as well as several of the corsair ships under his command — of which we hold no grudge against the mighty house of Targaryen for, of course — Admiral Sharako Lohar is being dispatched to spearhead the campaign with ships from Myr and Tyrosh converging to join her there. We feared if you spotted our war galleys on the open sea, you might see it as an attack and so the Gonfaloniere and Admiral Lohar decided to await the arrival and docking of your fleet before our ships set out,” the Ambassador explained.

“Understandable on all accounts, Ambassador. Apologies if our fleet’s travels has inconvenienced your city,” Rhaenyra said humbly.

“Not at all, your Grace. Please, follow us so that we might escort you to the city,” the Ambassador said, gesturing to the barge.

“Of course,” Rhaenyra said, taking the first steps to follow the Ambassador, but a voice interjected, stopping Rhaenyra in her stride.

“Not so fast,” Daemon uttered causing Rhaneyra to turn around and see him standing sternly with his hands rested over Dark Sister.

“You think us foolish enough to leave our dragons on an island isolated from us while our fleet sails into the jaws of an armada of Lyseni warships?” the Rogue Prince asked.

“Daemon that is quite enough! You are embarrassing us all,” Rhaenyra said angrily but quietly, taking two steps towards her husband.

“I assure you Prince Daemon, we wish no ill will upon you or your fleet,” said the Ambassador but Daemon did not seem convinced.

“Then you will not object to me staying behind on this island with my dragon… until such time as our fleet arrives and yours departs,” said Daemon with cold accusation clear in his voice.

The Ambassador bowed his head once more.

“Of course not, my Prince. You are our honoured guest and may use our hospitality in any way you see fit. Would you like us to send the barge back with any refreshments or comforts after we have ferried the Queen and her party to the city?” the Ambassador asked.

“That will not be necessary. I shall await until the Dragonkeepers arrive with their ship and begin setting up their hatcheries, then I will know that our fleet has been allowed to dock without incident. Once that is settled, I will join you in the city,” Daemon declared.

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes and scoffed at her husband’s paranoid antics, paying no heed to how it might insult their hosts but knew better than to argue with him, especially in a public setting. If nothing else, at least Daemon’s vigilant awaiting for a Lyseni attack that would not come would keep him occupied and away from the Lyseni conclave that he might insult if he were to accompany them.

Rhaenyra momentarily pondered asking one of her dragonriders to stay behind to watch Daemon in case he started trouble while unsupervised, but she would not punish any of her dragonriders in such a way and it was not as though Daemon would listen to anyone she left behind. Instead, Rhaenyra could only cast the dice and hope her husband would behave himself until the fleet arrived.

While Daemon left them to find a spot along the beach among the dragons overlooking the city, Rhaenyra and the rest followed the Ambassador and his guards to the barge as the crewmen stood at attention, two of them climbing onto the barge and putting a step ladder down for the dragonriders to climb up.

Towards the stern of the ship was a seating area filled with silk blankets and pillows and a tall canopy over the top to shield them from the sun.

The dragonriders all slipped into the cushioned seating area of the barge facing one another, joined by the ambassador while the guards stood at attention outside of the canopy.

The sailors then stood in the shallows of the beach and pushed the barge out into the open water, before pulling themselves up onto the boat and sliding into their seats facing one another, letting out the oars and beginning to row.

As they rowed closer and closer to the island, the beauty of the city became more apparent with tall domed towers behind the tall pale stone walls that curtained the island.

Soon enough, they arrived at a stone dock with Lyseni twin banners at the end and a number of men standing around a line of litters along the dock.

When the pleasure barge came alongside the dock, one of the rowers hopped off the ship to the dock and tied the ship up.

When that was done, the dragonriders disembarked and were guided over to the litters where the Ambassador welcomed them to step inside, declaring that they would take them to the palace.

Rhaenyra and the others were at first flattered by such treatment but their smiles melted off their faces and all became sullen and uncomfortable when they noticed the men meant to carry them to the palace in greater detail. All of them were dressed in simple uniformed clothes, including slave collars around their necks.

Rhaenyra had heard from Jace, Baela, Luke and Addam of the stomach-turning experiences of witnessing slaves in Tyrosh and Myr, now Rhaenyra would witness such barbarity herself.

Rhaenyra knew from the day she first returned to Dragonstone and began plotting her exodus to Valyria that the prospect of accepting hospitality from slave cities would be a likely event to come, but still she felt completely wrong for being there.

She had personally gone down to the islands and met the bought and liberated slaves that had come from Myr and Tyrosh, such devotion and gratitude from the unshackled masses, treating Rhaernyra as she was some sort of a goddess as they reached out to touch the fringes of her garments, thanking her for soliciting their freedom.

The household slaves were liberated by the Myrish and Tyroshi nobles whom had pledged to her or those who had been bought and emancipated using prophets from the nobles selling off their properties in the cities.

While Rhaenyra could say with certainty that slavery would never exist in her new Valyria, she was a guest of the city of Lys and had to stomach their customs even if she didn’t respect them, but that still felt like a betrayal of her beliefs.

Rhaenyra looked to her dragonriders and saw the disgust and horror in their eyes.

Rhaenyra then turned to the Ambassador.

“Actually, Ambassador, we would prefer to walk if it’s all the same to you,” said Rhaenyra, hoping to at least avoid the disgrace of exploiting slavery.

Ambassador Nyessorn glanced to the slaves and back to Rhaenyra, the shift in expression on his face suggesting he understood her grievance against the litters.

“Of course… forgive me, your Grace. I did not think to account for your… Andal customs,” the Ambassador replied.
Nyessorn then clapped his hands together and commanded the guards to dismiss the slaves and to find free men from the crowds to volunteer to take the dragonriders to the palace.

Rhaenyra did not know if that was better but at least she would not be carried to her destination on the broken backs of slaves.

The slaves were then ushered off, mostly likely to do other labours for their masters while free men volunteered to carry the dragonriders through the cities, but that changed nothing, those slaves would still remain slaves, Rhaenyra had changed nothing, just made it so she would not have to see the abuse of human life in front of her.

Soon a group of men came down to the docks, some silver-haired, some plain, all of them bowing and greeting the dragonriders with reverence like the adoring crowds of small folk when Rhaenyra used to be carted through town streets on royal tours, but the guards kept them from approaching Rhaenyra and other others.

The free commoners then went to their positions at the litters and waited for the Targaryen guests to enter.

Rhaenyra then climbed inside the litter onto a cushioned chair with drawn-back silk drapes hanging from the windows.

Once all the dragonriders and the Ambassador were inside the litters, they were lifted up and carried forward from the docks into the city within the walls.

Banner bearers, drummers and buisine players proceeded them as they were carried through the streets and inside, they found adoring crowds lining the streets and windows of the buildings gathered to greet them.

Confetti and flower petals showered down on them as thousands of men, women and little children with a mixture of silver hair and common hair cheered and cried out to them with Lyseni guards on either side of the street.

A strange twist of fate, in Rhaenyra’s mind. As rulers of the Seven Kingdoms, the dragon-riding Targaryens were the enemy of the Lyseni, but as nomadic travellers on a quest to restore Valyria, they were hailed as heroes and welcomed into the city.

Rhaenyra could hear the chants and praises of the crowds, some spoken in the common tongue others in the corrupted High Valyrian spoken in Lys.

Blessings upon the dragon Queen. Praise be to the redeemer of the Freehold.

It seemed that their predictions of finding a stronger influx of allies in Lys and Volantis due to their valyrian blood were to be fruitful, so long as they were willing to part ways with their slave-mongering habits.

The procession through the city lasted perhaps half an hour as they were carried through the city to the Palace of Lys.

Similar to the palaces of the Sealord in Braavos or the Archon Tyrosh or the Prince in Pentos, the Palace of Lys was the residential area for the First Magister as well as the meeting place for the Conclave of Thirteen with the other noble Magisters dwelling in their own family manses around the city.

The palace was on the tallest hill of the city surrounded by high walls guarded by soldiers on either side of the gate. As the gates opened at their aproach and the litters were carried into the palace, leaving the cheering crowds behind as the gates closed behind them.

Inside the tall walls of the palace was a majestic sight, palm trees, bushes, shrubs, a fountain pond and hanging gardens from the beautiful and ornate palace.

The litters were ordered to be set down and the free citizens who had carried them all the way from the docks were led back to the gates by the guards and ushered out, wide smiles as they looked around the palace on their way out.

Upon leaving the confines of their litters, the Dragon riders stretched their legs and arched their backs to limber themselves up after such a long period of being cooped up.

A slave servant came up to the Ambassador as he exited his litter and the slave whispered something in his ear.

The Ambassador nodded and dismissed the slave before walking over to Rhaenyra.

“Good news, Your Grace. Your fleet is in sight of the city and will be docking soon,” said the Ambassador with a smile.

“Very good. Thank you for telling me,” Rhaenyra replied cordially.

The Ambassador then led Rhaenyra and her dragonriders into the palace and through the guady and decorative halls to a large hall with six ornate golden thrones on each side and one at the end of the chamber making thirteen in all.

Each seat was occupied by a well dressed and rich silver haired man, all rich in attire and the features of old Valyria.

A herald standing at the door then spoke up when the dragon riders entered the chamber.

“Presenting! Her Grace, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Queen of the Valyrians!”

Queen of the Valyrians? Rhaneyra pondered. She had never addressed herself in such a style, but perhaps the Lyseni concocted it to make her feel supported or just didn’t know what else to call her.

Rhaenyra walked slowly to the end of the hall with her dragon riders behind her where Ambassador Nyessor introduced them to the man sitting on the thirteenth seat.

“Your Grace, allow me to introduce you to our illustrious First Magister, Lysandro Rogare.”

Lord Lysandro was a handsome silver-haired man, roughly around Rhaenyra’s age. He had a full beard and neck-length valyrian hair. He seemed the youngest man in the chamber with most of the Magisters sitting in the other twelve thrones. He wore black and gold garments with a four-pointed star within a sunburst marked on his clothing, perhaps his family sigil.

“Welcome, Your Grace. Our beloved Lys the Lovely has long carried the memory and blood of Old Valyria but it has been far too long since last we were blessed with dragons and dragonrlords amongst us. I trust your journey through the Free Cities these past months has been agreeable to you,” the First Magister said in an elegant and calming voice.

“The seas and the Free Cities have been kind, my Lord,” Rhaenyra replied.

“Well I can promise you that you will continue to find such kindness so long as you decide to dwell here in Lys,” the First Magister promised.

“And we are very grateful for your hospitality my Lord and I assure you and your fellow Magisters that we will not burden you with our stay for very long. We humbly request no more than a fortnight before departing for Volantis,” Rhaenyra declared.

“A fortnight? After such a long and tiresome journey down the Narrow Sea? Your Grace, allow me to extend a month at the very least. Your long wondering voyage has earned a measure of reprieve and many here in Lys are already enraptured by the prospect of joining you. The prospect of being part of the restoration of Valyria has tantalised the minds of every citizen in this city with silver hair and many without. I would wager half the city will leave with you,” the First Magister joked.

“You honour us, my Lord. I suppose we will see how our stay unfolds,” Rhaenyra replied, not wishing to commit to anything yet.

Lord Lysandro then abruptly stood from his throne and spread out his arms.

“Come let me show you about the palace,” said Lysandro stepping down from his seat.

Soon the fleet would be docked and Daemon would be retrieved from his sulking seat on the island and they would all settle in to Lys, but what would become of their time in Lys the Lovely was yet to be determined.

Chapter 29: A Pledge of Loyalty

Chapter Text

The fifth day of their stay in Lys was coming to an end with the sun having set in the west and supper having come and gone. Only five days and the Targaryens had been hard at work to garner support for their quest. Daily they would send criers and heralds from their fleet into the city to announce their quest of reclamation to the silver-haired masses of Lys.

When Rhaenyra had first entered the city upon a carried litter, she thought that the entire city might want to pack up and join them in their new Valyria, but such expectations were quickly dashed within her first few days there.

While most of the city had gathered in the streets to welcome the Targaryens to Lys, not all of them wished to join them. Early reports from the heralds and from Mysaria’s observers suggested that two-thirds of the city had been so welcoming to the Targaryens for want of making the new Valyrians their allies without joining them or wishing to not incur their wrath by playing the part of doting hosts or they simply admired the dragons due to Lys’s history as a shining gem within the Freehold’s dominion. Then the third of the city’s free population that wished to sincerely join them was cut down even further by the revelation of the New Valyrians' strict rejection of slavery.

Still, there were those of the Old Blood who had already enthusiastically aligned with their fleet regardless of their outlawing of slavery. The combined number of men, women and children they had recruited in just five days already sat at two hundred with more undoubtedly to come as their stay in Lys continued.

While their heralds and criers standing upon the street corners tried to lure the smallfolk masses as they had done in Braavos, the highborns concerned themselves with winning sponsors and allies among the highborns.

Already they had attended a slew of lunches, parties and soirees to look for prospective allies, probing those of the old blood with strong historical ties to the Freehold, prompting them the prospects of higher positions in the new regime, but much like the smallfolk, their attachment to slavery, the bad blood that followed from the wars in the Stepstones and the general fear of being killed by the Doom, averted many from siding with them.

Many of Rhaenyra’s nobles, including her new allies from Braavos, Pentos, Tyrosh and Myr tried their hands at winning people over. Racalio Ryndoon, one of the most peculiar men Rhaernyra had ever met, also claimed to do his part to gain allies. Ryndoon decided to do this by taking Mushroom, with whom he had quickly become bosom friends since their first meeting on Bloodstone almost a week ago, and joining with many of Ryndoon’s triarchy friends from Lys in a prominent pillow house for a festive orgy, through it had not come of any productivity to Rhaenyra’s knowledge and truly she did not want to know.

One of Rhaenyra’s most unexpectedly insightful and helpful allies in soliciting recruits was the First Magister Lydandro Rogare. The most peculiar of occurrences since as the elected leader of Lys, the allies that he helped Rhaenyra court to her side would subtract from his own people. The First Magister had strangely been nothing but accommodating and helpful in every sense, more than was expected of him and more than the Sealord of Braavos even.

A strange mystery that Rhaenyra had not yet unravelled.

After having supped with one of the families suggested to Rhaenyra by the First Magister, Rhaenyra retired to a solar afforded to her while Daemon had already drunkenly retired to their bed chamber.

There in the chamber, Rhaenyra sat by the hearth in a comfortable armchair across from Mysaria whom she had summoned to speak with while they were being tended to by Elinda, Dyana and a girl named Jeyne, who was among the survivors of Mysaria’s network and now served as her own handmaiden within the Targaryen household.

“And what of House Orthys? Would they be suitable recruits?” Rhaenyra asked, probing the advice of her White Worm on what houses were best to solicit aid from, but Mysaria shook her head in response to Rhaenyra’s proposition.

“The Orthys are rich in the old blood, but their history suggests they would not make for good allies. Following the Doom, the Orthys were prominent conspirators in the plot to kill the dragons and dragonlords sojourning here in Lys at the time. For generations, the Orthys have bragged their might as dragonslayers and as I understand it, my spies also tell me the current Lord Orthy lost three brothers, a son and four nephews in the Stepstones against Daemon and the Sea Snake,” Mysaria explained.

In Lys, Mysaria’s intelligence had been just as valuable as it had been in Braavos and she had earned her keep, becoming one of Rhaenyra’s most essential advisors, second perhaps only to the Princess Rhaenys and the Sea Snake.

“I fear that old traditions of slave-mongering will strangle our efforts to curry favour with the Lyseni and the Volantine, no matter how silver their hair might be. It is the Freehold they want, not this new regime we intend to fashion in Valyria,” Rhaenyra said glumly, facing the difficulties of growing her new kingdom, or ‘queendom’, or whatever her domain in Valyria will end up being called.

Mysaria took a sip from her goblet of wine and then set it down, seeming to be gathering courage for something.

“If I may, my Princess, I would like to offer my insights and possible solutions for our dilemma,” Mysaria began awaiting Rhaenyra to give her permission to continue.

“Please, share,” Rhaenyra welcomed, curious of what the White Worm had to say.

“The way I see it, since you first sacrificed your claim to your father’s throne, your focus has been to unite a great following that you might lead to Valyria to help you rebuild the continent into a united domain,” Mysaria recounted.

“Yes, of course,” Rhaenyra said with a nod.

“Well then, my Princess; as I see it, you already have plenty of nobles at your command. Lords and knights from Westeros, highborns from Braavos, Pentos, Tyrosh and Myr and their families too… but what you truly are in need of are the masses. These lords, knights, Maesters, Captains and rich men you have recruited will be valuable in the coming Valyria, but leaders are useless without followers. With every household that has followed their lord and every commoner that has left their home to join with you, they are what you are most in need of. To properly populate Valyria you need farmers, cobblers, builders, sailors, fishermen, blacksmiths, cooks, apothecaries and the like. The city of King’s Landing alone is said to be populated by the sum of your followers twenty-fivefold. You need people more than you need nobles,” Mysaria explained.

Rhaenyra nodded her head, agreeing with everything the White Worm had to say.

“Agreed. But our heralds are doing all they can to win the Lyseni smallfolk over, I know not what else they can do,” said Princess.

“There are other ways to gain followers here in Lys… by purchasing them.”

Rhaenyra was stunned by Mysaria’s declaration with Elinda, Dyana and Jeyne all stopping what they were doing and looking in horror at Mysaria.

“Slaves?” Rhaenyra wondered aloud, not sure where Mysaria was going with her words.

“While they are property of the Lyseni, yes they are slaves; but when purchased and emancipated by you, they will see you as a saviour and gravitate towards you and loyally serve you in Valyria,” Mysaria explained.

Rhaenyra pondered Mysaria’s words, the prospect of liberating slaves greatly appealing to her, like a way to wash off the grit and grime of hypocrisy she felt swamped in since arriving in Lys, turning her cheek to the countless slaves that filled the city, but while the principles of the suggestion were sound, the logistics of it raised some doubts she could not overlook.

“I would very much like to free all the slaves on this island and bring them with us… but I fear that the number of slaves we will be able to emancipate might be somewhat underwhelming. For all the slaves we free we will also need to provide them provisions and lodgings and perhaps even buy more ships to carry them and our coffers are not infinite. The slaves freed and ferried to us by our recruits from Myr and Tyrosh used some of the wealth they built up by selling off their estates in the cities to do so. But rest assured you have been heeded and I will speak with my council about selling off some of the ornamentations, statues or treasures we’ve brought from Dragonstone to raise a fund to free, support and transport slaves,” Rhaenyra declared.

Mysaria nodded in acknowledgement and gratitude.

Rhaenyra understood why it was so important to her friend the White Worm that they help those in bondage find liberation and prosperity. In the recent days since arriving in Lys, Rhaenyra noted a more restless and agitated demeanour in Mysaria and when Rhaenyra asked her of it, she spoke of her grim past and how as a child, after being stolen from her homeland and made a slave, she spent many years in Lys as a slave in the pleasure houses before she escaped to Westeros.

Rhaenyra could only imagine how difficult it must have been for Mysaria to return to the island where she was once considered property, a place where she was used and raped day in and day out. The strength Mysaria showed for being able to brave the city with grace and a head held high was truly humbling to behold.

A sharp knock then came at the door, drawing Rhaenyra’s attention away from the hearth and the White Worm.

“Come,” Rhaenyra called out with the door opening and Ser Harrold stepping inside.

Behind Ser Harrold in the doorframe, Rhaenyra could see the First Magister Lysandro and behind him was what looked to be a giant dark pillar of armour at first, but Rhaenyra quickly recognised it as Lysandro’s family bodyguard, Sandoq the Shadow.

Two days earlier, Rhaenyra, her family and her dragonseeds had spent the day with the Rogare family, meeting his wife, brother and his nine children. During that day together, Rhaenyra also met Sandoq, an immensely tall man even greater in stature than Racallio Ryndoon, his dark skin covered in thin white scars and a hulking physique. From what was said of him, he had more scars on his face than anywhere else and had no lips or tongue making him a mute, but Rhaenyra could not confirm such things for his face was hidden beneath a lobster -tail helm with a tuft of black horse hair coming out of the top and a chainmail veil that covered his face. He was shirtless, save for a studded splint cuirass with a golden rondel marked with the Rogare family crest over his chest and spiked vambraces.

Mounted upon the giant’s back was a valyrian steel single-edged longsword with a black dragonbone hilt, a kingly gift of esteem and friendship from the wealthy Lord Lysandro.

Regardless of how menacing he appeared even the youngest of the Rogares seemed affectionate of him and comfortable in his presence, treating him as though he were a close and valued family friend.

“The First Magister Lysandro Rogare for you, my Princess,” Ser Harrold introduced.

During her conversation with Mysaria, Rhaenyra had almost forgotten she had invited Lord Lysandro to meet with her to discuss certain matters.

“Thank you for coming, Lord Lysandro,” Rhaenyra greeted as the First Magister entered the solar.

“Of course, Your Grace,” he replied with a gleeful tone as he bowed his head.

As Lord Lysandro entered the room, his shadow stepped forward into the door frame to follow him in, but Sandoq’s path was blocked by Ser Harrold, causing the giant and the former Kingsgaurd to stare down one another.

“It's alright, Sandoq. I highly doubt the Queen or her compatriots will cut my throat over this meeting,” Lysandro assured his bodyguard.

Rhaenyra then turned to her own companions.

“I would like to speak to the First Magister privately please,” she requested, looking to Mysaria, Elinda, Dyana and Jeyne.

Mysaria rose from her seat across the hearth from Rhaenyra while the three handmaidens curtsied to the Princess and then the four exited the chamber passing by Sandoq with Ser Harrold closing the door behind them, leaving Rhaenyra and Lysandro alone in the room together.

“Please,” Rhaenyra welcomed, motioning to the chair previously used by Mysaria, inviting her to sit across from her by the hearth.

Lysandro obligingly took his seat across from Rhaenyra, relaxing into the comfortable chair as Rhaenyra topped up her own goblet of wine and the one Mysaria had been using expecting the lord not to mind using it himself.

“Forgive Ser Harrold for barring your bodyguard from entering. He takes his duties as my protector very seriously and your man’s strength and stature unnerve him and his sworn brothers a bit,” said Rhaenyra, bringing a start to their conversation.

“I understand, Your Grace. Even I must admit he does carry a rather vicious look to him but make no mistake, Sandoq is no beast. He cannot speak, but he can hear and he obeys. He is brave, stalwart and gentle soul around gentle people, also a fine musician if you grant him a harp to play upon.”

“Is he your… slave?” Rhaenyra asked hesitantly, wishing to test the waters of what kind of a man Rogare was beneath his reputation as a shrewd banker and respected statesman. So far he had been open-handed and kind to the Targaryens beyond the call of graciousness but Rhaenyra wished to understand his ideologies in regards to the old traditions of Lys.

During the day the Targaryens spent with the Rogares, Lysandro was clearly in possession of slaves, but he and his family were an oddity for Rhaenyra had never heard of a slaver say please and thank you to their slaves and yet that was the edict that the Rogares spoke to their slaves in. Never speaking to them like property, never begrudging them when one accidentally knocked something, ever cruel or abusive, but a slaver was still a slaver.

When presented with the abrupt question, Lysandro shook his head.

“No, he is not, though he was born and raised a slave. He was once a pit fighter in Mareen and a champion with a hundred wins to his name. After he earned his freedom with the riches he won his owner, I offered him a place in my household and he has served as a faithful friend to me and all in my house.”

Rhaenyra nodded her head.

“It is good to surround yourself with people loyal to you… which is why I wanted to personally invite you here to thank you for the lengths you went to in securing alliances with House Pendaerys,” said Rhaenyra, showing genuine gratitude.

“It is my pleasure to aid you in your endeavours,” Lysandro replied, taking a swill of wine from the goblet with a smile.

Rhaenyra pondered his words for a moment.

“May I ask why?”

Lysandro seemed vexed by Rhaenyra’s question with his eyebrows furrowing.

“Your Grace?” he asked, seeking elaboration on her inquiry.

Rhaenyra thought for a moment, being careful about how she would construct her answer before speaking it.

“Since our arrival in this city, you have not only introduced us to many prominent nobles and wealthy families here in the city but also solicited and negotiated on our behalf, helping us to gain supporters and sponsors from here Lys… You are the First Magister of the city, the leader of the Conclave and of Lys itself. In such a time of uncertainty, with you and your allies launching yet another incursion into the Stepstones to secure them for the Triarchy, with one of your Captain-Generals and a handful of citizens from Myr and Tyrosh, I cannot see your logic in giving us such aid at your own expense. Why readily encourage your own lords and citizens to join us at a time when you need unity? Why pull the stones from beneath your feet to prop me up and leave you in a pit of your own creation?” Rhaenyra asked.

Lysandro smiled to himself, not just a smile of amusem*nt at Rhaenyra’s words but also what she sensed was a smug grin of self-pride.

The First Magister then took another swill of wine from his goblet before speaking.

“You are correct since you first sent word asking for safe anchorage here in Lys, I knew that those of the Old Blood would get into a scuffle and start choosing sides, either stay here in the city or follow you east towards Valyria and so I resolved that when you came I would make sure to have as many Lyseni as I could muster be on the same side as my family and I when all the dust settles,” Lysandro explained.

Rogare’s words only further vexed Rhaenyra.

“Then if your goal is to keep the Lyseni with you, then why drive them to my side rather then keep them here in Lys?” Rhaenyra asked.

Lysandro’s smile only got wider.

“What makes you think that when you leave Lys, I will be staying behind on this island?” he asked.

Now Rhaenyra was completely confused. She had aspired to recruit allies from Lys just as she had all the other Free Cities, but she did not account for the prospect of recruiting the First Magister of Lys without prompt, let alone the most wealthy and powerful banker on the island.

“You wish to abandon Lys and join us?” Rhaenyra asked in shock.

Rogare shrugged as though it were obvious.

“But— your the First Magistrate, the leader of the city. You mean to take your family, your wealth, your household and jump ship?”

“A sinking ship, Your Grace. The Triarchy will collapse sooner or later and return to wanton violence, I want my family safe from that coming calamity,” Lysandro explained.

“Your about to resecure the Stepstones,” Rhaenyra reminded him.

“And we’ll lose it again soon enough. We have spies and informants in Westeros, Your Grace, and your brothers have been busy as of late. The Prince Aemond has been sighted on Driftmark treating with the New Lord Daemion Velaryon who has been hard at work rebuilding the Velaryon fleet, supplementing the ships Lord Corlys took with Pentoshi and Braavosi sell sails. Meanwhile the Westerlands and the Reach are rallying levies at Lannisport and Oldtown where their fleets are amassing. Ships from Tarth, Estermont and the Arbor are also amassing. Your brothers Aemond and Daeron are preparing a pincer campaign on the Stepstones to snatch the islands from the Triarchy once and for all. Daeron will bring the larger fleet and Aemond will bring the larger dragon and the Triarchy will be f*cked from both angles.”

Rhaenyra had heard scarcely a word from the Seven Kingdoms or the Greens and their plotting since she had departed dragonstone, paying no heed to what they were doing with her father’s domain.

Now Rhaenyra understood why Lord Lysandro wished to join her, but she still had more inquires to make.

Rhaenyra furrowed her eyebrows.

“Very well… But you would do well to know that I will make no exceptions when it comes to the outlaw of slavery,” Rhaenyra asserted just as she had to every other former slaver whom had joined her ranks.

“Do you think me a cruel and malicious slaver? Has the way I’ve treated those under my charge displeased you?” Lysandro asked, leaning back in his chair.

“You have indeed been kinder and more respectful than any slaver I have ever heard of, but a slaver is a slaver,” Rhaenyra replied, challenging Lysandro’s justifications.

Rogare bobbed his head from side to side.

“Be that as it may, Lys is Lys. Slavery has been a part of this island since the first Dragonlords came here. The slaves of this city outnumber the freeborn three to one, have you noticed we have no vagrants, no beggers, no orphanages and no vagabonds in this paradisical island city? Those who do not belong anywhere belong to the rich. If I emancipated my slaves, they would be homeless beggars, swept up and returned to bondage to be sold to new masters. At least as my property, the slaves in my household are given a chance to prosper under the fair treatment of my household,” Lysandro explained.

Rhaenyra did not know why, but she felt the need to continue challenging him. Perhaps she still felt guilt for turning the other cheek to all the slavery in the city and wished to vent her rage upon another.

“My father once told me that the idea of a happy slave is a myth crafted by slavers too kind to abuse and too smart to ignore the immorality of their vice but too weak to sacrifice comfort and power for morals. He told me that no one can ever truly be happy when they are someone’s property, no matter how kind and accommodating their owner may be,” Rhaenyra responded.

“Be that as it may, a kind and respectful master is the best I can offer my slaves here in Lys, but in Valyria with you, I can offer them freedom,” Lysandro declared leaning in.

So far the soon-to-be former first magister had thoroughly impressed her with everything he had said.

“So escaping the collapse of the Triarchy and freeing the slaves in your household, those are your two motivations in joining me?” Rhaenyra mused aloud.

Lysandro took another sip from his goblet.

“They are additional reasons, but not the main one.”

“Go on,” Rhaenyra prompted him, wishing to understand his meaning.

Lysandro then leaned in and took a deep breath.

“You, the Targaryens, you are the main reason I wish to go to Valyria. Yours is a family unlike any other… look at what you have done, what you can do, you have changed the world time and time again. Aegon had an island and three dragons and he used them to take a continent. Jaehaerys had a continent and he used it to create a golden age of peace that outlives him to this very day. A Targaryen is a natural-born force multiplier by any measurement. You have twenty thousand followers, thirteen dragons and an unclaimed continent of untold magic and treasure awaiting your arrival. I became what I am because of my skills, my father’s skills and his father’s father’s skills as bankers and a good banker knows a good investment when he sees it,” Lysandro explained.

“You seem to have a lot of faith in Targaryens,” Rhaenyra noted, flattered by his words.

Lysandro smiled in response.

“It’s not just Targaryens… Its dragonlords in general. Look at what happened after the Doom, my ancestors and all the other families here in Lys, slit the throats of the Dragonlords on this island and slaughtered the dragons here all so that they could be beholden to no one and revel in supreme power, but imagine what Lys could have risen to if we had been led by dragonlords? Our dominion might span from here to Braavos by now, but my ancestors killed them and now we’ll never know. I will not make the same mistake with you,” Lysandro declared.

“That is quite a great deal of pressure to place on me as your Queen,” Rhaenyra jested as she sipped from her goblet.

“Queen? I don’t see you as a Queen,” Lysandro said abruptly, one again flummoxing Rhaenyra.

“Have you ever heard of Aurion Varezys, Your Grace?” he asked.

The dragonlord who tried to reclaim Valyria right after the doom and perished, the sorcerer revealing to Rhaenyra in her dreams that his dragon survived and was killed while wounding Balerion during his time in Valyria with Princess Aera.

“I know his story, yes,” Rhaenyra responded.

“I used to always be fascinated by that story, not because of what happened, but what could have happened if he had succeeded. A dragonlord and his army march back to the Freehold to reclaim Valyria and calling himself Emperor. I always found myself imagining what kind of Empire he would have brought forth had he lived, a regime mightier than Jaehaerys’s golden age or the Empire of the Dawn. Now I see my childhood fantasies of an unrivalled empire made real in you. I look upon you and I do not see a Queen, an investment or the Freehold restored. I see an empire in you… an empire forged in fire and blood,” Lysandro declared.

Rhaenyra thought on her newly self-appointed vassal for a pause before thanking him for his time and his pledge of loyalty and dismissing him for the night.

Rhaenyra remained in the solar for a little while longer after Lord Lysandro departed until Dyana and Elinda came back to fetch her for bed as the hours grew later.

Before leaving the chamber, Rhaenyra requested that Elinda arrange a meeting the following day between her and Princess Rhaenys.

Rhaenyra would need the Princess’s advice and counsel on certain matters pertaining to something that Rhaenyra had postponed for long enough for fear of how the Greens might respond to it, but now that she was beyond the Narrow Sea she need not falter in fear any longer. It was time Rhaenyra properly united her people under her rule and what better way to do that then with a ceremony, a coronation in fact. But it would not be a coronation of a Queen as it had been on Dragonstone, no, she would take a new royal style in Valyria, one implanted in her mind by the words of Lord Lysandro.

It was time for Valyria to be ruled once again, not by a King, Queen, Archon, Senate or council of Magistrates, but rather something rarely heard of in the world anymore… an Empress.

Chapter 30: First of Her Name

Chapter Text

It was the thirteenth day of the sixth moon of the year one-hundred and thirty-two, at least by Westerosi reckoning. In the Free Cities, it was the year two-hundred and thirty-four, using the Doom of Valyria as the touchstone of the era. By the long-dead Freehold reckoning, it would be the year five thousand, three hundred and eighty-seven.

So many different calendars used by various cultures around the known world and all would mark this historic day in their own method.

A fortnight had passed since Rhaenyra had resolved to have herself coronated and all preparations for the ceremony had been made with the night of the event having already arrived.

Rhaenyra’s last coronation was an impromptu occurrence. When Ser Erryk arrived with her father’s crown, Rhaenyra’s family, household and the nobles were all convened for her daughter Visenya’s funeral and it all fit together, but this coronation was planned weeks in advance and meant to be a grand spectacle.

Rhaenyra was in her chamber, being prepared for the ceremony. Dyana and Elinda were readying her by pulling out the ruffles and creases in her dress.

She wore an extravagant dark gown with pointed shoulders detailed with scales embroidered along them, a long split cloak that fell down the backs of her arms with red interiors and around her neck was the valyrian steel necklace carrying the pendant of Borromean rings with a ruby set in the middle.

Baela and Rhaena were there too, dressed in their own extravagant red and black gowns, detailed with scales and dragon scales embroidered into the fabrics.

Mysaria was also among them, in a white dress and cloak with silver jewellery adorned with emeralds and pearls.

As Rhaenyra’s attendants continued to fix her dress, Rhaenyra noticed the heavy breaths of Rhaena sitting behind her, visible through the mirror Rhaenyra was standing in front of.

Rhanea stared off to the side as her shoulders went up and down with deep breaths through her nose.

“Are you quite well, Rhaena?” Rhaenyra asked as she observed her stepdaughter.

Rhaena turned her attention to Rhaenyra and smiled.

“Just nervous I suppose,” she admitted.

“You have nothing to worry about, you’ll do fine,” Rhaenyra said reassuringly.

“It’s not the ceremony, that makes me nervous but rather… everything. What your about to do, what your about to declare. I feel this night will change the world forever, to even be a part of it feels… overwhelming,” said Rhaena.

As Dyana and Elinda finished tending to Rhaenyra, she turned around and smiled at her stepdaughter.

“To be given a destiny and set on a path is a scary thing, I was about your age when my father named me heir and it terrified me. I was always questioning myself, wondering if my father would change his mind and name Daemon or Aegon as heir, but then something happened… I saw something, an omen of what I was meant to do and I understood that I had been chosen by some force I did not comprehend to rule. Now that I think back on it, I truthfully believe that since that day I was always meant to rule Valyria, but I did not yet know it,” Rhaenyra explained.

The women in Rhaenyra’s chamber all looked to one another with vexed expressions, clearly confused by her words.

“What omen did you see?” Baela asked, tilting her head.

Rhaenyra smiled to herself, looked around to her companions and decided to sit down and tell the story.

“When I was a young girl, the royal court went to the Kingswood for a hunt in honour of my brother Aegon’s second nameday. My father wanted us to hunt and celebrate and be one big happy family, all the while the Hightowers and their allies whispered their seditious praises of Aegon as though he were already named heir. Otto’s brother Hobart even dared to call Aegon the second of his name, discounting every uncrowned child named Aegon born since the conquest. As it so happened, scouts had reported seeing a white stag in the Kingswood, the symbol of royalty in those lands in the time before the Targaryens. Many claimed it was a sign that Aegon was the rightful king,” Rhaenyra explained.

Dyana winced in disgust at Rhaenyra’s words, clearly put off by any narrative wich would paint Aegon of all people as rightful in any sense of the word.

“Alas, my father and all his hunters could not find the stag. I was very upset at the time, both at how everyone fawned over Aegon as their future king and at my father wishing to wed me to Jason Lannister of all men. In anger, I rode off and spent the night in the forest with Ser Criston.”

“Ser Criston Cole?!” Baela repeated in an alarmed tone.

“Yes. He was my sworn protector at the time,” Rhaenyra replied.

“But… he hates you. He hates all of us.”

“He didn’t always. There was actually a time when we were… quite close.”

Baela and Rhaena exchanged perplexed and slightly disgusted looks, both being as resentful of Cole as everyone else in Rhaenyra’s house.

“The morning after, before returning to the hunting camp. I saw it. The white stag, looking at me in the light of the morning sun. Ser Criston drew his sword to slay it but I asked him not to. Instead I nodded to the stag and it ran off. I never told anyone and asked Ser Criston to keep my confidence.”

“The symbol of royalty presented itself to you, not Aegon. So you were the rightful heir to the Iron Throne,” Elinda surmised.

“That’s what I thought at the time and for many years after that… but since the great dragon dream, I have been wondering what it might have truly meant. When I let the stag go, it ran off in the direction of the morning sun… and the sun rises in the east."

“And now we are heading east towards Valyria,” said Mysaria with a smile on her face.

Rhaenyra nodded to her white worm and smiled.

“Destiny is a strange and riddled thing.”

A sharp knock on the door to Rhaenyra’s chamber then came.

“Come,” she called and in stepped Ser Harrold Westerling.

Ser Harrold was no longer clad in common steel plate and a red cloak as he and Rhaenyra’s other sworn swords had been.

Now, Ser Harrold wore a white gambeson of similar design to the one he wore beneath his kingsguard armour and over the gambeson he clad himself in a suit of plate armour consisting of segmented pieces, scales and bat-like wings, close in design to Daemon’s own suit of armour, but this armour instead of being black was fashioned from the same polished steel plate as that worn by the kingsguard and beneath the pauldrons and the cuirass, were short curtains of scale mail hanging from them and tucked under Ser Harrold’s arm was an open face valyrian style helmet similar to the one worn by Daemon and the Kingagaurd.

What Ser Harrold was dressed in was one of fourteen fresh forged suits of armour, all identical in design, the new uniform for Rhaenyra’s personal guard, but none of them cloaked yet, not until the order had been officially formed and they had taken their vows at the coronation.

“It is time, Princess,” Ser Harrold said, probably for the last time since Princess would no longer be how she was addressed after tonight.

Rhaenyra nodded and followed Ser Harrold out with her entourage of women following her lead.

Outside of the chamber, Ser Erryk, Ser Lorent and Ser Steffon joined her, each of her sworn knights standing around her, five paces away, two in front, two behind, two on the left and two on the right like the four legs of a table with Rhaenyra in the middle.

They walked through the halls of the Palace of Lys with every servant who passed them staring at Rhaenyra in reverence, knowing exactly where she was going.

In the courtyard of the palace, a carriage was waiting for her with horses for her sworn swords.

Rhaenyra and her company entered the carriage which carried them out of the palace walls and through the streets of Lys in the dark of night. Once again the streets of Lys were filled with crowds, but these Lyseni onlookers were silent and respectful, holding candles in the dark as they watched in astonishment as Rhaenyra passed by.

The carriage took them down to the docks and then a barge took them back to the farming island where another horse-drawn carriage guarded by several men was waiting for them and once again they switched transports, being carted through the farming island to a hill along the coast surrounded by a large crowd of Rhaenyra’s followers numbering in the thousands.

As the carriage approached, they made way and let the carriage and the procession of mounted sworn swords and men at arms guide the carriage.

At the foot of the hill, Rhaenyra and her companions disembarked and walked the rest of the way to the top of the hill.

At the summit of the small hill, a shallow wooden dias had been erected with three chairs set side by side with a Targaryen banner hanging behind the middle chair and pole-mounted torches at each corner of the platform with a red carpet running from the summit’s edge at Rhaenyra’s feet to the dias. Rhaenyra also saw a Septon, the High Priest of the Valyrian Cult of Dragonstone who had officiated her wedding to Daemon and Maester Gerardys standing together off to the side.

A great crowd of Rhaenyra’s highborn followers, all her sworn vassals and loyal retainers from Westeros, Braavos, Pentos, Tyrosh, Myr and Lys, though Lysandro stood among the nobles and Magisters from Lys who had simply come to observe the ceremony as Lysandro had not yet revealed his intentions of joining Rhaenyra publicly yet.

Standing closest to the dias were councillors, her dragonseeds and the rest of her family with the rest of her sworn swords in their new suits of armour lining the carpet leading up to the dais.

Rhaenyra’s servants and Mysaria then left her side and joined the crowd and her four sworn swords all took their positions with the others along the carpet.

Rhaenyra then slowly strode down the red carpet towards the dias with Baela and Rhaena following behind her.

When Rhaenyra reached the end of the carpet she climbed the steps turned about face and stared out her vassals and beyond them at the bottom of the hill, she could see thousands more, the common folk who had chosen to follow her into the unknown.

And flying above, circling overhead in the moonlight were their dragons.

Rhaenyra felt like she should be nervous, but she wasn’t, she instead felt pride and accomplishment, like she was finally living up to her father’s expectations and doing what he would have wanted of her. Not just Viserys, but also Raegoth and the other masters, even though she could not see them or feel their presence, she could feel in her heart that they were watching her through the glass candle and that she was making them proud.

Rhaenyra then sat down upon the middle chair, with Baela and Rhaena standing at either side of her.

Baela then took two steps forward and began to speak her lines to the assembled crowd.

“Future citizens of Valyria! Faithful followers of House Targaryen! We meet here beneath the moon and stars at the end of the day but also at the beginning of a new era in the known world! Here tonight, in the eyes of gods, men and dragons, your chosen leader, Rhaenyra Targaryen, will pledge to guide her people into this new era by taking her rightful place as your ruler!” Baela cried out with thunderous applause echoing out in response to her words.

Baela then took two steps back and allowed the coronation to continue to its next part.

First, the Septon standing on the dias approached one of the few Septons who had chosen to come to Valyria wishing to bring the light of the Seven to the empire.

The septon then began to anoint Rhaenyra, picking up one of seven small brass bowls of oil being held on a tray by an attendant, dipping his thumb in it and dragging it across her brow then repeating the process until Rhaenyra was anointed with the seven oils.

As the Septon did this, he recited the coronation blessings.

“May the Warrior grant her courage, and protect her in perilous times. May the Smith grant her strength, that she might bear this heavy burden. And may the Crone, She that knows the fate of all men, show her the path he must walk, and guide her through the dark places that lie ahead.”

The Septon then stepped back into the line next to the High Priest and Maester Gerardys.

Next, the High Priest stepped forward and just as an attendant had brought the Septon his oils, two more attendants with heavy covered blacksmith gloves brought a small flaming brazier to the High Priest.

The Priest then took a small bowl from one of the attendants and then went over to Rhaenyra and knelt before her.

“I beseech you for your ānogar as an offering to the Fourteen,” he said humbly in high Valyrian presenting a dragonglass dagger to her.

Rhaenyra then took the blade into her own hands and opened the skin of her palm allowing her blood to drizzle into the bowl.

Then Rhaena came and bandaged her hand and the priest took the bowl and the dagger over the flaming brazier.

“Hear me high ones! Mighty Gods of Jaehorvys! Hear me gracious masters! Noble Pantheon of the High Lord Arraks. I gift to you the willing ānogar of Rhaenyra hen Targario and ask for your blessing!” he called out, dipping his dagger into the bowl of blood and flicking his wrist sending the blood sprinkling into the flames of the brazier.

“Bless her with strength unwavering. Bless her with wisdom unfailing. Bless her with grace incorruptible. Bless her with triumph unending. Bless her with righteousness unchallenged and bless her with a legacy unforgotten.”

The High Priest then turned to Rhaenyra, bowed to her and returned to his position in the line.

The brazier was taken away by the attendants and finally, Maester Gerardys stepped forward, carrying a wooden box in his arms.

Baela then met the Maester as he came close and opened the box.

Baela then reached in and pulled from the box a crown, one fashioned by the best smiths in her fleet of followers using the best forges available to them in Lys.

In shape, it was a near-perfect replica of the crown of the Old King Jaehaerys save for a few minor alterations. Rather than gold, this crown was made entirely of dark-grey steel, similar to the Conqueror’s crown and this one only retained one of the eight round seals that was displayed upon the Old King’s crown, the Targaryen crest at the front, the other seven, instead of displaying the sigils of Lord Paramounts and Wardens beholden to her half-brother, she adorned the crown with hexagonal blood red rubies.

The crown looked like a compromise between the crowns of the Conqueror and the Conciliator, which in truth was the image Rhaenyra was pursuing when she dictated the designs to her craftsmen.

Rhaenyra expected she would one day bear the crown she saw in the dream of the three-headed dragon crafted from Valyrian steel, but that crown would most likely be forged in Valyria once they had settled there and claimed the endless treasure troves of Valyrian steel.

Gerardys and Baela then smiled at one another and Baela took a position standing behind Rhaenyra while Gerardys returned to his place in the line.

Rhaena then stepped forward, smiling happily and began to speak.

“All hail! Her Imperial Majesty, Rhaenyra of the House Targaryen, the First of her Name, Empress of Valyria, Queen of the High Valyrians, Blood of the Dragon, Heir to the Freehold and Protector of her People! Long live the Empress! Long may she reign!”

As Rhaena shouted the words, Baela brought the newly forged crown of the empire down upon her head, an echo of how the sisters Rhaenys and Visenya crowned Aegon at the Aegonfort.

“Long live the Empress! Long may she reign!” the crowd shouted back at her followed by thunderous applause and the howl of excited dragons, responding to the sudden rise in noise below them.

When the cheers settled, it was time for the pledgings to begin.

The first to step forward, leaving the crowd and kneeling before Rhaenyra on the carpet below the dais was, her beloved husband Daemon.

“I Daemon Targaryen, promise to be faithful to Empress Rhaenyra, I pledge fealty to her and promise to defend her from all enemies in good faith and without deceit, I swear this by the old gods, the new and the Fourteen Flames.”

Rhaenyra then stood from her seat.

“I accept your loyalty and take you under my protection. And as my love and husband, the father of my children and my closest companion, I, Empress Rhaenyra Targaryen, the First of my Name, do hereby name you Emperor Consort of the Valyrian Empire, to stand at my side from now until the end of my reign. Furthermore, I am not oblivious to the countless dangers that will undoubtedly face us in the coming trials in Valyria and so to protect our people and grant you leave to raise and train a force of five thousand men which you shall form into the new Dragon Legion as it was in the Freehold and as the marshal of this force I grant you the title of Warmaster,” Rhaenyra declared as Gerardys came over with a new box and opened it before Rhaenyra.

Inside the box was a circlet made from two overlapping bands of steel that flickered like drawings of flames.

Rhaenyra took the crown out, stepped down from the dais, raised the crown up high with both hands for all to see and placed it on Daemon’s head, then brought him to his feet and the two ascending back up the dais steps hand in hand with Rhaenyra returning to her seat and Daemon sitting by her left side.

Next Jacaerys came and knelt.

“I Jacaerys Velaryon, promise to be faithful to Empress Rhaenyra, I pledge fealty to her and promise to defend her from all enemies in good faith and without deceit, I swear this by the old gods, the new and the Fourteen Flames.”

“I accept your loyalty and take you under my protection. And as my eldest beloved son, I, Empress Rhaenyra Targaryen, the First of my Name, do hereby name you, my heir and heir to all my lands, titles and holdings. Henceforth, you will carry the name Jacaerys Targaryen, Crown Prince of Valyria and Heir to the Empire.”

And at Rhaenyra’s word, her dear son who had knelt a Velaryon rose to his feet a Targaryen and took slow steps up the platform stairs where Rhaenyra met him standing up from her seat and kissed his brow before he took his seat to her right, holding Baela’s hand as she beamed with pride for him.

Next Lucerys knelt and swore his obeisance, then Joffrey though he missed a few words, Aegon, Viserys and Gaemon were exempt due to their young age.

Next, it was Baela’s turn to swear.

“I Baela Targaryen, promise to be faithful to Empress Rhaenyra, I pledge fealty to her and promise to defend her from all enemies in good faith and without deceit, I swear this by the old gods, the new and the Fourteen Flames.”

“I accept your loyalty and take you under my protection. And as my stepdaughter, whom I have loved and watched over, I grant you naturalisation as my own daughter, a place in my line of succession and all the titles and privileges of a Princess of Empire,” Rhaenyra announced bringing gasps and shock to all that heard her, including Baela and Rhaena.

The few who were not surprised by Rhaenyra’s declaration due to having already been made privy to her intentions were her two eldest sons, Daemon, Corlys and Rhaenys, all who had approved of Rhaenyra’s intentions.

Baela was clearly humbled and flattered, smiling with tears welling up in her eyes as she joined her grandsires at the head of the crowd.

Following Baela, Rhaena stepped down from the dais and pledged to Rhaenyra, receiving all the privileges of her sister with the addition of being named the imperial cupbearer which lit up Rhaena’s face.

Next, it was Rhaenys’s turn who gave her pledge all the while smiling to Rhaenyra with pride.

After Rhaenys, it was Lord Corlys.

“I, Corlys Velaryon, promise to be faithful to Empress Rhaenyra, I pledge fealty to her and promise to defend her from all enemies in good faith and without deceit, I swear this by the old gods, the new and the Fourteen Flames.”

“I accept your loyalty and take you under my protection. And as my loyal friend and vassal, I call upon your wisdom, strength and temperance to serve me and the empire. To that end, I, Empress Rhaenyra Targaryen, the First of my Name, do hereby name you, Hand of the Empire.”

Maester Gerardys then brought Corlys a Hand of the King pin with the ring around it styled in a three-headed dragon ouroboros with a dragon tail wrapped around the pin.

Rhaenyra and Rhaenys exchanged looks nodding to one another. Initially, Rhaenyra intended to offer the pin to her, but Rhaenys counselled her not to, thinking that the men of their new realm might feel threatened by a pairing of power and declared that Corlys would be better equipped to keep a leash on the noble men under Rhaenyra’s rule.

Next came Archmaester Vaegon, then the Dragonseeds, then the sworn knights, all fourteen swearing an oath of obeisance to her in the same style of words as the Kingsgaurd oath.

“I swear to ward the Empress with all my strength and give my blood for hers. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side, and defend her name and honour.”

With each one that swore his oath, Rhaenyra had them adorned with a white cloak and when all were sworn to her she declared them the Order of the Dragonknights, sworn in perpetuity as the lifeguard of the Imperial family.

To Bartimos Celtigar she gave the title of Master of Laws and to Maester Gerardys she granted the title of Grand Maester. Corlys was the defacto Master of Ships and she would keep the title of Master of Coin vacant until Lydsandro Rogare made his secession from Lys public.

When Mushroom knelt before her, she named him the Imperial fool which he heartily accepted.

It took perhaps an hour for all the pledgings to be heard but they got through it and one final time they cried out

“Long live the Empress! Long may she reign!” followed by an applause and the end of the ceremony.

After such a long and arduous ceremony Rhaenyra went over to the wet-nurses and took her son Viserys into her arms.

Her family and her dragonseeds then gathered around her complimenting what a great and historic day this would be recorded as.

“Do not be too hasty, this was but a celebration. The trials of actually taking Valyria will be far more difficult,” Rhaenyra cautioned them.

At that moment, Rhaenyra heard her little Viserys groan and rub his eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry my sweetling did I wake you up,” Rhaenyra apologised, speaking softly to her youngest boy.

“Mama, the star,” he said gently.

“Yes, my love there are many stars up there,” Rhaenyra repsonded.

“Mama, why the star bleedy,” Viserys asked.

Bleedy Rhaenyra wondered.

“Gods be good,” said Lord Corlys, looking up at the sky. Rhaenyra then noticed that all her family were staring at the sky and so she followed their gaze, setting her sights on a star, or rather not a star at all but a comet , burning red. Bloodred; fire red; like… like a dragon's tail.

“What is it?” Rhaenyra could hear Baela ask.

Rhaenyra knew not exactly what it was, but she knew what it would be interpreted to be far and wide by different people and different cultures in different places, all with their own meanings.

“An omen,” Rhaenyra replied.

Chapter 31: Reading Omens in the Sky

Chapter Text

Visenya’s eyes lingered on the blue sky above, enamoured by the red comet that streaked through it, like the celestial blade of a divinity had cleaved the sky and drawn blood from it.

Four days had passed since the comet first appeared in the sky in the late hours of the night.

Visenya had spent the past two nights painting it in the dark when the red streak of glowing blood in the sky was brightest.

Naturally, when the comet appeared in the sky, everyone highborn, commoner and slave began gossiping about it and the omens associated with it.

Some thought it an omen of good fortune for the city, some thought it an omen of despair. Different worshipers of different gods in the city began spouting different prophecies, signs and portents, the loudest voice among the religious folk were the Red Priests of the Lord of Light, who had long counted a bleeding star as a sign in their old prophecies.

The red temple of Volantis had bustled with devout followers of R’hllor coming to pray and hear their red priests speak, with the streets around the river road on the eastern shore of the Rhoyne becoming clogged with worshipers trying to get to the temple.

While more of their followers tried to get in, the Red Priests and Priestesses were fanning further out across the city, preaching the word of their red god to the masses of non-believers and skeptics to turn more to their worship.

The red streak was alluring to look upon, Visenya had never seen anything like it and could spend hours watching it linger in the sky above.

“Have nothing better to do but stare at the sky?” a familiar voice asked.

Visenya twirled about and saw her uncle Aerion leaning upon the door frame of her balcony with his arms folded.

“It is quite spectacular is it not, Kepus?” Visenya asked, smiling to her uncle.

Aerion glanced up at the comet and nodded in agreement.

“If nothing else, it sure has made the gossiping around the city more amusing. Everyone presenting their own meanings, most to do with the Empress Rhaenyra,” said Aerion.

Empress Rhaenyra, Visenya thought to herself, her eyes glancing past her uncle’s shoulder to the sketch of the Empress sitting upon a dragonglass throne as seh had seen it in the dragon dream.

Messages came with haste from the west, Rhaenyra Targaryen had been coronated before thousands of her followers as the Empress of Valyria beneath the bleeding comet on the night it first streaked the sky which had sent fortunetellers and soothsayers in Volantis over the edge with speculation of destiny and fate. Even Visenya was moved to believe that it was somehow an omen from the same higher power that had gifted her and her uncle the dragon dream.

“Are you ready to go?” Aerion asked and Visenya nodded her head in reply.

The two left the balcony and on their way out of Visenya’s chamber she pulled her cloak from a chair that it had been folded over and clasped it around her neck.

While Visenya’s grandmother was away at the senate for one of their special sessions to discuss with the Triarchs about the impending arrival of the new Empress of Valyria, Aerion was taking the opportunity to smuggle Visenya down to the tavern to see the Dragonfangs.

Visenya adored Aerion’s mercenaries and loved spending time with them but Visenya’s grandmother did not like her going past the limits of the black wall so only on occasion could Aerion take Visenya down to see them and today was one such occasion.

After making theri way through Saera’s palace, Aerion took Visenya out into the streets of the inner city of Volantis within the black wall. Nothing but palaces, gardens and ponds for miles around. Most of the highborns being carried around the streets on litters by slaves to accomidate the vanity of their masters.

After passing through the gates of the black wall, Visenya felt like she could breathe, as though she had been kept prisoner for too long and was finally free. She knew to feel so was ignorant and selfish since very few in the city lived as well as her but still, to escape the damnable place even for a time was a victory for her.

After passing the black walls, Visenya and Aerion became but two faces in a crowd of commoners, merchants, servants, sellswords, craftsmen and slaves all bustling through the city for their daily activities and duties.

Visenya’s favourite part of the city was the Long Bridge, it could be cramped and crowded at times but it was filled with all different kinds of shops, vendors and people which she adored.

After passing the Long Bridge, Aerion led Visenya through a small public square which seemed to be used regularly as a food court with several tables and benches set up around the square for people to use. But it was not in use as a food court that day, but rather the sight of a preaching by a red priestess.

Perhaps two hundred people, commoners and slaves were gathered about as a beautiful woman draped in a dark red gown the same colour as her hair, listening to her as she preached.

“Lord cast your light upon us. For the night is dark and full of terrors,” the red woman uttered with spread-out arms as her crowd of listeners repeated her chants back to her .

“I was once as you are now. Hungry, alone, possessed and weak. As a child I knew nothing but hunger and misery, then I was bought and sold to the temple of the Lord of Light and I found myself fulfilled, not only in food and drink but in purpose and prosperity too as the Lord’s Light shone down upon me. Now you shall be as I am, liberated, fulfilled and renewed in prosperity, purpose, faith and hope. Holdfast and remain strong, for you are not long for liberation now. The Lord of Light has sent his saviour in the living world, long prophesied and awaited. The Dragon Empress!” she called out.

Visenya was fascinated by what was being said. Apparently, one of the worshipers of the Lord of Light was also a follower of Rhaenyra and had amalgamated the signs of the comet together.

“In the ancient texts of Asshai, the scriptures say that the Kivio Dārilaros will be reborn amidst salt and smoke and their herald will be the bleeding star. Now she who was once Princess of Dragonstone, living amongst the smoke of the Dragonmount and the salt of the Blackwater, shed her former identity as her father’s heir and was reborn into the woman now coronated as Empress of Valyria at the awakening of the bleeding star!” The Red Woman announced as she pointed to the comet in the sky while those around her cheered.

So it seemed to Visenysa that the Red Woman believed Empress Rhaenyra to be the fabled Princess that was Promised.

“The Dragon Empress, Rhaenyra Targaryen, shall remake the world. Already she has sent her dragonriders as missionaries to Myr and Tyrosh to bring those in bondage to her side and grant them liberty and mark my words, she will not leave Lys without bringing slaves unshackled to her side nor shall it be any different when she comes here to Volantis. When the coming Empire rises and Valyria is restored, the Kivio Dārilaros will lead her legions and dragons from their paradise empire to bring the lord’s will upon the world. Slaves will be liberated from their shackles, non-believers and sinners will be purified in dragonfire by the thousands and she will lead the people against the darkness in this war and in the great war still to come.”

Visenya recalled quite clearly seeing Rhaenyra upon a throne with a valyrian steel crown upon her head, but if memory served her, she saw nothing about a zealous holy war that ravaged the known world in the name of the lord of light. That much she would have to renounce as personal influence by the Red Priestess.

“The Lord of Light answers all prayers in time, so if you are patient and faithful and the Lord sees your merits, he will see you unshackled by his chosen and for those of you who are left behind, your wait is but an instant for when the Empress returns from Valyria, she will bring the vengeance and vindication of the lord with her. So to you I say, holdfast, remain faithful and when the Empress comes to cleanse you and bring you to salvation, do not resist her, embrace your destiny,” the Red Woman continued to chant, but then a peculiar occurrence happened, her eyes seemed to settle on both Visenya and Aerion from across the square and she smiled.

“For destiny has deemed that you will have a part to play,” the Red Woman declared, as though she were speaking directly to Visenya and Aerion.

The Priestess then turned around and continued to talk to her followers who flocked around her from all sides.

“That was odd,” Visenya stated, awaiting her uncle to voice his approval of her assessment, but none came. Visenya then turned her head to her uncle and saw him staring with a furrowed brow and peering eyes at the Red Woman.

“Kepus? Are you well?” Visenya asked.

Aerion hesitated to answer at first his eyes and thoughts still fixed upon the Red Woman.

“Sorry, it’s just — I’ve seen that woman before.”

Visenya was surprised but also rendered curious by Aerion’s statement.

“How do you know here?” Visenya asked.

“I don’t — at least not properly. I was talking with the boys a while back about the Dragon Dream and she came up behind me and started spouting off about how I must claim my destiny and the night being full of terrors and all that,” Aerion explained.

Visenya looked once again to the Red Woman, intrigued by her mystique and peculiarity.

During her life in Volantis, Visenya had little to no dealings with the Red Priests of the Lord of Light, save for when members of their clergy visited with the nobility of Volantis within the palaces of the Black Walls for masquerades and festivals. The High Priest Benerro would often visit with his two highest attendants Moqorro and Kinvara.

The Red Priests and Priestesses had an oddity to them, a knowing look in their eyes that seemed as though whenever they set eyes upon you even for a moment, thet somehow knew you without knowing you. It was rather unsettling to behold.

“Come on, let's go,” said Aerion, ushering his niece onward down the street.

“So, do you believe it to be true? About Rhaenyra being the Princess that was Promised?” Visenya asked, but Aerion chortled dismissively in response.

“The Prophecy is thousands of years old and countless claimants from Tyrosh to Ashaii have been put forth as the Kivio Dārilaros who will bring the dawn, it’s all a load of qrugh,” Aerion declared.

“What about the signs?” Visenya asked.

“I’ve had a belly full of their damnable signs. Yesterday I heard a Priest on one street corner say that Rhaenyra is the Kivio Dārilaros because she was born in the Red Keep and the smoke came from the breath of the dragons in the dragonpit and the salt came from the Blackwater. Another says that her son Jacaerys is the Kivio Dārilaros his Targaryen mother being smoke and his Velaryon father being salt. Now this one says that it was a metaphorical rebirth when she was on Dragonstone. They’ll read anything into anything, that’s the way prophecies are designed,” Aerion explained.

Eventually, they found their way to the tavern where the Dragonfangs were staying.

Tontor the big hulking summer islander was the first to spot them, spreading out his arms and laughing as Visenya leapt into his arms, with him picking her up in a great embrace.

As fearsome and raggedy as Aerion’s men may have seemed, they were kind and soft of heart beneath it all, especially around Visenya who adored them all.

Next, Stallo, Irrar, Rattles, Silvero and a few others came and joined them.

They sat, they talked, they laughed, they made jokes — most at the expense of Visenya’s grandmother — then the conversation turned to the Dragon Empress once again.

“I fear that our plan to align ourselves with Empress Rhaenyra might soon be outshined. Given the way even the common folk and the Elephants now talk of her since that comet streaked the sky and word of her coronation reached the city, all of Volantis is awaiting her arrival with everyone readying to say pick me, pick me, your majesty, when she arrives,” Irrar declared, speaking in the common tongue, which Visenya was well versed in speaking.

“The truth is that in a strange twist of irony, the Tigers are the ones whose devotion to the Empress is wavering. When word first reached them of Rhaenyra planning to resurrect Valyria, they thought they might see the second rise of the Freehold, but her declaration as Empress and renouncing of slavery has soured her image to them. There are still some of the old blood who still wish for the opportunity to join her in the new Valyria, but her list of supporters is shrinking amongst some of the Tigers,” Aerion admitted, taking a drink from his cup.

“Can your mother not do something to reinvigorate the Tigers’ support for Rhaenyra?” Silverio asked.

Aerion bobbed his head from side to side.

“She could — I suppose. She is very influential, but she is also indifferent to the Empress’s plight beyond what she can extort from creating introductions between Empress Rhaenyra and the nobles here in the city. She has no reason to help Rhaenyra unless prompted or compensated.”

Irrar snorted and shrugged.

“All the Tigers and Elephants or just a handful, it makes no difference to us. We will support the Empress regardless of what those pompous lords do and I know that our Aerion and Visenya will play a mighty role in the Imperial court as dragonriders,” Irarr declared raising his cup of ale.

“Here, Here!” Rattles added, prompting them all to drink in a toast.

As they drank, Visenya thought about Irrar's words about Visenya being there with them when they joined the Empress’s court in Valyria and decided now was the right time to speak of something sensitive.

“Actually, that is a matter I wanted to talk to you about, Uncle,” Visenya began, drawing the attention of all those sitting at the table.

“We’ve talked about me coming with you to Valyria as though it has already been settled, but there is a matter of how I will be able to come with you,” Visenya began, with her words seeming to vex Aerion.

“In the past, I have begged you to take me on as your ward and let me come live with you and travel with you and the Dragonfangs on the road but you have always denied me.”
“Because it is too dangerous,” Aerion asserted.

“I know. But now, we are both planning to leave the city together with the Empress and make for Valyria, to follow the Dragon Dream, but Grandmother is not planning on leaving the comforts of the city for the prospect of Valyria. She is satisfied here with the power she commands and the pleasures she possesses which means I will be stuck here as her ward… unless you finally beseech her to grant you custody over me,” Visenya pleaded, making her uncle’s eyes widen.

“Visenya,” he began to speak, but she grabbed his arm from across the table.

“Please, uncle. I’m begging you. This is my destiny and I wish not to be barred from my path. She will let you have me as your ward if you ask it, she doesn’t even like having me around. Please Aerion.”

“Yeah, Please Aerion,” Rattles added.

“Please Aerion,” the twins said in unision.

Before long all the mercenaries around the tables were saying please Aerion.

Aerion finally smiled and let out a soft sigh.

“I’ll talk to her tonight,” he said in agreement, causing the mercenaries to cheer in celebration.

And with that all that was left was for Visenya to finally meet with the Empress when she arrived and pledge herself to the new Empire that she knew she was destined to be a part of.

Chapter 32: Meeting the Pirate Lord

Chapter Text

Their last week in Lys was coming to a close. After a month's stay, they would finally be making their way to Volantis, the last stop on their journey before Valyria.

In their time at Lys, they had secured the loyalties of Houses Pendaerys, Haen, Dagaroen and most surprisingly, the illustrious House of Rogare.

All but Lord Lysandro and Luke’s mother, the Empress, were surprised by the revelation with Lord Lysandro abdicating his seat as First Magister. The rest of the Conclave was all too happy to accept Lysandro’s resignation and the Rogare family’s departure from the island, finally able to claw at the seat of First Magister and take the power held by the Rogares for themselves. But while Lord Lysandro had set aside his position as First Magister of Lys, he had quickly been given a new posting on the Imperial Council as the Empress’s Master of Coin.

Between the four houses that had pledged to join Rhaenyra they had liberated all their slaves and using the profits from selling their lands and holdings to buy an liberate more slaves, the fleet now had an additional thousand emancipated slaves to add to the ones they had picked up in Tyrosh and Myr.

The total number of ships, mostly paid for by the Rogares was twenty-one, with over two thousand new recruits overall from Lys the Lovely.

In the afternoon, the Imperial household had become busy with various tasks and duties. Daemon was down on the farming island where the dragons nested with his new dragon legion of which he was now Warmaster, fashioned from former Gold Cloaks, men-at-arms and experienced soldiers drilling, sparring and training under his watch.

Corlys was inside the palace with the captains drafting up sailing formations and supply distribution for the fleet that would be at two hundred and eleven ships strong once the ships that Lysandro had hired to ferry the Lyseni across arrived.

Luke’s mother, the Empress, was in one of her private meetings with Bartimos Celtigar, the Princess Rhaenys, Jace, Baela and the Maesters as they droned on for hours about the structures and frameworks to be implemented in the Empire’s code of law.

One benefit to not being the Crown Prince or his betrothed was that neither Luke nor Rhaena nor any of their younger siblings needed be part of such a dull meeting.

Meanwhile, Alyn, Addam and Nettles were practising their flying and their commands on dragonback.

Luke on the other hand had found Rhaena after the latest small council meeting and offered to walk with her around the palace grounds.

Between Westeros, Braavos, the Stepstones and Myr, Luke had never before seen a place as beautiful as Lys and felt he would be remiss if he did not take it in one last time before they left.

Luke and Rhaena walked together along the garden path outside the palace, with the soothing trickles of the fountain water splashing into the pond beneath it and peaco*cks roaming freely about the place.

“So how was the Small Council meeting today?” Luke asked, trying to strike up a conversation with his betrothed.

Rhaena giggled and smiled at Luke’s inquiry.

“Arduous at times. The first matter raised by Lord Bartimos was to rename the council from the small council to the Imperial council , to better distinguish ourselves from the greens. Then Grand Maester Gerardys suggested creating four additional seats of office that he felt would be integral to keeping stability in the Empire, especially during the dynasty’s formative years. The Empress did seem rather interested in the additional positions suggested but said that no decisions would be made today. Beyond that, just preparations for Volantis,” Rhaena explained.

As the Empress's Cupbearer, Rhaena may not have occupied a seat on the council but she was still allowed within the room and privy to all the goings on addressed in the council chamber. Jace, Baela and Princess Rhaenys also held seats, Jace and Baela were granted places as future Emperor and Empress and Princess Rhaenys as an advisor.

“Years ago, when Grandsire told me about how Driftmark and High Tide would pass to me eventually, he told me that my inheritance would be more preferable to Jace’s, cautioning me that as King, Jace would be swamped with endless ceremonies and councils to fill his day. It seems our coming empire in Valyria will be of a similar fashion,” Luke joked, prompting the softest laughter from Rhaena.

Rheana then reached out and took Luke’s hand as they walked, but as their hands interlocked, Luke could feel the texture of bandages between their palms. The bandagings were applied by Grand Maester Gerardys when he tended to the light burns along Rhaena’s forearm after her sleeve caught fire during her latest attempt to try and claim Silverwing.

Luke stopped in his tracks and softly moved his hand around to the back of Rhaena’s hand and gently raised her hand up, the sleeve of her dress falling down her arm a bit, revealing the bandaging to Luke in more detail.

“Does it hurt?” Luke asked softly, but Rhaena shook her head in response.

“Gerardys says it will heal within a short period of time and is like to not leave much in the way of scarring,” she explained with optimism in her tone.

Still, despite Rhaena’s injuries being minor in nature, Luke couldn’t help but feel worried about her. She had tried many times to claim the dragons in the years they lived together on Dragonstone, her last attempt there almost resulting in her death, but since the dragonseeds first joined them she had resumed her attempts but to no avail.

The two betrotheds then continued their walk through the palace gardens.

“So, how has your swordsmanship been going while I have been pouring cups for the Empress and ducking dragonfire?” Rhaena asked.

Since leaving King’s Landing for the final time, Luke had resolved to better his skills with a sword and become stronger. When Addam and Alyn joined their household and began training in arms to earn their knighthoods, Luke and Jace joined them, training with the now -Dragonknights four hours a day and recently, Luke had been training more frequently than his brother and the Hull Dragonseeds. Luke had also been learning from the brothers how to sail and was now past his greensickness he use to get on ships and both the Hull brothers and Lord Corlys said he was showing potential as a mariner.

“I’m improving, but so are the others which always leaves me a step behind,” Luke admitted.

“You still haven’t told me why you are pushing yourself so hard with the sword training,” Rhaena noted aloud as she tilted her head. “You’ve always wanted to be a good knight one day, but you’ve never pushed your training like this. Why the change?”

Luke clenched his jaw and his heart quickened rendered uncomfortable and embarrassed by Rhaena’s inquiry. Luke knew exactly why he was pushing so hard to become a swordsman but it was something he was ashamed of and didn’t feel comfortable speaking of, especially not to Rhaena of all people.

“It’s nothing,” Luke said dismissively, but Rhaena’s steps slowed and she gave him the same glare she always gave when he tried lying to her. He knew not how but she could always tell.

Conceding he could not hide the truth from her, Luke took a deep breath and prepared to answer.

“Because I don’t want to be a coward anymore.”
Luke’s answer surprised and concerned Rhaena.

“You're not a coward,” she corrected as though it were the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard, but Luke could only scoff at her reply.

“You weren’t there when I arrived at Storm’s End, Rhaena. I was practically frozen stiff when I saw Vhagar and when they brought me to the drum tower and I saw Aemond I was — just so scared. I gave Lord Borros my mother’s letter and when he sent me from the hall and called me a pup because I refused to marry one of his daughters I just turned around. I didn’t yell at him and call him an oathbreaker or a traitor, I didn’t threaten him with fire and blood. I was all too eager to run home and get away from Aemond,” Luke admitted, feeling shame for his failure to stand up for himself and his house.

“You were sent to deliver the message and Lord Borros had already thrown in with the Greens, there was nothing you could have done,” Rhaena told him, trying to console her betrothed.

“Aemond called me craven when I refused to cut out my eye, and he was right — not about the eye but about me. He called me a bastard and a Strong to my face and said my mother was stealing Aegon’s throne and I just stumbled back in fear and hid behind Lord Borros’s guards when he came for me. When I was sent back to Arrax, I couldn’t run fast enough to get away and when Aemond pursued me on dragonback I just fled and hid between the rocks in Shipbreaker Bay until he was gone.”

Rhaena took Luke’s arm.

“Your mother commanded you not to draw blood, she made you swear it upon the Seven-Pointed Star and as for Vhagar, she is Vhagar, you would have been mad to face her alone in battle on Arrax. None of that makes you a coward.”

“No, but the fear does. I remember that I was so f*cking scared of Aemond, just as I was scared of Vaemond displacing me as heir to Driftmark, or how scared I was of being the heir to Driftmark. I’ve just been an anxious self doubting mess for years, its— its humiliating, Rhaena.”

Luke and Rhaena stopped their walk once more and she put her hand on his chest.

“Luke,” she said with disbelief in her eyes, as though she could not comprehend how critical he was being of himself.

“Do you know what I remember?” she asked, taking both of Luke’s hands into her own. “I remember late in the night after my mother’s funeral finding that Aemond had stolen my mother’s dragon. When we confronted Aemond and he held that rock over Jace’s head, he grinned to Baela and me and I could see in his eyes he intended to kill your brother there and then you, four years his younger and already injured, took up Jace’s knife and saved his life. Even as a child you had bravery and strength in you and a fierce love for your family. You don’t need to be a great swordsman to be brave.”
Luke smiled at Rhaena’s sweet words.

“You always know what to say,” Luke noted as he looked into Rhaena’s beautiful eyes.

“You always take the time to listen. I sometimes feel its hard for me to be seen but you always manage it,” said Rhaena
“I always see you,” he said back to her.

Luke’s heart began to race in his chest as he and Rhaena began to lean in, their heads began to tilt and their eyes began to close but before they could kiss the sound of throats being cleared nearby killed the moment.

Luke and Rhaena turned their heads back down the way they had come on their walk and saw Ser Harrold Darke and Ser Loreth Lansdale of the Dragonknights twelve paces away from them. Luke had been so entranced by Rhaena on their walk he had completely forgotten their sworn protectors lingering behind them.

Ser Harrold Darke was a former squire of Ser Steffon Darklyn and in his own words, the best knight he had ever trained, with such high praise from her most senior knight, Luke’s mother gladly admitted him to the ranks of her sworn swords in Braavos before granting him the white cloak during the coronation and in the following days he was named Luke’s sworn protector.

Rhaena on the other hand, officially naturalised as the Empress’s adopted daughter was now a Targaryen Princess and was given Ser Loreth Lansdale as a sworn protector, a skilled swordsman and gallant knight.

Joff, Aegon and Viserys were too young to have their own sworn protectors and when offered both Daemon and Rhaenys refused protection, sighting Caraxes and Meleys protection enough, but Jace and Baela both had their own protectors, for Jace it was Ser Glendon Goode and for Baela it was Ser Adrian Redfort.

Luke gave an irritated grimace to the white cloaks but neither seemed regretful of their interruption. As betrotheds yet to be married, for Luke and Rhaena to even be seen kissing in public was considered scandalous and so neither knight could permit them to go through with it.

Jace and Baela didn’t have such problems, being able to flee from their sworn shields on dragonback to find some quiet spot on one of the outlying islands around Lys to snog to their heart’s content, but as much as Arrax had grown in the past few months, he was still not large enough to carry both Luke and Rhaena on his saddle.

Much like Arrax, Luke had grown too in recent months, now taller than Rhaena if only by a bit.

With any chance of actual intimacy being dashed, Luke and Rhaena continued their walk with their sworn protectors matching their leisurely pace while maintaining twelve paces of distance behind.

Finding an awkward lull in the conversation Rhaena decided to change topics.

“I hear the Triarchy will soon face the Seven Kingdoms in war once again,” she noted.

Luke nodded his head, having heard the same.

“Daemion Velaryon’s fleet is moving south with Aemond and Vhagar while the Lannisters and Redwynes have linked up with the Hightower fleet and are being led by Daeron who has finally taken to wing on Tessarion,” Luke recounted.

“I saw him at King’s Landing during the pledging ceremony to Aegon, but I never actually met Daeron. Archmaester Vaegon says he spent time with him over the years with them being the only two Targaryens in Oldtown. He called Daeron a good lad , adept in sword and a skilled musician but yet to fly his dragon in the time Vaegon knew him,” said Rhaena.

“Well, Vaegon would know better than me. Before the ceremony, I hadn’t seen Daeron since half a year before you and I met at your mother’s funeral. I recall that I didn’t like him very much,” Luke stated, thinking back on his youthful memories of Daeron.

“Why not?” Rhaena asked.

“I was jealous of him, at times. He and Jace were born but a few months apart, practically twins and the two had a close bond because of it. My grandsire, Viserys, did his part to nurture their bond by having them study and train together and it worked. Aegon use to tease Aemond and I that they liked each other more as brothers than either of us. I think that might have partly been the cause behind Alicent sending him away to Oldtown, trying to kill any bond between us and the Greens,” Luke suggested, thinking back to how Daeron’s abrupt wardship began seemingly out of nowhere.

After just about circling the palace in their leisurely stroll through the gardens, Luke and Rhaena decided to head back indoors.

The two did not make it far through the palace corridors before they crossed Lord Bartimos.

“Good day, Lord Bartimos,” Luke greeted.

“Good day, my Prince. Princess,” he said bowing his head to both Luke and Rhaena individually.

"How was your meeting to discuss the Valyrian Code of Law?" Rhaena asked.

"Very good Princess, I believe we have structured a suitable framework to ensure the fair treatment of Valyria's citizens and nobles. I assume you to are en route to the audience chamber as well, are you?” he asked.

Luke and Rhaena looked to one another and exchanged vexed expressions.

“No, why what’s in the audience chamber?” Rhaena asked.

“The ships Lord Lysandro has hired to ferry our newly recruited Lyseni allies to Valyria have arrived, twenty-one ships large enough to carry all our Lyseni friends with crews willing to sail to Valyria and the only payment they have asked for is a place in the empire,” Lord Bartimos explained but while the points he made seemed positive he said each of them as though they were terrible.

“Is there a problem with our new ships, Lord Bartimos?” Luke asked.

The Celtigar Lord snorted in response.

“The crews of these ships are completely comprised of Lyseni pirates,” said Lord Bartimos angrily.

An unexpected occurrence to be sure, but not entirely outlandish, half the military and naval forces used by the Free Cities were built from mercenaries and pirates after all.

Luke and Rhaena followed Lord Bartimos all the way to the audiance chamber as he grunted about what a shameful display it was for pirates to dare present themselves to the Empress.

They reached the audience hall where several of the nobles of the Empire and the Magisters were gathered with the Empress Rhaenyra being lent the First Magister’s seat with the former First Magister Lysandro standing over her shoulder.

Luke and Rhaena joined the crowd around the edges of the hall and awaited the arrival of the pirates coming to greet Luke’s mother.

Soon enough, the doors opened and in came the most dishevelled and motley gang of corsairs that Luke had ever set eyes upon.

The leader of the gang of pirates was an older man with dishevelled and braided silver hair with several beads and trinkets tangled into his hair, long flashy earrings, a crescent scar on his cheek, a pointed beard and dressed in dirty and tattered garments with a blue silk sash across his chest over his sleeveless doublet and a thick single edged sword hanging from his belt.

“Lysandro!” the Pirate leader cheered with his arms spread out.

“Sallandros,” Lord Rogare replied spreading his arms out.

The two laughed and met in the middle, embracing each other tenderly, riddling Luke’s mind with a thousand questions about how the wealthiest banker and former First Magister of Lys became such good friends with a pirate.

Lord Lysandro then turned to face the Empress with one arm still around the pirate.

“Your Majesty, allow me to introduce my old and valued friend, the Pirate-Lord Sallandros Saan,” Lysandro introduced.

As soon as Lord Rogare said the pirates name, it rang in Luke’s head like a bell. The murmurs and surprised looks around the chamber suggested that the rest of the court was of a similar reaction to Luke.

Sallandros Saan, the Sallandros Saan of the stories.

Son of Saathos Saan, the self-proclaimed King of the Basilisk Isles, and a descendant of Old Valyria explaining his silver hair.

Luke had been raised on stories of the Pirate-Lord Sallandros Saan by his father Laenor, or rather he was raised on the stories of his grandsire the Sea Snake and his nine voyages in which Sallandros was a recurring villain. The man they called Silver-Tongue Sallandros was perhaps the only man to sail as far and wide as the Sea Snake, constantly dogging one another in their adventures, usually as adversaires but occasionally as reluctant allies.

The crescent scar upon the pirate’s face was in fact a fabled injury put there during one of his clashes with Lord Corlys.

The Empress had an uncomfortable look on her face, clearly unsure about inviting her Lord Hand’s oldest enemy along on their journey to Valyria and his intent to join them and stay in Valyria was worse still. The Saan Pirate Lords were well known as descendants of Old Valyria and many of them had reputations for ambition, so it was understandable that Sallandros would wish to settle in the empire, but Luke was not sure how it would work if Sallandros and Corlys killed each other on the journey.

It was already difficult enough for Corlys to accept Racalio Ryndoon as an ally despite Racalio being nothing but flamboyantly nice to him, but an enemy he had been warring with endlessly across all his nine voyages? That might be a step too far even for him.

“Well… It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain Sallandros,” The Empress greeted with an awkward smile.

“And a pleasure to meet you as well,” the Pirate captain said with a deep bow. “I come to you with all my ships and crews at your disposal and I am sure that we will serve you well in this voyage and in the navy of your coming empire.”

Lord Bartimos scoffed in disgust rather loudly at Sallandros suggestion of being a part of Valyria’s navy.

“We are grateful for your offered services Captain and I am sure you and your crews will serve us well. Welcome,” Luke’s mother said graciously.

The doors into the audience chamber at the back left wall behind Rhaenyra’s chair opened and in came the Sea Snake and his captains. As Lord Corlys came in he made his way forward through the crowd of nobles.

“Pray forgive my tardiness, Your Majesty. But my captains and I lost track of—”

When the Hand of the Empire moved past the crowd and set eyes upon Sallandros, Luke had never before seen such a look of horror upon the Sea Snake’s face.

“Hello Corlys,” Sallandros said with a confident smile on his face as though he’d just seen an old friend.

A beat passed in the audience chamber as Corlys stared down the Pirate before unsheathing the ear dagger at his side and lunging at Sallandros.

Corlys’s captains grappled their Lord and pulled him back, the pirates and the dragonknights drew their swords, Rhaenyra rose from her chair and commanded Corlys to back down and Lsyandro tried to settle both Corlys and Sallandros as they pointed their blades at one another. Luke gripped the hilt of his dagger and spread out his arm out to shield Rhaena as one of the pirates pointed their blade in the direction of their sworn protectors.

“Stay your blade Lord Corlys!” Rhaenyra shouted.

“This is the man Rogare has hired ships from?! Your Majesty this curr cannot be trusted! He is a sea-rat and a cutthroat!” Corlys snapped as his captains continued to hold him back.

“Come now, Corlys! Yi Ti was a long time ago and I saved your life!” Salandros said, pointing his sword at the Sea Snake.

“Saved my life?! I wouldn’t have needed a stay of execution if you hadn’t of framed me for that theft! Then you left me and my crew in the dungeons and sailed off with my treasure haul!” Corlys growled.

“Hey! You owed me that haul! I lost my entire loot saving your ungrateful arse back in Mossovy if you recall!” Salandros shouted back.

“My crew and I spent a month in those dungeons!” Corlys shouted.

“Of for f*ck sakes. How many times have you left me stranded and gone sailing off into the sunset? Ibben, Zabhad, Sarnor, Leng, Mareen!”

“And you deserved it!”

“That is enough!” Rhaenyra interjected, bringing the room to silence.

“Lord Corlys, return to your chambers, I will meet you there. Lord Lysandro, please escort Captain Salandros to his accomidations and I will speak to him after. We will sort this mess out in a civilized manner,” Rhaenyra declared.

After the Empress spoke, all blades were meakly sheathed and everyone went their own way with Corlys and Salandros being escorted out of different doors.

“Well, that could have gone better,” Luke said, turning to Rhaena.

“Agreed. Do you think the Empress will manage to find a compromise acceptable to both of them?” Rhaena asked.

Luke shrugged in response.
“We need the ships, I don’t see what other option we have,” Luke replied.

Rhaena nodded in response.

“We have only four more days before we set sail for Volantis, let us pray no one gets killed before then,” said Rhaena.

And with that, Luke and Rhaena exited the audience hall, both still breathing heavily from the excitement of the intense encounter they had just witnessed.

Chapter 33: The Green Reign

Chapter Text

There was a new vibrance to the Red Keep as of late, beginning in the month after King Viserys’s death. The tensions of conflict and the lingering suspense of Viserys’s passing were finally done away with and despite all odds, Aegon had ascended the Iron Throne peacefully.

Now as Alicent walked the halls she once again saw the kind of prosperity and happiness that she had not seen since Queen Aemma’s death nearly two decades ago, but it was not the same as it once was. The Targaryen heraldry, tapestries and mosaics had been cleared away and replaced with statues and stars of the faith and the royal house sigil of the Targaryens had been recoloured to green and gold as the royal standard in perpetuity.

Everything Alicent had wanted in the years since she began quarrelling with Rhaenyra, spiting her and her family’s history and making the Red Keep into a second Hightower. But now it all felt cheap and corrupt, her selfish detest for her childhood best friend and her blind devotion to her father now one of her deepest regrets.

The illusion of prosperity was corrupted by the thought of Lord Beesbury, Lord Caswell, Lord Merryweather, and Lady Fell who had all been murdered without trial to secure the throne for Aegon.

Many of the servants and attendants in the Red Keep that Alicent knew well had disappeared by Lord Larys’s hand when Alicent sanctioned him to remove all spies for the Red Keep, including her handmaiden Talya, not realising at the time she had sentenced them all to their deaths.

Even since Aegon’s ascent and Rhaenyra’s self-exile, she told herself that the peace in the realm and the continuation of Jaehaerys’s golden age would make it all worth it, but beneath the smiles and prosperity in the realm corruption and cruelty rang out in its own way.

Already in the past four months, seven women employed around the Red Keep had been quietly paid for their silence and sent away after some unfortunate encounters.

In truth Aegon had been the least depraved of late, being too focused on enjoying the novelty of his crown and authority, but his lickspittles; Eddard Waters, Leon Estermont and Martyn Reyne had their own advancements on women and been afforded the King’s protection.

At the very least Aegon did seem to now possess a sense of purpose since taking the throne, actually putting effort into reading whatever books on the histories alluded to the Prince that was Promised to better understand it, much as Alicent had since Aegon had revealed her blunderous misunderstanding that had almost brought the realm to war.

As Alicent walked through the halls of the Red Keep with her sworn protector, Ser Rickard Thorne, close behind her, she contemplated once more if she had made the right choice in the end by elevating Aegon, now knowing that it was never what Viserys had actually wanted.

As Alicent came up on the entrance to the Small Council chamber, an exiting Ratcatcher and his dog made way for the Dowager Queen, bowing as she passed him by.

Ser Rickard Thorne took a positon at the doorframe while Alicent entered alone, rising up the flight of steps to see most of the Small Council already convened.

Ser Tyland Lannister, now Master of Coin rather than ships; Grand Maester Orwyle; Lord Jasper ‘Ironrod’ Wylde, the master of laws; her father, Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King; and lastly the newest addition to the small council, one who sat right next to Alicent around the table making her miserable, Lord Larys ‘Clubfoot’ Strong, the new Master of Whisperers, having wormed his way into Aegon’s good grace.

“Your Grace,” Ser Tyland greeted as Alicent came and sat down in her seat.

“Good Morrow,” she replied stiffly.

The Dowager Queen’s relations with most on the council had soured in recent months. Over the past few years while Alicent served as regent in her husband’s deteriorating state, Ironrod, Tyland and Clubfoot all doted on her as loyal allies in the Greens’ struggle against Rhaenyra, but since Aegon’s ascension, they had been dismissive of her, with Ironrod suggesting to the council that Alicent be removed as it would not suite for her, a woman, to have a seat on the council, finally sobering Alicent to the reality of why Tyland and Ironrod wanted Aegon to rule over Rhaenyra.

Larys, now with his own seat on the council, no longer needed Alicent — at least not politically — and so fell in with the others, pushing for her removal, but still using her for his gratification, held hostage by the blackmail he possessed over her.

Luckily, Aegon yielded to the wisdom of her father, Grand Maester Orwyle and the Lord Commander Criston Cole and Alicent was able to keep her seat.

Soon King Aegon arrived dressed in green and gold with his Lord Commander Ser Cirston accompanying him, the King ever in a chipper mood.

“Good Morrow, my Lords. Mother,” he greeted spryly.

It seemed that Aegon had chosen not to bring his son Jaehaerys to the council meeting that day, a good sign for while his wish for his son to be instructed in the ways of the court was well placed, they had proven little more than a distraction in practice.

“What news?” Aegon asked, as his cupbearer placed his totem in front of his seat.

“Our maritime pincer strategy into reclaiming the Stepstones is underway, Your Grace. Prince Aemond has flown ahead to the island of Tarth where ships from across the Stormlands have amassed at the port of Evenfall Hall and are at present awaiting Lord Daemion and the Velaryon fleet,” the Lord Hand explained.

“My cousin has mustered the best soldiers and ships of Rain House to support Prince Aemond on this campaign, Your Grace” said Lord Jasper in a sycophantic manner.

“While this is happening, Lord Jason Lannister, Lord Redwyne and my nephew Lord Ormund are sailing along the Dornish coast with your brother Daeron and Tessarion. Aemond will attack from the north with the larger dragon while Daeron will attack from the south with the superior numbers, hopefully creating disarray and indecisiveness in which front to fight on for the Stepstones. These pirates and sellsails are uncoordinated and disloyal and will surely fall to panic and mutiny from this double envelopment. We also know that one of the senior naval commanders in the Triarchy’s army, Racalio Ryndoon, has resigned his commission with Tyrosh after being recruited by your sister, the Princess Rhaenyra. Without Ryndoon, the Lyseni Commander Sharako Lohar is on her own in fending off this attack,” Otto continued.

“Small compensation for making off with most of the Velaryon fleet,” Ironrod said in a very backhanded comment.

“If I may, Your Grace. With my brother en route to the Stepstones with the brunt of the Lannisport navy, I fear that our western coastline may be severely exposed. Lord Dalton Greyjoy may be emboldened to keep with the traditions of his house and launch attacks on the Westerlands,” said Ser Tyland.

“The Red Kraken waits, seeking his best advantage,” Lord Jasper mused.

“Your Grace, Casterly Rock has always been one of the Realm’s two prime defences against Ironborn reavers in addition to that of Seaguard. Perhaps we might beseech Lord Jorah Mallister to extend maritime patrols across the sunset sea, at least until such time as the Lannister fleet’s return home,” Maester Orwyle suggested.

“Does Seaguard have enough ships to cover such a vast area of ocean?” Alicent asked.

The expressions on the councillors' faces seemed inconclusive but doubtful on the matter.

“With the passing of Lord Grover Tully, the new and young Lord Oscar is doubtlessly eager to prove himself and his merit. Surely we can persuade him to raise enough woodworkers, men-at-arms and sailors to help increase the Mallister fleet,” Otto suggested.

"After allowing so many of his vassals to abandon him yet again with thissecond wave of exiles, the young Lordling will need to work hard to earn the Crown's favour for his house once again," Ser Tyland declared.

Thesecond exilewas the name given to a recent development where more westerosi citizens from across the Seven Kingdoms had risen up and left their homes to chase after Rhaenyra and join her before she reached Valyria. It seemed that the number of allies she had won to her favour across the Narrow Sea and all three of her dragonseeds claiming dragons of their own had created a second surge of support in the Seven Kingdoms with more wishing to join her cause. Even those in King's Landing had come together to and joined thissecond wave.

At the head of this movement to follow after and join Rhaenyra was a handful of houses that had either changed their minds or bided their time before deciding to support Rhaenyra. House Smallwood, House Roote, House Lonmouth, House Farring and House Buckler had all sold their lands and holdings to join Rhaenyra, meanwhile, other houses were splitting in two with second sons, cousins and landless cadet branches leaving to join Rhaenyra either with their liege Lord's blessing or without. Lord Tristan Vance had ceded Wayfarer's Rest to his family's other branch, the Vance's of Artanta. Lord Samwell Blackwood had permitted his younger brother Willem and all the Blackwoods that wished to follow him to join the exile. Lord Darry's cousin Ser Roland, Lord Petyr Piper's brother, Alan Tarly's nephew, Lord Desmond Manderly's second son Torrhen and even some Valemen. It seemed that the leaving members of these houses were either going to seek their own power or leaving by order of their lords to cement their family's position in the new domain of Rhaenyra's Valyria.

The most amusing exodus, at least to Alicent, was almost the entire household of Harrenhal leaving to join the exile led by the Castellan, Ser Simon Strong, uncle to the late Lord Lyonel. It seemed that murdering his own father and brother and emptying the family treasury into his own pockets and leaving his remaining family to fend for themselves did not go over well.

No noble houses from the Westerlands joined the Second Exile, save for a few dozen lowly knights of no renowned, but many smallfolk from west of the Golden Tooth had been inspired by the quest and began to migrate east. The nobles who wished to leave began to corral and shepherd the mass migration of smallfolk together, with a great tent city emerging along the Blackwater of eighty thousand people from across the Seven Kingdoms. They had intended to sail south once they had hired and built enough ships and joined Rhaenyra, but then the Triarchy retook the Stepstones and would be unlikely to let a fleet of Westerosi ships pass. Instead, they ferried themselves across to Pentos and sold the ships for caravans and when last the Council heard, they had preached Rhaenyra's quest to the people there and recruited five thousand commoners from Pentos to join them and were now heading east along the southern coast of Essos, planning to meet Rhaenyra and her fleet in Volantis.

Rhaenyra probably had no idea that a further eighty thousand souls were travelling to join her cause and add their numbers to her own.

There was no illegality to leaving Westeros at one's own wish and so those who preferred to serve Rhaenyra rather than Aegon were not impeded by the Throne in their exile.

“Or perhaps we might take less drastic measures to ensure the Ironborn’s cooperation. I recall that prior to King Viserys’s death, we discussed in the event of Rhaenyra’s resistance to King Aegon’s rightful assent that we might garner Lord Dalton’s support with a marriage proposition… to the Queen Dowager,” Ironrod suggested.

“Out of the question,” Alicent protested at once. She had married for duty once before and though she loved Viserys in many ways, she would not do it again, especially not to be banished to a desolate archipelago to be a bride to a lord of marauders and barbaric pirates.

“Let us not be too hasty, we shall probe the activities of the Iron Islands to best discern Lord Greyjoy’s intent before making any kind of action,” the Lord Hand declared.

“I must say, My Lords, with such vital talk of threats on both our coastlines, I am reminded that we are left wanting for a Master of Ships,” said Maester Orwyle looking to the empty seat at the end of the table previously held by Ser Tyland before his reasignment as Master of Coin.

“Too true,” King Aegon said, drumming his fingers on the table. “Though since the majority of our naval forces are engaged in the Stepstones under the command of my brothers, the only real service a master of ships would serve on the council at this point is civilian ships like trade and whatnot. Tyland, do you think you could juggle the responsibilities of civilian ships and the treasury? At least for now?” Aegon asked.

“You honour me, Your Grace. I shall not fail you,” the Lannister knight said with a bright smile.

“A half measure but not a solution. After this war in the Stepstones, Aemond will yield control of the royal navy back to the Iron Throne, who will manage the office then?” Alicent asked.

“I imagine that during this incursion into the Stepstones, one of the aforementioned Lords; Velaryon, Hightower, Redwyne, Lannister, Tarth and whoever else, will distinguish themselves as naval commanders. Whichever one distinguishes themselves the most will be an apt successor to the office of Master of Ships, don’t you think?” Aegon asked.

“A wise suggestion, Your Grace,” the Hand agreed, nodding his head.

Aegon leaned back in his chair, smiling to himself.

“Right, what’s next?” Aegon asked, clapping his hands together. For the youthful king, with each problem he presented and gave a solution to — or rather an answer he gave and believed to be the solution — he took as a victory, like winning a game of dice and was hungry for the next one.

“We have… received news from Lys, regarding your sister, the former heir Rhaenyra,” Orwyle explained.

All eyes fell on the Grand Maester.

“Has the would-be usurper finally betrayed her oath and joined with the Triarchy against us?” Lord Jasper asked.

“Doubtful, Lord Jasper. If this ridiculous quest to reclaim Valyria was but a farce to buy time for an invasion she would not have pulled her forces and fortifications from the Stepstones,” Lord Larys interjected.

“Actually, she and her fleet have reportedly left Lys and are currently en route to Volantis. Over two hundred ships and more than twenty thousand followers - not counting the eighty thousand from the second wave in the Disputed Lands of which she seems yet to be aware of,” the Grand Maester assured them all.

The tense shoulders of the councillors then relaxed, now certain that Rhaenyra would not return to Westeros.

“Good. That’s one less thing we have to worry about,” Aegon said merrily.

“Is there anything else to report, regarding the Princess?” Alicent asked, wishing to know how Rhaenyra was faring of late.

Orwyle was hesitant to speak at first which made Alicent’s heart quicken with fear.

“Well, firstly, Lord Larys recent reports have been corroborated. The last of Rhaenyra’s three baseborn dragonseeds from Driftmark has claimed a dragon and taken it to wing, the other wild dragon Grey Ghost if I am not mistaken,” Orwyle explained.

“How many dragons does the Princess now possess?” Tyland asked.

“Well, the number has remained the same since the Princess left for Braavos, thirteen. If you wish to discount her two remaining unclaimed dragons and the pair of hatchlings belonging to her younger sons, then the answer is nine. But I would be remiss if I did not point out that Daemon’s younger daughter, the Princess Rhaena, is yet to claim a dragon which could bring the number up to ten,” Orwyle explained.

Aegon snorted and looked around as though Orwyle had made an error in his assertions about the dragons.

“Forgive me, Grand Maester, did you say princess Rhaena?” the King asked.

“I did, Your Grace,” Orwyle replied, seeming hesitant and worried about his answer.

“Well, I’m afraid you misspoke. Daemon’s daughters is in fact ladies rather than a princesses,” Aegon corrected the Grand Maester smugly.

A very uncomfortable look appeared on the Grand Maester’s face as he gently shook his head. Aegon mirrored the Grand Maester’s expression as he shook his head as though trying to discern what it meant other than no.

“What is this? What’s with the shaking of the head? Am I wrong? A princess is the daughter or granddaughter of a king and after that the next generation become ladies, you were the one who taught me that in my lessons, Grand Maester. Daemon isn’t a king, my grandsire Baelon never got to be King, where does my logic fail me?” Aegon asked.

“There have been… further developments in Emp—Prince— in your sister’s court. I was not sure how best to inform you—”

“Inform us of what?” Otto asked getting concerned.

“It is nothing of any consequence to the crown, merely a slight change that Rhaenyra has seemed to have undergone,” Orwyle stated as he pulled a scroll from the baggy sleeves of his robe. “This was sent to me from Oldtown, which in turn was passed on to the Citadel by the Maesters in Rhaenyra’s service for posterity and record.”

Aegon shrugged.

“Well, out with it, what has my sister done?”

The Grand Maester unravelled the scroll and began to read. This particular scroll seemed a bit bigger than a usual raven scroll, still small enough to be carried by a bird but big enough that more information could be written in small text.

“On the thirteenth day of the sixth moon of the year one-hundred and thirty-two, Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, daughter of King Viserys the First, was officially coronated on Lys as Empress of Valyria, Queen of the High Valyrians, Heir to the Freehold and Protector of her people by a Septon of the Faith and a High Priest of the Old Valyrian Cult; her husband Daemon was named Emperor Consort and Warmaster of her military; her eldest son Jacaerys was given the name Targaryen and the titles of Crown Prince and Heir to the Empire; she also naturalised Prince Daemon’s daughters as her own and elevated them to Princesses. Furthermore it states that Rhaenyra elevated several of her sworn lords and knights to special status, naming Lord Corlys as Hand of the Empire and establishing her own variant of the Kingsguard consisting of fourteen sworn swords called the Dragon—”

“Does the Princess’s impertinence know no bounds?” Lord Jasper grumbled. “After spending decades assuming his Grace’s inheritance as her own and threatening treason against his lawful ascent, she is charitably granted a pardon and allowed to flee Westeros with more than half the eggs and dragons that rightfully belong to the crown and her traitor lords. Now she dares to once again wear a crown and claim a royal style of her own, greater than His Graces?”

Alicent rubbed her eyes, exhausted by Ironrod’s bitterness.

“She named herself Empress of Valyria, not Westeros. Her claim is of no insult to the King,” the Queen Dowager asserted.

“Makes little difference, either way. The title is meaningless. I could call myself Emperor of Valyria but it would not mean anything unless I actually had dominion over Valyria. Let the Princess call herself what she wants, she’s still nothing more than a disinherited traveller with nothing but dragons, ships and exiles to her name,” Tyland scoffed.

“And when she does claim Valyria? The Freehold possessed wealth, sorcery and dragons. For her to rediscover and harness such power would make her the utmost threat to not only us but the known world. Already she has thrice as many battle-ready dragonriders as we do. We should have killed them all when we had the chance,” Ironrod declared.

“No,” Alicent growled.

“That’s enough,” Otto interjected. “Let us not drench up undeeded squabbles about how the Princess and her allies were handled in the past. What we must focus on is that she, her court and her allies are now beyond the Narrow Sea and moving farther and farther away from us and soon they will reach their destination and be of no consequence or threat to us any longer,” Otto explained.

Aegon tilted his head as he looked at his grandfather, not seeming to comprehend what he meant.

“How exactly will they be gone forever?” Aegon asked.

“Well, Your Grace, the Doom of Valyria destroyed the landscape and that very Doom still holds Valyria with every single journey there resulting in the deaths of any who have tried to brave it. I doubt that such wanton destruction has just vanished into nothing,” Otto replied.

“He means that they will die, Aegon. That their quest to will end in failure and they shall all perish… or at least that is my father’s hope, is it not?” Alicent asked, glancing over to the Hand.

A slight flicker of irritation emerged from Ser Otto’s otherwise stoic expression.

“Yes, Rhaenyra and her faction pose a grand threat to the Seven Kingdoms. Not only does their grievances on being denied the throne give them motive to seek quarrel with us but their larger force of dragons makes them an ever-present challenge to our own strength. The sole and unified control of the dragons has kept the Targaryen dynasty stable for generations, for a second faction of dragonriders to thrive somewhere else presents a danger to us. To that end, I think it is in the best interests of the Crown and the Seven Kingdoms at large that Rhaenyra and her followers continue on to Valyria to perish in the Doom. A distasteful thing to wish, but it will ensure the security of the Targaryen dynasty as the sole source of power over dragons in the known world. A necessary sacrifice,” Otto explained.

“But what if they survive?” Aegon asked.

“Your Grace?” Otto replied, vexed by his grandson’s inquiry.

“Well, dragon dreams are real. Daenys had one, my father had one about me claiming the throne. If Rhaenyra and her family are all actually set on claiming Valyria due to a dream they all shared, does it not stand to reason that this dream may have merit?” Aegon wondered aloud.

“Your Grace, dragon dreams are exceedingly rare and the idea that those such as Daemon or Rhaenyra or their children would have such visions is… unlikely to say the least,” Otto said dismissively.

“But still a possibility. So what is our course of action iif they do in fact manage to conquer Valyria and it becomes as dangerous and as powerful as you all say?” Aegon asked.

“If such an unlikely outcome were to occur, then I believe the Free Cities would see sense in not allowing such unchecked power growing under the likes of Rhaenyra, especially with one such as Daemon by her side. The next natural course would be for the Free Cities to seek favour with us and our dragons in a defensive military alliance,” the Lord Hand explained.

Alicent was left appalled but unsurprised by her father’s response.

“You’d have us treat with the Free Cities in an alliance against the King’s own sister out of— what? Paranoia that Rhaenyra will one day risk her empire to reclaim the Iron Throne?” Alicent challenged.

“Caution, not paranoia. Caution that a woman so easily influenced by a man such as Daemon would develop a heedless lust for power at the most grievous of costs,” Otto replied.

“And what cause would this war be attributed to? What reason would we give for attacking the Valyrian Empire without provocation? A desire to kill them all out of caution they might wish to do the same to us?” Alicent asked.

“Actually, if we were to keep to the strict letter of the law, the King actually has rights in regards to Valyria should it prove safe to enter,” Lord Jasper began. “When Rhaenyra knelt before the King and swore obeisance to him, she presented him with a pledge of featly. Therefore as one officially sworn to King Aegon, whatever territories she claims in Valyria it is only right that she offers them to King Aegon as an overseas region under his dominion and surrender whatever valyrian steel, dragon eggs and sorcery she finds to the crown. Alternatively, as the primogeniture heir of Aenar the Exile, the last Dragonlord of Valyria, King Aegon is the rightful inheritor to Valyria as the descendant of Valyria’s last ruling bloodline.”

“Enough. All this conjecture and safeguarding against an Empire that does not even exist and is unlikely to ever exist is a waste of time… Let us move on to our next matter of business,” Otto commanded, bringing the discussion to an end.

“The next matter in discussion is His Grace’s nameday celebration in the coming weeks,” Orwyle explained.

“Wonderful,” Aegon said joyously as he clapped his hands together and the faces of the councillors seemed to light up.

“Your first nameday since your coronation, a historic occasion, Your Grace,” Ser Tyland said with a smile.

“Too right and we will do our part to make it a historic occasion. I want the festivities to last seven days and seven nights, lords from all corners of the realm, tourneys, melees, archery competitions, mummers and circus performers. Dancing bears, bread and mead for the smallfolk,” Aegon said all too eagerly with the arrogance of youth shining through once again.

“You only just became king a few months ago and now already you wish to empty our coffers for the sake of your own nameday? Do you not think to how frivolous and vain this will make you seem?” Alicent asked, chiding her son.

“My father threw festivals and tourneys all the time during his reign. The reign of peace established by King Jaehaerys still holds strong and the crown’s coffers remain great enough to indulge from time to time. What better reason than to use my nameday as a pretext for properly celebrating my reign which is already off to a glorious start,” Aegon declared.

“Glorious? After only a mere four uneventful months?” Alicent rebuked.

Aegon seemed less than pleased with his mother’s questioning as his expression became more stern but he quickly smiled once again.

“Despite the volatile situation regarding my succession, I was able to successfully rise to the throne and send my sister on her way without bloodshed, continuing the Old King’s peace. Since then, both my children’s eggs have hatched; Helaena is pregnant again and no doubt carrying another son for me; Aemond and Daeron are on their way to the Stepstones to win glory for the crown; and the gods themselves have marked my reign by sending me the sign of red comet to herald my era as King. My reign, which stands as the third torchbearer in the longest reign of peace in Westeros’s history has begun with a cornucopia of blessings upon me, how much more glorious could it be?” Aegon asked.

“I wholeheartedly agree with the King,” The Hand declared. “With Princess Rhaenyra’s exile and so many lords and dragons gone with her as well as this incursion into the Stepstones, the people — both noble and common — do not yet know what to think, they must be guided towards seeing that the realm remains strong, prosperous and united. An apt suggestion to use your nameday to communicate such prosperity, Your Grace. Aegon’s Comet will become a symbol of power and harmony for generations to come and this celebration would be a wondrous way to mark the occasion.”

Voices of agreement rose up around the table with everyone seeming especially pleased with themselves and the situation, save for Alicent.

“Grand Maester, write to Oldtown to ensure that there are no inconsistencies in regards to who the Comet is named after,” Otto began, glancing over to Aegon. “Lord Jasper, speak with my son, Ser Gwayne. As Lord Commander of the City Watch, he will be in charge of keeping the city safe and secure when lords and knights start arriving for the celebration. And Ser Tyland, examine what funds we may set aside for the festivities without reaching profligacy.”

With that, the Small Council was dismissed and they all vacated the chamber.

Rather than make her way to her own chamber where she would be set upon by either her father seeking her to have a more reserved tongue in the council or by Lord Larys seeking favours she decided to go visit her daughter.

It was Alicent’s intention to remain present and attentive to her daughter in the coming months, for she was the sweetest and most innocent of souls now that she was with child once again, Alicent wished to be there for her. Despite Helaena’s quirks and oddities, she seemed to enjoy her children while struggling with all others, but while she was good as a mother she struggled greatly bringing the twins into the world. She was not accustomed to pain and her labours were arduous for her to get through and so this time around, Alicent intended to be there to support her daughter.

After crossing into Maegor’s Holdfast, Alicent found her daughter in the Queen’s chambers which had formerly been Alicent’s own when her husband still lived.

Helaena sat on a settee embroidering some kind of insect while the twins Jaehaerys and Jaehaera played on the ground with their toys with the wet-nurse. It took Alicent a moment to notice the Dragonkeeper standing at the door, watching over the children and only then did Alicent notice the little dragon hatchlings no bigger than lizards playing with the Prince and Princess. Jaehaerys’s dragon was the first to hatch two months ago, a green and bronze dragon named Shrykos, meanwhile, Jaehaera’s dragon had hatched only five weeks ago, a black and silver dragon named Morgul.

The dragonkeeper and the wet-nurse were the only two who had noticed Alicent had entered the chamber, acknowledging the Queen Dowager with a respectful nod.

While the children played with their dragons on the carpet, Alicent went and sat down next to her daughter, Helaena momentarily glancing to her but remaining focused on her needlework.

“How are you feeling,” Alicent asked as gently as she could.

“I was sick in the morning, but it passed,” Helaena stated.

“Hmm. When I was pregnant on Aegon, Grand Maester Mellos gave me something to sooth the gut. I’m sure Maester Orwyle could replicate it if you find yourself wanting,” Alicent offered.

“Maybe,” Helaena said, still yet to make eye contact with her mother.

Alicent then adjusted her place on the settee next to her daughter, scooching closer to her while giving her enough distance to make Helaena feel comfortable.

“I want you to know… Helaena. That I want to be here for you. To make it easier for you with this baby, in any way I can. You need simply say the word,” Alicent explained.

Helaena nodded her head but still kept her eyes on her needlework.

“I’m glad… I know that it will have to hurt. It hurts for everyone when the baby comes — but I wish it didn’t. I’m glad you’ll be here,” Helaena said and in her daughter’s kind words, Alicent found maternal fulfilment and love. Alicent reached out to touch her daughter but quickly recoiled when she thought of how uncomfortable Helaena was with unwelcome physical touch. Instead, Alicent sat quietly and watched her daughter work.

At one point Helaena glanced over to her mother and gently put her hand over Alicent’s in a show of affection just for a moment before returning to her threading.

In that moment, Alicent enjoyed a tender moment of familial bliss before Aegon came in, sauntering into the chamber and kneeling down next to his children.

“Hello my lovelies,” the King said kissing his two twins on their foreheads. “And how are little Shrykos and Morghul today?” he asked as he examined the two little hatchlings.

“Say. Mother, have you noticed Jaeherys and Jaehaera’s dragons? Look at their colours,” said Aegon looking at the little hatchlings crawl about on the carpet.

Alicent shrugged not seeing what her son meant.

“Shrykos is green and Morghul is black, what of it?” Alicent asked.

‘Well, yes their primary colours but look at their secondary colours. Bronze and silver, like Vermithor and Silverwing. Since my nameday will be a celebration of all the blessings and signs of my reign perhaps we could make Jaehaerys and Jaehaera out to be the successors of the Old King and the Good Queen. Now that I think about it, is it too late to rename Jaehaera as Alyssane?” Aegon asked.

Alicent’s eyes widened and her brow furrowed.

“Yes, Aegon. It is very much too late to rename your four year old daughter,” Alicent enunciated angrily.

“Alright, calm down. I just thought since I had the Conqueror’s name, the Conquror’s crown, the Conqueror’s sword and dagger that it would suit for my son to have as many Jaehaerys -like attributes as possible,” Aegon explained. “A shame that Rhaenyra made off with the real Vermithor and Silverwing. Though none of her baseborn dragonseeds were able to claim them,” he said as he stroked his son’s hair.

“I think our sister will need to pay for bronze and silver with two drops of our family’s blood that lies within the black wall,” Helaena said as though it were some coherent piece of information that one of them would benefit from hearing.

Alicent, the Dragonkeeper, the Wet-Nurse and Aegon all looked to one another with confused expressions.

“The Queen is an enduring mystery, is she not?” said Aegon with a smile, dismissive of his sister-wife’s strange characteristics.

Alicent sighed in dismay, fed up with being dogged by her son’s careless and cheerful aproach to his responsibilities as King, the only time he showed any actual semblance of accepting responsibility was when they read through his father’s old books and he talked about how he was the Prince that was Promised.

“I’ll come and check in on you later,” Alicent said softly to her daughter as she got up from the settee and left the chamber.

Outside the door were three Kingsgaurd knights; Alicent’s sworn protector, Ser Rickard Thorne; Helaena’s protector, Ser Willis Fell; and lastly Ser Criston Cole, the Lord Commander who presumably escorted Aegon to the chamber.

As Alicent turned to walk back to her chamber she expected to be followed by Ser Rickard but Ser Criston reached for his sworn brother’s pauldron, stopping him from following the Queen Dowager.

“Why don’t you wait here for the King, Ser Rickard? I shall escort the Queen to her chamber,” Ser Criston declared.

“Yes, Lord Commander,” Ser Rickard replied with a nod.

Alicent felt uncomfortable as she walked down the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast with Ser Criston by her side, suspecting what it was that made him wish to escort her.

Once they were far enough away Alicent spoke plainly but quietly to him.

“If your escort is tethered to any ulterior motive, Ser Criston, need I remind you that we agreed we would no longer do this during the day?” Alicent asked.

“I simply thought you could use the company. You have seemed tense as of late, Your Grace,” Ser Criston said.

“Perhaps being around you too long has made me so,” Alicent hissed, aggravated by the Lord Commander.

Alicent’s private nights with Cole were a vice she could not shake, too dependent on the release and pleasure that eased her otherwise hollow and grim life as it had become but she was not proud of it. Cole on the other hand had become impertinent and unapologetic of his oathbreaking and indecency. Cole’s shamelessness even stretched beyond that of their secret tryst with Alicent once asking if he felt any grief over Lord Beesbury’s demise in an effort to comfort him but he said he was glad to put one of the whor* of Dragonstone’s lickspittles to death.

Alicent could not fathom how easily Cole dismissed the unjust murders he had committed, something Alicent could not do with the blood on her own hands.

How many people had she murdered over the years, sating the power of that council of men who used her to gain power and dismissed her once they had it?

Lyonel and Harwin Strong, Lyman Beesbury, Allun Caswell, Bethany Fell, Dromund Merryweather, Talya her handmaiden, her late lord husband’s attendant Jon, only a boy of six and all the others in the castle in league with the mysterious White Worm. Even the White Worm himself, whomever he actually was, had been murdered at Alicent’s wish when Larys offered it and she had whor*d herself to him as payment, just as she had done reluctantly when Clubfoot came to her chamber and first asked for his reward after the fire at Harrenhal.

When Alicent finally reached her chamber, she shut the door with Cole on the far side of it.

No longer the Queen Consort, Alicent’s old chambers had been yielded to Helaena and now Alicent had moved to what had once been Rhaenyra’s old chamber. The very same chamber in which she had helped Rhaenyra get ready for the pledging ceremony when her father first named her heir to the Iron Throne. Alicent then walked over to the window and looked up to the sky at the red comet that streaked the sky. Aegon’s Comet they were calling it, at least in the Seven Kingdoms. As Alicent looked up at it, she wondered if Rhaenyra was looking at the Red Comet at present from the far side of the Summer Sea, a bond remaining between them no matter how many leagues parted them.

Alicent wondered if the day would ever come that Rhaenyra could forgive her for all her mistakes, if they could ever find their way back to one another and fix all that had been broken between them. Maybe one day, if the Valyrian Empire succeeded in their quest and Rhaenyra found the mercy in her heart to send the page from their childhood history book back to her across the seas. But for now, Alicent must learn to live with the guilt of her wrongdoings, one way or another.

Chapter 34: Reunion in Volantis

Chapter Text

Three days since departing from Lys, their fleet was finally coming up on Volantis. There had been some disputes in the lead-up to their departure regarding Lord Corlys’s protests to sail alongside Sallandros Saan and Racalio Ryndoon, two of his former adversaries. After some convincing from Rhaenyra and a promise that Saan and Racalio would sail furthest away from Corlys’s own ship, he was eventually won over.

Rhaenyra herself was not aboard any of the ships, instead flying atop Syrax with a thunder of nine ridden dragons and two unclaimed ones following behind her.

Rhaenyra hadn’t appreciated it during their trek southward through the Narrow Sea, nor from Bloodstone to Lys, but now she came to grasp how not since the days of Old Valyria had there been such a large thunder of dragons flying together over the skies and especially not such a vast number of riders flying together. The fact that they would presumably have more riders among them only further astonished her. Vermithor and Silverwing remained riderless and Rhaena’s attempts had all been in vain, but perhaps their favour might change or other dragonseeds like Addam, Alyn and Nettles may yet present themselves.

After many hours of soaring on the winds, at long last, the city of Volantis came into view along the horizon, the last milestone before Valyria.

The great port city, built on both sides of the mouth of the river Rhoyne, connected by the long bridge. As the dragons drew nearer to the city, its shape and structures became more clear. Rhaenyra could see the great black wall that incircled streets of palaces and lavish manses, the grandiose Temple of the Lord of Light towered over the rest of the city.

As the dragons came up on the city’s harbour, Rhaenyra led them over the city, circling above to herald their arrival to the Volantene.

After three laps of the city, enough to show off the dragons to the Volantene people, Rhaenyra led the dragons west of the city, beyond the city’s farmlands to a deserted spot along the coast where the fleet would meet them.

As Rhaenyra and Syrax landed onto the open grassland, the rest of the thunder followed them. Like before in Lys, Vermithor and Silverwing nested themselves a bit further away from the rest of the dragons, while all the ridden dragons nested together. Even Grey Ghost, who had always been a lonesome and isolated dragon was now comfortable around his kin, having truly become more confident and brave since bonding with Alyn.

As the nine riders all slipped off their saddles and came together in the middle of the grasslands, their dragons began to curl up and rest their heads on the grass.

Now with a clear view of the city in the distance to the east and the ocean horizon to the south, there was not to do but wait for either the fleet to arrive or the city to send someone to greet the dragon riders.

It was a while yet before their fleet came into view and longer still before they anchored themselves off the beach and sent rowboats ashore to set up their camps on the beach.

The riders left their mounts in the clearing beyond the beach and walked a while to arrive at the beach.

Workers and sailors were bringing all the supplies ashore to set up refugee camps for all of Rhaenyra’s followers.

They found the royal party with the Hand of the Empire, Lord Corlys, directing the lords, knights and ship captains on how to set up the camp along the shore. Rhaena and Elinda were looking after the boys and the dragonkeepers were coming ashore with the caged Stormcloud and Tyraxes as well as the dragon eggs, presumably taking them to the dragon nests where the keepers would raise their camp.

“Your Majesty,” Lord Corlys greeted with a bow as she approached with the lords, knights and captains doing the same.

“How fares the erection of our encampment?” Rhaenyra asked, glancing out to see tents being set up across the beach and dingies coming ashore as far as she could see in either direction.

“I am just delegating responsibilities now, Your Majesty. We presume most of the nobility and wealthy within our ranks will be granted lodgings within the city, but we have pavilions and tents at the ready should the Volantene prove… uncooperative. Any word from the city?” Lord Corlys asked.

The Empress shook her head.

“No riders from the city since we landed. We made our arrival clear enough, circling the city thrice but we are yet to be greeted,” she said glancing over towards the city.

“The Old Blood carries great weight within Volantis, I am sure that their delay is merely a result of unpreparedness for our arrival,” Lord Corlys suggested.

Rhaenyra nodded in agreement and looked out to the incoming boats again, among them was a long boat with several Maesters in it, coming ashore and fussing about the fringes of their robes getting wet and sandy as the tide came in. Among the less frustrated maesters was the stoic and quiet Archmaester Vaegon.

“Archmaester,” Rhaenyra called out, summoning the Targaryen scholar to her.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted with a bow.

“How fared you on the crossing from Lys? Were the seas kind?” she asked.

“Not particularly, but the journey was sufficient enough,” the Archmaester explained, ever blunt and to the point in his words.

Rhaenyra glanced around at her nobles, knights and dragonriders, all awkward and put off by the Archmaester’s naturally sullen expression.

“Please, walk with me,” the Empress invited as she excused herself from her dragonriders and lords while Ser Harrold and Ser Steffon trailed behind her and the Archmaester.

“There is a matter I would like to broach with you, in regards to our coming diplomatic relations with Volantis. Thus far, you have been of instrumental value to my court, both with your extensive knowledge of the mysteries of Old Valyria and your sage council in advising the structuring and establishment of the coming empire, all of which I am grateful for. Now I was wondering if you might lend me your assistance in opening a dialogue with the Volantene, or rather one well-regarded noble among them,” Rhaenyra explained.

“My sister, Saera,” Vaegon surmised.

“Yes, I was hoping you might foster the introduction between us to create a toehold within the Volantene nobility.”
“It is your intention for me to use the bond of familial love to win the favour with my estranged sister so that she might use her position as the most prominent brothel proprietor in Volantis to open diplomatic channels with prospective allies and sponsors in the city. This is a wise course of action, despite the two encumbering variables,” said Vaegon.

“What variables?” Rhaenyra asked.

“While traditional familial relations foster love and affection, my aloofness and my indifference to the traits, characteristics and interests of my siblings caused us to have a strained relationship. I did love my siblings — most of them anyway — but I did not particularly get along with them. Also, Saera is a selfish and hedonistic manipulator without conscience or empathy, all traits which led to her falling out with our father and fleeing to the Free Cities,” Vaegon explained, giving an austere and unemotional description of his own sister.

“So, you do not wish to see her again?” Rhaenyra asked, wondering if there was some degree of pain in Vaegon’s heart that he was concealing from her in regard to his last living sibling.

“Not particularly, but I do agree with you that I am the most prudent choice to foster your introduction to her. If she is still as she was during our formative years then her vanity will not have subsided, meaning she will take my indifference to her as a slight and it is best that I be seen to be wanting to meet with her. Furthermore, unlike my father and brothers who were easily fooled by her false presentations of kindness and innocence, I was more insightful of her true nature much like my mother and sisters. I believe I can help discern any falsehoods or manipulations she may play on you or your court,” Vaegon explained.

Rhaenyra was surprised at how unexpectedly critical Vaegon was being of his own sister and what an evil personality he was describing.

Rhaenyra remembered when she was a very small child, she did not know the full story of Saera she had once admired her knowing only that she was smart, courageous, would not be told what to do by men and tried to break into the dragonpit and steal Dreamfyre, then escaped to Essos. It was not until Rhaenyra had said to her parents how she wished she could be like Saera that she saw the horrified looks on their faces.

Rhaenyra’s father then sat her down and told her the whole story of Saera Targaryen, how she had bullied and abused the court fool and how she and her friends had given their maidenheads to her male favourites, bringing scandal to six noble houses including the Targaryens. When her father offered her an out by marrying her to one of the favourites who had defloured her, she had greedily declared she’d marry all three of them, sparing no thought and no match for her two female companions who would be shamed and ostracised for giving their maidenheads, one of them even having fallen pregnant. Then she had the gall to compare herself to Maegor the Cruel who had six wives. To say that to her father’s face, knowing he had lost two brothers and suffered greatly as a child because of Maegor… Rhaenyra could never dare to be so disrespectful.

The Empress knew that Saera was a selfish woman but she would never have guessed her to be so… heartless, as Vaegon described.

Rhaenyra then parted from the Archmaester and went back to find Lord Corlys and the Daemon, both of whom were directing Daemon’s makeshift Dragon Legion to set up palisades around the camp.

“Strange to see fortifications being built… especially when I had not ordered it,” Rhaenyra asserted as she approached the Hand and the Emperor Consort.

“A precautionary measure, Your Majesty. We stand outside a city that acts as the central hub of slave trading from the cities of the Triarchy to Slaver’s Bay. No doubt there are at least some within their walls who will take issue with our stances on the matter,” Lord Corlys explained.

“As was the same with Tyrosh, Myr and Lys, yet we were in no danger with any of those cities,” said Rhaenyra.

“Yes, but none of those cities were infested by my whor* of an aunt’s bloated litter of children and grandchildren. Saera’s tiger spawn are pure-blooded valyrians with Targaryen blood, which is far stronger than what our dragonseeds have flowing through their veins. Volantis has always coveted seeing the resurrection of the Freehold but has never had the dragons for it and we have brought the largest number of dragons and dragon eggs in the world to their doorstep,” Daemon explained resting his hands over Dark Sister in its sheath.

“And you think the Volantene intend to murder us and take our dragons and eggs to be given to Saera’s kin?” Rhaenyra asked, thinking her husband was a bit paranoid.

Daemon shrugged.

“They want to see Valyria rise to its former glory the same as us, but they want to see it rise their way. Why give up the comforts of slavery and bend the knee to us when they can massacre us in the night, take our dragons and reclaim Valyria for themselves? It’s the choice between serving in the Empire we envision or ruling in the Freehold they envision.”

The diplomat in Rhaenyra wanted to dissuade her Hand and Consort and tell them their wariness towards the Volantene was unwarranted, but having heard such dark things about the Princess Saera from her own brother and understanding the responsibilities of an Empress to protect her people, she could not fault either of them for establishing fortifications to safeguard their camp.

“Your Majesty!” a voice called out.

Rhaenyra, Corlys and Daemon turned their heads to see a pair of soldiers in Daemon’s Dragon Legion come marching towards them. One dressed in the Targaryen armour of a household guard from Dragonstone and the other in the garb of a Gold Cloak but with a red cloak instead of a gold one. Daemon’s Dragon Legion was still uniformed and cobbled together, but Daemon had been drilling them hard to fight as a cohesive military force. He’d made several veteran knights and soldiers into trainers for the raw recruits and elevated household guard captains and his Gold Clock lieutenants to captains in the legion.

The two soldiers dropped to their knees before the Empress.

“You Majesty. A retinue from the city has arrived with carriages and an envoy from the city,” one of the soldiers explained.

The Empress nodded her head and went to greet them, Daemon, Corlys, her nobles and knights following behind like moths to a flame and several soldiers of Daemon’s legion amassed at the border of the camp at the grasslands beyond the beach.

As their Empress approached with her Hand and her Warmaster and Consort following behind, they parted ways to allow her through.

When Rhaenyra was out the other side of her formation of soldiers, seven of her fourteen dragonknights were standing guard.

Beyond the white cloaked knights, were a pair of horse-drawn carriages, an escort of twelve mounted soldiers and banner bearers for the city and well-dressed and jewelled envoy atop a horse.

“Jiōrna Volantis, Dāriorys Rhaenyra hen Targario,” the envoy greeted, speaking in High Valyrian, bowing his head from atop his horse.

Dāriorys, the Valyrian word for Empress or Emperor, a word rarely used in Valyrian and already Rhaenyra liked the sound of it.

“On behalf of the benevolent and exhausted triarchs of Volantis; His Supreme Magnificence, Maran of the illustrious house of Vhassar; His Supreme magnificence, Vyros of the illustrious house of Galtigar; and His Supreme Magnificence Nakero of the illustrious house of Qhaedar. I bid you your imperial settlers welcome to the city of Volantis and extend the invitation of the city’s hospitality for the Imperial household and the nobility of your house. Your people are also free to seek lodging and visit the city as they see fit,” the emissary explained.

The man then gestured to the carriages behind him.

“I have brought transportation for the Empress so that she and her household may be escorted into the city where lodgings and accommodations for her and her family have been assigned to one of the most exquisite palaces within the Black Wall.”

It seemed that contrary to Daemon and Corlys’s fears and anxieties, the city of Volantis was open to them with open arms, but how many supporters they would be able to round up from Volantis was yet to be seen.

After being extended the offer, Rhaenyra gathered her household and waited for horses to be brought ashore to carry her dragonknights and some household guards into the city.

After the horses were ashore, the household guards were selected and the Empress’s crown was upon her head, Rhaenyra, her family and her dragonriders all piled into the two carriages.

Two columns of household guards, her fourteen dragonknights and a pair of Lord Corlys’s household knights, Ser Thoron True and Ser Denys Woodwright to accompany their lord.

It was a long carraige ride from the camp to the city gates given how slow the carriages went coupled with how far from the city they had landed their ships and dragons.

Soon enough, they came up to the city gates and the carriage rolled inside.

Much like with Lys, there seemed to be an organised parade to welcome the Targaryens into the city, perhaps explaining why it took so long for someone to come and greet them.

No matter how deep into the city, the lines of smallfolk and collared slaves chanting and cheering them into the city never ended. The slaves who cried out to Rhaenyra looked desperate like they were begging for help as they called her empress, saviour and some even mother, all the words repeated by different slaves in varying dialects of valyrian.

Rice and flower petals rained down on them from the upper floors of the buildings of the Long Bridge as they rode over it and eventually, their convoy came to the gates of the black walls.

When the gates opened and the carriages went inside, they found the gaudy and ornate labyrinth of ​​palaces, courtyards, gardens, towers, temples and cloisters, like a confusing and lurid city of ornate castles.

Along the streets there were guards, trumpeters, drummers, banner bearers and a crowd of wealthy and well-dressed people carried around on gilded litters, some with silver hair and some without. The Tigers and Elephants of Volatnis. There were also many standing at the windows and balconies of the palaces looking down and cheering to the Targaryens as they arrived.

Their retinue took them through the streets of palaces to the largest and tallest one within the city, presumably the abode of the Triarchs.

The gates into the palace were extremly wide and tall, big enough to fit a reasonably sized dragon through, or more likely an elephant, the traditional mount of the Triarchs. It was said that the triarchs could not let their feet touch the ground outside of any building and even when inside buildings, they tended to be carted around on litters to go from one room to the next, or so Rhaenyra had heard.

Inside the palace courtyard, the carriages pulled to a stop and the royal party was let out of their carriages as slaves came to take the reins of their knights and guards as they dismounted.

A crowd of nobles, castle workers and slaves was assembled out the front of the palace doors with all of them bowing their heads as the Targaryens emerged from the carriages.

Nine finely dressed men with golden rods and collars of office then approached the Imperial household and introduced them as the Majordomos of the Triarchs, three in service to each of the Triarchs.

The Majordomos then led the Imperial family and their guards through the halls to a large and ornate chamber with gilded columns, muraled walls set with gems and red carpets over the marble floors. There were many courtiers and highborns in the chamber and at the end of the hall were three gilded seats with three well-dressed men sitting upon them, the Triarchs.

A herald then stepped forward and began to speak in High Valyrian.

“Presenting, Her Majesty Her Imperial Majesty, Rhaenyra of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Empress of Valyria, Queen of the High Valyrians, Blood of the Dragon, Heir to the Freehold and Protector of her People.”

The herald then turned around to face the Targaryens and addressed them.

“You stand in the presence of His supreme magnificence, Maran of the illustrious house of Vhassar,” he said gesturing to the one on the left. “His Supreme magnificence, Vyros of the illustrious house of Galtigar,” gesturing to the middle throne. “And His Supreme Magnificence Nakero of the illustrious house of Qhaedar,” pointing to the one on the right.

Triarch Vyros Galtigar, a silver haired man presumably of the Tigers who occupied the middle throne, raised his arms out and smiled.

“Welcome, mighty Empress. It has been far too long since the Dragonlords of Valyria have graced this city with its presence, we are blessed by the arrival of your house,” said the Triarch in a gracious manner.

Rhaenyra gently bowed her head.

“The honour is mine, my Lord Triarchs and you have my gratitude for offering the hospitality of your city to us as we pass through on our voyage,” Rhaenyra replied graciously.

Next the Triarch Maran Vhassar who occupied the left throne raised his arms out and began to speak.

“As honoured guests of the city, we welcome you and your followers to feel at east here in Volantis and enjoy the luxuries of this paradise for as long as you wish before undertaking your voyage onto the smoaking sea.”

Rhaenyra bowed her head once again in recognition and gratitude for the offered hospitality.

“The city has also selected one of it’s most prominent highborn citizens to act as the emissary to your House for the duration of your stay and furhtermore she has willingly offered her own palace here within the Black Wall district for the Imperial Household to reside in,” the Triarch said before pointing off to the side.

Among the crowd of nobles that Triarch Maran was pointing to, a woman emerged.

An elderly woman, dressed in purple silk and golden jewllery set with pearls and amythists, her hair was pale white but Rhaenyra supsected her hair had always been of a smiliar colour even before her old age if she was who Rhaenyra believed her to be.

The Empress glanced over to the faces of those around her, the Sea Snake, Princess Rhaenys, Daemon, Arhcmaester Vaegon, even Ser Harrold Westerling all glowering at the woman as she approached.

Rhaenyra already knew who she was looking at, Saera Targaryen, the disgraced self-exile who had brought shame and scandal upon the Iron Throne.

“Rhaenyra Targaryen,” she greeted, speaking in the common tongue with a wide smile as she aproached the Empress.

When the Princess was face to face with Rhaenyra she gently took the Empress’s face into her wrinkled boney hand by the chin and genlty moved her head from side to side as she examined Rhaenyra’s features.

“Quarter Baelon, quarter Alyssa, quarter Daella and all beauty,” Saera said with a smile before pecking both the Empress’s cheeks with soft kisses and then pulling Rhaenyra in for an embrace.

“Welcome to Volantis, grand niece,” Saera said.

After all she had heard about Saera Targaryen, Rhaenyra was baffled by what she was seeing. She expected a disinterested, selfish and vain old crone of great impertinence yet instead Rhaenyra had received nothing but warmth and kindness from a graceful and sweet old lady. In that moment Rhaenyra wondered if every terrible thing she had heard about Saera was a lie or if it were all true and she was a more skilled charmer and manipulator than Rhaenyra had expected.

Saera then greeted Rhaenys.

“Oh my dearest Rhaenys. What a gorgious woman you’ve grown to become, my sweet,” Saera said as she hugged her niece.

“You have your father’s hair but your mother’s beauty. How I adored Jocelyn, she may have been our aunt but she was raised alongside the rest of us like a sister. And you!” Saera said as she turned her attention to Daemon.

“Oh, little baby Daemon, all grown up,” Saera said as she gently pinched Daemon’s cheek.

While Rhaenyra and everyone else in her retinue fought with all their might to keep from laughing, Daemon glared with such intense anger at his aunt that Rhaenyra thought that Daemon might slice her head off with Dark Sister there and then.

A sad expression then befell Saera as she released Daemon’s cheek.

“I was… so very sorry to hear about your brother. Terrible. He was such a gentle boy. I cried for hours when I found out,” Saera said softly.

“Uh… thank you,” Daemon replied seeming unsure how to respond to Saera’s unexpected kindness.

Lastly, her eyes fell upon Vaegon, she gasped and covered her mouth while her brother sternly stared at her without any hint of emotion.

“Vaegon? Dear brother is that really you?’ she asked so lovingly.

“Saera. It has been some years since last we met. I trust you’ve been keeping well?” Vaegon said cordially.

Saera then went in and embraced her brother which seemed to make Vaegon very uncomfortable as he awkwardly patted her back.

“You haven’t changed a bit dear, look at you, an Archmaester,” she said affectionately as she held the chain around Vaegon’s neck.

Vaegon glanced to Rhaenyra and ever so slightly shook his head, indicating that Saera’s kindness and affection were nothing but a ruse and Rhaenyra was prepared to defer to Vaegon’s assertions no matter how unsettlingly convincing her performance was.

“Come, come, come. You must see your lodgings at my palace and tonight I want you to dine with one of my sons and one of my granddaughters,” Saera said with joy in her voice.

If the exiled Princess was putting such effort into playing the friend and loving aunt to the Imperial House it suggested she wanted something, but what it was she wanted, Rhaenyra was yet to uncover.

But Rhaenyra had no intention of confronting Saera about her motives, at least not yet since it seemed that for now, Saera would be her host in the city of Volantis.

Chapter 35: The Paths of Destiny

Chapter Text

Visenya felt nauseous. After months of waiting they had finally arrived, the Targaryens of Westeros, the Empress Rhaenyra and her family.

Since seing the dragons circle above the city, a thunder of eleven, she thought she was dreaming and the entire day since then she had been waiting for when she would finally wake up but it never came.

She was not there when the Imperial family came to her grandmother’s palace, with her grandmother wishing to present her and her uncle to the Imperial house at dinner and Visenya had not tried to sneek off to see them since.

Despite having longed for this day, she was too terrified to dare approach the Targaryens. It all felt too perfect that she could not help but expect something would go wrong. She feared that she would walk into the dining hall and see strangers, no one resembling those she had seen in her dream five months ago and everything Visenya had been expecting to be naught but a fantasy in her own head.

No, she told herself, refusing to believe everything she believed to be false. She had thought it all out and all signs pointed to her having shared in the great dragon dream. She had shown the pictures she had drawn to Aerion and he had claimed to have also shared the dream, just as Visenya had drawn him among the others. She counted up the days and Visenya’s dream was on the same night that King Viserys had passed, just as Rhaenyra Targaryen had purported her dragon dream to have occurred.

Visenya had spent most of the day since the Targaryens arrived in the palace in her room, on the opposite side of the palace from where the Targaryens’ accommodations had been set up. She spent most of her time pouring over the sketches she had done of what she had seen in the dream.

As the hours of the day came and went and the stars came out, the arranged dinner where she would meet the Targaryens for the first time was drawing near.

Mansy came and helped Visenya dress and do her hair to look presentable to the Targaryen guests and when she was ready, she took a deep shaky breath and exited the chamber.

Each step down the hall she took felt overwhelming and gut-wrenching and after a few twists and turns through the hallways, Visenya’s heart was racing too fast and she veered off into the library, a room her grandmother rarely went into but one of Visenya’s favourite rooms in the whole palace.

Visenya walked over to a desk table and rested one hand on the back of a chair and the other on her heart as she took deep breaths.

She was making a fool of herself. She had been waiting for so long for this day and now that it was finally here, she was terrified. To be presented with a destiny and to see its fulfilment come forth and present it to her brought such doubt and confusion to her mind. Even if all went according to what she expected and they did recognise her from the dream, what was expected of her? The Dragonfangs suggested that she and Aerion would become dragonriders, but Visenya had not considered it in sincerity. She had been so focused on meeting the Targaryens, pledging to them and joining them that she hadn’t yet considered what would come after… Valyria, the Empire and her role in it.

Visenya was fifteen years old and now she was wondering what part she would have to play in the creation of a civilization that could change the known world as it stood forever.

While Visenya stood alone in the library trying to comport herself, the doors suddenly opened, causing her to jump and turn around.

As the doors opened, inside came a woman in a red and dark grey dress adorned with scales and upon her head was a steel crown set with hexagonally carved rubies and the seal of the Targaryen sigil at the front. Her face was one that Visenya already knew, for she had seen it before in the dragon dream, sitting upon a black throne of dragonglass.

It’s her, it is really her. Everything that Visenya had hoped for, everything she believed. The face of the crowned woman in her dreams now before her in the form of flesh and blood.

As she came walking into the library, Visenya felt vindication in every ounce of faith that she had clung to since receiving her cryptic dream.

She did not seem to notice Visenya at first as she walked into the library and looked around, followed by an older bald man with a short white beard and a suit of scalemail and segmented plate, similar to what was worn by the old valyrians, with a white cloak hanging from his back.

“This does not look like the dining hall, Ser Harrold,” she said looking around the chamber.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty. It seems I was wrong about that left turn,” the old white-cloaked guard said.

Finally, her eyes caught Visenya as she stood there in wonder of the Targaryen Empress.

Visenya quickly bowed her head and averted her eyes, overwhelmed to meet such a woman.

A dragonrider, daughter of King Viserys the Peaceful, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and the future empress of Valyria.

“Oh, sorry. We did not mean to barge in on you,” the Empress said gently to Visenya.

“We are looking for the dining hall, could you… you … You. I’ve seen you… let me see your face, come closer, please,” the Empress beckoned.

Visenya stepped forward and lifted her eyes from the floor to the Empress.

Despite having never met before or set eyes upon one another in the waking world, Visenya could feel in her heart that the Empress Rhaenyra recognised her just as she recognised the Empress. The Dragon Dream they had shared and in which they had seen one another’s faces.

The Empress reached out, her fingers gently touching Visenya’s cheek as her eyes filled with such emotion and wonder.

“It’s you, it’s really you,” she said with the gentlest hint of laughter in her voice.

Visenya’s eyes began to well up with tears as she smiled.

“I knew you were the one. From the day I first heard that Rhaenyra Targaryen was travelling to Valyria after she and her family received a Dragon Dream, I just knew that you were the one I saw on the dragonglass throne,” Visenya said with a smile.

The two smiled and laughed at the wonder of how destiny had seemingly drawn them together.

“Forgive me if it may seem inappropriate, Your Majesty… but in the months since I first saw you during the dream, I feel that I have… missed you,” Visenya explained.

Rhaenyra smiled and held Visenya’s hands.

“It has been… similar for me. Every time we came to a new port, every time my family went to a new city, we had hoped to find you and to see you here before me after so long is — it is a wonderful thing.”

At that moment Visenya reached out to embrace the Empress but recoiled.

“Forgive me, I don’t know why I—” she said in shame as she shrunk back.

“No need. It’s alright,” Rhaenyra said, opening her arms out and welcoming Visenya in.

The two embraced one another and a silent moment passed between them. Two strangers who had spent months looking for one another saying hello with an embrace as though they were old friends who had reunited after so many years apart.

When they pulled apart and held one another’s hands the were still smiling with tears in their eyes.

“Forgive me for taking so long to ask this but… who are you?” Rhaenyra asked with a smile.

“Sorry. I am Princess Saera Targaryen’s granddaughter and ward,” Visenya explained.

Rhaenyra nodded her head as realisation washed over her face.

“Of course. The true blood of the dragon. I might of known,” Rhaenyra said. “And what might your name be?”

“Visenya of House Doreneos,” she said with a curtsie.

The smile momentarily melted off Rhaenyra’s face and her expression seemed pained for a moment, but quickly the smile returned to her.

“Visenya?... I had a daughter named Visenya,” she said softly, “It is a beautiful name and it suits you well.”

Visenya then felt discomfort and shame at speaking her name. She had not known that the Empress had any daughters, save for her nieces whom had become her own after marrying Daemon Targaryen, but certainly not a deceased child who bore the same name as the elder Conqueror-wife as she did.

“Of all the people in this wide and rich world, I had not thought that one of the strangers I saw in the Dragon Dream would be of Princess Saera’s line,” Rhaenyra said with a smile.

“More than one,” Visenya corrected, bringing confusion to the Empress’s face. “In the dream, where I was standing on the dais, there was a silver-haired man by my side, that’s my uncle, Aerion Nestaar, he’s here, tonight.”

Rhaenyra chuckled in amazement.

“Both of you… here together? The gods are remarkable in their weaving of the threads of fate, I would very much like to meet this uncle of yours and for both of you to meet my family, if you could lead me to the dining Hall,” Rhaenyra explained.
“Of course,” Visenya said, bowing her head.

Visenya then led the Empress and her guard from the library, the knight seeming utterly bewildered by what he had just witnessed.

Visenya then led the Empress through the corridors of the palace to the dining hall where the household slaves were preparing the table.

Visenya’s uncle was already there, holding a goblet of wine. When he turned his head and spotted Visenya he smiled but then bewilderment overtook his expression as his eyes darted to the Empress.

He then looked back to Visenya and she nodded, confirming for Aerion every question his eyes were asking, that all they had hoped and believed was true and the path written for them in destiny was real.

Aerion’s footsteps were hesitant as he approached the Empress, clearly nervous.

When Aerion was standing before the Empress he lowered his head.

“Your Majesty… my name is Aerion Nestaar, son of the Princess Saera Targaryen. For several months now, I have awaited this meeting,” Aerion said humbly.

“As have I. Since the night of the dream of which we all shared, I have been filled with thousands of questions that I have whittled away at in hopes to discern the cryptic message within the dream. You — both of you — were the final pieces of that puzzle and now, being here with both of you… I feel rewarded in my faith and confident in my destiny,” Rhaenyra explained, resting one of her hands on Visenya’s shoulders.

“I am glad of it and I am proud to meet you both. In every port that myself and my family have travelled to in this trek, we have met with and probed the character of those who lived there and asked those we deemed worthy to join us. Now, despite this being our first proper meeting, I believe I am confident in what your answer will be and so I must ask — will you join me and my family on our quest to Valyria?” Rhaenyra asked.

“I will,” Aerion said immediately with the brightest smile.

“I will,” Visenya repeated, equally elated.

With those pledges of allegiance, the three looked to one another with smiles and contentment.

Soon after, more of the guests arrived in the dining hall, each one of them was someone that Visenya recognised from the dream and each of them in turn recognised Visenya and her uncle, with the Empress introducing them.

There was the Emperor Consort Daemon; the crown Prince Jacaerys and his betrothed Princess Baela; Prince Lucaerys and Princess Rhaena; Lord Corlys who did not have the dream himself but recognised their faces from drawings that had been made of Visenya and Aerion, accompanied by his wife Princess Rhaenys; the three dragonseeds Addam, Alyn and Nettles; and finally Archmaester Vaegon who was the brother of Visenya’s grandmother.

They talked for a while, as they waited for Saera to arrive, all telling their stories of how they had come together following the Dragon Dream.

The way their stories had all fit together and the prospect of three dragonseeds such as the three from Driftmark claiming dragons and both Vermithor and Silverwing being brought riderless to Volantis filled Visenya with hope but she would not say such things aloud.

Then, Princess Saera arrived wearing a lavish and expensive dress as well as many jewels and a fancy headpiece, always having to make an entrance.

“Forgive my lateness, I am afraid that I simply lost track of time,” she lied, having waited for everyone to arrive before her so that all eyes would fall on her as she entered.

“It is no trouble. It gave us a chance to better get to know your son and granddaughter,” Rhaenyra said with a smile.

“Ah, my pride and joy. I hope these two have been behaving themselves around our Imperial guests,” Visenya’s grandmother said, her words glaised in her false charm.

Everyone then gathered around the table and took their seats, the Empress on one end and Saera on the other.

The feast then began as the slaves brought in the platters of food and they began to dine.

“I suppose a toast is in order,” Rhaenyra said, raising her cup with the rest of the table following suit.

“It has been many arduous months of moving and travelling since the passing of my father, King Viserys the Peaceful. In that time there has been much uncertainty and confusion, but now we sit here, in Volantis, the last milestone before we at last return to the ancestral homeland of the Targaryens and restore Valyria to power and glory. Not only have the gods been so generous as to grant us hospitality under the roof of our honoured kin, the Princess Saera, but they have also seen fit to bestow upon us the final two chosen dragonseeds that we have long awaited since the great dream came to us all,” Rhaenyra said raising her cup to Visenya and Aerion.

A confused snort came from the opposite end of the table as Saera furrowed her brow, not sure what Rhaenyra’s words meant.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I am not sure I take your meaning,” she said.

Many times, Visenya and Aerion had tried to convince her that they had shared in the Dragon Dream, but Visenya’s grandmother ignored them or thought them only looking for attention.

Aerion had made his intentions to travel to Valyria clear to her when he took Visenya as his ward and while Saera did not stand in their way, she had no faith that the voyage would amount to anything, insistent that they would die in the Doom if they followed through on their journey.

“I apologies, Princess. I thought you would have known… this great dragon dream that weaved us all together, even though some of us had never met one another before, that dream reached your son and granddaughter too. For months now, we have been searching for both of them to join us and as fate would have it, they were here together under this same roof, your own blood,” the Empress explained.

Visenya then watched as her grandmother tried to force a smile over a flustered and confused expression.

“Visenya, my dear… All those times you told me of the Dragon Dream, I thought it was just your imagination running away with you. And Aerion, I thought you were just indulging the poor thing. Well… I am elated for you both, truly. My own son and granddaughter, blessed by the gods with a dragon dream, how extraordinary. So I take it the two of you will be making good on your intentions of joining the Empress in Valyria?” she asked, still farcially offering her false pleasantries.

“They have both agreed to join us on our voyage, yes. Though I fear now that I have been remiss to have not asked Visenya about her parents, after all they should get a say in the matter,” said the Empress, looking around the chamber and noting their absence.

“Oh, I’m afraid I have no parents, your Majesty. They died at sea in my youth and I was taken in by my grandmother, who recently turned over my guardianship to Aerion,” Visenya explained.

“Ah, I see. And Aerion, do you have family here in the city? Those who would wish to come with us to Valyria?”

Aerion shook his head in reply.

“I’m afraid not, Your Majesty. My relationship with the house of Nestaar is… strained to say the least. I am for all intents and purposes disowned in all but name. My mother grants me lodging when I stay here in the city, but I spend most of my time on the road, as captain of my own sellsword company, the Dragonfangs. Two hundred fighting men all agreed to come to Valyria and our own ship to ferry us, your Majesty,” Aerion explained.

Rhaenyra smiled, happy to hear Aerion’s pledge.

“And what of your maternal line? I hear that the Princess Saera has had… many children. Would any of your siblings or their families be inclined to join us?” Princess Rhaenys asked.

Aerion shook his head.

“I’m afraid that my relations with my mother’s side of the family are not much different. Aside from Visenya here, I have only had one good relationship among my mother’s line.”

“And who was that?” Rhaenyra asked.

“My brother — well, half brother — Maekar. He was the youngest of my mother’s first five children that she had sired in Lys, while she worked in the pleasure gardens there. When my mother moved here to Volantis she brought her children with her and her eldest ones married the prominent Old Blooded families here in the city,” Aerion recounted.

“I remember three of those sons. They were among the fourteen succession claims presented at the Great Council, though theirs were never truly considered,” said Princess Rhaenys.

“Well, Maekar never wanted to marry into the Tiger houses, he hated the idea of being married off for his blood rather than for love. He grew up here in this palace and because of his high standing secured an apprenticeship under one of the greatest blacksmiths in the city when he pursued it, learning some of the most intricate and skilled craftsmanship methods the city has ever known, even how to rework Valyrian Steel,” Aerion recounted.

“He sounds like quite a man, I would like to meet him,” said Rhaenyra, but a glower expression befel Aerion.

“I’m afraid he left the city some years ago and has not been seen since. Volantis was never a place he felt comfortable in and is standing as the bastard of some unknown patron in Lys always made him feel— he was very ashamed of his origins, more than I felt he should have been. I’ve tried to look for him many times over the years but to no avail. My only hope is that wherever he is, he has found peace and prosperity,” Aerion explained.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Aerion,” Rhaenyra said gently, with Aerion nodding in gratitude for her sympathies.

“If it is allies you are in search for, you are in luck. The gracious Triarchs of the city have openly invited you and your allies from your fleet to attend a banquet in your honour where many prospective allies with be in attendance,” Saera explained.

“That is wonderful news, I look forward to this banquet,” Rhaenyra said with a smile.

“Tell me, Princess. Is the House of Maegyr still headed by Lord Vaenos?” the Sea Snake asked.

“It is indeed,” Saera confirmed.

“An old friend of mine, one that I am sure could be persuaded to join our cause,” Lord Corlys said with a smile.

“Also, the red priests of the Lord of Light have also taken an interest in you, Your Majesty,” Visenya explained. “Since the Red Comet in the sky heralded your reign at the coronation in Lys, the priests and priestess of R’llohr have asserted that you are the destined leader from their ancient prophecies. The Princess that was Promised.”

Rhaenyra paused in her movements as she was eating, petrified by Visenya’s words for a moment before turning her head to face Visenya.

“The Princess that was Promised?” she repeated, asking Visenya for confirmation.

“That’s what they’ve been saying. The red priests are preaching to nobles, commoners and slaves alike, claiming you are the destined ruler meant ot liberate them and bring them to prosperity,” said Visenya.

Rhaenyra hesitated to speak for a moment.

“While I am grateful for the support of the red priests, I am sure there is no correlation between me and their prophecies. I am sure I can straighten out their misconceptions when I am granted an audience with them,” said Rhaenyra.

Visenya was not sure why Rhaenyra seemed so nervous and resistant to being associated with the prince that was promised prophecy, but Visenya felt it was not her place to press the matter.

The evening continued with many conversation topics being broached, from their journey to Valyria to Rhaenyra explaining she had been contacted in her dreams by surviving sorcerers hibernating within Valyria and the visions they had shown her. They briefly discussed Vermithor and Silverwing with Emperor Daemon glancing to both Visenya and Aerion when mentioning they were still riderless, but the Empress changed the subject when she noticed how uncomfortable Princess Rhaena was becoming.

And on into the hours of the night, Visenya and Aerion laughed, ate and talked with the Imperial family… a family it seemed both of them were already being accepted into.

Chapter 36: The Second Wave

Chapter Text

In King’s Landing, Hugh had a house. More than just a house, he had a business as the owner of his own smithy on the Street of Steel, he had apprentices, colleagues and friends, he had a whole life and the gems of that life were his darling wife Kat and their girl Ella.

Now Hugh had a tent, a couple of bedrolls, his clothes, his tools, a few items from home and a cart to carry them all on.

He’d sold his house and forge and left his old life on the Street of Steel behind and was now back across the Narrow Sea, one tent among thousands in a great wave of refugees traversing the Disputed Lands on their journey east. But for all he had lost, he still had Kat and Ella which made everything he’d lost worth it.

Months ago, around the time of King Viserys’s passing and the brief looming threat of civil war, Ella had been clutched by an illness, a strong fever held her and the apothecary said she might die.

Luckily Hugh was able to buy the medicine needed to treat her and the fever broke, but the medicine was not cheap and the price only rose after that.

With all they’d spent to heal Ella, Hugh no longer had the means to buy ore, coal, tools and materials for his forge. His clients left him for other smithies, he could no longer pay his apprentices and times only got harder.

Within a few short months, Hugh and Kat could no longer make ends meet. Eventually, Hugh and Kat had a long discussion about having to abandon their lives in the city and start over in Tumbleton where Kat’s brother lived.

As difficult as things had gotten, Hugh didn’t regret his choices for a minute, he loved his girl and saving her was worth every last coin.

They had almost resolved to move to Tumbleton, but then refugees from across the Seven Kingdoms started arriving along the Blackwater. Thousands of travellers from across the kingdoms who had picked up their livelihoods and left their homes to cross the Narrow Sea and join the Queen — now Empress — Rhaenyra on her voyage to Valyria.

When Rhaenyra left the Seven Kingdoms, there were thousands who already followed her, but not a mighty enough number to raise a civilization.

Many had heard of the great Dragon Dream and dismissed it as fantasy or misdirect. It was the expectation of most that Rhaenyra only meant to buy time for her and her allies to raise forces from across the Narrow Sea, treat with the Tirarchy and then strike at the Seven Kingdoms with the Greens seemingly unaware.

But such expectations were dashed when Rhaenyra left the Stepstones and travelled to Lys, abandoning the archipelago and granting her no advantage in conquest. More than that, the three baseborns from Driftmark she had allied herself with — claiming them to be the blood of the dragon who had shared her dream — all of them had claimed dragons of their own.

Everyone thought the Dragon Dream to be a convenient manifestation by the Dragon Queen to mislead her enemies, but when she moved east of the Narrow Sea, the realm knew that the dream was real, for the Targaryens would not readily throw their lives away to the Doom of Valyria on the whim of a lie of their own making.

It was then that the realm changed its tune and the ambitious, the adventurous, the faithful and the loyal all left their homes to follow after Rhaenyra.

Even some houses that had been loyal to Rhaenyra and remained in the Seven Kingdoms, had done so under the expectation she would return at the head of an invasion fleet and remain only to create toeholds in the Seven Kingdoms for her. Now that they understood the truth, they had all packed up and left to chase after her with all the rest.

Other houses sent members of their bloodlines led by their cousins, brothers, second sons and other relations to establish new branches of their houses in the Empire.

With nothing else to keep him and his family in the Seven Kingdoms, Hugh followed along, hoping his skills would prove useful as one of the first smiths in the new Valyrian Empire.

A fresh start for Hugh and his family.

By the time the loose leadership of nobles who had fashioned themselves an informal conclave to shepherd the second wave of exiles had assembled the ships necessary to ferry the eighty thousand migrants across the Narrow Sea, they landed in Pentos and sold their ships there for caravans and supplies to help them on their trek to Volantis.

By the time the migrants had assembled, the Empress had already ceded the Stepstones to the Triarchy and with the impending Westerosi invasion, it was not safe to travel, so instead they would travel the orange coast to meet Empress Rhaenyra in Volantis.

The nobles had sent messages to the Empress in Lys to tell them of the second wave, but no reply had been heard yet.

Their messages were probably set upon by paranoid Triarchy pirates who had thought their messengers spies or perhaps the Greens had intercepted and killed their messengers to spite the Empress and them for leaving.

In their short stay outside the city walls of Pentos, their people had spoken of the greatness of Rhaenyra and of their belief that Valyria would be stored under her rule. Apparently, Rhaenyra had never sent envoys to Pentos nor visited there, something to do with her harbouring an escaped Prince.

Whatever the matter, after speaking of Rhaenyra’s greatness, the second wave had managed to curry two thousand pentoshi to their side.

Further on their journey as they travelled southward into the disputed lands — which had become peaceful under the reign of the Triarchy — they were joined by a further three thousand souls from Myr and Tyrosh who had reconsidered Rhaenyra’s offer after seeing the sign of the red comet.

It was from the Myrish and Tyroshi additions they learned of Rhaenyra’s coronation as Empress and her departure to Lys.

A celebration was had in the camps that night as they toasted the Empress’s ascent before continuing on.

The conclave of nobles had dispatched their seven swiftest riders to travel ahead and reach Volantis with haste to inform the Empress of the Second Wave lest she head off to Valyria without them and leave them all behind, not realising that a great migration, four times the size of the following she possessed was en route to join her.

More than just the fear of being left behind, the noble and lowborn migrants alike all hoped to soon see a dragon or two come swooping down from the skies to escort them further east towards Volantis, fearing pirates, bandits, slavers or a Dothraki Khalassar might descend upon them.

They had fighting men among them, soldiers, guards and knights from the noble households among them, but the assurance of a dragon’s protection would make them all feel safer.

As High stood outside his tent with his arms folded, he glanced out towards the east, hoping to see a dragon come to protect them.

While Hugh glowered out towards the east, he felt the back of his jerkin being tugged at and when he turned his head, his sweet little daughter Ella was looking up at him.

“Father, can I go play with the others,” Ella asked, pointing out to a group of children, waiting for Hugh’s response.

“I don’t know, Sweetheart,” Hugh said nervously, not sure if he trusted letting his little girl run off in such a vast tent city in the midst of the wilderness.

“Please, Father,” she begged.

With hestiance followed by reluctance, Hugh nodded his head.

Ella’s face lit up and she ran off with the other children through the camp.

“Be careful! And not too far!” Hugh shouted after her.

Hugh’s beloved Kat emerged from the tent in time to see their little girl run off as she came to Hugh’s side, wrapping her arms around him and giggling.

“She’s a smart girl, Hugh. She’ll be fine,” Kat said, settling her husband’s paranoia.

Hugh then huffed out through his nose.

“We almost lost her, Kat. How can I not worry?” Hugh asked, watching as Ella disappeared with her friends past a tent.

“We’re supposed to worry, that’s how it is with parents,” Kat said assuringly.

Hugh smirked in response. “Is it now?” he mused, having never found such to be the case. His father was a stranger he had never met and his mother… he would not speak of his mother, but Kat knew, now she knew everything.

Before they left King’s Landing, Hugh had told Kat the truth of where he came from, who his mother was, how he was raised, the many half-brothers and sisters he had, he had even told her his true name, a name he had stopped using after he booked passage to King’s Landing.

Maekar

Hugh was ashamed of his origins, a bastard son of an unknown rich man from Lys and the Targaryen Princess who had chosen to be a whor*. He was raised in Volantis like a Prince with every Tiger family offering him the hand of their daughter, wishing to use him like a whor* to breed dragonlord-blooded children. His mother was a fowl woman beneath her charm and hollow sweetness and his siblings were mostly rotten and wretched, save for one he loved dearly but had not seen since he was a small boy.

One thing that he took pride in during his time in Volantis was his skill as a blacksmith. His mother had arranged for the best craftsmen and jewelsmiths to instruct him in the arts of crafting, learning some of their most complex and intricate techniques and methods.

Hugh had it in him to make crowns and swords fit for kings and rework Valyrian Steel, it was his overly well-educated history as a smith that made his horseshoes, door hinges and swords the best on the Street of Steel.

Hugh had never resented the lowborn life he had chosen, rather he took pride in it, blissful days making cauldrons and door locks that made his life fulfilled.

Since fleeing Volantis he had only ever wanted to make his own way in the world and build a life on the merits of his skills rather than selling his seed to a highborn daughter of some silver-haired patrician from Volantis.

It was for that reason he could no longer be Maekar. Maekar was a valyrian name, it meant something, it had a story behind it, it raised eyebrows and prompted people to ask why he was named so and who his parents were to chose such a name. So he chose a different name. Hugh was simple, Hugh was common, Hugh had no story, no implications to it, Hugh could be his own and so Maekar was gone and Hugh took his place.

Kat reached out and genlty caressed Hugh’s face.

“Will you seek her out? When we get to Volantis?” Kat asked.

Hugh shook his head somberly.

“I have nothing to say to her.”

“And what of this brother you told me of? The one you loved. Aerion?” she asked.

Hugh took a deep breath and looked out across the vast tent city.

“I haven’t seen him in years. I’m not sure if he would even want to see me again if I presented myself to him,” Hugh lamented.

Kat held her husband’s arm comfortingly and leaned her head on his shoulder.

After holding Hugh close for a moment, Kat kissed him on the cheek and left his side.

“I’m heading down to the supply wagon for tonight's rations. The lines are usually long so it might be a while. Try to relax while I’m gone,” Kat said, wrapping her arms in a blue shawl that went over her back and giving her husband another kiss before leaving with a basket.

Now outside his tent alone with his daughter and wife gone off, Hugh decided to walk about the tent city for a bit to pass the time.

What amazed Hugh as he looked around was the sheer number of tents spread out in all directions, a camp the size of which he had never seen before.

In King’s Landing, the population was estimated to be roughly around five hundred thousand, far greater than the mere eighty thousand Hugh saw around him. But King’s Landing was filled with tall buildings of many stories and hundreds of streets with turns and alleyways. On any given street one could only ever see the rough two hundred odd citizens loitering and walking through the street at any given time before a building and a turn in the street obscured one’s vision. The largest number of people one could see in one place in King’s Landing was if a big enough crowd assembled in one of the city squares.

But what Hugh saw now truly gave scope to the great number of people around him. If the reports of Rhaenyra’s followers numbering around twenty thousand were true then it was surmised that when they joined her, she would arrive in Valyria with over a hundred thousand followers at the least.

The fact that such a great number was but a fifth of the population of King’s Landing astounded Hugh and truly gave perspective about how big the world was, even for the likes of the dragonriders.

Along Hugh’s walk about the streets of tents, he found a small square where some seats and benches had been set up for some of the migrants to play games of dice and knucklebones.

Hugh simply sat down on the outskirts of the square and folded his arms as he watched the games unfold.

Among the players, Hugh saw one closest to him was a game of dice being played by three men sitting about a barrel that they used for a table, drinking from waterskins, but presumably not ones filled with water.

Among them was a loud-talking fellow with matted grey hair and stubble.

As Hugh watched the game unfold, he listened to the man speak.

“A shame to hear only a couple thousand pledged to the Empress among the Lyseni, I was hoping more from them would join our cause, especially what with the Red Comet appearing in the sky, clear as the eye can see,” the man said pointing up to the Red comet above them as it hung in the air.

“Since the Doom of Valyria my people have dwindled so much in this big ol’ world there’s sparsely any of us left, but Lys, that’s still a stronghold for my kind. Oh well. I’m sure more will come in time as the Empire rises, begging to be taken mercifully at the Empress’s bosom. Still, there are plenty of my kin in Volantis too, behind the Black Wall, holding to the old ways and keeping their lines pure. With their additions to the empire, along with the Lyseni who did come and the rest of my kind from around Blackwater bay, there should be enough of us to create a foundation for a new generation of my people,” said the grey haired sot.

“Sorry, but… who exactly are your people?” one of the other two men around the barrel asked.

“Didn’t you know? Ulf here is a valyrian,” the third man said, patting the grey-haired man on the back. “More than that, he’s a descendant of the dragonlords.”

Ulf hushed his friend, looking embarrassed by his friend’s praise, but Hugh could tell that this Ulf was secretly loving it, having seen the same false humility many times in his mother.

“Are you really?” the second man asked, bewildered by what he was hearing.

Ulf sighed as though he were reluctant to speak on the matter despite having orchestrated the entire conversation with his comments.

“I don’t like to go spreading it around, but.. yes, I am. Well, one of them at least. Since my ancestor Aenar first settled on Dragonstone, Targaryen dragonlordlings and princes have been spreading their seeds throughout the Blackwater with lowborn lovers and the traditional right of first night. There’s hundreds of us. More than just dragonseeds like me, there are Velaryon and Celtigar bastards and their descendants with the Old Blood running through their veins. Most went with the Empress when she beckoned, while the rest of us are following along with the Second Wave,” Ulf explained.

“You are saying you are Targaryen?” the second man asked.

Ulf hushed the man and pretended to look about as though he were expecting someone to be watching him, yet somehow failed to notice Hugh.

“Look, I really shouldn’t be telling you this… but you seem trustworthy. I’m the son, of Baelon the Brave, bastard brother to the Emperor Consort Daemon and the late King Viserys the Peaceful, uncle to our magnificent and regal Empress Rhaenyra Targaryen. The blood of the dragon runs through these veins and back in Westeros, men would’ve taken my head for it. But in Valyria, my people will once again have a homeland and our ancient birthright will be restored to us with my niece to lead us to glory.”

Hugh rolled his eyes at his supposed cousin, flaunting himself as though he were a Targaryen.

The second man didn’t seem much more convinced than Hugh did.

“I had always heard that Prince Baelon had only ever loved his sister-wife Alyssa and was devoted to her in her life and death. Their romance was said to rival that of their parents, Jaehaerys and Alyssane,” said the second man.

Ulf nodded his head somberly.

“And that it was, which only makes the story of my conception all the more tragic. After the Princess Alyssa gave birth to my brother Aegon, the toll of the labour was too great and she died within a year of giving birth. Her death shattered my father like glass, he raged and cried and mourned. Then one night in his utter agony over his loss, he emptied several bottles of wine in an effort to drown his pain. He ended up in a tavern in Flea Bottom and a brothel after that where he met my mother and they lay together,” Ulf recounted.

All drivel, as far as Hugh was concerned.

“Prince Aemon then came down from Aegon’s Hill with a pair of white cloaks to fetch my father, as my mother told it. At first, my father was laughing and welcoming my uncle Aemon to join him, but Aemon was adamant they return to the Red Keep. My father then took a swing at my uncle and a scuffle then ensued. By the end of it, my uncle Aemon gave me old man a few good punches, but then my father started begging Aemon to keep punching him and then begged his brother to kill him and put him out of his misery. My father then broke down there and then in the brothel. Aemon then comforted my father as he wept in his arms and after cleaning themselves up, they headed home, but the deed was done and I was conceived.”

A very detailed story, but Hugh had heard nothing that granted it validity.

“So, if you really are a dragonseed then why are you here on the second wave and not with your niece and brother in Volantis?” the second man asked.

Ulf shook his head and sighed.

“I’m a big enough man to admit I made a mistake. It's hard, being a Valyrian, knowing that your homeland is gone and you have no real place in the world. The Targaryens, Velaryons and Celtigars get by just fine with their crowns and lordships, dragons and fleets, but the rest of us don’t have it too easy, do we? I suppose I was just too pessimistic to believe… believe that after so long as an exile in the world that there would once again be a place for my people to find peace. Now, I realise it's all true, the dragon dream, the restoration, all of it. Now it is my duty to stand with my people and see the restoration of our lands and our civilization. At the height of its power, Valyria had a thousand dragons at its command. It is my wish to serve my empire, my people and my niece in any way I can,” Ulf said as if he were some heroic knight.

“You want to become a dragon rider?” the third man asked, but Ulf shook his head.

“It’s not about what I want, it’s about what Valyria needs. Already three of my fellow dragonseeds have claimed dragons for the Empire. Now I understand the dragons of my grandparents will probably be claimed before we reach Volantis, but there are plenty of dragon eggs to choose from. If my empress calls on me and others like me to take up dragon eggs and nurture them to maturity to protect the Empire, who am I to stand in the way of duty and destiny?” Ulf asked.

Hugh had heard enough of the drunkard’s farce and stood from the bench.

If men like that Ulf were destined to ride dragons and help lead Valyria, then perhaps it would have been better if they all perished in the inferno of the Doom.

Hugh needed not lands, nor title, nor a dragon, he only wanted a good station as a smith to do work he could be proud of and for a place where his family could live and prosper.

With the sun starting to set, Hugh imagined that Kat and Ella would be waiting for him back at the tent with a fresh bowl of broth and so made his way back down the rows of tents towards his home. A ragged tent, perhaps, but so long as it had his two special girls within it, it was home enough for him.

Chapter 37: Gifts and Banquets

Chapter Text

On the fifth night of their stay in Volantis, a great banquet was held in honour of the Imperial guests by the Triarchs.

In the lead-up to the banquet, the Targaryens chose to entertain their hosts with a spectacle of displaying their dragons. Under the midday sun, all eyes from the great Targaryen camp along the coast beyond the city and all eyes from within the city itself looked up to the sky and watched as Syrax, Caraxes, Meleys, Vermax, Arrax, Moondancer, Seasmoke, Sheepsteler and Grey Ghost all dancing and twirling about in the sky like a handful of ribbons caught in the wind.

Even from high up in the howling winds, Daemon could hear the cheers and chants of those across the city, enamoured by the great thunder of Targaryen dragons.

After showing off for a bit to entertain their hosts, they landed their dragons and by the time the sun set, the Imperial house and most of their vassals from Westeros and the Free Cities were enjoying a grandiose feast with the rich, noble and powerful of Volantis.

Rhaenyra wore her crown of steel and rubies and Daemon his steel circlet as her Emperor Consort, the two sitting at the high table with the three Triarchs.

The nobles from their fleet and the patricians of Volantis were equally spread out along the rest of the tables.

Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys sitting with the Maegyr family. Prince Reggio Haratis and Lord Bartimos Celtigar eating with one of Saera’s many bastard sons. Lords Gormon Massey, Lysandro Rogare and Gunthor Darklyn were speaking eating and drinking with a few prominent Volantene Elephants. Rhaenyra and Daemon’s children sat with the dragonseeds and Saera’s son and granddaughter. Saera herself was being doted on by many Volantene nobles that crowded around her. Lastly, for entertainment, in the centre of the room between the tables was a humorous display by Mushroom and his new close companion of whom he had become inseparable since meeting, Racallio Ryndoon.

Mushroom dressed himself as a knight in a suit of armour made from pots and pans and a large pig for a mount while Ryndoon dressed in a lavish silk dress with his lips painted red and his cheeks powdered to a rosy colour and his eyelashes darkened.

The two then proceeded to entertain the assembled nobles with a risque performance of a frisky knight trying to earn the affections of a fair maiden. Mushroom as the knight would try to feel up or look under the skirt of the lady played by Ryndoon and be slapped and knocked away by the dainty maiden that towered above the dwarf.

Everyone bellowed out in laughter at the cheeky farce of slapstick and buffoonery.

During the performance, Daemon glanced over to the table where the children and the dragonseeds were sitting and spotted Rhaena, Baela and Nettles with their arms around one another laughing uncontrollably and wiping tears from their eyes as Mushroom and Ryndoon continued on.

His beautiful girls, laughing in boundless joy, something he had always wanted for them though he had not always said it.

When Daemon’s eyes settled on Nettles for a moment, watching her laugh and smile, he felt shame and looked away.

My two beautiful girls, Dameon told himself. No more and no less.

The young dragonseeds from Hull had become so close to Rhaenyra and Daemon’s children that they all acted as though they were siblings, which only made it harder for Daemon to watch how well Nettles got on with Baela and Rhaena.

Since his epiphany in Braavos where he first remembered Nettles’s mother, he had not said a word to her and done all he could to avoid her. Daemon was ashamed to admit it, but he had spent a lot more time with Baela and Rhaena of late or tried to, but he was prompted to do so to spite the feeling within him that drew him to Nettles. Whenever he saw Nettles flying on Sheepstealer or reading books that Rhaenyra had brought over from Viserys’s collection on Old Valyria, Daemon would feel pride in the girl and then march off to find his real daughters and project pride and affection on them instead.

Daemon then distracted himself by glancing over to Rhaenyra who was in the midst of gouging herself upon the feast laid out before her, devouring pies, cakes, puddings, blancmanges with mouthfuls of figs, berries and pomegranates in between. During the main course, she’d had plenty of duck, goose, ham and roasted vegetables.

Daemon assumed that she was just hungry, having been sick that morning and thrown up her breakfast and having lost her taste for lunch claiming it tasted odd to her, but Daemon knew not why as he had the same food for lunch and found it fine. Rhaenyra had also lost all taste for wine, finding it too bitter and chose water instead for the evening.

After Mushroom and Racallio’s farce was finished, the entire hall rose up in cheers and applause as Mushroom bowed and Ryndoon curtsied.

A brief period passed with music and desserts while everyone took the chance to catch their breath and settle themselves after the buffoonery, then Triarch Maran looked over to one of the Majordomo’s and nodded.

The Majordomo then started walking along the tables speaking to various silver-haired Volantene guests, including Saera, Aerion and Visenya.

“I trust your evening has been well, my Empress?” Triarch Nakero asked.

“Wonderful, this feast has been divine, my noble Triarchs,” Rhaenyra complimented.

“Well then, you’ll be happy to see that we have more gifts for you than just food,” Nakero explained.

Daemon and Rhaenyra then noticed a small crowd assembling before them in rows. Richly dressed silver-haired people all lined up before them. Nine at the back both men and women, varying between the ages of perhaps late forties at one end and mid-twenties at the other, with the one at the younger end being Aerion.

Next were rows of perhaps thirty young people between the ages of perhaps twenty and twelve, Visenya among them and off to the side standing proud was Saera.

Daemon could only assume what he was looking at, the nine living children and all the grandchildren of Saera Targaryen.

“My Empress, may I present to you the living progeny of your great aunt, Saera Targaryen. All valyrian blooded kin to your house with the blood of the dragon running thick in their veins,” the Triarch Nakero introduced.

“A pleasure to meet you all, cousins,” Rhaenyra said cordially, though she seemed just as confused as Daemon as to why they were being brought before them.

“As we understand it, Your Majesty. You have two large and formidable dragons in your fleet — two of the largest dragons in the world after Vhagar — and yet no riders to claim them. If you have dirth for dragonriders then you need to want no more, for I present to you an assembly of purebred and noble-born heirs to the Conciliator and the Good Queen. All prepared and willing to claim Vermithor and Silverwing,” Nakero explained.

Daemon and Rhaenyra had briefly discussed the possibility of Aerion and Visenya being the dragonriders destined for Vermithor and Silverwing.

They were the blood of the dragon, they shared in the great dragon dream and there were two of them to mirror the two unclaimed dragons they had remaining. From the day Addam flew over Dragonstone on Seasmoke and Alyn and Nettles were brought into the Chamber of the Painted Table, they knew that they were meant to ride dragons and now it seemed so obvious that Aerion and Visenya were the same.

Aerion and Visenya would not say it aloud out of humility and Rhaenyra would not say it aloud perhaps to spare Rhaena’s feelings at being left dragonless.

“We humbly ask that you allow these sons and daughters of Volantis to try their hand at claiming these remaining dragons,” said Triarch Vyros.

Yet none but two had pledged to join them in Valyria. Aerion and Visenya were chosen by destiny and shared in the ideals of the Empire, but the rest… should they claim the dragons would they claim them for Valyria or Volantis?

Saera’s bastards founding a new Dragonlord house in Volantis with whatever clutches Silverwing brought forth in the future to be distributed amongst others in Saera’s line until Volantis became what it always wanted to be… a second Freehold.

Rhaenyra glanced with worry to Daemon before looking again at the Triarchs.

“You honour me greatly, my lord Triarchs — and all of you, my distant kin. I will consult with my family and discuss the matter at length,” said the Empress.

The Triarchs were not overly joyful at the response they had received but they accepted it and dismissed Saera and her progeny.

“You would give the sacred inheritance of our bloodline to those three bastard-blooded mongrels but deny the true blood of Valyria the right to claim dragons,” one of Saera’s children snapped, gesturing to the dragonseeds. A young man standing next to Aerion, a skinny wicked-looking lad, reminding Daemon somewhat of Aemond.

“Mind your tongue, Maegor. You address the Empress of Valyria,” Aerion challenged, lightly shoving the insolent brother standing next to him.

“Oh, think kissing her arse will make her choose you to mount the Bronze Fury, little brother? If she puts you in front of a dragon it will melt the flesh off your bones,” said the brother called Maegor.

Just when it seemed that the two were about to come to blows, Saera stopped them, reprimanding them both and sending them on their way.

Next, the Majordomo brought forth another guest to be presented to Rhaenyra and Daemon, this one sitting so far down the rows of tables he was out of sight for the entire banquet.

A tall, gaunt, bald man with red flames tattooed all across his face and red robes.

“Empress Rhaenyra, may I present Benerro, High Preist of the Red Temple of Volantis, the Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom, the First Servant of the Lord of Light,” said the Majordomo.

A red priest, Daemon mused.

Aerion and Visenya had spoken of how the Red Priests had been supporters of Rhaenyra and the Empire, preaching about her being the fabled Prince that was Promised and the red comet being a sign of her coming. Apparently, they had been preaching to the slaves and the freedmen, to make Rhaenyra to be worshipped and loved.

The priest stepped forward and bowed low.

“Empress,” he greeted solemnly and respectfully.

“Well met, High Priest Benerro. What might I do for you?” Rhaenyra asked kindly.

“I would ask nothing from you. The services you will do for the world as we know it in the name of the Lord of Light are beyond measure. It is I who would serve you. In preparation for your arrival, my priests and I have been hard at work here and in Selhorys, Valysar and Volon Therys. In our efforts, we have amassed three thousand slaves which we wish to liberate into your care, including two hundred Unsullied and already we have amassed, purchased and commissioned six hundred ninety-eight vessels for you thus far. Some large ships and some small, but we imagine we will have enough ready in the next months to ferry your entire host,” Benerro explained.

Rhaenyra glanced over to Daemon with surprise.

Three thousand newly liberated slaves, two hundred Unsullied warriors to recruit to the dragon legion and an exorbitant amount of ships, far beyond what they would need.

“You honour us greatly, High Priest. We are grateful for such mighty gifts and we are certain that the slaves you deliver from bondage will be more pleased than us, but if I may… why so many ships? To ferry three thousand souls, we would need no more than thirty reasonably seized ships,” Rhaenyra explained.

“But your growth in allies will not end with what I offer you. I have seen visions in the flames. You fly on your dragons into the unknown followed by a fleet of more than a hundred thousand souls,” Benerro declared.

A hundred thousand , Daemon mused. From Westeros to Volantis they had scrounged together twenty thousand followers and now the Red Priests tell them that at the near end of their journey, tens of thousands more will appear out of nowhere.

“We — appreciate your optimism,” Rhaenyra said, trying to be kind.

Benerro nodded and then looked over his shoulder gesturing people far off in the chamber to come to him.

“I have two more gifts for you that I wish for you to take to Valyria. The first is a simple one; one of my priestesses, a wise and powerful servant of the Lord of Light, she wishes to accompany you, as an advisor in your court and the founder of the lord’s temple in Valyria,” Benerro proposed.

Rhaenyra thought for a moment and then nodded.

“I see no harm in welcoming a representative of your faith into my household. I will treat her with respect and hospitality,” she promised.

“Very good. I shall send her to Princess Saera’s palace on the morrow to meet you. Next, this second gift for you, a token of our respect,” Benerro explained gesturing to a chest being carried by two men in red robes.

The two men held the box before the high table as Benerro went over and opened the lid.

Inside were three items, things Daemon was all too familiar with and had seen plenty of, things that the Targaryens had a collection of with them being tended to by the Dragonkeepers but neither Daemon nor Rhaenyra expected such things to emerge out of nowhere at the hands of red priests.

Both Rhaenyra and Daemon rose from their seats, staring down with shock and wonder at the three eggs in the chest.

“Dragon Eggs, Your Majesties. Sought out and bartered by our servants from the black markets of Pentos and rushed to the city for you to receive. The riders came in just this morning with the chest. Some say they came from the shadowlands beyond darkest Asshai, others say they have been passed around from Braavos to Pentos and a few other of the Free Cities over the years. It seemed only fitting they be brought to you,” Benerro explained.

“Bring them closer,” Daemon commanded, still trapped in awe of the eggs.

The red priests placed the box down on the table and Rhaenyra softly reached in and ran her hand over the middle one.

The one on the left was green, the one in the middle was red and black and the last one was a creamy colour.

Rhaenyra then looked over to Daemon and shook her head, indicating there was no chance of seeing them hatch.

“You honour us, High Priest. These eggs are of our people’s heritage and we take great pride in having them gifted to us. I wish for my family to carry them always as mementos of your kindness and heirlooms of our house, but… I am afraid these eggs will never hatch,” Rhaenyra lamented.

“A dragon egg must stay incubated to preserve its fertility, hence why dragons prefer to lay their clutches around volcanos. These eggs have gone too long without heating and the intervening centuries have fossilised them and rendered them stone. But they will always be beautiful and will always be cherished by our house,” Rhaenyra assured the High Priest.

“And yet perhaps you might find a way to wake the dragons from stone,” Benerro suggested.

The red priests then bowed and left with the eggs presumably being taken to be handed over to the Targaryen household.

Three fossilised eggs, emerging randomly out of the Free Cities , something familiar about such things gave Daemon a thought.

Daemon then looked over to Corlys, Rhaenys and even Saera who also seemed to have the same thought, judging by their concerned expressions as they watched the chest being taken from the hall.

A story they had all heard in their youth, of an occurrence that happened during the early reign of King Jaehaerys.

Daemon then summoned an attendant from their household who was standing in the corner waiting to serve.

When he was close Daemon whispered in his ear.

“Go back to Saera’s Palace. Find Archmaester Vaegon and tell him to look through his books for anything concerning a woman named Elissa Farman, specifically, her contraband. Tell Vaegon I want to know the colours of the three she stole. Use those exact words,” Daemon commanded before dismissing the servant.

The banquet continued on for a while after that with music, dancing and eating, until another servant from the Targaryen household came into the hall and approached Rhaenyra handing her a scroll of paper and whispering something in her ear.

Rhaenyra unravelled the scrolls and read it, her eyes widening as she continued to read.

“What is it?” Daemon asked.

“We need to discuss something back at Saera’s Palace... All of us.”

Rhaenyra then handed Daemon the scroll and he read from it, now realising what the matter was about. Of all the things Daemon thought might have been on the scroll, what he read was not even remotely on the list.

The banquet continued on for a little bit longer, but eventually, the festivities ended and they all left the Triarchs’ palace.

Saera was so drunk that the Majordomo had the slaves carry her straight to bed while Aerion and Visenya joined the Imperial household in the dining hall to discuss the message on the scroll.

“This was delivered to me this evening,” Rhaenyra stated holding the scroll up for all to see. “It was delivered to our camp outside the city by a group of messengers who rode long and hard from the west. Attendants from our household then brought it here within the Black Wall and now into our hands. It is a letter from a group of Westerosi exiles, who refer to themselves as the second wave. Apparently, a host of eighty thousand refugees led by a small conclave of nobles from our homeland cross the Narrow Sea to Pentos and have been marching through the disputed lands towards Volantis to join us as a means to circumvent the Triarchy’s blockade,” Rhaenyra explained.

Everyone began to murmur amongst themselves with surprise and confusion.

“Why is this the first we are hearing of this?” Corlys asked crossing his arms.

“Apparently, they tried sending messages to us when we were in Lys, but they were presumably intercepted by either the Triarchy or the Seven Kingdoms as both prepared for war,” Rhaenyra explained as she looked at the letter. “They are asking for us to send dragons to safeguard them on the migration to join us in Volantis to protect them from pirates, bandits, slavers and Dothraki Khalassars.”

“I’ll go,” the young Prince Jacaerys asserted, drawing all eyes to him.

“Jace, I appreciate your determination but both you and Vermax are young yet and Dothraki Khalassars can range to many thousands and their horses give them a great deal of mobility to scatter and evade dragons,” said Rhaenyra.

“I’ll take… Baela and Addam with me. Between the three of us, Vermax, Moondancer and Seasmoke can match any Dothraki horde,” Jace suggested.

“And who will take command of this second wave, you?” Rhaenyra protested.

“Why not? I am the Crown Prince. It is my duty to lead one day,” said Jace.

“Eventually, but not today.”

“Enough,” Daemon finally said, bringing an end to the debate. “I will go. Caraxes is no stranger to battle and I will assure the loyalty of our new lingering allies. Young Prince Jacaerys, Addam of Hull, do you boys have arms and armour?”

The two looked at one another and nodded.

“Unused, but we do, Your Majesty,” Addam answered.

“Good, have them ready on the morrow. We fly at midday,” Daemon declared turning to go to bed, hoping to catch some rest before flying out.

“What about me, Father?” Baela asked. “I have no armour, but I have riding garments and my crossbow as well as—”

“No,” Daemon said suddenly and rather coldly. “Three dragons is more than enough.”

It was not that Daemon did not think Baela could be useful, nor did he wish to shame her, but Daemon hoped that some time away from all his girls might settle his mind about his conflicted feelings in regards to Nettles.

Without another word, Daemon continued in his stride out of the chamber and onto bed.

Chapter 38: Discoveries and Meetings

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra felt paralysed, she was calm and motionless on the outside but within, her heart felt so heavy she feared it might pull her to the ground. She was not upset, just surprised, beyond surprised even. She wanted to be happy and in part she was, but at the same time, she felt as though she couldn’t be.

After how it ended last time, Rhaenyra feared the complications she had endured had damaged her so badly that her body could never go through it again and yet here she was sitting in a chair in her chamber by the hearth hearing Grand Maester Gerardys tell her that despite her expectations, it had happened again and so soon.

Rhaenyra had noticed she had been getting sick in the mornings, hungrier than usual and her tastes had been shifting and the most damning sign, she had been missing her morning bloods.

She waited until after Daemon, Jace and Addam had left before summoning the Grand Maester to examine her, calling him into her chamber when she returned to Saera’s Palace.

“Congratulations, Your Majesty,” he said gently.

“I… I had assumed that after — how my last labour had ended that I would not—” Rhaenyra struggled to even speak, still overwhelmed by the revelation.

“It is precedented for births that yield such complications as what befell the late Princess Visenya — gods rest her — to wreak such damages on the reproductive organs that one might never again sire a child. But you have made a full recovery since your labours and your moon cycles have continued uninterrupted, I do not see any reason why this would not be able to happen,” Gerardys explained.

Rhaenyra leaned back in her chair and gazed into the crackling flames of the hearth.

“It seems… unfair. To be once again — like this. And so soon after losing my little girl. It feels disrespectful to her.”

The Grand Maester then reached across and rested a hand over Rhaenyra's.

“I have served you for many years, Your Majesty. I have Instructed your children in their lessons and overseen the carrying and births of your two youngest boys and now I carry the title of Grand Maester because you bestowed the honour upon me. If I might be so bold and you would permit me, then I would speak my mind to you on this matter.”

Rhaenyra looked to her old and valued friend and nodded, granting him permission.

“This child will never replace the one you lost, nor will it ever be able to make you forget about your grief and simply sweep it under the rug. The love and pride you give to this child will not deplete that which you have for Visenya, no more than little Viserys’s birth made you love Prince Jacaerys any less. I feel I have known you long enough to say with confidence that you are a woman of infinite heart for those you love,” said Gerardys.

A tear rolled down Rhaenyra’s cheek as she smiled at her wise advisor.

“Thank you, my dear friend,” she said softly.

After a kind moment between them, the Grand Maester rose from his seat to excuse himself.

“I shall check in on you later, Your Majesty,” he said with a bow.

“One more thing, Grand Maester,” said Rhaenyra, stopping Gerardys from leaving. “I would like your discretion in this matter. I would prefer to give the news myself when I am ready.”

The Maester nodded his head with an understanding look on his face before exiting the chamber.

Rhaenyra then sat there for a while, looking into the flickering flames of the hearth, gently stroking her belly, thinking of the new life growing within her, though it did not show. It was but the beginning of her first term, she had a while yet before her stomach began to swell and even longer before she gave birth.

At that moment, she realised that whatever grew within her, boy or girl, would presumably be the first Targaryen child born in Valyria in over two hundred years, a fascinating prospect.

After perhaps half an hour of sitting and thinking a knock came at the door and Ser Steffon stepped in.

“Lord Gunthor Darklyn to see you, Your Majesty,” said her Dragonknight, leading his own lord father into the chamber.

Upon seeing Lord Gunthor enter, Rhaenyra stood from her seat and greeted her loyal vassal.

“Be welcome, Lord Gunthor. Thank you for agreeing to see me,” she said cordially before offering him a seat across from hers at her desk.

As Lord Gunthor sat, his son Ser Steffon stood by the door.

“I like the new alteration to your family’s standard,” Rhaenyra noted, seeing the new Darklyn crest upon Lord Gunthor’s garment.

In the time before the conquest, the Darklyn sigil consisted of a field of gold and black diamonds and remained so in the years after that, but during the reign of the Old King, the Darklyn’s modified their heraldry to include a red half field with seven white shields upon it in recognition to their house’s close ties to the Kingsguard.

Ser Steffon was in fact the fourth Darklyn to join the Kingsguard with the first being Robin Darklyn, better known as Darkrobin who was among the first seven chosen by Visenya Targaryen. But since Rhaenyra’s coronation on Lys and the formation of the dragonknights, the Darklyns had modified their arms to instead bare fourteen white shields.

“A Darklyn served as one of the first seven for Aegon the Dragon and many of my kin have done so since. It is my expectation that my boy serving as one of your first fourteen will inspire more Darklyns for generations to come in the empire,” Lord Gunthor said, glancing over his shoulder to his son, Ser Steffon.

“And I am sure he will. The loyalty of your house has been invaluable to me and my forebearers which is why I would feel more at ease if you were to possess a grander role in my court,” Rhaenyra said, reaching over and picking up a scroll on her desk.

Lord Gunthor seemed confused by the Empress’s words as she smiled kindly at him.

“When we reach Valyria, it is our hope that we will begin the foundations' of our Empire by resettling what is left of the seven cities of the Freehold. Our first destination as you know will be the city of Telos where we shall base ourselves. Valyrian architecture is strong, made from the same material as the castle of Dragonstone and the wall that curtains this section of Volantis, but the cities have been abandoned for centuries and we know not what state they are in,” Rhaenyra explained, Lord Gunthor still not sure why he had been summoned.

“To restore these cities and make them livable once again and to manage the housing, maintenance and hygiene of Telos as well as farming the nearby areas and supplying what is hunted and harvested back to the city will be a taxing and time-consuming duty. So, to lighten my burden, on the advice of Grand Maester Gerardys, I have decided to create a new position on the Imperial Council. The Master of Lands,” she declared, handing the scroll to Lord Gunthor.

“This station will oversee the management of infrastructure and agriculture and the overall maintenance of the cities, towns and farms. At first, this position will be focal to Telos alone, but as the Empire expands, the position will broaden to scope the entire empire with local authorities handling the day-to-day upkeep of the cities while the Master of Lands focuses on the broader overarching maintenance of the infrastructure and agriculture of the empire,” Rhaenyra explained.

“And you believe I am the most qualified for this position?” Lord Guthor asked humbly.

“As Lord of Duskendale and the Dun Fort, you have years of experience maintaining an entire town, its population and its surrounding farms and unlike my father's rule over King’s Landing, you did not have a small council to lean upon. I would greatly value adding your voice to my table,” Rhaenyra explained.

Lord Gunthor bowed his head.

“You honour me greatly, my Empress. I shall cherish this position and serve it with honour and dignity. I swear to you,” he said humbly.

“I have no doubt of it, my Lord. I look forward to seeing you at the next Imperial Council,” Rhaenyra said with a smile.

When dismissed, Lord Gunthor bowed his head and left the chamber but not before looking to his son Ser Steffon with pride, smiling at him before the two left.

A short while later, Elinda came in, leading her father, Lord Gormon Massey, into the chamber.

“Your Majesty,” Lord Gormon greeted with a bow.

“Welcome, my Lord. Please, sit,” said Rhaenyra, motioning to the seat across from her.

“I come with some good news, my Lord. This morning I spoke with the messengers who rode ahead from the Second Wave of Exiles to inform us of their existence. They gave us a list of all the noble houses who have pledged to us and among them are the Stokeworths. I recall your eldest son Garrick’s wife is of their house. Perhaps she would feel consoled to know that she will soon be reunited with her family,” said the Empress.

Rhaenyra recalled having once gossiped about Garrick and Elinor with Alicent at the Heir’s Tournament when her mother died so many years ago. Garrick was a boy serving as a squire to a Tarly knight and was set to marry young Elinor Stokeworth once he had earned his spurs. Alicent then informed Rhaenyra that Garrick and Elinor had been impatient with their affections and that Elinor’s belly was especially swollen as Rhaenyra’s would soon be again. In the coming weeks, Garrick’s knighting was rushed as was his wedding to Elinor proving Alicent’s rumours true. Now, they had a happy marriage of four sons and two daughters, all of whom adored their auntie Elinda.

“Wonderful news, I shall inform Elinor when I see her,” Lord Gormon said with a smile.

The Stokeworths had pledged to Rhaenyra during the War of Ravens but had chosen to remain in Westeros when she set out for Braavos, but it seemed they had since changed their minds.

“I hope she will rejoice in the news, but that is actually not the matter I called upon you to discuss,” Rhaenyra said, reaching for another scroll.

“You are a good and noble man, Lord Gormon. You served my father faithfully for many years as you have served me and I need not tell you what a beloved and valued friend Elinda has been to me,” said Rhaenyra, glancing back to her Lady-in-waiting.

“I have decided to expand the seats on the Imperial Council to better govern the coming Empire in its presumably turbulent beginnings and I would like you to play a role, by serving as the first Master of Justice,” Rhaenyra explained handing over the scroll.

“Master of Justice? Forgive me if it may seem too bold, but does that not sound rather close to Lord Bartimos’s seat as Master of Laws?” Lord Gormon asked, unravelling the scroll that contained the responsibilities and jurisdiction of the new seat.

“True, much of what you do will be redelegated from the responsibilities of the Master of Laws, but given our current situation, I assure you that it shall not diminish nor trivialise the importance of either station, simply better specify and delegate the necessary areas of responsibility,” Rhaenyra explained which seemed to relax Lord Gormon, yet he still seemed wary of what he was being offered.

“As an Empire yet to exist, Valyria must have a code of law written from scratch, a task taken on by myself, my husband, my heir, my council and my conclave of over two hundred Maesters, scholars and Loremasters from across the Seven Kingdoms and the Free Cities. It is a lengthy and cumbersome process and as my Master of Laws, Lord Bartimos carries this burden as his highest responsibility. In truth he has thrived in the face of the challenge, his astuteness, organisation and prudence have served him well and his uncompromising and steadfast qualities have made him ideal for writing, interpreting and ratifying the letter of the law. Alas, when Aegon the Conqueror first founded the Small Council at the Aegonfort, the office was broader in its jurisdiction,” Rhaenyra explained.

Lord Massey nodded his head.

“I am well aware of the office’s responsibilities, Your Majesty. My ancestor Lord Triston Massey was the first man Aegon the Dragon named to the position. Not only is the Master of Laws the scholar, interpreter and advisor on the law but also the administrator of Justice in the kingdoms,” said Lord Gormon.

Rhaenyra nodded.

“Your forebear served the office well and proved himself skilled in handling all his responsibilities, but I fear now that the broadness of the position might undermine its effectiveness in Valyria. Lord Bartimos is a good man and he excels in many things and serves his post as Master of Laws with grace and honour. But it is my fear that what makes him so skilled and valuable as the authority on the written law may hinder him as the Empire’s Justicar. You know as well as I that he can be a… strict and uncompromising man. As the authority and interpreter of the written law, that serves him well but as an administrator of justice, his rigidity could prove tyrannical under certain circ*mstances,” Rhaenyra explained.

“And you believe me, less rigid than he?” Gormon asked, seeming to wonder if he was being called weak or malleable.

Rhaenyra thought for a moment about how best to explain her meaning.

“In the written law, it states that the punishment for theft is the amputation of one’s right hand. Should a man break into the home of an honest family and steal their savings, subjecting the family to squaller then the punishment is warranted. If an orphan child on the verge of starving to death were to swipe an apple from a thriving street vendor, the punishment would be the same, but perhaps it would be better to instead clip the child behind the ears and put him to work so he can earn coin to buy food for himself honestly. Lord Bartimos is an uncompromising, incorruptible and traditional man who would cut the hand from the child regardless of the extenuating circ*mstances. I wish for Lord Bartimos to help create and implement the frameworks of right and wrong by which my Empire is run but I want you to be the reasonable mind who enforces these laws to the benefit of the people. As Empress, I must hope for the best but prepare for the worst and it is my fear that there will be hard times in Valyria, times that shall divide and trouble our people and someone must help me keep public order so that the Empire does not deteriorate and unravel before it has a chance to truly begin.”

Lord Gormon nodded his head, seeming to understand now what he was being offered.

“What exactly will the extent of my jurisdiction be? Your Majesty?” he asked.

“Your focus will be as chief justiciar of the empire, you will be in charge of public order, you will oversee our gendarmerie forces once they have been established, arrests, imprisonments, executions and the like. Meanwhile, Lord Bartimos will focus on the creation, ratification, interpretation and implementation of the law and later he will oversee the implementations of assizes, magistrates, courts and trials when we have enough stability to create them,” Rhaenyra explained.

Lord Gormon looked over the scroll once more and nodded.

“I shall not fail you, Your Majesty,” he said rising to his feet and bowing his head.

Lord Gormon was then dismissed and led out by his daughter.

The next Lord to be summoned to Rhaenyra’s chamber was Lord Simon Staunton who came in bowed his head, was welcomed by the Empress and took the seat across from her.

“Thank you for coming, My Lord. I have summoned you here today because I require your services. In preparation for our arrival in Valyria which draws ever closer, I have created a number of new positions on the Imperial council to better delegate and attend matters of administration in my rule. One of these new positions I would like to offer you. The Master of Words. You served my father and the Old King before him for many years with wisdom and amiability. You held the respect of many lords and knights throughout the realm for many years and were well-revered as a friend by many noble houses. At such a time when the Empire is ready to reach out across the seas and open dialogues with the other city-states, kingdoms, empires and domains, I would wish one as wise and as eloquent as you to help me forge new relations. Foreign affairs, politics, diplomacy, the oversight of our emissaries and ambassadors when we have any. I wish for you to me build a voice for my empire that matches the dignity and respect possessed by King Jaehaerys,” Rhaenyra explained.

Lord Staunton smiled.

“Your Grace, I am an old man. I know not how many years I have left in my, but for every second I have left in me I willingly and gladly cede to you and the Empire. I shall make it my business to keep Valyria safe, secure and respected in the eyes of the world,” Lord Simon said.

After bidding one another good day, Lord Simon took his leave.

The next arranged meeting Rhaenyra had was with Lady Mysaria, her loyal White Worm.

“Good day, Your Majesty,” she greeted as she came in and sat down.

“Good day,” Rhaenyra said with a smile. “How fare my subjects down in the camp?”

As of late, Mysaria had been rebuilding her network of spies and informants within Rhaenyra’s fleet of followers to probe the wants and needs of her people and keep an eye out for any disruption or underhanded activity. Beyond that, Mysaria also sent her associates into the cities of whichever port they were in from Braavos to Lys and now Volantis, testing to see the opinions of the locals and how they were inclined to treat the Targaryen visitors.

“All seems relatively well. The freed slaves from Tyrosh, Myr and Lys are adapting better to living amongst the free peoples under your rule. Since you started sending the Maesters down to teach basic High Valyrian to the crowds, it has become quite popular and has created a new way for all to communicate and better integrate as a shared society,” Mysaria explained.

One of Mysaria’s ingenious ideas that had yielded good results. Sending Maesters, Loremasters and Dragonkeeper acolytes into the camp to teach High Valyrian to the masses from all ports so that those who did not all speak the same tongue. With time as it grew more popular and the lessons spread and became more comprehensive, High Valyrian would become a tongue that many in the empire could speak, a second tongue that all could know, but for now, it was just a few words and key phrases to help those who spoke different native tongues to communicate.

Even the majority of Rhaenyra’s lords, knights and their families were learning High Valyrian to varying degrees and varying success from their Maesters.

It was Rhaenyra’s hope that by the time Viserys reached the age of majority, all in the Empire would speak Valyria’s mother tongue.

“Good, very good. I have been fortunate to have you, informing for me and spying for me. You have proven yourself incomparably useful and paid back the debt of selling Aegon back to Otto Hightower a hundredfold at least. More than that you have proven yourself a good friend and a staunch ally in these past months,” Rhaenyra complimented.

“I gave you nothing you did not earn. I have seen those orphans you rescued from the child fighting pits of Flea Bottom laugh and smile and hug their new adoptive parents. I have seen slaves from across the Free Cities being treated as equals and friends to the Westerosi they now work and live beside. I am your instrument, you are the one creator of this prosperity and freedom,” Mysaria said, bringing a smile to Rharnyra’s face.

“And I would have our work to bring freedom and prosperity continue in a more official capacity. I have been shoring up my allies and expanding the number of voices to seek wisdom and reason from. I would have you made one of those voices, as a member of the Imperial Council,” Rhaenyra explained leaning back in her chair.

Mysaria seemed surprised by the offer.

“As your… special advisor? Like Princess Rhaenys?” she pondered aloud.

“As my Mistress of Whisperers,” Rhaenyra corrected.

Mysaria remained surprised and unsmiling.

“Your Majesty, you honour me greatly and I am yours to command but I do not think your lords would take kindly to a woman serving alongside them,” said Mysaria.

“My council already has four women on it. Myself, Rhaenys, Rhaena and Baela,” the Empress refuted.

“But that is different. You are their ruling Empress, their sworn leader whom they have chosen to follow. Rhaenys is a dragonrider, a Targaryen Princess, she served as the ruling Lady of Driftmark in her husband's name many times when Lord Corlys was away on his adventures and more than that, she was once a contender for the Iron Throne. Princess Baela is in line to be the Empress Consort to your son Jacaerys, her seat is complimentary to his position as the Crown Prince. As for Princess Rhaena, she is your Cupbearer, which may put her in the room but she does not have a seat nor a voice on the Council,” Mysaira explained.

“All the more reason to elevate you to the position, to break down those barriers. Help me establish new precedents in my Empire. Let us do this together,” Rhaenyra pleaded.

Mysria thought for a moment and took a deep breath.

“Your lords still will not like it,” Mysaria stated.

“Then they must learn to like it or learn to purse their lips when their words are unneeded. Either way, I will see you seated on my council,” Rhaenyra asserted.

“I serve at my Empress’s pleasure,” said Mysaria with a smile before leaving the chamber.

Rhaenyra always expected days such as these when she thought she would become Queen, long days of endless meetings, one after the other and yet she did not find them boring nor frustrating, perhaps because each one had yielded nothing but positive answers.

The next appointment was sent in with Marilda of Hull being guided into Rhaenyra’s chambers, the mother of two of her loyal dragonriders and foster mother of a third.

“Your Grace— I mean your Majesty,” she said shyly as she bowed her head.

“Good day, Marilda. Please, sit,” Rhaenyra welcomed.

The merchant captain was hesitant but took her seat.

“I trust your son Addam came and visited you before he left with Jace and Daemon?” Rhaenyra inquired.

“He did. He said he would be just fine and that their dragons would protect them… Though a mother always worries,” Marilda admitted.

Rhaenyra nodded.

“That we do. But our boys are smart and Daemon is a fierce warrior, not many have made the mistake of challenging him and survived to tell of it,” said Rhaenyra, managing to bring a smile to Marilda’s face.

After a beat, Rhaenyra reached over and opened a book on her desk.

“Tell me, Marilda. What do you know of the frameworks of society in the Valyrian Freehold?” Rhaenyra asked.

Marilda shook her head.

“Precious little, Your Majesty. However in recent months, sometimes my boys or Nettles will come up to me completely enamoured with one of those books your Maester lends them and speak of all the wonderful things they’ve learned about Valyria, imparting their fun little facts on me. They are truly passionate about the future of your Empire,” Marilda explained with a smile, a smile which Rhaenyra shared.

“Well, I might just have another fun fact about Valyria for you that you might take an interest in,” Rhaenyra explained, turning around the book and showing it to Marilda.

On one page were rows of round crests with various symbols on them and names beneath.

“In Old Valyria, the free people — above the slaves but below the Dragonlords — subscribed to a guild-based culture. Fourteen major guilds in Valyria segregated the various professions, all working together for the combined good of the Freehold. When Valyria is re-established as the Empire and stabilized, I wish to implement this structure. Not all at once and not immediately, but when the Empire proves stable enough, I will recreate these guilds to unify and organise the Empire’s workforce. The Builders Guild, the Artisans Guild, the Bankers Guild, the Scholars Guild and so many others all covering a range of professions and organising the unified productivity of the empire,” Rhaenyra explained.

“And you want me to work in one of these guilds?” Marilda asked, looking at the various circular crests on the page.

“No,” Rhaenyra said bluntly. “I want you to lead one for me.”

Marilda’s eyes went wide.

“Your Majesty?” she asked as though she misheard Rhaenyra.

“This one,” Rhaenyra said, pointing to a crest on the page showing three fishes chasing each other in a circle with an anchor in the middle between them. “The Mariners Guild. As founder and Guild Mistress, you shall oversee the workforce of Sailors, fishermen and Shipwrights. I expect it will be similar to how your children have described your consortium but as a more official structure within the Empire’s framework. As a Guild Mistress, you will earn great wealth and status and hold the respect of the people and nobility alike and as the guild’s founder, your name will be written in the Empire’s history for your own achievements, not just your sons or Nettles,” Rhaenyra explained.

Marilda stuttered and struggled to find words but after a few false starts, she could string her sentences together.

“Your Majesty. I am a lowly merchant sailor from Hull, I grew up a shipwright in my father’s shipyard. I am not worthy of— of this,” she said.

“Your sons, Nettles and Lord Corlys have told me all about you, Marilda. You are a hard-working woman who has laboured with her own hands and built a thriving business of her own right. That means not only are you capable of doing this but you will do it for the right reason. You will establish the foundations of this guild to give purpose, fair treatment and honest work to the people of the empire, not craft a system of greed that lines the pockets of the Guild’s higher-ups and hamstrings the lowly workers. You are the only choice for this,” Rhaenyra asserted.

Tears began to well up in Marilda’s eyes and she desperately wiped them away, apologizing to the Empress for letting them fall. At once Rhaenyra stood from her seat, walked around the table, helped Marilda up from her own seat and embraced her.

When Marilda was settled she stepped back and bowed.

“I accept, Your Majesty. I will ask my children to bring me books of these valyrian guilds and I shall fashion for you a workforce of sailors, fishmongers and shipwrights that your Empire can be proud of,” Marilda asserted.

“I’m counting on it,” Rhaenyra said with a smile of pride.

With that Marilda was dismissed smiling and bowing before leaving the chamber.

Feeling rather proud of herself, Rhaenyra sat back down by the hearth and cradled her belly, thinking of the future she would bring her new baby into. She had secured four new councillors and a guild master without issue, Daemon had gone to guide eighty thousand more allies to their cause, the Red Priests had set the ball in motion for their recruitment from Volantis with a grand number of liberated slaves and after months of searching, they had finally found Visenya and Aerion and above it all, she was now with child once again.

Soon another knock at the door came.

“Come,” Rhaenyra welcomed happily and in came Aerion.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted with a nod.

“Good afternoon, Aerion,” Rhaenyra replied with a smile.

“The emissary from the Red Temple has arrived, Your Majesty. She is waiting for you in the common hall,” Aerion said with an uncomfortable look on his face.

“Is everything alright, Aerion?” Rhaenyra asked, noticing his demeanour.

Aerion huffed out a breath.

“I know this woman, Your Majesty. Or rather — I’ve seen her before. Once she came to me months ago when I was talking with my compatriots down at a tavern. She warned me that it would be best if I heeded my destiny. Then Visenya and I spotted her preaching about you being the Prince that was Promised to a crowd of slaves. She’s… entrancing , Your Majesty. There is something that feels mystical and all-knowing about her that I find — offputting,” Aerion explained.

Rhaenyra slowly walked toward Aerion putting a reassuring hand on his arm before going with him from the chamber, being joined by Ser Harrold and Ser Erryk outside her door.

They walked to the common hall where Rhaenyra saw a single solitary red-haired woman standing with her back to the Empress and a red hood pulled up.

When Rhaenyra got closer she turned around, smiled at Rhaenyra and pulled down her hood.

She was an incredibly beautiful woman with dark velvet red hair and entrancing eyes, giving off an intimidating mystical presence just as Aerion had described it.

“Empress Rhaenyra,” she said with a humble bow.

“Be welcome, my lady,” Rhaenyra replied. “So you are the emissary of the Red Temple sent by High Priest Benerro, yes?” Rhaenyra asked.

“I am indeed. Allow me to introduce myself, I am known as Melisandre. Priestess and humble servant of the Lord of Light and the Princess that was Promised, of course,” she said, introducing herself and once again bowing her head to Rhaenyra.

Once again Rhaenyra was made uncomfortable by being referred to so openly as the Princess that was Promised. She did not wish to be worshipped as a saviour, only followed as a leader and she had gone to great lengths to set aside the burden of the Song of Ice and Fire but now every time someone called her such, she could feel herself being pulled back in.

“Welcome to my household, Lady Melisandre. Lodgings have been prepared for you and you are welcome to roam freely here in my great aunt's palace. I’ll have you shown to your chambers and I would like for you to attend dinner with my household where we may better get acquainted. In the meantime, I hope my household can be of service to you,” Rhaenyra said politely.

“And I hope I can be of service to you in the trials you will face moving forward. Of service to you, your husband and your children… all your children,” she said smiling as she glanced down at Rhaenyra’s stomach and back at her.

Rhaenyra now felt greatly uncomfortable, as though this red witch before her could see straight through her body like glass and knew everything about her.

When Aerion noticed how uncomfortable Rhaenyra was becoming he led the red woman away, still smiling knowingly.

After the priestess was led away, Rhaenyra turned to retreat to her chamber now very curious about who or what she had just let into her court.

Chapter 39: The Consort and the Heir

Chapter Text

After setting out from Volantis at midday, Jace, Daemon and Addam flew out westward on their dragons, keeping to the coastline of the Orange Shore as they searched for the Second Wave of Exiles.

They saw no Khalassars on their flight, no bandits, sellswords, slavers or pirate ships off the coast. A couple of shepherds, caravans of travellers, a passing fishing boat and beyond that just the open wilderness of Essos to the right of them and the Summer Sea to the left.

After a few hours of flying, they finally discovered the Second Wave, near the borderline between the Orange Shore and the Disputed Lands, which boded well for the good time they were making on their journey.

They were easy enough to find with thousands of tents spread out like a forest.

By the time the three dragons found the Second Wave, the sun was hanging low in the burnt orange sky.

At Daemon’s lead, first, the three dragons circled the length of the vast camp to make their presence known and then descended into the open grassland just beyond the border of the camp sight.

A massive crowd assembled with haste along the border of the camp, thousands of refugees all gawking at Caraxes, Seasmoke and Vermax from a safe distance.

Daemon was the first to dismount his dragon, dressed in his suit of black plate armour and his open dragon-moulded helm.

Jace wore a similar suit, but still distinct in his own design, a suit he had made in preparation for the war for the Iron Throne that never came.

Lastly, Addam wore a black tunic laced with mail and segmented plate, similar to the Old Valyrian armour design with an open helm and vambraces to accompany it.

The three dragonriders came together in front of Caraxes with Daemon standing in front of Jace and Addam by a few paces.

Daemon looked out to the crowd of gawking refugees and relaxed his posture, resting his hands over Dark Sister.

“So… this is the great second wave of exiles !” Daemon called out, loud enough that the masses might hear him.

“Sons and daughters of Westeros, Pentos, Tyrosh and Myr who were once offered the chance to join the Empire, but swatted away our hand when offered and shunned our promises of power and glory! Now that might of Valyria has been heralded for all to see, their tune has changed!” Daemon declared, glancing up at the sky to the red comet which grew brighter as the sky grew darker.

Jace did not like the tone that Daemon was taking but knew better than to undermine his authority in public and so he let his uncle make his rants.

“And when these late-comers chase after us to join the glory of our Empire, they call for us to halt our quest and wait for them! Furthermore, they have the gall to ask for a dragon to go back and protect them on their journey east! Then the Empress in her magnanimity and benevolence sends not one but three dragons to guard her people, furthermore the Emperor Consort and the Crown Prince themselves!... and when presented with the Empress’s cornucopia of gifts to her contrite masses of late followers, they have not even the humility or respect to kneel,” Daemon reprimanded.

Caraxes then let out a loud snarling wail as the great mob of refugees took to their knees before the three dragonriders.

“Was that not a bit excessive, Daemon?” Jace rebuked, quiet enough that the kneeling masses could not hear him.

Daemon glanced over his shoulder and stared Jace down for a moment.

“Have you already forgotten the lesson I taught you with Ser Steffon and Ser Lorent, Young Prince? If you have to tell someone to be loyal to you, then you must do it in a way that you never need to repeat yourself,” Daemon asserted before looking back to the crowd.

Down the middle of the streets of tents and masses, a train of noble lords and knights came marching with banner bearers and guards.

Blackwood, Tarly, Manderly, Smallwood, Mooton, Stokeworth, Grafton, Roote, Lonmouth, Hunter, Farring, Buckler, Vance, Piper, Darry and many more, but the most surprising sigil at least to Jace, the one that made his heart skip a beat was the sigil of House Strong, which he did not expect to find there.

The hundreds of nobles all pushed through the crowd in a single line and spread out in front of the smallfolk.

Among them, one stepped out in front of the others, a plump old man with short-cropped white hair and a trimmed beard. He wore robes and a fur-lined coat and the bannerbearer closest to him carried the arms of House Strong.

He came before Daemon but stopped a few paces away when he saw Caraxes snarl.

“And who are you?” Daemon asked, looking down at the man and speaking to him with an unimpressed tone.

“Ser Simon Strong, my Emperor. Former Castellan of Harrenhal and leader of the secession of my House away from its unjust liege lord of whom my family and household have renounced,” the old man said, kneeling before Daemon, with the other nobles following suit.

Ser Simon Strong, uncle to Lord Lyonel, Jace thought. He had heard his name mentioned by Ser Harwin when Jace was a boy when he asked Harwin who ruled Harrenhal while Lyonel served as Hand of the King. Jace had never thought to meet the man, his great grand uncle, though he could never say such things out loud.

Daemon glanced over at Jace, probably gauging his reaction to meeting another Strong, before looking again to Ser Simon.

“Are you the leader of this assortment of refugees, Ser Simson?” Daemon asked.

“We have no leaders, only a conclave of our noble patriarchs to vote on our actions. I am simply the chosen speaker to address you upon your arrival,” Ser Simon explained.

“Good. Then I’ll only need to say to you what all your fellow nobles need to hear. I am taking command of this herd of travellers, in the name of the Empress Rhaenyra. From now on, you will follow me as we push eastward to join the Empress and the rest of our fleet in Volantis,” Daemon declared for all to hear.

“As it should be,” Ser Simon said bowing his head.

“Wonderful. Now that is put to rest, let us sup. It has been a long ride and we are hungry and you can tell me exactly what it is that the Empire has just gained,” said Daemon walking past the kneeling Ser Simon while paying him no heed.

The three dragonriders were then led to a large pavilion with a long table where they were all seated with several of the lords and knights and their dinner and wine brought to them.

Upon sitting down Jace pulled off his gauntlets and his black open helm crested with a row of black dragon scales that continued down the back, diminishing downwards.

“I cannot begin to tell you how grateful we are to have you here, Emperor Daemon. The disputed lands have been subdued since the Triarchy’s peace began over twenty years ago, but as we draw ever closer towards the Rhoyne we grow fearful that the Dothraki might happen upon us,” Ser Simon declared.

“I should welcome the Dothraki should one of the Khalassars stray this way. Caraxes does not mind to gorge himself on cooked horsemeat when it is offered,” Daemon said.

“Well, in any case, I would be glad to see my people now properly protected,” Ser Simon replied.

Daemon interlocked his fingers and peered at the knight of House Strong.

“And yet are your people not those of Larys Strong’s? Your grand-nephew, liege Lord and the dungeon master for the Usurper and his court?” Daemon asked sternly.

“More than just a dungeon master now. At present, he holds the title of Master of Whisperers on the Small Council of the usurper King Aegon. Regardless, Larys Clubfoot is no lord of mine. He is a scourge upon my house and the living embodiment of Harrenhal’s curse and we have come here to seek sanctuary from him and that damnable ruin he left us to mind for him,” Ser Simon explained.

Daemon’s expression turned to intrigue and he glanced at Jace who wished to keep his voice neutral in regards to House Strong if he could help it.

“Do you not think it strange that his father, my nephew Lord Lyonel perished by fire and his son too? In Harrenhal of all places? Have you ever been there?” Ser Simon asked.

Daemon scoffed in response.

“The Great Council of the year one hundred and one brought together over a thousand lords from every corner of the realm, fourteen succession claimants, most of which my close kin, even a delegation from Dorne. Everyone and anyone who mattered in Westeros was at that sh*tful ruin to see my brother be named heir to the Iron Throne. Do you think I would miss it?” Daemon challenged, as though to suggest he hadn’t been at Harrenhal before was some kind of insult.

“Forgive me, I meant no disrespect. But then you do know what a damp old place Harrenhal is. There is scarcely a chamber, hall or corridor in that ruin that does not have its floors lined with buckets and pots to collect rainwater and suddenly on the night that Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin return home after so many years — without Clubfoot— we suffer the first fire in Harrenhal since your forbearer, the Conqueror, set Balerion on its towers to end the line of Harren the Black. Even in summer, we struggled to light the hearths there.”

It took Jace a few years to work out that it was either the Greens or Larys Clubfoot who had murdered Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin. At first, Jace thought it an honest accident and the fire to be legitimate, but Daemon had steered Jace towards reading the politics between the tragedy. Lyonel and Harwin’s deaths had made Larys Lord of Harrenhal and restored Alicent’s father as Hand of the King.

Jace hated that the twisted kinslaying invalid was just let go and smugly enjoyed the spoils of his treachery and murder without justice or retribution to visit him. But Clubfoot was not alone, for all the Greens who had conspired to steal the Iron Throne now relished in their victory, evading recompense and punishment for their wrongdoings and the only vengeance Jace and his family could offer any of them was to live well so that they might spite their enemies’ hatred of them.

“So you may probe me, my sons, my grandsons and every other Strong that I have brought with me and you will find none with any loyalty to Larys Strong, Your Grace,” Ser Simon asserted.

“Your Majesty,” Daemon corrected.

Many at the table looked to one another with confusion.

“Forgive me. When we had heard of the Empress’s coronation from the Tyroshi and Myrish who joined us, we were not aware there had been a change in styles of address,” said Ser Simon.

“Then we are reminded of the perilousness of assumption,” said Daemon.

Jace gave Daemon a hard stare to silently reprimand his antagonising and toying of their new vassals, but the Emperor Consort would have none of it.

“Indeed — your Majesty,” Ser Simon said correcting his words and raising a cup to him.

“And yet that does not explain why you waited so long to join us — why any of you waited so long to join us. Where were all of you when our fleet amassed at the Stepstones and pushed out to Lys?” Daemon asked, looking around the table.

Jace felt like he should step in and subdue Daemon, but he too was curious about their reasoning.

All the nobles at the table hesitated and looked at one another, all struggling to find the words to say.

“We have discussed that amongst ourselves at length, Your Majesty and it would seem the most common answer among us is a matter of… misunderstanding,” Ser Simon began to explain. “All of us here have always been loyal to Empress Rhaenyra and recognise her as the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. When word reached us of the Princess yielding her claim to Aegon in favour of peace and choosing exile to seek out and reconquer Valyria because of a mystical dragon dream we were — doubtful to say the least. Most of us assumed that this dream and the supposed exile was a tactic of misdirection, to buy time for the Queen to muster allies from the Free Cities and make a military alliance with Dorne and the Triarchy. We chose not to follow so that our houses could create toeholds for the Queen within our own lands and attack the Usurpers from both land and sea. Naturally when Rhaenyra left Bloodstone and abandoned the Stepstones moving further east, we realised that her intentions to conquer Valyria were true and the invasion was but a misinterpretation of the Empress’s wishes,” Ser Simon explained.

“Well, now that this little misunderstanding is behind us I can trust all of you will faithfully swear to the Empress?” Daemon asked.

“None of us would be here if we weren’t,” one of the other nobles sitting around the table declared.

A man with neck-length hair wearing a red cloak fastened with a penular broach.

“And who are you?” Daemon asked looking to the man.

“Ser Willem Blackwood, Your Majesty, and this is my cousin Davos,” he said gesturing to the dark-haired young man sitting next to him.

“And where might your lord be, Ser Willem?” Daemon inquired, noticing only the two Blackwoods at the table.

Willem seemed uncomfortable for a moment before speaking.

“My lord brother Samwell is back home at his seat of Raventree, where he shall remain,” the knight explained.

“And why pray tell is your lord brother back in Raventree and not here with you on his way to pledge fealty to the Empress?” Daemon prodded.

“My Emperor, you must understand that House Blackwood’s roots run as deep as our sacred Wirewood Tree. We recognise the true line of succession and believe in the Empress’s quest but to surrender Raventree is… unthinkable. My brother granted me and all those of my kin that wished to follow to travel to Valyria and pledge to the Empress, meanwhile he and the rest of my house will remain in Westeros.”

“Sworn in perpetuity to the false King Aegon and his line,” Daemon surmised.

“We have lived in the lands Westeros since the age of Heroes, we once wore crowns as kings in the Riverlands, when the other ancient houses either apostatized or fled north at the coming of the Andals we remained in our ancestral seat and refused to be dislodged. A heritage of endurance such as ours against Andals, Durrandons, Hoares and worst of all Brackens cannot be cast aside. There was no other option for us,” Ser Willem explained.

“Then why do you wish to leave behind your ancestral heritage and come to Valyria?” Daemon asked.

“In part, to carve out my own legacy in the world and make something for myself. As is the way with second sons, your Majesty. And I have always held respect for the Empress; I once vied for her hand, before she wed Ser Laenor. I always liked her spirit. She had the true blood of the dragon and it is my belief that such blood will lead us all to glory in the coming empire,” Willem declared.

The lords began to bang their hands on the table in agreement.

“The great uncle of one house’s lord and the younger brother of another. Any other not-lords leading seceding faction of their houses that I should know about?” Daemon asked leaning back in his chair and several nobles around the table raised their hands in response which only made Daemon scoff.

“Let’s try this again. Which of you are lords come to join us.”

The rest raised their hands with the one sitting closest to the dragonriders speaking up.

“I am Lord Rorick Buckler, Your Majesty. My uncle was in King’s Landing as a courtier to your brother in his final years. When King Viserys the Peaceful passed he refused to bend the knee and was executed. I remained in Westeros only because I expected Rhaenyra to return and I wished to fight for her claim. Now all of Bronzegate has been surrendered to the proud, disloyal oaf, Borros Baratheon and we have pledged to the Empress and I am not the only one. Lord Harte and Lord Hayford lost their fathers to the same unjust murder,” Lord Buckler stated, pointing to two of the other lords.

“And none of you have any qualms about surrendering your ancestral seats in the Seven Kingdoms?” Jace asked.

Lord Buckler scoffed.

“Those aren’t the Seven Kingdoms. At least not anymore, not the way they once were. In the time of the Old King, honour and decency meant something. There was justice, respect and loyalty. When your grandsire, King Viserys died, my Prince, the last bastion of dignity was snuffed out by those vulgar Hightower usurpers,” Buckler stated and another applause went around the chamber.

“Well, we shall be grateful for your loyalty. All of you,” Jace said raising his cup with the rest following his lead.

“To the Empire,” Daemon toasted.

To the Empire, they chanted back.

After dinner, Ser Simon commanded some servants to prepare pavilions for the three dragonriders while Jace walked along the campsite, looking at the westerosi and essosi of all different backgrounds all brought together by the promise of the dragon dream and the Empire.

All those months ago when Jace first had the dream the night he returned to Dragonstone from King’s Landing, he had not thought that it would all lead to… this.

And they had many leagues to go yet, with the settling of Valyria being a challenge in its own right.

Eventually, Daemon found Jace standing solitarily in the camp, looking up to the red comet in the sky.

“You should get some rest, young Prince. We will be patrolling the wave on dragonback as we move further east tomorrow. You'll need your wits if we are to do battle with the Dothraki,” Daemon declared.

“I will, though I would not think we should fret. Dothraki Khalassars do not often trek this far west of the Rhoyne and when they do it is rarer still they will come as far south as the coast. We are not likely to find much more than bandits and slave merchants over this way, if any,” Jace assured his uncle.

“Well, I should hope you are wrong. And if no Khalassar should come for us on the march, our dragons should fly further out to seek them where they roam,” Daemon declared looking out to the horizon beyond the camp.

The Emperor Consort’s words confused the Crown Prince.

“You mean to seekthe Dothraki? Even if they do not cross our path?” Jace asked, wishing to hear an elaboration.

“Yes, I do,” Daemon replied.

“Why? What possible reason could you have to insight wonton violence with the Dothraki?”

“The Khalassars are the only hostile force we are to encounter with numbers in the thousands. After we reach Volantis and our ships are ready we will depart and sail straight for Valyria. This is our last chance to spill real blood before we reach our homeland,” Daemon declared.

Jace scoffed in disgust and looked to his uncle and stepfather as though he were mad.

“Are you so vile that you need to seek out unprovoked carnage to use as an outlet for your pent-up bloodlust? Did being denied your war against the Greens unpleasantly force you to restrain your fervour for death?” Jace challenged.

Daemon took two steps forward, staring down Jace as the two stood their ground.

“Careful boy. My wishes to spill horse-f*cker blood are out of duty to my stations as Emperor and Warmaster,” Daemon declared.

“Emperor-Consort — and what good could hunting the Dothraki possibly bring aside from more glory for you, mighty Warmaster?” Jace asked, standing his ground against Daemon.

A grim smile flickered on Daemon’s face, perhaps the slightest bit amused or even impressed with Jace’s resistance.

“At present, the whole world from Pyke to Asshai are watching us, waiting, assessing the risk and weighing their chances of claiming Valyria for themselves. They wish to see us cross into Valyria so that we might confirm that the Doom is gone and the ruins of the Freehold are ripe for the picking. When we make the crossing into Valyria, the vipers and leaches of every dominion across the known world will slither towards our empire to feast upon the carcass of the ancient power of Valyria. Before we leave Volantis, we need to remind the world of the ancient power of the dragonlords. The easiest way to do that is to leave an ash heap of several thousand Dothraki warriors as a warning for those who might wish to cross us,” Daemon explained.

Upon hearing Daemon’s reasoning, Jace reconsidered his objections. Jace had discussed the matter of the other realms coming after them with Baela back in Tyrosh and Daemon’s wish to use dragonfire to dissuade invaders was not an unreasonable one.

“This will also be good for you, young Prince — and Addam. If you serve well in combat, perhaps you’ll both earn your spurs by the time we return to Volantis,” Daemon suggested, tantalising Jace with a knighthood. “And it is high time you and Vermax saw combat. This will help prepare you as the future Emperor.”

Jace snorted and rolled his eyes.

“What does shouting dracarys from atop a dragon’s saddle have to do with being Emperor?” Jace asked.

“It has everything to do with being Emperor,” Daemon replied with seriousness in his voice. “When we fly to battle on dragonback, saying that word means death for the thousands beneath you. Such destructive power with a word alone is but a taste of the power you will possess when you succeed your mother. As Emperor when you speak, wars will begin and end with a word and thus your voice will hold the lives of thousands, even millions, perhaps. That is the power you must learn to wield.”

Everything Daemon was saying was completely true and it terrified Jace as he pondered Daemon’s words.

“Now, I suppose there is only one question left, Young Prince. When we find the Dothraki — or they find us — and you fly over them, thousands of warriors with wives, children and lives of their own, will you have the balls to say the word or will you be too weak to defend your people? Are you ready for that?” Daemon asked.

Jace kept his composure and held his head high.

“I will make myself ready,” he asserted.

The Emperor Consort smiled at Jace’s remark. “Good. I’ll make an Emperor out of you yet. Get some sleep, Young Prince.”

With that Daemon walked off, leaving Jace with his thoughts, standing beneath the night sky and the bleeding star.

Chapter 40: The Beasts of Valyria

Chapter Text

Once again Rhaenyra found herself in one of her special dreams. It had been a while since Raegoth last summoned her mind to learn lessons of what she must expect when she reached Valyria.

In this instance, the Valyrian sorcerers had brought her to the slopes of one of the dormant volcanos in Valyria, surrounded by forests and wilderness all around her.

The day was cloudy with a mist in the air that added a haze to the landscape.

The Sorcerers were nowhere to be seen, probably waiting for a dramatic moment to reveal themselves to her.

One thing that Rhaenyra found strange was that she was still herself in the dream, no longer cast back into the body of her younger self as she had been all those times before. In truth, she took comfort in remaining in her adult form, even though it was just an illusion of the dream. Since discovering she was pregnant, the idea of being in a body without that child — even in the fantasy of a dream — felt wrong and terrifying as though it would make her feel that another baby had been stolen from her.

As Rhaenyra looked out to the forests and planes beyond the volcano, she could hear ghostly howls and roars in the distance, sounds she could only imagine were the trick of the wind or maybe the creatures of Valyria that she had been warned of in her last vision.

“Rystas Dāriorys Rhaenyra,” a familiar voice spoke to her in the valyrian tongue from behind.

When Rhaenyra turned around, she saw Master Raegoth with a second master, also masked and hooded, but this one was not Sirioner, for the runes and scripts on his garments and mask, were different and unique in their own way, indicating he was a third master.

“Rystas Master Raegoth. I take it by your use of my new title you were privy to my coronation on Lys,” Rhaenyra surmised.

Raegoth nodded his head.

“Indeed. We looked through the glass candles and bore witness to your crowning beneath the red star as it streaked across the night sky. A historic beginning to a new era for the dragons of Valyria,” said Raegoth. “And joyous news with the new additions to the empire.”

Rhaenyra nodded her head.

“Yes. It is our expectation that Aerion and Visenya will be the final two dragonriders to join us, though we have not yet taken them to test their claims on Vermithor and Silverwing. Also, my husband, Daemon and my eldest son have gone to escort a new wave of followers numbering around eighty thousand at least. Combined with what we already have we shall enter Valyria with more than a hundred thousand at our command,” the Empress confirmed for them.

“Indeed, but those are not the only additions we were speaking of, for we sense new life is now with you, Dāriorys,” Master Raegoth explained, motioning to Rhaenyra’s stomach.

The Empress smiled and nodded.

“Yes. Thank you, good Master.”

After a moment, Raegoth turned and gestured to the mage next to him.

“This is Master Vazieris and he shall be conducting your lesson. In the Freehold he was a scholar of transmutation and experimentation and the only one of us to have witnessed and studied at the fleshpits of Gogoross,” Raegoth explained.

The sorcerer bowed to Rhaenyra, but she could only feel uncomfortable and nervous about learning from this new master. Vaegon, Gerardys and Sirioner had spoken to her of the vile and eldritch horrors of crossbreeding and experimentation within Gogoross, bringing forth unnatural and horrorsome monsters and chimeras which, according to Sirioner, now roamed free in Valyria as wild monsters that had surmounted the Doom.

“An honour to meet you, mighty Dāriorys. I am your humble servant,” the new sorcerer declared as he bowed. His voice was gentle and pleasant but also menacing in its own way, similar to how Rhaenyra heard Larys Clubfoot speak when Rhaenyra had words with him.

Master Raegoth then vanished in a shimmer of light as the colours around them intensified for a moment before settling once again, leaving Rhaenyra alone with Master Vazieris.

“It is our understanding that you will soon leave the city of Volantis and arrive at last in Valyria, yes?” Vazieris asked as he walked closer to Rhaenyra.

“That is correct. Our intention is to sail down the Valyrian coast and anchor east of Telos to settle there,” Rhaenyra explained.

“A fine strategy. Telos will make for a good foundation for the empire and do not fret to drink, fish and fill your aqueducts with the waters of the Sea of Sighs, the waters are sweet and clear and the red colour is but an illusion cast from the special red bedrock beneath its waters,” Vazieris explained.

Rhaenyra nodded, confirming she had heard the master’s words and taken them under advisem*nt.

The Empress and the Sorcerer then stood on the slopes of the volcano and looked out to the vast wilderness before them, the distantly muffled howls and snarls of beasts in the distance echoing out like the voices of haunting spectres.

“What is out there, Master?” Rhaenyra asked as she looked at the trees and listened to the sounds.

“The beasts that now rule Valyria. It was they who conquered this land while all outsiders who attempted failed… save for one,” Master Vazieris explained cryptically.

Rhaenyra had no idea what the master meant.

“One?” she repeated, hoping the master would elaborate.

“To explain this part of the story, we must go back,” said the mage as he waved his hands, changing the landscape around them.

Once again, Rhaenyra had been brought to the Doom, of the near aftermath of it.

Red and orange fog clouded the landscape, ash fell like snow and the sky was blacked out by clouds that cracked with purple and red lightning.

While most of the landscape was dead and barren, there was something living there, but barely so.

Through the haze, Rhaenyra could see an army hobbling and limping through the wastelands.

They dressed in suits of dark steel and open-face helms of the valyrian style, the same kind worn by those who watched and whipped the slaves going into the mines of the fourteen flames as Rhaenyra had seen them in a previous vision, soldiers of the Dragon Legion.

But these ones were distinct for as Rhaenyra got closer to them, she noticed their armour was powdered in ash, their skin beneath their helms covered in lesions, blisters and boils, many seemed beleaguered and their formations were loose and tired.

Many gave out frothy bubbling coughs and others fell over only to be picked up and shouted at to push on by their compatriots.

“Who are these men, master?” Rhaenyra asked, turning to the sorcerer.

“The first of many to attempt to conquer Valyria before its time was ready. The last legion of the Freehold, summoned by Aurion Varezys, the self-proclaimed First Dāriorys of Valyria,” Vazieris explained.

Rhaenyra already knew the story of the fool Emperor Aurion who led thirty thousand men into Valyria only to perish and never be seen again. Rhaenyra had discussed the story of Aurion with Lysandro Rogare the night he first pledged his loyalty to her and used his story to inspire Rhaenyra to take the title of Empress for herself.

“And you say one of these pioneers under Emperor Aurion survived?” Rhaenyra asked as she looked around the dying soldiers, slowly dying as they marched deeper and deeper into the Doom.

“Yes, just one… and a special one at that,” said Vazieris.

Before Rhaenyra could ask more, the howl of a dragon caught her attention as a great winged beast came descending down from the red mists above.

The marching Dragon Legion stopped in its tracks and kneeled before the dragon as it landed near them.

As the dust around it settled, Rhaenyra could see it more clearly, a pale brass-coloured dragon with bluish-green highlights, roughly the size of Silverwing.

Rhaenyra could barely see the rider until he slid off the saddle onto the ground and marched out from beneath his dragon’s wing.

A tall man dressed in a suit of valyrian steel plate armour, similar in design to the conqueror’s suit which was collecting dust in the Red Keep.

He wore a long red cloak connected to a sash that ran around his chest diagonally.

When he pulled off his open helm crested with a tuft of black horse hair, he revealed the deformed and blistered face of a gaunt man with shedding silver hair and bloodshot eyes.

In the histories, Aurion Varezys was a young and handsome man, but the Doom had seemed to rob him of his looks and clearly his health.

The Dragonlord and claimant Emperor spluttered a raspy cough of blood onto his gauntlets as he covered his mouth and walked towards his legions.

“Why does my Legion of Victory move at a slug’s pace? It will be many weeks before we reach so much as Telos at this pace!” Aurion shouted angrily.

One of his soldiers whose armour seemed slightly more decorated than the others came forward and kelt, probably a captain.

“My Emperor! We do not move at a slug’s pace, but a dead man’s one. The horses are all dead or have run from us. We’ve lost a third of our force thus far. We cannot continue on! Valyria is lost and we shall be with it if we do not turn from here!” the Captain declared.

Rhaenyra could see the clear and present rage in the blood-coloured eyes of the self-made emperor.

“Thank you for your input!” he growled before drawing his sword and striking the captain dead with one clean swing of the blade.

Rhaenyra recognised the weapon to be of Valyrian steel with the same straight point blade and indented fuller as Dark Sister and Blackfyre, but unlike those swords which had been rehilted to resemble Westerosi blades, this one had a crossguard no wider than the blade.

Rhaenyra had a few such weapons that she had brought over from Dragonstone, one of them an old Targaryen artefact, a valyrian steel arming sword with a short crossguard and a dragonwing hilt.

The enraged Aurion turned his hideous gaze on the rest of his dying legion.

“Any other who wishes to join their captain need only say the word and I will gladly use Vassarion’s flames to send you to the depths of Gōvys where Balerion can pass judgment on the lot of your traitors! Any volunteers!?”

The soldiers stood silent and meek, averting their eyes from the mad, dying, dreaded emperor who stood before his dragon, Vassarion.

“I think I can surmise what befell them,” said Rhaenyra, lamenting the cruel fate of Aurion’s legion, cursed to die from the toxic air of Valyria as they marched into the jaws of the Doom.

“Indeed,” said Vazieris waving his hand again and showing a new landscape within Valyria, this time the black clouds and red smoke were gone and Valyria was once again alive. They were by a coast along black sand beaches and across the water in the distance Rhaenyra could see a coastline through the mist as well a black and rocky island volcano between the two coasts and when she looked left and right she saw more volcano islands in the distance.

Already Rhaenyra could surmise where she was.

“This is the Smoking Sea, isn’t it? And these volcanos are the Fourteen Flames,” the Empress inferred.

“For a time some of the Fourteen were lost to the depths and boiled the water, but the blood spells upon Valyria summoned them back from the depths to heal the land and funnel the Vejēs out to the borders of Valyria. Now smoking sea boils no more and the fourteen stand tall once again, isolated within its waters,” Vazieris explained.

Rhaenyra then looked down into the waters of the spine of some kind of sea creature crests the water like a dolphin or a shark, she tried to follow the creature’s movements but it disappeared beneath the waves. The Empress fixated her eyes on the water hoping to catch another glance until the creature came lunging out of the water into the air, flapping its wings.

The creature was unlike anything Rhaenyra had ever seen before, its head looked like a long-snouted lion lizard, but its body was more like an eel or snake. It had no arms of legs, only a pair of wings and wing-like fins lower down on its body, equivalent to where its hips would be if it were human.

“What in Seven Hells is that!?” Rhaenyra asked, switching to the common tongue in her moment of surprise as she watched the creature flap into the air.

“That is an Amphiptere, my Dāriorys,” Vazieris.

“But what is it?” Rhaenyra asked, with her fear turning to wonder as the draconic sea creature flapped into the air and then dived back down into the water like a seagull diving for fish.

“When the blood spells began to heal Valyria, the Fourteen Flames funnelled the Doom into the sky and thus the sky became the adversary to the dragons that survived. To resist the Doom, the dragons lived in fear of the sky and adapted to the lands and the water, this is one of the resulting subspecies that came into being because of it.”

Rhaenyra then watched as the Amphiptere pounced out of the water again flapping its wings to carry it higher in the air as it carried a large fish in its long jaws and snapped at it.

Amphipteres did not seem to grow very big compared to their dragon ancestors from what Rhaenyra saw with the creature before her being no bigger than Arrax was at the time they left Westeros.

“Would you wish to see more of what became of the dragons, Dāriorys?” the sorcerer asked.

Rhaenyra nodded, both curious and reluctant for fear of what horrors she might see.

Vazieris then waved his hand and showed Rhaenyra a number of creatures.

First, she took him to the forests of Valyria and showed her the Drakes.

Large predators that roamed and hunted in packs, twice the size of humans. They had heads, bodies, legs and tails like dragons but front arms instead of wings and could alternate between bipeds and qaudrapeds. Their heads were gaunt and skeletal with shark-like teeth and long black bristles running down their backs from crest to tail and red eyes.

Vazieris showed a pack of such drakes surround and fell a herd of fallow deer.

Next Vazieris showed Rhaenyra one of the lesser volcanos in Valyria where the Lindwyrms roamed.

Large dragon-like creatures with front arms and no legs, bearing tails they had to drag behind them. Their faces devolved to look more serpent-like with short snouts closer to their eyes, forked tounges and rows of sharp teeth with none longer or sharper than the python fangs in their jaws.

The Lindwyrms burrowed into the soil beneath the volcanos like the firewyrms of old, or so Vazieris told her.

Next, Rhaenyra was taken to another forest and shown large bat-like dragons without horns of flaming breath and beak-like snouts, creatures that grew no bigger than vultures which Vazieris told her were wyverns that could still fly but kept to the treetops and the low skies of Valyria.

The largest of the subspecies of dragons were the wyrms, creatures that could grow to the size of reasonable-sized dragons like Meleys or Caraxes but were not but overgrown snakes with dragon-like heads that either tunnelled like the lindwyrms or swam like the Amphipteres.

“This is what became of the dragon-kin in Valyria. None now remember the ways of the flaming breath or the high skies as the dragons under your yoke do,” Vazieris explained.

“But it is not only the descendants of dragons who dwell here, is it?” Rhaenyra asked.

Vazieris was silent for as moment, looking away before answering his Empress.

“No, it is not. There are more beasts here, more than just the dragon-kin and the natural wildlife of these lands. The creatures from the fleshpits of Gogossos. These creatures are all feral and wild beasts now. Their forms shifted to deformity at the onset of the Vejēs and shifted back to a more natural state when the Vejēs subsided,” the master explained.

“And you helped create these creatures?” Rhaenyra asked in an accusative tone.

Vazieris was motionless for a moment.

“The crafting of these creatures began long before I began to learn in the art, but yes, I studied and practised at the fleshpits. All of us have pasts, my Empress,” he said in response.

“Show me,” Rhaenyra commanded.

Vazieris obliged and showed the descendants of the creations of Gogoross.

First a prowling Chimera, a giant spotted lion without a mane, baring dragon scales over much of its body, long ibex horns and a stinger at the end of its scaly tail.

Next a tall gaunt and lanky satyr, a wild human-sized biped animal with cloven hoofs, full-body fur and the head of a goat.

After the satyr was a Minotaur which was a giant bipedal brute with a hulking body and the features of a bull, feasting on the carcass of a satyr.

Then the sorcerer showed Rhaenyra a wyvern being snatched out of the air by a monkey with feathered wings instead of arms and taloned feet before it began biting into the slain wyvern and devouring it, a creature Vazieris called a harpy.

There were many more such beasts but Rhaenyra had seen enough to get the point; when Rhaenyra and her Empire reached the black shores of Valyria, everything that was not them would want to kill them.

“Master. I must know, what happened to the dragon Balerion and Aerea Targaryen when they came here?” Rhaenyra asked, taking the opportunity to discern what had happened.

Vazieris was silent once again, seeming to weigh the worth of the requested knowledge in his head before answering.

“If you wish it I will show you.”

The sorcerer then took Rhaenyra to a mountain range, though where exactly she could not tell and she did not have long to study her surroundings before her senses were caught by the howl of dragons above her.

Rhaenyra looked to the sky and saw two dragons, one was a great black dragon who Rhaenyra instantly recognised as the long-dead Balerion, the Black Dread.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked in awe at the great dragon of the conqueror do battle with another dragon that Rhaenyra recognised to be the much bigger and now saggy, shredded and feral Vassarion.

When Rhaenyra had previously seen Vassarion in the vision of Aurion dismounting him in the wastelands of Valyria, he was roughly the size of Silverwing and now as Rhaenyra watched him battle the Black Dread, he was even greater in size than his opponent.

It was clear that Vassarion was the one survivor of Aurion’s expedition that Vazieris was speaking of.

The two dragons clutched onto each other's legs and tumbled through the sky in a death spiral breathing fire upon one another as well as clawing and biting at each other, showing Rhaenyra how Balerion got the deep scars she had seen clawed into his skull that she had seen so many times before.

“It was many hours before the black dragon prevailed against the feral king of Valyria and not without deep wounds, but he was fortunate enough to have an ally with him,” the mage stated as he waved his hand.

Now Rhaenyra and the master were in a grassland valley with Balerion curled up and wounded with his injuries steaming and open.

Rhaenyra then noticed a young girl, a child no older than Rhaena, with silver hair, tattered garments, a valyrian steel pauldron and scalemail on one shoulder as well as a bow and quiver fastened to her back and a sword by her hip.

Her white hair was platted into a single braid and her face reminded Rhaenyra a bit of Visenya.

Aerea Targaryen.

Behind the rogue princess was a makeshift rack with a slain fallow deer fastened to it and being dragged by the girl.

Aerea had survived roughly a year in Valyria and it showed in the vision given how rugged and weathered she seemed, clearly acclimated to hard conditions despite being so young.

“Here you go, Balerion. You’ll need it to keep your strength up, we don’t know when the monsters or the pale ones will come for us next” she said, dumping the fallow deer with a cluster of four others which had been put in a pile before Balerion.

Balerion barely managed to lift his head up to breathe fire upon the cluster of slain deer and eat them up while Aerea watched from a safe distance.

“They seem so… settled here. What happened?” Rhaenyra asked.

“The girl strayed too far.”

Vazieris changed the setting once again, bringing Rhaenyra to a black rocky island with a great volcano on it and the coastlines in the distance on either side.

Rhaenyra then spotted a crude wooden raft beached on the shore and when Rhaenyra looked around she saw Aerea walking about the place.

“While Balerion rested, the brave girl wanted to explore the Fourteen Flames. But Mount Arraks was not kind to her curiosity,” Vazieris.

Aerea then got down on the ground and leaned over the edge of a crater containing a hot spring. The girl then reached in and ran her fingers through the warm steaming water and smiled, but a moment later a large pale white worm lept out of the water squealing and fixed its mandibles to Aerea’s neck as she screamed.

Rhaenyra tried to rush forward to to stop it, but she was stopped by Vazieris who shook his head, reminding her it was but a dream and she could do nothing.

Rhaenyra then watched as the worm began to pulsate close to the mandibles like a throat when drinking water.

Aerea then pulled out a dagger and sliced the worm open with it falling to the ground squeeling as steam rose from its open wound.

“The girl was caught by a fire leach and it held her long enough to plant its progeny in her blood… Within days, she began to deteriorate.”

The surroundings changed again, bringing them back to the clearing, with Balerion looking a bit healthier but still injured.

Rhaenyra then watched Aerea come into view. Bloodshot eyes, her skin puffy and red with things moving beneath her skin like worms, she took long wheezing breaths as she staggered towards the dragon. The poor girl then began to tear the metal pauldron from her arms as it began to smoke and then her blades and quiver and anything else with metal, all becoming too hot to carry.

“Balerion,” she called out in a desperate wheezing and tearful voice.

“I never… I never,” she wheezed desperately, the same famous words she said when she returned to King’s Landing before collapsing.

“I never meant to come here. I never wanted to come here. Take me home, please. I miss my mummy. I miss my sister. I’ll be good if you take me home. I promise I’ll apologise to Mummy and Auntie Alyssane. I’ll be a good girl from now on. I was stupid and selfish and I’m sorry. Please Balerion, take me home, take me home, please, please, please!” she sobbed and wheezed as she clung to the dragon.

The poor girl then used all her strength to get her shaking body to climb Balerion’s saddle as he groaned in empathy for her pain.

When Aerea was atop the dragon, Balerion began to flap his wings and after a failed leap into the air and he tried again and took to flight and the rest — as they say — is history.

Rhaenyra began to tear up, horrified and sorrowful for the poor girl. She wished to rip through the dream and turn back time to hold her close and give her comfort and force the very gods to undo what the fire leach had done to that poor child.

“I think that’s enough for one lesson,” Rhaenyra said as she wiped away the tears and sniffled, speaking in the common tongue once again and wishing to be done with the dream.

“Almost, but not yet,” Vazieris said as he changed the surroundings once again, bringing Rhaenyra to a forest once again.

Standing before Rhaenyra was an odd shape hunched over just ahead of her.

“The final threat you must be prepared for when facing Valyria,” Vazieris explained.

Rhaenyra was hesitant at first but she slowly shuffled towards the shape only to be caught off guard by the voice of another sorcerer behind her.

“That is enough, Vazieris! She wishes to see no more,” Sirioner said sternly as he appeared, coming into view when Rhaenyra turned her head around.

“Sirioner?” Rhaenyra uttered, not expecting to see him.

“You may conduct your lessons as you see fit, showing awe for nature and magic, but I will prepare the Empress for the dangers she must face!” Vazieris snapped back.

“She is not ready for this! She has already seen too much. This will only confuse and upset her!”

The two sorcerers continued to argue until Raegoth appeared in a shimmer of light and colour, trying to quell them both.

While they argued with both seeming to heed Raegoth’s authority, Rhaenyra turned from them and continued on towards the shape that Vazieris was trying to show her.

What Rhaenyra saw when she got closer looked like a person, clothless with pale greyish-white skin and long matted silver blond hair.

It could not be a person, Rhaenyra told herself.

The figure was hunched over and bobbing its head with a crunching and taring noise coming from in front of it.

Rhaenyra began to reach out to touch the figure, her fingers hovering a few inches from its back.

“Rhaenyra don’t!” Raeogth shouted from behind her.

The figure then instantly turned around screaming in her face, showing a ridged, low-browed pale face with pale purple deep sunken eyes, a long forward jaw and blood in its roaring mouth and on its sharp teeth indicating it was eating some kind of flesh before it turned around.

What horrified Rhaenyra the most was that it was almost human.

In that moment of shock, Rhaenyra woke up and sat up straight in her bed, breathing deeply in terror.

“Your Majesty,” a calming voice said.

Rhaenyra turned her head and saw Ser Harrold kneeling by her bedside with Ser Erryk standing at the doorframe.

“Forgive me, your Majesty. I did not mean to startle you,” said Ser Harrold.

“No, no. It wasn’t you, It's— what’s happened?” she asked noticing that it was the middle of the night when two of her Dragonknights had come to rouse her.

“There’s been a development, your Majesty — with the dragons,” the old knight explained.

Rhaenyra got out of bed, grabbed her dressing gown to drape over her and walked to her balcony where she saw the flickers of flames in the distance beyond the city walls where the dragon nests were.

Rhaenyra immediately got dressed with Elinda and Dyana being summoned to help her.

On her way out of Saera’s palace, she was joined by Baela, Rhaena, Visneya, Aerion, Corlys, Rhaenys, Luke and the dragonseeds as well as a few lords.

Some carriages were summoned to take them to the dragon nests and after rattling their way out of the Black Wall and then out of Volantis’s city wall and across the lands outside the city, they reached the dragonnests where the Dragonkeepers and some of Daemon’s Dragon Legion were assembled.

Rhaenyra disembarked the carriage and went to the Dragon Legion Captain on duty.

“Soldier, what’s happened?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Citizens from the city tried to steal the dragons, Your Majesty,” the Captain explained.

“Steal the dragons?” Baela repeated.

“The Dragonkeepers can explain it better, they are the only ones permitted to be on guard around the dragons,” the captain explained.

Rhaenyra then went to the most senior Dragonkeeper Elder while Aerion, Alyn and Luke went to inspect the charred remains of the attackers.

“Urnerys, what has happened here?” she asked.

“Brigands from within the city tried to steal Vermithor and Gēliotīkun! Two of our brothers were murdered, their throats slit from behind. Then the brigrands tried to wrangle the dragons with grappling hooks like some common horse to keep them steady. But the dragons saw vengeance upon them with righteous fire for their insolence and blasphemy. But now the two dragons have fled and we know not where they have gone,” the Elder explained.

“Who? Who would do this?” Rhaenyra asked, but the Elder had no idea.

“I know who did this!” Aerion said as he knelt before the charred remains of one of the charred bodies.

Aerion then picked a burned broach off of the charred body’s garments.

“This broach belonged to my half-brother, Lord Maegor of House Vhoscas,” Aerion said, looking with contempt at the broach.

“That’s Maegor?” Visenya asked, looking at the burned corpse that Aerion was kneeling over.

Rhaenyra remembered Maegor being outspoken about being denied a chance to claim a dragon at the welcome feast and then recalled what Aerion had told her of him later, about being one of the worst of all his siblings and one who relished his namesake, which only made Rhaenyra more assured not to let him try to claim a dragon.

Aerion stood up straight and glared with contempt at the burned body of his brother.

“I’m… sorry for your loss,” Luke said, trying to be kind.

“He killed two innocent men and tried to steal your House’s dragons to feed his own power and pride. I have lost nothing I would not rather be without,” Aerion said before spitting on Maegor’s corpse.

Rhaenyra then looked to the distant lights of the city of Volantis and wondered who might have been in on the plot of what happened tonight. The Triarchs? Saera? Saera’s other children and grandchildren? Who could Rhaenyra trust?

Rhaenyra then looked to Aerion and Visenya as they glanced with disgust at Maegor’s body and already Rhaenyra had an answer.

The Empress turned first to the Dragon Legion Captain.

“Have patrols on the road leading towards the dragon nests,” she commanded.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the Captain replied.

Next, Rhaenyra turned to Baela.

“Take Luke and Alyn and scout for Vermithor and Silverwing wherever they’ve gone. When you find them, return and tell the Dragonkeepers where they have made their new nest,” she commanded.

“At once, Your Majesty,” Baela said with a nod.

And finally, Rhaenyra turned to Aerion, Rhaena and Visenya and led them off to the side away from the others.

“When the others find Vermithor and Silverwing… I want you three to go with the expedition to retrieve them,” Rhaenyra explained with a serious look on her face.

The three Targaryen-bloods looked to one another with shock and confusion but as they realised what it was they were being asked to do they all looked once again.

Rhaenyra then rested one hand on Rhaena’s shoulder and one hand on Visenya’s shoulder.

“These dragons are the two largest in the world after Vhagar. They are a great and valuable power, but they are not more valuable to me than your lives. Claim them if you can but do not risk yourselves if you can help it,” Rhaenyra cautioned them.

“We will not fail you, Your Majesty,” Rhaena promised.

Everyone then left to go to their assigned tasks while Rhaenyra stood alone looking out to the sea south of her past the beach camp and anchored ships of her fleet.

Beyond to the sea, Valyria waited for her with all kinds of monsters and creatures and whatever unspeakable evil she saw screaming in her face as she woke up.

Her Warmaster and husband had been gone a day and already some among the volantene had staged a betrayal to steal her dragons and subsequently led to her losing two.

It made Rhaenyra doubtful she could prevail against such odds, but as she put her hand to her stomach, she was reminded that she must prevail, for her family; all those with her and all those yet to be with her.

Rhaenyra then returned to the carriage and made ready to go back to Saera’s palace.

Chapter 41: The Queen Who Never Was

Chapter Text

On their way to the beach camp, Rhaenys noticed more patrols of Daemon’s Dragon Legion around the lands outside of Volantis near the shore. While Daemon was away with Jace and Addam, the military force had been placed under the command of Lord Gormon Massey, the Master of Justice.

The extra patrols came from direct orders from Rhaenyra after the attempted theft of Vermithor and Silverwing four days ago, to help prevent any other attempts.

The perpetrators were identified as Lord Maegor Vhoscas, one of Princess Saera’s many sons, and two of his nephews Valerion and Aegor Sortarys. The rest of the perpetrators who aided them were Vhoscas guards and servants.

Saera’s daughter Rhaelle Sortarys and her lord husband mourned the deaths of her sons but denied any knowledge of them going with Maegor to try and steal the dragons. It was the same for all the nobles and the Triarchs, all disavowing any knowledge of the plot to steal the dragons and it was impossible to tell who was lying and who was speaking truth.

Since the offenders had all been killed by Vermithor and the only two unclaimed dragons left were now nesting two days north of Volantis, by Baela’s scouting reports, there was not much else that could be done on the matter.

Upon learning where the two dragons were nesting, Rhaena, Visenya and Aerion set out to claim them, accompanied by a handful of dragonkeepers, a detachment of guards led by Rhaena’s sworn protector and Aerion’s mercenary company. Now there was nothing to do but wait and pray for their safe return with the dragons.

Down at the camp shore, the newly readied ships were being anchored and added to the fleet. At the welcoming feast, the Red Temple had promised six hundred ninety-eight vessels, three hundred of which had been prepared and given over to the fleet with more being prepared.

Mostly carracks, cogs and galleys, large enough to transport plenty of refugees and supplies. In addition to the ships, the shore camp had also received the addition of the newly emancipated slaves gifted to Rhaenyra from the Red Temple.

Rhaenys was with the rest of the Imperial Council on their way to oversee the new ships and welcome the newly freed slaves.

When Rhaenyra met with the slaves who had been liberated from Tyrosh, Myr and Lys, they seemed untrusting of their freedom at first, as though they were being tested and to act freely was to provoke punishment. It was not until Rhaenyra approached the meek and fearful masses and they saw the sorrow in her eyes for the way they had been treated and heard the sincerity in her voice that they could begin to accept their freedom as reality.

To most of the emancipated slaves, Rhaenyra was hailed as though she were some form of deity, even before the followers of R’hllor started calling her the Princess that was Promised. But the idea of being worshipped was not one that Rhaenyra felt comfortable with, thinking herself unworthy of such praise. In Rhaenyra’s own mind, she had merely bought and freed slaves or had her former slave-owning vassals do the same while leaving hundreds of thousands more in bondage across the Free Cities.

Rhaenys walked by her Lord Husband’s side behind the Empress with the rest of the Imperial council and the addition of Lady Melisandre from the Red Temple.

As the Empress and her entourage, guarded by the Dragonknights, made their way through the makeshift streets between the tent city near the beach, the smallfolk bowed their heads with respect as she passed by.

“With the additional three hundred ships we have already added to the two hundred ships you have brought with you and the remaining ships being purchased and prepared by the Red Temple, we believe that you will have roughly a little more than nine hundred ships ready to depart Volantis within the coming weeks. Many vessels may become a bit crowded, but we believe that you will have a sufficient number to bring the combined hundred thousand of your followers to Valyria, once your husband the Emperor and the second exile arrive. The journey from here to the valyrian coast near Telos is but one day’s sail, nothing that cannot be survived,” Lady Melisandre explained as she walked by the Empress’s side while Rhaenyra glanced out at the new ships.

“Also, your pledging lords from Houses Maegyr, Paenymion and Maroran have all promised to buy more ships to help ferry their own people and help carry the burden of the eighty thousand coming in from the second wave,” Corlys added as the entourage walked.

Rhaenys noticed that the newly appointed Mistress of Whisperers, Lady Mysaria, kept her eyes fixated upon Melisandre as she spoke to Rhaenyra, seeming to be studying the priestess for any deceit or treachery.

When Rhaenyra expanded the council, adding Lord Darklyn, Lord Massey and Lord Staunton with their new titles, there was some uneasiness about Lady Mysaria’s elevation but they quickly stabilised to accepting her role. Even Rhaenys had some doubts at first, but she had proven capable and Rhaenys saw staunch loyalty towards Rhaenyra in the White Worm.

“The rest of the emancipated slaves and free people from Sellhorys, Valysar and Volon Therys will soon arrive in the next few days, but already those here in Volantis have been brought down to the camps to acclimate to liberated life and living amongst your people,” Melisandre explained.

Melisandre then led Rhaenyra and her council to a section of the camp where the newly freed Volantene slaves were assembled, most of them still dressed in ragged clothing while others had been gifted garments from the free people of Rhaenyra’s host, but while they no longer wore collars, the tattoos under their eyes to mark their slave castes were still upon their faces.

Upon seeing Rhaenyra, the freed slaves all looked at her with wonder and humility, bowing their heads and acting like if they got too close to her they’d burst into flames as though they were not worthy.

The freed slaves from Myr, Tyrosh and Lys, as well as the ‘free people’ who once wore bronze collars in service to Prince Reggio Haratis before Rhaenyra set him straight, all seemed more comfortable and confident in their adoration of Rhaenyra, being more familiar with the taste of freedom over the past few months than these newly freed slaves from Volantis.

Melisandre then stepped forward, her movements confident and graceful like she had the assurance that the whole was safely tucked into the palm of her hand.

“Freed people of Valyria. Liberated masses who once chafed under the bondage of the masters of Volantis, it is by the will of the Lord of Light that you have been liberated and here before you, is your Empress, Rhaenyra Targaryen, the one who was promised. It is to her you owe your freedom and she you owe your lives,” Melisandre announced in High Valyrian, with the freed Volantene slaves beginning to bow down in reverence to her, but Rhaenyra stepped forward and gently said no as she rested a hand on the red woman’s arm.

Meilsandre seemed to realise she had made an error and stepped back, bowing her head while Rhaenyra addressed the freed slaves directly.

“You do not owe me your freedom nor your lives. I cannot give to you what belongs to all men and women of this world by right of birth. Slavery is an act of barbarism and cruelty that has dominated much of Essos, in no small part because of the actions of my people… the actions of my own family. For two hundred generations my ancestors practiced the vile act with impunity. As I have made my way through the Free Cities I have seen the societies created by the Freehold and felt shame at seeing the institutions of oppression, placed there by my people, flourish in the world today. In an effort of recompense, I have liberated all of you here before me, while reluctantly and shamefully leaving thousands more in shackles behind.”

Once again, Rhaenys was reminded of what it was that drew her to Rhaenyra and pledged to her even when Rhaenys had held her in disdain for so many years.

“I am owed nothing from any of you, rather I am the one who owes you a new Valyria, a place where you can be free and live unshackled and as you see fit. In Valyria the only confines I ask you to accept are those of the law and the decrees of your sovereign, which will only cost you the freedom to act irresponsibly and dangerously. If any here wish to take their freedom and leave of their choosing, they are welcome. I only request you to join me so that I may continue to serve you as your Empress.”

The slaves began to chant titles like Empress, Saviour, Mother and Promised One in High Valyrian. She went into the crowd, shaking hands, being softly touched embraced and praised by her people before returning to the crowd.

As the Empress and her entourage continued, Rhaenys noticed a fresh joyfulness in the freed Volantenes as though the weight of their slavery had finally been lifted.

Recently, Rhaenys’s thoughts had lingered amongst those whom she had loved but were no longer with her. She lamented Laenor and Laena not being there among them for such adventure and glory as to explore, conquer and restore Valyria would have been a dream for both of them. But she also hated that neither Viserys, Aemma or even Jaehaerys and Alyssane were alive to see what Rhaenyra was doing, what she was accomplishing and the way she was making an effort to reshape the world.

As they continued on, Melisandre led Rhaenyra to another part of the camp nearby where they were approached by a handful of men with spears and round black shields.

They dressed in segmented studded leather cuirasses of black with helms bearing face-guards and a long spike that crested the helm. Curiously their armour made them seem to Rhaenys a bit like beetles.

“Unsullied,” Corlys uttered to Rhaenys, recognising the particular type of soldier from his many travels.

The elite warrior-eunuchs were bred and trained as a slave military by the masters of Astapor in Slaver’s Bay. The Red Temple had pledged two hundred of such slaves to be among the emancipated slaves to be gifted to Rhaenyra.

“Allow me to introduce the officers of your new Unsullied soldiers, Your Majesty. These are only the most senior of your two hundred loyal warriors,” Melisandre introduced.

Rhaenyra was hesitant before she stepped forward and looked to the soldiers, taking a moment before addressing the officers.

“I have been told the history of the Unsullied by my highest councillor,” Rhaenyra began, glancing back to Corlys who nodded his head. “He has sailed the seas for many years and seen many of your legions across the Free Cities and even been to the port of Astapor where you were trained. I have learned of the abuse you have suffered, I have learned how you were taken, chained, cut, beaten and made into these soldiers. You did not choose this life, but you are free men now. You are welcome to be a part of my empire and liberation is unconditional. Should you wish to leave and find a new life, should you wish to join my empire as a farmer or a potter or a painter, that is your choice. Any man among you who carries their spear for me must do so of their own choice,” Rhaenyra asserted.

The Unsullied gave two synchronised bangs of their spears against their shields, which seemed to be their way of signalling their acceptance of choosing to remain soldiers under Rhaenyra, now free men.

The Empress nodded her head, accepting them into her ranks.

“Who amongst you officers is the commander of this force?” Rhaenyra asked, looking at the masked soldiers.

The front and centre Unsullied soldier stepped forward presenting himself and driving his spear into the sand with one firm strike.