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Chapter Text

DAEMON I

As he feels the embroidered cape of rubies on his shoulders and sees the commoners of King's Landing waiting expectantly inside the Dragonpit, Prince Daemon Targaryen wishes this all to be a nightmare. His indigo eyes look at the High Septon a few steps away, and for the first time in his life, he feels utterly vulnerable. He knows he's made a mistake, he had underestimated his brother.

Viserys is a Targaryen after all. But I never thought he had a dragon in him. Maybe if I had known, I wouldn't have been so stupid he tought, bitterly.

Daemon had not known that when he had returned to court a few months ago. The prince had been in constant combat at the Stepstones for a year. A war he himself had begun with Lord Velaryon against the orders of the Crown. But his return had not been motivated by a desire for forgiveness or defiance to his brother, but by more joyful news, at least for him. His wife, his Bronze Bitch, had died in a horse accident and he had gone to the Iron Throne to fight for his rightful inheritance as her lord husband against the new Lord Royce. A fruitless battle.

Maybe if I had stayed on the Stepstones, surrounded by crabs, rocks and corpses, I wouldn't have gotten into this problem

The Rogue Prince had gone to a brothel on the Silk Street, trying to clear his mind after learning that the Crown would give Lady Rhea's title and lands to her cousin instead of him.

"The Bronze Bitch keeps fucking my life even from the Seven Hells" he said himself furiously as he got as drunk as he could. He was so lost in his thoughts and in his blind anger that he did not realize that she had followed him.

I should have known better. She has the dragon's blood, just like me. Maybe that's why we feel so powerfully attracted to each other

After he had felt sufficiently satisfied with his drunken state, he had gone out to find a whore. Rhaenyra had intercepted him in the middle of a dark alley. Her lips had touched his and the princess's hands had quickly undone his pants. Daemon had not stopped her then. He wanted it too.

I loved her as Aegon loved Rhaenys. She would certainly help me get closer to the Throne, but that doesn't mean that I didn't love her. That I don't love her.

When Viserys found out, Daemon could see firsthand a sleeping dragon awaken in fury. His brother had shouted at him, beaten him, and even put a valyrian steel dagger around his neck.

"You have sullied her, Daemon. You have humiliated her and our house and you pretend that I will give her to you as a wife. Do you think you can manipulate me so easily?" Viserys asked him with eyes of fire. Daemon, still drunk, had committed the imprudence and stupidity of answering him without any filter.

"It wouldn't be the first time someone's done it. I know Otto Hightower has you eating out of his hand because of his daughter. When's the wedding, by the way?"

"You don't know what you're talking about. Lady Alicent Hightower is a correct and educated lady and she will be a good Queen" Viserys had said with a conviction worthy of a fool. It had caused Daemon a cruel amusement.

"Look at you, brother. You were never handsome and after Aemma's death you haven't exactly improved. Do you think a 17-year-old girl would be with you because she loves you? She seeks the crown, on her father's orders. And you're the fool who's gonna give it to her" He had spit with contempt. Viserys had turned pale, as a believer that is told that the gods did not exist and had left the Throne Room forgetting even to speak of Daemon's punishment.

I thought he had gone to plunge into his misery. I never believed Viserys a man with mind for cruel revenges

But he had been. A moon later the King had called him to a council meeting. When the prince arrived, he found the entire King's Guard, Otto Hightower and Lady Alicent. Not even then had he smelled danger, his battle instincts atrophied by the remoteness of war.

"I have called you here because you three have thought me stupid for long enough" Viserys had said bluntly, his voice filled with a fury no one had ever seen. Alicent had turned pale. The Hand of the King had begun to stutter. But Daemon had smiled, willing to hold on being the Rogue Prince until the end.

Stupid. If I had known what was waiting for me, maybe I would have asked for mercy. Maybe.

Viserys had spoken with a voice full of fire. He had accused Otto Hightower of conspiracy, removing him from his role of Hand of the King and Viserys canceled his engagement with Lady Alicent. But the punishments were not over.

"And as your punishment for seducing Rhaenyra, I order you, Daemon, to marry Lady Alicent."

Daemon had been astonished. But honoring his dragon blood he did not beg, nor did he ask for any consideration. Instead he was filled with a rage worthy of a son of Old Valyria.

"I would rather burn Oldtown to ashes than marry the serpent's daughter" he had said as he tried to approach his brother. That's when he understood why the King's Guard was there. Four knights subdued him and held him to the ground, his cheeks on the cold floor.

"Refuse and I will banish you, with death penalty if you return...and I will disinherit Rhaenyra" Viserys had threatened in a cold voice. "If you really care about her a little, you will agree to this wedding. Think of this as an atonement for your sins"

And now he was here, with the heavy ceremonial cloak of his House on his shoulders, watching as his companion of punishment approached. His future wife.

She should be Rhaenyra. The gods can be truly cruel

But as he watched Lady Alicent approach the center of the Dragonpit, ready to begin the wedding, he decided to put on a stoic face.

I am of the dragon's blood after all. And the dragon is never afraid. If Aegon burned Harrenhal, why couldn't I burn a lone tower?

It was not until he heard the voice of the High Septon that he allowed himself to feel a slight chill running through his body.

"We are gathered here to witness the union of this man and woman by the laws of gods and men..."

Chapter Text

ALICENT I

Alicent hated everyone at this time, as she walked to the makeshift altar of the Dragonpit.

She hated the king for forcing her into such a wedding. She hated Daemon for committing the stupidity of lying with Rhaenyra. She hated herself for had let others to manipulate her like a pawn on a board. And she hated her father for starting this problem and abandoning her at the bitter end.

Even the best of sailors abandon the ship when it is sinking. That’s me, a ship sinking into misery

Her father had left shortly after the King deposed him as the Hand of the King and cancelled his own engagement with her to commit her to Prince Daemon Targaryen.

"Stay, please. You can’t leave me alone. Not now. I have no one left" she had begged to Otto Hightower.

“I cannot stay, my daughter. The King demands it. Listen to me very well. You need to play your cards right. Create new alliances, keep your friends close and guarded. It’s the only way to survive in King’s Landing without me. And you will have to do it now more than ever, as you will be Daemon’s wife," her father had said before leaving.

"I have no friends or allies in court. I don’t even have Rhaenyra on my side anymore," she had told herself when he boarded a boat back to Oldtown.

And it was true. Her friendship with Rhaenyra had been shattered since Viserys had announced his intention to marry her, and this change of engagement rather than helping her to win the favor of her old friend again, had sunk any hope of reconciliation.

Rhaenyra loves her uncle with with the fiery passion of a dragon and he reciprocates her. And now I’m in the middle of them. The King took care of that.

She never believed Viserys capable of such cruel revenge. Alicent always thought of Rhaenyra’s father as a kind person, sometimes much for his own good. She knew that, although her future marriage would not be pleasant for her, she would at least have the assurance that her future husband would not mistreat her. But Alicent, Daemon and her own father forgot that Viserys was also a dragon. And the dragon burns his enemies to ashes. A fatal mistake.

She could never know how the King had learned of his father’s plans and how she was the cornerstone for putting Hightower's blood on the Iron throne. Maybe Viserys wasn’t as dumb as Otto Hightower had thought.

I’d feel some pride for him, if he hadn’t condemned me to something like this. A man wounded in his pride can be terribly dangerous, and even more so if he is the king himself.

That day, as she walked down the aisle in the same mood with which a prisoner would walk to the place of his execution, her eyes were completely serene, with no trace of redness or any sign of crying, much to the surprise of many. Little did they know that it was not a matter of strength, or even pride. Alicent simply had no more tears to shed. Recent events had dried her up.

She had cried after the King announced her new engagement with Daemon, not out of grief, but out of fear. She had cried the day she had approached Rhaenyra and the princess had slapped her and left Alicent alone without saying a word. She had cried the day she had seen her father leaving her to her fate. So, today, on her wedding day, Lady Alicent doubted that she could produce a single tear, although she wanted to. Neither could the audience see her wounded hands. Alicent had been avoiding her bad habit for almost a week, fearful of staining her wedding dress with blood if she hurted herself as she wished.

Alicent walked to the makeshift altar and stood in front of her future husband. She had always thought that unlike his brother, Prince Daemon was quite handsome, and that day he also looked imposing with his cloak with the tricephalus dragon of House Targaryen embroidered with rubies on his shoulders, and with his platinum golden hair rudimentary cut.

Maybe I would have married him willingly in another life. If Rhaenyra and he didn’t love each other. But my father didn’t want a prince for me, but a king. And now this is the price of our ambition.

But it was not the time to think about hypothetical scenarios. Alicent stuck her brown eyes into the indigo of Daemon as the High Septon said a pray.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection” he indicated Daemon. The Targaryen prince took his cloak from his shoulders and put it in hers. The weight of it nearly knocked her off balance, but Alicent was able to hold on as the High Septon asked them to join hands and tied them with a white ribbon

“Say the words, my Lady” the old man said. Alicent took a deep breath and stared back at her future husband.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his, and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days” she repeated, as she had been taught by her septa. The High Septon looked towards Daemon.

“Now you say the words, my prince”

Daemon sighed and his gaze looked away, instead of at her. He took his time, but finally he said it, with a hoarse voice that sounded more like a grunt

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am...hers, and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days”

The High Septon murmured a final blessing and Alicent took her time to feel Daemon’s hand upon hers. It was warm, hard and full of calluses, probably due to the use of Darksister, in training and in war. He was a warrior after all, her now lord husband.

I promised to be his wife. And I will try to fulfill that oath as best I can, even if I did not choose it. It is the wish of the gods after all. And maybe someday, it might be my wish too. The wish of both of us

"So, I declare you, husband and wife. One flesh and one soul from this day until the last of your days" said finally the High Septon.

The crowd of King’s Landing cheered and some waited expectantly. Alicent waited for her now husband, but seeing that Daemon was frozen in his place she was the one who approached and gave him a timid kiss on the lips. That seemed to get Daemon out of his shock, as he stepped back, making the kiss even shorter than Alicent intended and both of them walked down the stairs to leave the Dragonpit, surrounded by the King’s Guard, as if the knights feared that the couple would escape at some point.

The journey back to the Red Keep was even more uncomfortable, as she and Daemon had to share a carriage, alone. However, she saw the opportunity in it. After all they wouldn’t be alone again until...well. Alicent blushed at the thought of it. She tried to think of some way to comfort her clearly miserable new husband. She herself had sought comfort since all the unfortunate events, and had found it in the Sept, trying to explain all that had happened as a kind of divine desire, perhaps as a punishment to her father for his ambition, to her for trying to seduce a poor man from the day he was widowed, and to Daemon for his arrogance. But it was obvious she wouldn't tell him like that. Daemon had a temper, after all.

So, making use of all the courage she could get at that time, Alicent spoke.

“The Gods' wisdom is often beyond our understanding, my prince, but it must still be obeyed. I believe they intend for us to be wed as the best course of action in these circumstances.”

Daemon looked up. His indigo eyes flashed with anger and for the first time since their engagement was announced he spoke directly to her.

“The Gods are not real, you fool. They don’t control our lifes.” He told her without hesitation, the anger and hatred behind his voice was intense.

“We both know this is just a punishment, don’t we?”

Alicent flinched, and for a moment, Daemon’s anger was too much to bear. But she composed herself quickly.

“Punishments are sent for a reason, my prince. You, my father and I have sinned and now we are paying the price.”

Daemon looked at her with disbelief, surprised that Alicent thought that she could lecture him. But he seemed to keep his anger to himself. They didn’t talk the rest of the trip.

Feeling a sort of victory and believing that perhaps she had given the prince something to ponder, Alicent allowed herself to feel more relaxed. When they arrived at the Red Keep’s feast she even allowed herself to forget for a moment the bitter part of their forced union and she tried to enjoy the celebration to the fullest.
Daemon got lost at the table where the wine was and she did not see him for a long time. But when Alicent saw her husband again, Daemon was not alone.

Rhaenyra and he spoke in the complicated language of Old Valyria, so she could not understand what they were saying. However, from the princess’s red eyes and Daemon’s murderous gaze Alicent could deduce a little of what they were talking about. Rhaenyra took Daemon’s hand and seemed to tell him something with desperation. Her uncle shook his head and let her go. That seemed to hurt the princess, who stormed off in tears and left the hall. For a moment, Alicent had the urge to run after her friend, but she stopped herself. If Daemon and Rhaenyra argued for the reasons she believed, she would be the last person the princess would want to see. So, she decided to walk to her husband. Alicent thought of consoling him somehow, finding a way for him to open up to her, but Daemon’s clear look of pain hardened the moment he saw her approaching.

"Is Rhaenyra all right, my prince. Are you all right?" she asked in a nervous voice. Daemon only looked at her with disdain.

"Get lost, Lady Hightower. I’m already in a pretty bad mood. I don’t want you to make it worse"

She sighed deeply, slightly hurt by his words. But she let it go, after all Daemon was clearly drunk and perhaps had lost the ability of self-control.

"We are husband and wife now. It is my duty and my desire to try to help you, to look after your well-being, my prince" Alicent told him as she tried to take his hand, but he quickly pushed hers away, as if she was sick with psoriagris.

"My wish is that you leave me alone" he said aggressively, the accumulated fury threatening to set free in that monent "you will never be of any consolation to me."

Then, Daemon walked away from her, getting lost in the crowd of guests, leaving her alone in the middle of the room. Alicent suppressed tears and unconsciously dug her nails into her fingers, causing them to bleed. The pain cleared her mind a little.

How is this marriage supposed to work if my husband won’t even let me touch him? She thought How are we supposed to...?

The question did not even finish forming in her mind. No. The prince would do his duty.

"A man doesn’t need to love you to feel desire for you" her father had once told her. "Why do you think men go to brothels? To satiate their lust"

My husband is known as the Lord of Flea Bottom, and I am pretty beautiful enough to catch a King, my father once thought. Daemon may not love me, but he must want me. His lust will be enough for us to consummate our marriage. To keep our marriage.

So, with this kind of "temporary comfort" in her mind Alicent walked away and tried to enjoy the party again, though she couldn’t make it.

Time seemed to pass and pass more slowly until the King, who had not risen from his chair since the feast began, stopped and ordered silence.

“Lords and ladies of the Realm" Viserys said in a deep, loud voice. "The time has come for this marriage to be legitimate in the eyes of the gods and men."

Alicent’s fingernails were nailed back into her fingers, seeking comfort for what was to come.

"The time has come for the bedding ceremony"

A roar rose from the crowd of guests and the groups of men and women separated organized. Alicent would have been impressed by their coordination, had she not been frozen by nerves, shock and some fear. So, when the group of men picked her up and began to undress her, she did not even register the obscenities that were shouting at her or the inappropriate way in which some of them touched her from time to time, her mind far away, in the chambers that were her destiny.

Gods. It’s happening. What the hell am I going to do?

She hadn’t thought about it, not even when she was supposed to marry the King. It had been a part she had not dared to imagine, full of shame. The most she could reason then then was that Viserys was a kind man and would still be so when he took her on their wedding night. But she had not married Viserys, but Daemon. A chill ran down her spine, and not precisely because she was half-naked now.

Daemon had a reputation for being aggressive and she couldn’t help but wonder if he had been gentle with Rhaenyra in that dark alley in Flea Bottom.

Otto Hightower himself had brought the news to the King, when she and Viserys were discussing the last details of a wedding that would never take place.

He surely was. Kind and perhaps even procured Rhaenyra’s pleasure. Daemon loves his niece after all. My husband will not have those attentions with me. I don't have a single drop of the blood of the dragon in my veins

And there was some truth within those thoughts. Daemon had no reason to be gentle with her. After all, Alicent was a punishment for him. The prince himself had said so.

So when the men left her in the chambers clad only in a nightgown and the women did the same to her lord husband, closing the door behind them and leaving them alone, Alicent could only hear her own heartbeats accelerating as she saw the tall shadow of her husband in front of her.

Chapter Text

DAEMON II

Daemon growled in disgust as he felt the dozen female hands undressing him. It was the second time in his life that he had to go through this and it was no more bearable for that. At least not, considering who was his second wife.

Rhea. Alicent. It doesn't matter. Insipid sheep unworthy of the blood of the dragon he thought with disgust.

He couldn't settle for a mere Westerosi woman when he'd already tasted real dragon's blood on Rhaenyra. He remembered the warmth of her skin against his, the aggressiveness with which she had responded to his touch, matching his own. The sweat and the shared passion of their mating in that dark alley, when he had taken her, or was she who took him? Daemon wasn't sure. He had been drunk, but at least he remembered the more important sensations, which made him angrier, knowing that the woman in his bed tonight couldn't match his niece in fire and power.

The conversation with the princess a few hours before hadn't helped with his bad mood either.

Rhaenyra had approached him when Daemon already had several cups on him, which hadn't helped the prince to have the best of manners.

"You weren't at the wedding," Daemon had told her in a cold, angry voice, not caring how blunt he had been. Rhaenyra had looked at him sadly.

"I wish you a pleasant marriage and strong offspring." the princess had answered him, speaking the words with a monotonous formality. Daemon had rolled his eyes and Rhaenyra had snickered. He had been able to see Viserys in the distance, watching them like a hawk, but he hadn't cared.

My brother has already screwed me over too much. At least I deserve a few last words before I go up to the scaffold. Curious way of calling my marriage bed.

“Your father has given me the same penance as my grandmother did, the Queen Alyssane. A Westerosi wife. My Bronze Bitch or Otto Hightower's daughter, it's the same" he had told his niece with a bitterness that he did not try to hide.

“Any offspring she produces would suffer the same fate. Diluted Valyrian blood. An insult to our lineage" the prince had spat with the honesty that only alcohol gives, wanting to at least vent to a person who was just as miserable as he was at that moment.

"Does that mean you don't plan to consummate your marriage, dear uncle?" Rhaenyra had asked him sarcastically using the language of Old Valyria, a cunning action.

They could never tell who was listening, who was watching. After all, both had believed that no one had seen them that night in Flea Bottom. Still, the question had caused him some discomfort. His brother was too close after all.

“It is better not to say such things out loud, princess. His majesty would be capable of watch himself to make sure it happens if I give him reason to doubt that I will do my duty” Daemon had said with a cold voice.

And I already have enough humiliation with having to lie with Alicent Hightower to want to add the shame that my brother has to send someone to witness if I actually completed the act.

"So you will consummate your marriage and produce heirs with Lady Alicent" she had said in a cold, condescending voice. Her jealous tone would have been almost hilarious, had things been different. The silence afterward had been almost painful.

Rhaenyra had looked at him, the guilt palpable in her eyes.

"You didn't tell the king that I was the one who followed you to Flea Bottom that night. That I was the one who started it all. That I was the one who…"

The words had hung in the air, but both had known perfectly what she was talking about. Daemon had clenched his jaw. He had tried his best not to show any emotion, but it was hard, with Rhaenyra's pain-filled eyes locked into his.

"I took the blame so you would not be involved. And because I am not completely innocent... it was mutual. It was my duty to protect you, your virtue. And I failed" he had said then with his voice cold.

And I couldn't bear the thought of losing you.

He had thought, words he would never dare to say out loud.

His niece had sighed and taken his hand, squeezing it tightly, as she always gripped the reins of her dragon when she rode it. Her voice had been desperate then but with a glimmer of hope, as if she believed every single thing she'd said was possible.

“Let's escape together uncle, away from here. We can go to Essos or Pentos, places you have visited and know well. We can go to the Free Cities and never come back. You have Caraxes and I have Syrax, no one will dare stop us. Please..."

Daemon had gazed at Rhaenyra for a moment, feeling the anguish behind her words. He had been able to tell that she was overwhelmed with emotions. The prince had not wanted to see her suffer. But he had not gave in. He was Daemon Targaryen, prince of the Realm. And he had a duty.

"I wish it could be so simple..." Daemon had sighed, unable to tell her what he truly wanted. He knew that it was impossible, he knew that if they run away together, they would bring down war upon Westeros.

"But I have my duty to the realm. Your father has lost his wife, your mother. He won't stand to lose both of us."

Daemon had seen the change in the princess's eyes. Pain momentarily replaced by burning anger. At that moment, her eyes had been Syrax's.

“He brought suffering to both of us” his niece had said with contempt.

Her words had ignited a part of Daemon. That internal fire that was determined to always defended the king with passion and fury.

Viserys may be many things, but he is still my brother. And it is dangerous to leave an already inept king weakened.

“Without us, House Targaryen won't have any dragons. What do you think is gonna happen? Your father rejected House Velaryon when he decided to marry your former best friend. Rhaenys and her son have dragons. And maybe the girl that could have been your stepmother will claim one soon” he had said, pronouncing each word harshly, making impossible for Rhaenyra to notice the pain he felt as he spoke. Daemon had to make her understand that what she was asking for was impossible, irrational, and even stupid.

I have defended House Targaryen and procured its greatness. I will not be the cause of its downfall.

“Who will stop them to take the throne from Viserys? Who will stop them from killing your father, Rhaenyra?”

She had stepped back, surprised by his outburst of anger. Daemon had realized her fear and had tried to calm himself, but it had been difficult. All the emotions he had been holding back during the day had threatened to come out at that moment.

“We had a duty, and we failed. I do not intend to fail again. Do you?” he'd said harshly, hoping no one had heard his little slip. Hoping Rhaenyra hadn't noticed how his voice had cracked at the end.
And it had seemed so. His niece had looked at him with a mixture of disbelief, surprise, and pain. And she had run out of the room with tears streaming down her cheeks.

The prince thought about all of this, while the hands of the group of women unbuttoned his tunic and his shirt, while the most daring touched his muscles and his crotch.
He closed his eyes and focused on his determination, ignoring the hands on his body and the alcohol that was clouding his senses.

I am Daemon Targaryen. I am the blood of the Dragon, I have the strength of ten men. I will show no emotion, neither mercy.

Finally, when he was only in his underwear, the women led him to his chambers.

There was an uncanny familiarity to this that reminded him so much of the first time, when he had been brought to Rhea for the consummation of their marriage. He had been very young, though not that inexperienced, with 16 and she with 19 and he hadn't taken much pleasure in it, with Rhea Royce living up to her title of Lady of Runestone and being no better than a cold stone in bed. He doubted that this second wedding night would be more pleasant.

Lady Alicent Hightower of Oldtown. Pious, puritan, woman of faith. Boring to tears. I will find the same pleasure with her as with a septa.

When the women left him in the chambers, drunk and irritated, for the second time in his life he didn't feel like a predator, and he hated that strange and annoying feeling of vulnerability, like a dragon whose wings have been ripped off and has been left defenseless on the ground.

However, when he heard Alicent's rapid, uneasy breathing near him, it seemed to clear his mind a bit and made him regain his composure. He stared at Alicent with a cold, angry gaze, not saying a word. Yet, Daemon was back in control of himself, he showed none of the emotions he had inside him. He was going to do what was expected of him, what had to be done. He walked closer to Alicent, but not too much, his face still a mask of stone. Alicent's eyes locked with his and he could see fear in them. Yet surprisingly, his wife's voice didn't tremble one bit.
"It is time to do our duty" Alicent said with a serious and firm voice. He studied her with a cold, indifferent look. Maybe it was because of the alcohol, or because of his lack of enthusiasm for the matter, but he couldn't decide whether to approach her or not. His wife took the initiative to his own surprise. Alicent decided to go to Daemon and took his free hand, placing it on her waist. He felt the urge to remove it immediately, but the warmth of her body above her nightgown left him strangely captivated.

Almost like the breath of a dragon. Different from the cold stone.

Alicent breathed deeply and seemed to be trying to get his attention. She started to take her nightgown off, leaving Daemon's hand on her waist and her arms covering her chest. He felt his own hand on her waist, her skin touching his skin now, warm and soft. The prince was surprised by the stoicism that his wife was showing to face a situation that according to what her eyes confessed, had her terrified and anxious. Daemon took her arms and pulled them away from her chest, leaving her completely vulnerable to his fiery gaze.

The alcohol clouded his thoughts again, letting his anger and fury of all the events of that day hit him. He grabbed his wife's arm with exaggerated force, causing a gasp of pain to escape from her lips, but besides that, Alicent voiced no complaint as he flung her onto the bed with the indelicacy proper of a drunken man.

It must be Otto's teachings. My wife may be warm to the touch, but inside she's cold as stone. Like Rhea.

The thought of it made the prince feel even more disgusted as he placed himself on top of her. The smell of wine on his breath probably grossed her out or scared her, because she couldn't help but feel a shudder. He took away his underwear and pressed his body against hers. Daemon's mind was still conflicted about it, but his body was already ready for his duty.

I can't deny it, Alicent is a beautiful woman, even if she doesn't have a single drop of the dragon's blood. Even if she is a mere sheep.

The prince looked at her, his violet eyes looking directly into her browns, searching for any sign of weakness that would prove once again the inferiority of her blood.

“Are you afraid of me, my lady?” he asked her, slurred by wine and yet sounding completely menacing.

She looked at him challengingly. “No, my lord husband” his wife said with an almost cold voice, her face serene and almost calm.

Her calm bothered him a little, perhaps because he didn't have a similar feeling. The discomfort soon turned to anger, so he braced himself against her and entered her without hesitation. Daemon felt Alicent's body shiver from the pain, and her heart beating wildly. But surprisingly she did not make one sound, and she only watched him with those eyes full of pain and fear. Still, her mouth remained completely shut, refusing to say a single plea for mercy, or let out a single cry of pain.

At this show of strength, the prince decided to show her some mercy, remaining motionless, waiting for her to get used to the unusual intrusion, with her maidenhood's blood staining the sheets. She squeezed her eyes for a couple of seconds, then she seemed to begin to relax. Alicent nodded, giving him a signal to continue. The prince moved his hips slowly at first and kept that pace for a short time, but soon the anger and hatred began to fill his body again. Daemon began to move more aggressively, as if he wanted to release all his negative feelings and frustrations into his wife's body. He heard Alicent moan and sigh below him, but he was too drunk to tell if they were sounds of pain or pleasure. And honestly, he didn't care. Daemon continued and felt her shudder beneath him, felt her nails dig into his back, and surprisingly the movement of her hips matching his rhythm.

The prince closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensation, and for a moment, in the midst of his intoxication, he felt that he was back in that alley, that it was Rhaenyra who was matching his aggressive pace, that it was her nails who were digging into his back again. Daemon got involved in his fight against the princess, in a competition of power, skin against skin, dragon against dragon, fire against fire, burning passion against burning passion. Rhaenyra moaned beneath him and whispered words into his ear, teasing him, loving him, inciting him, her nails digged into his back deeper and clung to him, as if she feared he would go away. Daemon moved with almost superhuman strength against his niece, who responded with equal enthusiasm. But when he felt the woman below him reach her peak and he quickly followed her, when he finished and opened his eyes expecting to find the violets of Rhaenyra, of his niece, of a dragon...he was surprised when he found the browns of Alicent, of his wife.
The prince blinked a few times, confused, but soon that turned quickly to disappointment, and soon to annoyance. Daemon pushed himself away from her and began hastily dressing. Alicent looked up at him from the bed still breathing heavily, a look of confusion in her eyes. However, her pride seemed to hold strong, as she said nothing when her husband hurried out of the room still half dressed. Or maybe he hadn't wanted to listen.
As he staggered through the halls of the Red Keep, he found impossible to ignore the warm air of King's Landing beat against his sweat-soaked body and how he could still feel the satisfaction of his release.

Maybe I should stop drinking before going to bed with any woman. I would avoid a lot of problems he managed to think inside his scrambled mind.

He didn't know whether to feel guilty about the recent trick that alcohol and his brain had played on him while he was enjoying his wedding night with Alicent, with Rhaenyra, with the princess, with the lady, with his wife, with his niece.

The wine and his previous intense physical activity began to weaken him.

In the end, the Rogue Prince fell asleep under the heart tree of the Godswood, with the scent of Alicent on his body and the name of Rhaenyra on his lips.

Chapter Text

RHAENYRA I

Rhaenyra walked through the halls of the Red Keep with furious steps. The princess felt the warm air from the bay fill her lungs and the sea breeze hit her face waving her silver hair, but it did nothing to calm her agitated temper. Servants and maids hurried to and fro. Mornings were always busy at court, especially after a wedding. Broken plates and cups to throw away, drunken Lords to pick up, vomit, blood to clean up from some drunken fight...
Her argument with Daemon had left her with a bitter taste. Rhaenyra had left in a hurry, not wanting to witness the bedding ceremony, or any other thing about the wedding. Yet now the lack of that information haunted her. She needed to know, not because she had any sadistic fixation on hurting herself with the details of the events of their wedding night. Not at all. The princess needed to know if there was still hope to mend this, if there was still any chance of annulling the union of the day before. Something only plausible if the bride was still a virgin. Her feelings and thoughts inside her were scrambled.
On the one hand, there was this feeling of compassion for Alicent. The girl had been her best friend and even though they had been estranged from each other since the king had announced his betrothal to the lady, she still felt that bond. That link. And she hated herself a little for it. There was a part of her that saw Alicent as a victim, and not a victimizer.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I will never learn. She couldn't get a king, but she got a prince. How lucky. There's no way this wouldn't have her hand behind it, or Otto's. …

She felt her passion for Daemon, that burning love for her uncle. Daemon shared her fire, her chaotic and unpredictable nature. He was hers and she was his. She was destined to be his wife, to give him children of pure Valyrian blood, little dragons that would rule the Seven Kingdoms. Alicent had taken that away from her.

Rhaenyra’s pity for her former friend was replaced by calculating anger again. In the distance she could see one of the servants appointed to serve Daemon's new wife. A commoner, new in her job, who would probably be overwhelmed to be talking to a princess, to the future queen. The perfect victim for her interrogation. She put on her most gentle face, but serious. As she got closer, she could see that the maid was getting nervous.

Of course, how many servants could boast of having had the crown princess speak directly to them? Syrax’s rider herself? The future first Queen of the Realm? …

When she saw her approach, the servant made a slight curtsy.

"My princess" she greeted her. She feigned almost tender interest. "You're new. What is your name, sweet girl?" she said with the same soft tone that she had heard Otto Hightower use, every time he wanted to whisper one of his ideas into His Majesty's ear.

Serpenttongue, Daemon once called him. Whispering to his pawns what he wants them to do. But it's effective, I can't deny it. …

"Talya, my princess. I will serve the Lady Alicent Hightower" the girl said with a slight red color on her cheeks. Rhaenyra adopted the most innocent and sweet tone of voice that she could, like a siren's song. She noticed that slowly, she was beginning to win the girl over.

"I was hoping you could help me with something."

"Whatever, My princess. Whatever." Talya responded with the excitement of someone talking to someone important.

Rhaenyra knew that the contents of this serious conversation would probably be known to the entire Red Keeps afterwards, but she didn't care. For now, all she wanted was to know. To have hope within all this misery.

"You see, last night, with all the celebrating I had a little trouble measuring what I was drinking and you know, wine can sometimes make you drowsy. Daemon is my uncle and Lady Alicent is… my friend. I just want… know, the things I missed. If I ask my uncle, he would be…vulgar, an unladylike conversation. I just want to know the…generalities, that's all."

Finally, she leaned in to speak whisper

"Has the wedding night been...successful?" she asked discreetly.

At another time she would have worried about the audacity of her words but not now. Not when she was this close to knowing...

"There was blood on the sheets, my princess" the maid said, slightly blushing over the whole thing. "But the Prince Daemon did not sleep in his wife's chambers," she added.

Rhaenyra couldn't help feeling the conflicting feelings, anger and relief, on the one hand, the union was now legitimate and there would be no way to annul it. On the other, her uncle had seemed to refuse to do more with his wife than his duty. All the thoughts in her head she concealed under a facade of cold indifference.

"And Lady Alicent said anything?" she asked, wondering to herself if she found any interest in the subject or if she still had some concern over what she had once been best friends with. If the servant noticed that this interest in her uncle's wedding night was a little weird, abnormal, she didn't show it.

"Lady Alicent had fresh wounds on her fingers, my princess and..."

"And?" Rhaenyra looked at her directly, her eyes almost darkening, as she asked her to continue, being impatient...

"And her eyes were kind of red. She probably cried part of the night," the servant said, ruefully.

Rhaenyra kept her expression even. "Thank you so much for telling me, Talya," she said calmly. The servant girl nodded and smiled before walking away. The princess stood there, lost in thought of her. The information she had been given was quite...accurate. Daemon had no reputation for being gentle.

And the night before my uncle was drunk, furious, enraged...

Poor Alicent...

Daemon was kind to me, though. Even when he was drunk…

She felt a little proud about it. It was wrong, she knew it, but what else could she do? Daemon had been so attentive to her, so passionate, so…

Rhaenyra’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy, metallic footsteps. She turned to see Ser Criston Cole, her sworn knight, in his polished armor and typical white cloak. The princess had sent him in the morning, when she had woken, to help her question the servants discreetly about the events of the night before.

Ser Criston has always been loyal to me. A discreet confidant and a faithful guardian. That's why I can tell him and ask him for help with certain... indiscretions. But not all, of course. You can't completely trust someone

she thought to herself as she gave a kind smile.

"Ah. Ser Criston..." she nodded slightly, pleased by his presence, her voice became a whisper. "What did you find out?"

Ser Criston lowered his head, as if making a slight bow. "Some servants picked up your uncle this morning and took him to his chambers, princess. He was under the heart tree in the Godswood," the knight whispered back. She nodded. The puzzle of her uncle's wedding night seemed to make sense in her mind.

It seemed that Daemon had been in a bad mood after their little conversation and drunk to make it worse. Apparently, he had cruelly taken his wife and then left her alone, probably crying, to end up falling asleep somewhere in the Red Keep. Honestly, the story didn't surprise her. Yes, it seemed like something her uncle would do...

Ser Criston cleared his throat, interrupting her thoughts. She turned to look at him again, a questioning look on her face.

“The king spoke with Ser Harrold this morning. The ship is ready, princess. The servants are finishing bringing up the last supplies for the start of your journey. We'll be leaving in a couple of hours.”

Rhaenyra swallowed nervously. She had completely forgotten about it, even though she had known it for months. She was supposed to leave after her uncle's wedding, to Storm's End. To begin the presentation of her suitors.

She remembered the day her father informed her, shortly after learning of the upcoming wedding between her uncle and her former best friend. Viserys had made a great speech before going to the point. As usual.

"Have you seen how many Targaryens remain, Rhaenyra? By the time my grandparents Jaehaerys and Alysanne were kings there were twelve of their children and at once we numbered nearly twenty. But now you, Daemon and I are the only ones in the House of the Dragon that are not involved with Driftmark or locked in the Citadel. And we have only two dragons. We need offspring who will not only expand our house, but also give us dragon riders for the next generation. And you, will stop refusing your duty. You will get married" the king had explained to her.

Rhaenyra had frowned at his words.
“Now that's your plan? Marry all of us? Will you tell me this ridiculousness is the reason you ordered Daemon to...?”

Her father had interrupted her with a serious tone.

“You will go on a journey across the Realm to meet your suitors and choose one to be your king consort. I will not allow the matter of your marriage to continue to be delegated.”

“You already know my choice” she had said with a cold tone.

Viserys had looked at her almost fed up. “The matter is settled. Daemon is betrothed to the Lady Alicent Hightower.”

“Settled? We haven't even talked about it. What reason could you have for marrying your ex-fiancée to my uncle?” she had asked to her father angrily. She had learned a week ago that Otto Hightower had been dismissed from court, and that her father had broken off his engagement to Alicent. That meant that her father had realized what was obvious to her, and to many: that the daughter of the former Hand had sought to get into his bed to become queen and make House Hightower the second most important house of the Seven Kingdoms...if not the first.

Therefore, the news should have been pleasant, make her happy…if it hadn't come with the dire addition that Daemon was now Alicent's betrothed.

Of course, it had been completely illogical. The mutual hatred between Otto Hightower and the Rogue Prince was something known even among the commoners of King's Landing. Yes, her uncle might have tried to dishonor Lady Alicent in days gone by, before he left for the Stepstones, but marry her? That would mean not only mixing his blood with the man he hated most in the world, but being disloyal to Rhaenyra herself, after all that had happened between them.

For this reason, she had no doubt that this had been imposed, forced, a punishment. And who would be the only one with the power to make the rebellious prince submit to such a bitter fate?
Of course, only her father would be able to do something like that.

But then, what had Daemon done to make his brother so angry? There was only one thing, Rhaenyra had knew. A single thing that could make the king so furious... That had made her pale.

Oh gods. For the Seven above. He can't know, there's no way he can know.

Unfortunately, her silent plea for the mercy of the gods had gone unheeded.

"You were seen, Rhaenyra. You and Daemon. In an alley in Flea Bottom" her father had said with cold anger. Every word had sounded like a judgment. When she had opened her mouth to say that it was all lies, her father interrupted her again.

"Your uncle confessed. He said that he took you that night. That he seduced you. He sullied you."

Rhaenyra's eyes had widened at hearing the king. Her mind had only been able to formulate one silent question.

Daemon, what have you done?

Her uncle had accepted all the blame. He hadn't mentioned that he was drunk, or that she…

Then she had tried to calm down. Rhaenyra had closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Finally, when she had spoken, her voice had gained strength again. Denying everything wouldn't work, because the prince had confessed. Discussing what had happened between them would not only have irritated her father more, but could bring her more trouble, since Daemon had left out important parts of the story. So, she had opted for another tactic.

"Father, please, don't do this. Their marriage cannot bring anything good for our kingdom, only ruin. He is my mate, not hers." the princess had said, trying to be calm and objective, yet there had been an obvious desperation in her voice.

"Mate?" Viserys's face had reddened, perhaps with embarrassment, perhaps with anger.

"He dishonored you. You, the crown princess. And my daughter. Do you think I don't know what he wants from you? After losing his position, you became his prized prize, the key to what he craves most. The Iron Throne."

Her father had risen from the throne, his voice echoing throughout the throne room.

"Lady Rhea's death was a blessing for him, although I'm sure that if she hadn't died in that accident, he would have ended up killing her himself to have you"

Rhaenyra had looked at him defiantly. "And why wouldn't he be my king consort, father? Who's gonna be more loyal to me, to my cause, to my reign? He's earned his title” She had said, with a cold tone, trying to be logical.

"The fact that he wants the Iron Throne may be true, but he sees me as his queen, and he's willing to accept the title of a mere consort. We both see each other much more intimately. We love each other, and our love is sacred. It can't be stained by politics or power games." Rhaenyra had said passionately.

"I will not allow that marriage," Viserys had said, "Not while I breathe. Your uncle has defied me time and time again. Lying with you was the culmination of a lifetime of disrespecting me and my reign” his tone had been less angered, but more cold.

“Now that Daemon has dishonored you, you will have to marry. I have done everything possible to keep this news from this court, Rhaenyra. I have done too much to protect your reputation, your position. For once in your life, do as I command. You will marry. You will find a good man, a good lord who will help you keep the Realm together when you ascend the throne and take your place as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms"

She had stopped to think for a moment. On the one hand, her father's words showed a legitimate interest in her future. On the other hand, she didn't like the idea of accepting this and losing Daemon at all. No. It was impossible. She loved him.

I do not want to marry anyone else. I only want him. We're dragons. We deserve each other. I don't care about the Realm. All I want is my uncle.

"And if I don't find one of my pleasure? Are you going to keep arranging suitors until one of them fits my needs?" she had asked, with a sarcastic and slightly bitter tone.

Her father's look had hardened.
"I am giving you the chance to choose your husband, Rhaenyra, which Lady Alicent and Daemon did not. Which many ladies in this realm do not. Enjoy the freedom I grant you. You have seen what I am capable of when my patience runs out"

Oh, I saw what you are capable of, father. But you forget that a dragon cannot be controlled. And now you have tied two. How long will it be before we decide to turn against your cruel hand?

But she had swallowed, feeling fear in her chest. She had taken a deep breath, and had tried to compose herself.
"I understand, father" she had said, with a bitter tone. "I will find myself a husband that suits your taste, in no time" she had concluded, with more sarcasm and resentment.

It was impossible that her father had not noticed the challenging tone of her words, but he had let it go, perhaps because he did not want to continue fighting with her about said matter.
The date of her trip had been carefully planned immediately after her uncle's wedding, and her father had made sure that she and Daemon were never alone. Last night had been the first time in two moons that Rhaenyra and Daemon had spoken. His aggressive denial of their only chance to escape their fate had been painful and insulting. Daemon had defended her father with fire worthy of a dragon.

If only my father loved my uncle half as much as Daemon loves him.

She would never dare say this to the prince, of course. Even if it was true. Even she couldn't control Daemon's explosive temper.

“To Storm's End then, Ser Criston” she said coming back from her memories, trying to sound enthusiastic at the impending presentation of all the suitors who would travel to win her hand, and her heart. An empty hope.

No matter how hard I search, none will be Daemon. We are dragons, he and I. We are meant to burn together.

The rest of the morning passed in almost slow motion. She hadn't tried to say goodbye to Daemon, of course, that would have been too stupid. So she had only waited in her chambers, until Ser Criston told her it was time. The knight accompanied her and after a quick and formal farewell to her father on the pier, she watched from the bow of the ship as King's Landing grew smaller and smaller.
Anxiety continued to eat her alive, and her hand went unconsciously to her belly. A bad habit that she had adopted in recent weeks.

A true dragon could have been growing here. A legitimate son of Valyria. From Daemon and mine. Ours

She thought bitterly.

But it was a vain hope, she knew. She herself had asked the prince for moon tea the day after their little adventure. If she concentrated, she could still feel the bitter taste going down her throat, eliminating any chance of the dragon’s seed taking root in her womb.

Maybe if I had known what was coming, I wouldn’t have done it. Maybe my father would have given in, maybe Daemon would have run away with me, maybe...

The ghosts of what might have been flitted through her mind like painful visions. She looked towards the horizon, towards the sun shining on the sea. She had seen it many times from above, from the sky, riding Syrax while her uncle accompanied her with Caraxes. With those memories, she allowed herself to relax a bit.

She's not me. He doesn't love her. And when I come back, I will claim what is mine.

And for the first time in a long time, her mouth curved into a smile.

It doesn't matter if I must get a silly sheep out of my way.

Chapter Text

ALICENT II

Alicent came out of her bathroom wrapped in a towel and looked towards the window of her chambers, to see the movement outside. She could barely handle being inside her room for weeks, but she had begun to ignore the memories that plagued it, at least a little. It had been a while since her wedding, yet she remembered every second of it, especially that hellish night.

The worst thing was that she had started off great. After her husband's initial obnoxious behavior, she expected the entire experience to be painful and disgusting. But surprisingly, that had not been the case.

She had felt Daemon's movements of aggression and violence within her. She had felt Daemon's body at its fullest, giving of himself, letting go. And Alicent, with all her being and against her own good advice, had felt desire for that angry and violent man who had made her feel, for the first time, the love of a man. Her body had been filled with heat from his movement, his blood had flowed through her and she had finally felt alive. After feeling her husband release inside her, she held her breath, recovering from the entire event. She had felt Daemon's hands still on her hips, the prince's body still on top of her. She had been silent, not saying a word. She had looked at him, trying to read something in his cool facial expression.
He had looked at her confused…disappointed. And finally, she had understood what Daemon had been looking for all along. Daemon hoped that Rhaenyra, the future queen, would be in that bed instead of Alicent, his wife. Daemon's face had said it all, disappointment, frustration, annoyance... Rhaenyra, after all, was the woman he had truly wanted. The lady had trembled then, feeling that she had been used for her husband's desire for Rhaenyra. She had noticed Daemon's drunkenness and she knew better than to say anything when he left the room.
Alicent had stood still, trying to process what had happened. She had wondered how Daemon had felt when he saw her in that bed instead of Rhaenyra. Alicent had looked at the sheets, stained with her blood. She had once dreamed that losing her maidenhood would be romantic, full of tenderness and love. But when her father told her that she would marry the king, she had forgotten about all that.

Fantasies. Dreams of an ignorant and innocent girl, that wanted the world to be a kind place. However, I hadn't expected... this.

She had felt a little guilty for having enjoyed making love to Daemon. Yet, she had felt used. Alicent had sat up on the bed. She had looked at her legs, her hips, and every part of her body that Daemon had wanted. To her shame, she had realized that she had taken pleasure in remembering what Daemon had done to her. But at the same time, feeling this pleasure had made her hate both herself and him.

I knew that Viserys would see Aemma in my place. And I thought that I wouldn't mind. But this...it hurted more than I could have ever expected.

She had started to feel lonely, unwanted and dirty at the same time. She had felt her body empty, the heat that she felt before then had caused her more disgust than desire. It had been like Daemon ripped out part of her soul. Alicent had started to put on her clothes. The moment of pleasure, which she had hoped would be the start of something, whatever, between her and Daemon, had finally felt like an empty act, a moment in Daemon's life that he would forget when he woke up the next morning. But it would be hard for her to forget what she had felt this night, with Daemon using her body. She had looked at her bed, a place that was supposed to be the beginning of a marriage that would last years.

I wish that Daemon has never entered this bed.

She had known that it was a useless dream. Daemon and his seed had already been inside her. It hadn't mattered in who he was thinking while he did it.

This was not what I wanted. This was not what I wished for. I thought we could have a connection...

She had gone to the bathroom and had tried her best to clean any evidence of what had happened, needing to wash away Daemon's touch on her bodyr. At another time, she would have taken a bath, but since it had been the middle of the night, she settled for that. The idea that Daemon had been tender and gentle with Rhaenyra had been even more painful for Alicent after this. If only Daemon had treated her with a little love, her first time would have been something different.

All he did with was for his pleasure, only his, and he did not even have the decency to think about me.

Alicent's heart had sank thinking about the cold words that Daemon said with his eyes, when he had looked at her: "I thought you were Rhaenyra."

Daemon won't love me, because his heart is in the hands of another woman.

The things hadn't gone better after that, not even when Rhaenyra left. The afternoon of the day after their marriage, Alicent had entered her room just to see servants taking away her mother's dresses and clothes related to House Hightower from her room. Obviosly, by the prince's orders.
The color green had been more than just a wardrobe choice, it had represented who she was and where she came from.

And now, thanks to Daemon, I can no longer wear it. The color of my house, the color of my family, taken away from me by a power-hungry prince. I'm no longer a Hightower, am I?

Yes, she would keep her last name, but, what would that mean? She had been stripped from her identity, the end of the life she had known until then. When the servants had finished, Alicent had been left in a room that felt empty, with her thoughts of shame and grief.
Later that night, the maid had brought her new dresses from her. Black and red, Targaryen colors. The sigil of the realm, the royal colors. It had made her stomach turn. The thought of wearing the colors of House Targaryen had made her feel sick. But she had known that Daemon had done it to cause a reaction, to make her uncomfortable. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of it.

I'll wear the dresses and show proper devotion. He won’t see me defeated.

The news outside the capitol didn't help her feel a bit of peace. Her father had sent letters, in which she had hoped to find words of relief, of courage. However, the content was very different. Ser Otto Hightower only asked for detailed reports about the situation at court, any important events, and gave her instructions, reminding her over and over again what her purpose was.

“Remember your duty. Be a good wife, be obedient. Win your husband. You don't have any say in this. You have to have a child with Daemon. You must fulfill your duty. Only then will we still have a chance to keep playing the game.”

Her father's words rang in her head, as if she had heard them directly from his mouth instead of reading them off a piece of paper.

She sighed and with the help of a maid she dressed in a crimson dress. That night she had to have dinner with her husband. One of the many things that the king organized trying to consolidate their marriage. Because of guilt? Probably. Maybe Viserys had realized how miserable they were. But if he had thought this would help, he was wrong.

She hadn't seen her lord husband much in those weeks. Only for important court business, events that required him to keep his wife close. After all, these were Visery's orders, the king's conditions for restoring his position as Lord Commander of the City Watch. To keep his wife close to him, but only in public after all. Her husband's brother never asked about the things they did in private... which were non-existent. Daemon hadn't visited her bed since their wedding night, and according to whispers in the Red Keep, he wasn't planning to anytime soon. She had been confused the first few times, knowing from the rumors of her husband's lustful nature. But she soon had become suspicious. Now, Alicent knew almost certainly that he visited brothels. His restored position gave him the time and place to do it as much as he pleased.
And she knew she had to try to put a stop to it, before whispers of the court about her marriage reached the ears of the king, or worse, her father. Ser Otto wouldn't mind his son-in-law's infidelities, but he would mind his reluctance to share her bed.

Daemon was already drunk when they sat down to dinner. Her husband had an appetite for wine. She hadn't intended to try to stop him from it, but she was worried that he would abuse it. Alicent couldn't help but wonder if the prince had always been like this, or if this drinking thing had gotten worse after Rhaenyra's departure. However, she sat up and looked across the table at Daemon, her expression concerned, and spoke firmly.

"We need to discuss your behavior"

Her husband raised an eyebrow and looked at her with cold disdain. "My behavior?"

She rolled her eyes, irritated with his coldly facade."Yes, your behavior is becoming a problem. Since our marriage, you have only spend a night in my bedroom. I'm your wife. You should show me some respect, and yet you've ignored to perform your marital duties” she said, making sure Daemon could tell by her solemn demeanor that she wasn't joking.

Daemon just put an amused smile on his face. "So?" he asked arrogantly, his voice still cold. Alicent closed her eyes and sighed. Daemon's words struck a nerve, even if Alicent knew he was just trying to get her...rise out of her.

"You have been spotted several times visiting local brothels. I don't know why my husband needs prostitutes when I'm here."

Daemon couldn't help but smile at that. "I shouldn't have to make an excuse about where I choose to spend my nights. What happens there is my business alone."

Alicent clenched her fists, anger rising in her throat."I hope you act like you're married…and not…not like some drunkard or some...some whore-monger. And though I may not be as exciting as a harlot, and though I won't attract you as much as a common wench, you will treat me with respect."

Daemon laughed cruelly, his eyes locked on hers, finding amusement in her mood."I was forced into this marriage. I've never been one to let something so simple get in the way of fulfilling my own interests. We can be married in the legal sense. But you are delusional if you think I will accept you as my wife in more than name.”

She felt her heart sink a little at Daemon's words. He was right, of course. He didn't see her as his wife, but as daughter of a lesser house. And his attitude toward her reflected that fact.

I can't change the way he looks at me, but I can try to get him to treat me with respect.

"I understand our marriage was forced on both of us, Daemon, but it's still a marriage. Whether you like it or not, I am your wife" she said. Alicent sighed and crossed her arms over her chest.She closed her eyes and said the first words that came to her mind. "I'm far from the princess you really wanted. But, if you let me, I will give you children and I will be a faithful wife for you. I'll be here when you want me and I'll leave you alone when you don't" she said in a much softer voice.

Daemon's expression changed. Her husband softened his gaze…but only for a brief moment. His eyes were again as cold as always. Or even more.

"Are those your words? Or your father's?" he spat in anger. Alicent wanted to say that they were her words, but she couldn't. It was true that all this began because of her father. She didn't know what to answer. The lady was silent for a few seconds.

"I'm telling you this as your lawful wife" she said, but she knew that her words were unconvincing. Her husband laughed bitterly.

"Of course. Even away from King's Landing, Otto Hightower keeps using his serpenttongue to control what happens in the capital. Giving you instructions, making you play your part as a good wife."
Daemon took another swallow of wine. "You're just another piece on his board"

Alicent felt the anger raising in her chest. The words hurt her but she tried to control her temper. Daemon obviously didn’t believe a word she said.

“I am Alicent Hightower, of the House Hightower,” she said forcefully. “And you will not judge me by my father. You will judge me by my own words and actions. And when you do, you will realize that I am deserving of your respect”
She felt her stomach jolt at Daemon's cold, dark eyes. His stare was piercing and fierce, like the gaze of a predator.

"I will...when you are able to speak and act for yourself" the prince said mockingly.

Her face became ice cold. "I am not my father! I am your wife" Alicent said with a firm tone, making Daemon meet her gaze. "Now, can't you try to see me as more than just the daughter of a man you hate?" she asked with a hint of bitterness.

Daemon looked at her with enjoyment. "You have won the way I see you. Your words are your father's, your actions are your father's, your feelings are your father's. How can you not realize that you are practically an extension of him? Mindless, voiceless, voteless. His perfect little doll to use however he pleases.”

The insults from Daemon were starting to get her. She hated to admit it, but his words were getting under her skin and making her question her father. Yet, she couldn't help but defend him. She took a deep breath, struggling to hold her anger in check as she continued to face Daemon.

“My father is no saint,” she said, her voice filled with fury. “But he did love me, and he did what was best for his family. Unlike you, who seek-“ she stopped herself, struggling with her emotions. She wouldn't give Daemon the satisfaction of seeing her lose control.

Her husband looked at her with pure cruelty. "You must be stupid and blind if you think that your father loves you after everything he has done"

“I’m neither stupid nor blind,” she said trying to keep her voice calm even though her temper was flared. “I know precisely who my father is. But it is not a sin to love one’s family, even when they are flawed.” She stood up from her chair and took a step forward, her voice getting more and more firm and determined. “You should try it sometime.”

Daemon looked at her with cold anger. "I have always loved my family, despite their defects. My brother is the clear proof of that. I respect him, even after he gave me this damn condemn. You"
Alicent felt the words of Daemon cutting her deep. But, she knew that Daemon was right.

I am a mere consolation prize for him, a price to be paid for the crime of laying with Rhaenyra.

"So, this is what you think of me?" Alicent responded with a hard tone. "I am your wife, for all the Seven Kingdoms to see and I deserve your respect, Daemon. But, don't you want to get to know me better? Don't you want to know my likes and dislikes?"

Daemon stood up from his chair too. "I know everything that I need about you" he said with a cold cruel voice. That only ignited her own fury.

"And what do you know about me? That I seduced your brother? Is this how you judge me? Are these the only things that matter about me?" Alicent's voice raised gain, unable to contain herself. "You... You, have no right to judge me. You had an affair with Rhaenyra! Why do you despise me? I've done nothing more than you did!"
Her words came out slowly, filled with rage. Daemon's gaze stopped being cold, illuminated by a burning anger.

"You can't compare both of us! You tried to get into my brother's bed because you desired to be his queen! I laid with Rhaenyra because I loved her!"

Alicent's lips pressed into a thin line. "Viserys was just a tool to gain power, what's the difference? I wanted the King and I used my charms to have him. You wanted Rhaenyra and you used your charms to have her. Don't try to fool me, my lord husband. I have spent enough time with my father to understand things. Yes, you loved Rhaenyra. But she was also your tool to gain power. The future queen of the Seven Kingdoms..." she said in a voice laden with venom.

Daemon hit the table with all his might. The wine cup he had been drinking broke into pieces, digging into his palm and fingers. Still, he barely seemed to notice the pain, focused solely on his anger.

"Don't you dare compare your 'love' for my brother to my love for Rhaenyra."

Alicent saw Daemon's bleeding hand and realized that he was capable of doing anything at that moment.

I don't want to hear that name come out of your mouth again. I don't want... I don't want...

Alicent hesitated, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. "Let's not speak of this again. Let's forget about everything tonight. Let's have a son, as our duty demands. The crown cannot afford to leave us without heirs."

The tension in the room was unbearable. Demon was silent. Alicent looked at him, waiting for her husband to say something, anything.

Finally, the words left his lips, like a curse.

"No. I will not mix my blood with yours."

Alicent felt a chill run down her spine.

No. Even he can't be that cruel. Is this what our marriage will be like? Daemon treating me with contempt and me accepting every cruelty? Not this time.

"You must. We have a responsibility to raise an heir. Do you want to make a real joke of our marriage? Do you want our families to be ashamed of us?" Alicent said, leaning a little closer to Daemon, wanting to convince him with every word.

Her husband looked at her with disdain. "I don't give a damn about my brother's wishes, nor about your father's"

Alicent's eyes narrowed at Daemon, her anger building again."You have no say in this. We ARE going to have a child, Daemon. You must do your duty, as I have to do mine," he said, using the same argument her father gave her. "And what about your wishes? Don't you want a family? Children of your own?"

Her husband’s eyes told her everything that his words did not: "Not with you"

Her anger rosed within her at Daemon's silent words. He was so stubborn, so unwilling to see beyond himself. And she refused to let his unwillingness hold her back.
"Is that it?" Alicent looked at Daemon with a mixture of anger and sadness. "You want pure Valyrian blood for your children and you think I'm worthless because I don't have it? How will you get the heirs you need to have?" she said with all the venom she could muster. His silent words had felt like a slap to the face. Of course Daemon still wouldn't accept her as his equal. He still saw himself as superior.
"So we don't need to have children, right?" she said, anger in her tone. "You don't want a family. You just want to drink wine, have lovers, ignore me, and act like you're the only Targaryen in the world" Alicent filled in with a mixture of contempt and bitterness.
"Listen to me, Daemon. I know very well what I am to you, a punishment. But I won't shut up anymore. I have the same rights as you. And if I can't be a person you care about in your life, at least I can be the mother of your children"

Demon sighed. His tone was harsh, as always."I'm worried about my dynasty and my house. Targaryens are the blood of the dragon and if my children aren't, they wouldn't be worthy of the name” he said, still looking at her with disdain.

"You don't take me into account. You think I'm worth nothing and that our children will be worth even less." Alicent's despair turned to anger. There was no way Daemon would treat her that way.

"Why? I think Targaryen blood would run through their veins the same way it runs through yours."

And you can't deprive me of having children. Not when everything else has been taken from me.

Alicent looked at Daemon with a determined look. She saw the coldness and hopelessness in his eyes, but she didn't give up. She wanted to slap him or even hurt him for the way her husband was treating her, but she controlled herself with an effort and took a deep breath.

"They would be your children. They would be your flesh and blood. Is that useless to you?"

He wrapped a napkin around his wounded hand, which was soaked in blood. "I have to go with the City Watch tonight," he said simply. Alicent looked at Daemon desperately. He seemed indifferent to her. The prince seemed more willing to go to brothels, instead of her. The more she tried, the more Daemon showed her indifference.

"You will still see women on the Street of Silk, right? I am your wife. I could give you legitimate children to be your heirs in the eyes of the Kingdom. However, you would rather have bastards with..." she trailed off, before to say something she might regret later.

I am in the depths of the Seventh Hell with this man. What am I supposed to do? My father... Gods.

But before she could make up her mind to do anything, her husband was already gone. And she was smarter than chasing her drunk and angry husband down the hall.
However, she now knew the bitter truth. Daemon had said every single thing he despised about her that night. And it was a long list. Long enough to see her as someone inferior, to not want her to carry his children.
She took a glass, filled it from the bottle of wine Daemon had left on the table, and drank it down in one gulp.

At least I may have learned something from my husband. We'll see if this helps with the pain.

Weeks passed. She didn't try to talk to her husband after that night. But then, she started to feel weird. She began to feel dizzy, with some nausea, headaches, and vomiting. She had at first thought that perhaps it was all the stress she was carrying with her miserable marriage, or the bad habit she had picked up from Daemon of drinking at least one glass of wine before bed. But then one day one of her servants noticed that one of her new dresses was starting to get too tight on her. It was then that she realized that her body was changing. The news was like a bucket of cold water. With all the worry, all the pressure from her, from her father, from the king, from her husband, she had stopped paying attention to other smaller details.

When was the last time my moonblood came? And the symptoms...gods. It only takes one time...

Alicent felt her heart beat faster, a feeling of anxiety and dread filling her body. It no longer mattered if Daemon slept with her again. It didn't matter if her lord husband found her unworthy to carry his blood, to be his wife.
She was pregnant.

Chapter Text

VISERYS I

His Majesty, King Viserys of House Targaryen, First with the Name, looked at the small trail of blood that ran down one of his fingers. He had been holding audiences for the past couple of hours, sitting on the rough, cold Iron Throne. His back hurt a lot from the discomfort of his seat, and to make matters worse, the damn thing had cut him again.

Gods, why didn't the Conqueror make a throne out of volcanic rock like the one on Dragonstone? I would have accepted even a wooden one like Driftmark's.

Viserys sighed deeply and rubbed his tired eyes. His Hand of the King, Lord Lyonel Strong had been attending to important matters at his command all day, including sending a raven to Storm's End to learn the status of Rhaenyra and how successful her journey to the ancestral seat of House Baratheon was being. He had heard that at least a dozen lords and knights were being introduced to his daughter on a daily basis, though it seemed none had yet been to her liking, because the search continued. According to the princess's own words in one of her letters, the presentation of her suitors was an unpleasant activity for her.

"...my suitors are bland and dull. I am sure they will suit my father's taste and that he would be very pleased if I would take one of them as husband, so he can have a weak-willed and brainless son-in-law..."

The letter had been sent to his Lord Hand, of course. Rhaenyra still refused to write to him personally, no matter how hard her father tried to send letter after letter.

The day Aemma and my son died, I lost Rhaenyra too.

The princess's silence had cut him deep, but he had finally resigned himself to it. The only communication link between them now was Lord Lyonel, who seemed to still be in favor with his daughter, perhaps because he reminded her of the one good thing that had come out of all this: the dismissal of Ser Otto Hightower from the capital and from his position.

I don't know where Rhaenyra got her stubbornness from. Her mother certainly had some of that, but she wasn't that thick-headed. My daughter is... as obstinate as Daemon.

Thinking of his brother only darkened more his already bad mood. The prince seemed to be trying to make him lose his patience almost as much as Rhaenyra. He knew that the match he had made between Daemon and Alicent was not one made with love in mind, but punishment. Yet, he still had hoped that they could find a way to set aside their differences and act as husband and wife.
A stupid thought, he had quickly realized. He had to admit that he had known that his brother had always been a man of the night, fond of the brothels of King's Landing.

I cannot say that it is a surprise as he is a man who thinks with the lust of his sword rather than the sense of his head.

Even so, it continued to be such dishonorable behavior to neglect his second wife. As he did with the first. The king had made multiple attempts to reconcile their marital disputes, laying down conditions for Daemon's return to his old position in the City's Watch and having him and Alicent close at formal events, or making them have dinner together. Unfortunately, despite his efforts and according to rumors, things were not exactly right. The voices of the court said that Daemon had been unfaithful to his wife and had been spending his nights in the company of whores, as he used to do before getting married.
Despite the general thinking, Viserys didn't enjoy his brother's misery, neither Alicent's, even when he had thought at the beginning that he maybe would. It had been more strategy than revenge after all.
Having the daughter of a second son as a wife would cut Daemon's thirst for power. And having his only daughter married to a Targaryen prince who would inherited nothing would do the same with Otto. The punishment towards Alicent had been more uncertain. While she was not guilty of her father's machinations, she was guilty of having gone along with her plans, not only knowing it was treason, but, having learned after their talks, how vulnerable he was.

Lady Alicent Hightower. Rhaenyra's best friend. The woman who had offered him solace after the tragedy of Aemma's death. A calculated distraction. He hadn't seen it, or rather, he hadn't wanted to see it until that day when Daemon had forced him to admit it in the crudest possible way.

Viserys hadn't loved her, he had realized after. The King had just needed someone so he wouldn't be alone. And to think that a beautiful young woman was interested in him, in knowing him, in loving him, had helped a little with the pain…and with his ego, of course. For that reason, knowing that it had all been a trick, a manipulation to get her to become his queen, had made him feel deeply deceived and had made him bring out a cruel anger that he didn't even know he possessed. Still, seeing her putting up with such neglect and callousness at her husband's hands was hard to watch, even for him. Viserys knew how cruel Daemon could be, if he wanted to.

I suppose it is true what they say, that you cannot keep a dragon caged. But Daemon still have duties...

His Majesty tried to clear the memories from his mind, but it didn't work. Perhaps because he was aware that the last audience of the day had been requested by Alicent herself, his now sister-in-law. This did not anticipate anything good. They hadn't spoken since the day he'd betrothed her to his brother, and he knew the decision to request an audience with him probably hadn't been one made lightly. Something had to really be troubling her...

Finally, the King signaled to one of his guards. "Very well, let Lady Alicent in. I shall hear her" he said in a tired voice The door opened and his brother's wife walked down the hall. Lady Alicent might still carry the Hightower name, but since his brother's wedding she seemed to wear only the royal colors, blood red and black.

My brother has turned his wife into a true Targaryen. Or she has tried to convince him of it.

"Lady Alicent, good evening. I didn't expect... nevermind. What is it you wish to discuss?" Viserys asked her with the formal voice of the King.

"Your Majesty" she greeted him "I have news that I thought I should bring you in person"

He looked at her curiously. She looked serious, but her eyes were worried. "Speak your news, Lady Alicent. You have piqued my interest."

She seemed to take a deep breath, as if she was trying to get up her nerve for what she was going to say."I am pregnant with the prince's first child. Your future nephew or niece, Your Majesty. A new Targaryen for the Realm" she said with a strong voice.

A slight smile appeared on Viserys’ face. It seemed that, despite everything, all the differences, all the problems, they had fulfilled their duty to the Seven Kingdoms. Daemon had sired a son to House Targaryen.
“Oh, what excellent news! This is a blessed miracle from the gods! This is cause for celebration! This indeed is news of great import. Congratulations, Lady Alicent. The Targaryen house grows stronger” Viserys said with an almost happy voice. The idea of having a nephew, a baby of his blood, even if it wasn’t his own child, filled him with a kind of euphoria. Childish laughter hadn’t filled the Red Keep for quite some time. Since Rhaenyra was a little girl, exactly. “I know my brother will be delighted” he added, knowing that Daemon had always shown an interest on keeping his bloodline, after all.

A blush rose to Alicent’s cheeks and she lowered her head, as if embarrassed by something. He looked at her, confused by her strange change in behavior. He noticed then that she didn’t seem thrilled by the news, more like…concerned. Strange reaction for a woman who would soon be a mother.

“I’m afraid the prince seems pessimistic and disappointed by this pregnancy,” she said almost in a whisper. He sighed deeply.

Of course. There must always be something wrong with good news.

“Daemon is often prone to rash and cruel words, Lady Alicent. But that does not mean he is beyond redemption. He is a good man deep down. But you must not be concerned about it. Once Daemon has seen his child, he shall no doubt show affection for them” he said trying to sound as reassuring as possible.

“Your kindness is comforting, Your Majesty… but my husband is an unpredictable man… and I fear he has a disgust for those not blessed with Valyrian blood…” Alicent said in a nervous voice.
“He feels…displeased…by that?” Viserys seemed confused for a moment, but soon he accepted the truth of her words.

Of course. Daemon has always been very traditional in his ideas. Why am I even surprised?

“It appears that your husband is being… unreasonable then, Lady Alicent. Your blood is Westerosi, of the Firstmen, and of the Andals. Your blood is of this land. Daemon must be capable of seeing you for more than what runs in your veins” he started to say, but there was a lack of confidence in his words. He hoped she hadn’t noticed.

Oh, but he won’t, will he? She’s Otto’s blood. And the child…

"And I hope so" Alicent said as she touched her belly. However, I am... concerned about the prince's treatment of this child that he has previously called "a disgrace" and "worthless."
Viserys looked at her with pity. She seemed like a worried woman, almost…vulnerable, but trying her best to hide it. "That... that's worrying" he admitted grudgingly.

"Daemon cannot be allowed to treat your unborn child as such. I would be very concerned if my brother shows any hint of animosity towards the child" he said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. If anyone had to stand firm, it was him.

"I… I'm sorry, Your Majesty. It's wrong to speak of my lord husband like that, especially when he's not here to defend himself…" she said. She reached up to touch her hair nervously and he could see the blood marks on her fingers. The situation definitely seemed to have her stressed, if not panicked. And that was not good, not for her, not for Daemon's son.

“There is no shame in admitting his faults, Lady Alicent. I will not let Daemon insult you, neither your child. I'll have a word with him if it is needed," Viserys concluded seriously. The determination in his voice seemed to allay his sister-in-law's doubts a little, though not entirely.

Lady Alicent curtsied a little and left the room. The King felt the weight of all the revelation fall on his shoulders. Daemon was going to be a father and he seemed not to care at all. Still, the child would be a Targaryen, his brother's own blood. A piece of himself living on, after his death.

He will learn to love his children. He is a man filled with grief, and his true heirs may heal him from his despair.

Still, he couldn't help but feel hurt in a certain way. Why hadn't Daemon told him personally?" Was the gap that had opened between him and his brother really that big? Viserys rubbed his temples, feeling his head throb with a sharp pain. He had promised Lady Alicent that he would speak to her brother if necessary to prevent him from despising his own unborn child, and that surely wasn't going to help reconcile their relationship. Daemon had never liked being told what to do.

I am forever doomed to anger one person in the pleasing of another.

He used all his remaining strength to get up from the Iron Throne and climb down, leaving a thin trickle of blood down the steps. He had already lost one of his fingers a couple of months ago and it seemed almost certain that he would lose another one.

Maybe I'm already dead and I haven't realized it.

He tried to clear those gloomy thoughts from his mind. It was a happy moment. He would have a nephew soon, and as the head of House Targaryen it was his duty to ensure that he had the care and affection worthy of a member of the royal family. If Daemon didn't celebrate his future son, he would. He was sure that either way, when he was born, the child would appease Daemon's worst impulses, whether he wanted it or not. Fatherhood was a powerful force, after all.
The idea calmed down a little the dark ideas that had flooded his mind and when he left the room, he felt something akin to satisfaction... or perhaps, hope. Things could still get better for his family. Only the intervention of their King was needed.

Chapter Text

DAEMON III

Daemon felt the usual sweetness of cheap wine go down his throat. He looked around at the dirty old tavern he was stuck in. The light coming through the windows seemed unusual to him, after all, he had only been in that place at night and not at noon, like then. He had been forced to make his rounds with the City Watch earlier than usual, due to an unusual event. His sbrother had organized a feast for no apparent reason.

Viserys reminds me more and more of Aenys. With a taste for meaningless banquets and parties.

He took the crude wooden beaker in his hand and looked at the reddish purple liquid. It was his first drink of the day, but he knew it wouldn't be his last. Still he had to measure himself. He didn't want to arrive at the "big holiday" drunk as a skunk. The prince still had some reputation to uphold.

A male voice took him away from those thoughts. "My prince" a gold cloak greeted him as he approached her with heavy steps. Daemon looked at the glass in his hand again and decided to set it down on the bar. That was enough alcohol for now.

"Did you find anything?" he asked the guard in a serious voice. The gold cloak nodded.

"A man, my prince. He claims to know something."

Since his reinstatement as Lord Commander of the City Watch he had gone about his business as usual, imprisoning violent drunkards and thieves, and occasionally cutting off the hand of the last few who used to reoffend. But it was not all. Using his authority and the loyalty of his men, he had taken the opportunity to inquire discreetly into the gloomiest slums of King's Landing. The objective of the investigation? Find out who had seen what had happened between him and Rhaenyra that night.

Otto Hightower had spies, he knew, but none would have ventured that far into Flea Bottom, not even the bravest. No. The former Hand of the King had obtained his information from elsewhere. That source was still out there, slipping away, and the idea of having someone able to reveal information about the activities of a Targaryen prince with his reputation without seemingly fearing the consequences was irritating to him. He would take the bastard out, no matter how long it took to find him. And it could be quite a while, he had later realized. Whoever the spy was, he seemed to be slippery and hide his footsteps well.

But at last, after months of fruitless searching, he seemed to have a clue. The gold cloak led him into an alley, dark even though it wasn't that late. There, two of the guards were holding a young man by the arms, probably no older than twenty. Daemon looked for a moment at the boy's face. He had a broken nose and a split lip. It seemed that he had put up some resistance.

"What did he say?" he whispered to the guard who had brought him.

"He seems to have information about that night. He has some precise details. He seems to tell the truth" the gold cloak replied with conviction. Daemon's eyes narrowed, and a frown on his lip appeared as he looked at the young man. He turned to the goldcloaks. "Leave us."

The goldcloaks nodded and left the alley, throwing the young man to the floor. Daemon walked closer and looked down at him. "What's your name boy?"

The man raised his head weakly to see him."Adrew, my prince" he whispered weakly.

"Adrew. You say you saw something? What did you see?" Daemon asked in a cold voice. Adrew looked at the ground again and remained silent. Suddenly he bent down and grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck, lifting him up so he could be eye level with him.

"Who sent you?" He hissed with a threatening tone. The boy shuddered.

"No one! I swear!" he said scared. Daemon stared into his eyes the whole time. His other hand de reached into his cape and retrieved a sharp dagger. "What did you see?" he repeated in a cruel voice. "You told the gold cloaks that you knew something."

The boy swallowed nervously. "They asked me questions and I... I remember that night, my prince. I went into the tavern for a drink. I had just collected a debt and had a couple of silver stags. That's why I remember it. I saw you, my prince... I knew who you were. What other silver haired man would be in Flea Bottom? I saw you taking drink after drink and then I saw you heading towards an alley”

"What else?" Daemon said a little irritated by his beating around the bush. He brought his dagger closer, placing it at Adrew's neck. "Talk fast or I'll cut your tongue out"

"A boy!" Adrew yelled desperately. "A boy came up to me and asked me where the Targaryen prince was. And I... I pointed out where I had seen you go. He followed you."

Daemon leaned closer. He pressed the blade further into his neck, causing a drop of blood to trickle onto the blade."Did you get a good look at this boy? Describe it to me."

"His clothes were torn, tattered. He couldn’t have been more than twelve years old and not less than nine years old. I don't know... he looked like any kid from Flea Bottom. He... could have had a mark under his right eye, but I'm not sure. Please! Please! I swear! That's all I know!" he said sobbing.

Daemon met his eyes. He was terrified but sincere. He withdrew the dagger and released his grip, causing the man to fall heavily to the ground. He whistled, calling to the gold cloaks.

"Give the men the order to look for a boy with a mark under his right eye," he told one of them. "And give this friend some gold for his information."

The gold cloak nodded. Daemon started to walk away, but before he left, he turned around one last time.

"Another thing. Cut off the finger he used to point where I was."

The Rogue Prince walked away from Flea Bottom, toward the Red Keep, still listening to Andrew's cries of pain as his men followed his orders.

He entered his chambers and unbuckled the heavy armor. Normally, he would have gone to a squire for help, but today he didn't want to feel so helpless. Daemon set the piece of metal on the ground next to his boots and folded the gold cloak carefully and held it in his hands, feeling the cloth between his fingers. Daemon sighed and tossed the cloak over the armor, quickly dressing in more appropriate clothing. As much as he wanted to shock his brother by entering his precious celebration in bloodstained armor, he knew the limits.

He walked down the hall and past his wife's chambers. He would usually wait for her and accompany her to the great hall, thus giving the image of public union that Viserys requested of them. He stopped in front of her door, hesitated for a moment, then continued on his way.

I've had enough of Otto's puppet for today. She'll catch up with me later.

Daemon entered the feast, and took a seat on the principal table, as far away from Viserys as he could. He quietly observed the nobles in the hall. There was something…strange. He was used to, being who he was, people staring at him. Still, the attention he was receiving that night was unusual. Even Viserys seemed to be sneaking glances at him.

What in the Seven Hells...

"My lord husband" Alicent's formal voice brought him out of his stupor as she kissed him on the cheek. Daemon tolerated his wife's affection as best he could, but he did not return it. He knew better than to cause a scene in public, so he just remained still and watched the room. Still, he couldn't help but watch her, taking note of how her dress flowed against her body.
Oh gods, the contradictory feelings over him. He wanted her. He desired her. He despised her. He hated her.

Or I despise and hate her father? It is the same, isn't it? Alicent is Otto's in mind and soul.

Still the lust in his mind every time he looked at her in the Red Keep was undeniable. His heart was Rhaenyra’s, yes. But his body… and his wife… well, his wife was a beautiful woman and anyway, why would he need to love her to sleep with her?

Yet he had avoided her bed all this time, preferring to spend his nights in brothels here and there, with different women warming his bed.
The main reason had been explained to her that night, at that dinner. Daemon didn't want to sire children with her, princes unable to honor their Valyrian blood by not being able to claim a dragon. Yes, he longed for heirs, but worthy of the Targaryen name, worthy of being called his children. Alicent couldn't give him that, he was sure. And he knew that if he slept with her and by some twist of fate she got pregnant, it would be difficult to take care of the problem, not only because the maester would probably be interested in knowing and sharing with the rest of the court the information that Prince Daemon Targaryen had asked for moon tea, but because he doubted very much that his lady wife would be willing to get rid of the child.

Even with those thoughts, the prince managed to maintain the icy, detached demeanor he always had with her. The king looked at him with a scolding expression, but he didn't say nothing. Daemon returned his brother's stare with a hard gaze of his own before looking back around the room.

"Where were you, my prince?" The voice of his wife distracted him again. He would normally ignore her, but it seemed that the King was more attentive to her interactions than usual.

"In Flea Bottom" he replied coldly. Alicent's eyes were fixed on him, he could feel it.

"Surely there's no need for the Lord Commander to be there. I mean..."

She was interrupted by the sound of the King's voice announcing the main event of the evening.

"Lords and Ladies of the Realm. You may be wondering what's the reason for this celebration. I would like to inform that we have a new member of the royal family."

Daemon turned to face the king. What the hell was happening? He was not understanding anything at all. New member of the royal family? He swallowed nervously. Could it be maybe...? He felt his heart sank.

Rhaenyra. She would have found someone to marry.

He tensed as he waited for Viserys to make the inevitable reveal. His face was as harsh as stone.

"May the gods bless my brother and his wife, who are expecting their first child" Viserys said happily as he looked at him. The nobles in the room cheered and applauded and Lord Lyonel, who sat next to him, patted his back.. All eyes in the room were on him. Daemon tried to act naturally, getting up from his chair and forcing himself to smile, but it was almost impossible with the amount of shock he was experiencing. His head was a whirlwind of thoughts. He didn't even know what to feel. Confusion. Nervousness. Shock. Anger. He hoped his face did not betray the truth.

Daemon sat down and turned to look at his wife, with a questioning look. Alicent seemed satisfied by the revelation. The prince felt as if he had been struck in the stomach with a tournament spear, the realization falling like a bucket of cold water on his head.

"You..." he managed to whisper still in shock. He felt dizzy, the room was spinning around him.

She smiled proudly at him. "It has been many moons since we wed. Did you truly think I would not conceive?" Alicent spoke softly, but her tone was sharp.

We only did it once

he thought to himself.

He felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Oh, but once can be enough, he knew. The prince looked around again, at his brother, and the nobles, who now seemed more distracted by the food than by him. All that celebration. All that...

"You told Viserys" he whispered to her with a harsh tone, more like a statement than a question. "You made him think I already knew."

Still grinning, Alicent shrugged. "Does it matter? You know the outcome. You can hardly get rid of my child now. That's what would have happened if I had told you first."

Daemon clenched his jaw. She was right, that's exactly what he would have done if she had gone to him to give him the news. Now she had made sure that was impossible. The whole Realm would know after tonight. He looked at his wife, eating calmly and felt the occasional gaze still on him. The Rogue Prince took a deep breath and he forced himself to eat a few pieces and pretend everything was perfect. He filled his glass with wine and began to drink. Now he regretted not having had more sooner. His head kept spinning and he felt himself tremble slightly.

Otto Hightower's hands are in this. Damn it. I swear I'm going to...

"You look...surprised, my prince. Did you not expect that your bride would know how to play the game?" his wife whispered, interrupting his train of thought. He clenched his fist under the table hard. There was a certain provocation in her words that made his blood boil with frustration...and something else.

"Your father's idea?" Daemon whispered through the noise. And for the first time since the day they were married, he saw a sincere smile on Alicent's face.

"No. It was mine” she said with a satisfaction she didn't try to hide one bit. "I have won." his wife whispered, smiling sweetly at him.

"You knew that I didn't want to..." he whispered with a furious, intimidating, threatening tone. Alicent didn't look the slightest bothered by his reaction. She even seemed...amused.

"Of course, I knew" she whispered back. "Half-Valyrian children, you called them. You didn't want a child. Well, I've given you no choice. If you don't wish to be in the child's life, that is your choice."
He couldn't help but let the disbelief and surprise he felt show on his face. Alicent…she was being so bold, so brazen, with a confidence he had thought impossible for her. It was as if his wife had been replaced by a completely different woman.

"I didn't think you could even blink without your father's command" he spat with as much contempt as he could muster. Still, it sounded so unconvincing...

"How amusing. You think my father can keep his puppets under his control always?" Alicent spoke with sarcasm "I am capable of so much more than a pawn. I have a mind of my own. And I am playing the game by my rules now."

Daemon couldn't help but see how amused she seemed with all this, with making him feel uncomfortable, irritated. She was doing it on purpose, now he knew. And she was winning. If he wanted to regain control of Alicent again, he had to do something right now, something that confuse her, that would take away that sense of control she seemed to feel now. An idea crossed his mind and he almost smiled.

Two can play this game.

Daemon glanced around, then placed his hand on Alicent's thigh. He leaned close. "Tonight, expect me." he whispered in her ear in a quiet conspiratory tone. She trembled at the sudden physical contact, losing her composure for a moment. He had caught her off guard, just the way he wanted.

Who is in control now?

"So after months of neglecting me, you want to please yourself. Why should I give in to your carnal desires tonight?" Alicent whispered with a cold tone. "You failed your duties as my husband. Why should I be forced to please you when you ignored me all this time?"

"You are my wife" Daemon said simply as he drank from his cup and kept his hand under the table, over her. He wanted to make her lose control over her emotions. And it seemed like it was working. After all he hadn't visited her for months and he felt how she trembled under his touch. Her body was starting to heat up, he could feel it. She was melting more with each second that he kept touching her. The prince could pretend to play the game of seduction, to make her angry, to drag her into his trap. He had started a fight for control, for the dominance. Daemon wanted a reaction from his wife. And he was going to win. It just needed another little push.

Surprisingly, despite her body's reaction, instead of showing discomfort, or try to take his hand away from her, Alicent's lips turned up in a playful smirk.

"Yes. I am your wife. Yet, I don't believe I want you in my bed, husband. I can refuse, you know. I am only required to let you bed me when we're trying for a heir. Otherwise, I do not consent to your "carnal needs."

Daemon felt the control slip from his fingers once more. Oh, the confidence, the condescension...they confused and intrigued him. Alicent had always been silent and somewhat insecure, lacking of self control. He thought that she would have slapped him by now, something like that. But the woman sitting next to him was calm, showing him a new side of his wife. One he would never have expected to see.

"I'll return to Flea Bottom this night then" he told her, trying to provoke her anger. A public outburst was enough. After all, he knew how much his wife hated being the talk of King's Landing because of his inappropriate behavior. . She had told him so not long ago.

"Go ahead." Alicent's voice was almost teasing. "You have my full permission to continue visiting your favorite whores and relieve yourself." She brought her face close to his, and he could feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek. The prince was so surprised that it didn't even occur to him to move."And I shall spend the night peacefully in my chambers. Alone" Alicent whispered in his ear, looking fully amused at his frustration. "Goodnight, my lord husband" she said softly before getting up from the table and leaving him there, alone, gaping and confused.

What the hell has just happened?

Daemon glanced at the people around him, but it seemed that not even Viserys had noticed the strange exchange. Once his wife was out of the room, he took a deep breath to try to calm the emotions that were boiling inside him. All their conversation, the planning, the subtle teasing…Something was clear now. His wife was not the boring, obedient and submissive woman that he had believed. And now he was curious to know more about the unknown that Alicent Hightower was when she acted and thought for herself. By now, Alicent had the upper hand. And she knew it.

There is a fire inside her too. Now I can see her flame.

The game had just started. He smiled to himself as he took another drink. Maybe he wouldn't go back to the brothel after all. That night he preferred to sleep alone.

Chapter Text

ALICENT III

Lady Alicent Hightower rose from her chair with the usual tingling in her legs that comes from sitting for a long time in the same position. How long had she been there? One, two hours? She could not complain in any way, nor make any gesture of annoyance. After all, she could feel the king's gaze on her, though not with cruel eyes, but with concern. "Do you need a servant to help you, Lady Alicent?" Viserys asked softly.

However, she shook her head. "No need, Your Majesty. I can still move on my own," she joked as she headed for the door. "Thank you, Your Majesty" she said goodbye with a courteous tone. The king only nodded in response as the guard opened the door, then closed it behind her, leaving her in the hallway. Alicent smoothed her dress with her hands and walked the familiar path back to her chambers, learned from the constancy of her travels accompanied by an armored man. One of the drawbacks of being part of the royal family was having a guard around most of the time, except when she was with the king or prince.

It was now customary for her to spend some part of her day in the king's chambers, at His Majesty's wish, of course, invitations which she could not, nor was it in her interest, to refuse. She sometimes had awkward flashbacks to their first interactions, when visits to the king had more purpose than just a superficial friendship, but while they could be annoying, they didn't stop her from coexist with her brother-in-law. The king had never tried to make such advances again, instead he had treated her right, as his brother's wife. Alicent had wondered why he liked meeting her, talking with her, almost… taking care of her. In the end she had understood.

He is alone. Rhaenyra probably doesn't write to him. My husband doesn't talk to him. He is all alone. I'm the only thing that looks more like a family that he has now.

She could almost had felt sorry for him. Almost. Viserys had always been a kind and caring man, though that didn't change the fact that she was in this trouble because of his hurt ego in the first place. However, Alicent kept that resentment to herself. Her slight hate would get her nothing. So, when she was with her husband's brother, Alicent was habitually all smiles and courtesies, knowing how convenient it was to have the king near her.
Although he was not a young man, Viserys Targaryen was not an old man either. Still, he was like a grandfather telling her stories every time he sat down with her to talk. Alicent had nothing to complain about, she learned more about her husband's life from talking to his brother than from him.

"Daemon was our mother's favorite" he had told her once, as if reliving his old days with the prince brought him some peace over the bitter present. "Always chaotic, running around, getting into mischief. When he became a warrior, she was so proud of him..."

Daemon wasn't so forthcoming with her about his private life, although she had to accept that there had been a significant change in their "relationship" if it could be called that. Yes, they only continued to see each other at those impromptu dinners that the King organized a little more frequently and at those formal events. But where her husband had been cold, silent and indifferent, now there was a man who was talkative, spirited, provocative and even somewhat irreverent. Every interaction, every word, every look between them was a little fight in itself. Daemon seemed to test her in every conversation, as if he were trying to convince himself of something, though she wasn't quite sure what. Her husband's sarcasm could be funny. And she played the game the same way. Their conversations could have seem rude, aggressive and even vulgar at times to the servants and maids, but she would prefer this to cold silence. It seemed to her that, although he did not say it, her husband also enjoyed them, somehow. She wasn't quite sure, but she believed that Daemon drank less now.

Alicent arrived at her room and after her guard opened the door for her, her servant Talya greeted her gently and began arranging the pillows on her mattress to help her get comfortable. Alicent caressed her swollen abdomen lovingly, feeling the constant movements of the infant within her. Four moons wasn't a long time, but it was long enough to notice changes in her body. Her stomach was already slightly inflamed and the child's movements were noticeable. The baby was restless and messy, and he seemed to have a strange passion for kicking her around for hours.

It is definitely Daemon's child.

Alicent laid in bed, reading a book. She lately was getting more tired than usual. The lady didn't want to imagine how she would feel like once her body began to grow much larger. And she knew it would happen, inevitably.
Suddenly and without any warning Daemon entered her room. She was caught off-guard by his entrance, but she nonetheless tried to not look at him with surprise. The prince had never visited her room, not since that disastrous night, and they had never seen each other outside of the routine visits arranged by the king.

"...Husband. What are you doing here?" she asked, as she left her book lying aside on her bed. Daemon eyed her warily. There was no coldness in his eyes, but neither was there the amusement she had grown accustomed to.

"We have to talk" he said with an extremely serious tone. Alicent frowned at Daemon. If this was an attempt to test her, as she had done herself at that feast when she announced the birth of their future child, she wasn't liking it at all. But she preferred to bite her tongue and keep her suspicions to herself.

"What is it? What do you wish to talk about with me, my prince?" she asked cautiously. There was something off about her husband's manner. He seemed almost…agitated.

Daemon stared at the window for a long time, then back at her, as if he were trying to search her head for the right words. "Viserys seems interested in your well-being and your pregnancy. Too interested, many say" he finally said.

Alicent got a little confused upon hearing his words. Her lord husband never spoke of his brother, and he had never shown any interest or concern at the king's desire to spend time with her. She knew from what Viserys himself had once told her that Daemon was always invited to these meetings, even though he never went. His pride still seemed too wounded for that.

"Too interested? Your brother cares about me. I cannot see how any of that could be a problem" she said irritated. For some reason, she felt as if her husband was claiming something from her although she wasn't quite sure what.

Daemon ran a hand through his platinum-gold hair, an expression of… what? Nervousness? Stress? Whatever it was, she had never seen it in him.
"The whispers say that he is too interested to be only an uncle, and I'm too uninterested to be the father" he said quietly, though she thought she heard a touch of bitterness in his voice. That confused her even more. If this was an act, her husband was very good at it. Still, the whole thing about this seemed strange to her, as if Daemon was mulling it over, speaking in riddles.

"How can a man being interested in his nephew can be bad? Alicent asked totally clueless. Suddenly, an idea crossed her mind. That made her shudder.

For the love of the Seven...

"Unless... the whisperers accuse me and your brother of something else. What do they say, exactly?" she asked nervously. Daemon seemed to pick up on her emotions and sat down in a chair, conveniently away from her. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if weighing the pros and cons of telling her. Finally, he spoke.

" That the child is Viserys'. Not mine"

Alicent couldn't hide her shock when she heard his words. Her world felt like it was spinning and she had to lean her head against the pillows again to keep from falling. Finally, she managed to speak, her voice It was only a soft whisper. "...What?"

What Daemon was saying was quite hard to even think about. "That is...impossible..." Alicent whispered but this time, her voice was filled with worry and anxiety.Her jaw clenched slightly, and she tried to read the feelings behind his gaze. But though Daemon seemed less in control of his emotions that day than usual, she couldn't totally discern what he was thinking, or what he was feeling. "Do you believe that I...?" she asked, feeling a lump in her throat.

Daemon seemed almost amused by the suggestion, though there was something more than mockery in his gesture… irritation, perhaps? "No. You are too puritanical and my brother has a very high opinion of his own nobility. Besides that I saw your disgust just by imagining it"

She felt some relief with his answer, although it quickly faded. The delicacy of the situation was truly worrisome. "You are telling me, that people believe that I have been cheating on you with your own brother? With Viserys?" She repeated in disbelief.

Her husband did not look at her, instead, he seemed very interested in his rings. "I...yes."

Alicent felt the frustration and tension rise in her body. Daemon's attitude didn't help. Although he seemed a bit stressed, he didn't seem overly worried, more like nervous... She sighed deeply, the movements of the little dragon in her belly increasing, as if sensing his mother's emotions.

"Why would people think that...?" she said slowly, when she caught a glint of something in her husband's eyes. Guilt. Of course. Suddenly it all made sense. Daemon's attitude. The way he seemed to avoid her gaze...

"This... this is your fault!" she said loudly, as if all concern had turned to anger. Her husband had the decency to look embarrassed, but not quite.

"Well, I wouldn't call it exactly my fault..." he said softly. That didn't help calm her agitated temper. The attitude that in their occasional conversations had seemed entertaining for now only fueled her restlessness.

"You cannot neglect me and show no interest in our child, and still be surprised at people's thinking. Of course there would be those that think Viserys is the father if you show no care at all for my pregnancy."

Alicent looked at Daemon in disgust, feeling anger building up. Her husband kept silent, as if he knew it was better to let her vent her anger instead of silence her. "You...you do not even seem to care that some might believe the child is not yours." She stayed silent for a moment, still processing what Daemon had told her. She sighed and then looked at him, her head full of questions.
"How did you find out? I haven't heard anything about..."

Her husband seemed amused by the question, but he held back, knowing that teasing probably wouldn't help him curry favor with her. "It's obvious that the rumors won't reach the king's ears if they talk about him, and you don't associate yourself with anyone else. I coexist with people from below...even so, I only found out recently" he said simply.

Alicent clenched her fists angrily, noticing her palms sweating from her nerves. She felt the urge to dig her nails into her fingers, the escape mechanism she always used in situations like this. However, she held back.

"How long?" she asked after a long silence. She knew that her husband would know what she meant. She needed to know how long these rumors had been circulating, how badly the damage they had done to her reputation. Daemon seemed uncomfortable with the question.

"A moon, at least, as far as I know. Maybe more..." he finally said. The façade of apparent calm that she had been putting on with him collapsed at that moment. If the whispers had been around for a few days, maybe a couple of weeks, it would have been a little easier to end them, find the true source, and be done with it. Now, however, after a month of gossip, they could hardly find the culprit and without him, the lie would spread not only in the Court, but beyond King's Landing, perhaps as far as Oldtown... That thought infuriated her even more. .

You...son of a...!

Alicent forced herself to try to calm down. She took a deep breath and looked at Daemon. Her doubts assailed her again. Why had he come here with her and not with the king? Was his pride preventing him from informing his brother but did not his wife? He had never bothered to discuss with her more than unimportant topics or where he could be condescending and in control. There was something that disturbed her within all this. And it is that, despite everything, Daemon could just let the rumors pass, couldn't he? why inform her? To amuse himself with her shame?

"Why do you care anyway? You've made it clear that you don't care if people call me a whore or your child a bastard!" she said with anger and a hint of bitterness. Daemon looked up, fixing his violet eyes on hers.

"My lady..." he said in a firm voice, as if he was trying to reassure her. The abnormality of his behavior only irritated her even more.

"But that doesn't interest you, does it? You've made it clear that you despise our child. It would be a blessing for you if the people believe he is the king's. There would be no stain on your name but his, if the kid does not comply expectations..."

"Alicent" her husband interrupted her with a more severe voice.

She stopped, not at his insistence, but because it was the first time she had heard her name come from his lips. She tried not to show the surprise in her face or in her words and instead she acquired a facade of apparent coldness.

"I want to understand your reasons. You owe me at least that. Why tell me? Does this bother you? Or do you just have a sick sense of humor?" she said, trying to make it sound like the claim that it was.
Daemon seemed to think over his words before he said them.

"It is not convenient for me that people believe that you have deceived me. Where would that leave me? As a weak man? My honor and reputation would be tarnished."

She nodded. Alicent didn't want sweet talk or feigned concern. She wanted the truth and he had told her. It made sense that the whole thing would bother him, then. Still, she had the strange feeling that that wasn't all, that there was something else hidden under the layers of his selfishness, but she decided to shake the idea out of her mind. She was placing too many expectations on the man.

"There's only one solution. And you know it" she sentenced him with a hard voice.

Daemon swallowed nervously and she could see his body tense up, as if he really had a hard time saying what he had to.

"Yes."

Alicent nodded her head at his simple acknowledging words. "So...the only way to stop them is to show people that you don't neglect me" Alicent said as she looked away and sighed. "I am getting blamed for your own actions" she completed with bitterness and some resentment.

"That will stop future rumors, not the current ones" her husband pointed out, although it was not necessary. She knew it. It was too late to stop them now. And even if Daemon tried to defend her against the malicious accusations, which she doubted he would make, if the author didn't admit that it was all a fabrication, the efforts would be fruitless. And only the gods would now know who the idiot had been.

"The future is what we should work for, but first...the present is very important and cannot be ignored any longer" Alicent's voice said loud and stern, as if she was giving Daemon a command. At any other time she would have avoided angering her husband, but not now. Not when he was acknowledging his fault in all of this, even if it was slightly.

"Do as I say, my lord husband. You know that I am right. Start treating me...with respect. Show people that I am your wife. Show them that you care. I don't care how much effort you have to put into the act, you must do it. For the good of all."

She knew he would do it even if she didn't ask, anyway. He wouldn't do it for her, or for his brother, or even for the child, but for himself. But for now, his selfishness and his pride were enough for him to take action on it.

"Very well" Daemon said, getting up from the chair. Alicent made no attempt to stop him as he walked out the door. They had talked about what they needed to talk about, and to be honest, she needed some time alone to think.

The hours passed slowly and the small anguish that she felt in her chest continued to grow. Whore. Bastard. The words were spinning in her head, making her ache and her stomach churn, feeling a little nauseous, which could have been either from the stress or from the pregnancy. It was about the time of the bat when she heard unusual noises outside, shouts and rushing footsteps. She nervously got up from the bed and after debating internally for a few moments she decided to get out of her chambers.

"My lady?" asked the guard at her door, who seemed equally confused by the strange sounds. "Could you come with me, Ser?" She asked courteous, though she knew the man would do it anyway. The knight followed her down the hall until they found the gruesome scene. Alicent saw the chaos with surprise. She saw blood on the floor and a dagger, people whispering in the background, a lady fainted on the floor.... Alicent's heart beat faster when she saw Daemon himself, being detained by the King's Guard.

Fuck, Daemon. What the hell have you done?

Alicent quickly walked to her husband, her face now filled with worries and a slight of annoyance.

"Daemon, what is happening here?" she asked in a tense tone. Her husband looked unusually... calm.

"It is late, my lady wife. You should go to sleep" he said without a hint of concern. Alicent heard his arrogant tone, even though he was restrained by the King's Guard, which made her even more angry.

This man is insufferable...

"I cannot go to sleep. My Lord husband is being held by the King's Guard, there's a especially bad scene here and I don't have any idea of what happened. Now, enlighten me, why are you being detained and why is there blood on your armor?"

"Just a little problem" Daemon said arrogantly as he looked at the guards holding him. "Isn't that right, knights?"

Alicent rolled her eyes at Daemon's comment. "You do not look upset at the situation, but amused, like if all this was a joke to you. What did you do, Daemon?!" she whispered to her husband irritably. Her husband opened his mouth to respond, probably to tell another joke, but suddenly the door opened.

King Viserys came down the steps, his gaze hard and strict. "Daemon!"

The arrival of the king calmed and stressed her at the same time. For one thing, she knew that with her here, Viserys would probably be a little more forgiving. On the other, her husband really must had done something truly wrong for his brother's presence to be required. She took a step back and looked at the King carefully.

"Your Grace" she greeted him respectfully. Viserys nodded in greeting and seemed to wait for Daemon to pay his own respects, but the prince kept his mouth shut, albeit with a smirk on his face. His Majesty sighed in annoyance.

"Could you explain to me, brother, why you attacked Lord Swann's son?" he said, delivering the accusation coldly. Alicent felt shocked at the King's words. She looked at Daemon with a confused face, waiting to hear his answer.

"A little confrontation" her husband responded with a light laugh, which only seemed to increase her brother-in-law's indignation.

"A "little confrontation" with such consequences? Viserys asked him in a tense tone, looking straight at his face. "You cut the man's tongue, Daemon!"

Her jaw dropped as she realized the seriousness of the situation. She looked at her husband with the eyes filled with shock, asking silently for an explanation.

The man's tongue?! Why the hell does he seems so relaxed? Who the hell am I married with?

"He spread rumors involving you and my wife, and my child’s parentage. Isn't it my right to nip such vile accusations in the bud?" asked her husband with amusement, but with cold eyes. Alicent's face darkened upon hearing Daemon's confession of the events. If he was telling the truth and it was the man he attacked the one who had started the rumors, then it wasn't completely fair for him to be arrested, was it? She looked at Viserys, who seemed to think his words.Daemon had taken actions against the man who had insulted him, his wife , and his unborn son. A difficult situation.

"Do you have any proof that it was Ser Armory Swann who started these rumors?" the king finally asked. Daemon nodded.

"The bastard confessed while he could still speak. You could ask his wife, but she's the one who's passed out" Daemon said arrogantly "Or those kind gentlemen who witnessed our little argument."

The lords who were whispering to each other next to the passed out lady stiffened, looking the prince with horror and the king with fear. It was obvious that the event was going to leave traces in their minds that would take time to be erased.

"Your king commands you to tell the truth, my Lords" Viserys said seriously. The men nodded nervously.

"Ser Armory accepted it, Your Majesty" one said as the other nodded vigorously "Before the prince…" The men seemed to tremble at the memory and Daemon seemed to use all his willpower not to laugh out loud.

Alicent would have rolled her eyes, if Viserys hadn't been there. The king rubbed his eyes wearily. It was obvious he wasn't very happy about the whole thing.

"Free my brother" he ordered his guards who immediately obeyed. The king looked at her husband with weariness. "Let the Court know that my brother's actions have my permission, because they were in order to protect his offspring and his wife, and he will not be punished for it. The king wishes it so" he said with a powerful voice. Viserys gave Daemon one last scolding look, which her husband returned with a smirk, and he left the Hall with slow, weary steps.

The crowd quickly dispersed once the matter seemed settled. The guards took the woman to the maester, the servants scrubbed the bloodstains from the floor, and the Lords headed elsewhere in the castle. That left them alone with the company of her personal guard, who left them so they could talk freely. Alicent's face quickly became serious at the moment they were alone.

"Was all of that necessary, my lord husband? You should have at least asked the King to punish the man. But no, it was easier for you to do your " job", right?" she said criticizing his actions. As much as they were somewhat justified in the eyes of the law, she still had the bitter taste of the show of brutality that Daemon had put on.

I knew that my husband was a man with an explosive temper, but I had never imagined that he could reach this level of... violence.

"Well, I have ended with the rumors. Isn't that so? People will hear Ser Swann's confession and what happened to him, and soon this will be a distant memory" Daemon replied with a hint of satisfaction, looking into her eyes like an animal that has quenched his thirst for blood.

"You crossed a line. Maybe there could have had been another way to stop the rumors..." she said, but she knew it wouldn't help. Daemon had done much worse thigs before. Besides, her husband was right in a way, and it embarrassed her to have to admit that she had felt some relief after all.

"How did you know it was him?" she asked suddenly, as the doubt crossed her mind. After all this time, it would have been almost impossible to find the culprit, and as far as she knew, her husband hadn't gone maiming the entire court to find the knight, but he had gone directly to him to exact his revenge. Alicent saw an enigmatic smile formed on the prince's lips, and she didn't like that at all.

"I have my methods and my sources, my lady. Unfortunately I won't share them with you."

She opened her mouth to retort, but decided against it. A fight after everything that had happened was pointless. What was done was done and Daemon had taken charge of ending the problem and had promised to cooperate to avoid future ones.

“Thank you” she would have said, but she didn’t, knowing that while she was grateful, acknowledging something to Daemon might lead him to think it was a victory over her. Her husband looked at her with a strange twinkle in his eyes and an arrogant smile. What happened next was so sudden that she could have sworn the gods had conspired to slow time down. Daemon glanced around quickly, as if to make sure they were truly alone. He suddenly pushed her against the wall aggressively. For a moment she felt scared, when Daemon's eyes seemed to shine with some unidentifiable malice as he stared at her, and then he moved forward and took her lips. His mouth devoured them, as he made the kiss almost violent in its intensity. Alicent was completely surprised by Daemon's action, and her eyes grew wide as he kept her pinned against the wall, kissing her passionately. She wasn't sure how to react, her mind dulled, her body frozen. And so, just as suddenly as he started, Daemon pulled away from her, the triumph he probably felt written all over his face.

"You should thank me like this" he whispered, his voice seemed to have almost a hypnotic quality over her, because she found herself unable to move and speak. Alicent's face was still filled with surprise as she looked at him walking away. She felt the taste of Daemon's lips on her own, and that filled her with even more confusion.

He had never kissed her, their wedding kiss could hardly have been little more than the light brush of their lips. This felt…different.

What the...How...how does he dare?

She felt herself still a little breathless, her husband's victory look still burning her despite the fact that he had left. Alicent felt a mix of emotions flooding her, a mix of irritation, embarrassment and... excitement? Still, she knew perfectly well that this wasn't a pointless display of endearment, but a sign of Daemon's dominance over her. He was using their marriage to play his own games, as she had done at that feast and finding her unaware had helped him gotten away with it. Waiting so long for the perfect moment to switch roles and here she was now, feeling just as confused as he probably had felt that time. The prince had just wanted to see what he could do with her.

My husband is doing this on purpose. Damn you, Daemon.

She took a few seconds to compose herself and walked back to her chambers. Once she found herself back on the bed she allowed herself to draw out the long sigh that she had been holding in all this time. The events of the day returned to her mind. Malicious rumors in the Red Keep had cost a man his tongue and an enforced truce for her and her husband, in order to not create more. She for some reason had the feeling that the prince would keep his promise to act more like a lawful husband, if not to honor his word, to avoid future whispers about his manliness. That kiss had only been part of it, a clear warning: I know how to play too. Still, she hadn't lost. Daemon's victory that night had not made him triumph in their war of wills, but tied it. She still had the advantage, the winning hand. After all, who had started it? Who had changed a marriage based on empty words spoken in front of a Septon, as it had been the first few months, to a constant battle full of daring and suggestive acts just to prove who was in command? Daemon was a man of war, she had known that. A silent, obedient woman would not keep him calm, the dragon would always crave fire, blood, the heat of battle. And she could give it to him, if only to show him how wrong he had been to underestimate her

I will never be a dragon. But does not a blazing flame burn within the beacon of Hightower?

She stroked her belly, feeling the baby shift restlessly again. She knew it now. Through the child's blood ran not only the fire of the dragon, but the fire of the lighthouse. The one she had inherited him.
Daemon saw it, even if he didn't say it. The fact that they were still fighting for supremacy meant that he saw her as a worthy opponent, a real challenge. They now had to share more than just mandatory encounters would only help her cause.

Daemon will not love me, but I will have his respect, just as I have the king's. My son will be protected, maybe even loved, and my father…

The thought of Ser Otto Hightower filled her with conflicting emotions. On the one hand, there was that innate need that he had instilled in her since she was little, that desire of hers to obey her father, to please her father. On the other, the bitter words that Daemon had said to her a while ago, when he barely deigned to look at her, still kept her awake sometimes at night, like now.

"Only then will we still have a chance to keep playing the game"

The words that her father had written to her in that letter resounded in her mind. It was all a game to the former Hand, a strategy to achieve his goals, the people were pieces on a board to move as he pleased, including her... But wasn't that what she had done now? Although she had been aided by beneficial situations, she had to admit that there was some manipulation behind her every action, sometimes too subtle for her to realize at the time. Perhaps she was not much different from her father after everything. She didn't know whether to feel disgusted or proud with those.

I have to win one game at a time.

And with that last thought, she fell asleep.

Chapter Text

VISERYS II

Viserys caressed the obsidian marble on his table. He was doing his best not to fall asleep. He knew that the rest of the Council was in a similar position. Lord Beesbury's reports of taxes, profits, losses, loans, and whatever else, always had that effect. He stroked his gloved hand, noting the empty space of his missing two fingers. There was something about it, about his mysterious illness, that he felt like a divine punishment.
Not that he was complaining, of course. Viserys could not. Aemma's death still woke him at night, drenched in sweat, to find himself alone in an empty bed, remembering the bloody sheets and the woman that had laid on the very pillows his head rested on, and in the same mattress on which his weakened body stretched out, howling.

Aemma. Baelon. Even today he wondered what would have happened if he had made another choice. Would the queen have lived? Would Baelon have been doomed to die? Or perhaps they were both of the Stranger, at the time he had planted his seed in his wife? He couldn't deny it. Guilt was eating him alive, and maybe that was what was reflected in his shattered body. His mind continued to wander, on anything but the words of his Master of Coin.

From one moment to the next, he found himself thinking of the Rogue Prince. The scandal of Daemon's outburst had been great, although none of the nobles had dared to raise their voice against the fact. As much as the king hated his brother's senseless violence, he had to admit that he had had the desired effect. Whatever rumors the prince had spoken of seemed to have vanished as soon as they started. Besides, there was some gratification, terrible as it sounded, to see the prince defend the honor of his unborn child and his wife, even if he had done so for selfish reasons.

If Otto was still my hand, he would has pushed me to get him outcasted...again. Or not? Would he do that to his own daughter?

"Your Majesty ?" Tyland Lannister's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Viserys's eyes widened, as if he had been plunged into a dream, or rather, a nightmare.

"Yes, of course. Lord Beesbury is right..." he stammered, not trying too hard to hide his distraction. The rest of his advisors were probably in the same situation, since Grand Maester Mellos cleared his throat for attention.

"We should let Your Majesty to rest" he said, probably looking to take the opportunity to escape the Lord of Honeyholt and his lulling voice. The rest of the lords nodded with agreement. Viserys dismissed them politely and remained seated until the room was empty save for himself and the Lord of Harrenhal.

Lord Lyonel wore the insignia of the Hand less gracefully and casually than Ser Otto, but thus far, he had proved his worth.

"Any good news from Storm's End?" the king asked with genuine curiosity, though he suspected the answer. His Hand had made no secret of Rhaenyra's actions and his daughter's constant rejection of suitors. He suspected that the news of Lady Alicent's pregnancy would probably only have made her previously defensive stance worse.

"The princess has not yet been able to find a suitor to suit her tastes, Your Majesty," Lord Lyonel said, confirming his fears. Viserys leaned his head back in his chair and sighed. He generally hid his frustrations from the rest of the Court, but not from Lord Lyonel Strong. After so many years of service to the Crown, he considered him almost a friend, the closest adviser he had had since Ser Otto, and the only one he sometimes turned to for more than advice on his reign, ever since Daemon had scorned his attempts to rebuild the shattered bonds of their brotherhood.

"I have…certain concerns, your Majesty. Regarding the princess and the stability of the Realm" the Hand released suddenly, his voice laden with seriousness. Viserys frowned in confusion. Yes, certainly his daughter was a constant source of concern, but he had a feeling that his old friend didn't mean the same thing as him.

"You wish your daughter to marry and produce heirs to secure her claim to the throne," Lord Strong continued. Viserys's brow furrowed further. He suspected where this was headed, and he didn't like it at all. After all, it had been Lord Lyonel himself who had first opposed the idea that Rhaenyra, a woman, would rule after him, the night Otto Hightower had proposed it.

"Of course. Because she is my heir, as I have made clear on several occasions" the king replied with a colder tone than he intended. Lyonel probably noticed it too, because his tone totally changed to one of apologies.
“I do not question your decision, Your Majesty. However, I fear what themarriage and above all, the result of this, can mean for the Crown"

Viserys squeezed his gloved hand under the table. Despite Lord Lyonel's kind tone, he was beginning to feel terribly irritated. After all, what kind of king would let his decisions to be questioned, and above all, one as important as this one?

Gods, if I have to hear one more time that Rhaenyra shouldn't be Queen...

"What exactly do you mean?" he said then, trying to hide the anger that were provoking his words. He did not succeed.

"The risks that the princess would run if she became pregnant in the future, as expected of her, and what it would mean for her reign" Lord Lyonel told him cautiously, but apparently determined. to make his point. Viserys gave him a strange look. Now he was genuinely clueless about this. What the hell was his advisor talking about?

"What's wrong with Rhaenyra mothering children? Isn't that the duty she has as heir princess and she will have as queen, to provide the House of Targaryens with suitable heirs? She will run the same risks that every woman has run since the beginning of time" he said determinedly. Lord Lyonel's statement made no sense, at least to him. Of course, he was aware of the risks of pregnancy, but why would it was that an impediment for Rhaenyra? It was totally absurd.

"I know, my king. Still, we have to accept, Your Majesty, that there's a dangerous precedent," Lord Strong posed with a touch of seriousness.

"A dangerous precedent? Speak your mind, Lyonel, and stop talking with riddles. It's your job after all, to tell me the truth, whatever it is" the king demanded, a little fed up with how long the whole thing was taking.

"The princess Daella Targaryen, your aunt, passed away after giving birth the Queen Aemma Arryn. The queen herself passed away giving birth to your son, Prince Baelon Targaryen, who...unfortunately followed shortly after her. May the Seven have mercy on their souls. Still, the coincidences are obvious. The birthbed is as dangerous for women as the battlefield, and for Princess Rhaenyra especially, considering that the women on her maternal side have all died during labor, or soon after. She is not limited to that. Your Majesty's own mother, Princess Alyssa Targaryen, did so after giving birth to your younger brother."

The statement left him speechless. He had never considered all that, indeed, if he was honest with himself, he had never even put to analyze in detail not a small part of everything that his advisor mentioned.

"Continue" he ordered. Lord Lyonel nodded, apparently pleased that what he said was truly being heard.

"If, gods forbid, Princess Rhaenyra could not bear the arduous labor of childbirth, Your Majesty would be left without heirs apparent.”

Viserys bit his tongue and a flutter of anxiety ran through his chest. He imagined Rhaenyra, in bed, like her mother, surrounded by maesters but unable to care for her, unable of receiving help as her life and that of her child, his grandchild, was slowly drained away.The pain in his heart and the trembling in his body were very real, even though the situation was only happening in his mind.

"It would be a very extreme case" he stated with a hint of nervousness that he had not been there before. The following words of his Hand were calmer, seeking to continue his argument, without hurting the sensibilities of his king.

"Who would be next in line, his Majesty? After the princess?" he asked quietly, almost carefully. Viserys did not immediately reply. He only had one answer, although he didn't want to fully accept it, perhaps because it didn't leave him in a good position. After all, it was supposed to be his duty to foresee these kinds of events.

"I haven't thought about it," he reluctantly admitted. His counselor took a chance and took his shoulder gently, as if he could give him some kind of comfort with that gesture.

That reminded him of Daemon. His brother had always had a kind of fondness for the physical display of affection, even as children. He had told Alicent about it once, how Daemon used to rest his head on his shoulder like it was some kind of reloader.

Strange but familiar. I miss those times...

As if he could read his thoughts, Lord Lyonel then turned his conversation towards him.

"Your Majesty's brother has conceived a son with his wife, but by chance. Will the prince be willing to name this child his heir, despite his contempt for it, as you have told me? Is Daemon even contemplated in the succession, after the loss of his title as heir?"

Viserys ran a hand gently through his long hair, now more platinum than gold, which had clung to his face with sweat. A nervous gesture. The same thought that Otto had given him that day, before disinheriting his brother from his rightful place as his successor after his terrible prank reappeared in his mind.

Daemon's anger is easily provoked and violence always accompanies it. If a man like him had absolute power...

"Lord Corlys has sent another letter, Your Majesty. He has again requested Prince Daemon's presence at the Stepstones. Begged, between the lines. He is losing the war. The Crabfeeder is winning departure," said the Lord of Harrenhal, catching him off guard.

The king looked at him totally disoriented. What he was saying had taken a totally unexpected turn. "What does this have to do with...?"

Lord Lyonel explained. "Your cousin, Princess Rhaenys, and the son of the Sea Snake have dragons, Your Majesty. If Lord Corlys loses the war, or decides to retire, he will not appreciate the lack of aid to his cause. The dragon's blood his children have and his wife will make him more likely to consider himself with certain rights, and few loyalties towards the current crown, especially after the despise that was done to them..." he said clearly, arguing with the truth.

Viserys knew that each of the things he mentioned was completely true, the danger of the Velaryons, as well as their resentment towards him, grew day by day. His refusals to answer the messages they sent to the capital crying out for his command companion only further embittered the Lord of the Tides. However, just as the problem was evident, the solution was highly doubtful.

"You bring up problem after problem, Lyonel. What do you propose to solve them? Do whatever Lord Corlys asks out of fear for my reign? Convince the Stranger not to take Rhaenyra in the birthbed, if she ever finds a husband? What do you suggest, to avoid the tragedy of all these imaginary scenarios you seem so sure of?" he spat with a mixture of resignation, doubt, and irritation. The old friend of his seemed only to add to the burden of his already difficult reign.

Lyonel Strong seemed to take a breath before speaking, as if he was already expecting a conflicted response.

"To the lady Laena Velaryon, Your Majesty."

The suggestion took him completely by surprise. He was silent for a few moments, stupefied. "What?"

His Hand looked at him with caution, despite his obvious bewilderment, which he could quickly turn to anger. "Recent events have changed nothing, Your Majesty. You still need more heirs to secure the throne, and a Queen to provide them, after the cancellation of your latest nuptials. Lady Laena will not only ensure this, but will also reconcile with House Velaryon. Princess Rhaenyra and the Targaryen dynasty would be backed by a clear succession" Lyonel declared with enviable certainty. Viserys remained silently considering what he said. It was true that the dynasty would be much more secure if he had more children, spare heirs, in case Rhaenyra ever went missing. Still, the thought of Lady Laena being his wife made him uncomfortable.

"The child is still too young," the king argued, reminding his Hand of one of the reasons he had refused the betrothal the first time.

"She has turned fifteen, Your Majesty. You could marry her first and bed her until she is sixteen."

Viserys looked at him for a long moment, as if trying to discern the intentions behind his words. Lord Lyonel Strong was Lord of Harrenhal, a vassal of the House Tully, of no relation whatsoever with House Velaryon. What benefit would he get from this? He had been the one who had suggested marrying Lady Laena the first time, after all, arguing that it would be best for the Realm.

"You seem to have been thinking about it for a while, Lyonel. An idea like that doesn't happen overnight," he said in a falsely calm voice. The accusation was subtle, but clear. Despite that, Lord Strong didn't seem overwhelmed by it.

"I don't like to be pessimistic, but you know the precedents. Didn't Your Majesty come to the throne after a series of tragedies within the House of the Dragon? If there hadn't been enough Targaryens then, the throne would have been lost after King Jaehaerys," he declared, continuing to spout unfiltered truths.
That was what the king had liked about him, the sincerity, the seeming lack of ambition beyond his own position. Very different from Ser Otto... Everything he said continued to make him ponder deeply.

Aegon.Daenerys.Aemon. Alyssa.Viserra. Maegelle. Baelon. Daella.Gaemon.Valerion.Gael. How many Targaryens had died before he to the throne? And which of them had been the direct cause for him to do so?

"What about the Stepstones?" he asked suddenly. It was a valid question. Even with a possible betrothal between him and Lady Laena, those damned desolate rocks would still be a point of contention between him and Lord Corlys. The lord of Driftmark would continue his war, there was no doubt about that. Even if that was against the will of his "son-in-law".

"If your betrothal to Lady Laena were formalized, Lord Velaryon would probably settle for a small token of support from Your Majesty in the meantime. Probably a few soldiers. But..." Lord Lyonel mentioned with a bit of doubt in his voice. Viserys looked at his Hand with a questioning look, silently asking him to continue. He nodded, knowing that he probably didn't have a choice.

"But Lord Corlys has been clear. He reckons that Prince Daemon will be the one to make the difference between victory and defeat. Sending him in command of a few troops, along with the marriage proposal, would completely erase any grudge House Velaryon could hold against their king."

Viserys closed his eyes and sighed heavily. When he seemed close to a solution, it was just raising a new problem. His brother was no longer a young lad who could go looking for adventures out there, sword in hand, without fear of the consequences. He was to be a father soon.

If I tell Daemon he's needed in the war, he'll take Caraxes and leave without hesitation. Lady Alicent would never forgive me.

Still, the options seemed few. He once again faced powerful dilemmas, the responsibilities of a king.

"I…I'll think about what you've told me, Lyonel. About marriage and the war," he finally declared himself. Lord Lyonel smiled kindly.

"Of course, Your Majesty. I only wish the best for the Realm. You know that."

Oh, of course he did. That was what made Lord Lyonel so hard to hate. The man was doing his duty, as it should be. If that wasn't to his liking…well, that was his problem. The Lord of Harrenhal left the room and left him on his own again. For a moment he wished he could just show up at Storm's End and talk to his daughter, directly, face to face.

Oh gods. I named Rhaenyra heir out of love, but haven't I given her a heavier burden?

Perhaps Lord Lyonel was right. Perhaps with more children the throne would be more secure. He hated the idea of the princess suffering the same fate as her mother, forced by her duty to bear an heir. She would of course have to, eventually, and now the thought terrified him. But he couldn't let fear render him unable to act. Love and duty. He owed his subjects the security of the dynasty, the knowledge that there would be an heir, come what may. As much as he loved Rhaenyra, the need for more children was clear. Wasn't that what was expected of a king, to put the welfare of his people before his own selfish desires?

It doesn't matter. Regardless, she would still be my heir. This would only be support, security for the people.

He got up from the chair, a slight bleed coming from his nose. His Majesty wasn't sure of anything yet, but something was true; Lyonel Strong had planted the seed of doubt in his mind.

He is not Otto. His words are sincere. Maybe I should start thinking about the future, instead of the past. Making sure the Targaryen dynasty prevails, no matter what.

He patted the blood from his nose with a cloth handkerchief and walked back to his chambers. He would probably cancel his meeting with Lady Alicent that afternoon. He needed to rest, to be able to think with a clearer mind. The decision was before him. He just had to take it.

Chapter Text

RHAENYRA II

Rhaenyra walked down the long hallway, listening to the sound of heavy rain beating against the rock. It was something she had been aware of since the day she had arrived. While she was used to the sunny and sometimes a bit scorching climate of King's Landing, there was rarely any sun here and rain was the daily fare. Storm's End was not even like Dragonstone. Where the ancestral Targaryen stronghold was hot and dry, the Baratheon home was wet and cold. Of course, she knew that she couldn't expect anything more from a place called Stormlands, but at least she would have wanted something to be just…dry. The princess continued down the corridor, lit by languid torches. At least the water didn't seep through the rock, it would have been terrible to walk through a place like that without any light, a truly scary cave. She finally got to her room. Ser Criston, who always followed her like a shadow, opened the door and stood beside her as he closed it. Rhaenyra sighed and flung herself onto the bed. Her dislike for the place where she was she kept it to herself, since her faithful knight did not share her disdain, perhaps because he had grown up here, in these lands.

Sometimes I wonder if Ser Criston likes it here, if he misses his home. Blackhaven, the Dondarrions... .

She definitely missed the Red Keep, the warm sea breeze, the quiet gardens, the bustle of the city... come on, even the awful smell of the most infamous parts of Flea Bottom was preferable to her to this desolate castle. But it wasn't just the home of the ancient Storm Kings that brought her such bitterness. No. Her irritation came mainly from events throughout the day, just like the one before, and the one before that. Old men closer in age to Jaehaerys himself and younger than Laena Velaryon herself appeared daily as she, sitting on the stone seat of the Lord of Storm's End, listened to their proposals. From Dornishmen of the Marches to Northmen of Moat Cailin, a few Lysene and even a Pentoshi prince had come forward to ask for her hand. Still, she knew that no one was there for her, fot the real her.

A crown and Valyrian blood for their children. That is what they are looking for. .

She sat on the soft mattress and opened one of the drawers next to her bed, where she took out a small chest. She opened it carefully, to take out the Valyrian steel necklace that her uncle had given her so long ago. She caressed the cold metal, which gave her a strange feeling of warmth instead. But that was not the only thing kept there. Rhaenyra took out the envelope, with the broken seal of the Hand of the King, and she gently opened it. The first time she'd done it, she'd thought of burning that letter, as if the news in it could turn to ash like the paper. In the end she hadn't. She had a strange sense of apprehension with it. The thought of a Daemon having a child filled her with bitterness and misery. The idea of Alicent being pregnant…that was the real problem, that of which she still did not know exactly what to think, what to feel.

How many times had they joked about that, lying under the heart tree, in better days?

"My children will be friends with your children" she had said to her that day, after a long silence. They were supposed to be studying something about the Age of Heroes on their septa's orders, but she had flatly refused and after a few failed attempts to convince her, Alicent had given up. Her statement had surprised her best friend, that she had laughed.

"For that you need a husband first" she had answered so obviously.

"Not necessarily" Rhaenyra had countered, always amused by shocking her friend. That time, she had gotten the expected reaction from her when Alicent had gaped at her and lightly patted her shoulder.

"Rhaenyra!"

"You get scandalized by little things. I'll get married first and have children later, if that's what worries you, prude" she had replied with a mocking tone. Alicent had never been offended when she called her a prude, or a puritan. She knew it was true.

She had been raised differently from Rhaenyra. Where Ser Otto Hightower had instilled in Alicent a powerful devotion in the Seven, her uncle had taught the princess an utter irreverence against the holiest.

"And who would dare tame the dragon? Who would be brave enough to take you as his wife, Rhaenyra?" the Hightower girl had asked sardonically. Rhaenyra hadn't doubted it for a second. There was only one correct answer to that question. She had always known.

"My uncle, of course. Daemon and I were born for each other" she had stated with certainty. And it had been true. She had admired him as a child and it had grown with her into something else. Alicent had laughed, of course, that merry laugh that had been so
familiar to her at the time.

"Why am I surprised? You Targaryens and your... queer customs."

She had been silent for a moment, as if considering her words. The next thing she had said was much more serious.

"Would the king allow such a union?"

Rhaenyra had frowned at that. Young and naive, she had never stopped to think about her father's opinion on the matter. In the end, she had always assumed that she would marry the Rogue Prince, after all, what better candidate was there for her than the then, only heir to the king?

"Why not? Daemon is a man of Valyrian blood and a dragon rider. And we love each other" she had said with conviction, thinking then that all that would be enough. Alicent had reminded her of the main obstacle of that time.

"Your uncle is married, Rhaenyra"

Rhaenyra had snorted tiredly. Of course. In those days it was easy to forget about Lady Rhea Royce. Daemon didn't even visit the Vale, and no one dared speak of his then-wife for fear of unleashing his wrath.

"Aegon took two wives, didn't he?" Rhaenyra had said with conviction.

Didn't her uncle often talk to her about how different dragonlords were from other men? How Valyrian blood exempted them from the fears of the gods lesser men possesed?

"Perhaps your mother will give your father a son, and you'll end up marrying your brother. That would be tragically funny" Alicent had said with an amused tone. Even Rhaenyra couldn't help but smile at her friend's mockery.

"If that happens, your father is more likely to convince mine to marry that child to you. Can you imagine it? We would be sisters finally. Family" she had joked and they had both laughed, dreaming together of things that would not happen in the end, of a friendship that would end in a short time.

Family. The word tasted bitter in her mouth. It was true, Alicent had been the closest that she ever had to a sister.

Together since childhood, they had grown into young women separated only by blood. In the end, none of the things they had imagined on that spring afternoon had come to pass. Baelon, the brother her mother had been expecting then had died. Aemma had died giving birth to him. Alicent had stabbed her in the back, with moves that had worked out for her in the end, she had not married Viserys, as her father had wished, but a dragon was a dragon. Daemon was all she had left. And now even he didn't really belong to her. The princess put the letter back in the envelope, and closed the chest, holding it to her chest. She lay back on the bed. heavily and closed her eyes.
For a moment, she wished with all her strength to go back to that sunset, to feel the leaves of the trees and the warm wet grass under her body, that Alicent laughed with her, that Daemon was hers, that her father scolded her for something as simple as not to change her ridding clothes, for her mother to take her hand in hers and caress her hair like when she was a child.

Dreams, blurred memories that will never return. .

Her eyes filled with tears and she sobbed silently, another part of her nightly routine. She looked out the window, seeing the almost black clouds that were coming over the bay. Even the sky was terrible here. She missed Syrax.
Her father had forbidden her to bring her dragon, probably fearing her to run away, though he had disguised it as a fair precaution. "Where would such a large beast have shelter?" he had told her.
Rhaenyra summoned all of her remaining strength to shed her clothing, slip into her nightgown, and wrap herself between the sheets. She looked at the ceiling, as she did every night. The princess felt that she was sinking more and more in that desolate feeling, of slowly drowning. In sadness? in pain? In nostalgia? She was not sure. She only knew that there were times when just getting out of bed represented such an effort as she supposed a soldier would feel before entering the battlefield. The energy, the desire, all that had left her long ago. It was all done automatically, an endless cycle of repetitive actions. Was this her life now? The lightning, the sound of thunder and the rough seas were the last things she heard before falling asleep. With her eyes closed, she could imagine that the noise was the roar of a dragon.

The next day, she followed the usual routine, dressing with the help of the maids, breakfasting with Lord Boremund Baratheon in the Great Hall at Storm's End, and sitting back in the carved stone seat, while a long line of new suitors patiently awaited her arrival. One by one, the men of that day passed by. A Mallister, a Rosby, a Frey, a Manderly...or was him a Mormont? By the time a dozen of pompous lords, knights, and princes had passed, Rhaenyra was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. At the beginning of this tortuous torment she used to whisper to Ser Criston, criticizing each of the males who sought her hand with a sharp tongue. Now even that had lost its meaning. She had long since stopped finding fun in anything. The Lord who was speaking now was a grizzled and elderly man, probably much older than the king himself, like some of the suitors who had come forward. Lord Dondarrion, Lord of Blackhaven, the castle where Ser Criston Cole had been raised and taught to fight with sword and flail. In another situation, perhaps the story the old man was telling would have seemed entertaining. Right now, though, he made her wish she hadn't left the comfort of her chambers that morning.

I'm seventeen. He must have how many? Sixty? Seventy? And he's drooling over me. It's truly disturbing. .

The princess brought her hand to her neck, caressing the metal that was warm from the constant contact with her skin. She had decided to use Daemon's gift today, longing for that familiar comfort. She would need it, apparently.

If Daemon was here, seeing this, he would have impaled this old man with Darksister at the moment when he thought I would gladly share my bed with him. .

"The wall Blackhaven are unsalable vassalstone. And the castle is sorrounded by a deep dry moat. It is well fortified against any future Dornish excursions and though my sit may be lesser in size, it is situated most pleasingly..."

The Lord cleared his throat and walked slowly to pour himself a glass of wine. The princess and Ser Criston exchanged mutually fed up glances, while the old man returned to his place, to continue his tedious speech.

"The view across the Marches is inspiring, so said Queen Alyssane herself when she honored my father and I..."

Rhaenyra couldn't take it anymore. If she kept listening to this old man trying to convince her to marry him, she'd probably scream, or cry, or both. She felt like thousands of needles were going through her head.

"And tell me, Lord Dondarrion, did you think my great grandmother as beautiful as they say?" she asked him with a tone of feigned innocence, with her most sweet voice.

"This was half a century ago, Princess" he replied, confused.

"Yes, it was," Rhaenyra replied with a faked mock-sneering tone. The room was filled with laughter from the rest of the males present and the Lord of Blackhaven flushed red, with anger or embarrassment.

"That was unseemly, Princess" Lord Boremund commented disapprovingly. Rhaenyra did not back down. Clearly Lord Baratheon did not understand how unsettling the prospect of an old man wanting to bed her was.

"The man is older than my father. It's unseemly for him to put himself forward as a contender for my hand" she defended, still using a relatively calm tone. Despite everything, the Lord of Storm's End had been kind to her.

"Next!" her host demanded. The old man withdrew, muttering something, and the next suitor stepped forward. Rhaenyra looked at Ser Criston in disbelief. The boy in front of her could not exceed twelve years.

"And now a child" she whispered, more for her than for her companions. Lord Boremund glared at her as her father would have done, and it made her feel rather small.

"The Blackwoods are an ancient house with a formidable army. In the Riverlands they once ruled as Kings. The blood of the First Men still runs in their veins" he said with a firm voice, but seemed to notice her discomfort, since he smiled at the end with kindness. Rhaenyra did her best to return his smile, though she wasn't feeling any joy at all. She bit down hard on her cheek, until the metallic taste of her own blood seemed to bring her some peace to continue facing what was following.

"Go on," Boremund ordered. The boy stood up firmly, as if he wanted to appear larger. His voice was surprisingly confident, and though he hesitated at first, he continued without a problem.

"My princess...ours is a bond that has long endured, since Lucas Blackwood, the grandsire of my grandsire..."

Rhaenyra knew the boy was still speaking, but her mind didn't register the words. She looked at the huge hall above her. This one must be hundreds, or perhaps thousands of years old, though not all of them under Baratheon rule. She wondered what Argella Durrandon had thought, after marrying Orys Baratheon during the conquest, a stranger and a murderer in her bed, fathering heirs with her. Had her old home been turned into a prison now? Did the walls of Storm's End know more female tragedies than she could imagine? More tragical disgraced marriages?

Finally, the noise of drawn swords jerked her back to the present. Lord Bracken's son, a stocky, tall boy, and the much smaller, skinnier Blackwood boy, were circling, looking to attack each other.

"We're leaving," Rhaenyra said in as authoritative a tone as she could manage to find and she got up from her seat. Lord Baratheon seemed to doubt for a moment, but in the end he made no attempt to stop her as she moved down the hall, her back to the fight. She took a few steps when a scream echoed through the huge room and a wet sound accompanied it. Rhaenyra turned just to see the Blackwood boy impaling the Bracken heir with his sword, blood and probably some of his organs dangling as he crumpled to the ground. It took all of her willpower not to vomit right then and there.

"Don't look, Princess" Ser Criston said concerned and moved in front of her, blocking her view as he continued to move with her. Her footsteps were so quick that the knight had to run to keep up with her and when she stopped, he was panting.

"Princess?" he asked concerned. Rhaenyra didn't reply. Her stomach was churning, her head was throbbing, she wanted to throw herself into a fetal position and cry, to hit the stone walls until her fists bled, to feel something more than this constant emptiness that had taken over her these last few weeks.

"Send word to the harbor and have Captain Oswin ready the ship," she said with a trembling voice. Ser Criston looked at her nervously.

"Princess, we're due in Bitterbridge in three days' time" the knight murmured, assuming she had forgotten. Rhaenyra shook her head vigorously and took Cole's hands in hers, a risky but forceful gesture.

"Please, Ser Criston. I'm on the brink of madness. I can't sleep, I feel like these walls are suffocating me, I don't know how much more I can take like this..." she said, not caring how desperate her voice sounded. A princess, least of all a Targaryen princess, heir to the Seven Kingdoms should never beg like that. But she had already passed whatever limit her dignity demanded of her. She needed to make her sworn protector understand the seriousness of the matter, why she should return as soon as possible to the only home she had ever known.

"Departure preparations will be ready in at least one moon, Princess," Ser Criston finally relented. "I'll do my best to rush them more."

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to say something, words of thanks, a look of joy, whatever, but she made no sound. Cole squeezed her hands gently, still held by the princess, and she knew he understood. The knight escorted her to her room and left her there again. Rhaenyra flung herself onto the bed, her hands clutching at her uncle's necklace as if her life depended on it.

I'm coming back home. By the gods, I'm finally coming home. .

She knew her father would be furious. But her fear of this was too small compared to the immense relief she felt. She was too exhausted and too dry to cry. She stared at the door, her eyes lost. She imagined looking through it, seeing Ser Criston looking for the captain, Lord Boremund still trying to calm things down among the men, and she could even imagine looking beyond the Stormlands, beyond the rivers and forests, to the Red Keep, towards her uncle. What would Daemon do in her absence? Would he miss her as much as she did? A part of her, the selfish one, longed for it to be so. The part that loved him longed for the opposite. No. Her uncle didn't deserve that. She wished that he wouldn't spend sleepless nights like her, that he wouldn't cry himself to sleep, that he wouldn't spend every minute reminiscing about the past, imagining a non-existent future, wishing for what never was...

At least I'll see him. At least I will have him in front of me again and I will know that it is real and not an invention of my mind trying to put me out of this misery. .

That night, when she slept soundly, the Valyrian steel still rested on her chest and a name escaped her lips, probably from her dreams.

"Daemon".

Chapter Text

DAEMON IV

Daemon felt the warm breeze of the afternoon hit his face. He walked slowly, not accustomed to the sensation of his wife's arm wrapped around his while they walked through the gardens. Alicent had expected him to show some initiative regarding their days together. Yet, this suggestion had been hers, not his. They usually made this kind of things now. Public displays as the married couple they were, to prevent any future rumors about them.
His wife hadn't questioned him again about anything about the night he had maimed Ser Swann. Any questions about the kiss would have amused him, but he knew that Alicent was smarter than that, than to let herself look defeated. No. What he had expected, though, was a questioning about how he had obtained the gossip's identity.
It hadn't been an easy task, of course. When he had found out about the rumors, he had spent a lot of time trying to make his own investigations. But the rat had been more slippery than he had first thought. That had led him to take…extreme measures.

The prince had wandered deep into Flea Bottom, places where even gold cloaks weren't be comfortable visiting. He had finally reached the gloomy slum. A couple of children had gone before him, entering the place, thus verifying his suspicions. When he'd finally found himself inside, he hadn't been surprised by the female voice that had come from the shadows.
"Daemon."
He hadn't even had to turn to see her. The Rogue Prince had recognized her voice, so familiar to him. The voice that used to call out his name in the past many times. Sometimes seriously. Sometimes ecstatic.
"Mysaria."
Her name had left his lips with a flat tone. The woman had emerged from the darkness, illuminated by the dim light of spent candles. An off-white gown graced her voluptuous body, the one Daemon had claimed not a long time ago.
"I did not expect to see you here. It is an honor to have the Lord Commander of the City Watch in our humble abode" she had said, using a serious, emotionless tone of voice. She had poured a glass of wine and offered it to him. He had rejected it, without concern for his lack of politeness.
"I'm not here for a friendly meeting" he had said to her with a cold tone. Mysaria had removed the wine glass immediately, bringing it to her own lips. They had sat across from each other, on old wooden furniture eaten away by moths and termites. Her gaze had been defiant, cunning.
"I have not given you my congratulations. I suppose Lady Alicent Hightower makes a good wife" she had said to him in a gentle, almost sweet voice. The first provocation He had been waiting for it. Mysaria would not pass up the opportunity to test his nerves. So Daemon had remained silent, immovable as a rock. The prince hadn't thought to give her the satisfaction of seeing him lose his temper. The disappointment hadn't shown on her face, though it had shown in her conversation. She had seemed to be trying hard to get a reaction out of him.
"You don't frequent brothels as often as you used to, my prince. Has marriage appeased your appetites? Or is there a shortage of whores with platinum-golden hair? I thought the pimps of King's Landing were trying to keep one at least, to satisfy the special tastes of their Prince" she had asked with such a gentle tone that he had almost been able to hear the caress in her words. Or rather, the slap.
It had nearly thrown him out of control, the image of Rhaenyra flashing through his mind. There had been a time when Mysaria was the only one who had known about his passion for his niece, and her talk had been an obvious mockery of it. He had clenched Darksister's hilt, so hard that his knuckles had turned white.

I have maimed men for much lesser insults. But not Mysaria.

"The details of my carnal desires are of no interest to you" he had said almost scornfully. His former lover had gotten up then, walking until she was behind him. His body had tensed with alertness, but he had managed to remain composed, not moving an inch as her arms wrapped around his neck, her breasts pressing against his back, resting her head on his shoulder.
"I heard that you managed to get your Lady Hightower pregnant. Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?" she had whispered, almost like a purring, her warm breath caressing his ear. Before, that would have been enough to make him lose his mind, to make him push her against the wall and take her hard, to make her pay for her taunts. At the time, however, the sensation hadn't even made him blink. Not the slightest tremor of lust had run through his body. Strange.

There must be something wrong in me. I'm behaving almost like...a decent man.

"For a dragon" he had answered simply, as if the answer had been obvious. Mysaria's lips had curved into a predatory smile. Her arms had clung to his neck more tightly, her cheek had pressed against his, feeling the warm contact of her soft skin.

"Typical. Do you remember when you thought you wanted me to carry your child?" she had whispered again with the same melodious voice. Still, he made out the poison in it.

"You have a hint of Valyrian blood in you" he had answered with a voice as cold as ice. She had laughed, a laugh that before would have seemed seductive, but now it had sounded almost menacing.

"Oh, and I believed that it had been my charming what you liked"

Her lips had hovered over his and he had felt heat emanating from them. Daemon had been about to give in to his primal urges, but for some reason, when her mouth was inches away, he remembered defiant eyes fixed on his, now violet, now brown, and soft hair tangling around his fingers, now platinum gold, now reddish brown...

Mysaria's arms had felt then like a snake wrapped around his neck, ready to suffocate him, and he had felt the urge to break free of her death grip. He hadn't had to resort to that. Mysaria had released him, an amused smile on her face, as if she had proved a point. Which? He had no idea. The lyseny had always kept her games to herself.

"Why are you here, Daemon?" she had asked, sitting back in the chair. The Rogue Prince had felt uncomfortable, like some kind of animal being scrupulously watched without knowing the purpose of it.
Still, he had felt his blood boil in his veins.

"You sold me to Otto Hightower" he had said furiously, the accusation crystal clear. Mysaria had smiled again, like a child caught up in mischief.

"Did I?" It had irritated him more than he would have dared to admit. Still, he had swallowed the burning sensation in his throat. He had already revealed too many emotions that night.

"The absence of clues it's a clue itself. I know how good you are at covering your tracks" he had spat. And it had been partly true. Although he had been suspicious of the lack of witnesses, the boy had been the key to finding out. Only Mysaria had cared for the brats of Flea Bottom, even before he took her with him, that time he had dared to steal a dragon egg.

"Work is work, Daemon. The children of Flea Bottom need my protection, and I can't give it to them without major expenses" Mysaria had answered, and for the first time in their whole conversation, he had heard sincerity in her.

"Treason is treason, no matter why you did it" he had hissed, taking out Darksister's blade slightly. She had stared at him blankly, no trace of fear in her eyes.

"Did you come all the way here just to tell me how much it hurted you? Do you expect apologies, my prince?" The condescending tone. It would be poorly concealed. But he hadn't been able to blame her entirely, of course. After all, he had been the one who had left her alone in King's Landing, after the failure of Dragonstone. He had left her sulking and spiteful, but had put her in danger just to sate his own ego. He hadn't expected friendship from her, though he hadn't expected a stab in the back either. His grip on the sword had tightened and for a moment he was about to unravel it completely. However, he hadn't. Daemon had reminded himself, the purpose of his presence in such an unattractive place.

"There are rumors in the Red Keep. Concerning my wife and my... child" he had confessed with a certain... hesitation. That had bothered him. He had never been a man with such insecurities. Mysaria had let out a contemptuous laugh.

"And what interest do you have in it? As far as I know, you don't even share her bed. And with someone with your... desires, that is great contempt."

He had clenched his jaw, denying her the pleasure of an answer. The confirmation that she had spies inside the Red Keep itself had left him feeling unpleasant, although he had already suspected it. The prince had always known that in the walls of his home, there were dozens of ears for different masters. That time, however, he had hoped that it would work in his favor.

"I want to know who started them. They damage my reputation, my image"

Mysaria had risen from her chair again, looking down at him now, as if she needed to make it clear to him who was the one with the power there.

"And what will I get in return?" she had asked herself arrogantly. Daemon had also risen from his own sit, drawing his Valyrian steel and pressing it lightly against her chest.

"I won't kill you for what you did"

Mysaria had had an enigmatic look, caressing the cold metal with calm fingers. "Oh, Daemon. You're smarter than this, than thinking about threatening me. What I did was just for work, and look what happened. Can you imagine making me your enemy?”

The words had been sweet and yet, the implication would have made any man cringe. Daemon, instead, had simply reholstered Darksister and had pulled a pouch from his belt, tossing it onto the table. The metallic sound of the gold dragons had echoed throughout the room. He had come there for help, not to make a new enemy. Mysaria had taken the bag and weighed it in her hands.

"Oh no. It will be twice this" she had finally said, gently setting it back on the table. Daemon had frowned, though in the end he had handed her another bag.

"Have you raised your quota? You were never cheap, but this is ridiculous"
Mysaria had let out another mocking laugh, while she passed the bags to a boy who ran with them deeper into the darkness of that place.

"No. It's easier to please a man than to get information from him. You should know it. It used to be very easy to please you, my prince. Now it seems that you have gotten... demanding"

"Am I demanding just because I'm not doing it with you as you intended to?" he had said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Well..." she had said, bringing her hand up to his face to caress it, but Daemon had grabbed her wrist, an unconscious reflex that had surprised even him. He had released her almost immediately, as if her hand was red-hot metal in his.

"I expect you to fulfill your part of the deal" he had said, before putting on his hood and starting the return trip.

She had fulfilled her promise, after all. Mysaria was not one to pass up an opportunity if it was beneficial to her. It hadn't been half a moon before she'd given him the information he needed. Ser Swann had been punished and now he regularly sent a few gold dragons from time to time with the boys and girls of Flea Bottom. "The White Worm," as he had discovered she called herself in the gloomiest parts of King's Landing, now worked for him, as it had for Otto Hightower. And he was discovering the wonders of it.

Another light blizzard hit his face just in time to regain some kind of attention, as his wife chose that moment to speak, probably made uncomfortable by the long silence.

"I think that the gardens are my only source of peace in the Red Keep. I like being here, among the trees, flowers, and birds...not locked inside rooms" Alicent spoke softly, with a calm smile on her face. He nodded, not knowing what to say about that. Words came quickly to his mind when it came to teasing, or taunting. But in a common conversation with his wife, his mind always went blank.

"Do you not wish to speak, husband"? she said still walking next to him, probably finding a little annoying that they have been walking without him saying a single word. But, she did not seem to want to force him into speaking.

"Well..." he started to say, but again, words failed him. It was as if he didn't know what to say. He had been married to her for how long? Five, six moons now? Still, he knew little about her, making a topic of conversation a difficult task.

"Is it so hard to talk to your own wife?" Alicent asked suddenly sounding a bit pissed off. Daemon bit his tongue to prevent any amused sound to leave his mouth. He had noticed that, as Alicent's pregnancy advanced, she was usually the victim of more and more mood changes and emotional rushes. While he was pretty sure he would have a blast teasing her, he knew that taunting his pregnant wife probably wouldn't help maintain the image of a peaceful marriage they were trying to put on. He mentally ran through ideas in his head, until he seemed to find one that he thought would please his wife.

"How have you been feeling? With your... pregnancy and that stuff" he murmured. Alicent seemed to calm down a bit when he finally decided to ask her something. Her facial expression even seemed to soften... or that was what he thought.

"My pregnancy has been fine. I am a bit tired and exhausted and my body has been...a little uncomfortable to handle, at times.But I am feeling well" she said softly. He could see a glimpse in her eyes as she spoke, so he decided not to interrupt her. Either way, he didn't know if he would find something else to talk about once she fell silent.
"...There are things that I enjoy about it" she continued as she chuckled a bit. "My belly hurts a bit though, so I hope that the child is not in a hurry to be born. Talking about that..." she told him as she grabbed his hand unexpectedly.

"What are you...?" he started to say, before she placed it on her swollen belly.

"Can you feel it?" she asked him with an excited voice. Daemon gave her a confused, still reluctant look…which turned to surprise, when he actually felt a slight bump.

"I…yes, I can feel it" he whispered. He hadn't felt a baby kick since his mother was pregnant with his brother Aegon, before the tragedy. After her, the only woman of his family he had seen in the same state had been Aemma when she was expecting Rhaenyra. Viserys used to insist him to feel his future nephew or niece, but the prince and his sister-in-law had never gotten along and touching her like that would have been awkward for both of them.
Not that with Alicent was any less strange. There was a level of intimacy in this that had him…intrigued. Even the way his wife had taken his hand so that he could feel the child reminded him of their wedding night, when she had done the same to place his hand on her waist in a moment of doubt. Both times the feeling that had followed it had been…weird. But he couldn't keep thinking about it, since the infant's movements distracted him again, feeling his wife's hand on his, pressing slightly.

"Is my imagination or it is kicking harder?" he said, still a little shocked. Alicent smiled sweetly.

"Maybe he feels his father. I'm sure that he has got your bad temper, my lord husband" she said with a bit of amusement and teasing. He frowned as he looked at her.

"He?" he asked carefully, curious.

"Im sure it's a boy" she whispered. Daemon was surprised to see the smile on his wife's face. She seemed genuinely happy, something he didn't expect from her. For some reason, he didn't want to break that. Instead, he tried to keep the conversation.

"It seems the little lad is already causing you some trouble" he said trying to joke. He felt awkward, but he couldn't make anything else.

"Īlva zaldrītsos" she whispered. Daemon heard the phrase and the meaning of the words sounded somehow right in his head.

Our little dragon.

Then, it hit him. He raised his eyebrows with surprise, impressed, even if he would never admit it. "Valyrian?"

Alicent smiled at him, as if she was glad to seem him in such a surprised state.

"I still have to learn how to speak it properly. The king has given me some books and he said that we could practice later. Maybe I will have learned it properly by the time that the child in my belly is born." Alicent's voice was hopeful, and she paused for a moment. "I want to teach him. Is part of his Targaryen heritage.”

A heritage that I didn't want to give him.

He opened his mouth to keep talking, but suddenly, a maiden arrived, looking hurried.

"My prince" she said, bowing slightly before him and then she handed him a letter. He took it, Alicent's confused gaze fixed on him and watched as the servant girl walked away from them.
One of Mysaria's spies.
The lyseny had confirmed to him not long ago something that he already suspected: that His Majesty had blocked many of the letters that he was supposed to receive, surely an extreme way to avoid any hasty action, such as trying to escape, like when he alerted the guardians of dragons so that he could not see Caraxes too. The latter had continued to be successful, at least, although the Rogue Prince knew many secret passages, that had not turned out to be an advantage, since his brother did too, after all, both of them had discovered and explored them together, when they were children. But while Mysaria could do little about his dragon, she had been able to act about the letters.

"The servants always arrive long before the maesters and observe long enough to learn which raven comes from where, even if they can't read" the White Worm had told him and she had been right.
He had been receiving communication from the outside world for about a week, letters from Lord Corlys, mainly, but also from a couple of loyal soldiers who accompanied the lord of the tides on the Stepstones. This seemed to be one of these. Still under Alicent's scrutinizing gaze, who didn't ask what that was, but didn't stop looking at him intently either, he opened the small parchment and read it. His face, which was usually pretty good at hiding emotion, at least in the Red Keep, tightened and he frowned. Even his wife seemed to notice the sudden change, as she looked at him with a mixture of confusion and concern.

"Is everything alright my lord husband?" she asked, taking his arm again, perhaps still attempting a reassuring gesture. Daemon called a maiden, still without answering his wife.

"Accompany the Lady Alicent on her walk through the gardens and take her back to her chambers whenever she wishes" he commanded in a serious voice. The woman nodded eagerly, but Alicent's hold on him only tightened.

"What is happening? Is everything okay?" she asked with a more worried voice. He took her hand from his arm, getting free from her grip, but squeezed her hand slightly, as an attempt to reassure her or at least he hoped that the maiden and anyone else near would see it that way.

He walked back to the Red Keep, pacing the halls with quick and furious steps. Finally he reached his destination. His brother's chambers. He had avoided that place on purpose, punishing Viserys with his indifference for all the offenses he had inflicted on him. However, the matter was much more urgent and important than a simple family dispute.

"Let me in" he told the guard that was posted at the door. He, however, remained motionless.

"I can't, my prince. You're here unannounced and His Majesty is busy" Ser Harrold replied seriously. For a moment, he felt the urge to grab Ser Harrold by the collar of his armor and throw him aside, but he knew that would gain him nothing. After all, whitecloaks were the best warriors in the Realm.

"It is an important matter that the King himself has to know. Let me in, or you'll be guilty if this information reaches my brother's ears too late" he said with a bit of irritation in his voice, while he he held up the small scroll. The knight seemed to think about it for a moment, but finally opened the door.

"The Prince Daemon Targaryen" he announced in a deep voice. Viserys and Lord Lyonel Strong looked at him in surprise.

"My prince" the Hand greeted him, as his brother stood up from his chair.

"Brother, what a surprise? What are you...?" Daemon cut him off immediately, placing the letter in front of him.

"Since when has Lord Corlys requested my presence at the Stepstones?" he asked him bluntly. The king and Lord Strong exchanged glances.

"How do you know...?" he started again to ask his brother, but again, he didn't give her a chance to finish.

"Since when is the war being lost? Since when are you hiding it from me?" he retorted again in a voice laden with ill-concealed fury. Viserys seemed surprised at his rudeness. Still, he remained stoic.

"A king doesn't have to explain himself" he said simply. He looked at the scroll on the table, still not reading it. Daemon knew what was going through his head, probably more concerned with how the Rogue Prince had managed to get past his relentless information block than the contents of the piece of paper, so before he could begin any pointless questioning, he gave it out.

"One of my loyalists sent me this. The Lady Laena Velaryon has claimed Vhagar, and she now fights alongside her dragon in her father's war" he said seriously. His brother read the paper and his face changed to one of concern, as he handed it to his Hand, who also seemed uneasy.

He knew that Viserys could sometimes have little understanding of certain matters, but he wasn't that stupid either. He understood the meaning behind those news. The Velaryons had three dragons now, among them the largest dragon in the World. House Targaryen only had two, which would be no match for their counterparts. If Lord Corlys's gaze strayed to King's Landing...

"I will make the preparations. You will leave as soon as possible for the Stepstones, with some soldiers to support the Lord of Driftmark in the war that both started" the king finally said, with a hint of bitterness in his voice, as if he wanted to remind him that this was in part his fault. Daemon didn't even show annoyance.

"How long?" he asked, ignoring the provocation.

"The troops will take at least a week to assemble. You, however..." his brother muttered, unsure. Demon nodded. He knew what he meant. Dragons traveled faster than any ship or horse. The sooner he could meet with Lord Corlys, the better.

The prince hurried out of the room, thinking of all the things he should prepare. Leaving a golden cloak as provisional Lord Commander, readying his armor and Darksister, going to the Dragonpit at last to prepare Caraxes for the journey... He felt elated. He had missed the fire of battle, the sound of swords clashing around him.The military commander in him saw the opportunity to gain glory.

Daemon passed a huge window and stopped, watching his wife walk silently through the gardens accompanied by the maiden. The pregnancy had brought the best from her. She looked almost...radiant somehow. There was a note of pride in that, but he didn't try to think about it too much. His mood darkened almost as soon as it brightened. Alicent was not going to like all this. He sighed and continued his way, looking for his own chambers. Daemon would have to tell her that night. And it wasn't going to be a good conversation.

Is this what it means to be a husband?

It was...strange. He had grown accustomed to Alicent's presence somehow, maybe with the everyday routines they shared. It would be weird to get away from each other. The moment they shared shortly ago was still on his mind too. Feeling that little movements, knowing that they came from a life he had helped to create... The feeling had been...unusual, at least. Daemon tried to shake off the feeling of her warm hand on his, pressed against her belly, drawing Darksister out and stroking the ruby-studded hilt. The last time he had fought on the Stepstones, the edge had been the same color, crimson red.

I will fight for my glory, and for my House.

For some reason, when he thought about that, the image of Alicent and their unborn child appeared in his mind. Even if he didn't accept it fully, she had became a part of the family, because of the child that she thought would be a boy, because of Viserys' acceptance... For the first time in a while, he asked himself about Rhaenyra's thoughts about this. She would not be very pleased seeing the way Alicent had gained a place on the royal family, even if it still wasn't exactly that of a conventional wife. There was some worries there too. He remembered the day his mother, the princess Alyssa Targaryen got into labor. The screams, the anxious look on his father's face, the blood...

Alicent...he had come to... respect her, somehow. The thought of her passing that alone...

His niece had told him once that it had been the same with Aemma, on the birth of Baelon, or at least that was what her father said to her.
He felt a twinge of guilt as he thought about Rhaenyra again. The princess was surely still alone in Storm's End, without a single letter from him, without any information...she knew about the pregnancy, of course. Surely his brother had made her know. Daemon had never intended to hurt her, but what else he could do?
Alicent. Rhaenyra. He recalled when he used to do whatever he wanted, without worrying about anyone else but him. He missed those days.

No obligations. No stress. Just drinking and whoring. Now my wife, fatherhood, Rhaenyra...gods. everything is gonna kill me before any sword.

He served himself a cup of wine and drank it. The taste was strong for him, as it had never been before. Not even the wine was the same anymore. He looked to the sunset on Blackwater. The next afternoon he would be sleeping in a war camp instead of a comfortable bed. Daemon sighed with frustration pouring the liquid through the window. He needed to prepare himself for whatever would come that night. And it was better to face Alicent sober.

Chapter Text

ALICENT IV

Alicent sat in the comfortable, overstuffed chair in her room, sighing contentedly as she felt the relief of her tired legs finally resting. She hadn't been on her feet for very long, but the swollen belly of a seven-moon pregnancy made any slight walk, any small movement, feel like an enormous effort. She caressed her abdomen tenderly, feeling the restless movements of her son and closed her eyes, trying to relax. Even when she heard the door open and heavy footsteps entering her room, she kept her eyelids closed, enjoying the feeling of relaxation this brought her.

"How was your visit to the maester?" the familiar voice of her father asked. She sighed again and opened her eyes, looking at Ser Otto in front of her.

 "Mellos said that the child feels healthy. He hopes I will have an easy delivery" she replied with a calm voice.

 It was still a bit strange getting used to Ser Otto's presence in the Red Keep again. The king had summoned her father back to court, as company for her, after her lord husband had left to fight his war.

 Guilt can be a powerful weapon.

Although it had been made clear to the former Hand that the reason he had been brought in was merely for support, and that he would not be restored to any position of power, her father had gradually gained some ground. A talk with the maester over there, some comments with Ser Tyland... If the king believed that Ser Otto didn't accumulate a little more power every second he stayed in King's Landing solely because he didn't sit on his Council, he was sorely mistaken.

Her father even held a slight authority over her now, so hidden it would have been imperceptible to anyone, a father's concern for his daughter. But not for her. Alicent recognized small displays of dominance from him, even if they were disguised as sweet talk.

"You shouldn't walk the halls alone. You have the right to have a maid or a guard help you now. You are the wife of a prince" he told her in a calm tone, although the scolding in his voice was obvious. He wanted everyone to know that his daughter held a position within the royal family and it bothered him that she still behaved like Lady Alicent Hightower, the maiden of Oldtown.

"Ser Steffon Darklyn always accompanies me and offers his help, Father, but I decline. I don't like feeling useless" she replied, trying not to let the slight irritation she felt carry through her voice. Not even him was exempt from her sudden outbursts of anger, but she preferred to prevent them from happening. After all, he was still her father.

"How has my grandchild fared?" he asked her, probably also wanting to change the subject. Alicent put her hand on her belly again, her gaze with a mixture of slight discomfort and pure love.

"He is more relentless than usual" she confessed, still feeling the incessant movement of the infant inside her. She could feel it more and more. And he used to be restless.

 "It seems to be in the family. Let's hope he gets more of his mother's side" Ser Otto replied, looking at her with that scrutinizing gaze. He had completely embraced her own believe of her child being a boy. For some reason, he seemed to wish it to be true.

"Yes, let's hope" she said, with some sincerity. Even if Daemon was right and the boy was unable to claim a dragon, if he possessed the indomitable and fierce character of his father it would be a huge headache for everyone

A little dragon, running from one side to another, causing chaos in his path.

 The idea of it made her worry, but she also smiled slightly. The thought had it's charm, she had to accept it, even if it would cause her problems in the future. Her father took a small scroll from his pocket and placed it on the table next to her.

"He has written" he declared with a calm gesture. Alicent looked at the paper, knowing what it was without even opening it. Another letter from Daemon. He had written to her frequently from the Stepstones, for which she was grateful. In a way, it felt more personal, perhaps because his gesture was directed only at her. No person at Court, except probably the king and her own father, of course, knew he did it. There was no intention for his actions to become public, for them to be part of their facade. That was just for her, from him.

Alicent took the piece, unrolling it with firm fingers while her father watched her in silence, asking absolutely nothing. She knew he had already read it backwards and forwards. He always did, even with her own reply letters. Ser Otto had thus successfully prevented until now that the prince found out about his return to the capital. Viserys hadn't informed his brother, probably thinking it was better if Alicent herself wrote to him about it, but her father had prevented that too.

 "Your husband has a lot to worry about on the battlefield. A slight distraction can mean the difference between life and death" he had told her the only time she had intended to send the news and since then, the subject had not come up again. What her husband did not know could not affect him.

"More about little victories and the Crabfeeder retreating to the caves" she said placing the paper back on the table, feeling something, relief perhaps, even though the letter was so bland and emotionless. Certainly, Daemon would never write her passionate letters, with interest and affection. She was too smart to expect that. Still, she treasured them in a certain way, even if they only told details of the many battles he was engaged in. At the end of the day, they contained the most important thing: he was still alive.

Her father had a smile on his face, though she knew his satisfaction came from another reason entirely than her own.

"It's good. If your husband wins at the Stepstones, he'll return a war hero. The Kingdom will celebrate him for that. Daemon will get the support of the Velaryons, and maybe other houses as well. Support for whatever he wants to do."

Alicent did her best to remain silent, even as her opinion was dying to come out of her mouth. Ser Otto's joys always came from facts that he could use to his advantage. The fact that the prince was still whole and healthy was just a plus. The Rogue Prince's great performance in battle greatly helped his plans, whatever they were. She hadn't tried very hard to find out either. If her father was happy for his own selfish reasons, so be it, as long as she could be easy with hers.

 I just want my son to have a father.

Something of her emotions must have shown on her face, for Ser Otto looked at her with piercing eyes and a frown.

"And yet the idea doesn't seem to please you Don't you want your husband to reach higher?" he asked her with a certain touch of disdain, as if he was speaking to a girl who still didn't fully understand the great game around her. Alicent did her best to smile as if she really liked the idea.

"What good wife wouldn't want it?" she whispered, trying to sound convinced. She seemed to please him, at least for that moment.

"The child you carry is blood of his blood. It will make him rethink many things. His legacy, his ... position" he said confidently, with poorly concealed enthusiasm, as if that were irretrievably written and could not be changed. A mistake he would never accept, too proud to realize the flaw in his plan.

 If you think that I have some power over him, you're terribly wrong, Father. Not even my son would be able to tame his father's dragon.

"Rhaenyra is the heir. They all swore obeisance to her. Our House among them" she said then with a more serious voice. He just shrugged.

"An error can be corrected, perhaps in unconventional ways" her father replied with security, his eyes glimpsing with something.

"She will be a good queen" she murmured, not knowing why she insisted to defend a woman who had slightly cared about her since her return from Storm's End. Maybe force of habit. Or the deep-rooted affection, which never completely disappears. Her father smiled, apparently amused by her words.

"It wouldn't matter if she were Jaehaerys himself born again. Rhaenyra is a woman"

"Do you think that my Lord husband will want to steal his niece's rightful place?" she asked him in the calmest voice she could muster. Perhaps her husband would not have hesitated to take someone else's claim to the throne. But not from the princess. Never from her.

 "It's him that's being robbed. The laws of gods and men and the precedent protects his claim. And he has his own ambitions" her father replied equally calmly, as if his words were the absolute truth and not an act of treason. As if he wasn't the same man who had taken that "rightful place" from the prince in the first place. But now the things had changed. Enemies could become friends for Ser Otto Hightower, as long as it served him for his purposes.

She knew Daemon's ambitions very well too. They had always been clear as water.

 Rhaenyra and the Iron Throne. Both. And where would that leave me? That's what my father can't see.

He sat next to her, taking her hand in his, a gesture of endearment to any curious observer, but one of obvious control to her. “Your husband would like to see his blood reach the highest position in the Realm, even if he himself never bears the crown. And after all, His Majesty has certain fond for his nephew, even with that… unfortunate choice of name"

 His warm touch gave her chills. Still, she kept her obedient hand in his. The intention was clear now. The statement was made. It was the child in her womb and not her husband, nor the princess, whom her father imagined sitting on the Iron Throne. He needed the prince, yes, but only because his claim validated his grandson's. The mention of her son's name also brought back memories.

Daemon and the last insult to his brother. She reminded Viserys turning pale when she had informed him, just days after her husband left. Nearly two moons without Daemon felt strange to her, as if the presence of her husband, sarcastic, mocking, but constant, made his absence truly palpable now.

The night he had informed her of his departure had started out almost as normal as any other. After a walk through the gardens and that her husband had suddenly left her in the middle of it, she had continued with her routine. Dinner with the prince had passed normally, with that air of familiarity that had reigned between them. After a particularly interesting conversation about how the king had almost fallen off Balerion the day he first rode him, Alicent had smiled at him with sincere delight.

"When you're like this, I enjoy every bit of your presence, somehow" she had told him and he had smiled slightly, amused and with some disbelief, probably thinking she was joking. She hadn't blamed him for his thoughts or tried to correct him. Not even she had been able to explain that feeling of comfort she felt in his presence. She had thought that perhaps it had been force of habit, or the fact that the blood in his veins now ran in hers for the child they had fathered together. After a long moment of silence, in which they had both eaten quietly, he had looked at her more seriously, blurting out the news with less finesse than he probably should have used.

"I will return to the Stepstones."

 Alicent's eyes had remained wide open in surprise at it. It had been... unexpected. She had known about Daemon's involvement in the conflict, how he and Lord Corlys Velaryon had started it and how the king hated it, when she was still Viserys' betrothed. But since then she had not thought about it. Her husband had returned to King's Landing seeking the inheritance of a woman he had despised until the moment of her death and had ended up married and with an unborn child. In a certain way everything had changed and at the same time nothing. The war continued and it had claimed his presence again.

"Did the King sent you to fight? Or is this a choice from your own?" she had asked him, with a voice as cold as ice. If he had told her that it had been his desire, and his alone, she didn't know what she would have done. But, thank the Seven, that had not been the case.

 "Yes. Viserys himself has commanded me to go back. He will provide me with men and supplies, to have the advantage for once" he had said, not being able to hide the excitement on his voice. It had been clear, that even in these difficult circumstances out of his own choosing, the prince had enjoyed the expectation of battle, of war. He was that, a warrior, a fighter, a dragon who wanted to reduce his enemies to ashes.

Alicent had tried to conceal her fear of him going back to the war, a confused and unpleasant feeling. Fear. About what? From the prospect of becoming a widow? That her son became an orphan even before he was born? Of losing a man who didn't love her but was her husband after all? She hadn't known it then and she still didn't know it now. Grief, sadness, fear, panic, worry. Still, she hadn't allowed herself to cry. In her place, she had tried to appear completely calm.

"I will pray every night to the Mother to watch over you, and to the Warrior, to give your hand and your sword strength"

 To whoever else may listen.

He had appreciated her gesture, something she had silently thanked, knowing the reluctance and lack of faith that her husband had in the gods. That he hadn't commented on it had only made her realize even more the strange closeness between them. Still, her nervousness hadn't left her. Alicent had begun to slide her hands under the table, badly needing the distraction that only her bruised fingers could offer. But she hadn't been able to. As if it had been a predator swooping down on his utterly unsuspecting prey, her husband's hand had darted across the table, catching her wrist in a strong grip, but not enough to hurt her. Strangely comforting. Alicent had felt his gaze pierce through her, menacing and serious.

"No more bloody hands" he had told her in a stern voice. Daemon had taken her by surprise, the fact that he had discovered that terrible habit, and even more, that he wanted to prevent it in some way. She had felt almost as if he had cared. Alicent had nodded sheepishly, still overwhelmed by the feel of his warm, strong hand on hers, and he'd released her from his grasp then, but when he'd started to withdraw, she'd taken it again, placing it between hers as her own father had now done it with his. Daemon had looked at her in confusion, slightly surprised, but the silent pleading in her eyes had made him relent, letting his wife continue to grasp his hand, clinging to him as if the warmth of his skin brought some relief. He had moved his thumb, lightly stroking her palm, his sudden movement, his sudden and unexpected show of affection, small though it was, had made her feel a strange warmth in her chest. She had then entwined her fingers with his and he had allowed it, perhaps as a small apology at the prospect of leaving her alone. That hadn't been a fight between them, neither had had to prove anything then, nor had it been a show, there was no one to see them. It had been their moment, just his and hers.

"When?" she had finally asked, taking his hand tighter when she had heard his answer.

"Two days"

She had known then what it meant. Alicent had believed, or perhaps, hoped, that the King had considered the situation, and he planned to send him away after the birth of their son. It would not be so. A thousand words had passed through her mind and a thousand words had sounded inadequate. What was she supposed to say? Their relationship was strange, if their marriage could be called that. They didn't totally hate each other, that was certain, but they didn't love each other either. They had reached a middle ground, an understanding. She cared for him, in a way, and she suspected he did too, though she could never be sure. Only one idea had prevailed in her mind. Her husband had seemed to guess.

"I do not plan to make that desolate place my grave, my lady. I am better than that."

Even the arrogant tone had been reassuring in a way, though the worry hadn't quite died. It never would. Hadn't Prince Aemon Targaryen died in the war as well, Caraxes's former rider?

"Your son needs a name" she had said, the prospect of going through the birth alone had begun to grow more and more real. Alicent had known that his absence would not only last a couple of months. That was a stupid hope.

Daemon's eyes had seemed to flash with danger and she had felt a chill. Even so, she had kept her fingers intertwined with his, as if that had been some kind of anchor against any attack from the prince himself. As nice as her husband could be at times, she hadn't, nor should she, forget that Daemon had a cruel streak in him. That night, he had proven it again.

Gods. I swear that if he says something like Maegor...

 "Baelon. Baelon Targaryen" he had said with a smile that had seemed malicious to her. Alicent had gone serious, the weight of his words bearing down on her. She had known then how strong the dragon's thirst for revenge was.

"Daemon..."

His eyes had glisten, and the cruelty in them had seemed to grow even stronger.

"It was my father's name" he had answered almost innocently, as if he hadn't known what he was doing. But he knew. Alicent had sighed and shook her head. It had been a losing battle.

 It was your nephew's too, she had wanted to tell him, trying to appeal to his reason. It wouldn't have worked. Also, having fought with him then would have been counterproductive, for both of them. Instead she had only continued to hold his hand, feeling that small hint of togetherness, not caring if it had been an illusion or not. At the time, it had been all she'd ever had.

"I'll try to write" he had told her then, as if he was trying to give her some reassurance. They had remained like that for the rest of dinner, until he had escorted her to her chambers and left her there. There had been a moment, a brief instant, when she had thought of giving in, of inviting him in. But have not done it. And the night after his departure, she for the first time had felt an emptiness in her bed. It had been silly, she had always slept alone. They had never shared the same mattress like that, and yet...

"The King has already met with you?" her father's voice asked, bringing her back to reality. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable.

"No. His Majesty is still busy with meetings and affairs of state" she replied, repeating the same message that Viserys had sent her. Alicent knew it wasn't true. She knew the king's real reasons for avoiding their meetings together that used to be so frequent at his own insistence: Rhaenyra.

With the princess back in the Red Keep, Viserys preferred to keep his distance from her, to avoid conflict with his daughter. And it was that despite not having openly shown any kind of animosity against her, her former friend avoided her presence. Alicent understood the princess in a way. Seeing her pregnant would only add salt to her wound. A wound that might never fully heal.

However, now the feeling of loneliness was still stronger. Surrounded by so many familiar people, and yet with no one really for her. Maybe that's why she appreciated her father's company, even with his flaws. Even with those small manipulations.

"I should rest, father" she then said to Ser Otto, getting up with difficulty. He nodded, offering his arm for support and helping her to the bed, where she lay down almost immediately.

"Yes, my daughter. Rest. My grandson needs a strong mother and I know you will be. The future of our House hangs on your shoulders, and you carry it with the grace of a queen" he told her affectionately. She swallowed, but she didn't contradict him. It was better that way.

 Like I needed more reasons to stress me out.

But it was the truth, wasn't it? She carried the hope of House Hightower to continue playing the game of thrones in her womb. The son of a prince. The blood of the dragon. Her father gave her a light kiss on the forehead and left her there, with the occasional company of a maiden to check on her. Alicent sighed and felt the kicks of the life inside her again. It was weird, the way she felt connected to someone she'd never known.

Her father hoped him to be King. Her husband hoped him to be a dragon. She just wanted him to be her son. Hers.

 Is this what it means to be a mother?

 Alicent looked up at the ceiling, as if she expected to find the answers there.

That strange need to protect him from any harm, whether real or imagined, that affection, that...love. It felt right in a way. She wondered if the prince would feel the same way when he saw it. Whenever that was. For some reason, she felt that no matter how much reluctance Daemon still possessed, the moment he held the child in his arms, his son, any doubt would disappear. Trust? Or hope? It did not matter.

My son will be loved. If not for his father, for me. I will love him no matter what. As I would wish to be loved.

And with that conviction, she found a certain peace.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra III

Rhaenyra leaned against the stone balcony, finely carved with small dragon figures. From there, she could see all the surroundings of the Red Keep, the stables, the gardens, the training yard...
She loved it in a way, the feeling of being back in her place, in her domain, the familiarity, the warmth of home. Although it was the only satisfaction she had gotten, after returning from Storm's End. Each place was also filled with certain memories. And she loved it almost as much as she hated it.

When she had learned of Daemon's departure, her heart had sunk with worry and sadness. Even with his warrior ability and a dragon, her uncle was a man after all. And men died in war. She had hoped to see him receiving her that afternoon when her ship had arrived with only a day's notice. He hadn't been there. But her father, his Hand, and a small retinue, fit for the reception of a royal princess, of the heir to the throne. And there she had been. Alicent.
To see her there in the port, next to the King, proudly wearing red and black, the colors of the House Targaryen, her House...
Her stomach had turned over. An unpleasant feeling that she had not been able to get rid of at that moment.
And that had been when she was still too far away to see her clearly. The sight of her bulging belly when the ship had only been a hundred yards from docking had weakened her legs and she had leaned against her bow, looking pale and shaky. Ser Criston had approached her worriedly, thinking she would faint.

"Princess! You all right? Are you?" he had asked, and her mind was still too overwhelmed to answer.

"Fetch the maester!" the white cloak had demanded and then she had finally been able to snap out of her stupor, shaking her head vigorously.

"I'm fine" she had assured him in the loudest voice she had been able to use, though in reality it had been a faint whisper. She had felt Ser Criston's arm, helping to steady her, and had wrapped her hand around, taking it, as if the knight's presence gave her more support than just physically.

"I'm fine, Ser" she repeated, looking at him with a little more conviction.
Don't let them see me like this, she had told him with her eyes and he had seemed to understand, since he had sent the maester back, staying by her side, letting her lean on him, like a crutch, while she felt it necessary.

The princess remembered everything else more quickly, as if her mind didn't want to focus on that, the warm but uncomfortable embrace of her father, the way she had greeted the entire entourage without really seeing them, as if they were just blurry shadows. The next memory of her had already been inside the Red Keep itself, where her father had organized a small welcoming feast in the gardens.
She had wandered here and there. Anyone who had seen her would have sworn that she was intoxicated, drunk, although nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, she had barely been able to eat a few things and the wine itself had made her nauseated. Her erratic behavior had been driven by a mixture of ecstasy and pain. Relief, that she was back where she belonged. Affliction, for realizing that although this cage was a little better than the other, it would not stop being a cage. Not without Daemon.

Rhaenyra had finally sat down on a bench, alone, away from the noise. But she hadn't stayed that way for long. A couple of minutes later the girl that had been like her sister had sat next to her and they had spent a long moment in silence. Rhaenyra had stared straight ahead, as if not acknowledging her presence would made her disappear.

"I surmise the tour did not go well" Alicent herself had finally said, apparently trying to break the ice. Rhaenyra had snorted. She had avoided looking into those familiar eyes, and that belly that reminded her of what she had lost.

"I endured it for as long as I could" she had finally replied, her words escaping her mouth before she could stop them. She had thought she saw surprise on Alicent's face and soon after it, a faint smile, though she hadn't been sure. After all, her gaze had been fixed on anything but her. She had finally dared to ask what was burning inside her, that doubt that had assailed her since before leaving Storm's End.

"How angry is he?"

Alicent had seemed insecure to answer the question. 

"Your father... he thinks he went through to great effort to arrange your tour. He is... frustrated" she had finally replied. Rhaenyra had sighed heavily, the weight of all the events of the last few months bearing down on her, suffocating her, and she had felt angry with everyone. With her father, for sending her away as a mare for the highest bidder. With Daemon, for leaving her alone in a nest of vipers. And with the woman next to her. For taking everything she'd wanted and making it her own.

"Thank you for the warning, Lady Hightower" she had said with the most formal and impersonal voice she had. She had gotten up, still not looking at her, and walked away from the lady.

"Rhaenyra..." she had heard Alicent say with a hint of anguish in her voice, but she had ignored it.

The princess had regretted that conversation shortly after, when her departure had given way to embarrassment. Alicent had been so kind, she had made an effort and she...
She had come to think of apologizing.

But Ser Otto Hightower's arrival in the capital had erased any desire for reconciliation in her heart. The one good thing that all this hell had brought had come undone and she hadn't been able to help but think that this was her doing. How had she done it? It shouldn't have been very difficult. Her father was fickle and manipulable with the least indicated people.

Had she pretended to cry silently until the King had felt sorry for her?
Or had she resorted to… other ways?

She had felt a chill at the thought of that. Rhaenyra had never thought she could believe such a thing about Alicent, but now...

The princess made a disgusted face when she saw the two figures appear in the gardens. She in a blood red dress. He in an impeccable green suit.
If looks could do anything, her old friend would have been struck down right there. Instead she just continued to trudge with a cold, stony face, too far away to realize that she was being watched intently by the scornful eyes of a dragoness.
Rhaenyra saw the lady stop for a moment and touch her belly, now with a dazzling smile and a feeling flooded her body. She clenched her jaw when she identified what gnawed at her insides. Envy.

That feeling was unfamiliar. Having grown up the only child of the king, beloved by common people and nobles alike, dubbed the "Realm's Delight" in every corner of the Seven Kingdoms, pampered by her father and mother as their only surviving offspring, and being spoiled and adored by her uncle... Envy was something unimaginable for someone of her position, something reserved for people of lesser status who looked up and longed for her place. But her, a princess, being at the top...who could she envy?

Still, that was what she felt. Pure and raw envy. And she didn't like it at all.

Marriage to Daemon, the child in her womb, the joy of motherhood, of being with the man she loved... all this was supposed to be hers, hers by right, she had always known, ever since her uncle brought her gifts from his travels across the Narrow Sea, since she saw her mother pregnant with siblings who were never born, since she had understood what love was between a man and a woman.

And there was Alicent, the girl with whom she had shared her fondest childhood memories, to whom she had entrusted her most intimate secrets, to whom she had adored like her own blood. .. robbing her of everything she had dreamed of.

"Do you think she enjoys strutting around here with her new position and privileges?" the princess's voice interrupted the silence, turning to see her sworn shield.
The knight next to her, probably drowsy from the nice weather and having been in the same position for a while, looked at her in confusion.

"Princess?"

Rhaenyra sighed and nodded toward the pair below them, who had sat down on a bench to rest.

"Lady Alicent. She married my uncle, the most feared man in the Seven Kingdoms and now carries his son. Plus she has my father in the palm of her hand, how else did she convince him to bring her father back to the court?" she said, venting all of her frustrations on her confidant, as she always did. Her violet eyes locked on his.

"Do you think she enjoys it?" she asked again.

Ser Cole swallowed nervously. It was clear that the subject made him very uncomfortable. Still, Rhaenyra had no one else to discuss these kinds of matters with, so she had to settle for talking to the King's Guard.

"It wouldn't be like me, princess..." he said, probably trying to maintain some kind of neutrality in the whole thing.

"And yet, I am asking you, Ser Criston," she told him, her tone slightly demanding, asking an answer.
He was silent, probably thinking patiently about his answer.

"I…don't know princess. You know the Lady Alicent better than I…" he finally ventured out.
Rhaenyra clenched her fists and shook her head.

"The woman I knew would never have tried to marry my father. She would never have married my uncle.
She would not have betrayed me like this," she said bitterly, feeling the poison in each of her words. The anguish. Ser Criston was silent again for a few minutes, but finally he spoke again, in a calmer and more comforting tone. 

"I'm sorry princess."

Rhaenyra looked again at the scene in the gardens and turned her back on it.

"We'd better get going, Ser. They already ruined my morning," she huffed angrily. He followed her like her shadow, as he always had.

The morning passed uneventfully, amidst a few bootlickers congratulating her on her return and more little insignificant things. Her father hadn't spoken to her since the day she arrived, and from the words her former friend had said to her that time, she suspected he wouldn't be any time soon either. It did not matter. If the King was angry that he couldn't find a higher bidder for her, that was his problem, not her. The princess wasn't about to apologize for something like that.

Rhaenyra was walking down a hallway, distracted by these thoughts, when she felt Ser Cole's soft hand on her shoulder, keeping her from bumping into someone. She looked up and what she saw made her stomach turn again.

Lady Alicent was in front of her, looking at her anxiously. The image she had tried so hard to avoid.

Rhaenyra tried to dodge her and follow her path but for some reason her feet froze.

"May I speak to the princess, Ser Criston?" Alicent finally managed to say, trying to muster a nervous smile. The knight nodded and came up behind Rhaenyra.

"Of course, my lady."

She could see Alicent swallow nervously, fiddling with her dress probably to distract herself.

"Alone," the lady finally said, looking at them. Her own guard, whom the princess recognized as Ser Steffon Darklyn, nodded and left. Ser Criston seemed about to follow in the footsteps of his sworn brother, but her voice stopped him.

"You are to stay by order of the princess" she told him with a cold and serious voice. The knight seemed surprised, but he obeyed and remained in his place. She could see Alicent get even more nervous.

"Prince Daemon's wife commands you to leave, Ser," Alicent said in a voice that tried to be stern, though she could hear her concern. He looked between the two, hesitant.

"As far as I know, a lady is still beneath the crown princess in commanding power, even if she is the wife of a prince. Am I wrong, Ser?" Rhaenyra said with a much angrier tone that made Alicent shudder slightly.

Ser Criston gave her a look that seemed to say:"It can't be that bad" and "Please princess, don't get me in the middle of this…" Yet she knew that if she asked him to stay, he would. That was the kind of person Ser Criston Cole was.

"You can go, Ser," she finally relented, not trying to hide her obvious irritation. Instead, he seemed relieved.

"Princess. My lady" he greeted both of them and left the place with quick steps.

Her former best friend seemed relieved too, although she could still see quite a bit of nervousness in her body language.
Rhaenyra stayed there, standing, with her arms crossed.

She can wait for me to say something until hell itself freezes over.

"Princess" Alicent finally said, her voice was calm, despite what she may be feeling or thinking.

"Lady Hightower" Rhaenyra replied in a bored manner, not looking directly at her, slightly annoyed.

She seemed to flinch with her impersonal tone, passing her hand through her swollen belly, as if the child inside her gave her strength. The action only infuriated Rhaenyra even more.

"I am glad you are home, Princess. We have barely spoken since your arrival from Storm's End..."

The princess didn't say nothing at first, slightly turning her head away, with a look of disappointment. She was silent, still thinking whether to talk to her or not. But finally, she spoke in a very bitter, sarcastic tone.

"I have been excellent, thanks for asking."

We were close once. But not anymore.

Alicent's frustration seemed to grow as much as her nervousness. Still, she kept trying.

"None of this needs to be this way in truth, Rhaenyra"

"What exactly doesn't need to be this way?" the princess asked in a clearly ironic way.
She saw the lady making an effort to convince her.

"Our friendship..." she started to say, but Rhaenyra interrupted her, unable to take it anymore.

"Hah. Our friendship?" the princess repeated ironically, raising her brows in disbelief.
"You know. This "friendship" ended when you married my uncle. In fact, do us both a favor, and drop the act. You know as well as I and the Seven Kingdoms, we were never friends. So please, just leave. I don't want any drama."

She could see Alicent's face filled with hurt. But the lady refused to cry, to break.

“I was forced to marry him by your father.” There was the first crack in her façade, when her eyes watered slightly.
“You don't know how much I dreaded my marriage. I thought if anyone would understand…”

"You dreaded your marriage...?" Rhaenyra asked with a suspicious look. The more the conversation went by, the more she got infuriated and resentful.
"I can see how much. In fact it seems you had your pleasures with my uncle" the princess completed with an acid tone, looking at her belly.

Alicent blushed and looked down to the floor. The princess could recognize the look in her eyes, not the one of a woman who's embarrassed of something, but of one who's trying to bury bad memories. She had taken it too far, she knew. Didn't she herself suspect how brutal Alicent's wedding night had been?
Rhaenyra could see her nails, brushing lightly against her fingers, about to dig into them as she had seen her do so many times, then withdraw, surprisingly, without leaving a single mark on her porcelain skin.

"I did what a wife must do. It was my duty" Alicent finally said, with a much more serious voice. Rhaenyra's eyes looked down, and she took a deep breath before looking at Alicent with a softer expression upon her face. 

"I... you're right" she finally admitted, feeling slightly guilty. However, she  bit her lips to not show too much sympathy for her.

"Just...Rhaenyra. We can never be as we once were, I know. But it doesn't have to be like this either" 

The princess remained silent with a neutral expression, with a lot of contradictory emotions inside her.

Am I talking with you? Your old you? Or that side that I never knew?

Alicent seemed encouraged, if not by her lack of response, then by her lack of rejection.

"I know that you can be as stubborn as..." she started to say, but she immediately stopped, looking at her as if she had made a terrible mistake with her words.
Rhaenyra frowned.

Daemon, you wanted to say. How well did you know each other while I was away? Was that my father's purpose? Get me off the map so my uncle and you could have some bonding time together?

She looked at Alicent, analyzing if it was worth continuing to extend this fight. Then, she took a decision.

"I will... think about it" she said with a serious voice, not promising anything but not denying the possibility either. The best she could do at that moment. Alicent nodded, knowing too that this was the best response she could expect by now. Without saying goodbye, Rhaenyra was finally able to move, leaving the lady behind, who only looked at her speechless while she left. 

She reached her chambers and let a deep sigh leave her mouth, her fists trembling lightly. The confrontation had been almost too much for her. Still, she couldn't help but ask herself if Alicent's words had been sincere. Rhaenyra almost slapped herself just for allowing something so ridiculous pass through her mind.

She's playing her games again. I don't have to fall.

Still, there was something interesting about it. Rhaenyra had nothing to lose, at least not while Daemon was gone. When her uncle returned, she could resume the full fight with his wife. Meanwhile, why not make peace with her enemy, to make her believe that there wouldn't be more war?
They both needed company.

Maybe I can convince her to lower her guard.

It wasn't in her nature to be deceitful, but she could try. It was for her own benefit after all. Hadn't that been, her inability to fake, her greatest handicap thus far?
And with that ideas, she found a new purpose. One that, played correctly, would help her to win this at the end.

Chapter Text

DAEMON V

Daemon felt his wet hair stick to his face inside his helmet as he walked among the tired, wounded, and dirty men who camped on the craggy rocks. He was in no better state than they. Maybe a little less bruised. He finally found the big blue tent and went inside without hesitation. There was a long table with a huge detailed map of the Stepstones, showing the places the Crabfeeder still controlled, the points where the troops assembled and most importantly: the routes where the ships of House Velaryon where supposed to arrive from time to time to supply them with provisions.

That didn't have much time. In fact, he himself had led the attack that had broken the Triarch blockade. Seeing the burning, wrecked ships had been a glorious sight.

He approached the group discussing strategies in a shrill voice. Leading as always was Lord Corlys Velaryon. At his right side was his wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. And to his left his young daughter, Lady Laena.

The presence of women was something unusual in the war camp, something as strange to the soldiers as the fact that dragons existed.
Of course, many of the men would have gladly refused the ladies' stay among them, but none had tried.
The jaws of Meleys and Vhagar were deterrent enough.

"Cousin" Rhaenys greeted him as she acknowledged his presence. He responded with a grim gesture.

"Princess" he said as he stood next to her.

"Anything new on patrol this morning?" asked Lord Corlys without taking his eyes off the map. Daemon placed his helmet on the table.

"They must still be in the caves, those slippery rats. There's no sign of them on the beach" he stated, earning a disappointed snort from Lady Laena and to Rhaenys to cross her arms in frustration.

Lately it was like that. Prince Craghas Drahar of Myr, admiral of the Triarchy and staunch enemy of the Velaryons, had stopped engaging them in epic battles on the high seas, once he had realized how different it was to fight not just men and ships, but dragons.

Now he hid in the depths of the caves, where the dragonfire did not reach him so easily and where he had the advantage of knowledge of the terrain. The unfortunate one who dared to enter them would be lost, be it one or a hundred men. Therefore, they were stuck. Sneaky nightly attacks by the Triarchy kept them on constant alert, but in reality little ground was gained and lost.

The tent curtains parted again and two more men entered, the Velaryon shield etched on their armor. The shortest of them was Ser Vaemond, the younger brother of the Lord of the Tides, who had been dubbed  "The Master of Complaints" in the camp, obviously behind his back. The other lad, tall and athletic looking, was Ser Laenor, the Seasnake's eldest son, a capable but not a magnificent warrior, though he did not require much of his sword when he rode Seasmoke's back.

His sister had seemed like a smaller thing to Daemon when he met her, making for an amusing contrast, when the teen had soared through the clear skies above Vhagar, the world's largest dragon that had once belonged to his own father, the prince Baelon Targaryen.

But what Lady Laena lacked in size and age, she made up for in fierceness and bravery. While Ser Laenor was calm, collected, and even somewhat of a strategist, his sister had inherited her father's adventurous spirit and the explosive temper of Princess Rhaenys. Even so, the almost three years younger that she was compared to her brother, who had just turned eighteen, had prevented her from fully entering the battlefield. Neither Lord Corlys nor Rhaenys had let her participate in the cruder parts of the war, for while Vhagar was a dragon seasoned in fire and blood and Lady Laena Velaryon lived up to her Targaryen heritage, the lass lacked experience. And such a small mistake, even as a rider of such a monstrosity, could cost her her life, as it had done to her mother's counterpart, the Conqueror's wife, in Dorne.

Still, the closeness between the beast and the maiden grew stronger each day. Daemon did not doubt that in the future the bond between her and Vhagar would be almost as strong as the one the dragon had shared with Queen Visenya. A beautiful prospect for someone of Old Valyrian blood. Terrifying, however, for the implications it would have for the enemies of House Velaryon. And those could be his own family.

Even when the situation in the Stepstones seemed to have improved somewhat with his and Caraxes' presence, the prince knew that it was only a temporary situation, a thin little bandage to stop the profuse bleeding left by the hostilities between his brother and the Lord of Driftmark ever since Viserys had rejected the girl. Sending him here had been a desperate move and it was obvious Lord Corlys had seen him like this, though he hadn't complained, at least not while he was useful. When they won the war there would be uncertainty, that doubt. Would the Seasnake be grateful for the help offered, when it was obvious why he had offered it in the first place? Or would he seize the vulnerability that he now knew the crown possessed and take the right that he believed had been taken from his wife that fateful day in Harrenhal?

If there was one thing he hated, it was leaving something so important to luck. But he was left with no choice but to fulfill his part.

"How much longer will the Crabfeeder keep playing hide-and-seek?" asked Ser Vaemond wearily. Lord Corlys finally looked at them.

"How long it takes for the Triarch to dispatch another fleet. Their resources are not eternal," he said, pointing to the spot where the Triarch had docked earlier, before they burned their first ships to ashes. But the Free Cities had enough money to bear the loss of a few soldiers and a few battles.

"We don't know their resources inside their damned hideout. They could only have supplies for a few weeks. Or months, even" Daemon himself reminded them. "We could wait half a year and be in the same situation as now".

The others looked at each other with seriousness. A long and tedious siege was the key to failure. The soldiers, lacking in real combat, were beginning to lose shape and with the constant sneak attacks they found themselves anxious and sleep deprived. An army could not be maintained in such conditions for long.

"We must get them out of the caves" Lady Laena said and they all nodded with conviction. Of course. It was the only way. The problem was, how?
The caverns were so deep that there were corners that even Vhagar's burning fire could not reach. And that's aside from the stupidity of leaving a dragon so vulnerable on the ground, where any spear thrown accurately enough could mortally wound its rider.

"When do the ships arrive with new supplies?" Rhaenys asked. Her husband sighed.

"Two days. Maybe three."

"Not long enough for there to be a hunger riot. At least we've got that covered," the Rogue Prince completed, looking at the brief relief in the room. At least as long as they remained supplied, the men would continue to have the same purpose, instead of fighting for their own interests, against each other.

"Lack of morals will feed on men like hungry vultures," Ser Vaemond added grimly, living up to the nickname his nephew had given him. The tension was noticeable in the group and even Lord Corlys, who always seemed to be the most patient with his brother, seemed irritated.

"You think I don't know that, Vaemond?"

Before a fight could break out between the Velaryon siblings, a soldier entered the makeshift war room.

"My lords?"

The Lord of Driftmark gave Vaemond one last glare before inquiring as to the reason for the interruption. Daemon watched the entire scene with intent eyes.

"There is a messenger, my lord. It comes direct from King's Landing"

Lord Corlys nodded in the affirmative and whispered permission from him. As soon as the guard left the tent, Daemon felt the eyes of the Velaryons on him. The prince was the only one who received direct messages from the capital.

"Your lady wife hasn't told you anything in her letters, cousin?" Rhaenys asked in a serious voice. He did not answer.

Nothing that warranted a royal messenger instead of a raven.

The letters he exchanged with his wife were not a secret to anyone from House Velaryon. After all, he used their ravens for it. At first, he had thought that Alicent would soon grow bored with his cold, dry writing, since affection and warmth had never been his forte. However, his wife had shown patience worthy of the Mother she adored since despite this she took the time to inform him of her own well-being and that of her son on her own initiative. She was reaching her eighth moon of pregnancy, more and more close to the end. Writing to each other had become a kind of habit. It wasn't that he missed her, ever. But there was a strange comfort in it, in the sensation of her presence on those pieces of paper.

He had also found out about Rhaenyra's return to the Red Keep, through a letter from Viserys himself. Of course, the news could be given to him freely now, being too far away to cause trouble about it.

Daemon had resisted writing to the princess until now. A show of respect to his wife, in a way. He and Alicent were on good terms at the moment and the fragile peace of their marriage was something he wanted to preserve when he was physically in the middle of a war.
The hard part would be keeping his distance once he returned. It was not the same to imagine his niece from distant than to see Rhaenyra face to face. The temptation would be strong then.

The messenger arrived then and all his thoughts fell silent as he and the Velaryons watched expectantly.

"A message from His Majesty Viserys, First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. To Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark and his lady wife the Princess Rhaenys of House Targaryen" he uttered in a sonorous and powerful voice. Daemon watched as the married couple exchanged glances and Ser Vaemond gave him a hard look.

An appropriate conversation only for the blood of Velaryon. Yet, who's gonna have the balls to kick me out?

And indeed, no one dared, though Vaemond continued to glare at him while the children of Corlys looked around uncomfortably.
Realizing that he would simply have to accept his stay, Lord Corlys finally turned to the messenger again.

"Speak"

The man cleared his throat.
"His Majesty sends his regards and best wishes to both of you, my Lords. Hope his men and supplies have been of assistance in this war whose noble purpose..."

Daemon was completely disconnected at that point. Viserys and his long speeches, useless gibberish to sweeten the real message.
But suddenly, something the messenger said caught his attention again. He felt his body tense and his fists and jaw clench.

"...a marriage between your daughter Lady Laena Velaryon and His Majesty, hoping to make amends for the injuries caused by a momentary lack of judgment..."

Corlys looked... ecstatic, his gaze filled with greed. He had only seen those eyes on one person: Ser Otto Hightower. It disgusted him.
Rhaenys's face, on the other hand, was cold, like an iron mask. And while their daughter's didn't seem to express any emotion either, her eyes didn't show the same.

She believed she was safe. What a cruel world, giving her a taste of freedom only to take it away forever after.

He didn't even have a clear opinion of his own on the matter. The thought of Viserys remarrying had been erased from his mind since the moment he'd walked down the aisle himself. On the one hand, it seemed logical to him, a cunning solution even. A marriage to the girl would reconcile the differences between House Targaryen and House Velaryon, giving the Lord of Driftmark what he had wanted all along: his daughter to be queen.
However, the implications that would have for the Realm, if Lady Laena were to bear more children for the King. The succession could become a problem. And Rhaenyra...

The prince wondered if Lord Corlys would afford to play difficult, just to get even with the King, a small punishment for being scorned in the first place. It was not so.

"It will be an honor to accept His Majesty's proposal. It is good to know that our King is able to accept his mistakes and correct them" said the Lord of Driftmark with a serious voice. Rhaenys reached out and took her husband's hand, a silent sign of support.

Daemon watched the girl who would soon become his sister-in-law look at her parents with betrayal and anger in her eyes,  yet she kept her composure, murmured an apology and left the tent with her head up. Ser Laenor seemed to be the only one who tried to go after her, but a silent refusal from his mother forced him to remain in his place.

After the messenger had given Lord Corlys the letter detailing the proposal and the Velaryons had talked about celebrations, the man approached him, apparently buoyed by the good reception of his first message.

"His Majesty has also asked me to inform you that the Lady Alicent is well, my prince. Your son grows strong in her womb. And the company of her father seems to be doing her good in terms of her spirit and strength."

At that moment, all excitement died down. A sepulchral silence took over the small room.

"The messenger must be tired and he has also given us good news. Provide him with a tent and a comfortable place to sleep..." Lord Corlys said hastily, looking at him agitated, yet everyone seemed to be frozen. Daemon's gaze darkened, still taking in the news.

"Ser Otto Hightower is in the capital?" he asked in a deep, almost sinister voice. The messenger seemed confused by the sudden change in behavior of everyone around him, though he didn't seem to guess why. That didn't help him at all.

"Yes, my prince. He returned almost three moons ago."

Since I left. That son of a bitch.

"And to what does King's Landing owe the presence of such a...character?" he said, continuing his questioning with an aggressiveness hard to ignore. The boy in front of him seemed to get nervous.

"The king summoned him back to keep his daughter company. In Court it is said that your lady wife requested it so, my prince..." he continued nervously, probably sensing something ominous.

Anger flashed in his eyes and he could feel his heart beat faster, his hot blood rushing through his veins.

The daughter of a snake is a snake too. I'm a fool.

"Daemon..." Rhaenys whispered to him, but her words barely registered in his mind.

He looked up and sighed, trying to calm down. It didn't work. His fingers clung to his helmet with animalistic strength. The first impact of metal against the messenger's face was so sudden that everyone present kept frozen.

When the poor man reached down and tried to cover his head with his hands, Lord Corlys reacted.

"Guards!"

He couldn't even take notice of the sudden movement around him, focused purely on unleashing his blind fury on the poor body below him.
It wasn't until the strong arms of three guards pinned him down that he could see the blood splatter on his hands and hear the groans of pain.

The Rogue Prince raised his head, only to see the horrified looks of those present. The fear.
He pushed past the soldiers and left the room, not saying a word.

For three days he didn't leave his tent.
The anger and fury did not leave him for a second, as he thought of Otto Hightower walking freely in King's Landing, with the blessing and complicity of his daughter, his own treacherous wife.
Oh, if he could be there. Darksister would do a clean job. But he couldn't. Everyone in the camp seemed to know his dark state of mind, since no man dared to approach his tent.

But on the fourth day, he finally received an unexpected visitor.
When he saw Princess Rhaenys, sitting, waiting for him, he didn't even bother to greet her. Instead, he gave her a cold, chilling look.

"The man will live" 

His expression didn't change at all.

"Was I supposed to be worried about it?" he said with sarcasm. Rhaenys gave him a more serious look.

"That's not why I'm here," she said in a firm voice, looking him straight in the eye. Daemon sat across from her, somewhat confused, though he didn't let that show on his face. He and Rhaenys had never gotten along. She and Viserys were closer and even they could barely pretend to bear each other's presence. For her to be there with any intention other than to annoy him was…weird.

"I forgot to give you my congratulations. It must be an honor to know that your daughter will be Queen" he told her with a sharp tongue. Rhaenys seemed to bite her own tongue to keep from insulting him.

"You don't need those formalities. We know you've never been good at hiding your disdain."

He gave a despective laugh and poured himself a glass of wine. Watery wine, not ideal for getting drunk, since the troops could not afford to be dizzy and stupid in anticipation of an attack. However, it was better than nothing.

"I thought you and Corlys would be pleased. It's everything you've ever dreamed of," he said in a voice full of contempt. He was too angry to fake anything. Rhaenys had come for something. Whatever it was, he wasn't going to give it to her.

"Corlys has always liked to bring out the best of what he wants, and close his eyes to the parts he doesn't like, pretending not to see them" she said, pouring herself a drink and taking a gulp of the contents, looking for a moment legitimately like a worried mother.

Laena Velaryon. Another savage dragon rider, going to wither in King's Landing

"My brother has never been cruel to women. At least not on purpose," he said, as if the prospect that Viserys wasn't a vile, evil monster was any comfort. But his words showed no sign of pity.

"And yet Laena's duty with him will be the same as Aemma's. The king requires House Targaryen to grow," Rhaenys sentenced, staring at him again. He just drank and played with his glass. Seeing that she would have to press to continue the conversation, the princess spoke again.

"I suppose His Majesty must view the possibility of Rhaenyra's marriage...difficult" she said in a voice heavy with intent. It worked. He felt the anger again bubbling up in his body, an anger that hadn't quite left him even after beating up his brother's messenger. But instead of jumping straight into the punches again, he tried to remain composed.

"The princess has high demands regarding her suitors. She can afford it, she is the heir to the Iron Throne after all" he said with a stern threatening voice. The name of his niece always got on his nerves.

"Laena is young and strong. She will give birth to the king's children. Perhaps a boy. Perhaps someone the Lords of the realm would rather give the title of King than Rhaenyra," she said slowly, as if each word cost her dearly effort to get out of her mouth. That would have amused him at some other time, to see Rhaenys holding her tongue over issues of succession. Now it only angered him how hypocritical it sounded.

"Careful. It sounds like you're bringing up your traumas. What happened to you doesn't have to happen to my niece."
Rhaenys was silent for a long moment, her face expressionless.

"Do you still covet the Crown, cousin? Or just Rhaenyra?" she asked him finally.

Both. Always both.

He yawned in deep boredom. "Are you getting close to the point?"

The princess gave him a penetrating look, worthy of the rider of Meleys.

"My daughter would prove detrimental to your ambitions. And I know what you do to that which threatens your interests."

He knew it too. Violence, blood, death. Hadn't Otto Hightower once said that he would be a second Maegor?

He could see a slight glimmer of concern in his cousin's eyes.

"She's a girl, Daemon. Like Rhaenyra. Like your wife."

The mention of Alicent relighted the fuse that had begun to die down throughout their conversation. The words traitor and snake echoed in his mind again.

"I'm not the one who sentenced her to such a cruel future by accepting that marriage proposal. You should take the blame for your daughter's fate, Rhaenys," he hissed scornfully.
The princess emptied her glass and rose from her chair, looking at him again.

"Do not treat her like an enemy. She's not"

Daemon looked at her with cruelty.

You mistake me for a better man.

She left the tent and he was left alone, still angry, but thoughtful.
He liked the girl for some reason. Perhaps because someone capable of riding Vhagar had to be worthy. The prince dove into that idea even more.
In King's Landing, the dragon would spend her days locked in the Dragonpit, with no other function than to sleep and eat. Here at least she could be useful. She was good to patrol. 

And Drahar's men shit all over themselves every time they see them. 

Maybe he could advocate extending her stay at the Stepstones a little longer. Rhaenys would like it, no doubt. And the princess would owe him a favor. It was always good when someone owed him something.

That issue was sealed then.But it wasn't over yet.

Two days later, when it was evident that the man sent by the King would take a long time to heal, Lord Corlys decided to send a messenger of his own in order to send his answer to Viserys.Before he left, Daemon approached the soldier, a flawless scroll in hand.

"Give this to the recipient in her hands and don't talk to anyone about it" he whispered to the messenger. The man looked at the written name and swallowed nervously, but nodded.

"Any message for your lady wife, my prince?" he asked him doubtfully. Daemon shot him a glare that he thought almost made him wet himself. He placed a heavy hand on his shoulder and the boy began to sweat profusely.

"I wish you luck on your journey back to King's Landing. I hope you don't disappoint me" he said, his words almost seeming like some threat.

The messenger sped away, stumbling awkwardly as he escaped whatever the prince wanted to do to him. It caused him cruel amusement.

Daemon thought of the letter, its content. All his anger was embodied in it. If his wife could betray him, what stopped him to do the same? 

Who says that I can't fight two wars at once?

Chapter Text

CRISTON I

Ser Criston Cole sighed heavily as he stood at attention. The sun was full on his face, an annoying feeling when he spent a long time like this, but he hardly made any expression to show it. After all he was escorting the Crown Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, while she enjoyed the gardens. And that was a great honor.

Being a King's Guard was the highest honor for a knight, a position he had craved since he was a child, growing up in Blackhaven. Men as legendary as Ser Pate the Partridge or Ser Joffrey Dogget were famous, habitual in songs and stories. He had imagined himself as them, protecting the King against his enemies, performing feats of courage and valor that would be remembered a hundred years later.

Instead, work had been quiet most of the time. Except for that time when he had accompanied the former Hand of the King to Dragonstone, in a confrontation that never came to pass between Ser Otto Hightower and the Prince Daemon, the rest of his time had been spent more as a bodyguard than a fierce warrior.

The princess cleared her throat, making him alert again. Ser Criston turned his head to look at her, his eyes intent.

"Sit with me, Ser. I feel guilty seeing you standing there uncomfortably in armor that must weigh the same as me while I rest pleasantly" she told him, tapping the stone seat with her hand.

If the Princess believes that I should relax, I shall do so he thought for himself.

He knew there was no point in arguing with Rhaenyra, who could be very persistent when she put her mind to it, so with a slight bow he sat down, still keeping a respectful distance between himself and hers.

The princess seemed amused by his show of modesty, outlining a slight smile that consequently made him smile as well. The tension immediately left the atmosphere.

"Don't you roast with all that metal on you, Ser Criston?" she asked him in a soft tone, slightly teasing him. He couldn't help but share her good humor, chuckling slightly.

"I must confess, Princess, the weather in the Stormlands is much cooler than this. Although in the Marches it's almost the same. The Dornish sun is often unmerciful," he answered quickly.

The knight felt the princess tense at his response and he mentally cursed himself. He had spoken without thinking.
To mention the place where Rhaenyra had spent the last few months was to evoke dark memories.

"I'm sorry, Princess, I didn't mean to..." he started to apologize, but she waved her hand to say that it wasn't a big deal.

"It doesn't matter. And is it necessary for you to call me Princess all the time, Ser Criston? It's awkward. And we're friends after all, aren't we?"

For some reason, he felt relaxed with that answer.

Friends.

The way they spoke, the closeness, the confidence...it was strange. He wasn't sure if it should be like this, if friendship between a sworn guard and the heir to the Seven Kingdoms was something he was even allowed to do.

And yet, I would be lying if I said that I don't enjoy her company.

"Force of habit, I guess, prin..." he started to say, but realizing that he was going to make the same mistake again he stopped, frustrated. Rhaenyra gave a light laugh that interrupted the sound of birds and the wind around them.

They were rare, the moments when the princess was relaxed and happy like now. Although His Majesty seemed not to press her further on the subject of marriage since she had returned from Storm's End, the announcement of the engagement between the King and Lady Laena Velaryon had plunged the princess into a dark mood that fluctuated between anger and bitterness. sometimes against her father, sometimes against the Velaryons, and sometimes against the Hand of the King himself. He listened and nodded, as always, letting her calm down little by little as she yelled out her frustrations. She sometimes got so worked up that she would say things that could be considered threatening, against many people. Lady Alicent, Ser Otto Hightower, Lord Corlys...

He knew that it was probably his duty to report all this to his Lord Commander so that he would pass all this information on to the King himself, who was always interested in knowing his daughter's thoughts, but hadn't. Ser Criston had never ratted on the princess, no matter the circumstances.

The day she had been defiled, he had been called to a rough interrogation, with his head at stake since he had been in charge of taking care of her that night.

But the knight hadn't relented, claiming ignorance, even when he himself had seen Rhaenyra appear at her bedroom door hours after she'd gone to bed, with a smirk on her face. Of course, Criston hadn't known exactly what had happened, but he had suspected it would be up to no good. And when His Majesty had asked him personally about the matter, he had had no choice but to say that if Rhaenyra had gone in and out of the Red Keep, he hadn't seen her.

Lying to the King had felt like a betrayal of his own oaths as a white cloak.

And yet I also sworn to protect and keep the princess's secrets the day I became her sworn protector. So really, which of the two was I supposed to obey?

The choice had actually been easier than he had thought at the time, being overwhelmed. The loyalty he owed to the princess came from more than just vows. She had bestowed him with his white cloak, choosing him among candidates of higher ancestry and better birth. Rhaenyra had lifted the Coles to a place beyond what he could ever have dreamed of. And he was grateful for that.

"I don't hate the man. Lord Lyonel is different from Otto Hightower. But even with that, I don't think he is the best choice to advise my father. There are people who would better look out for his interests. People who deserve the position very much more..." he heard the princess say and realized that he had missed much of the conversation because he had his mind on other things.

Trying to hide his distraction, Ser Criston decided to ask a question, to show that he was paying attention.

"Who, princess?"

"Daemon" she said, and the prince's name brought back memories, of knocks on the door in the middle of the night and scrolls passed in trembling hands.

He nodded, just so his silence wouldn't be misinterpreted.
Ser Criston didn't want her to think he disagreed, though deep down, he thought her uncle wasn't exactly the person for the job.

The prince was ambitious and impulsive, a man whose anger could be quickly evoked and almost impossible to calm. As an example, he knew that Daemon still held a grudge against him for the tournament incident, a little over a year ago. Someone like that in a position of power could be very dangerous, all the more so knowing his deep desire for his niece and the crown that came with her.

"You could be a good Hand," Rhaenyra said suddenly and his eyes widened in surprise at the sudden statement. Criston gasped and stuttered briefly, knowing from her amused face that he probably looked rather funny as he struggled to speak.

"I...I am afraid that I don't have the qualities, Princess. I was born the son of a steward. Political knowledge is something that was not taught to me. My sword is my forte and it will be at your service if you wish so, when you are Queen" he finally managed to say.

And he felt that each one of his words was the truth, even if he didn't want it.

His upbringing had not been at the side of the pretentious sons of lords, with private tutors and maesters to particularly teach him. His father himself was the one who had taught him to read and write and the only privilege he had received, training with the Dondarrions' weapons master, he had earned himself after helping to stop one of the many Dornish raids, standing out in battle. The knight doubted that being the second most powerful man in the Realm had anything to do with his ability to pierce enemies with his sword.

"A septon was the Hand of King Jaehaerys. I do not think that Barth had the teaching of a lord. However, he served my grandfather well, with his own abilities.Why couldn't a knight of the King's Guard be my Hand of the Queen?" she asked.

He couldn't argue with that argument. Barth had been a blacksmith's son, less familiar with nobles than Criston himself, and yet he had given forty years of peace and prosperity to the Seven Kingdoms.

I thought that one day, with enough effort, I might become Lord Commander of the King's Guard, like Ser Harrold. But being Hand...

And yet he didn't know if she meant it. He preferred not to ask.

"If it was your wish, I would serve you then as you consider best" he said then.

The princess seemed pleased with the answer and both were silent for a long time.

Criston saw her face grow wistful and he felt the urge to say something, anything. But he didn't find the right words.

"Sometimes I just want to go away" she whispered softly, more to herself than to him.

The knight did not doubt her words. He had seen what the pressure of the crown-to-be had done to Rhaenyra. The sadness, the anxiety, the stress, the sleepless nights, the lack of hunger... It had culminated catastrophically at Storm's End, and it only seemed that she was just beginning to recover.

I have sworn to protect her from any attacker. But what can my sword do against the enemies in her mind?

"And why not do it, princess?"
His words were out of his mouth before he could even take notice of it and he lowered her gaze.

"Sorry, I shouldn't…" he said nervously, but Rhaenyra shook her head.

"No. It's okay. I…" she said doubtfully, inching closer across the bench, closing the distance between them.

"I have already lost too many things. My mother, my brother, my uncle... all for the Iron Throne. If I rejected it, it would be as if their sacrifices had been in vain" she confessed and he could see how the weight of the revelation seemed to leave her body.

Rhaenyra rested her head against his shoulder and he remained still. He knew that if anyone saw them in that position it would lead to a reprimand for him, for behavior unbecoming of a protector of the royal family.

But at that moment, for some reason being a comfort to the princess seemed more important to him than maintaining the dignified attitude of Ser Criston Cole, sworn brother of the King's Guard.

"I am at your service Princess. Always. Anything you need" he said softly, as if it was something that no one but her should know. Criston knew that he was not speaking of duty, but of something far beyond. And she seemed to know it too.

He felt Rhaenyra's arms wrap around his and thought he saw the shadow of a smile on her face.

"I know" she whispered back and they both stayed like that, lost in that strange feeling of familiarity.

She does not deserve such misery. She's charming and intelligent, and I enjoy our time spent alone together. I am honored to be her sworn shield, her companionship, her knight. And her... friend.

And there, at the end, he thought he felt the glimpse of something else.

Chapter Text

ALICENT V

Alicent walked through the Godswood with slow steps. The great red tree, under which she used to spend so much time with Rhaenyra when they were children, was still exactly the same. Imposing. Majestic. Big, even now when she had grown up. She evoked better days from it.

The news of Viserys's betrothal to the Seasnake's daughter had not been well received in her inner circle. Her father had endured them with a stoic face, although he had become colder than usual. She knew that behind that silence, that apparent calm, there were a thousand machinations brewing in his mind, ready to come to light at the moment the opportunity arose.

 But where Ser Otto Hightower had hidden his disgust from it, the princess had exploded, like an erupting volcano.

She would have scared her, if that anger had been directed at her. But the dragon and Alicent were in a kind of truce. She had to admit that Rhaenyra seemed to be trying. The princess spent more time with her in very forced conversations. And while she wouldn't say their friendship was even close to what it had been, they were in a much better position than they'd been before.

Her pregnancy was a rarely touched subject and the mention of Daemon's name was strictly prohibited. But she had been willing to go along with those conditions, if that was the price of getting her best friend back.

Alicent continued walking, stopping from time to time to rest. Her smaid Talya had offered to accompany her as had Ser Steffon Darklyn, but she had refused their help.

Sometimes solitude is relaxing. Especially in the Red Keep. Far from whispers and intrigues.

 She stopped to breathe in the fresh air, passing a small roll of paper between her fingers, as if she felt some relief from it. It was Daemon's last letter. Her husband hadn't written to her for almost a moon. At first she had been worried, believing that the reason for his silence was something more serious, like an injury.

It hadn't been like that. The return of the bruised messenger a few weeks later along with her own suspicions had confirmed her worst fears: that Daemon knew of Ser Otto's presence in the capital. That he was furious about it. And that he somehow blamed her for it.

She hadn't been able to help but think that her husband's grudge could have been prevented if she had told him the news herself, instead of keeping silent, as the former Hand had told her.

 "It was necessary. His ignorance has given us time to secure a position at Court" her father had simply told her without even taking his eyes off the parchment on which he was writing the day she entered his chambers with the intention of confronting him, without her even had to say a word. The speed with which the news had reached his ears had surprised her and at the same time, worried her.

 Her father was starting to get back his spies, his friends and some loyalties. Maybe he could get much more.

The crunch of a branch brought her out of her stupor, realizing that she was no longer alone. Alicent turned to see the slightly stooped man looking at her with a smile.

Larys Strong, the younger son of Lord Lyonel, the Hand of the King. She knew her brother, Ser Harwin. A tall, stocky fellow who served under Daemon's orders in the City Watch.

But Larys was very different from him. Small and with a club foot, he always walked with the help of a cane. But it was said in the Red Keep that, what Ser Harwin had in strength, his brother had it in intelligence.

"Lord Larys" Alicent greeted him simply putting on her face the courteous smile that her father had made an effort to teach her.

People politely called him "Lord" although in reality he was not and would not be lord of anything. After all, Harrenhal and all of its lands would pass to his elder brother when Lord Lyonel passed away, and Larys had not the ability to earn the knight's spurs and be called a Ser.

The man bowed slightly to her. "Lady Alicent" he answered politely, as he held a flower between his fingers, caressing it gently.

There was something about him, she didn't quite know what, that gave her chills. Still, she tried to be polite.

"Is quite a lovely afternoon for being here, Lord Larys" she said calmly. The man agreed.

 "It is. I didn't expect you to be alone, my lady. Not in your state. Any emergency could arise at any moment and asking for help would be complicated" he said with a velvety voice, which reminded her of Ser Otto's when he was persuading people.

 "I am safe here, my lord. My son is not expected for a little less than one more moon"

And I want to walk alone while I still can. But if I say it out loud, it will sound like an insult.

"If you'll excuse me my lord, I'll continue my walk" she said quietly and turned to continue on her way.

"What a curious thing" she heard him say with a slightly surprised tone behind her back and Alicent bit her cheek in a bit of frustration. She believed that her little hint that she'd rather not have a conversation with him hadn't been picked up.

 Alicent turned back with a questioning look on her face, but before she could ask anything, Larys pointed to the piece of paper she was still holding in her fist.

"I saw the messenger from the Stepstones giving the Princess Rhaenyra a scroll exactly like that, almost a moon ago. With the prince's seal"

She froze and clung tighter to the paper with trembling hands.

Rhaenyra and Daemon, writing to each other in secret, hidden from the King himself. From me. It couldn't be anything good. Not if they had such a need to hide it.

Secrets. Secrets. Secrets. Something she hated. She had thought that her husband had stopped keeping secrets from her. But it seemed that she was wrong. And she knew the vengeful side of him. Daemon's dark and cruel side.

Alicent felt a pang of something, but she couldn't quite make out what. Jealousy? Anger?

 "I suppose is good, to know that the Prince Daemon cares about his niece. The princess seems to be quite alone here... Not that I mean to offend you, my lady, but maybe the Crown Princess longs the relief of her own flesh and blood" Larys continued to say calmly, as if he didn't realize the effect caused by what he was saying.

His last words were like daggers in her chest. The relief of her own blood and flesh. Yeah.

She especially knew the kind of relief Rhaenyra sought with her uncle and viceversa.

And we all know too how much Daemon loves his niece.

Alicent had believed that she had reached an understanding with him, a way to make their marriage work. She knew that Daemon would never stay still in a bed, not with her as his wife at least, but he had learned to be discreet like many husbands at Court when it came to his nocturnal activities.

And yet, an infidelity with the Crown Princess herself would make his wife completely humiliated in the eyes of the Realm, not to mention the betrayal. After all, love or no love, Prince Daemon was her husband. The father of her son. And disloyalty with a common whore in some brothel was not the same as one with Rhaenyra, someone whom he had made clear, for the Realm and for Alicent, he adored much more than her.

 She felt dizzy, but she used all the dignity and strength she had left so that it wouldn't be noticed.

 "Thank you for the information, Lord Larys" she said in an emotionless voice.

 After giving another slight curtsy and a seemingly innocent smile, he walked away from her with slow steps, aided by his cane.

 Alicent was relieved, when she finally saw him go. It meant that he hadn't seen the huge puddle under her legs.

She had heard once that strong emotions could bring labor forward. Her conversation with Larys surely had counted as one, apparently. The liquid between her legs proved it. And the contractions.

 Perhaps driven by adrenaline, she managed to reach the corridor, where unsuspecting servants looked at her with wide eyes.

"Call the Grand Maester Mellos" she said with the calmest voice she could manage. "Tell him that my son is coming".

 She barely noticed when Ser Steffon lifted her into his arms to carry her to her chambers, alerted by the panic of the maidens, nor when the room filled with people hurrying to and fro. Alicent didn't even notice the presence of the woman who sat next to her, until the shine of her platinum blonde hair caught her attention.

"Are you okay?" Princess Rhaenyra asked, and she couldn't tell if the slight panic in her voice was real or feigned. She had so many questions in her head, so many emotions boiling inside her. And yet the sharp pain she felt between her legs outweighed any need to confront the princess.

"I can't...I don't know...Gods."

Reluctantly Rhaenyra took her hand in hers. At first she felt the urge to remove it, but as the contractions increased she clung to those hands as if her life depended on it.

Traitors, or innocent? Perhaps Lord Larys had been wrong.

But what if he was right? What if Rhaenyra was keeping things from her?

 She couldn't know, her head was spinning, dizzy, trying to collect her ideas. And...

Oh gods. Is it supposed to hurt that much?

She lasted like this for long minutes, or hours, she wasn't sure. Every push, every contraction, every little movement filled her with tearing pain. In the end, she was covered in sweat and at the same time feeling chills. The huge flow of people kept running here and there, a dozen voices talking and whispering among themselves, although she couldn't make out what exactly they were saying.

 Alicent heard the creak of wood and felt Rhaenyra's hands slipping from hers. She turned her head to the door, confused to see the blurry silhouette of her father entering the chambers.

 Then, finally, the infant's shrill cry echoed through the room, and she caught her breath.

 "A boy, my lord," Mellos said, depositing the small, blanket-wrapped figure into Ser Otto's arms.

 She thought she saw a smirk on her father's lips, as he called the boy "my grandson."

"Father. Let me see him" she whispered to him, but her father seemed to be too entranced by the little baby, or perhaps her voice was not strong enough, since he did not acknowledge her calling.

 A servant hurried in from the hall and approached Ser Otto. "The king asks to see his nephew, if the Lady Alicent approves" said the young boy.

 Her father seemed to whisper something to him and then to Mellos, before beginning to walk directly to the door, her son still in his arms, without her even being able to see his face. A wave of panic washed over her and she felt the need to lunge at him, even when she knew her weak body wouldn't allow her to take even a single step.

"Where are you going? Where are you taking my baby?" she asked him with a stronger voice, full of fear. This time her father seemed to hear her, as he turned to look at her. Alicent could see the little pink lump moving.

"You should rest Alicent. The labor was hard" Ser Otto said simply before walking back to the door. She felt despair rise in her chest and with a great effort she tried to get up.

"No! Give him to me. I want to hold him. Father, please..." she yelled in a voice full of anguish. The lady felt four pairs of strong arms holding her to the bed, preventing her from falling off it, but also that she could do something to retrieve the baby she hadn't even had a chance to touch.

"Don't take him away..." she whispered and felt hot tears slide down her cheeks.

Her father looked at her for a long moment, as if he was assessing the situation. "She's altered. Give her more poppy milk" he finally said before leaving the room taking the child with him.

 That just threw her into some kind of nervous breakdown. She felt her chest tighten and her heart beat faster as she tried to break free of the servants' grip and follow her father down the hall.

"No...No, please...let me hold him. Let me see my baby. Please." she repeated over and over again as if it were a prayer, as if she was going to bring her son and her father back with her words. Alicent felt Grand Maester Mellos place the rim of a bowl in her mouth and the sweet liquid slide down her throat It didn't take a couple of minutes, before her world turned black.

When she opened her eyes, the sky that was just beginning to be tinged with the colors of sunset had turned pitch black. How long had she been unconscious? She shifted in bed, restless, still feeling a certain weakness in her body and a hint of pain. She felt her mind dull, sluggish, like someone who drinks too much wine at night and wakes up the next morning.

 For the love of the Seven, what happened to me?

She saw something approach the door, the faint light of a candle illuminating the face of Talya, her servant.

"My lady..." she said in surprise, as if she was hallucinating. Alicent, who was beginning to come to her senses well, recalled the recent events. The screams, the pain, the crying... The crying.

 My child. Baelon.

"Where is he? Where is my son?" she quickly asked Talya, that still seemed to be processing the thought of seeing her awake.

 "Are you okay? You have been unconscious for a few hours, my lady..." she continued in concern, moving closer and examining her pale skin with the weak flame. At any other time she would have appreciated her care. In that however, it only filled her with more anxiety.

"Where is my baby?" she asked again with a shaky voice. Talya continued to check on her, making sure she was okay.

"Here, in his cradle. He's an adorable little thing, my lady. He behaved with his grandfather and His Majesty with such grace..." the maid began to comment, but Alicent interrupted her.

 "Give him to me" she said simply, trying to sound authoritative, like a commander to her soldiers. Talya looked at her in confusion.

"He's sleeping, my lady. We shouldn't..."

Alicent couldn't take it anymore. She had been wronged, insulted, betrayed, torn in half, torn apart, and drugged, all in less than a day. The tension inside her was unbearable and at that moment, she completely broke out.

"I don't fucking care! Give me my son!" she yelled at her furiously.

Talya even took a few steps back and seemed to half stumble, surprised by the sudden outburst of a lady who had never raised her voice like that to anyone, except to her lord husband, of course, but that was another story.

The maid walked quickly and took out the small bundle that she fidgeted with until she deposited it in her arms. Surprisingly, the little boy didn't cry, as if he felt the warmth of his mother and that calmed him down.

 "Leave. Please." she said in a much softer voice. Talya nodded with a small smile, perhaps knowing that all of this had been a product of her nerves and not so much a direct affront against her. She put the candle on the table by the bed and closed the door as she left the room.

And finally, Alicent was able to see her son clearly for the first time.

Rosy skin, indigo eyes illuminated by candlelight, and fine platinum-gold hair that was soft to the touch.

 Gods. You look exactly like your father.

And it was that the baby was a carbon copy of her husband, with those eyes slightly darker than those of the common Targaryen, that nose, those cheekbones... He had not the slightest trace of his Hightower's blood. And yet she knew, she felt it was hers. Her son.

 Alicent felt a rush of love flood through her as she gazed into her son's eyes. The birth had been long and difficult; and there were times it seemed there would be no end to the pain. But now, as she held him in her arms, she realized that it had all been worth it. What sort of a man would he grow to be? She would do her part of it to raise him well.

“Hello, my sweet boy,” she whispered as she cradled the baby close to her, feeling a rush of overwhelming emotions. Her son reached up and grasped her finger with his tiny hand and Alicent felt something inside her chest, something warm, as if he filled a void she had never known she had. She smiled and kissed his forehead.

 "Baelon. My beautiful boy" she whispered to him.

 And when the sun started to rise, the little dragon was still asleep in her arms.

 As soon as morning came, the Red Keep was filled with life again. An army of servants flooded her chambers, cleaning and serving them with efficiency.

Alicent ordered that her son's cradle be placed next to her bed, so that even when she couldn't hold him in her arms, she would feel him close to her. For some reason, she felt apprehensive about the skinny little baby, as if she couldn't go long without him in her sight. Mother's instinct, perhaps? She didn't know.

The lady had tried to get up a few times, but her pain and weakness still lingered.

"The birth was complicated" the maester explained when he went to check on her "The child came earlier. Recovery will take longer than usual."

So she had stayed like that, in bed. They had brought a wet nurse to feed Baelon, claiming that her weakness would not allow it. Alicent had grumbled, but in the end she had accepted. She would not let her son suffer just because of her own stubbornness. And she was hoping that once she recovered, she would be able to feed him herself.

Her father arrived at her room late in the afternoon. Ser Otto advanced with sure steps towards the cradle of her grandson at a time when she had closed her eyes to try to rest, probably thinking that she was asleep. But when her father leaned in to look at Baelon, he met her piercing gaze. He seemed slightly surprised, though not too much.

 "Alicent. It's good to see you're fully conscious now. You did an excellent job yesterday," he said, reaching out his hand to stroke her hair, but she stopped him, grabbing his wrist.

 "You took my son. I begged you not to and you took him anyway, without me even looking at him" she said coldly. After she got over the milk of the poppy, little bits of what had happened during her childbirth had come back to her. That was the one she remembered the most.

Her father hardly seemed fazed by her sudden anger. He gently released his wrist from her grasp and looked at her almost pityingly.

"Pain and weariness make us imagine things, besides poppy milk. I did not hear your voice calling me, and neither did the maester nor any of the servants, I am sure. I thought you would agree to Baelon being presented to His Majesty" he said with a voice that sought to calm her down.

 That was the epitome of cynicism. He really thought that he could make her believe that it had only been a figment of her imagination? And yet there was a part of her that wanted to believe him. A part of Alicent that preferred to believe that this had only happened in her head rather than admit her father's cruelty.

 "You will not take my son again without my permission, Father" she said with a serious voice, almost threatening. She had never in her life spoken to him like that, but for some reason, anything related to Baelon filled her with a fire that was hard to put out.

Perhaps my son shared some of his dragon blood with me these months that he was in my womb.

Otto seemed amused. "I would never take my grandson without your permission, Alicent. You are his mother after all" he said, repeating his version of the story. She decided to believe him. She had to. He leaned down his hand again and this time managed to stroke her hair without any opposition from her, at least not that he could feel since she continued to shoot him with uncomfortable glares. She was too tired to physically fight her father. He seemed to enjoy his small victory.

"The king adores your son. You should have seen his face. He is delighted with the child. He called him a worthy son of the House Targaryen" he said with an almost excited voice. But she knew that he was not happy for the child who was blood of his blood, but for the doors that he would open, the opportunities that he would have. That the king had consideration for Baelon from such an early age fed his dreams.

"He's as happy as any uncle would be with his nephew. It doesn't mean anything more than Viserys appreciates his family," she said, still trying to resist her father with words, if she couldn't with her body. He removed his hand from his affectionate gesture and fixed her with a stern look. For a moment she felt like a little girl being scolded again.

"Let's go step by step. I don't expect His Majesty to see his brother's son as his successor immediately. But if we play well, in a few years…"

His answer made her feel sick. Her son was not even a day old, but her father already had plans for him. Plans for everyone. The board had not changed, he had only acquired new pieces.

 "Does the prince already know about the birth of his firstborn son?" she cut him off, trying to steer him away from the subject.

"Ravens have already been sent to the Stepstones with the news. Your husband must be on his way, if not by his wish, because he knows the entire Realm is watching him closely" her father declared confidently.

She had forgotten, in all the chaos, to think about Daemon's reaction to the news. Would her husband show an aversion against the child, as she feared, as he himself had said? Just indifference? Or would the words go with the wind and her son would actually be cherished?

"It is time for you and Daemon to reconcile. This futile fight must come to an end. And if you must give in to it, then do so. Please, my child" Ser Otto continued to say and she felt her body tense once more.

 She hadn't told anyone the information Larys Strong had shared about Daemon and Rhaenyra the day before, too overwhelmed by all the events and put to sleep against her will. Alicent wasn't even sure it was true. But if it was, her father would want to know. That her husband was unfaithful to her wouldn't matter to him at all, but for him to be unfaithful with Rhaenyra would be a direct affront to House Hightower. So she decided to avoid the conflict about that for now, when the line between truth and lies was still blurred. When she still had faith in the princess whom she began to consider her friend again. 

"My lord husband is furious with me, but I do not believe I am the source of his anger, Father" she said, highlighting the true reason for Daemon's fury. Him.

Ser Otto remained silent, as if he waw evaluating the options. "You're right. I'll talk to him personally then"

 Alicent felt that if she hadn't already been in bed, she would have fallen. As sickening as she found the image of her father in his machinations, the image of his head on a pike wasn't much better. And that's just what would happen if he talked to her husband.

"I don't think that's a good idea"

He shook his head, as if he was incredulous at her words. "We are family, bound now by the blood of your son. He will listen me...and you."

Her father knew Daemon better than she did. Perhaps, if there was someone who could convince her stubborn husband, it was him. But she was sure of something.

If he mentioned being family, if he even said the word "son-in-law" Daemon wouldn't hesitate to caress his neck with the edge of his sword.

And that would make the prince deeply happy. Perhaps more than the birth of our own child.

But she supposed that he already knew. Her father hadn't gotten this far in life by being an idiot. She looked at the boy in the crib, fiddling with the covers and couldn't help but smile again. How was it possible that such a small thing could bring her so much happiness just by doing something so simple? And yet, she knew that her heart was already entirely his, forever. She would do anything to protect him. Anything.

So, knowing that her father was still waiting for a positive answer and wanting to be alone again with little Baelon, she finally decided to say something that would please him.

Otto Hightower's favorite sentence.

 "If it is your wish, Father"

Chapter Text

VISERYS III

Viserys remained nervously in his room, the seconds feeling like long hours. He had not been able to sit still since Ser Harrold had brought him the news about Lady Alicent. A premature birth was never a good omen.

Within House Targaryen there were only two known, not counting those of Maegor's wives. Aegon and Gaemon. The first and last male child of his grandparents King Jaehaerys and Queen Alyssane. Neither had survived beyond three moons and had left the mother terribly weakened.

 However, he still had faith, in the Seven and in the woman who was his sister-in-law.

After all, Alicent is a strong woman and although the child arrives early, the pregnancy is much further along than any of my grandmother's had been.

 He had sent a servant to inform him of the condition of his brother's wife and to request the introduction of his nephew or niece as soon as the mother authorized it, anxious to meet the new member of his family but respecting the special moment that was shared between mother and child when they first met. And yet, even with these hopeful notions that in the end he would have something to celebrate, he was still aware of the danger Alicent faced.

 The King had decided to wait in his chambers for news instead of going to see her. He had tried, but he hadn't succeeded. Viserys wasn't ready to face a woman in labor again yet. Not when the bitter memories were still so fresh in his mind. He kissed his deceased wife's ring, he held it in his hand and waited.

"Your Majesty," Otto Hightower's voice from the door finally brought him out of his musings.

He squeezed Aemma's ring and looked at his former friend. He hadn't changed much physically since he had brought him back to Oldtown. But he had shown a more humble and gentle spirit, especially with his daughter. Seeing him taking care of Alicent had made him consider that he had made a good decision in making him her support. As he got to know her well he had realized that his sister-in-law was a good person, and for her to go through a difficult situation alone because he had sent her husband to war would be unfair. When Viserys saw him there at the door, with a serene demeanor and a proud smile, he knew that everything had turned out much better than he expected. His former Hand would not be in such good spirits if his daughter and his first grandchild were not well.

 "Otto," he said softly, motioning for Ser Harrold to let him pass. Only when he was inside his room he noticed that Ser Otto was carrying something in his arms. A white blanket that moved restlessly. And finally, he could hear the characteristic squeal of a baby.

 The King hadn't heard that sound since Rhaenyra's birth. The child that Syrax had burned along with his wife had been silent.

"Drowned in the blood of his mother," he had once heard the maester comment to one of his assistants. The notion gave him chills. And yet, the childish cry of his brother's son sounded like music in his ears.

 "Your nephew, Your Majesty. Baelon Targaryen" Ser Otto said, giving him the child to carry.

Hearing the name, he felt a stab of pain again. Viserys had not been unaware of Daemon's evil intentions in naming the child after his deceased son. In fact, his brother hadn't even tried to hide it. This was clearly a punishment, a revenge, a way to remind him of what he had lost at every mention of his nephew's name. And he had to admit that it had an effect, even from this first time.

"I didn't expect you to bring him so fast. Is the Lady Alicent...?" he began to say, unsure, feeling the new weight in his arms. Ser Otto looked at him with a reassuring smile.

"My daughter is tired from the birth. She preferred to try to rest while her son is presented to the King. It is such an honor for her. For us" he said with a calm and confident tone. Viserys nodded. He had no reason to doubt a father who cared about his daughter, even if the situation was unusual.

Finally, he tilted his head to admire the little life.

When Viserys first looked into the indigo eyes of the child in his arms, he felt like he had been transported back in time, taking him almost twenty-eight years into the past, before the Stepstones,  the  Council that would make him king and before the death of Baelon and Aemon Targaryen, just on an afternoon like this, surrounded by the same euphoria of a royal birth.

The kings, his grandparents, were taking a short trip to Blackwater Bay. Father had been pacing the hallways all morning, restless, while sounds of screams and sighs echoed in Mother's room.

The prince had been nicknamed "The Brave" and he remembered him that way, strong, serene and usually impassive. Seeing him so nervous had scared him. Finally an old man with a chain around his neck had left the room and spoken to his father, whose expression had changed to one of pure joy.

 "Come, Viserys," he had said and he had taken the hand he had offered him to enter the room. Mother was in bed, drenched in sweat, red and exhausted. And yet she smiled. It was then that he had noticed the lump moving in her arms.

 Viserys had been old enough then to understand his mother's pregnancy and that it would eventually result in a child. But that didn't mean he stopped being surprised, or intrigued. His father had given his mother a light kiss on the lips and held the baby in his hands, sitting on the edge of the bed while he cradled him. He had come closer to see him. It had been a baby just like this one, maybe a little bigger, crying at the top of his lungs.

 "This is your brother, Viserys. Daemon" he had told him, inviting him to come closer. The fierce gaze of those indigo eyes had locked onto his, while his mother laughed.

 "He seems to like you" she had told him and he had realized that although the boy seemed angry, he had stopped crying.

"You two will be like Aemon and me, inseparable Targaryen princes," his father had laughed as Viserys caressed his brother's soft hands that had clung to his.

The memory of it almost made him cry.

 "It's a beautiful boy. A son worthy of House Targaryen, like his father" he whispered excitedly. He thought of his brother again.

Daemon will love this child. It doesn't matter how stubborn he might be. I am sure of that now.

Distrusting the strength of his now trembling arms, he handed the small bundle back to Otto. The boy cried in his grandfather's arms.

 "He'd better rest," he murmured as he surreptitiously wiped away a tear. His former Hand seemed happy and pleased.

"Of course. I will return him to his mother's room"

Before he could leave the room, the king looked at the infant one last time.

"Tell your daughter that her son is magnificent and he will be cherished and cared as he deserves by his blood."

 Ser Otto bowed slightly and left his chambers. A few minutes later, Ser Criston Cole came in, flushed and sweaty, and whispered something in his ear. His face couldn't help but show the surprise he felt at his words.

 "Do you know where is she now?"

 The knight whispered an embarrassed "we don't know, Your Majesty, I'm sorry" and "I'll look for her until I find her, I swear."

 The king shook his head. An idea appeared in his mind. "It will not be necessary. I know where she is, and she is safe. Go rest and tell Ser Harrold that he is also relieved of his duties for a while."

Ser Cole looked at him confused, but did not refute his orders, leaving him alone. Viserys waited a few minutes before standing and heading down the hallway.

He walked through the Red Keep, which he knew like the back of his hand, until he reached the door to the Queen's chambers. A place he didn't usually go, haunted by memories. And yet, he knew she would be there.

 It had always been his daughter's safe place since she was a child, when she and Alicent had childish fights or when she was nervous and she sought the warmth and comfort of her mother. She was probably looking for that, although she knew she wouldn't find it anymore, not in the same way at least.

 The King gathered his courage and finally opened the door. The wood creaked, with that usual creak of something that hasn't been used in a long time. The first thing that appeared in his field of vision was the bed, spread with snow-white sheets. He didn't stop to look at them for long, fearing that his mind would play tricks on him and he would start imagining spots dyeing them red.

In fact, Aemma's room was exactly the same as she had left it that day. After his canceled engagement to Lady Alicent, he had decided to keep it just like that, neat, a silent altar to the love of his life. But he knew that as soon as he married Lady Laena, he would have to move her things elsewhere. He didn't know if he would have the courage.

But what mattered most to him at that moment was at the corner, sitting in a chair looking out the window in complete silence. Viserys slowly approached and pulled out another chair to sit next to her, looking at her with a hint of concern.

She ignored his presence.

Finally, he decided to be the one to break the silence.

 "I didn't know you were on better terms with Lady Alicent. I'm glad you could put your differences aside and…" he began, unsure of how to continue the conversation. Certainly, Rhaenyra's presence at Daemon's wife's birthing bed had been a surprise. That was what Ser Criston had informed him, in addition to the princess's hasty exit from his sister-in-law's room after Ser Otto Hightower entered it. His daughter's sworn shield had expressed some concern about Rhaenyra's state of mind, but it seemed that the princess had managed to escape from the knight before he could reach her.

 That's why he had come to inform him about it. And that's why he was here.

Rhaenyra seemed to think for a long moment whether or not to continue the silent treatment she had punished him with since she had returned from Storm's End. In the end, her need to express her emotions seemed to be greater than her pride.

"I thought she would die. She reminded me of my mother. I couldn't hate someone so much to wish such a terrible death on them. Not even her," she said with a cold voice, which sought to mask something else. It hurt him not to know exactly what.

"Rhaenyra..." he said softly, taking her hand in his healthy one. His daughter looked him straight in the eyes.

"Did you take her by her hand? While she was screaming? While they were tearing her apart to give you my brother?" she said with a voice full of anger and pain. He shuddered upon hearing her words. Talking about Aemma in this very room had a sinister touch. And yet, it was the most conversation he had gotten out of Rhaenyra in moons. Viserys squeezed her hand tighter.

"I loved your mother. I love your mother. I never wanted what happened to her to happen. I blame myself every day and every night for it" he said sincerely. He would never dare tell her the whole truth, to tell Rhaenyra about the sleepless nights, the terrible nightmares. The King didn't want to sound like he was justifying himself. He felt that he deserved the punishment, and he would never say otherwise. Still, his daughter's mood seemed to darken with his response. She removed her hand from his and looked back at the window.

"Will you kill Laena Velaryon as well, in your attempt to obtain your long-awaited heir?" she whispered with an accusatory tone. Viserys snorted heavily. He had imagined that his recent engagement had angered his daughter, but only now did he realize how much.

"I already have an heir," he said with a voice that tried to be reassuring.

"Until you have a boy," she quickly replied bitterly. The king noticed that his head was beginning to hurt. He had to admit that his actions from a certain point of view seemed to have other purposes. And yet, how was he supposed to explain reality to her if she had refused to speak to him? But now he had the chance. And he was going to take advantage of it.

"My actions are not for the purpose of hurting you, Rhaenyra. They are for the good of the Realm. The Targaryen dynasty needs more princes and princesses to strengthen itself. It is my duty as King" he explained trying to keep his voice calm.

He placed his hand carefully on her shoulder and she shivered slightly, but she didn't push him away. He took it as a good sign. "But your place as my heir will never be questioned. I can promise you that for the memory of your mother. You will be Queen after me."

She turned again to look at him. Her eyes were still full of fury.

"And yet you insist on surrounding me with people who wish for my ruin. People who have proven to have no loyalty to House Targaryen," she said with a slight touch of sarcasm.

Viserys couldn't say that he was surprised. He knew there was some animosity between Otto Hightower and Rhaenyra, perhaps not as strong as that the former Hand had with Daemon, but close. The fact that she had abandoned Alicent the moment her father had set foot in her chambers was proof enough. But he also noticed that he wasn't just talking about him. There was also a slight dig at the lady who had recently become a mother. And that was a completely different topic.

 "Lady Alicent is now part of our family. Your family. She has given your uncle a son. Blood of our blood."

 He immediately knew that his words had had the opposite effect of what he had intended. Instead of reflection or understanding, he was met with eyes that flashed with anger.

"We both know who should have carried Daemon's son. Who should hold that child in her arms"

Viserys sighed and looked at the ground in frustration. Trying to convince his daughter of something was like talking to a wall.

 "Rhaenyra, please. This obsession with your uncle has you blind. Blind in bitterness, pain and resentment. If you could leave it behind....You could have a friend. You could have a cousin."

Viserys knew Rhaenyra's reply. He guessed it in her eyes.

"If it weren't for you, father, I could have a son."

But his daughter did not dare to express it. Instead she continued to feed her own silent fury.

"What sense does it have then? You will give me everything except what I really want..." she seemed to consider whether she would say the next thing or not. But in the end, she did. "I want Daemon."

 For a moment, he could hear Daemon's muffled sigh again in the Throne Room, with the Valyrian steel dagger pressed against his neck.

“Wed her to me. I want Rhaenyra...”

 There they were. Two Targaryens with fire running through their veins, untamed and rebellious, each obsessed with the other. And they wouldn't care who they destroyed in their path. Not even if it was their loved ones, or the whole Seven Kingodoms. Selfish and chaotic.

He remembered that his mother had once told him what the burning passion of the dragon could do, if it was restrained.

"If I had been married to Aemon instead of Baelon, like your grandfather wanted, I would have engulfed the Realm in flames. Saera would have looked like a spoiled brat compared to me," she had said to him a long time ago, while his father laughed at her words, kissing her cheek.

Daemon has always been of Alyssa's wild blood. And yet, love will never be his only impulse.

He had known it since the day Jaehaerys had given Darksister to the Rogue Prince. A sword that  had previously belonged to Maegor. But it wasn't him who his brother always reminded him of, but Visenya. A power-hungry Queen who had made the Realm bleed to be the authority behind the Throne, the Queen in the shadows. And history seemed to want to repeat itself.

I have not gone out of my way to keep Daemon from the Iron Throne only for him to get it so easily from my daughter's hands.

 He could love Rhaenyra. Maybe. But that wouldn't satisfy his hunger for power. That was why he had kept him away from the position of Hand, the one that would allow him to be what he wanted to be. The man who had power in everything but name. And what could he do if he ever became king consort?

"I won't rush you into taking a husband. But your uncle is completely out of the question. He has a wife and a child to take care of," he said with a slightly harsher voice.

 Rhaenyra seemed to resent the change in mood.

"A forced wife. A child he never wanted. Do you think I'm unaware of Daemon's distaste for mixed blood?"

The mention of his brother's possible contempt for his own son filled him with a slight feeling of anger. His voice sounded much more serious and severe.

"I won't talk about it anymore. I'm warning you Rhaenyra. I will send Daemon to Oldtown when he returns from the Stepstones if you insist on the matter."

The princess seemed to want to answer him, but she bit her tongue to avoid saying something inappropriate.

 "As Your Majesty wishes" she said coldly before getting up and leaving the room. For a moment he thought about stopping her, but in the end he didn't. His daughter needed to calm down, and so did he.

 Viserys hated this, the indifference, the fights whenever they talked, the slight resentment, the separation. Rhaenyra was his world, his only daughter, his heir, the person who was supposed to be the closest to him. Daemon's wedding and Aemma's death had marked a before and after in their relationship. And he didn't know if it could ever return to be the same.

He remembered the girl who was his cupbearer, the one who spoke excitedly to him about the adventures Daemon told her, the one who came to see him with her riding clothes still on.

The woman who had just left him, however , was a stranger, forged by sadness and loneliness. And he couldn't help but think that it was his fault.

What have I done with our daughter, Aemma?

Being in that room, alone, gave him a feeling of loneliness that penetrated his bones. But he couldn't find the strength to get up and leave. It was as if the familiarity of the place had him hypnotized. Viserys remembered the laughter and love that had once reigned there. Now there was only dead silence. Dust was beginning to accumulate on the furniture and books. There were cobwebs everywhere. Finally, after a long internal conflict, he got up.

He took one last look at the room before closing the door. There were Rhaenyra's childhood memories, his golden years with Aemma, the dreams, the illusions. A past that would be erased when the Seasnake's daughter arrived to take her place as his legitimate wife. The door closed with a heavy click and he walked away, not wanting to look back. Being in this frivolous sanctuary and the talk with his daughter had soured the fact of the birth of his nephew. He tried to think about that. Daemon would return to meet his son, if only for a couple of days. Now that he knew that Rhaenyra had not abandoned her fight for possession of her uncle, he would have to make sure that they did not meet in anything more than a strictly formal sense.

The King nodded to himself, with conviction.

I will give the orders personally to Ser Criston Cole tonight. Rhaenyra listens the knight, at least more than she does with me.

It was something embarrassing, having to trust a King's Guard in the task that a father should do. But there was no other option. Even if he couldn't convince her otherwise, Ser Cole would keep an eye on her. Keeping his daughter and heir safe from rumors and slander was the only thing that mattered to him.

Even if Rhaenyra hates me for it…

Chapter Text

DAEMON VI

Daemon entered the Red Keep like an unforgiving storm, threatening to destroy everything in his path. When he had come down from Caraxes he had not exactly been in the epitome of good humor, but now he was completely furious. The servants in his way stepped aside, fearful, noticing the murderous rage shining in his eyes.

Two weeks had passed since the Rogue Prince received the letter announcing the birth of his child, a son to House Targaryen. A particularly fierce joint attack by Drahar trying to retake the coast and the Triarchy attacking from the sea had delayed his departure back to the capitol. He had tried three times, the day he received the raven. And all three times he had failed, with the armies on the ground slicing up his men every time they saw Caraxes take flight. But finally, after fifteen days of the most intense and bloody fighting he had been involved in since arriving at the Stepstones, they had managed to repel the enemy, causing them to take a stronghold again inside the caves, if their blood was not already dyeing the waves red.

 Impersonal and cold, he had known that the writing did not belong to his wife. Suspicious of who had sent the scroll and furious with the notion, he had assumed that Alicent was simply angry at his own silence, deciding that if it was a battle of wills and anger, no one would surpass his.

But the story that had awaited him in King's Landing had been different.

 Landing with Caraxes with no greater honor than the surprised looks of a few guards on duty, Daemon had asked about her and their son. The answer was what had left him so upset.

Daemon didn't even know why he was so angry. But he had never been the kind of man who stopped to think before acting. Finally, the prince found the one he was looking for.

He grabbed the man by the collar of his robe and slammed him against the wall.

"My wife gave birth almost half a moon ago and she's still in bed," he hissed angrily. Grand Maester Mellos, still in shock from the sudden assault, confused by seeing the Rogue Prince in front of him and terrified by his rage, trembled in his grasp.

"My prince, I..." he stammered desperately. Daemon slammed into him harder, bringing his face closer to his.

"You told her it would be an easy birth," he said, taking his neck in his hands and beginning to squeeze. Mellos's eyes looked around in panic, searching for help that didn't seem available at the moment.

 "There were complications. The boy..." he tried to explain, but the prince's grip tightened, depriving him of oxygen.

 "Maybe I should rip that belly open and wrap your insides around your neck. Perhaps visualizing your interior will facilitate your work and allow you to do it well..." he whispered to the old man with the darkest of promises.

 The grand maester gasped, desperate for both the threat and a gasp of air, his face beginning to turn a dull blue. "I... please, my prince. It wasn't my fault..." he managed to whisper in a voice hoarse from the strangulation.

Then, a voice snapped him out of his unbridled aggression.

"Daemon," said his wife's voice, not loud enough to be considered a scream, but enough to get his attention. Within his wild frenzy, he hadn't even realized that he had arrived in front of her door, blinded with his bloodlust.

"My lady wife," Daemon said coldly, looking at Alicent's face in the candlelit bed. He gave Mellos one last threatening look before releasing him from his grasp, causing the man to fall heavily to the ground, coughing loudly.

"My lord husband" she responded with similar coldness, ignoring the almost dead maester at his feet.

Daemon entered the room and closed the door, isolating them both from the outside world. He silently analyzed his wife. The Prince remembered the image of his mother after Aegon's birth, shortly before she lost her life. Pale, sweaty and trembling. But despite having slightly lighter skin than normal, Alicent seemed apparently healthy. There was a certain relief there, in that detail.

But the anger bubbling inside him still cried out for violence. The couple remained looking at each other, defiant.

"What a surprise that your father is not here. I guess vermin hide when they sense danger" he said with contempt, almost spitting out each of the words. They would finally talk about the cause of their mutual fight, which had broken up something that had worked peacefully for a while. She took a deep breath.

 "My lord father is here by orders of His Majesty," she replied in an emotionless voice, clearly not intending to be intimidated. It would have seemed exciting to him in other circumstances, an encouragement to confrontation, to challenge. But when it came to Otto Hightower, there was no room for anything but steely seriousness.

 "Do you expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with it? You pulled that rat out of his hole and brought him back while I was gone" he said without hiding the accusatory tone, with a voice full of disdain, of anger.

Alicent seemed irritated, but unwilling to fully show it.

 "You imagine me with a more perverse mind than I possess. You can ask the King himself if it is your wish" she said with a slightly defensive tone.

My brother cannot distinguish manipulation even if someone lies to his face. Wasn't he going to marry you?

Daemon tried to calm himself, knowing his own explosive mood and redirected his anger at the person he truly despised.

"I'll send that worm back to Oldtown. Or straight to the Seven Hells. I do not care. One way or another I'll have him away from King's Landing. Whole or in pieces" he declared. There was an air of oath in what he had said.

Alicent noticed it and her face became even more serious. Even there, sitting on the bed vulnerable in a certain way she seemed to gain a certain strength, a certain power.

 "He is still my father. I won't allow you to kill him"

She loves the son of a bitch. He has tried to sell her like a whore and control her like a puppet. And yet she loves him.

 The prince breathed deeply himself, closing his eyes. The same technique that had failed against that messenger. But here, alone, with his wife, it seemed to work a little.

"Where's the child?" he finally asked. Within the entire conversation, he had noticed the emptiness in the crib, and the silence within the words exchanged. He noticed Alicent tense up and didn't anticipate anything good.

 "My father asked my permission to take him with the king. I didn't know that you would arrive..."

His fists clenched tightly as his suspicions were confirmed. His new attempts to calm down were in vain.

"It's the only reason I am here. I expected my son to be presented to me" he whispered with a voice deeper than normal. For some reason, she seemed annoyed.

"I gave birth two weeks ago. You just arrived. You can't blame me..." she said indignantly, her own annoyance growing almost the same as his.

 Daemon let out a bitter laugh, in absolute disbelief. "What did you expect me to do? To ask the Triarchy for permission? I came here as soon as possible"

 His wife's fury did not diminish. Instead, his words seemed to fuel the fire.

"I expected you to at least send a letter, warning..."

That exhausted the last straw of his patience. He knew he could tell her the truth. That the battle had been so bloody that sending a raven would not only have been impossible, but absolutely ridiculous, even if he hadn't been applying the silent treatment to her for weeks. But instead of resorting to a reasonable and calm explanation, his anger drove him to react in the worst possible way.

"I do not owe you anything. Thank your father for everything. Even if you did not ask for his presence, you have let that filthy scum keep around here, in my own home..."

"He is your goodfather. He wished to see his grandson too" she replied.

He noticed that her voice sounded a little less convinced, less sure. That didn't lessen his fury.

"If you tell me again that I am related to that vile and grotesque being, I will pierce myself with my sword. Or put his head on a nice spike"

His blood runs in my son's veins. That disgusting rubbish...

 Alicent pressed her hands against the sheets beneath her and sighed loudly.

"Daemon, let us not fight here. We are husband and wife and we cannot allow these petty squabbles to get in the way of that. We have to be civil at least for the sake of our son..." she began to say, evidently trying to calm things down, which were beginning to get out of control. He recognized the need to end the discussion, but on his own terms.

"A child that is not here. Let me know when the son I came to meet is available for his father to visit" he said sternly before turning and leaving the room. He could see the displeased look in his wife's eyes, but she did not murmur a single contrary word. Now accustomed to her not giving up so easily, the manipulation behind her was obvious. Daemon could almost see the puppet ties.

The leech ordered you not to fight me.

When he reached his hastily prepared chambers, he rudely dismissed the servants after they had prepared his bath. Daemon sank into the hot water, feeling every one of his tense, exhausted muscles scream and relax. The prince noted the bruises on his pale skin, the small cuts. They had been invisible, first because of the armor and now because of the tunic he would wear, and he had no intention of letting them be noticed by anyone.

The pain would make me look weak. And in King's Landing, the weak are food for rats and clowns. On the Stepstones, for the crabs.

Once he managed to remove the remains of sand that he still had on his body, he quickly dressed himself, wearing a simple robe. One of the servants quickly entered to inform him that His Majesty had organized a banquet in honor of his visit and his son, and left the room with the same haste after seeing his annoyed expression.

 Daemon seriously considered for a moment not attending, staying and waiting for his bad mood and his tiredness to subside. But he knew that Viserys would never take no for an answer, no matter how hasty and improvised the matter was.

So before he knew it he was at the feast, receiving pats on the back and curious looks. He had been careful to leave any weapons in his chambers. A good foresight, because in his state he could stab someone now.

After several penetrating glances and a couple of greetings here and there the King approached him. Conversations with Viserys could be lively and good at times. From the look on his brother's face, he knew that this was not going to be one of them.

“We expected you to arrive in a couple of days. Two weeks..." he said in a tone that was intended to be scolding. Daemon tried to remind himself that he was his brother, that he was his King, and that slapping him would leave him in a terrible situation. But it was difficult.

"I'm sorry for not speaking to Craghas on time. If I had told him that my wife had just given birth, the kind and understanding admiral would surely have granted a truce just to allow me to go see my son," he said in the most sarcastic tone he had used with anyone.

He saw Viserys stiffen, as if his body had transformed into a statue.

"That's not what I meant," he muttered in a slightly embarrassed tone.

"Perhaps you should put on your armor, draw Blackfyre and command the troops. The soldiers will surely feel encouraged if their brave warrior king fights alongside them" Daemon continued, ready to vent his frustration right then and there. His brother paled even more.

"Daemon, it's enough" he said with a serious, stern tone. But at that moment, not even that stopped him.

"With your fighting and diplomacy skills you could end this war in days. You could even celebrate your wedding before this moon ends" the Rogue Prince kept speaking.

"You are going too far. You forget your place. I am your King" Viserys responded still in a low voice, keeping the discussion away from prying ears. He felt a shiver run down his spine and knew he was close to exploding.

Conveniently, a sweet voice echoed from behind Viserys, breaking the almost unbearable tension between them. Violet eyes locked onto his and another tremor ran through his body, but with a complete different emotion.

 He remembered words written with vengeance and desire fresh on his skin and mind.

"...I have never felt more alive than here, sword in hand, doing what I was born to do. Except for that night at Flea Bottom. I will remain still, until my queen calls me. This dragon is yours to command, for whatever you need. Always..."

 Rhaenyra seemed to be thinking about the same thing, as she smiled knowingly at him.

"Congratulations on your victories" the princess said. Her father frowned when he noticed her presence and seemed to want to murmur something to her but he was faster.

"Thank you, princess," Daemon answered, putting a smile on his face, more to annoy Viserys than to her. He saw an amused glint in her eyes and knew she understood.

"Perhaps my uncle would like a tour of the gallery? Neither he nor I have had the pleasure of seeing the new tapestries that were gifted to you from Norvos and Qohor" Rhaenyra continued with a soft voice and he suppressed a laugh, both at the look from his brother, who glared at his daughter with every word that came out of her mouth, as if because of the proposed idea. The prince knew that the invitation had a totally different intention.

 "Perhaps I would. I can learn to appreciate the art" he whispered sarcastically.

 He could see the King trying very hard not to do anything unreasonable against both of them.

“Have you already visited your wife and your son, my brother?” Viserys asked quickly. Daemon could see the bitter glare that his niece threw at him.

“I did. However, it seems that Alicent prefers your company and her father’s for my son rather than mine” he said coldly. “Is it true, that you were the one who brought that cunt back after everything that happened?”

He saw in his brother the look of someone who knows he has screwed up enormously but refuses to accept it out loud out of pride.

“I consult my decisions with my advisors and my Hand, as far as I know, you are neither of them. Lady Alicent needed company after you left and I made the arrangements. And I won't change my mind.”

The prince could see Rhaenyra's cold gaze and knew that they were both at the same level of fury.

Two dragons against a third will not end well.

"I would love to share the share the stories of my battles with you, my dear niece, if that pleases you” he said in a slightly higher tone than he should have used.

The Rogue Prince noticed the people around, watching the conversation between the three Targaryens carefully. Viserys seemed to notice too, because he swallowed his anger and frustration, avoiding making a public scene. So, despite his irritation he let Rhaenyra sat besides the prince, far enough from his ears. Daemon could taste victory. He noticed that despite this they were being watched closely by her glorified bodyguard, that insufferable knight.

The glances that the white cloak gave her from time to time were... interesting.

The poor guy is in love with her. He looks at her like a puppy. And she doesn't know, or she pretends not to know.

He was more amused than jealous at that thought. Ser Crispin had as much chance of falling into bed with Rhaenyra as he did of being crowned King.

Rhaenyra gave him a sweet smile and his attention was drawn from the King's Guard to her again.

"I missed you, uncle," she told him with a satisfied smile that reminded him of the ones she wore when she made a mischief inside the castle, when she was little.

"And I missed you too, princess," he whispered, still aware of the closeness of her sworn shield.

"It was a surprise, your letter. I thought I had to resign myself to the fact that you didn't write to me" Rhaenyra said with slight sarcasm. He was left pondering his response. In the end, he decided to tell her a half-truth.

"Also ravens are supervised by your father and his servants. Anything compromising would have been discovered. I didn't want to get you into trouble. I sent you a letter by secure means, with a man who delivered it directly into your hands." Daemon saw in her eyes that she had believed him, and she felt a little guilty. But confessing to her that his lack of communication had been out of respect for a wife who didn't seem to respect him in the same way? He had seen how Rhaenyra would get at even mentioning Alicent's name...

"Then I suppose we will remain incommunicated as soon as you return to the battlefield, even if it is something important" the princess said and she could hear a slight anger in her voice. The notion of it amused him. Rhaenyra was as quick to anger as he was.

"For common talk, probably. But..." he said, letting the words hang in the air as an idea formed in his mind.

Daemon had been thinking about it, for a while. There was no secure communication in King's Landing...unless you bought your own. He had done it, before, when he remained Lord Commander. But the distance had put an end to that. After passing through the hands of hundreds of golden cloaks, how many gold dragons reached their final destination? No. Keeping purchased spies constantly while away was not viable. But if they were paid for a specific favor...

"If there is a matter of great importance that you should tell me about, there is a way to do it," he whispered. Her curious gaze fixed on him, inquisitive.

"You would have to go to the city, get into it, not too deep, just enough to find less...refined people"

"I don't know if I like where this is going," she whispered back, "but keep going."

"It must really be something important, almost life or death," he stressed before continuing. "You will find several children, ragged. Give one the letter or the message, pay him five gold dragons and tell him that it is for the White Worm"

He could see thousands of questions rushing through her head, but none of them came out of her mouth.

"If that will be the way to contact you, dear uncle, I will remember it," she finally said.

Seriousness gave way to a less tense atmosphere and despite feeling the two gazes fixed on their necks, that of the knight and that of the king, they laughed and drank together, yes, being careful of avoid blatantly inappropriate behavior.

At the end of the night his bad mood had subsided and drunk, he stumbled to his room. He was so lost within his own intoxication and the events of the last few hours, that he almost threw the woman who stood in front of him to the ground.

She didn't seem to notice the effort he had made to avoid her, but she did seem concerned about his intoxication. He recognized her, at last, as one of his wife's maids.

What will it be this time? A message from my wife or from her bastard father? Otto...I haven't seen him since I got here. Maybe he is taking hiding for his life seriously.

"My prince," the maid said, after realizing that he was not going to start any conversation.

"Lady Alicent sent me to inform you that your son will not be moved from her room again until you have met him. She said it was a matter of great importance" she said hurriedly. Daemon frowned. That sounded almost like an order to him. His bad mood threatened to return.

"It's lucky. Why would I have to move the child anyway? Useless visits to my brother? So that her bastard father can whisper plans in his ear?" he asked angrily, too drunk to make out that he had spoken out loud, rather than in his mind. The girl thought that the questioning was for her and seemed doubtful.

"Well, my prince, the child still has his wet nurse and they must take him out from time to time to feed him. Lady Alicent is still too weak. The maester says that it was a difficult birth. That he feared for her life once... "

He stopped listening to her at that precise moment, blocking her voice from his ears. Daemon remembered those same words coming out of the maester's mouth when talking to his father that damned night.

"Princess Alyssa is strong. But the birth was complicated and we fear that maybe..."

He felt a pang of guilt, but his intoxication prevented him from putting together the train of thought to know why. In his alcohol-addled mind, he made a decision.

"You can go," he told the maid coldly. This she seemed grateful to be dismissed from his presence and she quickly disappeared from the corridor.

Then he went his own way, away from his own room.

With great difficulty and stumbling several times, he managed to reach his wife's chambers. With a gentleness almost extraordinary given his condition, he opened the door slowly and silently, slipping inside deftly. The light from the candles illuminated the room dimly, but enough to avoid all obstacles without making a single sound. Finally, his hand touched the small wooden frame of the crib and he felt his heart beat powerfully in his chest, a wave of nervousness ran through his body and for a moment he considered just getting out of there. After all, no one knew of his presence. But he forced himself to stay.

His hands and legs trembled as he leaned over to look inside the small wooden cabinet. The boy's chest rose and fell in almost perfect synchrony, his hands were clenched into small fists and his eyes were closed.

Daemon didn't know how long he stayed looking at him, seconds, minutes, hours. He just knew that, in a moment, in the blink of an eye, he found small indigo eyes staring into his. The prince let out a surprised sigh. Only then did he also make out the platinum-gold hair on his head, which, with great effort, he forced himself not to touch, fearing he was too rough in his drunken state. He seemed so fragile. Something fluttered in his chest and he felt like he was gasping for air, flooded by unknown emotions. Father and son looked at each other for a long time, neither making a sound.

He is truly my child. A son of Valyria. As me.

There was a certain sense of pride in the thought, in seeing the child he had created. Blood of his blood. A Targaryen.

A hope surfaced in his head and in his chest.

Maybe his blood is strong enough. Maybe he will manage to ride a dragon.

The baby, probably tired and lulled by the comfort of his sheets, fell asleep again. Daemon looked at him for a long while longer, until it seemed enough, and he turned to leave. But the halo of candlelight illuminating the auburn hair of the figure lying on the bed distracted him. He had almost forgotten her presence. Almost. But now that he noticed her again, it seemed impossible to escape.

With great care, he managed to sit down without making any noise in a chair conveniently placed next to the bed. The intimate position of it and the thought of who could have placed it there caused him to shiver with disgust. But drunkenness soon drove those thoughts from his head. He looked at her face, relaxed with sleep. The way her hair fell across her face, the way she seemed to snuggle into the sheets.

He had never seen Alicent sleep. And yet, she conveyed a strange tranquility...

As with the boy, he resisted the urge to tuck her hair behind her ear so he could see more of the face that had him intrigued. Again, he lost track of time, but when he saw that the sun began to rise and with his drunkenness quite diminished, he left the room silently, secretly.

The next two days he was formally introduced to Baelon Targaryen, his firstborn son, in the presence of the King, his Hand, and Otto Hightower, conveniently away from him and close to the door, in case he had to make a hasty escape. Events passed quickly and soon it was time to return to battle.

Back at the Stepstones he found himself in a situation similar to the one he had left. Lady Laena was the only one who showed any interest in his experience, but he quickly dismissed her with general details. Only until he found himself inside his tent, completely alone, did he allow his mind to remember that night. A resolution emerged at that moment.

The next day, before meeting again with the strategists, he gave a scroll to one of the men in charge of receiving and sending the ravens.

"Send this message to King's Landing" he said simply and without any question, the boy obeyed. There was nothing forbidden on that piece of paper, nothing that deserved the secrecy of the last time.

Maybe she'll break it, or burn it. Or just don't answer me. But it's worth trying.

Daemon sensed that this decision to resume communication with his wife was correct, whatever the outcome. Something had awakened in him, that night when he had really met Baelon for the first time. Seeing his son had changed something inside of him. But when he imagined the boy's defiant indigo eyes, for some reason that serene face and  auburn hair always appeared in his mind as well. He did not delve too deeply into its meaning.

The prince took Darksister's knob and entered Lord Corlys' tent again, determined to finally find a way to achieve victory once and for all in the damned war.

Chapter Text

ALICENT VI

Alicent caressed Baelon's head, enjoying the feeling of his soft hair between her fingers. It had been a long day, with the boy crawling from here to there, playing with the toy dragons given by his uncle and trying more and more frequently to stand up.

When he walks, he will be the terror of the Red Keep. Pursued by me, by maids, servants and guards alike.

After nine moons since his birth, her son had soon stopped being that fragile little thing and had become a plump, robust boy, who cried angrily at the top of his lungs every time his grandfather carried him in his arms. Daemon's trait, for sure.

Ser Otto had become the man who decided who could see her son or not. A kind of guardian for the well-being of his daughter and his grandson in the eyes of the king. But Alicent had not been so easily fooled about it. She knew that in reality the only person who usually wanted to visit Baelon was her brother-in-law, and her father pretended to be the mediator of said matter in order to force His Majesty to engage in conversation with him. Soon, those talks had stopped being formal and had become less dry, even becoming friendly. After all, didn't Ser Otto know the king even before his reign?

My father will never be Hand of the King again, and he knows it. But the mere fact of having the ear of His Majesty gives him a big power.

Another person with whom relations were still strained was Rhaenyra. She remembered the princess's presence on the day of Baelon's birth and how comforting she had been, but she did not forget Lord Larys' words, no matter how hard she had tried. Alicent had not yet confronted her, however. It was not a lack of courage, but rather, knowledge of the situation. For now, things were generally peaceful between them and unleashing hell at that precise moment was not the smartest thing to do. The issue of her son was also complicated. It was hard to know what was going on in Rhaenyra's mind. She sometimes looked at Baelon as if she had stolen something that belonged to him. Others, as if she wanted the child to be hers.

Thinking about a child of Rhaenyra and Daemon always gave her chills.

She looked again at the sleeping face of the baby in his crib, and as from time to time, the small movements of his strong, chubby legs slightly moved the golden orb at his feet.

The dragon egg brought by the guardians of the Dragonspit had been given to him by Daemon's orders. A gift from the prince to his firstborn, following Targaryen tradition. The detail had made her happy almost as much as it had darkened her. For one thing, Daemon seemed to have none of the animosity he had promised toward the boy. On the other, the egg was a constant reminder of what the prince expected of Baelon. A dragon rider. A Targaryen like Aegon and his sisters. Like Jaehaerys and Alysanne. Like his mother and father.

 Daemon's letters were as constant as they could be during the war. In nine moons, he had never stopped writing to her. Alicent had not responded to the first few, but the prince showed a resilience and stubbornness worthy of himself. In the end she answered them, out of her father's wishes and because after all, her husband's interest in Baelon and his desire to know about his well-being were nothing bad, nor something she wanted to deprive from her son.

Yes, she gave in. Before Rhaenyra, before Viserys, before Daemon, before her father. But she didn't forget. She never forgot.

 She felt the muggy heat in the room and opened the windows. The fresh air was a relief, but not enough. Alicent saw Baelon again, his sleep undisturbed, peaceful. There was not a drop of sweat on his face. Her mother wasn't surprised. She had spent too much time with Rhaenyra to know that dragons handled heat differently. Queen Aemma liked to take almost scalding baths. And her son was of the blood of the dragon. But she wasn't, and the heat was starting to become more than just uncomfortable.

Alicent hesitated for a few moments, the feeling of apprehension about Baelon still present. Being away from him caused her a certain degree of anxiety, so much so that now it was usually His Majesty who came to visit his nephew and not the other way around. However, it would only be for a few short minutes...

 "Can you take care of him for a moment? I need to go for a walk," she said to Talya, already feeling her forehead starting to get sticky with sweat. The maid, who also seemed to be affected by the heat, nodded quickly.

 "Of course, my lady," she said, taking a place next to the crib, to keep an eye on the child.

The maids adored the baby, like almost everyone in the castle. "Joy of the Red Keep" Viserys had once called him, and the nickname seemed accurate. There was a little more light in that hostile place, with him there.

Alicent looked at her son fondly once more before leaving the room. The guard, also half drowsy from the heat, seemed to wake up at the noise.

"Shall I accompany you, Lady Alicent?" the white cloak asked her with hurried words.

She saw how the knight was ready to leave after her. Many had felt guilty about her sudden delivery, among them Ser Steffon Darklyn, who had not accompanied her on her usual walk that day. Still, having a shadow was not something she liked.

"I'm just going out to get some air Ser," she told him softly, trying to sound kind. She could see the doubt in his eyes, but in the end, when she walked down the hallway, the knight did not follow her.

 Finally, she visualized the balcony and sighed in relief. Alicent felt the cool air hitting her face and the relief it brought. She stayed there for a moment, with her eyes closed.

 "May I offer my sincere advice, Your Majesty?" her father's voice interrupted her thoughts. She didn't have to wait long to find out who he was talking to.

"Who are you suggesting, Otto?" the King's voice answered. Alicent took a step back, unsure of what to do. She wanted to leave, after all, she hadn't planned on leaving Baelon alone for more than a couple of minutes.

 But if I go out, they'll know I'm listening.

So she stood there, still thinking about what to do. , more focused on finding a way out of there and returning to their chambers than on the conversation. Otto Hightower's voice, however, would change that.

"Baelon"

 Her son's name coming from her father's lips made her blood froze in her veins. Even here, in that sultry heat, she felt a chill run through her body, as if she had been transported thousands of miles to the North in a single second. Her mouth went dry and her knuckles clenched until they were white, but she did not make any noise, listening now with interest to the conversation without being discovered yet.

"The boy is not even one" Viserys responded and even without seeing his face Alicent knew that he was as stunned as she was. She felt some comfort, but not much. She knew the King well enough now to know of his changing nature. Especially with her father.

 "He's young, I know. But isn't it a benefit? That way, Rhaenyra will have a betrothed, so the lords of the Realm will stop coming after her. It will be a while before your nephew can marry properly, so the princess will have a lot of time without worrying about a pregnancy. And this may end the prince's interest in her. Not even Daemon is capable of stealing his own son's bride."

Ser Otto spoke, improvising his tone as if ideas were occurring to him on the spot. But she knew it. It was a calculated, thought-out, pre-planned proposal. He just didn't want the King to notice. Viserys's silence lasted much less than she had thought it would.

"I may... think about it. It's an interesting proposal."

 His voice was filled with a certain disbelief, but the simple fact that he said that he was going to think about it was already a victory for her father. It meant he could press the matter, the right way. That there was a possibility.

"Thank you, Your Majesty" Ser Otto said with a helpful tone. Alicent could hear footsteps receding, heavy and a little slow, and knew that Viserys was gone.

Her inside was filled with powerful emotions, although nothing good. At that moment, all she wanted to do was slap her father, scream at him at the top of her lungs, maybe even try to hit him. Still, she forced herself to calm down. She put a mask of coldness on her face and left the balcony with heavy steps, to report her presence. Her father was soon at her side.

 "Alicent. What a surprise, my dear daughter" she said with a cheerful voice. She felt her body shake with disgust and anger, knowing the reason for his good mood.

 "Not a pleasant one for me, I'm afraid" she said with a voice that didn't try to hide even the slightest bit of her unpleasantness. Her father's face barely changed when he knew that she had heard his talk with the King. Although he acquired a certain softness, as if he was trying to convey some tranquility to her.

 "We all do our job to serve the Realm the best we can. You do it by raising Baelon. I do it serving the House Hightower and our interests."

Alicent felt a heat rise up her throat, making every effort not to make or say something rash against the man standing in front of her.

"He is my son," she said in a cold voice, as if that simple statement was enough to make him realize that he was treading on too fragile ground. He didn't seem to care.

 "If I manage to secure this marriage, half of the King's problems will end. I will gain his trust, and the raise of our family," he continued, with a conviction that would have convinced even the most unbelieving. However, she could still remember the boy in her room, the way he giggled in her arms, the innocence in his eyes.

"Not at Baelon's expense," she said with an almost hostile tone. This time, even Otto Hightower seemed surprised by the aggressiveness of her words. He seemed to try to speak more carefully, trying to calm her down.

"He is a Targaryen. He may not be a prince, but he belongs to the House of the Dragon. He was born for this, to make political alliances."

She felt every muscle in her body suddenly tense. Her father's words hitting a nerve in her.

"I'm not going to let you use him as one of your puppets," she said, almost spitting the words in defiance.

As you used me.

Alicent remembered the candlelit room, the smell of incense in the air... And Viserys's unsteady hand on her knee, caressing it dangerously close to her thigh over her dress as she tried with all her strength not to tremble. Not to scream. Not to cry.

The voice of her father, whispering in the darkness.

Will you see the King tonight?

The mere memory made her nauseous. Still, she stood her ground. He did too.

"Your son will be king. It should please you"

She bit her cheek so hard that she almost made it bleed, still making a great effort not to turn into physical aggression even when her fists were shaking. She had never felt so much anger, so many emotions out of control. Baelon brought out traits in her that she didn't know she possessed.

 "Even if His Majesty accepts it, they won't. You know."

 There was no need to pronounce the names to know who she was referring to. The main people affected if the King gave the green light to the proposal.

 "Your husband won't know until this engagement is closed. Once it's made, he won't be able to undo it," her father said calmly, as if he didn't really consider it a problem. His assurance caused her a mixture of concern and shock.

 "He's his father," she responded skeptically. The prince may or may not have truly cared about Baelon but he was his son. And hadn't Otto himself taught her since she was a child that a child belonged to their father and owed him obedience?

"His Majesty is the head of House Targaryen, not him. And anyway, Baelon's marriage to Rhaenyra will be beneficial to everyone. Including Daemon," he continued, shaking her to the core with every part of his plan that he was revealing. Yes, it could benefit her husband, his son reigning in everything but his name.

But Daemon wants Rhaenyra all for himself. And if they make Baelon an opponent...

She still wasn't sure how much affection her husband had for the child, if any. Turning him into something resembling an enemy would be disastrous.

"What about Rhaenyra?" she asked quickly, trying to erase the image of Daemon cutting out Ser Swann's tongue, strangling the maester, beating up the messenger…

Her father shrugged. “The princess will have a suitable husband, blood of her blood"

 Alicent shook her head. Rhaenyra would be completely against it. She would do everything in her power to stop her father's plans from being carried out. But how much? How far could she go? She thought about the withering looks the princess sometimes gave Baelon.

"She will never..." she started to say. And then they both heard distant footsteps. She managed to see the glow of a blood red dress moving away from them and then there was no doubt about the listener's identity. She turned her head to look at her father, expecting to find a worried, somewhat nervous face. However, she only found serenity. Hadn't he heard her? Hadn't he guessed who she was? Why didn't he seem to care?

Otto seemed amused to see her surprised face.

"What is it? Are you worried?" he asked almost sarcastically. The anger had been quickly replaced by a knot in her stomach, so there was no longer fury in her words but anxiety.

"She heard us, Father. She heard you"

 It wasn't so much the fact that the princess heard Ser Otto's plans that upset her, but rather that Rhaenyra knew of her own involvement in them. She hated being involved in political intrigue. Wasn't that what had gotten her into this trouble in the first place?" Her father remained expressionless.

"And? She may be the heir, but as long as Viserys is King, he has authority over her. The one we must win over is His Majesty, not his daughter."

 His speech was full of uncomfortable truths. Technically it was true. Viserys could force his daughter to marry, still holding the title of heir as a guarantee of obedience.

 Is Viserys the kind of father that would do that?

But her brother-in-law was not only that, but the King of the Seven Kingdoms. There were times when one had to think about the benefit of the Realm. A marriage between two dragons...

 "Rhaenyra could... " she said doubtfully, still unable to clearly accommodate her ideas, with too much information to process.

 "What? Tell Daemon? Mellos told me that the king has forbidden her to use the ravens. No news of the Red Keep will leave these walls unless His Majesty wishes it. And this especially is one that he will want to keep as far away from his brother as possible, so that he can think about it clearly. "

The notion that her father had everything thought out, carefully calculated, only added unease to her heart and her mind.

Of course. Daemon would do everything in his power to prevent such an engagement, if he found out. His hunger for power was as big as his desire for Rhaenyra. He wouldn't give up any of both. Something that her father would prevent at any cost.

 "And I suppose your wish is that I also keep your proposal away from my husband's knowledge. Even if that means sacrificing the fragile peace between us again," she said, trying to make the sarcasm in her voice as inconspicuous as possible. Otto smiled slightly.

"You can play the innocence card. Tell him that I forced you not to tell him anything."

For a moment she thought that she had heard wrong. "What?"

Otto continued speaking confidently. "He cannot hate me more than he does now and I will never gain his friendship. But I have the protection of His Majesty now"

But I'm not like Daemon. I won't hide secrets from my husband, even if he does it with me. I'm better than him.

 "Still, I won't..."

Her father took her chin in a gentle grip, making her look directly into his eyes. His gloved hand caressing her cheek made her body shake with another shiver.

"I know that you would never betray me or our House. You have always been a good daughter. The best daughter I could wish, loyal and faithful" he said lovingly, before releasing her from his soft grip, but still touching her cheek.

Alicent swallowed nervously. She felt the manipulation there, the way he played with her. Still, the guilt that began to rise in her chest was enough proof to know that she wouldn't say anything to Daemon. She just couldn't.

 "I... of course, Father. Thank you" she said in a stutter. He seemed pleased when he realized that he had accomplished his goal.

 "I hope my adorable grandson is still taking his nap. Maybe I'll stop by later to say hello," he said kindly, so much so that for a moment he actually sounded like a devoted grandfather, as if the entire conversation between them hadn't happened. His ease in moving from one role to another was truly disturbing.

 But talking about her son filled her with urgency to return to him. She needed to feel the calm of having him in her arms, to feel his hands playing with her hair, his indigo eyes shining with absolute adoration every time he saw her. She needed that comfort, now more than ever.

Alicent murmured a quick goodbye to her father. When she rushed into her chambers, Talya was carrying Baelon, who was bawling in her arms.

 "I'm sorry, Milady. It hasn't been like this for long, I swear. He woke up and..."

Alicent nodded and without wasting any time took the baby, rocking him gently on her chest.

 “Shh. Shhh. You're alright. It's alright. Mummy is here.” she tried to make her voice soothing and gentle, despite the anxiety she still felt. Slowly, his crying calmed down to occasional hiccups. She signaled to the maid, who left the room without complaint.

Feeling Baelon's head softly against her shoulder, while his little body was in her arms gave her strange waves of calm.

Alicent sat up and continued cooing to him, until his labored breathing became a peaceful one. When she finally saw her son's eyes closed, sinking back into a peaceful sleep, she felt a sob escape from her own mouth. Tears began to slide down her cheeks and she did her best to dry her silent crying with the sleeves of her dress to avoid waking the baby. She felt helplessness wash over her and she clung to him. She wanted to protect him from everything and everyone. And she felt like she was already failing at that.

Can't they just let him be a baby? Can't I just have a few more moments with him before the entire world gets their hands on him?

 A political piece. That's how her father saw him. But he was more than that. He was her son. His worries, his fears, his likes, what he loved, what he hated. She wanted to know each of those small details, even if they would be insignificant for other purposes.

I want the world to wait. I just want to hold my son and love him. That's all I'm asking.

And so, she stayed, pressing the little body against hers, feeling its warmth, its breathing. The evening rays crossed the window and for a moment she had the feeling that she could stay like this forever. That her arms would be enough to protect her son from any danger. Always.

Chapter Text

CRISTON II

As his boots began to squelch in the muddy streets, Ser Criston Cole unconsciously clutched at the sword hidden beneath the hood that served as his disguise. King's Landing was a completely different place in the light of day than in the darkness of night. He had once heard it said that the worst acts were carried out in the dark, where not even the eyes of the Seven could see you. And here, it seemed to be true.

In any case, no one decent goes out in the gloom of this city.

And yet, there he was, a proud King's Guard, dressed like a common landman, as he entered the place that could very well be one of the Seven Hells: Flea Bottom.

Perversions beyond the reach of imagination occurred in the middle of the street, under the indifferent eyes of the golden cloaks, as long as they did not commit a crime.

But my presence here is driven by loyalty and duty, not the pursuit of pleasure.

The thought comforted his consciousness and made him able to continue moving forward, taking good care not to be observed in that specific part of the city, full of pleasure houses and brothels. He didn't want someone to recognize him and him end up being known as the next Lucamore the Lustful. But while his reputation could be at stake if he were discovered in that damned place, he himself had offered to carry out this mission. The alternative would simply have been impossible. Letting Rhaenyra leave the Red Keep, under his guard again, into the night streets of the city would have been beyond irresponsible.

The princess had arrived upset from a short walk from the gardens to her chambers. In her violet eyes, he had seen a furious look. Criston had only seen those same eyes on Prince Daemon's scarlet dragon, that time on Dragonstone. Seeing them again in someone so familiar had been strange.
The princess had locked herself in her room for half an hour and had come out with a letter in her hand, and an iron will to fulfill her purpose.
"I'm going to Flea Bottom," she had warned him with a determined tone.
He, by using his words had tried to stop her. His Majesty had once told him, some time ago, that the princess used to listen to him, much more than she did with anyone else. The knight had verified it then.

Even though she had seemed irritated by his meddling and even her anger had increased by the moment, she had finally broken down, with helplessness and tears flowing down her face, as she did everything in her power to hide them.

"I can't do this again. Storm's End, here now. No matter where, they continue to seek my hand like beasts attracted by the smell of fresh blood. And my father does nothing to stop it. In fact, he encourages them."

She had clung to his in a kind of hug and he had felt a flip in his stomach, as well as a strange sensation in his chest.

"You are the heir, princess. I'm sure you have some say in the matter," he tried to say, trying to give some comfort, anything. She had clung even tighter to him.

"No. My father doesn't listen to my advice, not about this. He would prefer to accept and take one more weight off his shoulders," she had whispered with a hint of resentment. "No, no one can stop Otto Hightower, that traitorous bastard. No one except Daemon. He knows that what's needed is blood, not pretty words"

Criston had swallowed nervously. Whenever the prince came up in conversation, it became uncomfortable. The princess had explained to him about the instructions her uncle had given her, and how she needed to go to the city to make it possible for the news to reach the Rogue Prince's ears.

"I can't let you go to that place alone. Night is falling, my princess" he had told her.

Trying to accompany her wouldn't have been an option either. Such a late departure of the heiress accompanied by her sworn shield would have been totally prevented. Maegor's secret passages were her best chance to complete her mission and she seemed quite convinced of it, even knowing the danger of not only being discovered, but of wandering in such an unpleasant place. Again. Maybe not even the King would be able to forgive her transgressions this time.

I am sworn to protect her from harm, and I would die to defend her.

So in the end, he had offered himself to deliver the message.

It was not uncommon for a King's Guard to sneak away from the Red Keep from time to time to the taverns. Men like Ser Harrold and Ser Steffon never did of course, but younger sworn brothers like Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk Cargyll had a taste for going for a beer or two every now and then in the middle of the night.
Always without the white cloaks, since they had the obligation to maintain the reputation of the order of knights.

So, without worrying about whether he was on guard or not, the soldiers at the gate let him out, like this, hooded, hidden. But he had taken another direction, away from the cantinas that the twins frequented and instead he had arrived at this place that reeked of lust.

Criston took the piece of parchment in his hand and caressed Rhaenyra's seal delicately, hidden beneath the cloak. The princess had told him that this would be enough. That and a few gold dragons. The instructions had been precise. However, in the middle of the crowd of half-naked men and provocative women, the knight had not yet been able to find any children.

Maybe this is why they use them. Imperceptible, small shadows that slide from here to there.

He continued walking, occasionally coming across a drunk man caressing a whore and listening to the suggestive words of the women who offered themselves at the entrance of the establishments. The sight, instead of making him desire, made him feel truly uncomfortable.

He had never been a man who frequented brothels when he still lived in the Stormlands. Many times Lord Dondarrion's sons had mocked him, saying that he was more excited by the sound of swords and armor than by the touch of a woman.
Actually, it wasn't entirely true. Criston had simply never liked the idea of prostitutes. Women who offered their bodies for the lust of another, voiceless, easily forgotten at dawn because they were considered replaceable, ignored for any reason except the pursuit of pleasure. There was nothing special about sleeping with someone like that and he had always seemed this unpleasant, degrading and even cruel.

Still, he hadn't ignored women completely. In fact, when he believed that his dream of being a King's Guard was closer to a fantasy than a reality, he had thought that he would end up marrying, perhaps to some daughter of some lesser knight who wouldn't mind the idea of mixing their blood with that of the recently promoted Coles.
But in the end, the vow of chastity he had taken upon becoming the sworn legitimate brother of the whitecloaks had made him forget about those issues. Or not?

His self-deception was sometimes not so convincing. Even now, when he told himself that it was honor that prevented him from feeling any kind of lustful desire for the women who paraded before passers-by with their breasts exposed and vulgar propositions, the only thing that seemed to truly fill him with determination was the image of the princess.

Was that what had brought him here in the first place? What kept him from being tempted? What caused Rhaenyra's face to always be glued to his mind like a mark from a red-hot iron, what caused his body to tremble at every slight physical contact, his eyes to watch her movements attentively for a few seconds longer than was appropriate for a protector, that he felt a pang of something every time she talked about her uncle... Was it just that? Devotion to his benefactor?

Yes. It had to be.

He was so lost in his internal conflict, surrounded by the most obscene environment he had ever been in, that he almost missed the slight tug on his clothing. The knight looked down from him to see a boy no older than nine staring at him, with curious eyes. He looked like a beggar, dressed in torn and patched clothes. However he seemed like a well fed healthy lad. And impassive.

And he doesn't seem to be affected by this place like I am. What kind of things must he have seen, for this to seem so normal to him?

He felt a shiver of disgust run through his body, but still he forced himself to keep control.

"A coin, friend?" the boy asked with a squeaky voice. Still quite disturbed by the whole situation, Criston reached into his pocket, taking the golden dragons in one hand and the paper in the other. The infant's face seemed to light up at the presence of gold.

"A gift," the knight whispered, feeling somewhat sorry. He remembered Rhaenyra's words and in the small hands open to receive the promised money, he also deposited the small scroll. "For the White Worm," he said in a soft voice, repeating what the princess had told him. The boy didn't even blink and as soon as the coins slipped into his own pockets he ran off, slipping through the alleys like a true expert under his gaze.

Still stunned by the suddenness and rapidity of the situation, Criston looked around, seeing that people still seemed more focused on alcohol and sex than on the strange interaction of a man and a boy.
He adjusted his hood once more and finally began the journey back.

When he found himself in the safety of the Red Keep again, Criston allowed himself to let out a sigh of relief. Even with his body covered by his worn garment, though not his face, the knight decided to take a longer route to the princess's chambers, through usually untraveled hallways. It was the best option, if he wanted to evade his brothers and avoid awkward questions about why he wasn't doing his duty, standing guard at night.

For long minutes, the only sound that echoed in the deserted passageways was that of his boots, still filled with traces of mud and substances that he would prefer not to identify.

Until, suddenly, whispers made him stop in his tracks. It didn't take long for him to recognize that he was near the chambers of Grand Maester Mellos, where the ravens that arrived and left to the Seven Kingdoms with urgent messages and news were sheltered.

He tried to slip in as quietly as possible, but the people seemed too engrossed in discussing him to hear his faint footsteps.

"...Ser Otto asked me to inform him of any ravens sent abruptly, my lady."

He recognized the Grand Maester's voice through the thick door of the room and advanced even more cautiously.

"How strange, I thought your loyalty was to the royal family. House Targaryen"

Lady Alicent Hightower's voice made him stop in his tracks.
After what the princess had told him that afternoon, what he had least expected was to find the lady, outside her chambers at the hour of the bat, arguing with the grand maester...

Criston seriously thought about just continuing on his way silently, so that everyone would mutually ignore his presence. Ser Cole had never been a gossip. But he knew, deep down, that if the princess found out that he had passed up the opportunity to obtain information that could be important, she would not easily forgive him. And the thought of letting Rhaenyra down was not something he wanted to think about.

So, against his good advice, he approached the door cautiously, straining her ears to continue listening.

"You are right. You should tell my father your concerns. And perhaps when the prince returns I could also tell him certain worries that have been running through my head"

Alicent's voice sounded calm, different from the upset one she had been using before. Mellos's, on the other hand, seemed to acquire a certain tremor.

"Concerns, my lady?"

"Yes. About the day of Baelon's birth. We know how terrible that afternoon was..." she continued in a velvety, fake voice. Criston continued to pay attention.

"And confusing, my lady. The pain can cause hallucinations..."

"Yes. Hallucinations. And yet, there is something that does not convince me that they are just that"

"Lady Alicent..."

There was something there. A flash of fear that seemed strange to him. Criston remembered that afternoon, when Lady Alicent and Prince Daemon's firstborn had come into the world. Rhaenyra had abandoned her former friend once Ser Otto had entered the room. What had happened next, however, was a mystery to everyone. And apparently, a pretty bad one.

"Maybe I should tell my husband. I'm sure his ears will be receptive to my concerns, as they seemed to be the day he came to meet our son."

"My lady, I..."

"What did he say? Wrap your insides around your neck?"

The calmness and ease with which she uttered the threat left him stunned. And apparently, also to Mellos, because he took a long time to respond.

"My lady, I was following orders. Your father..."

"I'm sure the Rogue Prince will have learned one or two more things in the war and he will be eager to put them into practice."

The Grand Master sounded desperate then. And terribly scared.

"Please. I'm just being a loyal servant to House Hightower."

"I would expect you to be loyal to the family you swore to serve, of which I am a part by marriage."

"I...of course, my lady. Just, please..."

There was a long silence there and for a moment he feared he had been discovered. But apparently, the lady only seemed to have been thinking about her next words.

"You are a good subject, Grand Maester. I will appreciate it if you keep my secrets, even from my father if necessary."

Criston could almost imagine the Grand Master there, white as wax, with thick beads of sweat on his forehead and stuttering nervously.

"Of course, Lady Alicent. The raven will be sent and not a word will come out of my mouth, I swear by the Seven, by any gods..."

He sensed that the conversation was nearing its end and, not wanting to be seen in a compromising position, he walked away as quickly and discreetly as he could, resuming his path to the princess's chambers with some urgency. What he had just heard spun in his head, over and over again. One thing he was sure of, Rhaenyra would like to know this.

His feet guided him mechanically and before he knew it he was in front of the door to the crown princess's chambers. He knocked on the door, still looking around it to make sure he wouldn't be seen.

"Ser Criston?" Rhaenyra's voice asked from inside. He responded affirmatively and she allowed him to pass.

When he entered, hurried as he was, he was surprised to see the princess dressed only in her nightgown. He quickly looked down, blushing, knowing that either way the image of her curves would stay with him for quite some time.

Rhaenyra didn't seem to notice any of this.
"It's done?" she asked with some urgency. He nodded, looking up, but doing his best to keep his eyes focused only on her face.

"The message was delivered as you ordered..."

He noticed a certain relief in her, as if the tension left her body.

"I appreciate your loyalty, Ser Criston. It truly means a lot to me."

He suppressed a smile, although the worry did not completely leave him.

"There is something else, princess. I overheard an interesting conversation between the Grand Maester and Lady Hightower..."

Rhaenyra's gaze once again acquired a certain interest driven by dark emotions.

"Lady Alicent has sent a raven. The destination and recipient are unknown. However, from her interest in this not being in her father's knowledge and certain...threats, I believe it can be inferred that..."

Rhaenyra seemed surprised by the notion of threats more than the news itself. He could see several emotions going through her mind and his head, but she didn't share any of them with him.

"I understand. If that is what you believe, Ser, then Lady Hightower's will is not as weak as I believed. And if you're wrong, my uncle is already warned by my own hand anyway."

Ser Criston nodded again.
"If there isn't something else I can help you with, princess..." he said doubtfully, already thinking about retrieving his armor from his quarters, standing guard outside and pretending that nothing has happened.

Before he could react, he felt Rhaenyra kiss his cheek lightly, her body slightly pressed against his.

"I thank you very much, Ser Criston. Few knights would have been willing to do this."

Her lips felt like fire on his skin and his body reacted in unknown ways.
"I...of course. I would do anything for my princess"

Or for my queen.

Rhaenyra smiled slightly and he hurried out of the room with his heart pounding in his chest, the kiss still burning and a tingling sensation in his pants.

For the love of the Seven, what the hell is wrong with me?

He tried his best to regain his composure, but it was impossible. When he reached his chambers, without the annoying hood and uncomfortable boots, he knew that he couldn't do something as simple as put on the armor and resume his duty in a comfortable way.Not now, when emotions were running high.

Maybe I should take a cold bath. If I was discovered here, the scolding would be much less than the one I would receive if my nocturnal escape was known.

Still, he didn't want to get rid of her touch on his body, not even when it had been something as simple as a brush of her mouth. There was an emotion that ran from his fingers to his back. One that embarrassed and confused him. Desire.

No one had ever made him feel this way, not the whores of the Dorne marches or King's Landing, not the most attractive ladies of the court who paraded before his eyes every day.
No. Only the dragon princess had made him feel this way. Just the girl he had sworn to protect, the one who had placed her trust in him.

After quite a bit of hesitation, he did his best to put on the heavy metal plates and white cape again. Criston tried to forget the image of Rhaenyra dressed in that light garment, the feeling of her body next to his, of her lips, of her arms wrapped around his neck when she hugged him...
All this while he stood guard in front of her door.
He knew immediately that he couldn't.

Even knights must feel temptations. I just must not give in. What is more honorable, a man who has no desires and serves faithfully or one who possesses them and fights every day to fulfill his duty successfully?

But, for the first time in his entire life, his attempts to convince himself were completely useless.

Chapter Text

LAENOR I

When Seasmoke's wings lightly brushed the crests of the waves and he felt the drops of the warm, salty sea breeze hitting his face, Laenor Velaryon closed his eyes and imagined himself back in Driftmark again. When he was a child and his dragon was large enough to support his weight during flight, he used to circle the island, imagining that he was an ancient lord of Old Valyria, exploring an unknown territory. Meleys used to join him almost always, with his mother and Laena on her back, in racing competitions that he always lost against the Red Queen, while his father watched them from below, always in a boat.

Not infrequently, he had chosen to captain alongside Lord Corlys at the same time, while the women of his family soared through the sky.

 As the firstborn son of the Lord of the Tides, he had had the same taste for the sea as for the air. Trained since childhood with the sword, he had been destined to be a great knight and the father of future generations of House Velaryon, who would endure for centuries. Although he would soon realize that the destiny planned by his father would be... problematic. As a teenager, he soon realized that unlike other young men his age, eager to escape to the brothels across Blackwater Bay to prove their maturity and manhood, he preferred to concentrate on the song of swords and shields. At first, he had thought that it was devotion to the fighting spirit that the Lord of Driftmark had taught him. But soon, he discovered that the interest in young squires his age was not centered on his abilities in the battle arena, but on something much deeper.

 It wasn't until he turned fifteen that the arrival of a young knight from the Stormlands had confirmed her suspicions. Ser Joffrey, third son of Lord Lonmouth, had presented himself as sworn sword of his House, probably in search of the action that only maritime battles could give him.

Although it wouldn't be the only thing he would get. We.

Soon, the shy friendship between two boys with similar tastes had transformed into something much deeper, much more intimate. The union had proven so strong that Joffrey had accompanied him in the Stepstones War, fighting side by side, protecting each other until the difficult but final defeat of the Triarchy.

And now he's here, on one of my Father's ships, arriving along with our entire victorious procession, coming to King's Landing to claim the rewards that had been promised to us.

The wind produced by a powerful flapping of wings brought him out of his musings, making him look up to see the prince's agile crimson dragon rush ahead of the others, followed heavily by his sister's huge but slow dragon. Vhagar was an impressive thing, measuring at least ten times the size of Seasmoke.

 A few months ago, when House Velaryon's cause in the Stepstones was beginning to seem lost, Laena, in a moment of bravery and boldness, had decided that it was time for her to follow the tradition of her maternal lineage. Unlike him, whose dragon had been born in his crib, Laena's egg had not hatched. Tired of waiting and curious as she had always been, his sister had found out Vhagar's nesting place, on an island not far from Driftmark, thinking that no dragon would be worthy of her but that of Queen Visenya. When she had arrived on the battlefield riding such a magnificent beast, their parents, proud of her, had had no choice but to let her stay there instead of sending her back to the ancestral home of their House.

That single action, that single daring had given House Velaryon one more chance in the game.

It had not taken long to bear fruit. To begin with, it had resolved the marriage dilemma. He was heir to Driftmark, but a man after all was in no rush to get married. His own father, Lord Corlys, had married closer to his forties than to his thirties. His sister, on the other hand, had turned out to be a completely different thing. Insultingly rejected by His Majesty, according to their parents' own words, she had enjoyed a certain freedom while they searched for a suitable husband, a task interrupted and impeded by the harshness of the war they had faced, although that did not mean that letters and letters would continue to arrive from the moment when Lord Velaryon had affirmed his intentions to marry his daughter to some noble, whether Westerosi or from the Free Cities.

Laena had the blood of Old Valyria. Salt and fire coursed in her veins alike, and what high lord would not want a bride whose lineage could be traced back to Jaehaerys himself? Therefore, the list of suitors had been long from the beginning, perhaps second only to that of Princess Rhaenyra.

Although in reality only a few men had been seriously considered by the Lord of the Tides. The most notable had been Daemon Targaryen himself. His father knew the Rogue Prince well enough to know his deepest desires. While Daemon desired Rhaenyra, it was quite likely that His Majesty would reject any such proposition, just as he had rejected Laena for himself. In that case and to ensure his offspring, the prince would be forced to look for a suitable bride. And who better than Prince Aemon's granddaughter? Daemon's predilection for Valyrian blood was no secret to anyone and the Velaryons and Targaryens had intermarried for generations, almost always obtaining dragon riders as offspring, the greatest ambition of the King's brother.

 The only obstacle to this union, the prince's wife, Lady Rhea, had died then and circumstances had seemed to align for a possible union. Daemon had left for the capital to try to claim the deceased's lands and her parents had begun to plan the approach to the engagement.

The Velaryons had never imagined what would happen next. The sudden news of the marriage between the Rogue Prince and the only daughter of the Hand of the King, along with Otto's dismissal and the retention of their ally in King's Landing had fallen like a bucket of cold water on them. His father had entertained several hypotheses, from the fact that the prince had forced and disgraced his brother's fiancée to prevent the ascension of a Hightower to the position of queen, to the fact that someone had found them in bed in an illicit relationship by mutual consent. Whatever the reality had been, it had brought the same consequences: the loss of the best of the possible candidates for Laena's hand. But his sister had fixed her own situation, albeit unconsciously.

With Vhagar's claim and the obvious superiority their House had acquired with it, it had not been long before the King sent his brother back with troops and supplies, and soon after a marriage proposal of his own fist and letter. Corlys had been pleased.

What was better to a lord than a prince and what was better to a prince than a King?

And yet, the only one who had not shown any enthusiasm had been the own future bride.

 If my dear sister had known how much her luck would change by that simple act, would she have ridden Vhagar anyway? Would she have been willing to sacrifice her freedom for the power to fly on a dragon's back?

 However, she had had a rest before her bitter fate. Their mother had advocated for her to remain at their side, knowing how terrible it would be to send Laena to the capital, alone. For some reason, the prince who would soon become his sister's brother-in-law had supported her.

 The war had become more complicated than expected and more than half a year had passed without her being able to leave for King's Landing. Hidden in the caves, Drahar and his men had withstood every blow they had launched and perhaps would have lasted another year.

But two letters had changed his destiny. Messages received by Prince Daemon, one after the other, with unknown but probably worrying content, had sealed the admiral's fate.

"Show me a man that will offer himself to the crabs and I'll show you a madman," his uncle Vaemond had said that afternoon, when they had once again proposed the idea of using bait to lure the rats out of the comfort of their holes.

And the Rogue Prince had perfectly embodied the role.

Carrying nothing but Darksister in one hand and a flag of false peace in the other, he had thrown himself as an offering to the Crabfeeder. Drahar had bought into the act, probably as eager as they were to end the exhausting war. What had happened next had been almost inevitable.

 A hail of flames from Meleys, Vhagar and Seasmoke combined, and the frantic ground attack of the Velaryon men had pulverized the Triarchy. When Daemon had finally appeared holding the dismembered torso of the general who had been his biggest headache, it had seemed almost unreal to young Laenor, an illusion from his mind.

It was over.

 Lord Corlys had been so pleased with the result that he had not even raised a word of protest or cast a dirty look at the prince when the men had crowned him King of the Narrow Sea. There was no need to start a conflict over it, he had told him.

 Daemon could have his bone crown. Laena's children would wear golden crowns.

He let out a long sigh as Seasmoke finally landed at the doors of the Dragonpit, barely making room for the presence of Caraxes and Vhagar. Laenor watched the prince as he helped his sister dismount and Meleys circling in the sky, unable to land due to lack of space, and hurriedly got off his own dragon.

 "Sister," he said softly to Laena, offering his arm to take and pretending to ignore the blush on her cheeks as she spoke to the prince.

The young woman had a certain fondness for the Rogue Prince, fueled perhaps by stories about him, the implacable temperament he had shown on the battlefield, or perhaps by having supported her permanence in it when their father had intended to send her immediately to fulfill her commitment. Either way, the slight, clumsy flirting and slight attraction were completely ignored by Daemon, whether out of ignorance or on purpose, and thus he had not deemed it necessary to inform anyone in his family of this.

 If my sister wants to have an innocent crush on the Lord of Flea Bottom, so be it. Maybe they would have been happy if they had ended up married. Maybe she would have been happy.

The bitterness that thought brought was almost immediately dispelled by the sound of approaching horse hooves.

 Two soldiers with the Targaryen banner appeared at the entrance to the Dragonpit, followed by two carriages. The man leading the procession dismounted and bowed slightly.

"His Majesty King Viserys Targaryen appreciates your presence in the capital, my lord, my lady, my prince. If you will allow us to accompany you to the Red Keep..."

Laenor could see Daemon almost snort and roll his eyes. He approached and murmured something to the man, who could only nod nervously as the prince took his horse and trotted away softly over the stony streets.

 For a minute, the silence was rather awkward, although the messenger finally seemed to compose himself and ordered the door of one of the carriages to be opened.

"Your lord father is being received at the port by a similar entourage," he informed the siblings before closing the door. The heavy cart began to sway as they moved forward in silence. His eyes locked on Laena, who was looking out the window, frowning. When the reddish towers of the Red Keep finally came into view, his sister let out a long sigh.

"I guess this is where it all ends," she whispered with a bitter tone.

Laenor took her hand gently in his, giving it a light comforting squeeze. "No. It starts here."

She smiled slightly, with a mix of disbelief and amusement.

 "I guess that's one way to look at it," she said calmly, still with a slight smile on her face.

"You will be by my side?" she asked him in a voice that tried to sound carefree, but failed. He chuckled in turn and squeezed her hand tighter. "Always," he whispered back.

The trip seemed lighter after that. In a bit of haste but without losing track of what was appropriate, Laena was quickly guided to her temporary quarters when she arrived at the colossal castle.

 Unable due to lack of time to take a bath, she simply changed her dragon-scented clothes with the help of the maids while he waited in the doorway. When he finally walked her down the hallway to the Throne Room, where Daemon lay kneeling, offering his crown to his brother, everyone seemed to gasp at the sight.

 Laena looked every inch the Queen she was destined to be. Wearing a sky blue dress with the Velaryon crest embroidered in silver thread, she walked solemnly in step with him, with that elegance and grace that their mother had worked so hard to instill in her since she was a child.

"Worthy of a princess" she had told her affectionately many times while her father looked at her proudly.  Or a Queen. The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Laenor could see Viserys embrace the prince in a series of cheers and then the King seemed to notice their presence. With His Majesty's gaze fixed on them and somewhat unsure of what to do due to the absence of their parents in the room, they advanced with slow but firm steps and he felt her cling to his arm, as if she felt that she was going to fall. He gave her a slightly worried look without stopping walking.

 "Don't let go of me," his sister whispered quietly. In her eyes he could see what her words and her face had not revealed.

And for the first time in his life, Laenor saw her smaller than she really was. It was weird. His sister had always been an imposing presence, so powerful that at times she had seemed older than him in maturity and age, and yet at that moment she was not the rider of Vhagar, daughter of Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys Velaryon, an active participant in the Stepstones War. No. For a moment, she was just his little sister. A sixteen-year-old girl who would soon be married to the King. And while Viserys could be a gentle and kind man, that did not mean that he was twice his age, nor that she would have no other task than to bear the heirs of His Majesty.

The dreams, the hopes, the desires...everything. That would be the price to pay to wear a crown on her head and be called Queen. Their father would say it was a fair exchange. But his sister...

Of the two, Laena had always been the one with more of the dragon's blood. Everyone knew it. And she couldn't be caged. She was a good enough daughter not to refuse, but her confinement would kill her inside. This tormented him more than he was willing to admit. To say.

"Please," she whispered again and he nodded slightly, gripping his arm even tighter as he felt her legs weaken the closer they got to her throne.

 "Lady Laena," Viserys's voice echoed throughout the hall and his sister released her grip. He would have lied if he had said that he wasn't impressed by the poise she displayed, that neither her legs nor her voice trembled as she approached her future husband. It was an almost grotesque scene to his eyes, the notable age difference between the two fiancés. It made him feel a shiver of displeasure.

"Your Majesty. It is an honor for me and House Velaryon to be here. I hope you find me suitable for my duty" she said with a strong and determined voice. Laenor took a quick look around the room. Prince Daemon now placed next to his wife wore an ice cold and expressionless mask. Lady Alicent, next to him, had a mixture of nervousness and pity in her eyes. On the other side of the room he could see Otto Hightower and a little closer to the King, Princess Rhaenyra. They both seemed to share the same look of disgust and anger at the scene, although probably not for the same reasons.

 "You are more than suitable, my lady. Your beauty is undeniable and I can see that your spirit is not lacking in fire and gentleness alike. You will make a good queen" Viserys Targaryen's voice again diverted the attention of him.

"Long live Queen Laena!" Lord Corlys' voice echoed at the entrance to the hall.

Father has arrived at the show. And he seems terribly satisfied.

The cheer was followed by many others. Soon, the hall was filled with shouts and voices, both from the Velaryon men and from the nobles present. "Long live Queen Laena!"

He could see Princess Rhaenyra escaping through the crowd with an angry look, Otto Hightower stiffening, and Prince Daemon remaining stony silent while his wife applauded politely.

That night, during dinner, his sister exchanged her impressions with him.

"Our cousin doesn't seem very happy with my arrival," she told him between bites, in the light of the fireplace. They had decided to have dinner in her chambers, just the two of them, as they used to do when they were children.

 "She'll get over it, when she sees your good heart and will" he replied, trying to sound comforting. Laena laughed, not mockingly, but nervously.

“It could be part of the truth. Although I highly doubt it. I replace her mother at Court and at her father's side, and I am a walking threat to her ambitions. You know it."

Laenor swallowed nervously, chewing carefully as he weighed his words.

 "A son," he whispered finally. Laena nodded.

"It's what Father wants. That's basically the purpose of all this. And she hates me for it. It's inevitable."

 "It's not truth. It's not even certain that you have a boy, you haven't even gotten married. She can't hate you for something that hasn't happened yet," he replied, slightly surprised.

Laena shook her head. "You'd be surprised how easily one person can despise another based on imaginary futures and hypothetical ideas."

She sighed heavily and looked to the fire for a long time.

 "You should take advantage of your stay in King's Landing for that. After all, Father intends you to take his place as Master of Ships to the Seven Kingdoms."

Laenor leaned back in the armchair and nodded silently. It was true. Lord Corlys had accepted his stay in the capital in lieu of his return to Driftmark later of his sister's marriage only for the purpose of learning what was necessary to inherit all his titles. Although the King's Councilors were chosen by him, the Velaryons had commanded the Targaryen fleet since the beginning of the dynasty. And it was well known the ambitions that his lord father had regarding him, his heir.

 Still, staying away from his home was strange, almost painful. He could not imagine what it would also mean for Laena. His sister seemed to guess his thoughts.

"He will remain here too. I have convinced Father that you need friends to watch your back."

 Laenor looked up at her, in disbelief and a hint of joy. It was not necessary to mention names. He knew perfectly well who she was referring to. Laena knew his nature even before he felt the need to reveal it to her. And there had never been secrets between them. His relationship with Ser Joffrey Lonmouth was no exception.

 "Thank you," he murmured excitedly and his sister patted his shoulder lightly.

"Someone of us had to have some happiness in this damn place," she joked. He laughed. That was his sister, always bringing a smile, a laugh from the worst moments. Her words always touched his heart.

“It saddens me to hear that you are miserable.. you deserve love too my sister, and if your betrothed does not bring it to you, then someone else will one day. Your children.”

He put a reassuring hand on his sister's back. "You'll be a good queen" he whispered confidently.

She rested her head on his shoulder. "And you will be a good lord of Driftmark. Perhaps greater than Father."

They both laughed at her words and looked at the fire.

“I know there are many that expect such a thing from you, but it does not need to be your fate. You can find your own happiness in your life, you have the spirit for it, my sweet sister.”

She smiled softly again. "We are dragons. Especially me. No one will tame me, brother, you shouldn't worry about that."

 And that's precisely why I worry. We're not the only dragons here. Daemon, Rhaenyra...So much fire together could explode at any moment.

But he did not express his thoughts. Instead, he continued to gently hug his sister.

 "Yes, indomitable as always. Stormy like the ocean. Mother must be proud."

Laena nodded and seemed to snuggle closer into her brother's shoulder. Before long, she was fast asleep. The fire crackled and the flame lit the room a little brighter.

 Laenor looked out the window, at the night sky. He wanted to ignore the feeling that was growing in his chest, but it was impossible. All of his instincts, sharpened by combat, told him that this place, this seemingly peaceful castle, was even more dangerous than the rocky beach of the Stepstones.

 There at least the enemy attacks you with sword in hand, head on. Here, backstabbing and poison are the daily bread. Enemies don't reveal themselves until it's too late.

But he was a Velaryon. Blood of the dragon and the sea. If he remained in the capital, he would make it his goal to protect his sister from any danger, from any threat.

Regardless of the cost.

Chapter Text

DAEMON VII

Prince Daemon turned quickly and raised his sword, the sound of screeching metal passing right past his ear as the knight he had chosen to spar with gasped for breath, the stifling heat of King's Landing taking its toll on both men's physiques as they were still clashing their swords in the Red Keep training yard.

Beads of sweat fell from their faces, their legs rested firmly on the ground, their muscles burned with effort...

"You just came back from the war, what is the purpose of continuing to slaughter yourself?" his wife had asked him, the time he had let her know of his intentions to train every morning.

"Because peace won't last forever," he had told her, with silence as reply.

A few weeks had passed since his return to the capital. His Majesty had prepared a celebration in his honor, showering him with gifts, including an important one: the appointment of his current offspring and the future ones, if there were any, as princes of the Realm, a title that was previously only granted to infants born from the direct royal line.

Thus, thanks to his exploits, his son had become Prince Baelon Targaryen, a fact that had filled him with a strange kind of pride.

And yet, he couldn't help but have that feeling, that bad taste in his mouth, that the idea had not occurred to Viserys, but had been whispered in his ear by Ser Otto, with the caution of someone who puts a suggestion in another person's head so that they think it is their own thought.

And the former Hand of the King had once again caressed his brother's ear with his disgusting machinations. Daemon had known about it, thanks to letters from his niece and his wife, but it was only now that he was finally back at court that he could truly see the magnitude of the problem. And it was big.

Viserys apparently had memories of a certain affection for the disgusting worm he called "friend", which gave him protection not only from his sword, but from any requests or pleas his niece might make. The only one capable of doing something about it might have been his wife, but he knew that Alicent did not have the will to expel her father. Sending him her message secretly from her father was still an act of rebellion, yes, but sending old Otto back to Oldtown was something completely different since it involved not only disobedience but an open act of betrayal. Something a daughter would never do.

While Otto Hightower's problem continued to bother him day after day, it was not the only one that loomed over him and his family.

House Velaryon, now fully established back in the capital, were a pain in the ass. Awarded as he was for his war efforts, Lord Corlys had regained his position as Master of Ships, with the King's permission for his entire family and their dragons to remain in King's Landing.

Between the preparations for his brother's wedding to Lady Laena, the Red Keep was full of life as it had rarely been, as far as he could remember. Still, it was terribly annoying having to walk around his home bumping into a Velaryon soldier every few steps. The turquoise blue color was beginning to invade the Court like an annoying plague and he suspected that it was just the beginning.

His suspicion was perfectly founded. The Lord of Driftmark strutted around Court as Otto himself had done when his daughter was engaged to the King. The similarities between the two men were increasingly repulsive to him, and while Corlys would never be hated by Daemon with as much passion as the brother of the Lord of Oldtown was, he was not a person the prince liked now either.

Not even Corlys' own family seemed to share his enthusiasm for the wedding.

  While Laenor tried to remain on good terms with his father, Laena herself avoided him in private, although she was polite and courteous in public as expected of her. Rhaenys kept her daughter company, and it was impossible not to notice a bit of coldness between husband and wife. And yet these details seemed to be of minor importance to the Lord of the Tides. After all,  what was an irritated wife, an angry daughter, against the prospect of seeing his grandchildren, blood of his blood, sitting on the Iron Throne?

Corlys is truly a snake, as his nickname implies. It may come from the sea, but it is just as elusive and poisonous as all its kind.

Although not everything was tremendously black in his day-to-day life. After all, his return had allowed him what he had long wanted on the battlefield: to meet his son.

At ten months old, his firstborn began to venture out to achieve the feat of walking. With stubby little legs, he took unsteady steps here and there, always under the watchful eye of his mother or one of his servants. Soon, the wet nurses and other women who pursued the little prince were accompanied by Daemon's own presence, when Alicent could not take care of the baby.

At first, the boy showed some reluctance at the presence of a stranger in his usual entourage of caretakers and admirers, but soon his reserved attitude gave way to one of curiosity. Baelon hurried into his arms as soon as he seemed the opportunity probably wanting to know if the man in front of him was meant to be his new playmate, without worrying anything else despite his father's still ferocious presence. Where adult men had been scared, the little prince had been bold.

No one can say that my son is a coward. He lives up to my father's name in a way my nephew never could have done.

The feeling that had arisen since that night when the Rogue Prince had first seen him in his crib had prevailed until then. Every time the boy stretched out his arms to grab him, every time his indigo eyes stared into his, that time when, after a couple of efforts, he had walked a few steps towards him, when his small, plump lips had curled up and they had pronounced for the first time, with some difficulty, the word "dada". On all those occasions the feeling of attachment, protection and inherent affection had only increased.

It was strange, actually. Daemon had never considered himself a man who loved children.

His nephews from Rhaenys had grown up far away in Driftmark and the only girl he had really seen growing up was Rhaenyra, when he was younger and more easygoing.

On the other hand, the brats from Flea Bottom, Dragonstone, and Vale had always irritated him. There had even been a time when he had silently thanked Rhea for not giving him a child, not only because the prospect of fathering something with such a vile being would send shivers down his spine, but because deep down he had never believed he was the material of a father.

And now with Baelon everything came so...naturally. As if he had been made for it.

There was no discomfort when his son tried to chase him, nor did he have to feign calmness when the baby imitated him, and there was even a flash of something every time the child smiled at him, or crawled in his direction eager to show him something. There was something about it, a warm feeling spreading in his chest, forcing his lips to curve into a smile. And, little by little, he had become not only accustomed to the infant's presence, but also to seeking it.

Alicent didn't know about this or at least she hadn't seen it in person. They never shared a moment together when he was with their son, perhaps because his wife was too busy keeping her father away from the prince's presence, or trying to please Ser Otto by making friends with Lady Laena, the future queen. .

Daemon had to grudgingly agree that it was a shrewd move. With Lord Corlys' daughter trying to adapt to the Court and her new role in it, the presence of a helping hand could forge new alliances. Still, he hated seeing his wife become her father's faithful puppet again. That was why they avoided each other.

When he had first arrived, the relationship had not been so cold.

In reality it had been almost the same as before. The fact that she had betrayed her father's plans required a certain courage, one that he had never believed her capable of. She had awakened some surprise in him and perhaps a small streak of pride. Daemon had sat next to her at the welcoming banquet and had taken her hand and kissed her cheek with a little less formality and more of a genuine touch. And yet, everything had come undone as soon as he saw that Otto's claws were still clinging to the flesh of his wife. They had argued about it and it hadn't gone too well.

Angry slamming of doors and raised voices had filled the room and words had come out, when the fury had bubbled enough.

"I have warned you hundreds of times. If I see your father in the same room as my son, the punishment that Maegor imposed on Prince Viserys will be child's play compared to what I will do to him" he had declared, seething with anger, then to see once again how the man with whom he was hopelessly united by his marriage tried to carry his son in his arms with obvious reluctance on the part of the child, as if Baelon shared the dislike that his father felt for his grandfather.

His wife did not seem to mind that fact; on the contrary, she respected his little son's decision to reject Ser Otto's embrace. What she hadn't endured, of course, was the whispered threat of her husband, or how his fist swung inches from her father's face, before a guard could pull him back, causing it to miss the target.

"I will not tolerate any more death threats, nor sudden attacks. We are in court, for the Seven! Not in one of your cantinas, nor on the beaches of the Stepstones."

His emotions about it had been confusing. The prince had never minded being called a rabid animal, desirous of violence. But for some reason, when it was about attacking to defend, instead of doing it for the simple taste of blood, Alicent's words had sounded like an insult to his ears.

He hadn't been able to express it correctly then. His feelings for Baelon were still stirred inside him and it was difficult to simply be able to say that it had been an attack in protection of his offspring rather than one simply driven by his innate desire for destruction.

"Then keep him out of my sight. It's as if he wants to provoke me, strutting like prey in front of the predator, asking to have his neck snapped," Daemon had said coldly, his eyes transparently conveying his every violent desire.

Alicent had begun to speak, justifying Otto's presence with a monologue learned by heart.

The prince knew that the words were not hers, but those of her father, recorded from his effort to forge his perfect daughter, the one who would bring definitive greatness to his name when he couldn't get more on his own account. Even so, they angered him.

"It's almost embarrassing how you kiss the ground he walks on. Who knows, maybe one day he can see you as his daughter and not as the commodity to obtain his best interests" he had spat without thinking, and his wife's eyes had locked onto his with fury and hurt.

"So much cynicism talking about parents. Do you think you are better than him? Tell me, my lord husband. Did you come back to save Baelon from a marriage that would have made him a pawn? Or did you only intervene because the person he was going to marry was Rhaenyra?"

Alicent had left the room without hearing his response, and the reality was that he hadn't had any. Daemon had asked the question himself, night after night, every time he saw his son in his arms and saw Rhaenyra in the distance, whom Viserys had managed to keep out of his reach for now. .

Still, the answer had not been revealed to him.

Had he won the war because of Baelon or because of his niece? It was difficult to know.

And it was even harder to think about it. He usually ended up with a terrible headache and no explanation every time he tried to reason it out, as if his own body forbade himself from thinking about the matter.

For this reason, the prince remained in the training yard, the blows and cuts had always served to clear his head, a moment to give free rein to his most aggressive emotions. That, and a good visit to the brothels on the Street of Silk, something he had not yet done, prevented by the multiple occupations he had, he told himself. Still, the pretext did not always seem to be convincing enough for itself.

Maybe today I'll take a trip to Flea Bottom. It would be good for me to get out of this damn castle, see the city at night... he thought to himself as he again dodged a thrust and hit the young man who was helping him train towards the floor.

A satisfied smile emerged on his face when the boy was unable to get up and with that his training came to an end, causing a new wave of encouragement to wash over his body. Maybe that day he would unleash his pent-up lust in some brothel after all. He was in the mood for that.

Daemon removed the pieces of his armor and headed to his chambers, hoping for a hot bath and probably some wine to calm his mind still filled with thoughts. He had seen little Baelon earlier, before taking up the sword, and would probably see him once more before setting off on his nightly escapade.

With that thought, he didn't hear the sound of knocking on the door until the guard perched on it announced the name.

"Your lady wife, the Lady Alicent Hightower," the man said in a sonorous voice before closing the door again. He tried not to make his surprise visible and instead he acquired the normal cold face that he had had the last few days. After all, they had gone weeks without speaking to each other.

"Baelon's first name day is approaching. The king wants..." she began in a formal voice. He cleared his throat loudly and she stopped dead, glaring at him.

"I don't know since when uncles decide over the fathers," he said with a firm tone, which only seemed to fuel her irritation.

"Since parents don't show any interest in their children," she replied curtly, before continuing. "His Majesty and my father have proposed..."

This time, the prince hit the table in front of him hard, causing the wine bottle resting on it to vibrate and causing his wife to take a step back in momentary surprise.

"Anything that has your father's hand is stained and dirty. Baelon will not have anything done under his advice. I forbid it"

"If you would just let me finish..." Alicent tried to continue again raising her voice but he cut her off.

"I don't. Baelon is not his to play with."

"His Majesty said..."

"No"

He saw his wife turn almost as reddish as her hair and braced himself for her onslaught. Their voices were loud enough for the entire castle to hear and he knew they would be the subject of gossip again. Either way, he stood firm, unwilling to give in.

But just when the fight seemed about to be revived even more harshly, a maid opened the door, urgency drawn in her eyes.

"My prince, my lady, there is an urgent matter that requires your attention," the girl stuttered. Alicent's face seemed to soften a little, but his remained impassive.

"We're in the middle of something. Stop and don't interrupt again, if you don't want to test my patiece," he hissed angrily, making the young woman tremble as she looked at his wife interrogatively.

"I wouldn't have interrupted if it wasn't important. Please, my prince, I beg you..."

"Very well," he said, tying the sword back to his belt and rising from his chair.

"But if it's not something important, I swear I'll tear your tongue out."

Alicent gave him another look of annoyance and her servant swallowed nervously, nodding so hard that for a moment she looked like she was about to snap her neck.

She guided the couple through the corridors, until they arrived at the shared chamber of his wife and his son. Daemon and Alicent exchanged nervous glances and looked at the maid questioningly.

"What's wrong with my son?" He asked with a coldness that penetrated to the bone, his hand gripping Darksister's pommel. The servant, although nervous, did not panic.

"It's nothing bad. Come in. I'm sure you'll be satisfied with what you find, especially you, my prince."

With unusually hesitant hands, they both mended the doorknob, which opened with a slight creak.

The candles illuminated the small room, giving light to the image that seemed to be taken from a book of Old Valyria.

The dragon egg that had been incubating for so many months in his firstborn's cradle lay converted into small pieces, wrapped in the prince's blanket.

The little newborn golden dragon curled up at the baby's feet, while Baelon looked at it with a mixture of curiosity and precaution. When he finally stretched out his little fingers and touched it, the dragon chirped with pleasure, like a pet being lovingly petted.

At that moment, all doubts were dispelled, all discussions were forgotten. Even the previous resolution of visiting a brothel that night vanished. Here, now, that was a memory to be treasured, an event worthy of mention in future history books. His blood, Valyrian blood had triumphed over Otto Hightower's rotten one, preserving his Targaryen legacy.

No one could question it anymore, not even himself in his moments of greatest doubt. A hatched egg meant only one thing: that his child would be a dragon rider, bonded to the small creature that snuggled against his small chest for his entire life. It was all he knew. It was all that mattered.

The fury cooled as quickly as it had boiled and she finally allowed herself to recognize the feeling rising in his chest. Pride.

He took the hand of her wife, who still seemed stiff from her surprise, and intertwined his fingers with her as he had only done once during their entire marriage, while his indigo eyes looked into her brown ones.

"You have given me a son and a legacy. And I will not forget it," he whispered. Alicent's fingers tightened against his as she finally seemed to react and her lips curved into an equally proud smile.

The reptile moved its tail, and its golden scales reflected the candlelight, emitting a particularly beautiful glow.

"A dragon that shines like the sun. I'd say he deserves it," she whispered affectionately. Daemon laughed, watching his son and the small creature tangled together, beginning to fall into a peaceful sleep.

"His name day celebrations will be great. I will celebrate our little dragon as he deserves," he told her, trying to sound less cold. She nodded, probably not wanting to discuss the topic further. Her body leaned slightly against his and his arm automatically went around her, in a light half-hug, more of support than affection. Still, it felt good, in a way. Comfortable. The warmth of her against his was almost familiar, the greatest sign of intimacy they had had in months.

His attention never strayed from the two small figures that began to breathe rhythmically, her heart beating with more than just excitement.

And before his eyes, the bond of a rider and his dragon was forged by candlelight. Just as that of a father and son had, just months before.

 Baelon has already tamed two dragons. Maybe after all, my little son is destined for greatness.

Chapter Text

RHAENYRA IV

Rhaenyra sank her teeth into her inner cheek so deep that the metallic taste filled her mouth, trying to remain immovable as the maids continued to rearrange her dress. It was a beautiful fabric in scarlet and black colors, embroidered with gold and silver threads in the shape of dragons that were accompanied by a small golden diadem studded with small rubies.

Although accustomed to equally luxurious and elegant clothing, this seemed excessive to her. However, it was in keeping with the event it would be used for: a royal wedding. After all, her own father had insisted on both her dress and her crown to be worn at his wedding.

"A symbol of your status as princess of the Realm and heir," he had told her when he had given her the small imitation crown that would wear on her head. And while that small acknowledgment of His Majesty had made Rhaenyra feel warmth and something resembling pride in her, the price she would have to pay for it was harder to bear. After all, her position required her to be in the front row, watching her father marry Lady Laena Velaryon, the woman who would take her mother's place at his side as queen.

The thought of it made her stomach churn once again, like every time it appeared in her mind, and the taste of her blood in her mouth didn't help. Still, Rhaenyra forced herself to remain composed, not letting a single servant see the slight moment of weakness in her. She couldn't know how many were in cahoots with the Velaryons, or with Ser Otto Hightower.

The Oldtown lord's brother inevitably brought Daemon's name to her mind, which did nothing to improve her rather bad mood.

She had to admit that her father's creativity never ceased to surprise her: in two moons after her uncle's return she had not been able to be alone with him for even a dozen seconds. Probably not wanting to repeat the mistake he had made in Daemon's visit after Baelon's birth, it seemed that the King had juggled everyone's official duties impossible, keeping her at his side under the pretense of teaching her how to rule while Daemon wandered through the castle and setting her free when he had an audience with him.

The only bit of consolation Rhaenyra had found was in the rumors passed through the mouths of the maids, many obtained through first-hand confessions from women wanting to ingratiate themselves with the heir to the throne, who assured that Lady Alicent and her husband continued without sharing a bed and one or twice they had had strong fights, either in her chambers or in his. Proof of this was also, they had said in their gossip, that the prince and his wife were never together during the visits that both made to her cousin recently named prince. And while her uncle's apparent affinity for his son had perplexed her, it had not been able to creep into her thoughts. After all, her own feelings towards Baelon were quite confusing.

Many times, drowsy and feeling nostalgic, she had imagined that the indigo-eyed boy was her and Daemon's child. A fantasy so false, so disturbing in many ways and yet so tempting...

And maybe it would have been like that. Perhaps I would have given my uncle more than one offspring like this, with platinum-gold hair and Valyrian blood in his veins. Worthy dragon riders.

However, sometimes reality used to win the battle and the mere sight of the boy who symbolized what she detested most, the symbol of the union of Daemon and Alicent made flesh and blood, transmitted a feeling of deep bitterness to her.

It didn't help that the egg in the child's cradle, which she and some others had believed to be sterile, cold and dead, had cracked, giving Alicent's son what many claimed was the most beautiful dragon that had ever existed, with golden scales that caught the shine of the sun. Her own uncle had given him the name Sunfyre and the joy of having a son of his blood who had attatched to such a beast had filled him with pride, and her with resentment.

After all, I was destined to give him those joys, to give children worthy of riding to the offspring of Syrax and Caraxes. An Aegon, perhaps a Visenya. I would have given him more children than Alyssane gave to Jaehaerys, if he had asked for it.

Having the heir he had always wanted had united Daemon with his wife. He and Alicent no longer fought so often, the child was pampered and visited by both of them and in public and private light, they really seemed like a family.

"It seems that Daemon has finally settled down," her father had commented during a dinner where only she, the Hand of the King, and the newly ingratiated Velaryon were.

"I never would have imagined that being a father would quell my brother's fire, at least as far as his family is concerned."

Rhaenyra had gotten up from the table and before the surprised gaze of her future stepmother and her family, and her astonished father, she had left without excusing herself. Outbursts like these were frequent, perhaps due to her accumulated bad mood. But she couldn't help it, even if she wanted to. Talking about Daemon lit a fire inside her that was impossible to extinguish, both passion and anger.

No one will tame me. And no one will tame my uncle. It doesn't matter how many chains they throw at us. Those are his offspring and his wife, right? Simple ties, chains. But we are more. He and I.

Sometimes she felt terrible, thinking about breaking up a union that had come to be endured over time, with clear effort.

Others, however, she only felt that she would be taking what rightfully belonged to her.

Finally, her servants' hands moved away from her body, a sign that they had finished preparing her. Rhaenyra looked at herself in the candlelight and couldn't help but feel a hint of pride at what she saw in the mirror. She looked like a legitimate Targaryen, quite similar to how the images of Rhaenys looked in the Red Keep, along with her siblings the Conquerors. Maybe a little more beautiful.

She stroked the Valyrian steel necklace gently, Daemon's gift that rarely left her neck now. At least the wedding would give her an excuse to be around him. And he would surely notice, her uncle had an eye for detail, especially when it came to her. She assumed an upright, authoritative posture that she imagined a true heiress would look like and was barely startled when the door creaked open and Ser Criston Cole's face peered through.

"It is time, my princess," the knight whispered.

Rhaenyra took one last look in the mirror, looking pleased. She came out and took Ser Criston's arm with an elegance that minutes before she had hardly thought she possessed.

"Let's hope it's quick," she whispered back, as the King's Guard escorted her to the great hall.

The Iron Throne remained imposing above, but the room had been completely emptied, leaving a space for the audience of nobles below and a place high for the High Septon and the future spouses.

The chairs and tables that had witnessed the banquets in celebration of the royal wedding in recent days had been removed and a large number of people were there, present. It would have been a problem to place herself there, since any slight space seemed occupied, but for good or bad fortune she had a place at the top, next to her father.

I won't have to be suffocated to death by my own subjects, but I will have to witness the spectacle firsthand. I wonder what would be worse? she thought to herself, as Ser Cole helped her up and then took a few steps back, remaining vigilant, but far enough away to not look intrusive in the ceremony.

Lord Lyonel was already there, equally safe from the noisy crowd, and greeted her with a slight bow. She acknowledged his gesture with a slight nod, before the High Septon forcefully cleared his throat, causing all the murmuring in the room to cease. Her father, wearing a tunic in the colors of his House, elegant and yet unable to hide the thinness and slight stoop of his body, entered the Hall, followed by Ser Harrold, while a crier announced his name. Alicent and her uncle followed behind her, arm in arm.

For some reason, their simple gesture caused her deep irritation, although she tried to hide it when the King went up to where she was and kissed her cheek.

"Father," she greeted him, trying to sound as neutral as possible. He seemed pleased by her effort, giving her hands a light squeeze before directing his attention toward the door, probably awaiting the inevitable entrance of his fiancée.

They did not have to wait long. Within a few minutes, the great gate opened and the figure of Lord Corlys Velaryon entered holding the arm of his daughter, followed behind like a procession by Ser Laenor and Princess Rhaenys.

Laena looked beautiful, she had to admit, with the Velaryon crest embroidered on her bridal cloak and a pristine white dress with gold thread. Her face was stoic, with no trace of any emotion, except perhaps a steely determination, as she clung to her father's arm to slowly climb the steps. Rhaenyra could see her own father swallowing nervously and on the other side her uncle with an attentive gaze on the event in front of him. She tried to do the same.

"Ladies and Lords of the Seven Kingdoms, we are present today to witness the union of Viserys of House Targaryen, the first with the name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm and Lady Laena of House Velaryon. Let us begin."

The ceremony was an event in slow motion from those words. She could see her father, with trembling hands, whether from effort or nerves, putting his cloak on top of his fiancée. The High Septon continued saying the words and they followed his instructions carefully, as dozens of witnesses looked on expectantly.

She had perhaps expected a small Valyrian ceremony, but the only remnant of the legacy was a small cut at the moment of joining their hands with the ribbon that symbolized their union.

Rhaenyra saw Daemon roll his eyes at it and had no doubt that he would have preferred a thousand times a wedding following the customs of their lost nation to another farce of the Faith of the Seven.

Perhaps a ceremony of fire and blood would be more to his liking. Like Maegor did it. It would be ironic perhaps. If we did...

She tried not to follow that line of thought, sure it would lead to a very dark place in her mind and tried to focus on the wedding taking place in front of her. She applauded, like the rest of the Court when it finished and even forced herself to watch when her father gave Laena a shy kiss to end the event.

As soon as everything was over, the banquet tables that had disappeared were quickly put back by the servants for the last celebration. Within minutes, the wine was flowing through the room like wildfire and the Red Keep was filled with laughter and cheering.

At the main table, however, the mood was not so lively. While Lord Corlys seemed especially in good spirits and some Velaryon seemed drunk enough to share it, the general mood of the table was fairly quiet. Princess Rhaenys had sat next to her husband, but was not engaged in conversation with him. Laenor was next to his sister, while they whispered things to each other and she from time to time squeezed his hand tightly.

Encouraging words, perhaps Rhaenyra thought as she took a sip of wine.

If they were that, she would clearly need them. After all, the main event of the night, the bedding ceremony, would have to take place. And from what was written on her now stepmother's face, despite her efforts to appear cold as a rock, it reflected deep fear.

Sitting between her father and Lord Lyonel, she had once again been deprived of the presence and conversation of her uncle, who had been left just to one side of the King's Hand. On that side the humor seemed to be equally dark, although from time to time it seemed that Alicent was trying to awaken something more in her husband than the feeling of irritation and bitterness that reigned at the table. It seemed to work, since shortly after Daemon stood up, hand in hand with his wife, towards the center of the room, where several couples of nobles had begun to dance.

She could make out the prince's rock-cold face beginning to soften, signs so small in his facial expressions that no one would have been able to make out more than she, who knew him so well. He whispered something in his wife's ear and Rhaenyra could see Alicent's cheeks turn an especially bright red, while Daemon gave a slight half smile.

The princess could only imagine the kind of words that would make a lady blush so badly and the thought of it filled her with burning jealousy.

I should be the one dancing with him, the one who whispered those kinds of things in his ear, the one who should walk arm in arm with him like his legitimate wife and...

That was too much for her. She weighed the possibilities, as she unconsciously ended her glass of wine and poured herself another, that was finished at  the blink of an eye too. On the one hand, she could go with Daemon and show once again that a dragon could only belong to another dragon.

On the other hand, fatigue from all the events throughout the day was beginning to take its toll on her.

Making a decision, she approached the King's ear.

"I am very sorry, father, but I am terribly tired. If you would allow me to excuse myself..."

She was surprised at how quickly His Majesty gave in to her request.

Maybe, she said to herself as she stood up from the table before the disapproving gaze of the Velaryons, who however remained silent at the lack of respect, he does not want me to witness the enchantment ceremony.

Rhaenyra had not thought about how difficult the prospect of sleeping with another woman, after her mother, would be for her father. The thought of him imagining Aemma while he took Laena was enough to send shivers down her spine and make her completely forget about the jealousy that had bubbled up inside her at the sight of Daemon and Alicent.

She could hear behind her the sound of Ser Cole following her to her chambers and she slowed her steps a little, to allow him to catch up with her, starting to feel the wine doing it’s effect. Once they were almost shoulder to shoulder, and far enough away from the crowd to speak somewhat freely, she allowed herself to let out a deep sigh.

"I suppose it's done. My mother's memory will be erased. Now, it will live on that of Queen Laena Velaryon, and that of the offspring she gives to my father" she said in a cold voice. Ser Criston seemed to meditate a little on her words, always waiting for permission to speak that she gave him with a simple gesture. He always seemed to try to maintain a certain formality, despite the immense trust between them.

"I don't think so, my princess. She will live on through you. She will be remembered as the mother of Queen Rhaenyra. Queen Aemma Arryn will never be forgotten."

His words were like a breath of cool wind in a scorching heat. The knight was right, in a way. Her mother and her legacy would prevail if she sat on the Iron Throne.

And, why wouldn't she? Her father had sworn on his honor that she would not be replaced as his heir, the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms had sworn allegiance to her...

And yet, Laena's womb and Corlys's ambitions would always be a threat, a rope around her neck threatening to suffocate her to death.

"Do you think the Kingdom will really accept me as its rightful Queen, when the time comes?" she asked the white cloak. Gone were the moments when she took care of her words with him. If there was anyone she trusted, it was her sworn shield. His loyalty was iron and unchangeable.

"They'll have to, princess," he replied, as they continued down the hallway. "They have taken oaths before the King and before you. Duty and honor will compel them to fulfill them"

Duty and honor. Words that had once had so much meaning now had no meaning at all. However, for some they were still everything. Perhaps to the Arryns of the Vale, related to her through her mother, or to the Starks of the North, known for never breaking an oath. If she had enough Houses behind her supporting her, it wouldn't matter after all how many children her stepmother gave birth to, nor if any were boys.

After all, it seems that Ser Criston always manages to bring something good out of all the shit in this Court

Rhaenyra watched the knight surreptitiously in the torchlight. Despite being a Stormman, there was no doubt that he possessed certain Dornish traits, especially in the slightly tanned color of his skin.

Criston was broad-shouldered and had dark raven hair as black as the Baratheons. His training with the sword had made him muscular and lean, and as far as she knew he had never been given to appetites such as excess of wine or food.

And he was handsome, she had to admit, although in a different way than Daemon. Where the prince possessed a wild and threatening beauty worthy of the dragon that he was, which attracted her irremediably like a magnet, Ser Criston possessed the attractiveness of the knight, elegant, polite and servile with her.

The wine and the images of her uncle in her mind began to play tricks on her and her imagination fired in the form of several images, each one more daring than the last, at first with Daemon and shortly after with the white-cloaked man at her side. Jealousy over the scene witnessed in the living room moments before returned with full force and for some reason, that only added fuel to the fire of her growing and perhaps unconscious excitement.

Rhaenyra had never been drunk in her life, always being measured with alcohol after seeing Daemon several times in states she would rather avoid. That's why now, having drunk a somewhat considerable amount and so quickly, she was experiencing for the first time the effects of such drinks on her body.

And for some reason, terrifying and at the same time fascinating, she was beginning to understand why her uncle used to go to brothels right after getting himself drunk into oblivion.

There was something about the alcohol that felt like liquid fire in her veins, the combination of thinking about the words whispered by her uncle and how forbidden they were, that fueled her with some kind of lust, the jealousy that he had said them to his wife and not her, the loneliness , the anger, the presence of Ser Criston, always so willing to serve his future queen and at the same time so devilishly attractive for his own good.

When they reached her door and her knight opened it to help her in, she found herself, before she could formulate a coherent thought in her mind, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her lips against his.

Probably surprised by the suddenness of her attack, Ser Criston seemed frozen for a few seconds, enough for her to go from a shy kiss on the lips to lightly exploring his mouth with her tongue. The boldness given by the drink, the courage, allowed her to remain there for a few more seconds and she finally separated from him with a satisfied smile. Before the perplexed and open-mouthed look of the knight, who seemed to still be trying to understand what had happened, she murmured a good night before closing the door in his face. Only once she was stripped as best she could of her dress and wrapped in the thin sheets of her bed did she finally realize what she had done. Shame filled her thoughts and for a moment she was tempted to open the door and find out if Ser Criston was still in his lethargy, perhaps to give him some explanation, but she refrained.

He will understand that I was drunk, right? It would be awkward if he didn't. Damn Daemon. Damn you and the things you make me feel. Damn your wife and your child. We were supposed to be the ones that would be kissing, that would be bedding each other. Not me and him. Not you and her.

With her thoughts still jumbled and hoping that Ser Cole would be lenient and forgive her recklessness in the dawn light, she laid her head on the pillow and fell fast asleep.

Chapter Text

LAENA I

Laena pressed her fork hard against her plate, trying to capture the last bits of her breakfast. The large dining room was silent, without the presence of any other soul except her and the servants who constantly paced back and forth, asking her if everything was to her liking and if she was comfortable so frequently that, if she had not had self-control, she would have screamed in their face.

The constant harassment, even if it was not on purpose, was one of the many things that she still did not get used to being the Queen.

An army of servants pursued her from dawn to dusk and it was very difficult, if not impossible, to find herself alone. There was always a pair of eyes on her, watching her every step. Whether it was out of curiosity or darker motives, she didn't know.

At least this morning I got rid of any awkward conversation, she thought as she pushed the plate away from her, and immediately one of her servants picked it up.

  That day her brother had gone to training early, the only person it was still easy to talk to, and she had feared that other people would take advantage of it to have a private audience with her. She would have put up with her mother, perhaps, but definitely not her father and his insistence on putting up House Velaryon, or her husband's attempts to engage her in fluid conversation.

The relationship with Viserys was not particularly tense, but they were not the epitome of a happy and united marriage either, perhaps because they did not know each other well, even despite almost half a year having passed since the wedding.

Luckily for her, the king had not visited her bed as often as she had feared, although the few times he had lain with her had been uncomfortable and she hoped to eventually forget them completely, hoping with all her might to erase the touch of his cold hand without fingers and the horrible weight of his rotting body on hers.

At least the misery of the act has paid off, she said to herself, caressing her swollen belly.

Few visits, certainly but they had fulfilled their objective. And the best part was that the Grand Maester had given precise instructions to avoid any type of inconvenience during pregnancy, prohibiting any type of carnal relationship between them.

Laena had seen her husband's face, not disappointed, but relieved, and she had finally realized how difficult those nights were for him and for her. Of course it wasn't the King who had to suffer a constant invasion of his body those nights, but it wasn't her who had to close her eyes and imagine a dead woman every time he took her either. They both had to endure their own crusades, their own challenges. And so, in a way, they had reached an understanding.

Activities in the marital bed aside, marriage was not so terrible.

Her husband did not usually try to get involved in her affairs, leaving her alone most of the time, as she desired. With her approaching seventeen and Viserys closer to forty than thirty, they hardly ever had anything to talk about, anything to share with each other.

Still, he wasn't quite an absent man who despised her, or ignored her completely. Once, in the first moons of their union, he had heard her speak earnestly and devotionally of Valyria and her dragons, and soon after he had brought a few tomes from his own personal collection to her chambers for her solitary enjoyment, perhaps finally seeking some related topic between them. She had appreciated that gesture, although the pregnancy had made things much more uncomfortable when they finally seemed to have a slight progress. Now they rarely saw each other, except for a few encounters throughout the day to ask her how she was feeling.

Laena sighed and stood up slowly, still not quite used to the weight of her bulging belly. Four moons had passed since it began to grow, but her still young body looked small compared to the swelling where her firstborn rested.

Before she could get up completely, there were already two pairs of arms holding her and helping her move. Her sense of worthlessness irritated her, but her need to remain polite made her not hurl the insults she wanted and instead she spoke in a calm and soft voice.

"I can do it alone," she said to the maids, trying to get out of their arms as little abruptly as she could.

Soon, there was only one grip that remained on her, helping her hold on. Already a little more irritated by the stranger's foolishness, she turned around with a less friendly and more furious face, only to find herself face to face with her mother. Her presence disconcerted her, since she had not heard her enter, much less seen her.

"You should let them help you," Princess Rhaenys said calmly as she wrapped her arm around hers, functioning as a crutch despite her daughter's resistance.

"I can do it alone. I always have," she hissed, not wanting to admit that her mother's grip gave her a certain stability that she lacked on her own. The walk to her room was silent and uncomfortable, and it was not until she had left her seated in one of the armchairs that the princess seemed encouraged to speak again.

"Laenor will finish training soon. He'll probably stop by here. Your father also wants to see you," she said, sitting next to her. Although encouraged by the idea of her brother coming to visit her as was customary, her second sentence made her frown.

"What does Father wish to discuss with me?" she said with a voice that sounded colder than she had intended. Her mother seemed to notice it, as she let out a long sigh.

"I know he can be infuriating. However, he is still your father. He cares about you."

Laena did her best not to show any sign of disagreement. Her mother was right, in a way. Lord Corlys often visited her with concerns about her and his grandson's health. The problem was that they weren't his only intentions.

"Father comes here with more questions than I feel comfortable answering," she said, still keeping her tone calm, knowing that the princess knew exactly what she was referring to. Rhaenys sighed again.

"Your husband's absence since your belly swelled with his child has been noticed. Your father just wants to make sure that everything goes well in your marriage. When I was pregnant with your brother, he wouldn't leave me alone for a second, and when I was out of his sight he used to leave me in the care of his most trusted servants. He worried too much about me..."

"In a marriage for love," she interrupted, unable to contain her sharp tongue this time. Rhaenys remained silent for a few seconds, fixing her gaze on her daughter's. Finally, she nodded, with admission.

"A marriage for love. Something that was not granted to you. And yet, now you are the Queen" her mother said with seriousness.

"Now I am the Queen," Laena repeated, savoring the title that had cost her her freedom. They both remained silent again for a long time. The princess looked around at the ornate armchairs, the elegant curtains, and the luxurious carpet, and she seemed to consider something. Finally, she dared to say what she had on her mind.

"This place is gloomy"

Laena held back a biting laugh. Her mother was right, at least about this. No matter how beautiful her bedroom looked and no matter how pristine the sheets on her bed were, it was hard to forget that at some point they had been soaked with the blood of the woman before her. She also knew that was the reason Viserys did not visit her in her chambers, and he never would. To be honest, she understood him.

"They're not my ghosts," she finally replied to her mother, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't fear them."

She thought she saw a flash of pride in Rhaenys's eyes, accompanied by one of concern. After all, she herself could become another specter of the Red Keep, if the gods granted her the same fate as Aemma.

The gods and my lord husband. If my King was willing to cut open the woman he loved for a child, what would he do to me, with whom he is only united by duty?

That was a thought that used to haunt her ever since she had begun to notice the infant's movements. Certainly, she was not afraid of the memory of the former Queen, but she was of the violent manner of her death. Laena often woke up in the night, sweaty and terrified, after having vividly dreamed of the sensation of the knife sticking into her belly, leaving her wide open while she was still alive, feeling everything. But she would never confess it to her mother or her father. Only her brother was aware of such nightmares.

As if he had been summoned with her thought, the door opened softly and the tall figure of Laenor entered with the guard's announcement.

Her mother stood up from the couch, knowing that she could leave without leaving her daughter alone. She murmured a few things in her brother's ear, kissed her forehead and left the room after taking one last look at her offspring.

Once the door creaked shut, Laena allowed herself to release the breath she was holding, causing a slight smile from her brother.

"Complicated morning?" Laenor asked, moving his chair closer to hers and sitting down next to her. Laena clicked her tongue.

"You could say. And you?"

The young knight leaned back in his seat, with a relaxed smile.

"Pretty good actually, although tired. Ser Joffrey and I went to a place under the wall of the city to train. Quite quiet and calm," he said with a wink. Laena couldn't contain a laugh at his words. Her brother was the obedient and quiet one of the family, but if their parents knew half of the things Laenor did... and yet, she wouldn't be the one to tell on him. Not when he looked so happy.

"I hope Ser Joffrey had no problem taking your sword," she said with an innocent tone that hid beneath the most obscene of mockery. Even Laenor seemed to blush at what was said, slightly embarrassed.

"And I thought I was talking to a lady," he finally managed to say when he regained his speech. Laena laughed again.

"I am a lady. Your sister and Queen," she reminded him sarcastically.

"True. You're something else, Laena," her brother laughed, looking at her questioningly. "And how are your relationships at Court going? Anything new?" He seemed to finally be encouraged to ask.

She caressed her belly, feeling the child's movements. Whatever it was, boy or girl, was quite active. And heavy.

"My dear husband barely comes to see me," she said, looking at her brother. "I must bring back bad memories. Ser Otto Hightower looks at me as if I had stolen something that rightfully belonged to him and our cousin does the same."

Laenor took her hand gently, trying to give her some support.

"And here I thought the two of them would never agree on anything," he said, trying to joke. He gave her a small smile, she had to admit.

"I suppose contempt has brought them together. However, mutual hatred will hardly make them a united front, no matter the circumstances."

Her brother nodded, touching the armrest of the seat with his other hand.

"I suppose their alliance is something we should not fear then..." he said, getting lost for a moment in his own thoughts.

"What about the others?"

"Lord Lyonel Strong is kind to me. As are all the men on my husband's Council," Laena continued. "Although his youngest son gives me chills"

The last part had been completely sincere, something she hadn't dared to share with anyone other than her brother. Lord Larys was all velvet and kindness when he greeted her, but there was something about the man they nicknamed Clubfoot that made her have the primal feeling of an animal that senses a threat even though it cannot clearly distinguish it. There was something creepy about him. Something dark. It didn't help that he was trying to sneak up on her, ever since she became Queen. She often ended up with a queasy stomach after those small conversations, and a feeling of panic.

Laenor nodded at her words, sharing the sentiment.

"He is a strange man. I must say that in some ways we should be grateful that he is only a second son. I have a feeling that he would be dangerous with a little more power."

Trying to get rid of the terrible shiver that ran down her spine, Laena tried to continue with the previous topic, forgetting about the younger Strong.

"Not everything is so bad, I suppose. Prince Daemon seems indifferent to me. At least my brother-in-law doesn't give me disapproving glances, although he doesn't pay much attention to me either. I think that's better than being openly despised. His wife, Lady Alicent, is quite kind. And their son is adorable, a real dragon cub."

In reality, her brother-in-law's wife was the one who treated her most normally. From time to time they used to meet, talk about worldly topics, about advices for her future child, among other things. She was the closest thing to a real friendship that she had managed to forge, and even if it turned out to be false in the end she would have appreciated the feeling of companionship that she gave her. Being married to a dragon was not an easy thing after all, and a little comfort was always nice.

Laena had sometimes wondered what it would have been like if their fate had been exchanged. Who knows. Perhaps, in another life, Alicent Hightower was the Queen of Viserys and Laena, the wife of Prince Daemon. After all, she had been not far from passing like this, not long ago. Her slight crush on the prince persisted, although she would never let anyone but Laenor know it. She had a sense of duty and decency strong enough to know that she was the wife of His Majesty and that meant she would be completely faithful to him, regardless of the fact that she had not chosen him herself. She would not be capable of such vileness, especially with a legitimate child on the way.

"Reuniting yourself with Lady Hightower will not win you Rhaenyra's heart. Our cousin seems to despise her uncle's wife much more than she could ever do to you," Laenor said, still fiddling with the armrest.

Laena came out of her internal thoughts, glaring at her brother.

"Rhaenyra won't like me anyway. Even if I tried to make peace over the issue of marriage with her father, a single child could destroy such a fragile peace. You know that her position as heir will always be threatened by the children of my womb, even if His Majesty promised otherwise. Our own father would make sure of that. Lady Alicent and her scion are far from the line of the Throne. I am smart enough to know that she could seek an advantage with me, and yet she is the only one who has treated me like a decent human being instead of an imposter or a damn replacement," she said firmly, sounding slightly irritated.

Laenor noticed his poor choice of words and tried to fix it.

"You are not a replacement. Nor an imposter. You are the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You did not choose this destiny, but you can make the best of it. You are right, Rhaenyra has not given you any reason to support her claim. The only thing that I'm saying is that you don't close your possibilities. Don't make iron enemies when loyalties are so changing. Not here," he explained, trying to sound as reasonable as possible.

Laena breathed heavily, trying to take full control of her emotions again. Her brother was right. It was not about refraining from forming relationships with all people, but simply ensuring that her possibilities always remained open. In a viper's nest like King's Landing, it was always important to have allies or the opportunity for them, even in the most unlikely of people. Much more, now that another life was on the way. The future prince or princess would need all the protection possible. And it was her duty as their mother to guarantee it to them.

"I've only...I've been here for months, in this castle. I can't leave without an army of servants chasing me. Come on, I can't even go to the bathroom alone! I long to ride Vhagar, to feel the wind against my body, the power of a dragon under my legs, the sea breeze hitting my face!" she said, and couldn't help but sob at his last sentence.

Damn hormones. My gods, what a pathetic spectacle I must be putting on.

The idea made her deeply angry, which only helped increase the number of tears that filled her eyes. Realizing his sister's fragile emotional state, Laenor took her in his arms, trying to calm her. It was a gesture he used to make when they were children, when particularly violent storms hit Driftmark and her mother wasn't around to hug her.

She missed only having to worry about a lot of rain and lightning, instead of the safety of herself and her entire family.

"Don't cry, little sister. I don't pretend to understand what you feel, because no matter how hard I try, I never will. But as long as I'm here, you'll always be safe. I promise. I'll be damned if I ever abandon you," her brother whispered in her ear. , while he held her in his arms, caressing her hair. They remained like that for a few minutes, until Laenor tried to break the ice once more.

"You know, we could sail around Blackwater Bay. Borrow a boat. You'd feel the sea breeze, and a boat is much safer than a dragon, so there wouldn't be as much opposition."

Laena laughed at the idea, thinking about his words.

"I suffer from too much motion sickness to make this possible. What would the Court, or the inhabitants of King's Landing, say if their elegant Queen vomited all over her royal garments?"

They both laughed at the image painted in their mind.

"I guess you're right. Later, then. Maybe you can even ride Vhagar then. A few races wouldn't hurt, so the dragons don't get out of shape," her brother said. Feeling her eyes heavy because of the lullaby of his voice and perhaps because of the tiredness of pregnancy, she started to feel sleepy.

"Don't fall asleep," said Laenor's soft voice, patting her shoulder playfully. "Father said he would come to see you and to talk to you."

Even with her eyes closed, Laena gave a small smile.

"You're supposed to keep me awake, not convince me that the best option would be to fall asleep."

"You have no fix," her brother whispered amused, kissing her forehead.

"Gods, anyone who says you don't have fire in you is a reverend idiot. You are a dragon, Laena. Don't forget it."

His words sounded like the sweetest compliment anyone had ever given her.

He is right. I am Laena of House Velaryon. Rider of Vhagar. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. A dragon. And a dragon is never defenseless, but rather someone to fear. Regardless of whether it looks like a prisoner or not.

So, when she felt herself slipping into the mysterious confines where dreams lead, she allowed herself to repeat that phrase, thinking about Lord Larys, about Ser Otto. Even about Rhaenyra.

Laena dreamed that she burned them all.

Chapter Text

ALICENT VII

Alicent inhaled deeply the cool evening air. The faint aroma of the flowers and the sea breeze, combined with the wet earth of the gardens seemed to relax her, as she watched her son run here and there in the gardens, under the watchful gaze of Talya and hers.

Baelon's first name day had passed without any major events and the boy was growing strong and healthy. As she had predicted, as soon as he had learned to walk, he had become the terror of the maids, who chased the little prince as he ran at full speed through the corridors of the Red Keep. Even her own heart had stopped a couple of times, when Baelon had suddenly disappeared from her sight, or she had seen him too close to some staircase or dangerous place. The boy had a certain taste for danger that he seemed to have inherited from his father, and his adventurous air only earned him the praise of both King Viserys and his new wife, who were all over their young nephew.

Queen Laena was another matter. Young, bold, and restless, she reminded her of Rhaenyra more times than she was comfortable with. And yet, not everything was similar. Sometimes she saw in the young woman a strange mixture of her own traits and those of her former best friend, since although Her Majesty could be implacable and indomitable like the princess herself, she possessed a certain obedience and loyalty to her family, following the law of her father as Alicent did.

Although of course, no one could deny that the girl was a dragon. She could see that beneath all the elegant and polite manners that the young Queen displayed at Court to survive, there was hidden a burning fire ready to burn the unfortunate one who set it off with enough provocation.

And it isn't as if she hadn't received enough.

She seemed to have enough patience with Lord Corlys, but Alicent didn't know if she would have enough for Rhaenyra. The princess was irreverent and disrespectful to her stepmother in subtle but equally offensive ways. Laena usually held on stoically, not letting any of her emotions pass through the cold mask she wore when she was next to her husband. But she could see behind the facade, and she was sure Rhaenyra could too. That was why the princess enjoyed her provocation so much.

The gap between her and her former best friend had widened even further. It wasn't just her longing for Daemon that fueled Rhaenyra's growing anger, but the affinity Laena seemed to find with her, already resembling the one they had once shared. The princess had no one else, and it seemed that her stepmother's pregnancy had made her almost as bitter as her own pregnancy with Baelon. She suspected that Rhaenyra wouldn't have the compassion she had shown her and accompany Laena to the birthing bed. There was no care for the young Queen, no matter how innocent she was of the sins of which she was unjustly accused. Still, she was smart enough to see the danger the princess saw in the young Velaryon woman. The child in her womb was a constant reminder that Rhaenyra could be replaced as heir by her father's new offspring, just as her mother had been replaced by Laena herself.

That threatened to explode violently at any moment, although it seemed that they were still far from that, luckily for them. That's why she preferred to keep the company of her firstborn, the child with whom she always found a certain peace. Alicent sought a peaceful childhood for his, even if his position as prince of the Realm and son of Daemon Targaryen made it nearly impossible from the start.

And just as her thoughts drifted toward her husband, the prince appeared in the distance, advancing toward the small grassy clearing. Baelon, who seemed to have a sixth sense to detect the presence of his father, ran towards him with his small steps still clumsy, stumbling slightly and laughing in the process. Daemon seemed amused by his son's efforts, taking him into his arms and touching his nose, making his son giggle.

"How is my little prince?" Daemon asked in a soft voice that seemed reserved exclusively for Baelon...and Rhaenyra.

She tried to push the latter name out of her mind.

"Muddy and quite tired," she replied with a slight hint of amusement in her voice. Only then did she seem to notice her husband's riding clothes and thus, she guessed the intentions of his presence without having to ask.

"It's a little late. He's quite tired. I don't think a flight at this time would be best for him. In fact, I was about to take him back to the castle. He needs to rest," she said in the calmest voice she could muster. The truth was different. There was a maternal fear in her every time she saw her son take flight in his father's arms, no matter how many times he had done it already. Shortly after his return, Daemon had taken up his mother's tradition and taken Baelon to Caraxes for the first time, turning her son into a dragonrider even before he had Sunfyre. And yet, there was always that feeling of anxiety that lodged in her heart, even though her little son seemed to enjoy it quite a bit.

Again, the wild heart of his father. What a force of nature he could become.

"Nonsense. There's always time for a ride in Caraxes," her husband responded, making it clear that he wouldn't take no for an answer. He seemed to guess what was hidden behind her worried expression, because he smiled. The kind of smile that said he was planning something.

"You know? You would be very less worried if you accompanied us sometime. We could have a very fun riding" he said in a sly voice, while letting Baelon play with his hair, which was getting longer with each day again.

It took her a moment to discern the meaning of Daemon's words,  butwhen she did, her eyes widened and her heart raced.

"Ride... Caraxes?" Alicent asked, feeling extremely nervous. She looked at Daemon, trying to make sure that he was speaking seriously. But even beneath his sarcastic and sometimes sadistic humor, she found a look of sincerity that didn't calm her at all.

"...Ride a dragon? Do...do you mean me, when you say we?" she said, and she hated the way she stuttered between the words. She remembered that Rhaenyra had offered her hundreds of times to ride Syrax, almost a lifetime ago, and she had rejected her again and again, afraid to rise above the skies on the backs of any beast. And yet, the golden beast, pampered and somewhat tame, was no comparison to the Blood Wyrm, the dragon that had burned down the Triarchy and probably devoured several of them. It was practically suicide, if she thought about it carefully.

Something must have reflected on her face again, probably the sudden feeling of terror or the chill that ran down her spine, because Daemon's smile seemed to grow even bigger.

"C'mon. If Baelon can do it, why can't you?" he provoked her, probably trying to get a reaction that he would find funnier. She tried to swallow her fear and regain her composure.

"Baelon has dragon's blood. I prefer to have my feet on the floor, thank you" she said with a new wave of calm, her face once again being the epitome of tranquility.

"You're boring as hell," she told him, with the tone Alicent imagined would use a disgruntled child who has been told he can't get up to any mischief. Her husband seemed to take a couple of strides with Baelon still in his arms, probably heading towards the Dragonpit, but before he left, his mouth came close to her ear, at an angle that would make it impossible for anyone else to read his lips. It was probably lucky, since the whispered words were anything but innocent.

"Perhaps you would like a more suitable mount, then. You could ride a real dragon tonight and I would ascend you to heaven." he told her with a slightly hoarse voice, before leaving with hurried steps, but not before casting a satisfied look at the enormous blush that formed on her cheeks. It took her a couple of seconds to snap out of her sudden shock, before she realized that she had opened her mouth in surprise and was probably offering quite an intriguing look to any curious observer. She did her best to control herself and ignore the furious red that was surely coloring her cheeks, as she ordered Talya to gather the prince's belongings and take them back inside the Red Keep.

It was not until she was safe in the solitude of her chambers that she allowed herself to think about her husband's words again.

It hadn't been the first time Daemon had made certain... propositions to her. In fact, he had been getting more and more daring, sometimes too obscene, for some time now.

It had all started on the day of the King's wedding. Noticing the piercing and aggressive glances the prince gave Lord Corlys and occasionally the Queen herself and fearing a confrontation if they sat there for too long, she had made an effort to convince Daemon to take her out at a dance. Alicent had tried to ignore Rhaenyra's furious, burning gaze at her back and instead she had tried to focus on the indigo eyes of her husband, who seemed annoyed by the drag to the center of the room. Yet there had been something in his gaze, a gleam she hadn't been able to recognize, and he had leaned in to whisper something in her ear. Expecting some nonsense or complaint, her face had completely revealed her emotions before she could control herself.

"We could inaugurate my brother's wedding bed tonight. I don't think he'll mind. After all, what would be wrong with creating several dragons on his wedding night?"

And it hadn't stopped there, actually. Little by little the obscene propositions had become more frequent. And Alicent knew perfectly well why.

She had always known that she wouldn't avoid her husband's bed forever, not after Baelon, at least. A son who had turned out to be everything the prince had wanted in a firstborn had only proven one thing to him: that Alicent was capable of providing him with the worthy heirs he had always wanted. Furthermore, the Queen's pregnancy seemed to have awakened something in him, as if the desire for competition against his brother had been revived by seeing him expand his own royal offspring. All of this seemed to increase day by day, and she did not doubt that Daemon would appear in her chambers sooner rather than later.

Still, the painful and humiliating memory of their wedding night did not fade from her mind. Even though she knew that she could not refuse her husband, not only because of tradition, but because of the wishes of her father who wanted to keep her marriage to the Rogue Prince as stable as possible, there was that reflex that encouraged her to avoid his touch, even if she desired it badly at the same time. She didn't know if she would be able to be taken again in a way that had made her want to crawl out of her own skin.

Finally, the knock on the door brought her out of her reverie, when the guard opened it and Talya walked in with her son in her arms. Placing a soft kiss on his forehead, she watched attentively as the maid prepared the boy's bath and as always, she insisted on doing it herself with a slight help.

She wrapped the child in fine silk clothing and Baelon soon fell asleep soundly in the crib that was getting smaller for him every day. Alicent smiled as she caressed his small face, happy to see him happy in his sleep, so peacefully.

If there was an image for perfection, this smile would probably appear in it.

Before she could bring herself to run her hand through the soft, platinum-gold locks, which were now almost long enough to reach his small shoulders, the door creaked, revealing the entrance of someone else into the room.

Her body immediately tensed in alert and he instinctively stood in front of her crib.

Talya never returned after putting Baelon to bed and a visit from whoever she was unusual.

When the figure of her husband was illuminated by the candlelight, her eyes furrowed and her breathing unconsciously seemed to relax.

"Gods, you scared me," she whispered, in a voice that sounded decidedly annoyed. Daemon seemed amused at the matter.

"I believe that a father has the right to visit his son, my lady wife," he said calmly, irritating her even more, although she did not allow it to show on her face.

"There's decent hours for it. Even you must know it," she said, although she no longer stood in the way between her husband and Baelon. The prince repeated the long caress on the baby's cheek, looking at him with a tenderness that, if she had not seen it with her own eyes, she would never have believed him capable of having.

"You know? He does look like you. In the way he frowns when he's upset" Daemon said amused, while he looked at her with a certain mocking air. She didn't know whether to laugh or get angry at his comment.

"The boy is all you. If you want to know where he got the scowl and the challenging look from, you should look in a mirror," she said in a tone that sounded much less harsh than she had planned. Her husband seemed even more amused by it.

"Maybe. Although maybe the next one will be luckier and get my good sense of humor," he whispered with a slightly provocative tone. She tried to discern whether it was one of his usual jokes or not, but the hungry way his eyes seemed to undress her confirmed everything she needed to know. Tonight would be the night they would be reunited as true husband and wife, after a year and a few moons in a cold, empty bed. Even as she tried to remain completely emotionless, she couldn't help but feel a traitorous shiver of desire up her spine as his fiery eyes bore into her body.

Daemon's hand made it's way to her chin, making them look directly at each other. Time seemed to pass slower and she could feel the sound of her heartbeat in her ears.

"I guess there's nothing more to say" her husband whispered, waiting for her response.

Her mind debated with herself, wondering whether to push him away or give in to whatever was happening. Finally, the words were able to come out of her mouth.

"Will you see me, in our marriage bed?" she asked in a firm voice. The question sounded silly when it left her lips, but she knew what she meant exactly. He seemed to understand it too because for a moment there was a glint of shame in his gaze before it was replaced again by lust.

"I'll look you in the eye," he whispered in a promise, before moving his hand from her and starting to feel the fabric of her dress. There was a touch of relief there, a slight refreshing sensation when she heard his words. Thus, she helped her husband get rid of his tunic and shirt, while he did the same with her dress.

And not long ago, he balked at any attempt at my touch. I guess if I haven't tamed the dragon, I've at least earned his respect.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, her lips found his as their bodies moved together towards the bed.

"I want you" she whispered in his ear, making him growl in a way that sounded more animalistic than human.

He kissed her again, in a manner that was far from tender or gentle.

For some reason, her traitor body kept responding to the passion of his embrace, even when she tried to seem more reserved. But it was in vain. There was an electric, warm sensation every time his hands touched her bare skin as they tangled with each other. Daemon seemed possessed by some strange desire, and for the first time in a long time she wondered about his walks to Flea Bottom, or the apparent lack of them.

But that was interrupted again when he kissed her neck, whispering things in her ear that only a feverish man could say in the midst of his lust.

A wave of heat rushed through her in an instant, his words, his touch, all of it just right.

He loved her. He loves her. But is he in love with me, in this moment? It doesn't matter. I think I can love him in this moment.

The surrender finally came to fruition later, when her husband gently pushed into her, unlike on her wedding night. Alicent could barely form words as her mind grew foggy with the sensations Daemon induced within her. She wrapped her legs around him, desperately holding on as every motion pushed her further to a peak, her body aching in desire for him and him alone. Daemon seemed to share her enthusiasm, as he continued to move with more strength and speed, his eyes locked on hers as he had promised.

She welcomed his passion as her body begged for more, as her blood rushed through her veins at double the pace. She felt alive in this moment, despite all of Daemon's past betrayals. His lovemaking made her feel more than anything. And he made her feel both disgusted with herself and fulfilled at the same time.

He does desire me. And I...I like that...I like that more than I ever thought I would.

The sensation of him gave her such overwhelming pleasure that her body felt like it was going to explode. There was so much heat between them and, for a moment, they were the only ones in the world. When her body finally reached its peak, Alicent found herself saying his name and held Daemon close to her, savoring every second of the joy and pleasure he had given her. For a brief moment, she seemed to hear her own name on his lips as he reached his own release, though in the end she dismissed it entirely as a game of her imagination.

"That was... something else," she whispered to her husband's still body next to her.

"I know," he whispered back, breathing heavily.

She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed softly. Alicent was exhausted, physically and mentally.

And now that they were done, she felt everything hit at once. Exhaustion and sadness.

I gave you my body, my virtue. And I'm not sure if I'll ever get true love in return.

It was a painful thought.

But she tried to put it out of her mind. Even she wasn't sure yet what she felt about the man next to her. Not yet.

"I guess you'll be back to your..." she started to say, only to be met with silence in response. She moved her gaze upward, only to see the eyes that had watched her intently throughout the night closed peacefully, sinking into a deep sleep.

Gods. Even asleep he looks like Baelon.

Alicent stood for a moment, wondering if it would be better to abandon the comfort of his arm and replace it with a real pillow.

In the end she discarded it and with the little strength she had left she stretched out her arm to pull the semi-wet sheets and cover them both, before falling into the same post-passionate exhaustion herself.

For the first time, her bed felt truly warm. And she, perhaps a little less alone.

Chapter Text

VISERYS IV

King Viserys raised the wine glass to his lips, his fingers trembling with nerves, pouring out some of the precious reddish liquid before finally being able to drink it empty. Sitting on the Iron Throne, preferring the uncomfortable seat to a place in his chambers, perhaps as a kind of penitence, he looked at the windows, admiring the night sky that was turning into the reddish-orange hue of dawn with a touch of worry. After all, it had been early in the morning when his wife had gone into labor, and now, it was a new day borning. In the city, the sounds of activity were beginning to fill the streets, as were the first glimpses of dawn. In the castle, however, everything was dead silent.

It had been there for long seconds, minutes, hours. Silent and barely accompanied by the occasional presence of Lord Corlys who appeared from time to time, surely only finding himself in the throne room when he had already toured the rest of the Red Keep in an attempt to appease his heart, and perhaps his conscience.

Rhaenys was kept with her daughter, authorized by the Grand Maester Mellos to assist in Laena's birth, something that had been denied to Laenor, who had surely gone to get drunk like him, in some tavern or within the cellars of the fortress , trying to forget a little of the fear that was eating away at him inside.

Alicent had been the one who had lasted the longest by his side, trying to distract him for one, two, three, four, five, six hours; until the wait had been too long.

“I will go to find out the condition of Her Majesty, my king,” she had told him, before anxiously heading to the Queen's chambers.

Whatever the maester had told her, she had left the Red Keep immediately for the Sept, where she would have continued to pray until then, if her lord husband had not gone to look for her after leaving young Baelon with the maids, almost dragging her out when she had refused to leave the place even when her knees were raw after having spent hours kneeling before the Seven, with the Seven Pointed Star stuck in her hand and her eyes glazed with shed tears and to pour out, praying for the life of the young Laena Velaryon.

The look his brother had given him as he carried his wife in his arms back to her chambers had been filled with burning fury and no empathy. He hadn't been able to blame him.

After all, what kind of man would be happy for his wife to suffer such pain from someone other than her loved ones? They're not family, Laena and her, the way my brother sees it. And Alicent's health is a delicate thing.

No. There was no reason to be angry with Daemon for worrying about the young lady. In fact, he would have been happy about the curious gesture, had it not been for his own complicated situation.

The prince's marriage had slowly blossomed and after comings and goings they had seemed to understand each other, reach a mutual agreement. He wasn't blind, he could see Daemon's eyes still wandering over Rhaenyra, his gaze burning with more than just lust. But while there were things that hardly seemed ready to change and filled him with a heavy resignation, there were others that rejoiced him.

The announcement of the pregnancy that would mean the second child between Daemon and Alicent had been between them. And perhaps, it had been the main reason for the Rogue Prince's anger towards him.

 Strong emotions have never been good for pregnant women, and a three-moon pregnant woman should never have entered the delivery bed, much less the Sept. It was stupid of me to put her in such a situation. At least we will agree on that.

Daemon was usually as protective of the child in his lady wife's womb as he was of his firstborn, and sometimes it was hard to think that there had been a time when he hadn't wanted them at all. But now, it was harder to imagine that his brother would stop at only two.

And how could he resist after a child like Baelon?

Viserys himself remembered, after the birth of his little princess, wanting to immediately give her as many brothers and sisters as they could, an army that he would make pale the one created by his grandparents. And maybe they would have, if any of Aemma's pregnancies had come to term. He had waited anxiously, day after day and night after night, feeling the movements of their little dragons, fruit of the love they shared in her bed and outside of her, as ardent as the dragon emblem of their House.

But all the princes and princesses had left this world before they could even take their first breath. The hope of children had died along with his wife, and he had been willing to settle for nephews and grandchildren, little Targaryens who would fill the Red Keep with the same joy that had existed during the childhood years of his only daughter. But like many things, not everything had gone according to plan.

His brother had seemed foolish and stubborn back then regarding his rejection of his wife and unborn child. His daughter had rejected any good boy who sought his hand. And the possibility of grandchildren had not only seemed distant, but dangerous.

In the end, the possibility of Rhaenyra losing her life in the same way his beloved Aemma had done had been what had driven him to do what was necessary for the greater good.

Marriage to Laena had calmed waters, healed wounds, and unified the Realm like no other would have done. And in the end they had dedicated themselves to their duty, the sole purpose of the whole thing: to sire children who would make Rhaenyra's burden lighter.

Not rushing his daughter to give birth to her heirs by having another girl do it in her place with his own had been a dirty move, even more so when he realized how gentle and polite Laena was. But what was done was done, and it had not been long before the young Queen carried their first child in her womb.

It had been a relief to put an end to the nights where he closed his eyes so he could do the damned task. After all, his imagination couldn't recall the sound of Aemma's voice, whispering in his ear as their bodies joined again and again in a lustful dance that usually began at the end of dusk and ended at dawn, when he was still the rider of Balerion, the Black Terror, with the energy of youth. Now, however, he had had to mentally see the face of his dead wife, with the only sound being the squeaking of her bed, in a gloomy room that seemed, in the darkness of the night, like a mausoleum.

Viserys had not been able to blame Laena for the coldness of the act, she had willingly spread her legs for him as her duty as his wife and Queen compelled her, and she had even pretended to enjoy it the first few times, before of falling into the uncomfortable routine in which silence had been the common denominator. Getting rid of that hadn't been a problem in the slightest, much less with the fortunate news.

But while in his old marriage he had felt overwhelming happiness, in this one it had been profound relief... and nothing more.

Of course, there had been banquets and celebrations, he had toasted on behalf of Laena and their unborn child and asked the Realm to pray for the health of their Queen and the baby, demanding a dragon egg for the future child's cradle. But while the Court was rejoicing and Lord Corlys personally ecstatic, he simply hadn't been able to find that spark.

It's not as if he hadn't tried it, surely a child was a blessing after all and deserved to be welcomed as such. But no matter how much he had dug into his feelings, no matter how much he had tried to find the old emotion he used to feel every time Aemma announced that she was pregnant again, he had found in it place an emptiness that was eating him up inside.

Night after night he had tried to fight the feeling, the cold loneliness that chilled him to the bone. And although a good husband would have accompanied his wife in those torturous moments that always occurred in the first pregnancy, it had been impossible for him to get more than twenty steps close from Aemma's room... No, from Laena's, without feeling a terrible chill that caused him both regret and terror. In the end, Laena had spent most of the pregnancy without his presence, with the company of her family.

She's not alone, after all he had told himself, as if the fact meant any comfort.

Alicent's pregnancy had been different, a cool, calm breeze in a stormy sea. There was something about the fact that the child was his blood, but not his, that made him feel less guilty.

Sometimes, in the darkest of the night, he even wondered if the feeling would have changed if he had married Otto Hightower's daughter instead of Corlys Velaryon's. The answer was usually clear.

In the end, the only thing that might have changed would have been the difficulty of the carnal act. After all, there had been some lust there, the same one that had led him to touch the young woman in ways inappropriate for a King, on the nights when she went to her room, so long ago. Still, he suspected that even that would have ended up fading over time, like the idea of marriage had. In the end, it wasn't the woman he was married to, but the simple fact that neither woman was Aemma that soured him deeply. Nobody could have changed that.

The sound of the door creaking open that broke the overwhelming silence immediately brought him out of his thoughts, causing him to look down at the people entering the room. Lord Corlys was arm in arm with Rhaenys, in a rigid but persistent grip. In the dim light of the torches he thought he saw a reddish glow on the Lord of Driftmark's right cheek, although he was not quite sure.

"The Queen has given birth, Your Majesty," Corlys himself said in a serious voice, bowing slightly. "Two girls, one a little plumper than the other, but both healthy. Congratulations"

For the love of the gods. Two. And their faces are not gloomy enough to indicate a tragedy. Laena is alive.

Viserys let out the sigh he seemed to have been holding for hours and hours of stress and descended from the Iron Throne with hasty but careful steps. Even now, it was difficult to know exactly what he was feeling. Happiness? Pride? Relief?

As he was guided by the cousin who was now his mother-in-law at the same time, he tried to remember what he had been like with Rhaenyra. Had he been a ball of nerves, overwhelmed by emotions? Had he jumped for joy? Right now, he couldn't even remember for sure.

Rhaenyra, my firstborn. If only you understood...

But he couldn't even complete that thought. For understanding to reach his young daughter, the Seven Hells would have had to freeze and Valyria rise from the ashes.

The princess's bitterness had only increased, fueled little by little by each new event that seemed disastrous to her.

His wedding to Laena, her pregnancy, Alicent's second pregnancy... It had all been fuel for her constant anger.

Rhaenyra had taken refuge clinging to the only thing that still belonged completely to her, her position as his heir. And she had guarded it as the common people said the dragons guarded their treasures.

At least that's assured. Rhaenyra always wanted a sister. Two could soften her heart. After all, they are flesh of her flesh and blood of her blood. Innocent girls. And with little dispute over the Throne.

Finally, they reached the large bedroom. Swallowing heavily, he tried his best to concentrate on a thousand and one other things. But for some reason, the mere sight of Laena's room made him nauseous. He could almost smell the maester's herbs, the metallic scent of gallons of blood spilled onto the sheets, and the muffled sounds of a baby choking on fluid in its lungs. That forced him to take a step back, unconsciously.

"I can't go in there," he said with a trembling voice. He felt like a complete coward, something less than a King, than a man. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to approach that damned door again.

Rhaenys glared at him, as she had only done on the day he had been chosen as King Jaehaerys's successor over her.

"She is your wife. She needs her husband," she said with a calm voice that hid a load of venom underneath. Even as shocked as he was, he found no reason to deny her words and in the end he found himself inside the room trying not to think about it too much. Again, the metallic aroma of blood filled his nostrils and he leaned on a chair to keep from losing his balance. The reddish liquid was on the sheets, although not enough to be fatal. At least he hoped so.

Laena slept peacefully in the bed and the sheets were soon removed from his sight by her servants.

The Grand Maester was speaking to two servants, but abandoned his series of orders as soon as he entered the room.

"Your Majesty," he greeted him, bowing respectfully. He walked away a little and returned with a bundle in his arms, followed by a maid with another. She gave one of the babies to Rhaenys. Mellos gave the other to him.

"Your daughters, Your Majesty. Princesses of House Targaryen. They are in good health."

The King looked at the small bundle in his arms. Violet eyes looked at him attentively, almost defiantly. The look of a little dragon.

"How is she?" he finally asked the Grand Maester. He could see Rhaenys immediately tense and Mellos hesitate a little and there was a feeling very much like panic rising in his throat.

No. Not again. For the love of the gods.

"It's okay, now. But she hemorrhaged, maybe because of the length of childbirth, or because of her youth, or because... it could be too many things really. We cauterized and sewed what we could, stopping any fatal consequences, but we don't know the effects it could have on…” the man began to babble, pausing on the last word, unsure.

Viserys frowned, his weakness evaporating and suddenly transforming into ill-contained annoyance. If Laena was out of danger, what could be the problem?

"Speak now. Your King orders you"

Even in the face of a direct order, Mellos seemed to hesitate before continuing.

"We don't know what effects it might have on Her Majesty's fertility. It might make future pregnancies more difficult. It might eliminate the possibility of them at all. Or it might just not happen at all. It's an uncertain thing."

Then, everything made sense. Lord Corlys apparent bad mood despite the birth of his first granddaughters. The nervousness of the grand maester. The reason for the argument in which probably Rhaenys had slapped her husband.

"I wish to be alone with her," he said with the most authoritative voice he had used in a long time.

Surprised, everyone hurriedly left the chambers except for Rhaenys, who remained stoic at her daughter's bedside, with the other girl still in her arms.

"It is my wish to remain by her side, alone. She is my wife," he told her, a little more irritated by the deffiance. She gave a single laugh that showed not amusement, but sarcasm.

"How lucky, cousin, that you remember it now," she said back. The princess delicately put the baby back in her crib and gave him a dirty look before reaching the door.

"She wants to name them Baela in honor of your father, and... Aemma... I think it goes without saying by whom" she said coldly, before fulfilling his wish and leaving him alone. The weight of the names chosen for his daughters left him reeling, the energy gained from his previous fury leaving his body. He had to sit down, to prevent his weakness from knocking him to the ground.

Viserys looked up, only to find violet eyes staring back at him.

How long has she been awake? How much has she listened?

Whatever it was, it was impossible to know. His wife's eyes were as emotionless as ever. Although there seemed to be some apprehension as she saw the small bundle moving against his chest. He tilted her so she could see her, placing the girl on her mattress. Laena tried to reach out to take her, but she had to pull back with a wince. He looked at her, worried.

"You shouldn't try too hard now," she said in a soothing voice. In response he received the second murderous look of the day.

"I can carry my daughter," she hissed, whether it was out of pain or anger he couldn't tell. Still, he refused to let her make any motion that could hurt her and instead positioned the girl against her chest. The gesture seemed to calm her spirits slightly.

"They're precious. I never thought it could feel... like this," she finally whispered, caressing the baby's small face. He remained silent, unsure of what to say. Yes, now that he saw them, that he had felt them in his arms, he couldn't deny the feeling of love that rose from his chest, and the relief at having found it. But putting it into words...it was difficult. Rhaenyra...he couldn't help but do comparations a both births, finding out it was better to not think about if he felt the same amount of care for his newborn daughters than he did with his first.

"This here is Baela," Laena said, caressing the baby she had near her. "And the one over there..."

"You don't need to do that," he interrupted, staring at her. The Queen seemed to understand and gave a deep sigh.

"I'm just trying to...I don't know. I remember her from when I was a child, a gentle, kind-hearted woman. I will always live in her shadow, in this castle, in this room, in this marriage. I have accepted it. But I ..."

"I wouldn't want a daughter of mine to bear the burden of her name. Not when I've made her mother carry it all this time. I'm sorry," she apologized, trying to sound as sincere as possible. Condemning someone to live as someone else's replacement, always being compared, always unable to be herself was one of the cruelest and most horrible ways he could think of to live a marriage. And yet, he couldn't help it. Viserys couldn't think of any way to get that out of his mind. To get Aemma out of his heart. He never could.

"You are the Queen now. Whoever was before... you are not doomed to be her replica, much less her replacement. You are my wife and I have not treated you as such. I apologize for that."

Laena looked at the ceiling and then at her daughter, her eyes crystal clear. He knew she would never cry, not in front of him. She was too proud to do so.

"That's good to know..."

"Feeling like an impostor in your new homw must be difficult, I know. And my daughter is not making things easy for you either. I will talk to her too. These disputes must end, we are a family after all"

It seemed to him that Laena had stiffened, although again it was difficult to tell for sure given the emotionless expression.

"We are a family after all," she repeated automatically.

Another moment of awkward silence filled the room, until she cleared her throat.

"Rhaena," she said finally. Viserys looked at her strangely.

"Rhaena? What are we talking...?"

"Like the rider of Dreamfyre. The Queen of the West and then the East. It's a good name for a princess, don't you think, my lord husband?" her gaze pierced him and for some reason it felt dangerous to say “no”.

“Baela and Rhaena. Yes. We can do…that” he finally managed to say, standing up.

"I should let you rest," he said, stroking Baela's hair with once again trembling fingers.

"If it is your wish, my king," she replied, cold again.

"If it is not too much to ask, Your Majesty..." she asked him, before she walked through the door. "I would like to see my brother."

He nodded. "I will have Ser Laenor sought immediately," he promised before leaving her chambers. Walking down the hallway, he noticed that the sun's rays were already completely illuminating now. Dawn had given way to an especially warm and welcoming morning.

A good time to come into the world, I suppose. The Kingdom will be happy with the news, two new princesses, Baelon, my next nephew...

House Targaryen, our lineage, is assured. And Rhaenyra now has the peace of mind she needs to land the right suitor.

With peace in his heart he headed to his own chambers, to try to get some sleep after the difficult night.

Little did the King know that calm usually precedes the storm.

 And what a terrible storm was coming...

Chapter Text

LAENOR II

Laenor fell heavily onto the worn bed, savoring the aftershocks of his release and the feel of Joffrey's hot body next to his.

He had long since become accustomed to the musty smell and stained sheets of those small rooms that they paid for a couple of hours in a brothel on the Street of Silk.

The young knight had known quite well the fact that there would be great consequences if it became known about his affair with the Knight of Kisses at Court. Therefore, even having the possibility of introducing Joffrey into his chambers without arousing a great deal of suspicion, he had preferred to avoid any little bird hidden behind the walls, ready to spread rumors that could affect the pride of House Velaryon.

And Father would never forgive me. Our reputation must be kept at all costs.

So he had settled for getaways, little moments in the morning where instead of going to train at the usual place, they went to one of those places in the city, which reeked of sex and alcohol, pretended to pay for the services of one of the women that worked there and then loved each other freely for a couple of hours, before returning to the Red Keep, sticky with sweat and completely exhausted, bragging about how hard the training had been.

One or two Lords had murmured about the curious custom, but nothing more. After all, the fact that a young man, the son of a Lord, was going to have fun with whores with his best friend was not of great relevance, nor even new. In fact, it had only helped hide his true nature, causing the rest of the Court to consider him lustful and womanizing.

Of course, the only ones who would never believe the story would be his family. His father simply ignored the matter at all, as if not talking about his son's homosexuality would make it cease to exist. His mother tried a little harder in that regard, although not as much. She was not unaware of his tastes, nor of the true nature of his relationship with Ser Joffrey Lonmouth, but their brief conversations on the matter were limited to polite and concerned warnings.

"There is always more than one pair of eyes watching you here, even where and when you feel most safe. I know you won't stop, you have the same fire and determination as your sister in all your acts. However, always be careful here. Always. You never know who watches you, or what they can do with what they know" Rhaenys had told him one night, just after Joffrey had excused himself to go to rest and she had done the same after that brief phrase. In fact, that had been the longest conversation he had had with his mother regarding his lover.

The only one that listened to, talked to, and knew everything about Joffrey and him was Laena, his sweet and beloved sister. She was the only one who didn't judge him, who showed interest in knowing the details that she wouldn't tell anyone else, fearing disgust or disappointment. But with her there was never that, only a look of understanding, of affection.

Laenor wasn't stupid though. He had realized a long time ago that his sister liked his stories not only out of a genuine desire to comfort and listen to her brother, but perhaps as her only chance to imagine such a torrid love. Of course, she hadn't had the secret meetings, the hidden letters, the feeling of ecstasy when doing something forbidden, the paradise that was being in the arms of the man he loved when they both whispered each other's name, sinking into an uncontrollable passion, even if they did not have the freedom to publicly love each other.

Instead, she had acquired that, the pride of marriage, the title of Queen, the grace of two legitimate daughters. And yet, she had lacked everything else.

The birth of Baela and Rhaena had calmed some of her worst feelings of loneliness, however. Having not one, but two girls had filled her heart in a way he knew he never could.

"They're just like you, thank the gods," he had whispered to her in a joking tone one afternoon when the little princesses had finally gone to sleep. Laena had laughed, abandoning the image of the polite and correct woman that she always showed to the rest of the world.

Sometimes is easy to forget that she’s still young. But I really know her. Not Queen Laena Velaryon, wife of King Viserys, but Laena. The irreverent dragon. My sister. The fire and sea cast flesh and bone.

"Yes, it is truly fortunate. They are all me. Mine," she had told him back, with a note of pride.

The twins had been well received at Court by the vast majority. Their father, who had not been able to hide his disappointment at first for not having had the desired male grandson, had melted with love the first time he had held them in his arms. Their mother pampered them like the grandmother they had made her into. Lady Alicent was taking the young Prince Baelon to meet his little cousins from time to time. Even Prince Daemon, still slightly bitter about the marriage between his sister and his own brother, had seemed to forgive the girls of said "sin", personally giving away another dragon egg so that each of them could have one.

But the most unexpected change of attitude had perhaps been that of Princess Rhaenyra. Perhaps sensing her less threatened position regarding the sex of the twins and the possible infertility of her stepmother, or perhaps seeking the familiarity of the sister she had always desired, she seemed to have grown fond of the babies. She made frequent visits to her half-sisters and often held and lulled them in her arms, letting them play with her platinum-gold hair, under the watchful gaze of the Queen. She and Laena had reached a kind of peaceful agreement, and although they were no longer bitter rivals, his sister's friendship with the Rogue Prince's wife made a relationship closer than that of stepmother and stepdaughter impossible.

"Are you asleep?" Joffrey's voice woke him up from his reverie and he realized that he had indeed had his eyes closed for a long time. Even the light streaming through the brothel window told him that he had already spent most of the morning.

"Shit. We have to go back," Laenor whispered, his face pressed into the other knight's neck. Joffrey chuckled softly.

"Ser Laenor Velaryon, a knight who cannot stay away from the Street of Silk. How does that sound?" He teased him, capturing his lips in an aggressive kiss.

"Like the kind of story that would be easy to believe and that my father would like to hear," he whispered as he pulled away from him to catch his breath.

And even encourage it thought silently. For some reason, the image of his father toasting with other men of the Court talking about how "healthily lustful and manly" his son was for coming so frequently to visit the whores of King's Landing was too easy to imagine.

"Here," Joffrey said as he tossed his his pants, which had been lying on the floor moments before. With a deep sigh and knowing that their daily dose together was over, he quickly dressed, unable to stay in a bad mood over the brief encounter no matter how hard he tried.

He certainly had Joffrey by his side all day, at almost all times, but the moments when they could truly be themselves were limited to the four walls of that room, and rarely to those of their chambers. It was irritating and at the same time exciting, the feeling of being able to be caught at any moment. And he found out soon that he couldn´t get angry easily after his "training" with Joffrey.

"If you keep daydreaming you're going to fill your fancy boots with some drunk's vomit or some animal's shit," Joffrey teased him, nudging him lightly as they walked through the streets of King's Landing, back to the Red Keep. Laenor smiled, returning a push that seemed friendly to any curious eye. "That's what you are for. Protect your Lord's son from dirtying his precious footwear."

They both laughed and put their arms around each other's shoulders. They didn't separate until they were inside the castle and a female voice cleared her throat. Laenor turned to meet his mother's eyes on him and instinctively took a step away from Joffrey. The Knight of Kisses bowed slightly, also visibly uncomfortable with the intensity of her gaze.

"Princess Rhaenys" he greeted her. She returned the gesture with grace.

"Your father is looking for you," she told Laenor seriously. The young man exchanged awkward glances with his lover, before following his mother towards his father's office, leaving Joffrey behind.

"Your training with Ser Lonmouth was especially long this morning," the princess told him as they walked down the hallway. Laenor tensed slightly.

"We lost track of time, mother. It won't happen again, I promise," he replied, not daring to look her in the eyes. Finally, they arrived in front of the Master of Ships' door, guarded by one of his guards.

"I know you won't," Rhaenys told him, lightly caressing his face. "I know you perfectly, my son and I know how difficult this is for you, but you have to think about what's best for our family. For our House."

There will be time for that when I am Lord of Driftmark. Joffrey and I, with me on the Throne of Driftwood. He would be my sworn shield and no one would question why he spends day and night with me. They will mistake it for devotion, and they won´t be too far from the truth.

That had always been his greatest hope, his greatest desire. He knew the island that would be his seat one day so well that he doubted anyone would catch them there. And even if they did, what could his subjects do against him?

His mother kissed his forehead before walking away down the hallway. Laenor took a deep breath and knocked on the door with three strong, precise knocks. From there, he heard the deep voice of his father.

"Come inside"

The guard of his House opened it and in a few seconds he found himself standing in front of the desk. Lord Corlys Velaryon was sitting, going through a few papers. He sealed a couple more even without looking at him, while he swayed, restless.

"I was expecting you earlier," said his father, still without looking up from his document. Laenor swallowed nervously.

"I'm sorry, Father. My training took longer than expected. I've told Mother it won't happen again," he apologized. Finally, the Lord of Driftmark's face rose from the paper, locking his eyes with his. In his expression, Laenor read disbelief at his lie, and knowledge of what he had really been doing. However, his father kept quiet about it, as always.

"Don't let it happen again. I need you by my side to discuss important matters," he told him, getting up from the chair and walking towards him. Laenor felt a nervous sensation rise in his throat but forced himself to swallow it, remaining stoic even when the imposing presence of his father made him feel terribly small. As always.

"What kind of matters, father?" he asked him. Lord Corlys' face was expressionless.

"Almost four moons have passed since Laena gave birth. If His Majesty spent little time with your sister, he now rarely visits her bed. Furthermore, the possibility that she has been left infertile by the birth of Baela and Rhaena is high," he said sternly, without separating his gaze from his for even a second, as if analyzing carefully his reaction. Laenor was the first to break eye contact, looking away, clearly uncomfortable not only with the sudden closeness of his father, but also with the topic he wanted to talk about.

"I...I don't think I want to know that kind of thing about Laena..." he muttered, although he clearly already knew. His sister told him everything.

"Laenor, listen to me," the Lord of the Tides said, grabbing his shoulders lightly, a gesture he used to make as he was a child, when he needed his attention to lessons on tying knots, moving the rudder, and lowering the sails of a ship. Now however, he had another purpose.

"We have fought so hard for this, and you know it. Your mother should have been Queen. You and your sister should have been born princes. Laena was going to correct that, put our rightful blood on the Iron Throne. Now, we have no choice but to resort to other measures..."

The sudden aggressive physical contact took him by surprise. In front of anyone else, he would have fought bare-knuckle because of the abrupt gesture. However, this was his father.

Mom's story, told a thousand times. Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was. But she seems to have gotten over it a long time ago. On the other hand, he...

"Why not get it another way? When the Targaryens came to Westeros, there was no single King for the Seven Kingdoms, the Iron Throne was forged with fire and blood. Why not get it the same way Aegon the Conqueror did?" he asked seriously. In fact, the idea of war was the last thing he would suggest. However, he had always wanted to know, even if the answer made him shudder. After his mother lost the right of succession to King Viserys, after Laena's scorn, after the denial of resources to his cause in the Stepstones...Why did his father, a cunning man but also easy to offend, had refused to take up arms, even with the numerical superiority of dragons?

It didn't take long for the answer to reach him.

"The Kingdom would not accept a kinslayer. You know that. Since Maegor, anyone who blatantly murders their relatives for power is seen as cursed in the eyes of gods and men. The Lords wouldn´t rest until they overthrew whoever dared to commit such barbarity. Maybe we would survive, but my grandchildren, and my grandchildren's grandchildren, would suffer the consequences," his father explained, with an intensity that made his stomach turn, since the details indicated that he had already thought about it. Multiple occasions.

"What exactly am I wanted for?" he asked, trying to change the subject. Corlys eyes lit up and for some reason, he felt even more uncomfortable with that.

"Laena will not be able to give King Viserys the boy we needed. Rhaenyra will remain his heir. A young woman of Valyrian blood, without any kind of commitment..." he let the words hang in the air, knowing well that Laenor understood what he wanted to say. He did so, and his face showed the surprise he felt.

"She will never accept it. No one will. Not her father, not Daemon," he managed to stammer after a long moment of silence. His father slapped him a little too hard on the back.

"Don't underestimate yourself. You're handsome, of good descent, strong. A solid candidate to be King Consort," he told him with a wide smile, and he knew he was serious.

"Still I couldn't... Father, you know that..." he stammered, trying to organize his thoughts in his mind. Laenor had always knew that he would have to marry, eventually. But being Rhaenyra´s husband would imply to remain in the Court. Far from Driftmark. Far from Joffrey, and the life he wanted to have besides him. And then there was the issue of children. And the act to create them...

His father gave him a stern look.

"You can and you will. You are a male, my firstborn son. The children you father will sit on the Iron Throne, making me a very proud grandfather," he said, trying to mask the icy tone of his words with a smile.

Laenor had no choice but to nod and when he left the room to let her continue resolving his affairs, he felt himself getting dizzy.

That night, he did not even approach the dinner table, still remaining nauseated in his chambers. It wasn't until he heard the sound of Joffrey's distinctive footsteps standing outside the entrance to his room to begin his night watch that he was able to muster enough energy to get out of bed.

With a sudden movement he opened the door and pulled Ser Joffrey inside, closing it heavily behind him, putting something in that will block the lock. Surprised, the knight had no time to react when Laenor pressed his lips against his in a deep, hungry kiss.

"I thought you said not here..." Joffrey muttered as he was able to free himself from his grasp, needing oxygen. Hastily, Laenor began to untie the laces of his pants, with a look of burning desire.

“Please… I need you… here and now" he whispered again as he pulled off his shirt, kissing him again.

He wanted Joffrey to release and erase all the shame and thoughts that plagued his head. To take him, and that the feeling of his skin against his, of the man he loved inside of him made him forget anything other than the two of them.

So when they both fell heavily onto the bed, tangled so intricately that it was difficult to discern who was the other, he was able to avoid thinking for a moment about the power games, about marriages and titles.

And yet, he knew it wouldn't last forever. The next morning, he and his lover would have to get out of bed and return to being Ser Joffrey Lonmouth, sworn knight of his father and Ser Laenor Velaryon, his House's last hope for greatness.

The opportunity would present itself much sooner than any of them had thought, not even his father. After all, destiny worked in mysterious ways. Especially when it involved the misfortune of others.

Chapter Text

DAEMON VIII/RHAENYRA V

Rhaenyra couldn't help but crack a smile as the little girl in her arms giggled softly. It had been so long since the last birth of a member of her family that the sound of a baby's laughter was unfamiliar to her ears, although not in a bad way. She let her half-sister continue playing with her hair while she tried to tickle under her chubby little face.

Four moons had made the little twins healthy and strong babies. Baela was the biggest, with a howling ability that fully demonstrated the capacity of her little lungs and a demanding personality when it came to the milk of the wet nurse, the attention of her mother or the own. princess.

Rhaena was quieter, slightly smaller, and much less prone to crying outbursts. Still, that didn't mean she was melancholic, the girl smiled as much in her presence as her sister did.

And they make me laugh just as often. A remedy for melancholy.

Her anger over the birth of the princesses had lasted barely a moon, until one afternoon when her stepmother had been absent for an audience with Lord Corlys. An insistent cry had filled the hallway, so high-pitched and constant that at some point it had managed to get on her nerves. She had finally done what she had not dared and had even avoided until then: to enter the rooms of her "half-sisters."

There she had found a servant, young no doubt, with one of the girls in her arms, who was bawling inconsolably.

"Excuse me, princess, I..." the young girl had stuttered, almost a child, and she, more guided by irritation than interest, had approached, thinking in her mind a thousand and one ways to insult her uselessness. However, they had all died in her mouth before she uttered them when the girl, probably distracted by her hair, so similar in color to her mother's, had stopped crying. And when those light violet eyes of hers had locked onto his, something had inevitably melted inside her.

Since then, Rhaenyra had not been able to spend a day without visiting them from time to time, at first reservedly and then shamelessly. She had lost the battle of coldness against her father and his new wife in exchange for two little dragons. If she thought about it, it hadn't been such a bad deal.

"It's time for their nap, princess. If not, they'll wake up half of the Red Keep at night" her stepmother's voice interrupted her train of thought, making her once again aware of where she was, and the weight on her arms.

"Of course," she said briefly, without using titles or names, passing the little girl, who now seemed somewhat sleepy, into her mother's arms.

Of course, she avoided mentioning that it wouldn't matter if the princesses slept on a schedule or not, that in any case they were babies and would wake up in the early morning. She didn't want to sound like it was a bother, because it wasn't. At least for her.

"You can stay of course, if you don't wish to leave yet. The servants can bring dinner and we could talk..." Laena offered kindly, as she always did. Rhaenyra, following her custom, declined.

"I'm pretty tired, actually. I think I'll go to bed too," she said, faking a big yawn. She knew from the Queen's eyes that she hadn't convinced her for a second, but her cousin was too polite to fight or get irritated over something so mundane.

"Good night then, princess," Laena said softly, her voice calm.

"Good night," she replied back, heading with hurried steps to the door. The walk back to her room was quieter than usual, accompanied by Ser Steffon instead of Ser Criston.

An unfortunate incident with Ser Harrold Westerling a week earlier, where the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had lost control of his mount and fallen, had drastically altered the whitecloaks' rotations. In the absence of their best element, now it could not be just one, but two guards who will stand vigil at His Majesty's door to replace the faithful Ser Harrold, so the decision inevitably remained of whether or not to abandon guard posts within the Red Keep in favor of guarding room doors.

In the end, everything had been "resolved" in a certain way: the chambers of the crown princess, the Queen and the King would always be guarded by members of the King's Guard, who would rotate during the night. Prince Daemon, who always refused to be guarded, would be alone. And Lady Alicent's rooms, on the other hand, had been left at the disposal of soldiers brought by Ser Otto Hightower to the capital, a decision that her uncle had not liked at all, but against which he could do little.

Thinking about Daemon made a warm feeling fill her chest, as well as a feeling of emptiness. The news of her former friend's second pregnancy had devastated her in a way she had hardly thought possible, perhaps even more so than the first time.

Perhaps because Baelon had been, after all, a strange incident and one that wasn't supposed to happen, while this new child had been created entirely on purpose. She was sure she would have gone crazy if she didn't have her half-sisters, but lately even that wasn't being enough.

So there was something, something she had been planning for a couple of moons. A city getaway, like she used to do with her uncle in the good times. One that would allow her to escape for a moment from the suffocating atmosphere that prevailed in the Red Keep.

After countless hours wandering through her chambers she had finally discovered the secret passage that Daemon had shown her some time ago. Through small groping trips in the darkness of the night, she had become familiar with it, knowing which turns to take and which not to, where to step and where not to, and most importantly: where it led and how to return afterwards, the only thing that had failed her that last time.

The only thing Rhaenyra was missing, an appropriate disguise, she had gotten just that morning from a servant to whom she had given some gold and a couple of serious threats in case she said anything.

"Good night Ser Steffon," she murmured distractedly as the heavy door closed behind her and tried to suppress a squeal of delight when she found the ball of cloth hidden under the bed's pillows. The princess waited a couple of minutes until her heartbeat calmed and finally, by the light of the candles, she slipped off her dress to put on her new outfit. Finally, she felt around the wall looking for the right spot. Rhaenyra stared at the door, knowing that this would be the hardest part: no matter how discreet it was, the noise of the rock giving way over the other always caused some kind of creak.

If Ser Steffon hears it and he comes in to investigate, I am screwed. If he doesn't, there will be nothing more to worry about. Finally her fingers found a spot where the rock moved gently to the touch, and taking a deep breath, hse pressed it with her fingertips.

The wall creaked with a brief "crack" and Rhaenyra held her breath, waiting. But a couple of minutes passed, and the white cloak positioned in front of her door seemed to have no intention of entering. With a deep sigh, the crown princess adjusted the worn hood of her robe and, taking one of the candles near her bed, began to descend the stairs that had been opened for her. Inside the dark hallway that descended, she again found that familiar spot between the bricks and pressed it, causing the secret passage to close with a much smaller noise.

She descended the steps with sure feet that gave her the enlightenment and experience from having walked them again and again in preparation. When the bay air and the salty taste of the sea breeze hit her covered face, she knew she had finally gotten where she wanted. The candle was soon unnecessary, when she left the darkness of the tunnel to emerge on the edge of the city, illuminated by the lights of the night businesses and the last glow of the evening sun. With a satisfied smile, she pulled the hood back to properly hide her face and ventured out into the crowded streets of King's Landing.

Daemon ruffled Baelon's hair gently as the boy fell into the grips of sleep. He placed a soft kiss on his soft, warm forehead, smiling unconsciously as he watched him stir in his dreams.

"Will you be patrolling tonight?" a familiar voice asked behind him, making him turn towards the bed. There, sitting on the shore attentively brushing her reddish brown curls, was his wife. Six moons into her pregnancy, her body had swelled before his eyes in a way that he had not been able to see with Baelon because of the war, something that instead of repelling him made him feel a strange sense of pride.

"Yes," he said simply, without going into details.

He had returned to his position as Commander of the City Watch again, never content to remain quiet inside the Red Keep. Accustomed to his constant nocturnal wanderings again, Alicent didn't tend to ask him too many questions about it. Lucky, because that night he had indeed planned to visit the darkest corners of Flea Bottom, although without wearing any golden cloak that would make it possible to distinguish him.

It had been a while since he had seen Mysaria and the usual payment had yet to be made. Besides, the White Worm always had words to say face to face, things that she would not dare trust in a servant or a letter. Of course, he would never say any of this to his wife. The secrecy of everything was what made it most effective, especially when it came to conspiracies and espionage.

"Why the question? Will I have to give up a space on your bed tonight? You'll hog the entire mattress if I'm not here," he teased with a slight hint of provocation in his voice. It had the desired effect, as Alicent's brow furrowed slightly. "Of course. It's my bed," she defended herself, with a grimace. Daemon resisted the urge to laugh and instead approached her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"They say that making a pregnant woman angry is terribly bad for the child," he said in a mock-innocent voice, caressing them gently, feeling the tension underneath. Even angry, he felt her melt under his touch.

"You are terrible and insufferable" his wife sighed, leaning her back and head against his chest. There was a new familiarity between them, born perhaps from the many nights shared. They had stopped having sex a moon ago under the maester's instructions, but Daemon had refused to leave her bed completely. He had told himself it was a precaution, a way to ensure the safety of his unborn child. After all, Baelon had arrived early, and the same could happen to this one too.

"I have to go," he whispered in her ear. She seemed to let out a disappointed sigh, sitting properly again as he stood up from the bed.

"So you'll be back tonight?" she asked him with a questioning look. He shrugged.

"Maybe," he said, taking Darksister and tying her to her belt. Alicent said nothing, resigning herself to returning to her previous task. He left the room towards his chambers, where instead of wearing his distinctive and recognizable armor he dressed in commoner's clothing. It did not take him long to leave the Red Keep on his own, making use of the complex of tunnels and passages that King Maegor had built.

He slipped through the familiar alleys, without meeting a single suspicious glance upon him. Still, the number of people at Flea Bottom was impressive. So, when he arrived at the rustic pleasure house of Mysaria, the sky had already darkened completely.

"You haven't appeared here in a while, my prince," the lyseni greeted him, as she poured them both wine. Knowing it wouldn't do to refuse any gifts from her now that they were on good terms, Daemon drank cautiously. In front of him the most lascivious scenes unfolded, surpassing even the imagination of the most lustful man. However, it was like staring at a void in the wall, a filler stage for the conversation that truly mattered to him.

"Let's get to the point. You always have juicy details to offer in my presence," he finally told her, placing the glass on the table. Mysaria smiled, baring her fangs like a poisonous snake would before biting some poor unsuspecting man.

"I live for the juicy details, darling," she told him, sitting besides and beginning the recounting of the most interesting rumors she had to offer.

Rhaenyra continued walking through the stony streets of King's Landing, enjoying the shows put on by wandering circuses and jesters who came to the city from time to time to earn a few silver stags given by the gold cloaks and commoners who could afford them. Vulgar plays, puppets, people playing with fire, games of chance...the atmosphere in the neighborhoods that were beginning to move away from the luxurious houses of the merchants was always festive.

Her uncle had brought her over once, long before the night they had condemned each other, when she was just a lively teenager. She had enjoyed the company, the fun, Daemon's attention to her, even if it all had earned her a scolding from her father the next day for "behaving in a manner inappropriate for a princess." Her own mother had warned her about how dangerous the city was at night, especially the places her uncle frequented, and she, although disappointed, had promised not to accompany him again. She had broken that promise, the night she had given him her maidenhood in that dark alley. And now, again.

What's the point of being loyal to your word in the end? Mother promised that she would be fine. Father, that he would never marry again if she was gone. My uncle, that he wouldn't have children with anyone other than me. In the end, everyone breaks their oaths, one way or another.

She continued to enjoy her getaway, paying with silver deers for anything curious she could find. Exotic wines? Luck readings? Predictions of the future? It did not matter. Obviously, she didn't believe a word the old, blind women recited to her after their tip, but she was fun to listen to anyway.

Her journey continued, guiding her through lively places, without worrying too much about her safety. Rhaenyra had heard less than a moon ago that Daemon seemed to have eradicated rapists and thieves from the bowels of the capital through punishments of mutilation and castration, making the streets, even the darkest, little susceptible to violent events.

After wandering around for what seemed like a few hours, and probably already with her mind a little dull from the alcohol, she found herself deep in Flea Bottom. There, even when the streets were still the same or more crowded than before, the atmosphere was different. The laughter, screams and music that had filled her ears until then gave way to much more lewd noises, moans and sounds that left little to the imagination. Unsure, but curious, she decided to take a short walk before returning to the Red Keep.

If I have already broken a few rules, why not enjoy everything to the fullest?

With that thought in mind, she began to browse the premises.

Mysaria raised the jug again to refill Daemon's glass a fourth time, causing him to sigh heavily at the sight. Years of resistance to alcohol seemed to have been lost in a few months of abstinence, and things were beginning to spin around him.

"Well, it's not a big surprise that Laenor is fucking that friend of his, I've suspected it since we were at the Stepstones. It is, however, that Corlys has allowed the lad to continue in his service here, instead of sending him away to Driftmark" he said, putting the wine in his mouth and beginning to empty it again with slow gulps. Mysaria chuckled, with an amused smile.

"I suppose Her Majesty has had something to do with it. From what I've been told, she may have some influence on her father, although not as much as he has on her. In any case, the Master of Ships is aware of who fucks his son. His nature, however, seems to have gone unnoticed by the rest of your Court."

Daemon suppressed a grimace, playing with one of the rings on his fingers.

"It's not that hard to understand. After all, which is easier to believe? That Lord Corlys Velaryon's only son has a taste for his best friend's sword or that he's a young man who can't keep his dick in pants when there's a whore nearby?"

Mysaria laughed mockingly, like a hyena would, and gently tapped the table with her fingers.

"After all there has only been one Lord of Flea Bottom, hasn't there? No one has been able to keep up with you. her hand strayed, coming down from the table and gently placing itself on his knee. "You've been away long enough for it to start to show. Perhaps you haven't found something that satisfies you on your last few visits. I've recently acquired two new companions. One overcoat, she has an almost purely Valyrian appearance..." she murmured softly, her voice almost hoarse, fingers gently running up his thigh towards his belt. Daemon caught her hand just as it headed for his groin, trying not to squeeze it too hard.

"For now, I'd rather satisfy my thirst for information than lust," he whispered simply, earning another laugh from her.

"As you wish. Well, Lord Corlys has also been here, not as frequently as others but yes..."

The rest of the conversation began to blur in his mind as he seemed to catch the glint of something among the crowd of people continuing to fuck each other in the large room. The prince blinked in confusion, thinking it had probably been the effect of alcohol and exhaustion when he saw it again. A metallic flash illuminated by the torches.

Valyrian steel. On a stranger's neck. But there is only one person who owns a similar jewel.

His heart stopped in his chest for a moment.

"Shit," he whispered, too lost in his thoughts to realize he'd said it out loud. Mysaria looked at him with questioning eyes, but she soon seemed to realize where his eyes were fixed. Her mouth curved into a smile.

"A dragon too far from the warmth and safety of the Red Keep"

"What the hell she's doing here?" he whispered, following every small movement of the small hooded figure. Mysaria caressed the rim of her wine glass.

"You can't teach the girl the taste of freedom and rebellion and then expect her to stay in her tower obediently," she replied, her eyes shining.

"You created this monster. You have no one else to blame."

Daemon grunted in annoyance, looking at the lyseni again.

"I will take her back home. Not a word of this, Mysaria. To anyone," he said in a menacing voice. She seemed little concerned by his tone.

"Dear, you're smart enough to know that I'm not the only one who has spies here."

Her words only made his insides churn even more.

It's true. And if anyone else knew that she was here, if the wrong words would reach the ears of the King...

Without bothering to say goodbye, he left his seat, slipping between the people. The smell of sweat and sex filled his nostrils, but he ignored it as he slowly and surely approached his target. His hand gripped her arm and the figure turned to see who had grabbed her. Rhaenyra's eyes widened in shock as soon as she recognized him.

"Uncle," she whispered, in a voice somewhere between surprised and fear.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he said, unconsciously tightening his grip on her. She gasped in pain.

"Whatever I want. I don't have to give you explanations," she responded defiantly, trying to get away. He didn't give in.

"I'll take you back. Being here, in the middle of the night, without any guard... there's a ton of things that could have happened to you!" he said a little louder, shaking her slightly. That only seemed to increase her anger more.

"Stop pretending to care about me, Daemon. Now let me go back, before I make a damn fuss," she threatened, digging the nails of her other hand into his skin. He hissed at the sensation, a small trail of blood running down his arm.

"You are the crown princess. You can't take these risks. If your father finds out..."

Rhaenyra laughed bitterly.

"Fuck my father. And fuck you"

Daemon used all of his willpower to remind himself that she was his niece, even as her insults made him seethe with fury. Her voice sounded hurt, offended. Reasoning with her without the use of violence would be best.

"I'm just trying to help you. Come on. I'll take you back to the Red Keep" he said with a softer voice. The princess did not seem moved by her change of attitude.

"No, I'm staying here. My night walk is not over."

The Rogue Prince looked at her in disbelief, and a bit of irritation.

"I'm trying, Rhaenyra, really. Let's go back, no one will even know you're gone."

"No!" she said slightly louder, causing a couple of heads to turn to look at them, although they soon returned to their own business.

"Who the hell are you, my father? Lyonel Strong? Otto Hightower? You've never been like that, uncle. Doing the right thing doesn't look good on you."

Daemon sighed in frustration, finally letting go of her arm.

"I'm trying to protect your reputation. You're my niece."

Rhaenyra did not flinch, not even when she was free. Instead, she gave him a light push.

"I didn't ask for your help. And what reputation would you protect? I gave you my virtue..."

"Rhaenyra..." he whispered in a clear warning tone, with furrowed zeal. She didn't stop.

"No. We will talk about this. My father wants to believe and make others believe that I am innocent and uncorrupted, pure as the Maiden herself," she told him, pushing him back against the wall. He stumbled back, taken by surprise.

"Stop it," he whispered. She seemed to enjoy the effect she was generating.

"And he wants to believe that you are depraved, rotten and immoral, who sought to satiate his lust with me, to seduce me for your own pleasure..." Rhaenyra continued, pressing her hand against his chest. He felt his heartbeat in his ears.

"But I was already rotten before you even laid a finger on me. Do you know how much time I spent imagining what it would be like to be your wife? I guess almost as much time as you. The way you looked at me never went unnoticed and I've always known your particular tastes…” she continued, her finger sliding to his chin. Daemon swallowed nervously.

"Rhaenyra, what are you...?"

"Valyrian looking whores. You think I didn't hear the rumors?" she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck. Daemon gasped, feeling a very uncomfortable pressure beginning to grow in his pants.

"I..."

Rhaenyra noticed and smiled to herself. Emboldened by the alcohol, she pressed her hand to his crotch, grabbing him over his clothing and causing a light moan to come from his mouth.

"If there was anyone who took the other that night, it was me. I wanted you, almost as much as I know you wanted me. How you want me. Let's be depraved together. Rotten. Sick. Let's burn together" she whispered again, with a slightly more provocative voice, before standing on tiptoe and capturing his lips in a deep, hungry kiss. Still confused by the alcohol, excited and in shock, he returned it to her almost with the same voracity, twisting her body until her back hit the wall, it being his turn to make her moan.

"She will never be able to make you feel like this. Only me. A dragon doesn't mate with sheep, remember?" his niece whispered to him in a broken voice. He growled at her again, lightly nipping at her neck.

"Shut your mouth. For once, shut your mouth," he murmured against her neck, inhaling the familiar scent of her body. Rhaenyra laughed softly, like he hadn't heard since that night.

"For being angry, you seem too hard. Take me, Daemon. Take me again. I can feel how much you want it" she whispered, teasing him.

Too drunk on alcohol and lust, her uncle found the laces of her improvised costume, undoing them with expert hands. Just as excited as him, if not more so, she rushed to help him, so in a few seconds her pants and underwear were swirling around her ankles, while Daemon pressed his body against hers. So focused were they on her own world that they didn't even notice when her hood slid down, revealing her long, clearly recognizable golden silvered hair.

The sight of his half-naked niece ignited something deep in his soul and he kissed her deeply again, letting her lightly bite his lower lip.

"Please Daemon. Please..." she begged him in a needy, hoarse voice. He began to undo his own pants, when, as if by divine intervention or a drunken hallucination, instead of Rhaenyra's violet eyes, full of desire and lust like his own, he was met with brown eyes, soft and gentle. Daemon remembered the feeling of a warm body beneath his, of nails digging into his back, though never deep enough to hurt, and the sweet scent of lavender perfume from auburn curls.

Shit. Why am I thinking about this? Fuck.

He tried to focus back on his niece and the way she kissed him desperately, probably seeing the doubt in his eyes. But the feelings of lust had faded away as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown at them, leaving him only with a feeling of emptiness.

"Fuck!" he said, hitting the wall with his fist and, before Rhaenyra's astonished gaze, he retied the semi-unraveled laces of his pants and left the pleasure house with hurried steps.

Still too shocked by the sudden ok of his departure, Rhaenyra took a couple of seconds before pulling her clothes back up, covering herself, as a furious blush filled his cheeks as well as tears of rage. She finally seemed to notice the absence of her hood and immediately put it back on, hoping that no one had recognized her. The princess was tempted to scream for Daemon, but she knew her uncle was already gone, wherever he went. Cursing internally and insulting him as well, she left the place, equally furious. Struggling, but still quite conscious, she was able to return to the Red Keep, with a deep feeling of humiliation.

Fuck you Daemon. You're the biggest son of a bitch who ever lived.

When she arrived at her chambers, she quickly discarded her worn clothing, wiped any remaining tears from her face, and threw herself onto the bed, with a frustrated sigh.

A creak at the door put her on alert. Carefully, she kicked the used clothes under her bed and stood up from the edge, ruffling her hair to make it look like she had been sleeping.

What if I take a look? If Ser Steffon asks me something, I will tell him that I woke up from a nightmare. But at least I'll check that he doesn't suspect anything...

Steeling herself, she reached for the door, feigning a look of deep exhaustion. Rhaenyra opened it slowly and stuck her head out...only to find her face inches from Ser Criston's.

"Princess?" said surprised the white cloak, making her jump in her place.

"I'm sorry Ser, I... I thought Ser Steffon was patrolling..." she stammered.

"He was, yes. But there's a changing of the guard. Are you okay? Do you need something?" the knight whispered. His green eyes locked onto hers and she felt a very recognizable shiver. The same one she had felt with Daemon an hour ago. Lust. Rhaenyra tried to suppress it, but couldn't. Daemon had abandoned her, full of desire, and she still wanted to find a way to satisfy herself...and get revenge on him, at the same time.

"In fact, there may be something you could help me with, Ser," she said playfully, snatching the helmet from his hands. The knight tried to snatch it from her, but she backed away again and again, frustrating him.

"Please, princess. I'm just trying to do my job," he said slightly irritated. She continued teasing him until, probably fed up with her teasing, he decided to abandon the crusade and return to his position. Before he could leave, however, she ran and closed the door, before grabbing his neck and kissing him deeply. Ser Criston blinked, surprised, but his body lost some of the tension she was used to.

"Princess, I...we...not this..." he whispered in confusion. She silenced him with a finger on his lips.

"Please, Ser. I need it. Please, Criston..." she whispered, capturing his lips in another kiss, more passionate than the last.

He allowed her to do that, kissing her back with similar strength with a sense of excitement at the thought of such intimacy.

"I am yours, my Princess. Whatever you wish, I shall do" he whispered back to her, with his voice slightly shaky with emotion.

She could feel his heart racing as she undid the belt on his armor. Criston reached out to help her, seeming excited by the thought of her touch.

Rhaenyra's breath became short and her heart beat faster. The knight helped her remove her gown, before moving to remove his own clothing.

She took her time to admire him, muscular as only a knight of his status could be. His tanned skin was completely different from her uncle's, pale like hers, but it had the same warmth and softness.

Rhaenyra did not say another word, as she laid back on the bed. She could see one last look of doubt in his eyes as they moved to the white cloak folded neatly on one of the chairs. But it all seemed to dissipate when he joined her, her naked body pressing against his.

He followed her silent instructions, being careful to be gentle and take his time with her. When her body was finally completely joined to his, the princess let out a deep sigh, caressing his back as he whispered sweet words into her ear.

It wasn't long before they both reached their ecstasy, falling onto the bed tangled in each other's body.

Having satiated her lust for Daemon in the arms of Criston, Rhaenyra allowed herself to let out a contented sigh, lying on his chest as she listened to the beating of his heart.

"Princess, I…" the knight began, unsure of how to continue.

"It's okay. I couldn't have found a better person for this. I trust you and that you would never betray my trust regarding this."

"Of course not, princess. Never." he assured her, ruffling the sheets.

"Would you prefer that I...stay here? Or could I..."

The idea of waking up in the arms of the white cloak was as tempting as it was dangerous.

In the end, she opted for safety.

"I think someone will notice if you don't go back to your patrol," she whispered, kissing his chest. He sighed.

"Certainly. But are you sure you're okay? Don't you need...?"

"I'll be fine," she assured him. She raised her head to kiss him once more, in a softer way. He returned it almost with tenderness.

"Okay," he whispered, getting up from her bed. When the knight finally returned to his position outside her chambers and the only evidence of his presence in his room was the stained sheets, Rhaenyra finally seemed able to think clearly.

What have I done? Damn. There is no going back from this. I fucked Ser Criston Cole, imagining he was Daemon. Twisted? Probably. But no one has to know. Nobody can know.

With the exhaustion that only lovemaking can give, she sank into a deep, peaceful sleep.

She didn't know that her escapade had not gone unnoticed by someone's eyes. And that the bomb would explode the next day, with dire consequences for his own future.

Chapter Text

LAENA II/ALICENT VIII

Hurried footsteps in the hallway and the creaking of the door, loud and careless, were what woke Alicent. She knew it wasn't Daemon, who took care of her sleep when he went inside in the middle of the night with her, nor someone unknown, since the guards had let him pass. She sat on the edge of the bed, praying to the gods that they wouldn't wake Baelon. When she met the tall, cold-faced figure, her heart skipped a beat unconsciously.

"Father," she whispered, now fully alert. Ser Otto did not stop to greet his daughter, instead he circled around her chambers, like a caged lion. Alicent knew something must be wrong, terribly wrong, but she kept her mouth shut waiting for him to be calm enough to express the reason for his visit. She looked at the window, still seeing a ravenous black sky. What time would it be? Midnight? Early morning? It didn't matter, it was still too far away from dawn.

"Your husband is a piece of idiot," her father finally uttered with a contempt that she had not heard from him about Daemon in quite some time. She felt the urge to defend him, but she held back, waiting for what else he had to say. Ser Otto seemed truly upset, in his eyes she could see a thousand thoughts running through his mind. A familiar feeling ran down her spine. Panic.

"Princess Rhaenyra escaped to Flea Bottom tonight. She was seen in a Pleasure House. Fucking with Daemon" he finally said, looking into her eyes. Alicent tried her best to remain calm and rational, even when his words had felt like a bucket of cold water, chilling her to the bone. She clung to the memory of how strong emotions had caused Baelon's complicated birth and she tried her best to relax, to remain calm.

"Who...?" she began, hating how she had stuttered. She took a deep breath. "Who told you? Is it reliable information?"

Otto Hightower looked at her with irritation.

"Of course it's trustworthy. I wouldn't be so worried if it wasn't. Rhaenyra, disguised as a maid, was in a less than honorable establishment and your husband, disguised as a commoner, was giving her certain...attentions."

"My lord husband was standing guard with the City Watch," she murmured, more to herself than to her father.

Lies. What a son of a bitch. Maybe he even planned it. He left his pregnant wife sleeping and went to fuck with...

"Well, it seems that he was not. Tomorrow morning, the entire Court will know about his nighttime escapade. Not by my hand, but they will do it. There are too many witnesses," Ser Otto stated. She silently slid her hands together pressing her nails against her fingers, a gesture she had not done since...

"Where is he now?" she whispered, her voice semi-broken.

"In his chambers. He knows what he has done. He surely hopes that the guards will find him at dawn, he does not seem to have any intention of hiding"

"And what's the problem? Doesn't that benefit you? If Rhaenyra was discovered with Daemon, it was over for her. She would lose her title. And he would be banished. So why do you care?" she spat, with far more contempt than she had expected to say. In the end, she didn't care. She was too angry and hurt to think clearly.

With a whore, perhaps, it would have been less painful, she thought, trying to convince herself.

But with her..., why the hell does it always have to be she?

"You are blind?" Her father said, grabbing her shoulder so tightly that she knew he would leave a mark.

"Daemon screwed up for everyone! His Majesty will have the mercy of not beheading him, he loves him too much, but he will banish him to some dirty place on the other side of the Narrow Sea! And you think he will let you stay here? To me? To Baelon? The place of a wife is with her husband! How the hell will I make my grandson an ideal candidate to be heir if he grows up as a foreigner? As the son of a disgraced and banished man? Not even the most loyal lords of Oldtown would defend him!" he said, with a crazed look. Alicent did her best to swallow back the tears that threatened to spill out of her at the physical pain his outburst of anger was causing her.

"You're hurting me," she said coldly. He let her go, without saying any apology. Silence fell heavily for a long moment with the tension palpable.

"Your husband did not abandon your chambers until long after the hour of the wolf," the former Hand finally said, in an imperative voice.

Alicent frowned, confused.

"What?"

"Your husband did not abandon your chambers until long after the hour of the wolf. The guards at the door will corroborate this under oath," her father repeated, cold, sure.

The realization hit her and she felt her stomach twist, the child kicking inside her noticing it's mother's stress. She had to take several deep breaths before speaking.

"Do you mean that I...? No. Father, you can't... I'm not going to..."

"You will. It's imperative. I don't care if he's slept with half the Court, which wouldn't surprise me. It's an order."

Of course you don't care. You have never done it. You knew what Viserys did to me in his chambers all those nights and yet you sent me to him again and again. You wouldn't mind Daemon sleeping with every whore in King's Landing as long as he still had time to sleep with me. What am I, if not your centerpiece, the one that will make you win? A tool, not a human being. You've never seen me as such.

"I'm your daughter," she finally said.

Alicent knew that her father and her differed in the meaning of that word. Daughter. To her, it meant that she had a family. For him, that she was his possession. And Otto Hightower did not own things to admire, but to use. It had always been like this.

Her father glared at her, as if he didn't believe she had dared to say such a thing.

"And this is my legacy! Our legacy! The one I have fought for so many years to achieve! Don't do it for him. Do it for Baelon. For the child who is coming. What future awaits them in Bravos, Lys or Quarth? They need to be with their family. They are Targaryen and Hightower. They belong here."

His words felt like a slap in the face. She could see the attempted manipulation, the emotional blackmail in all its glory. And yet, there was a part of the truth. Would she condemn her children for the transgressions of her husband? To always live far from home, without knowing the kind smile of their uncle Gwayne, the beautiful tower illuminated in bright green, the port, Oldtown in all its splendor...

"I will say what is necessary if my testimony is required," she finally relented, touching her belly, as if the life inside her gave her the strength she needed.

"But I don't understand what use it would be. You say there are witnesses. The King won't believe a word I tell him."

"There are witnesses to the presence of the Princess. The Prince was... much more discreet. We can deny his participation in this. We assure that although Rhaenyra was involved in immoral and lascivious acts, she was not involved with your lord husband" Ser Otto responded calmly.

And would my husband be capable of throwing his niece into the flames to save his own skin? It doesn't matter. Fuck Daemon. My children will not go into exile just because he thinks with his cock before his head. And fuck Rhaenyra.

"You will sacrifice the princess, her honor, and her reputation for that of the prince," she said simply, as if to completely corroborate his line of thought. Her father, for the first time during the chaotic event, smiled. It was sinister.

"No one is indispensable. There will come a time when we can get rid of all the people who represent an obstacle to our ascent. Unfortunately for Rhaenyra, she has put herself on a silver platter, at the edge of the ravine. We are only giving her a little push into the hole she herself created"

What about me? Would you throw me to be torn apart by crows if you could make a profit from it?

She didn't ask it out loud. She knew the answer. He had proven it, in the King's chambers and in Baelon's birthing bed. True, they were all expendable. Even her.

"I need to rest," she said in a firm voice, making clear her desire for him to leave her chambers immediately. Probably noticing her irritated look, her father didn't even make an attempt to establish physical contact. Before leaving her, however, he said something else.

"It's good to know that you are willing to do what is necessary. I will make your son the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms and we will all be safe. I can promise you that."

There was a sickening feeling in her chest and, even when she found herself alone and quiet in her room again, wrapped comfortably and undisturbed, she found it impossible to fall asleep again.

Laena shifted in bed carefully, taking care not to wake the figure sleeping next to her. After more than six moons her husband had visited her chambers again, news that she obviously had not welcomed with too much enthusiasm. He had tried to take her, but although sex itself had been possible, His Majesty had fallen tired and slept before being able to finish.

Feeling used in a way that she found repulsive, she had resisted the urge to return to her chambers and scrub herself raw with a wet sponge. Instead she had covered herself with the sheets and lay beside her obediently, sinking into a restless sleep.

How terrible would it be if I left the room now? I could find an excuse in Rhaena and Baela. He would believe it, of course. I just have to...

Her thoughts were interrupted by the loud noise of doors opening and the footsteps of a man's boots. Her husband woke up from it and got out of bed with a questioning look, wrapping himself in a robe before heading to the main living room. Laena remained on the bed, far enough away so as not to appear intrusive.

"Your Majesty" said a male voice that she recognized immediately.

Lord Strong. What is the Hand of the King doing here when it's barely dawn?

Her husband seemed to have wondered the same thing, as Viserys's voice rang out, concerned and curious.

"Lyonel. I would think the King deserves to sleep"

She had a strange premonition, one of those that stirred her insides, like that time when the messenger had gone to the Stepstones to announce the proposal of the King. Following that instinct, she gently slid off the bed, until she reached a corner where she could see the men talking without it being too obvious. On the Lord of Harrenhal's face she could see concern and nervousness. A combination that was never good.

"Your Majesty, I... I have given this matter a lot of thought since I found out. I have called witnesses and informants and they have all agreed. It is something... very difficult to say"

From her position it was impossible to see the face of her husband, although from his voice she was already able to imagine it.

"Rodeos have never been your strong suit. Speak, Lyonel," Viserys said with the affable voice of someone who is still in a good mood, but curious.

Laena could see Lyonel Strong take a deep breath. His eyes seemed doubtful and she even seemed to read something in them. Fear.

"Last night, at the hour of the Bat, Princess Rhaenyra was observed in the bowels of Flea Bottom, Your Majesty..."

Silence, so thick it could almost be touched, fell across the hall and Lord Lyonel resumed his speech.

"We believe that she took advantage of the changing of the guard of the King's Guard to leave the Red Keep. She was observed in a pleasure house..."

The words died in his mouth and she heard her husband, in the sternest voice he had ever used, urge him to continue.

"If you're going to make a statement, get it over with," Viserys said sharply and coldly. Even she, as far away as she was, sensed the danger. The Hand of the King seemed to share her sentiment, but unlike her, he was forced to continue.

"She was in pleasure house. Copulating with a stranger, Your Majesty."

"Vile rumors," Viserys whispered after a long moment, his voice shaking with anger. "Bring me the person who utters these vile accusations so I can cut out his tongue myself."

"I fear, Your Majesty, that there would be too many. There are a dozen witnesses who corroborate what I tell you," said Lord Strong in a low voice, apparently doing his best not to provoke the already furious King.

"And who do they say my daughter has slept with? A prostitute? Rhaenyra does not lust for strangers. They have lied to you, Lyonel. To your face," Viserys continued. His voice denoted disbelief and stubbornness, as he sat up to maintain his balance.

"The man's identity is not as clear as that of the princess. One name, however, has been tossed around and mentioned multiple times..."

Unconsciously and more driven by a primal instinct than by her more rational side, Laena got up from the mattress, walking until she was standing next to her husband. The King barely seemed to notice her presence, although Lord Lyonel did. His Majesty must have seen the doubt in his eyes again, since he seemed to tense up.

Or maybe he knows something I don't know. The identity of the man who dishonored the crown princess? I can propose a theory, but...would it be possible? Would he be able to do something like this?

"Say it," her husband hissed. The Hand of the King looked at him with defeat.

"Daemon"

It was done. The name of her brother-in-law, the only option and the worst of them, had come out of his mouth. There was no turning back now. She could see Viserys's face, stern and cold as a rock, and she knew that this could be the moment she could see for the first time the dragon that was her lord husband.

But the dragon is impulsive and blind, I know that myself. He will lay waste to the guilty and innocent alike before the truth is known. Alicent, Baelon... not even Rhaenyra lacks the right to a fair defense.

"You said it was just a guess, didn't you, my lord?" she raised her voice, breaking the awkward silence that foreshadowed violence. Even Lord Lyonel seemed to wake up from his trance.

"Yes, Your Majesty. Of course, the Prince and Princess would have to be interrogated to know the truth..."

"I don't think either of them will say it. If they're smart, they'll keep their mouths shut or deny everything. And even then, we can't let ourselves be guided by anger. We have to get to the bottom of this," Laena continued, earning a scowl from the King.

"And what do you propose then, my wife?"

Laena took a deep breath, taking on the face of the Queen. The one that knew what she was doing. The one who acted with the mind and not with the heart.

"Interview the witnesses again. And talk to Lady Alicent. If her husband left the Red Keep, she will tell us. Daemon doesn't have to know."

Viserys seemed to consider the proposal, looking again at Lord Strong with questioning eyes.

"It can be done, Your Majesties. Although I recommend that it be as soon as possible. The rumor spreads quickly through the Court and will soon leave these walls."

Viserys sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes with his fingers, a gesture she had learned meant he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"And are you sure that Lady Alicent will tell the truth? That she will not hide the transgressions of her husband, for the sake of her marriage?"

I would not hide your transgressions, my lord husband. Much less if they compromised my honor she thought, but she swallowed her words. Instead, she smiled kindly.

"She has no reason to lie to me. I trust her. The prince may have a deceitful nature, but she has always been sincere" she said, trying to put all the confidence and authority she possessed into that argument. In the end, not even Viserys could argue with that.

"So be it. But it has to be done quickly, before my daughter's reputation is stained forever."

She has stained it herself, she thought. But her mouth remained closed.

A few minutes later, the doors to the room now empty except for her own presence opened to admit Lady Alicent. Although quite groomed, she could notice the dark bags characteristic of a sleepless night. However, that was not proof of anything. She herself had suffered from insomnia while pregnant.

"Your Majesty," she greeted her, giving a slight bow. "You requested my presence?"

Laena motioned for her to take a seat. Once the young Hightower had carefully placed herself in the chair, the Queen took her hands in hers in a gesture she hoped was reassuring.

"By now you must know the rumor that haunts the walls of this castle, Lady Alicent," she began in a soft voice, doing her best to make the other woman feel comfortable. It seemed to function slightly, although there still seemed to be a great deal of tension on her shoulders.

Alicent tried her best to stay composed, no matter how nervous she was.

"I...I dislike gossip. But it's been difficult, not listening."

Laena felt a deep understanding for her, perhaps because of the long talks they shared, the trust that had been born little by little. Therefore, she felt bad about the next thing she had to ask. But she had to do it.

"The honor and virtue of the princess are being questioned. While her presence in such a place is impossible to deny now, the identity of her companion remains unknown," she said carefully, analyzing every small reaction. She noticed that Alicent seemed uncomfortable, although her face continued to show no clear emotion.

"I'm sure there must be some witness. His Majesty will not rest until he knows the truth," she said simply, taking care of each of her words. Laena didn't seem to notice. Instead the young Queen looked into her eyes, with a sorrowful look. Alicent knew that the moment of truth had arrived.

"Do you know where Prince Daemon was last night?"

"Is the location of my lord husband of relevance to you, Your Majesty?" the lady responded, trying to keep her tone of voice under control.

"I'm afraid it is for the crown right now," Laena replied, with a little more insistence.

The pressure seemed too much. Alicent felt a particularly bad headache. She had done quite a few things, questionable, some. But lie to the Queen? The only person in whom she had truly found any support?

I will do it for Baelon. For the coming child. It is my duty to protect them. From her. From Daemon. From Viserys. From Rhaenyra. From Father. From anyone who seeks to harm them.

"My lord husband slept with me. He abandoned my chambers after the hour of the wolf, I suppose in search of the comfort of his own bed," she finally declared, with credible assurance. She saw a hint of doubt appear in the Queen's eyes, but it disappeared almost as quickly as it did.

"It was the only thing I needed to know. Your loyalty will be appreciated and remembered, my lady," the Queen finally said, standing up. Alicent imitated the gesture, leaning as far as her heavy belly would allow.

"It is my duty, Your Majesty," she replied calmly.

Finally, when she found herself outside, away from any observers, Alicent allowed herself to feel the anger and pain flow through her veins. Before leaving, she took the gorget of the nearest guard, who had the Hightower emblazoned on the chest.

"My husband, in the Godswood. Now," she said in an unusually aggressive voice. Surprised by her clear irritation, the young man could do nothing but nod fervently, causing her to finally release him. She walked to her destination alone, with a knot in her chest.

When Daemon arrived, with the clear aftereffects of a hangover painted on his face, she was under the weirwood tree.

The Starks believe that divinities live within these trees. Even if I don't believe in it, I need the gods to witness this conversation. It doesn't matter if they are the winter ones.

The Rogue Prince stood, with a stoic look, a few meters away from her. The wind shook the red leaves of the tree, causing them to rustle in an almost melodious sound. At last, he seemed to snap out of his stupor.

"Alicent..." his lips finally uttered.

It was as if something had clicked inside her. Even before she could notice, her outstretched hand made contact with his cheek in a resounding slap. And another. And another. Her husband, probably as surprised as she was, or perhaps not minding the punishment, endured the attacks. With her sore hand she lunged at him with her fists clenched, hitting his chest with all her might. If she hurt him, he didn't show it, holding her wrists gently and trying to stop her furious attack.

"Alicent," he whispered again, as she, breaking free of his grasp, hit his chest again and again. Little by little the rush of energy diminished and the hot tears she had been holding in left her eyes.

"Don't even try to deny it. Have the decency to be honest for once," she finally said. Her husband remained firm, without any sign of arrogance, although neither of shame.

"I'm not going to deny it. But I didn't get that far either. I didn't fuck her."

Lies. Lies. Lies.

"I'm not stupid," she spat, with all the contempt she managed to muster. He didn't seem affected.

"I never believed you were," he replied simply. She hated how easily he said it.

"You intend to treat me like one," she continued, letting all of her pent-up anger come out.

He seemed irritated, though he didn't let it shine in his voice.

"What do I gain from this? There is no trust left between us, I know. And yet I tell the truth. We didn't fuck. I left before going any further."

There was a sincerity in it that twisted her insides with rage. If he was telling the truth...

"You would have done it anyway, wouldn't you? If whatever interrupted you hadn't happened, would you have fucked her?" she asked finally. Daemon seemed truly thoughtful. Doubtful. She even thought to saw a hint of guilt, but she had surely imagined it. A man like him didn't have that kind of remorse.

"I don't know"

His response left a bitter taste in her mouth. She resisted the urge to slap him again.

"That is a yes"

"What do you want me to say?"

He seemed strangely frustrated by it. An unexpected reaction. Still, she swallowed down any questions she wanted to ask him and instead brought out an iron will.

"Nothing. I want you to listen."

The confusion was palpable. Her husband frowned.

"Exactly what?"

"Her Majesty questioned me about your nighttime activities."

Alicent let the words sink in. There was resignation painted all over his face. It gave her some satisfaction, but not much.

"I guess I'll be in a black cell soon, while my brother calms down. Or in a ship across the Narrow Sea"

"You're not going anywhere, unfortunately. I lied," she said with a cold voice.

Surprise was written all over his face. He took a moment, apparently to gather his thoughts. A single word left his mouth.

"Why?"

The question didn't take her by surprise. She had analyzed the answer, over and over, for the past few hours.

"Because we have a son. Because we are going to have another. You are a cunt and an inconsiderate bastard, my lord husband. But our children will not pay for your sins. I will not let them be disgraced because of your name, nor treated as outcasts because you just can't control your lustful impulses."

For the first time, he looked truly embarrassed. The sight wasn't half as rewarding as she had thought it would be. In fact, it even fueled her fury even more.

"Viserys will think she's a whore," he finally dared to say.

And she isn't?

Alicent ignored him, walking calmly towards the castle again.

"Anything else to say?" Daemon asked, before she was too far away to hear him. Alicent turned and fixed her brown eyes on his.

"I will sleep alone from now on, until the birth of my child. And probably long after," she said, before leaving, not wanting to see the expression on his face.

"And you're sure she's telling the truth?" Viserys's voice echoed through the Throne Room, in a way that would have made anyone tremble, even in the face of the King's weakened state. Laena, however, barely blinked.

"Lord Lyonel verified it with the guards in her chambers. They corroborate her version. That Prince Daemon was with her at the time the crown princess was seen in Flea Bottom" she said with a voice almost as strong than his.

The King seemed much more exhausted than usual, probably the weight of worry was beginning to fall on him like an unbearable burden. The rumor had spread beyond the Court, throughout King's Landing. Probably even northerners would hear the story about Rhaenyra lying with a stranger for before a moon.

"By the gods, what was she thinking?" he pronounced, probably more to himself than to his wife. Laena coughed loudly.

"She clearly wasn't thinking. But she doesn't deserve the prostitute treatment she's being given by the lords either," she whispered, unable to hold back her sharp tongue any longer. No matter how much Rhaenyra had fucked it up, and she had, quite a bit, she was still a Targaryen. Her daughters sister. Even with their differences, being torn apart like that was...disgusting.

Viserys seemed unwilling to listen to her reasons. Her husband hadn't even gone to talk to his daughter yet. Perhaps somewhat fortunate, seeing the altered state he was in at the moment.

"Do you understand that no one will want to take her in marriage now? We can keep it as just a rumor, but that won't change the Lords' opinion," he continued his rant, raising his voice increasingly in frustration.

"And what do you plan to do then, my lord husband? Banish her? Send her to the Silent Sisters?" she asked him with a venomous tone. Viserys looked at her with skepticism and shock.

"Of course not! She is not Saera, nor am I Jaehaerys. She is my heir. No one will dare question her virtue publicly, but no suitor will stand in this hall again."

Before she could continue the conversation that was slowly turning into an argument, the door creaked open and the guard announced the presence of her father. Lord Corlys Velaryon appeared dressed in a fine tunic with the Velaryon crest emblazoned on the cloak. A celebration outfit. She held her breath.

For the love of the Seven, don't let Viserys notice.

But her husband seemed too focused on his problems to pay attention to something so mundane.

Seeing that the King did not seem too eager to acknowledge his presence, her father cleared his throat loudly.

"I have heard the tragedy. It is unfortunate that a lady, who is also the Crown Princess of the Iron Throne, is questioned like this," he said with a sympathetic tone. She discerned the false in it, but she took care to hide it well.

His Majesty immediately stiffened and gave a tight smile.

"We're doing our best to dismiss the rumors. If they don't subside soon, I'll probably have to resort to Daemon's tactics and cut out some tongues."

There could be hundreds of them by then.

Lord Corlys laughed at the attempted forced joke. He didn't have to fake it, he seemed enormously happy even under all the effort he seemed to make to contain himself.

"Well, Your Majesty, it would be within your rights. However, I have come not to give you bad news, but rather a relief for the heart."

The Lord of Driftmark's words, spoken with the correct intonation and mood, gave her a strange feeling. There was something that told her that what was to come must be avoided, stopped at all costs. She tried.

"Father, I don't think this is the time..." she began to say. Her husband, however, raised his hand as a sign of silence.

"Speak"

Gloating, her father caressed his tunic in an especially smug manner, like a man strutting in front of a defeated rival.

"My son, unlike other men, pays less attention to virtue and more to nobility. He would have no problem accepting the princess as his legitimate wife and treating her with the honor and respect that someone of her position deserves, regardless of what others think about her condition."

This is what he has always wanted. The perfect opportunity. He no longer needs my dry womb, nor my daughters.

Laena looked at her husband's face, expecting to find anger. Instead, she found understanding.  It made her stomach turn even more.

"A royal marriage could quell the rumors. Give people something else to talk about," Lord Corlys continued, now doing less to hide the pride in his voice. Viserys stroked his chin thoughtfully. After a long while, his gaze shifted to her.

"What is your opinion, my lady wife?"

Her mouth went dry. She felt a fist in the pit of her stomach. Her father's eyes fixed on her like sharp, threatening daggers.

"Laenor is a good man," she whispered simply.

"I'll think about it, Lord Corlys," pronounced the King's lips. But she could see that the idea had already taken root in his heart.

What kind of father wouldn't do anything to prevent his daughter from being disgraced?

She withdrew shortly after from his presence. For the first time in a long time, she headed to the other side of the hallway. When the doors of that room opened, she threw herself into her mother's arms. Princess Rhaenys hugged her tightly, stroking her hair like she did in her childhood.

"The Queen does not cry," Laena whispered against her shoulder, letting the tears she had not cried for a long time finally see the light.

"You are more than that. You are still my daughter. Always" Rhaenys replied, letting her hold onto her.

And for a brief moment, she felt safe.

Chapter Text

CRISTON III/LAENOR II

Ser Criston Cole took a deep breath, finding the bustle of the Court much more irritating than usual. If the Red Keep had been thrown into chaos in preparations for His Majesty's wedding to Queen Laena, preparations for the nuptials between Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Laenor Velaryon multiplied the disaster a thousandfold.

Two moons. Two moons had passed since the announcement had been made and the ceremony was already scheduled for another moon, one of the fastest celebrations that had ever been organized. The logistics of the arrival of thousands of guests, the seven days of tournaments and feasts, the culmination of the union in a particularly pompous party... everything was dizzying and confusing.

The memories of that night always lived in his thoughts, etched in his mind like red-hot metal. The taste of her lips, of her skin, the way her eyes had looked at him, the sounds that had come out of her mouth...

Guilt was also a recurring emotion now. Just putting on his white cloak every morning made him feel tremendously ashamed. He hadn't at first, perhaps too anesthetized with the effects of passion still fresh on his skin. But he remembered perfectly well when it had started.

Three torturous days had passed since he had slept with the princess. Three days in which the voices of the court had whispered things about Rhaenyra's virtue that would have any other lady expelled and sent back home, or enlisted to serve as a Septa or a Silent Sister in the Faith to atone their sins.

But being the princess of Valyrian blood that she was, and sole heir to the Iron Throne for a change, she had remained stoic in the face of the defamation. People had taken it as simple murmurs from jesters and fussy maids, although they continued running through the corridors and the crowd.

 After all, who wouldn't be interested in the gossip of a lascivious princess? It had been years since Saera and nothing really interesting in the last few moons. It could even have been said that a rumor of this caliber had been inevitable.

But that wasn't what had filled Criston with shame. Which had made him feel like an oathbreaker every time he donned the heavy armor of the King's Guard. Another event had led to his current situation.

After days of silence, His Majesty in person had appeared before his daughter's chambers. Without an escort, without announcement. A bad sign.

Ser Criston had been forced to remain outside, listening to the conversation with attentive ears.

There had been a long silence, uncomfortable even for him behind the door. Finally, the princess's voice had broken it.

"If you wait for an admission, you waste your time, Father."

The King's voice had been stern, even grave.

"Do you deny what you are accused of then?"

"I believe that the Realm is destined to fall if the truth of rumors is put above the word of the crown princess"

Rhaenyra's voice remained calm, with the touch of indignation he would expect from someone who seemed especially offended by some insinuation. Criston found it almost convincing, had he not known the truth beforehand.

"And I think I know you too well to know what you're capable of, my daughter. It wouldn't be the first time you've had this kind of escapade."

"My uncle and I did..."

"Don't lie to me Rhaenyra. I know Daemon had no part in this."

Silence filled the room again and for a few seconds the knight remained alert. When Rhaenyra spoke again, her voice seemed to have dropped an octave and sounded incredulous and cold.

"From whose mouth, I would like to know?"

"For that of his wife who spent the night with him and that of his guards, who corroborated his story"

"Then I suppose you don't need more information, if you have your spies..." the princess continued, falling back into the offended voice. The King spoke the following in a warning tone.

"Rhaenyra..."

"What exactly have you come here for, father?"

"To see shame. Remorse. Guilt. Something that tells me that you regret what you have done"

The princess's roar was again one of pure indignation.

"I did nothing!"

"My daughter..." His Majesty whispered then, sounding somewhere between threatening and soothing. Ser Criston remained glued to the door, his heartbeat racing. Finally, Rhaenyra spoke again, leading to the confession.

"You want the truth? Very well. I snuck out of the castle at Ser Steffon's changing of the guard. I went into King's Landing, to try to have a little fun."

"Alone?"

"Yes. Alone. Any accomplice would have betrayed me. It wasn't even Ser Steffon's fault, the man did his job. He thought he had left me safe."

"And then?"

"Then what? I went back to the Red Keep"

"You know what I'm talking about"

The knight's heart stopped and for a moment he felt like he was short of breath. However, he had never been a coward, so instead of running away he stood in his stall, waiting for the truth to come from her lips. Instead, the princess remained steadfast in her version.

"I didn't fuck anyone, if that's what you're worried about. My virtue is as intact as my uncle left it last time."

Again, a palpable silence was heard inside. Criston thought he could almost feel the King's wrath at that last act of irreverence. It made him fear, not for himself, but for her.

"I should punish you. Strip you of your title of heir, give it to one of your sisters and send you to Oldtown like Jaehaerys did with Saera"

The threat finally seemed to leave his lips and the King's Guard waited, praying to the Seven that Rhaenyra's response would quell her father's fury rather than fuel it.

"Unfortunately I've never been very good at The Seven-Pointed Star. Maybe I should have Alicent read it to me like she did to you after my mother died?"

The statement left him as cold as it surely had the King himself. Viserys's next words had been nervously stuttered.

"Rhaenyra..."

Her name, previously exclaimed with so much fire, had sounded more like a plea. If he sought to move the heart of his daughter, it did not seem to have the desired effect.

"You think I don't know? The maids murmured about it just like they murmur about me."

"I don't..."

"What? You think you were better than me, Father? Our King is a good man because he didn't sully Lady Alicent's virtue, but you finger-fucked her and made her please you in other ways. I guess that was less dishonorable than put your cock in her..."

The rapid escalation in aggressiveness of the events was so unusual that even knowing he was safe from being the topic of conversation made him feel nervous. He waited, however, for it to continue.

"It was not so "

"Tell me Father, my mother's corpse was already ashes when you began to receive her in your chambers? Or were you already doing it when she was pregnant with your son? Was it allowed to you only because you are a man...?"

"I said enough is enough!"

The scream surprised even him, causing the knight to resume his firm position instead of remaining leaning against the door. Still, that didn't stop him from continuing to listen.

"You will marry Ser Laenor Velaryon"

It took him a couple of seconds to absorb the King's last words. But once he did it, there had not been turning back. He felt a strange pang in his chest.

"You...you can't..." the princess's indignation had given way to frantic disbelief. He was grateful that he couldn't see her face. He surely wouldn't have been strong enough to hide his emotions from her.

"You will marry him to keep your honor and virtue intact. You will prove to the nobles that you have the maturity to know that your time to settle down has come."

"You use me to fix your political headaches"

"You are my political headache! You will get married, Rhaenyra, and from now on behave like the Queen you are destined to be, or the issue of succession will be seriously analyzed. Understood?"

"Yes, Your Majesty"

Not even a minute had passed when the King had left her room, a sweaty, blushing mess. He had taken Ser Criston's shoulder to lead him into a private conversation, far enough from Rhaenyra's door that she wouldn't overhear.

"Ser Steffon is a good whitecloak, but he does not know my daughter as well as you do, Ser Criston. The princess's guards will remain solely to you again. I trust that you will keep her honor and virtue safe, as you have done so far," Viserys had told him, with the worried voice of a father, not the King. Shame and guilt had washed over him then and he had opened his mouth to confess. Instead, he simply muttered a short sentence.

"Of course Your Majesty, I will take care of it"

The burden of secrecy had increased day by day, though not as great as the way Rhaenyra seemed to have withered. Her fire, once so bright, seemed strangely dull, and there was no doubt to any attentive observer that the princess was unhappy at the announcement of her engagement.

"Ser Criston," Rhaenyra greeted him, finally leaving her room, bringing him back to reality. She wore a beautiful dress with dragons embroidered in gold thread and scarlet red.

"Princess," he responded, making a quick bow. They accompanied each other without saying a single word, knowing that perhaps there was still someone who was curious about a conversation like that.

Furthermore, the princess has not been in the mood for vague conversations. I understand. There are more things at stake.

Finally, he managed to escort her safely to Blackwater Bay. There, on the beach, with the sound of the waves as his only companion, was Ser Laenor Velaryon. The King's Guard made a grimace that he quickly tried to suppress, as he reached the other knight's side.

"Ser" greeted him briefly, earning a nod from the firstborn of the Velaryons. Laenor offered his arm to her and Rhaenyra took it elegantly. The couple walked along the beach, under the fierce and jealous gaze of Cole.

Laenor lightly held his cousin's arm, giving her freedom so that she could walk without having her body uncomfortably pressed against his. He had had this morning meeting on the orders of his father, an "approach" with the woman who would soon become his wife.

And I suspect the King ordered it to her too. She is polite, but not all the kindness in the world masks a downcast countenance.

The news of their engagement had not been surprising. Lord Corlys had been looking for an excuse to formalize that marriage, and the position Rhaenyra had put herself in had been perfect for it. In the end, it didn't matter if what she was said to have done was true, simply risking being seen in such a place had been… stupid. Of course, he would never dare say it to her face.

Laena's reception had been the one that had worried him the most. His young sister had fallen into anger and bitterness, surprising him for the worse. Not fully understanding her fury and after trying to console her in vain, he had finally risked asking her reason. Her response had left a huge void in his soul.

"All this...I lay with him because it was my duty, I gave two daughters for House Velaryon. My freedom, my...for what? All for what? To be cast aside, thrown away along with them because I was not capable of…” Laena had sobbed, shaking from rage or perhaps shock. Laenor had had to hold her up so she wouldn't fall to the ground. His sweet sister had lifted her head, her eyes crystal clear with tears. Her voice had been nothing more than a whisper.

"I have sacrificed everything. Was it worth it?"

Laenor had not been able to answer her. Honestly, he had nothing to give her. Nothing that was a consolation.

She married the King for the sole purpose of putting an heir of Velaryon blood on the throne, her youth, her singleness, her beauty, her freedom, her dragon... everything has been snapped up. And now, even her duty, her sole purpose has been removed from her shoulders and transferred to mine.

"It seems to me that this should help us tonfind some agreement, if our parents insist on it" Rhaenyra finally spoke. Laenor frowned, not fully understanding her words.

"Princess?"

His cousin smiled sincerely, and for some reason he found her gesture reassuring.

"I guess we should start by dropping the presumptuous titles," she said, her voice amused. Laenor looked down, embarrassed.

"Sorry, cousin. Force of habit."

"You seem as eager as I am for this wedding to take place," Rhaenyra continued, casting him curious glances. He stiffened, but tried to hide it.

"It is everything House Velaryon hoped for. A great honor," he said, as if it were a speech that had been repeated over and over again.

Rhaenyra remained silent, watching him carefully. She finally dared to vocalize her thoughts to him.

"I know I'm not the bethrothed you would have chosen, if it had been your decision"

The sincerity was almost painful, although he would never allow himself to admit it. Laenor thought of Joffrey and the thousand times they had been forced to remain hidden. When he responded, his voice sounded almost broken.

"The decision was never an option for me, cousin"

Rhaenyra fell silent again. She seemed to be internally debating some dilemma, but when she spoke, her words made him freeze, stopping even him from walking.

"I know. We share tastes, I'm afraid. By the ...men"

Laenor swallowed nervously and felt intense nausea. He looked around them to check for some gossiping commoners and finally looked at her again.

"What?" he whispered, trying to feign surprise and unknowledge. Rhaenyra laughed, not mockingly, but trying to break the tension.

"I am not as blind as the Lords of the Court. Nor do I pretend to be mute about it as your parents do. Your...extravagant tastes have not gone unnoticed by me. I suppose everyone has their preferences," she said calmly, squeezing his hand in a reassuring gesture. It seemed to work, although he still felt a little dizzy.

"Immutable preferences. It hasn't been for lack of trying. There are people who just don't like ..." he whispered, unable to finish the sentence. The princess nodded.

"It's true. There are certain things about us that we can't change, no matter how hard we try. I guess it's natural. And I won't force you to try to like something different..."

Laenor stopped dead again, surprised and confused.

"What exactly are you proposing?" he asked, holding his breath. Rhaenyra smiled calmly at him again.

"May we fulfill our duty to the Realm. And, alone, each one can enjoy our own pleasures in private."

For the first time since the engagement was announced, a smile graced young Velaryon's lips.

"I can do that," he said, strangely happy. Rhaenyra seemed infected by his enthusiasm.

"Then this marriage will be more pleasant for us than we could have thought."

An icy anger coursed through Ser Criston's body as the cold, mute couple returned chattering and animated. The terrible sting of jealousy that had lately become so familiar pierced him beneath his armor, cutting him as no sword had ever done. It made him feel helpless.

Escorting Rhaenyra back to the castle, an idea began to run through his mind. He had been thinking about it for a long time, and the occasion seemed right as it had never been before.

The opportunity will pass if I don't do it now. What do I have to wait for? Let her pronounce her vows in front of the Seven?

Steeling himself and feeling even more nervous than he had been the first time he had entered the battlefield, or when he had been invested as the King's Guard, he entered her chambers with firm steps. The princess looked at him, with questioning and curious eyes.

"Ser Criston?" she asked softly, waiting for an explanation. He swallowed nervously.

"I needed to talk to you, Princess" the knight whispered nervously. Rhaenyra smiled playfully, caressing his cheek.

"I confess I had a similar desire. All this rush, this surveillance...has not allowed us to be alone as I would have liked"

They both smiled at each other and his nervousness subsided slightly.

Maybe there's nothing to worry about. Perhaps she has already thought of something similar. Maybe the idea won't seem so crazy once it leaves my lips...

"You have confided in me now and then over the years of our acquaintance. I feel... forgive me, that I know you a bit. From what happened in Storm's End from that last night here, at the Red Keep... "

The knight felt his heart racing and took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

She took his hands in hers. Warm and small, they gave him a security he had never felt before.

"You know me more than a bit. We are friends. Confidents" she smiled and he felt a tickle in his chest.

"I've heard you say so many times how you loathe the lot of your position. That you're to be married off at your father's whim, with no thought given to the yearning of your own heart, and now the day comes. .."

Rhaenyra's smile had changed to a serious expression, but her hands were still intertwined with his. He took it as a sign to continue.

"Ser Laenor is a good and decent man, but you did not choose him. He was chosen for you."

"That's true," Rhaenyra murmured, letting out a heavy sigh. Criston thought she saw a certain conviction in his eyes.

It's now or never. After all, hadn't she ever told me that she would like to run away from here? I have to at least try.

"If there were another path. One that led to freedom..." he began, the words having difficulty leaving his mouth.

"Would you tread it?"

The princess seemed taken aback and he could see in her eyes that she didn't know what to think. He decided to continue.

"In Essos...you could marry me. A marriage for love, not for the crown" he said, feeling his hands beginning to shake on hers. He tried to hide his nervousness, although by this point it was impossible.

Rhaenyra looked clearly shocked by his words. She gently turned away from him and walked to the window, probably to get some air. Without any instructions for him to leave the room, the knight remained standing there.

"I know I am not...him. But there's something between us. Far away, you could forget. Find a way to be happy again. Without his presence, his memory haunting you" he finished, his fingers fiddling with the knob of his sword. The princess continued looking out the window, her face avoiding his gaze. She finally turned to look at him.

"I am the Crown, Ser Criston. Or I will be" her voice seemed broken, on the verge of a sob, but strangely sure.

"I may chafe at my duties, but do you think I would choose infamy in exchange for a bushel of oranges or a ship to the Narrow Sea?"

Her words stunned him, but he was still unable to move an inch off the ground.

I shouldn't pretend that I didn't expect this answer. She will be Queen, after all. Who would sacrifice a crown for love? If she prefers my sword to my heart, I will serve her as a knight and not as a husband.  I won't go to her bed again because the gods want it, then so be it.

"It is my duty to marry a nobleman from a great House. And Ser Laenor will be a fine husband"

The rejection hurt, but not as much as he might have thought. Criston nodded his head respectfully and continued listening. Rhaenyra approached him, a strange smile on her face.

"But my marriage...doesn't have to be the end. Ser Criston, Laenor and I made an agreement today. I've granted him to pursue his own interests and in turn he's granted me the same"

Criston blinked in confusion, not fully understanding what he was saying. Rhaenyra caressed his cheek again.

"My bed has enough room for both of us if I long for the warmth of your company which has proven to be... pleasurable. Some nights, I might request your presence in my chambers..."

The words hit him with much more force than he had anticipated.

Request my presence... Where else had I heard that? Only in brothels.

Sworn protector. Friends. In the end, what have I been? Just a toy for her pleasure. Undignified. Worthless. Ready to go when she calls me, like a dog with his master.

"So you want me to be your whore?" he finally whispered, his voice breaking. Rhaenyra looked confused at the outburst.

"I want us to continue as we began. With you as my sworn protector, my white knight"

The white cloak I wear is only a symbol of your favor, not something I have earned, is it not? And I have stained it.

"I took an oath. As a King's Guard. A vow of chastity. I've broken it..."

"I won't tell anyone..."

"I've soiled my white cloak!

And it's the only thing I have to my fucking name!

I thought I had done it for a friend, my future Queen. That it had been worth it. But it wasn't like that, was it? I have never meant anything to you. In the end, I am still the son of the butler of Blackhaven. A nameless young man.

"I am a man without honor. I thought that... that you..." he couldn't even finish the sentence.

That I meant something to you. Something more than your fucking plaything. Your puppet.

The princess looked at him with pity, and that only made him feel even more ashamed. More idiotic.

He left the room, ignoring Rhaenyra's call. Arriving with his sworn brothers, he told Ser Harrold Westerling that he was indisposed, so that someone else could stand guard with the princess. Unaccustomed to events like that on his part, the Lord Commander believed his excuse, allowing him to remain in the shared chambers.

I accompanied her in her worst moments. I was there, doing what no other has ever done. And for what? She has never seen me as a King's Guard. As someone worthy.

Criston  sighed and looked at the white cloak, neatly folded on a chair. The whiteness of it reminded him of snow in the sunlight, shining so brightly that it was painful to look at. He stood up and took it in his hands, feeling a wave of emotions fill him.

Without the white cloak I am nobody. I'm nothing. And I have never deserved it. Oathbreaker.

He hesitated for a moment, but finally, his hand flung it into the crackling flames of the fireplace long before his mind could stop it. The fire consumed every last piece of the cloth, turning it into ashes.

May the gods have mercy on me.

He returned to his uncomfortable bed, feeling slightly more satisfied. In the end, he fell asleep to the sound of wood crackling with fire and the feeling of her damned touch on his skin, burning him alive.

As he imagined dragonfire would feel.

Chapter Text

ALICENT IX/DAEMON IX

Alicent walked down the hallway with her face raised in a mask of cold pride. Still ignoring the small whispers of the servants who had not yet completely disappeared, she tried not to let the irritation about it be evident on her face.

Moons had passed. And yet, the rumors still did not subsidize. Perhaps fueled by the ceremony of that night: the wedding between Ser Laenor Velaryon and Princess Rhaenyra. Or the start of the festivities for it.

The rise of the Velaryon. The next heir to the Iron Throne will have the blood of the Seaborn, no matter who it comes from.

Otto Hightower had been furious about the wholw thing. But Alicent had known that more than anger, it was bitterness because the idea of setting up a worthy suitor to erase the rumors about the crown princess's virtue had not crossed his mind first, too concerned with saving her own husband's skin.

I don't think it would have worked though. Viserys needed an immediate solution, not the promise of an upcoming marriage.

Thinking about Baelon made her caress her stomach tenderly. Her belly was more swollen now than it had been with her firstborn, perhaps because the child was already on the brink of imminent birth. It had to occur in that week, according to Grand Maester Mellos.

"Lady Alicent," a male voice said, making her forget about her brief moment of happiness. She didn't even have to turn, the velvety, saccharine voice could only belong to one person. One that she knew very well.

"I was wondering how you were. They say pregnancies make women bloom. And two princes for the Realm..." said Larys Strong, with a seemingly kind smile. Alicent took a deep breath, brief images of what happened after her last conversation with this man passing through her mind.

There was something that definitely urged her to get away from him, so she nodded respectfully as a sign of gratitude, and she hurried to leave. However, the second son of the Hand of the King seemed to have other plans.

"Unfortunate rumors seem not to be enough to lose a crown," he whispered, staring at her. Alicent tried her best to control her emotions.

"Those questions remain in the hands of the King," she replied simply, without wanting to incur in more revealing words. Lord Larys smiled again, this time more disturbingly.

"Of course. But a man is meek and blind to the errors of his offspring. Especially his daughters. Even the most rigid heart is capable of softening."

Alicent bit her inner cheek, trying to continue appearing unfazed. She didn't want to discuss that kind of information, especially not with him.

"Again, it is no one's decision but the King's. If His Majesty deems it appropriate..."

Larys Strong let out a chuckle.

"To forgive her? Forget it? Are you capable of forgiving her and forgetting, my lady? Mere rumors tell the Court that our prince lacks respect for his wife, and if a husband himself shows such... contempt, what could we expect? Another Rhea Royce, I'm afraid. And there are some who believe that your lord husband had something to do with her terrible accident."

For a moment she couldn't hide her surprise, seeing the satisfaction shining in his eyes. After a while, she decided to continue, not knowing where a path that promised to be dark would lead her.

"What are you talking about?"

He put on an embarrassed face, so convincing that, perhaps if she didn't know her own father and the way fake goodness seemed in a person thanks to him, she would have believed.

"I'm sorry for saying too much, my lady, but my desire is to serve and protect you. Not fill your mind with lies and possibly unfounded whispers."

His response irritated her more than she dared to admit. Still, she tried to remain composed.

"Speak now...please.”

"I... well, my lady. A man always has eyes and ears everywhere, especially when he is as incapacitated as I am. It was always whispered in the Vale that Prince Daemon was a rare visitor to Runestone, and even less of Lady Royce's bed..."

I've already knew that. Men fuck sheep because they are more beautiful than women in the Vale, he said. That day, my father was furious. But I didn't believe...

"Our Rogue Prince was never much for marriage. The brothels of King's Landing were home to him, even more so than to his own older brother. There was one whore in particular who became his main mistress... Mysaria, they called her."

Her name sounded familiar to Alicent for some reason, but she tried not to let that recognition pass her by. She was beginning to realize that everything Larys Strong observed, he propably told to others.

"Queen Alyssane, in an effort to unite the Seven Kingdoms betrothed the sons of Prince Baelon to girls from the Vale. Our good King Viserys, in that time prince, to Lady Aemma Arryn. And Prince Daemon to Lady Rhea Royce. The one who would be our first Queen was two years younger than the Spring Prince's firstborn and they had always gotten along well. Lady Rhea, however, was three years older than Prince Daemon and as cold and demure as only a Septa could be, according to rumors. Whether it was by personality or devotion, the Lady of Runestone did not seem too close to the tastes of lust of the lad who was already known as the Lord of Flea Bottom."

Yes. But just because a wife despises you in bed is no reason for such drastic measures.

"In the end, Lady Rhea was sent back to Runestone. There was talk about some...difficulty in consummating the wedding night and when the heir never arrived...well. The Grand Council of 101 happened and His Majesty ascended as King. His brother's first request was for the immediate annulment of his marriage, citing his lady wife's remaining virginity. A shameful thing for a man to admit something like that, but it gives an idea of the level of desperation our prince had... "

The talk was taking too long. And everything he mentioned was something she already knew whether from rumors from the maids or conversations between her father and her mother when Daemon made him furious with his provocations, all those years ago...

"But His Majesty never gave it to him. He claimed that a husband who despised his wife could bring war, from the Faith or from Runestone."

Larys seemed satisfied with her response. He nodded.

"He did. And then the Rogue Prince started bitching and insulting his 'Bronze Bitch'. He could have done it for the rest of his life, without setting foot back in the Vale. But then someone else showed up. Someone unexpected."

Strong's eyes told her everything. He left the statement hanging, waiting for her to say it. She swallowed and pronounced the name with difficulty.

"Princess Rhaenyra."

"A girl of pure Valyrian blood. The wife he always wanted. Of course, it wasn't immediate. But the more gifts he brought her, the more he pampered her, the more time they spent together...Lady Rhea began to be a memory distant and his niece somewhat more real. But his good brother seemed...reluctant to give up his firstborn daughter, perhaps knowing his nature."

Of course, any father would have thought twice before giving his daughter to Daemon Targaryen. Especially since the destiny of such a union would be failure and dishonor, with him still married.

"And then, it happened. We lost the Queen and her heir on the same unfortunate afternoon. The prince made...unfortunate comments. His place and inheritance were taken away from him.”

And then, a girl who had became mature enough and a perfect future valyrian wife became his only chance to ascend the Throne.

"But unfortunately, Lady Rhea Royce remained in the Vale, as his legitimate wife" Strong continued in a whisper.

An obstacle. The impediment to reaching his crown.

Alicent, for some reason, shook her head. "That doesn't prove anything."

"Of course not. But the prince was absent for three days from the Stepstones, as far as I know. I am sure, my lady, that perhaps you did not know the Lady of Runestone. She was fond of hunting, and some said she was the best horsewoman that had been seen in the Vale. The accident was unfortunate. A fall from her horse, which apparently fractured her spine and left her unconscious before dying, or so it is said. There are more gruesome rumors, however. Servants of the search party who said to had witnessed a horrible scene. Her head, shattered by a rock in what seemed like forceful and precise blows."

The image of it was so graphic that she knew she would never be able to get it out of her head. There was one word that Larys Strong hadn't mentioned, but it seemed obvious.

Intentional. Who would be more cursed by the gods, a man who repudiated his wife, or one who murdered her in cold blood to possess another?

"When the prince came to claim his legitimate rights to Runestone, they were denied in favor of the deceased's cousin. A strange gesture from His Majesty, known for deferring to his brother's wishes and wanting him to have a residence of his own away from King's Landing" Lord Larys finished. It would have seemed stupid, a gossip spread out there. But everything the youngest Strong told had a purpose. In this case, it was clear to her.

That given the appropriate circumstances, Daemon would kill me without hesitation for even the slightest chance of having Rhaenyra.

But is it true? Rhea Royce did not give him a child. I have given him one and soon I will give him another. Dragon riders. Blood of his blood. That must mean something, even to him.

"I didn't know you cultivated a friendship with my wife, Strong," the voice of her husband spoke from the hallway, serious, cold. Even Larys looked slightly pale, although he recovered quickly.

"I think we should all take care of your lady. After all, she carries your son, my prince. Is it not a duty to protect and provide for the good of a wife and children?"

The sentence seemed to make the prince's gesture even more icy. Larys Strong had taken care of his words, omitting the clear provocation.

Isn't it YOUR duty to protect your wife and children?

"I would appreciate if you avoided your presence near my wife from now on. I fear you do not run fast enough for the consequences," Daemon hissed coldly, stroking the hilt of his sword.

"I'm just trying to help, my prince. Nothing more," Larys continued calmly, although there were large beads of sweat on his face.

"I wonder, what is a worse punishment, to be deformed or crippled? Or perhaps to be the father of one?"

Lord Larys's face remained with a smile, although Alicent could read a hidden anger. Hate. She knew it was an insult that he would not forgive. The consequences? Only the gods knew.

"My prince," he said goodbye with a melodious voice. When his limp carried him out of sight, Alicent turned to follow his example. Her husband's hand on her arm stopped her.

"Let go of me," she said in an irritated whisper, trying not to let anyone onlookers hear her. He didn't give in.

"Exactly what are you doing?" he asked her, squeezing her lightly. She shook, as if his touch was red-hot iron.

"It's none of your business."

That seemed to irritate him even more. His brow furrowed.

"I am your husband."

The word felt like a mockery. She didn't know whether she should take it as a provocation or seriously.

"Good time to remember it, my lord husband," she said, finally being able to let go. Alicent left him there, without saying another word.

Daemon stood there, feeling an irritatingly strange sense of defeat. Their interactions had been like this for the past few weeks, if he could call those awkward, forced dialogues "interaction." His wife, whom he had begun to know as warm and lively, had become as cold as an ice floe.

He knew he had no one to blame but himself. And yet, he was too proud to accept it, especially in front of her.

The prince rarely saw her now. Brief visits to her chambers were limited to picking up Baelon and Alicent tried not to be there when it happened, leaving the task in the hands of her maid. It was insulting, in a way.

The prince walked back to his own chambers, ready to take out his wrath on whoever crossed him. The servants seemed to read his feelings, since none of them dared even look him in the eyes.

The reason for his bad mood had started early. Rhaenyra's wedding or the beginning of it would take place that same night. Events with his own wife had not helped that to improve. And Larys Strong had always struck him as extremely hittable.

"...it must be done. It is not a light request. Eliminating any possible distractions is essential to the completion of the task..."

Corlys Velaryon's voice whispered from a hallway. The prince unconsciously slowed his footsteps, making them silent.

"But my lord...if I was discovered..." another voice joined that of the Lord of Driftmark.

"They won't. You will leave Westeros a rich man. Isn't that a brighter destiny than a glorified guard outside my door?" the Seasnake continued. The murmurs kept going, quieter than his ears could hear. Thus, he advanced with heavy steps to make his presence known. Corlys greeted him briefly and the man in front of him did the same. Daemon could distinguish that it was one of the Velaryon soldiers’ part of the entourage coming from Driftmark.

Fucking creepy. Corlys has a mind as depraved as mine. There will be a poor devil who comes out badly from this.

Without having been able to fully satisfy his curiosity, he arrived at his room, closing the door with a loud and violent slam.

After several hours spent just tossing and turning in his bedroom, dawn gave way to dusk, and this to the first tints of the night. He resisted the temptation to drink wine, deciding that he did not want to make a fool of himself in front of such a large audience. Once he considered the hour opportune enoguh to make an entrance that would conveniently interrupt the ceremony and already with the clothes for it, he headed to the chambers of his wife.

"Lady Alicent is finishing putting Prince Baelon to sleep," his wife's head maid informed him from outside her room. "She said you should go ahead. She will catch up with you in a few moments, my prince."

Resisting the temptation to snort in frustration, Daemon silently admitted the new defeat.

He entered the great hall with an especially loud creaking of the doors, causing his brother to stop mid-speech. Viserys glared at him but refused to give him the satisfaction of making his irritation obvious. Rhaenyra watched him too, with a mix of longing and anger lingering in her violet eyes.

The King cleared his throat again, looking at the guests.

"As I said, I have been unable to find a better suitor for my daughter. Ser Laenor of House Velaryon is a strong and honorable knight, descended from my uncle Aemon's bloodline and great-grandson of Jaehaerys himself. He and Princess Rhaenyra will reign after me as King consort and Queen regent, ending thus..."

The door opened, interrupting him again. Eyes shifted again to look at the culprit, including his. The image that came down the halls, aided by Ser Steffon Darklyn, could well have been the goddess Syrax herself.

Wearing a green dress that had survived his own purge from her closet, with a center neckline and small flame embroidery of the same color, Alicent caused the entire room to fall silent.

Illuminated in the light, it seemed to shine like wildfire, in a beautiful and deadly way. And the bulging belly where his offspring was located only served to make the image even more hypnotizing and magnetic.

The beacon on the Hightower glows green when it calls its banners to war. It is a clear statement. And she knows it.

She approached, looking at him briefly before giving him a quick, formal kiss on the cheek. He greeted her with a brief nod.

This time, it took Viserys almost ten minutes to pick up the thread of his speech. When he finally did, he seemed to have lost the audience's attention.

"Ser Laenor Velaryon will be King Consort. Thus, we will finalize the union of Houses Velaryon and Targaryen, who together survived The Doom of Valyria, and which will give rise to a new generation of dragon riders. There will be seven days of tournaments and celebrations in honor to the gods and, at the end, we will celebrate the largest wedding that has been seen since the time of Jaehaerys" he concluded. The room was filled with respectful applause, although not all faces seemed to show happiness.

Among them, Ser Criston Cole stood out. The knight looked as if he had taken something especially bitter.

As if he had been kicked in the balls. Sad story.

But Daemon didn't have enough time to continue teasing the knight. Ser Laenor whispered something in Rhaenyra's ear and led her to the center of the hall. The musicians seemed to understand his wishes, as violins and other instruments began to play the first track of the night.

While the bethrothed danced, several people joined the young bride and groom. He looked at Alicent, who seemed especially focused on finishing the food off her plate. The prince unexpectedly grabbed her hand in a solid grip.

"No," she whispered, understanding his intentions. Daemon ignored her.

"We are a united marriage in the eyes of the Realm" he whispered back, with a slight hint of sarcasm.

And you wouldn't stand it if they said the opposite behind your back.

Daemon felt her stiffen, before she forced a smile and nodded. They both got up and began to spin around with the other guests, joining the dance.

"I didn't know one had survived," he finally said between a few steps, looking at her dress. His wife remained emotionless, giving him her silence in return. They continued dancing a couple more tunes, before Alicent excused herself to return to the table, citing tiredness. Her next partner was Her Majesty in person, having requested permission from her husband. Finally, in an unexpected turn he found himself with a familiar hand in his.

"Would you allow me a dance, uncle?" Rhaenyra's voice, cold and warm at the same time, resonated in his ears. He looked around, surreptitiously finding Alicent's gaze on him, as well as that of several other guests.

His wife gave no sign of approval or disapproval, and the lack of response to the princess began to feel uncomfortable.

"Of course," he finally said, having no other choice.

Rhaenyra's steps were light and precise, though he could tell they lacked the grace of Alicent's.

Rhaenyra had always been known because of her refusal to learn any "useless" activities such as dancing and singing, taught to other ladies of the Court. Instead, she had choosen her dragon. Many even said that the princess would have opted for the song of swords if she had been born a boy.

"You haven't given me my congratulations," the princess resumed the dialogue. There was a strong presence of sarcasm in it, which reminded his of his own teachings during her childhood.

"Congratulations. Ser Laenor is a good man," he said simply, giving her a spin before resuming the simple dance.

"It is. Someone who would not sully my virtue in any way," she continued with a clearly irritated voice, glaring at him.

Oh darling. Ser Laenor would hardly enter your bed of his own free wil

"Is there any purpose to this mundane talk?" he asked a little fed up, as she spun on tiptoe. His rudeness seemed to increase her annoyance.

"An apology perhaps? A sign of regret for what you did, or rather, what you didn't do?" she hissed in Valyrian.

"I spared you. I defiled you once. I wouldn't do it twice," he whispered, also in their native tongue.

"As if my honor and reputation mattered to you."

"They do. You will be Queen. Your children will inherit the Crown."

Daemon could see something cross her gaze. His suspicions were confirmed by her next words.

"Children who will hardly be conceived. Do not think that I do not know the nature of my future husband.”

So, you know.

"Ser Laenor will do his duty," he said simply, brushing it off. She didn't seem too convinced.

"He will try, and I have faith in him. But if he wasn't succesful..."

"He will do it. His father will take care of it. As if you didn't know Corlys."

"We both know that will is not everything. Sometimes there are things that cannot happen. And if, gods forbid, my husband is not able..." she began. Daemon frowned in confusion, which only increased as Rhaenyra continued to whisper.

"Do you remember when you told me about the Valyrian bloodlines? How the offspring bred with our blood were destined for greatness. The blood of the dragon. Undiluted, pure"

"I don't think I'm following you," he said, sensing something strange in her statement. They continued pretending to dance, although their minds had been on something else for a while.

"If Laenor was unable to sire his own heirs, my entire position would be threatened. It would be stupid not to have a contingency plan."

"And which one would that be?"

"You"

His gesture was one of total surprise. He let go of her hands, ending the false excuse of dancing.

"You're not talking seriously."

"Pure Valyrian offspring. I would give you the children you always wanted to have."

I already have a child. Two.

"What you say is treason. If your father found out I would be a dead man."

And my lady wife would tear your eyes out if she knew you even suggested something like that to me.

Rhaenyra's gaze darkened with anger.

"I guess I can't expect anything from a coward."

The words angered him too, but he did his best to control himself.

"Survival is not cowardice. Maybe you will understand that one day."

With that, he began to turn slightly to return to the table. Screams prevented him from continuing.

Chaos erupted among the furthest crowd, but soon people were falling across the room, entangled in shoving, hitting, and tripping. He tried to get out of the wave of bodies that were trying to stampede along with Rhaenyra, but an elbow from nowhere sent him straight to the ground, causing him to lose sight of her.

From there he could see dozens of feet running in panic, a man whose cloak was characteristic of the King's Guard beating a bloody face and, among the figures that seemed to surround the brawl either out of curiosity, inability to leave the scene or to try to stop them, the figure of a hooded man and the shining shine of a dagger.

Alicent.

Daemon got up quickly, punching a few guests who tried to escape by holding on to him, looking for his pregnant wife. In the distance he could see Ser Harwin Strong carrying Rhaenyra on his shoulders to get away from the storm and he himself tried to head to the same place that was still safe, having been surrounded by the rest of the white cloaks in the royal family table. Stepping out of the crowd, Ser Steffon stepped aside so he could get behind the armor barrier.

The disaster continued almost unabated, until everything could be contained. Finally standing and slipping among the spilled drinks, glass and blood, Ser Laenor, the once gallant betrothed, with his robes torn and an evidently broken nose knelt before the only body left in the hall.

Ser Joffrey Lonmouth's face, a few hours ago flushed and full of life, was now purple and swollen. Slits in his elegant robe revealed the spot where the steel blade had been plunged again and again by someone who seemed to have taken advantage of the confusion to carry out the terrible act. There was nothing accidental about it, of that Daemon was sure. It had been a cold-blooded murder. Now it was clear as day.

Corlys has made sure that nothing distracts his firstborn from carrying out the only task that matters to him. Producing an heir.

Laenor sobbed into his chest and Alicent felt her stomach turn with nausea. The scene was sad and unpleasant at the same time, like an abandoned battlefield. In the end, the sight was too unpleasant to bear.

"I need fresh air," she whispered, feeling the bile in her throat. Her husband nodded, leaving the room without any further complaints from His Majesty or the rest of the royal entourage, who kept frozen in place.

Once in the gardens, there was no impediment for her to empty her stomach. She felt so dizzy and weak that she didn't even object to the hand that Daemon placed to hold her hair and prevent it from getting dirty, nor the arm that he gently wrapped around her waist to help her to keep the balance.

"This was... undignified" she whispered when she finished. Daemon rubbed her back lightly with his palm. He seemed more serious than usual.

"The first one you see die up close?" he asked, with a questioning look. Alicent nodded.

"Yes, the first one."

It was not the first death she had witnessed. In tournaments, some contenders with too much heat in their blood often had not measure limits with sword in hand. She had only seen two falls, a Stark of Winterfell impaled with an ax and a Swann squire with a sword in his chest.

However, from the stage it was different, impersonal. She had met those men just moments before they fell. It was like witnessing a brutal and bloodthirsty play, but still feeling...unreal.

With Ser Joffrey Lonmouth it had not been the same. Alicent had spoken to the man a few times, seen his face for moons in the Red Keep. The knight had occasionally brought Baelon back to her chambers when the little prince ventured out of her sight and had even given him a wooden carved knight to play with, as a gift. They had even exchanged greetings at the beginning of the feast, hours before.

Seeing him there, lying in a pool of blood with his eyes devoid of life... had been terrifying.

With much less pride than she had first possessed she leaned on his arm. Wanting to get rid of the bitter and unpleasant taste in her mouth, she approached the small water fountain in the center of the gardens, where she rinsed herself thoroughly.

"That was...horrible," she whispered, sinking onto the shore. "I had never seen this kind of accidents anywhere else other than the lists."

Daemon's gaze turned cold, and she could see the tension in her husband. The hardness in his eyes.

"What is it?" she asked, trying to figure out the reason for his sudden change of mood.

"Nothing. We should return to your chambers. Baelon must be asleep, the commotion cannot be heard in that part of the castle" he continued, trying to make light of the matter.

Alicent tried to protest when a rustling sound put them both on alert.

The Rogue Prince unsheathed Darksister in one graceful movement and she followed close behind, her heart racing. They finally entered the Godswood. Under the dim light of the torches a man lay kneeling. There was a sheathed sword on one side of him, and armor on the other, with the white cloak of the King's Guard folded neatly on top. Clad only in his padded clothing, Ser Criston Cole was kneeling, a sharp dagger pressed into his side. He seemed embarrassed when he found himself discovered.

"He doesn't seem like much of a threat," Daemon said with a more amused tone than she felt he should have used. "At least not to us," he continued, sheathing his sword again. Alicent frowned.

"This is no time for jokes," she said seriously, glaring at him. He shrugged his shoulders.

"We should go."

"No"

He seemed confused by her refusal. To be honest, she herself was confused.

"Come on, leave him alone. He's already chosen his destiny," her husband continued, without a hint of empathy.

"Ser Criston..." she began to say to him, trying to get something from the knight. Whatever. The man raised his face, his crystalline eyes filled with guilt.

"You should leave my lady. My shame should not be seen by anyone."

She looked at the blood-stained palms. Ser Joffrey's face appeared in her mind. A shiver ran down her spine.

"You..."

"No," her husband said in a strong voice. They both looked at him, confused by his intervention.

"It was not him"

Ser Criston shook his head.

"I let my anger get the best of me, I'm guilty. I don't seek any comfort in..."

"No, you piece of idiot. I'm not trying to be your reassuring fucking conscience; I don't give a shit about you. But you didn't kill Ser Lonmouth. That death is not among your feats."

The tone was too harsh and serious to be taken as a joke. The knight blinked, confused.

"I hit him. I didn't stop..."

"The knight was stabbed to death."

A terrible silence fell over them. Alicent resisted the temptation to ask how her husband had come to that conclusion. She sensed that she wouldn't like the answer.

She continued to observe the King's Guard, recognizing something else in his eyes. Not just blame. Pain. Treason. Love.

Everything clicked in her head.

"You should go see Baelon" she told her husband. Daemon looked at her in disbelief.

"And leave you with this suicidal idiot? No way," he said aggressively.

"Daemon..."

"No"

"Please," she said, with just the right amount of pleading in her voice.

The prince seemed annoyed, but with no other option. He gave Ser Criston one last threatening look. Before leaving he whispered in her ear.

"You can't save them all."

Once they were alone, the knight and lady did not exchange words for a long time.

Finally, Alicent seemed to find the right start to the conversation.

"Princess Rhaenyra," she said simply. Thousands of emotions were observed on the face of the disgraced knight.

"I..." he began, tentatively. If he was planning some excuse, she didn't give him time to.

"That's why I made him leave. My lord husband would cut off your cock immediately if he knew."

"Is it that obvious?" Ser Criston whispered; his voice defeated. She shook her head.

"Not exactly. Not entirely, at least. Just... little flashes here and there"

The man seemed especially melancholy, as if an enormous weight was on his shoulders.

"I made vows. I am an oathbreaker. A shame for my white cloak and my sworn brothers"

"For love," she whispered in a calm voice. For some reason, she wanted confirmation.

"It is not a justification."

Cole sighed and looked up at the sky. The stars lit up the night sky over King's Landing with an ethereal beauty.

"I hope to find in my death the atonement for my sins. The forgiveness of the gods. But the Seven do not tolerate cowards. I will be in the depths of the Seven Hells before dawn."

There was something about him that inspired her with pity. Maybe because his words were sincere. Maybe because she herself seemed to understand it, although their situations couldn't be more different.

"It doesn't have to be like this," she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. The knight trembled at the physical contact.

"It does. I deserve this."

She knew that now he wasn't just talking about Rhaenyra.

"You heard it, Ser. You didn't kill him."

"But I could have done it. For a moment I thought that... I wanted to...He just made a comment. And I exploded."

He looked at his bloody hands, distraught.

"I am not a knight. I have never been a knight."

"Your'e a human being. We make mistakes for love. I..."

Alicent hesitated for a moment whether to continue. It was something very personal, extremely private. Something she had never confessed to anyone, even if the servants talked about it. But perhaps it would be the right thing to do, in a situation that was life or death.

She gathered her courage and began to speak.

"My lord father wanted me to be Queen. On the day of Queen Aemma's funeral, he sent me to the King's chambers in one of my mother's dresses. He was doing it for months. His Majesty did things to me...and I allowed and encouraged him, of course. I love my father. And loving him meant obeying him, even if it meant doing something I considered degrading."

Ser Criston stared at her, guessing at the honesty of her confession. He sighed heavily and she knew she had gained something. A kind of confidence in misfortune.

"I am from the Marches of Dorne. My father holds no lands or titles. A simple butler in Blackhaven. I thought I was making a name for myself, a knight of the King's Guard, sworn protector of the crown princess, her friend... she even offered me to be her Hand, you know? But it wasn't true. It was just an illusion. She never saw me as the man I thought I was. I was a toy, something she could use and throw away whenever she wanted. Something to distract her from her real interest... "

My husband.

"It's disappointing to realize that you're just a piece. Someone with a single purpose. Disposable once you fulfill it," she said, trying to convey his sympathy. Ser Criston nodded.

"I did everything for her. I didn't ask to be reciprocated. Just... to be recognized as something more than a pawn. As a person"

The words reached deep into his soul. The knight had vocalized everything she had always wanted to say to her father, if he had the courage.

I am a person.

Alicent felt something wet and warm between her thighs. The sensation was familiar, as was the place she was in.

Gods.

"Ser, I need help to get to my chambers. And to call the maester."

The knight's eyes widened in panic.

"My lady? Now?"

"Now. Please"

For the second time in her life she found herself transported to her room in the arms of a knight of the King's Guard. The old panic bloomed again in her chest, although she tried to remain calm. Cole bolted as soon as he left her on the bed, searching for Mellos.

Baelon was not there, probably having been taken by his father.

She closed her eyes, feeling the stinging pain between her legs and tried to control her breathing.

A series of hits and screams from outside made her open them again in a start.

Her husband entered with a slam of the door, despite the line of maids garrisoned in front of her bed.

"My prince, you can't be here, it's inappropriate..." one of them said, trying to block him from walking. Daemon grabbed her hand so tightly that Alicent, even focused on her own conflict, knew he was going to leave marks on her.

"Touch me again and I will break your hand. If I say my place is with my wife, then I will go with my wife."

Her ladies in waiting looked at her, panicked. She agreed, allowing him to approach.

"Is so much violence necessary?" she asked once the prince had sat down next to her.

"I broke the arm and nose of two of your father's guards who tried to stop me from entering. Now that's violence".

The contractions began to be especially violent, and she unconsciously took his hand to squeeze it. He intertwined his fingers with hers.

"For better or worse I'm here. You know it"

Alicent nodded, focusing on enduring the pain. When the maester arrived and began to give her orders to push, she did not listen to him, more focused on the hardness and warmth of her husband's hand in hers.

After what seemed like an eternity, a baby's cries filled the room. The maester picked up the child, displaying it proudly.

"A boy again, my prince," he said, handing the bundle to him. Daemon held it for only a couple of seconds in his arms, before passing it to his wife. She looked at the boy and back at her husband.

He is all you. Our children are all you.

The door opened and one of the guards, with a bleeding nose, entered and whispered something to Mellos. He nodded and looked at the couple.

"Your father requests to come and meet his new grandson, my lady," said the Grand Maester. Alicent felt her heart race again, with her memories of the last time reliving in her mind.

No! Give him to me. I want to hold him. Father, please...

"Don't let him in" she whispered to her husband seriously. Daemon seemed surprised, though obviously not averse to her request.

"Are you okay?" he asked her with a frown, perhaps believing her possessed by some strange postpartum confusion. She clung to her newborn.

"Please. Don't let him in. I don't want to, just...please."

Daemon looked at her questioningly, before turning to the maester and guard who were still waiting expectantly.

"Tell Otto that I don't want him to come in. And if he complains he can go to hell"

Mellos swallowed nervously, looking at his wife.

"My lady...?"

"Do I have to repeat it?" he roared, making the poor old man almost fall backwards. Reading the prince's emotions, everyone hurriedly left the room. Only Talya dared to enter, to leave the young one-year-old prince in the arms of his father. Daemon pulled Baelon closer to the bed, so he could see the restless infant.

"Your brother," he whispered, kissing him on the head. The boy looked at the baby curiously, caressing his face.

"He looks like you" Alicent whispered, looking at her husband. He laughed.

"A handsome one, then"

She sighed, looking at Baelon and her second son.

"You're not especially in my good side right now, my lord husband," she said, as if she needed to say it.

"When am I?" he joked, though she knew he understood her. He kissed her forehead, caressing her face with a kind of affection that had become habitual in recent months before the incident with the princess. She let him, too weak to resist his touch. And too eager for it, for some reason.

"A name, my lady wife?" he asked. She ran her fingers through the soft, thin platinum-gold hair of her newborn. If Baelon looked like his father, this new boy was Daemon’s twin.

"Aemond," she whispered, looking at him tenderly. Daemon smiled.

"Aemond..." he repeated, looking at their son.

After a long while and with Baelon beginning to yawn noticeably, her husband took the child into his arms.

"I'll leave you to rest," he said, placing their firstborn in the crib that was growing smaller and smaller for him each day, before returning and caressing the head of the baby, who had also fallen fast asleep.

Once the euphoria and pain of childbirth had passed and faced with the prospect of being left alone in her room, images of what had happened throughout the day flooded her mind. Ser Joffrey's glassy, lifeless eyes were one of them.

"No," she said, clinging to his hand. He probably could see the fear in her eyes since he sat down without question.

"Not there," she said, patting the bed. The prince looked doubtful.

"I don't think..." he whispered, looking at her apprehensively, probably afraid of hurting her with some sudden movement.

"You owe me," she told him in an authoritative voice, leaving him little opportunity to refute. He laid down carefully, letting her head rest on his chest while he stroked her hair.

"Do you hate me, Daemon?"

 She took him by surprise. He looked at Alicent's face, but the question seemed to be entirely genuine. She wanted an answer.

"I don't" he said, looking at her, caring her cheek. "At first I thought I did. But not anymore"

Alicent was frozen. She was not expecting Daemon to act that way, in such an... affectionate manner. She read in his face that he was telling the truth. He didn't hate her, nor did he love her. They were in a medium spot, from a long time ago.

"Do you hate me?" he asked her back.

"Your nature has been cruel, and I have hated you at times. But I know deep down you are not so bad. And you can show kindness at times, Daemon. You are not an actual... bastard all the time."

And I can hope... That you can become someone different. If not for me, for our sons.

He held her hand. "I...it was inappropriate. What I did. I made you; the mother of my children look like you were worthless. Now I see it. And I..."

Alicent knew it was the best apology she could get from him. But it was a start.

"Please, Daemon. Let us try. Together. For once"

He knew what she was asking from him. Not affection, or care, or love. Just respect. He could accept it. He must. It was the least she deserved.

"Yes"

In the dark of the night, her husband finally fell asleep. Alicent yet, remained awake. She looked at Daemon with a mix of emotions.

She sighed softly. Her husband had made many things to make her angry, especially the last one. But there was a small...small...feeling. A feeling that she knew had felt for a while, but that she hadn't told Daemon... just because she knew he wouldn't like it. Alicent herself didn't like it. She was not sure, but it felt like something alike...

Love.

But it was a mistake, she knew. His feelings were reserved for another one, he had made her understand a long time ago and more recently. No matter what. Yet, it hurted. Not only in her pride, but deeper. In her soul.

What would be bad with being in love with my own husband?

But I don't think he could love me, even if he tried.

And yet, she couldn't depend on it. Love was something she had never expected from her marriage, and she had no reason to do so now.

 Murders, plots, spies, rumors... things did not bode well for improvement, quite the opposite. To do this they had to remain united, like whatever they were.

So, she clung to her husband and her newborn, and she fell asleep.

Chapter Text

RHAENYRA VI

Rhaenyra shifted in her chair, looking for a more comfortable position so she could continue listening to Ser Tyland Lannister without having to suffer from a strained neck in the process.

She had been leaning against the oak armrest for a long hour now, tired and trying to maintain concentration.

The princess knew this could be far from over.

When she had been her father's cupbearer, there had been meetings that lasted hours and hours. She'd never had to stay in one entirely back then.

But now, it was different.

She had gotten herself into this in the first place.

"If I am to take your seat, teach me how to do it," she had asked her father, shortly after her marriage. The King, of course, had accepted without any complaint and had kept his curiosity to himself.

The idea had come from a conversation with her husband, the day Ser Joffrey Lonmouth had died, almost a year ago. Her father and Lord Corlys had decided to officiate the wedding that same night, with the pool of warm blood still fresh behind them. The couple had been quickly led to their chambers, with no witnesses other than the dark walls and the guards stationed at the door.

Laenor had sat up in bed, a freshly poured glass of wine in his hand. When she had begun to undress, still in an eerie silence, her husband had finally spoken in a hoarse voice.

"Is it your dream to sit on the Iron Throne?"

The question had puzzled her. Frowning, she had turned to see his melancholy face.

"What?"

"Accepting me as a husband was not your wish. None of this. And yet, you have done it. Is your desire for the throne such that you are willing to make this sacrifice?" he had asked again, with the sincerity that only alcohol could give.

"I have paid a very high price for this crown, even if I never wanted it."

A mother. A brother. An uncle. A husband.

The knight had remained silent, staring into the fire in the fireplace. Finally, he had taken another sip of wine.

"The price of that seat of swords is the blood of those we love most," he had whispered, as if he were talking to himself. His face had clouded over with something darker.

"He did it," he had murmured, his eyes fixed on the flames.

"My father. I recognize his work. Even if he would never dare to admit it."

There had been no need to mention Ser Joffrey's name. Rhaenyra had noticed a tear streaking the Driftmark heir's cheek and had felt a foreboding omen in her chest.

"For what purpose?" she had asked, trying to discern the intentions behind such a vile act.

"Remind me of my duty," Laenor had sighed, fixing his eyes on hers. They looked as crystalline and lifeless as his lover's had done on the cold, wet tiles just a few hours before.

"If you are going to be Queen for those, we have lost... then be truly Queen. Not a puppet. Not a mere consort. The one and only legitimate Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. For them."

For them.

And because of that, she had resolved to become the monarch she was destined to be. Attending meetings, listening to advisors, resolving Kingdom affairs… she had begun to learn every aspect she needed to rule. Her affairs of state kept her distracted from more bitter thoughts. And they gave her a purpose.

But it didn't mean that everything had passed without any news. The problems had started that same night.

Laenor had been unable to consummate the marriage, remaining half-drunk with wine and pain, lying on his side of the bed. She had understood it perfectly.

But the days had soon turned into weeks and the weeks into moons.

And her husband still had difficulty fulfilling his duty in the bedroom.

The King had had no objections. Her father had told her at least a dozen times that he was in no hurry to become a grandfather, although it was expected of her one day.

However, His Majesty's patience had not been shared by her in-laws. As far as she knew, Laenor had been interrogated daily by Lord Corlys and even Princess Rhaenys had had uncomfortable conversations with her.

"I had Laenor himself before my nineteenth name day. A perfect age to give birth, if I may say so," her mother-in-law had told her one morning when she had been in a particularly bad mood. Rhaenyra had responded with a sarcastic smile.

"And you had Lady Laena in your twentieth. And then...there were no more offspring. What a shame. I'm sure Lord Corlys would have loved to populate Driftmark with his descendants. Although I understand that there are quite a few lads and maidens with his Velaryon appearance...children of wenches and maids."

Rhaenys hadn't said anything to her after that.

"...Lord Bracken points this out as a serious enough offense to start a brawl against the Blackwoods. If they continue like this, we will have a new conflict in the Riverlands" Ser Tyland finished, causing the princess and probably everyone in the room to resume their composure of apparent interest.

"Blackwood and Bracken will always look for pretexts to spill each other's blood," said Lord Lyonel, sighing wearily.

"Tell them that His Majesty despises senseless conflict," Rhaenyra continued, testing her ground at the council table. Many heads nodded.

"And let them know that there will be a punishment for anyone who challenges the peace of their King," her father finished, getting up from the table.

"Finished?"

They all followed his example, bowing goodbye before leaving the room themselves.

"Princess," said a tall figure who had been stationed outside until then, offering her his arm. Rhaenyra took it, leaning on the black-armored, gold-cloaked knight as they both walked back to her chambers. So much care would not have been necessary, had it not been for her voluminous belly that hurt her and her back, and made her walk stooped when she had no extra help.

And the knight next to her, leafy as an oak, was ideal for the job.

His appointment as her personal guard had been a…turbulent event.

Almost eleven moons ago Ser Steffon Darklyn had suffered an accident while celebrating Baela and Rhaena's first name day. On the second day of tournaments and after having taken down several opponents, he had faced the eldest son of the Hand of the King and heir of Harrenhal, the young knight Ser Harwin Strong.

As a King's Guard and a mature man of thirty-eight years old, Ser Steffon had considered him an easy rival, young and inexperienced. He couldn't have been more wrong.

Rhaenyra had learned shortly after that his fellows from the City Watch nicknamed him "Breakbones."

And maybe Darklyn would have taken him more seriously if he had known that nickname.

The spear had hit the white cloak on his helmet, causing it to get stuck blocking his vision. In a desperate attempt to tear the piece of metal from his face he had used both hands, leaving the horse free to do whatever it wanted. And he, reared perhaps by the sudden movements of the rider had raised on his hind legs, causing the knight to fall heavily to the ground, before one of the animal's legs trampled his leg in his chaotic race to leave the field.

A fracture of both his nose and his leg and part of his arm had been the result. And Ser Steffon was still in bed, healing.

Then a dilemma had arisen. Darklyn had been Alicent's faithful knight since her marriage to Daemon.

And with her uncle's refusal to continue being protected by Hightower guards, her father had been forced to choose someone to replace him in his duties.

Everyone had been surprised by who had volunteered.

Rhaenyra had seen Ser Criston Cole kneel and swear allegiance to Lady Alicent Hightower the next morning, before the eyes of men and gods. And she had escaped before anyone saw in her wet eyes the proof that she cared more than she would have liked.

The desire for revenge had appeared in her heart once again. Having lost the only person he trusted, her uncle, her own family and perfect life at the hands of Alicent.

Ser Steffon Darklyn was appreciated by the lady. Alicent had been especially distressed by the knight's fate, dedicating some prayers to him in the Sept.

So, when her father had asked her who she would like to have as her new sworn shield, the name had been almost obvious.

That of the executioner.

"Ser Harwin Strong"

And so, Daemon's second-in-command in the City Watch had become her protector.

And something else.

The first time she hadn't expected it. In reality, she had paid little attention to the robust knight who followed her like her shadow, more driven by the desire of knowing the reactions around her to the new appointment than his.

After what happened with Ser Criston, she had had no interest in developing a bond with Ser Harwin. The young man, kind and polite, had resigned himself to her coldness, without losing his composure for a moment.

Until that night.

It had started out as a bad evening. The presence of Alicent, so graceful in appearance that few would have guessed that she had given birth to two offspring, had ruined her dinner almost immediately. It hadn't helped that her uncle was hanging around, with their oldest son running around the table and their youngest in his arms.

 Rhaenyra had known that, although they were not yet reconciled, it would not take long for Alicent to accept him back into her bed.

Of course, her uncle still gave her longing glances from time to time. There was a fire that would never fade between them. But Daemon had made his position clear.

There would be no more dishonors. He would play with the cards he had. And if it meant remaining tied to the one who was his legitimate wife, he would do it.

No matter how much they wanted each other.

After a while, the bitterness had been too much to bear. Without Laenor present, there hadn't even been a point in pretending.

She had stepped out, wanting to feel something other than the tense atmosphere. In her trance, she had forgotten the presence of her new bodyguard.

A strong hand had held her shoulder and brown eyes had locked onto hers.

"Are you okay Princess?" the man had asked, his voice concerned. In the torchlight, his brown curls fell across his forehead.

For a moment, both of them had stood still, dangerously inches away from each other...

Solitude transforms us into different people. Do things we wouldn't do under other circumstances.

His lips had wrapped around hers before she even realized it. She had let herself go, kissing him back for a few seconds... until she had remembered where she was. Who was she. And who was he.

She had pushed him away, fleeing back into the chamber and locking himself inside it.

No. He hadn't been Cole, shy, soft and gentle. Nor had been Daemon, fiery, aggressive, and wild.

Harwin had been a middle ground, with as much passion and hunger for her as devotion. The touch of his lips had felt like a breath of fresh air.

And I was suffocating.

But it hadn't been good. The regret had been instantaneous.

It had never crossed her mind to be unfaithful to her husband, even when she had his permission to do so.

Criston could have been the exception, but he had been ruled out. And no one besides Daemon had awakened her affection, nor her desire.

Rhaenyra had promised herself it wouldn't happen again.

She had failed.

The second time had been less eventful. She had had a talk with Laenor that same morning. He had had the same air of melancholy and loss that he had maintained since their wedding.

"It is not my wish to condemn you to the same affliction that I possess," young Velaryon had told her, stroking her back in a friendly gesture.

"You don't need to be alone."

So that afternoon, having once again felt the cold pang of her isolation and abandonment, she had followed her impulses.

The princess had been the one to start the kiss, when the knight was walking her back to her room in the Red Keep after a ride on Syrax. And he had responded with a similar longing.

No. He isn't Daemon. He will never be Daemon. But right now, he may be exactly what I need.

Ser Harwin had been…special. Affectionate. Passionate. He had been able to fill the void in her chest, even if the effect was short-lived. The first to make her feel less alone.

So, having been wrapped in her blankets, with his hands caressing her back and the touch of his lips still fresh on her skin, she had not been able to find a single reason to regret it.

At least not at that moment.

Laenor had been able to consummate the act that night. And when her womb had begun to grow, she had been convinced that it was her husband's seed that was lodged into her. The rightful blood of the Velaryon.

Corlys and Rhaenys had been delighted. Laena, little less, but happy for her brother. And she had kept the secret to herself, praying to the gods that it would never have to be revealed.

"For the love of the Seven" the male voice brought her back to reality. She looked at Ser Harwin strangely as he charged towards her chambers. Only then did she seem to notice the slight dripping on her leg, mixed with light stains of blood.

Chaos invaded her room, like a furious whirlwind. A thousand and one people passed by her bed, hurried and panicked. And she continued, with increasingly violent contractions that seemed to tear her insides.

Not like my mother. Please, not like her. I don't want to leave like her.

But her panic was unfounded.

Finally, the final push brought the new prince into the world.

The baby, plump and energetic, had a wide nose, a mop of brown hair and those eyes...brown eyes.

Laenor hurried in, expectant. His eyes widened slightly in surprise as they stepped on the boy. In his appearance.

"Jacaerys Velaryon. Our firstborn son," she told him, trying to cut the sudden tension.

Her husband took the child into his arms. The sincere smile that appeared on his face soon after dispelled her worries almost immediately, as did his words.

"Our son, Jace. The future King of the Seven Kingdoms."

As if he didn't have the name Strong etched all over his face. Laenor is a good man.

The door opened loudly. Her father entered, so pale that he seemed on the verge of fainting, followed by his wife. He seemed a little too relieved when he saw her conscious and seemingly fine.

"My little girl," he whispered as he kissed her forehead. He fiddled with the boy for a few moments, not seeming too concerned with how he looked.

"He seems healthy" was the only comment the Queen made to her personally. Still, she could hear her whisper in her brother's ear.

"Father will be furious about this."

Boots clicked again this time indicating the presence of the rest of the Velaryon. Lord Corlys entered with a huge, proud smile on his lips, which faded almost as quickly as he saw the boy. Rhaenys took his arm, squeezing it apprehensively.

"He is..." she began to say, searching for the appropriate words. Laenor stepped forward, placing himself between his parents and her bed.

"My son. Your grandson"

"Of course," Rhaenys completed, trying to hide her husband's fury.

"He won't forgive you for this," she said to her husband, once everyone had left the room, leaving them alone. He didn't seem particularly concerned by her statement, caressing the newborn's face.

"Nor am I looking for him to do it. I knew what would happen with this engagement. I warned him. Now he has his heir" he answered simply, looking at the baby tenderly.

Rhaenyra swallowed nervously. For some reason, she felt like she owed him an explanation.

"I..." she began, but she was unable to continue, not finding the right words. Laenor looked at her with compassion.

"If he makes you happy, Rhae..." he whispered quietly. The princess shook her head.

"I don't know," she murmured unsurely. He placed a kiss on her forehead.

"You don't need to know now."

Having made sure a dozen times that they needed nothing else, Laenor left the room.

After a couple of minutes, the sound of creaking wood opening again denoted the presence of a new guest.

But this time it was not her father, nor her in-laws, nor her husband,

Ser Harwin Strong walked with unsteady steps towards the bed.

"I... Ser Laenor said...I can leave if you wish, princess" he began as he noticed her questioning gaze. Knowing that he had her husband's expressed permission relieved some of the tension in her body.

"Come closer, Ser," she told him, gesturing to him. The knight crouched down, looking at the little boy. A miniature version of him.

"He's..." he said, looking at the small lump on her chest.

"Jacaerys Velaryon," she answered with a nod, lifting him up so he could get a better look at him.

Ser Harwin kissed his small hand, clenched into a fist.

"He is beautiful. Perfect"

Rhaenyra looked at the child in her arms. He was nowhere near the platinum-gold haired prince she had always dreamed of having. And yet, he was hers. Product of the closest thing she had had to affection in recent moons. From the only man who had brought credible relief from hell.

"Do you want to carry him, Ser?" she asked suddenly. Harwin looked surprised.

"Princess, I..." he hesitated, nervously. She smiled reassuringly.

"He will be King one day. You should get used to taking care of him."

And a father should be able to hold his child in his arms.

The knight nodded, relenting.

"Of course," he said, taking the little body so delicately that anyone would have thought her firstborn was made of glass. Jacaerys reached out his little hand, wrapping it around Ser Harwin's finger and squeezing it tightly.

"He seems to like me," he said with a smile. Rhaenyra nodded, amused.

"It seems to be in the family."

As sthe princess watched Ser Harwin Strong carry her son, a thousand and one words ran through her head.

Bastard. Illegitimate. Worthless. They will call him that. But he has the blood of the dragon. My blood. He is a Targaryen, and the Throne belongs to our House. Not House Velaryon.

Oh, Corlys would probably be the picture of frustration. But what else was left? She had tried with Laenor dozens of times. And this was her only chance to get some of the happiness she had always wanted.

So, when Jacaerys was back in his crib, sleeping a peaceful sleep, she knew she couldn’t lie to herself again.

She would do it again.

Chapter Text

LAENA III

Queen Laena Velaryon sat in front of the window, where the sun's rays made the room warm and cozy. Beside her, the figure of her eldest daughter settled against her shoulder, as she recited passages in Valyrian. At her feet, her youngest played with a hair ornament, a gift from her half-sister.

Laena smiled, stroking Baela's soft hair, and combing it through her fingers.

"Do you think Rhaenyra will be okay?" Rhaena asked as she looked up. Her mother frowned slightly.

The princess had gone into labor before dawn. Having had two offspring without any difficulty, no one expected the third to be a big problem. However, the entire Court was worried every time a woman conceived in the Red Keep, as if Aemma's shadow still reigned over the castle.

Nobody knew it better than her. It was common for her to wake up almost every night with horrible nightmares about being cut in half. The reason? It was visible on her belly.

Who could have said that my husband could still do it?

While in the last decade she could count the times Viserys had visited her bed with her hands, it had been more than surprising that her husband had accomplished his feat after so long. And alarming. She didn't forget how she had almost died the night of Baela and Rhaena's birth.

But it seems he has. How convenient.Soon I will find myself in the princess's place and share her happiness and good luck, if the gods are kind to me.

"I think she will be. Rhaenyra is a strong, young, healthy woman. Jace and Luke didn't give her too much trouble, so why would this one do?" she whispered lovingly. Rhaena seemed reassured by her response. Baela, not so much.

"Uncle Laenor seemed worried," she said, looking up from the pages of her book.

Laenor is always worried.

Her brother had had conflicts in recent years, although nothing that was irremediable. After Joffrey's death, he had been devastated, so much so that there were times when the gold cloaks used to go to take him out of seedy bars on orders from his father. But his attitude had changed with the birth of Jacaerys.

The baby seemed to have brought back his will to live. Soon, he was back riding Seasmoke, training with the squires, returning to the lively young man he had always been.

He had even found a new favorite, Ser Quarl Correy, a spendthrift and partying small-time knight.

But where many had seen the future King Consort's return to life, she had seen something else. Something had changed in her brother, something in the depths of his being. Whatever it was, she knew that Laenor hid his agony behind parties and excesses. Furthermore, he seemed to purposely avoid becoming too attached to his new lover.

As if he was afraid that our father would tear a part of him away again.

There was a wound in his heart. One soothed by love for Jacaerys and Lucerys, Rhaenyra's children who he seemed to love as deeply as if they were his own, despite the boys' peculiar appearance and the unpleasant rumors at court. Confronting their father in the process.

Lord Corlys had not been happy with the birth of the first Strong child. Degrading words, insults and threats had been uttered against her older brother, without her being able to do much to prevent it.

They hadn't spoken for moons. In the end, her father had been giving in little by little, especially after the arrival in the world of Lucerys Velaryon, who would be his own heir.

The prince was as lively as he was gentle and charming. And he had won the hearts of dozens.

"History does not remember blood. It remembers names," Laenor had told his mother that night, after his father had refused to receive him. And after a couple of years, the Seasnake had seemed resigned to the fact that he would not have legitimate grandchildren.

We play with the cards we have.

The door creaked open and her husband entered, pale and sweaty. Time had not been kind to Viserys Targaryen.

Only a few strands of what had been long hair remained on his head. His thin face was now almost cadaverous. And on his right hand, only one surviving finger remained. Not to mention the sores on his back, which seemed to consume his flesh at a dangerously fast rate.

"Rhaenyra is still in labor," the King said simply, looking especially stressed. As his agitation didn't seem to help his already frail appearance, Laena stood up, leaving Baela and Rhaena and took Viserys's arm, helping him to get to a chair.

"You should sit down, my lord husband," she told him simply, before pouring a glass of wine and offering it to him. Viserys appreciated the gesture by drinking the liquid abundantly with such haste that she thought he would drown.

Laena saw Baela stand up, the book closed in her hands, and stand tentatively in front of the King, looking nervous.

"Father, did I tell you that I have made progress in my Valyrian lessons? I can now say several words without stuttering. And read the first passages of the Conquest..."

Laena did her best to hold back the lump in her throat. Baela and Rhaena always did that, strutting and sometimes competing for their father's attention. And while no one could deny that Viserys loved his two youngest daughters, the affection and attention towards them was far less than what one would expect from a father towards his children.

Maybe it was the age. Perhaps the mysterious illness that afflicted him. But His Majesty had always had only one favorite. His eldest daughter.

Rhaenyra was a good sister. She used to take Baela and Rhaena on Syrax rides, bring them gifts, spend time with them, listen to them, let them play with her own children. She had sung them lullabies when they were babies, brushed their hair, taught them to ride a horse. She had been, along with Laena, a pillar of consolation, when Rhaena's egg had not hatched, while Baela's had given her little green dragon Moondancer.

But the affection of a sister will never be that of a father.

She knew that the offspring in her womb would share the same fate if she were a girl.

And if he were a boy...

No.

She didn't even want to imagine that.

They had fought too hard for peace, for her father to accept Laenor's heirs as the future of House Velaryon. It had served so that Baela and Rhaena could grow up in peace, away from the pressures of their inheritance.

But if she had a son...

He would belong to the Kingdom. To my husband. To my father. Not to me.

"...Lady Alicent said she would convince my uncle Daemon to lend me another of his books. She says he has tomes taken from Valyria itself before the Doom. A very valuable collection," Baela completed, looking at her father with expectant eyes. .

"Daemon is jealous of his possessions. But, if there is anyone capable of changing his mind, it is his wife. I have seen Alicent convince him of things that I never thought he would do of his own free will," said her husband, shrinking of his shoulders.

Laena found no objections to his response. Although the marriage between the Rogue Prince and the daughter of Ser Otto Hightower seemed to be turbulent at times, the tenacity of both had not failed to impress anyone.

If anyone doubted the compatibility between them, they only had to look at their four offspring, Baelon, Aemond, Helaena and Daeron.

Among them Helaena, the only girl, had been born a fragile and weak little thing, which had left Alicent extremely weakened. And although a couple of years later the gods had blessed them again with the birth of their youngest son, the prince and the lady had reached a mutual agreement to stop at the four, even when another pregnancy could have passed without major misfortunes.

We must not forget that Alyssa Targaryen died for trying to give her husband a third child. And who can blame Daemon for trying to spare his mother's fate from his wife?

Seemingly satisfied at having received a response from her father and therefore his attention, Baela smiled, returning to the window and her reading.

A couple of hours passed, until two loud knocks on the door made the four of them stand up, attentive. The guard opened it, letting her brother pass.

Laenor looked bad. His image was extremely pale, tired and nervous. He used to be like this at births, but it had always gone away as soon as he had the child in his arms. However, the restless baby he was carrying seemed to do little to improve his mood.

That made her nervous.

"Your grandson, Your Majesty," he said hoarsely. Viserys seemed to ignore any signs of discomfort in his son-in-law, focusing his attention on the little prince.

"Another boy!" he said happily, rocking him in his arms.

"A miracle from the gods," Laena murmured, kissing her brother's cheek. He lowered his gaze from her, fixing it on the floor.

"Is my daughter okay?" the King asked, apparently finally noticing the young man's discomfort. She saw Laenor force a fake smile.

"My lady wife rests in her chambers. She asked me, however, that I presented the child before you, Your Majesty. She desired the blessing of her father."

Viserys seemed not to doubt his words. He continued playing with the little boy and caressing his cheek.

"He will be a great knight someday," he whispered over and over again.

Laena noticed Laenor's gaze again and the panic in him. It made her stomach turn.

"Does he have a name?" she asked him, trying to diffuse the tension, help him relax, anything.

"Joffrey. Joffrey Velaryon," he whispered, looking apprehensively at the King, who still held him lovingly.

Carefully, Laena excused, taking the child to see for herself.

What she observed left her speechless.

The child looked nothing like his siblings when they were born. She had expected a robust boy with brown hair and eyes. Instead, she had found a baby with tan skin, a mop of platinum hair, and blue eyes that could only belong to her brother.

A son of Driftmark, through and through.

For the love of the gods Laenor. What have you done?

She knew then what she was holding in her arms. The reason for her brother's stress.

A legitimate heir to House Velaryon.

"How the fuck did this happen?" she asked in a whisper in the hallway, having left Viserys enjoying Joffrey's company with Baela and Rhaena competing to hold the newborn.

"On the visit to Driftmark. Father asked if we were still trying. And then he hinted that I should sleep with my wife, as I was supposed to. I was drunk and he seemed willing to enter our chambers to see if I... so I did it." Laenor replied timidly, looking embarrassed and worried.

"That was irresponsible and stupid."

"It never worked before! How the hell was I supposed to know that this time...?" Laenor sighed running his hands through his hair. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

"Besides, Father has already accepted my children. Jace as the future crown prince and Luke as the heir of Driftmark..." he continued, trying to convince himself. She shook her head.

"Father accepted the Strong boys because he had no better option. With a son of your seed, a true and legitimate Velaryon... If you think he won't do anything now..."

Laena couldn't finish the sentence. The possibilities were endless. There were a thousand and one ways this could go terribly wrong. Laenor rested his hand on her shoulder.

"He will not do it. They are children of the crown princess. Next in line of succession"

What will stop him from doing it? Who will stop him? The only thing that can save them is their birth position.

"Pray to the gods for you to be right, Laenor. I will pray for it myself" she told her brother.

Her hand caressed his face for a moment reassuringly, as her tone became softer.

"You should sleep. Who is with the princess?"

Her brother seemed less tense at the touch of her fingers, closing his eyes.

"Ser Harwin Strong"

Laena resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She carefully arranged her brother's baggy suit.

"He must have been disappointed," she commented, trying not to sound too sharp. Laenor sighed.

"Surprised. Like everyone else"

"I imagine"

Two small voices interrupted the conversation and two figures ran through the hallways, stumbling and shoving.

"Oh gods," Laenor whispered, turning just to see Jace and Luke storm into the Queen's room like two little hurricanes. She and her brother stared at each other for a few seconds, before returning to the chambers.

Upon entering, they found the King surrounded by two boys with a little too much energy and thousands of questions.

"Is it him? He looks very small"

"He looks a lot like dad"

"Grandpa, why does he make those weird noises?"

Laenor cleared his throat loudly, making the children aware of his presence. They both abandoned their questioning to His Majesty and instead hovered around him.

"What is his name?"

"Can I carry him father?"

It was almost amusing to see Laenor surrounded on both sides. Her brother put on his most serious face.

"No Luke. How did you abandon your training anyway?"

Jace did not hesitate to answer.

"Ser Criston is not especially attentive to us. We escaped and came here," the little prince said simply. Laenor shook his head.

"Your mother..." he said tentatively. Jace immediately shook his head vigorously.

"She doesn't know we're here. You won't tell her, will you? Dad?" the kid responded so eloquently that even Laena couldn't help but crack a smile. Laenor stroked the boy's head, trying to hide his amusement.

"Not if you come back right now"

She watched both boys' faces lose their shine and turn into pouts.

"But we want to..." Luke started, making puppy dog eyes. Laenor did his best to avoid giving in.

"Ser Cole must already be looking for you both. It must be horrible to lose two princes of the Realm. Let's go back," he told them, taking them both by the hands. Viserys gave his son-in-law a slight nod of approval, before continuing on his admiration for Joffrey. With that implicit permission, her brother left the place followed by the pair of infants.

Baela and Rhaena soon abandoned their interest in the baby and went back to doing their things. Her husband remained seated, falling asleep, still holding Joffrey in his hands.

"Do you think I'll be able to go see Moondancer at the Dragonpit this afternoon, mother?" Baela asked, snapping her out of her sort of trance. She looked at her eldest daughter with a mix of apprehension and pride.

Beside her, Rhaena seemed to grow tiny.

She hated that, her poor daughter without her dragon, feeling miserable. Rhaenyra's two children had one each, hatchlings. Of the children of Daemon and Alicent, only Aemond remained solitary. Laena knew that both kids were isolated, even unintentionally. It was inevitable.

After all, what's a Targaryen without a dragon?

"You can't go alone" she answered Baela's question, making her frown.

"I will not be alone. Baelon, Aemond, Jacaerys and Lucerys will go to see their own" her eldest daughter replied, with her arms crossed. Laena sighed, sitting up and lovingly caressing her belly.

"Rhaena?" she asked softly, looking at her youngest daughter. The girl shook her head, doing her best to avoid her mother's gaze.

"I... I have to continue some studies with my Septa. And Lady Alicent said that Princess Helaena and I could..." she hesitated, looking out the window, towards the sky, with eyes that could only be longing. It broke her heart.

"I'll stay here. If Baela wants to go..."

"Of course I want to go. I haven't seen Moondancer in almost half a moon," Baela interrupted, looking at her mother questioningly.

"May Ser Harrold accompany you then, when it is time," the Queen relented, leaning in her seat.

She could see the blue eyes of her legitimate nephew boring into hers and a shiver ran down her spine. She had a feeling. A horrible one.

War.

But she tried to put it out of her mind. Maybe Laenor was right. Maybe Corlys, after so much time, would settle for Jace and Luke, not born of his blood but with his name.

Why settle for a Strong boy when he can have his rightful blood on the Throne?

But what could her father do? The princes were grandchildren of the King. Any damage to them would cost him his head.

That calmed her much more than she would have thought.

Ser Joffrey, he had been an exception. With no family for him to claim for his murder, with no one in an important position to make a voice calling for justice.

But her nephews, the Velaryon princes, had it. Their mother, their father, her husband, Ser Harwin Strong...

It was enough.

It had to be enough.

She prayed it was true.

But the gods did not hear her.

Chapter Text

AEMOND I

Aemond moved around the training field, carrying his wooden sword in one hand under the meticulous gaze of Ser Criston Cole.

The young prince was nine years old, but he acted like someone much older than that. Despite his young age, he displayed an impeccable skill.

From one side of the courtyard, Prince Daemon stood, watching him and his brother with interest.

Aemond did not seem to notice his father's gaze, instead he focused entirely on the wooden sword in his hands. When his practice shots landed, he moved with agility and precision, his eyes always on his targets.

That focus on his task caused him not to notice that Ser Criston had been away for a while. His older brother looked at him with a curious gaze, as he swung his practice sword at him.

While Baelon's blow wasn't particularly strong, Aemond was caught off guard enough to almost fall to the ground. Still, he remained calm as he turned, raising his sword to meet Baelon's. He parried and responded; with his footwork impeccable.

As Baelon advanced, Aemond gave ground, but only enough for his brother to spread out. As soon as he did so, Aemond launched the counterattack, pushing Baelon back. He pressured his older brother, never giving him a chance to attack before having to retreat again.

Baelon was stronger, but Aemond was faster, and it showed in the training yard. He avoided his brother's blows with relative ease, always making sure to take advantage over him whenever he found an opening. As Baelon continued to fight, his stamina seemed to wear out and he soon began to breathe heavily.

"Enough!" Cole's voice echoed through the training yard.

Aemond stepped away from Baelon and lowered the wooden sword in his hands. He was clearly tired, but the satisfaction of defeating his older brother was evident. The knight's voice seemed to wake Baelon as well, and he lowered his sword with a deep sigh.

Ser Criston returned with the two Velaryon boys in each hand, gently nudging them to resume their activities, while he shot them both a reprimanding look.

"I am sure, my princes, that I did not give you the order or permission to fight among yourselves."

As if we needed any of them.

Aemond seemed unbothered by Ser Criston's chiding, but he nodded nonetheless. 

"Yes, Ser. It won't happen again" he said, turning to look at Baelon, not bothering to hide his smirk.

Baelon stayed silent, his expression sheepish. He looked down for a moment, avoiding Ser Cole's gaze.

 "I know, Ser. It won't happen again" he finally said, his voice apologetic.

"I'll handle it, Cole" Daemon's voice resonated behind them. The knight couldn't hide enough his annoyance, but he gave the Rogue Prince a respectful nod.

Both princes looked up at their father, their cheeks still rosy from their exercise in the training yard. Their attitude quickly faded, however, as they grew serious at the sound of Daemon's tone.

Aemond and Baelon shared a look but obeyed their father. They moved closer to Daemon, looking up at him with concern.

"We didn't mean to..." Baelon said at once. "We just got carried away."

As Baelon finished, Aemond chimed in. 

"Sorry, Father" he said, sounding much less like he meant it than his brother.

"Brother against brother, are you Maegor and Aenys? I won't support you both beating each other as if you didn't share the same blood" Daemon said with a rigid tone.

"It won't happen again" Baelon said with clear disappointment in himself.

Aemond, meanwhile, only seemed annoyed at his father's words. 

"Baelon started it" he said simply, without any hint of remorse.

"Come closer. Both of you" Daemon sighed, undoing his belt as he put his blade on his hands.

Both princes seemed to perk up at the sight their father's sword. 

"Do you know what this is?" he asked both of them.

Baelon nodded. 

"Darksister" he said confidently. "The sword that belonged to King Jaehaerys and Queen Visenya."

And King Maegor. Why is everyone else, except my father, afraid to say his name?

"Blackfyre is a hereditary sword, passed from king to king. Darksister is not. It is only carried by those worthy enough to obtain it. That is why Visenya gave it to Maegor instead of Aenys. Why Jaehaerys took it and he gave it to me. If there is no warrior in a generation worthy enough to bear it, it remains with its true master. It is not a sword to give away so easily."

Aemond's gaze returned to his father's face, with the understanding of what he had just said beginning to set in.

Baelon's eyes also turned to Daemon, eyebrows raised as he tried to discern the purpose of his father's words. But, at a loss, he simply stood still, waiting for him to continue.

"If any of you think that just because you share my blood and my name, you have some kind of advantage to take it, you're both terribly wrong. Right now, I'd rather wait for Daeron. Or my grandchildren. It doesn't matter. Neither of you have proven yourselves as worthy enough to even caress it's pommel."

"Yes father" Baelon responded simply, with a resigned tone.

"Yes father" Aemond repeated as simply, though his tone was more frustrated than Baelon's.

It had not occurred to him that the sword would be given to his younger brother or a stranger. His face turned red with anger.

"Go back to your training, Baelon," his father said in an authoritative voice.

Baelon nodded solemnly and began to enter the training yard, with his head bowed. He paused as if to say something to his younger brother, but he decided against it and continued walking.

Once Baelon was gone, only Aemond and Daemon were left.

The young prince was seething, but at least he had enough self-control not to speak rashly. He stood tall, looking at Daemon with a mixture of defiance and anger.

"You don't look repent of your actions a single bit" his father said, analyzing him.

"Why should I be?" Aemond answered back with a more defiant tone than he would have wished to use. But he couldn't help it. He was feeling so... frustrated.

Surprisingly, his father's lips curved in a smile. Daemon gave him a light palm on his back looking...proud?

"You're chaotic and restless. Good qualities if you learn how to use them correctly" he said, in what seemed like a congratulation.

The slightest hint of a smile appeared on Aemond's face at his father's words. He wanted so badly to show how much he was like him, and the fact that Daemon noticed made him happy. 

This is why he says this words to me. He is trying to see how I react.

"I will learn, Father." Aemond said, trying to contain his own temper.

 I am truly his son.

"You're better than him with the sword" his father highlighted after a moment of silence.

Aemond stilled for a moment, surprised at the praise from his father. He couldn't remember the last time Daemon had complimented his skills.

"He's stronger than me, though." Aemond pointed out.

Daemon didn't seem to care.

"But you are quicker." 

The boy's own smile turned into a wide grin.

"Thank you, Father."

"If he makes fun of you again, you can knock him out. Just make it look like an accident. And don't tell your mother. Now, come back," his father whispered.

Aemond thought about the way Baelon teased him sometimes, and the prospect of knocking him out in the training yard felt so sweet. He wanted to thank his father right away, but he held his tongue. He wasn't done playing the obedient son yet.

"Father," he bowed respectfully to Prince Rogue before returning to his training. Once his face was out of her father's gaze, he finally allowed himself to smile slightly in satisfaction.

The morning gave way to the afternoon. Baela joined the small group, as they walked towards the place they had to visit.

As Aemond followed the group to the Dragonpit, the sadness and bitterness within him were impossible to hide. Seeing all the dragons, each one belonging to someone else, left him feeling somewhat empty.

He had dreamed of the moment when he would finally claim his own, but he had been waiting since he was a child and nothing had happened yet. He knew he might still make it, but he also knew he might not.

After a while, when Baela, Baelon and Lucerys had already fed theirs, his eldest nephew stepped forward at his dragon, Vermax.

"Dohaeras, Vermax," the boy said in an energetic voice, causing the dragon to stop walking towards him, apparently following his instruction.

Aemond watched Jacaerys from the sidelines. He felt some sense of shame when seeing his nephew, a boy of seven, claiming and taming a dragon while he was a prince of nine without one.

Each of his brothers had his own beast. Baelon to Sunfyre, the most beautiful dragon that had ever been seen hatched from the egg in his cradle. Helaena had claimed Dreamfyre at her seventh, although she had not been able to ride it yet, with their mother fearing the enormous beast could easily escape the girl's control, as Balerion the Black had done with Aerea Targaryen.

And Daeron...gods, even Daeron who was nothing more than a brat had Tessarion, a beautiful female who grew bigger and bigger every day.

But he had remained alone.

The egg in his crib had never hatched. And he had been unable to form any bond with any adult dragon.

His father had tried, carrying him throughout the Dragonpit and to Dragonstone, looking for the one who would be his mount.

Young nameless dragons, Silverwing, Vermithor, the wandering dragons of Dragonmount...he had not been able to get closer to them than a few meters before they lunged savagely at him in rejection. Last time, he would have been burned to death if Caraxes hadn't stood between him and the gray dragon the guardians nicknamed "Grey Ghost."

In the end, there was no dragon left in the world that he hadn't tried to claim.

And his patience had worn thin.

Finally the exhibition was over. Baela left the place escorted by Ser Harrold and the rest also prepared to leave. That was before Lucerys tugged insistently at his tunic.

"We have a gift for you," his youngest nephew told him, with an insistent voice. Jace gave a mischievous smile and Baelon a nervous look.

"No" he heard his older brother whisper in the Prince Velaryon's ear, but he seemed to pay little attention to him.

"Exactly what?" Aemond asked cautiously, carefully analyzing each one's gestures.

"A dragon!" Luke exclaimed with a hint of excitement, walking down the small ramp.

Aemond's face lit up the moment Lucerys spoke.

Is this really happening?

"You did?" Aemond asked, trying to keep his excitement in check. "Where?"

"Let's go back to the Red Keep," Baelon whispered, trying to pull him out of the Dragonpit with him while Lucerys was gone.

Aemond tried to get away from his attempts but failed. It was clear that his older brother wanted to steal his chance to claim a dragon and the Prince wasn't having it.

"No! I want to find a dragon for myself," he said firmly, trying to stay where he was.

Baelon looked ready to argue with his younger brother, but he seemed to realize that it would cause a scene in the Dragonpit and abandoned the fight.

"Very well," he said with annoyance.

A noise was heard from the deep well. Lucerys appeared, pulling a fat, haireless figure with a rope.

"What is this?" Aemond asked, looking at the creature. "Where is my dragon?"

Jacaerys remained silent, like Baelon, with their attention on the unfolding scene. Luke let out a laugh.

"Here is Balerion. The Pink Terror"

Both brothers burst into laughter, while Baelon looked embarrassed.

Aemond looked at the winged pig. At first he was confused, but his face quickly turned to anger.

"That's not a dragon, that's a pig!" he said, trying his best not to scream. He knew they were mocking him, laughing at the idea that he was so desperate for his own dragon that a flying pig would seem...accurate. 

Balerion the Pink Terror... 

Aemond felt himself turn red with embarrassment.

"You'll hear me!" he roared, lunging at his nephews with clenched fists. Baelon in one swift motion wrapped his arms around him as he dragged him away, still hearing the pig's noises and feeling his own hot tears on his cheeks.

Once they were outside and had calmed down, Aemond turned to Baelon, his eyes still wide with embarrassment.

"You knew it," he whispered, still angry. Baelon swallowed nervously.

"I did. But I regretted it at the last minute. It wasn't fair to you. I'm sorry."

I will be the target of ridicule for the rest of my life if I don't find a dragon for myself.

Aemond nodded at Baelon's apology, even though his desire was still to punch him in the face.

"I should have listened to you," he admitted quietly to Baelon.

"It's okay," his brother said, looking towards Dragonpit "I'm the oldest. I'm supposed to avoid things like this."

"Do you think they'll keep making fun of me for the rest of my life because of that pig?" Aemond asked. Baelon's look told him everything.

"I suppose so," the young prince said flatly, although he could not deny the disappointment he felt.

"What are my chances of claiming a dragon like the rest, Baelon?" Aemond finally had to ask

"Are they good? Bad?"

He wanted a dragon... more than anything. And if he wasn't going to get one, he wanted to know in advance. Better than living with false hopes for the rest of his life.

"Brother...father tried everything. Every dragon. You know that..." Baelon left the sentence unfinished.

Aemond let out a dejected sigh. He already knew everything Baelon had told him, but hearing those words was like receiving a bucket of cold water.

"I...I guess I just wanted to have a chance" he said, his voice calm. 

"I wanted to claim a dragon. I wanted to be important. I wanted to make a name for myself."

"You don't need a dragon to do that. There have been many warriors whose names remain to this day, just because of the skill of their sword. And you have it. I'm proud, but I have to admit it. You will be better than Ser Criston, sooner or later." 

His older brother's words were comforting, even if they weren't what he wanted to hear. Aemond was a good warrior, he knew that too. But that wasn't what he wanted to be known for. He wanted to be a dragon rider, just like his father. Like them.

"I know. But I want to be more." Aemond couldn't hide his disappointment.

"Don't lose hope. I heard Syrax had another clutch. Father will get you one egg more. And if not, one of the hatchlings," Baelon said stroking his hair, trying to cheer him up.

Aemond's shoulders fell as he heard his words. Time would tell... That was true, but the wait was painful. The prospect of spending decades without a dragon, always looking to the sky for one that might never come, was more than he wanted to face.

But what other option do I have?

They spent a while, fooling around the gardens, running around, and pretending to fight with each other.

When the first tints of night darkened the sky, they decided it was time to return.

Tired and dirty Aemond and Baelon entered their mother's chambers.

Helaena was sitting on the bed, playing with a beetle in her hand. She didn't seem to pay them much attention, even though they both greeted her cordially, accustomed to certain... eccentricities of their sister.

"Did you get in trouble with the Velaryon children again?" Alicent suddenly asked from the other corner of the room.

They looked at her with a nervous expression on their faces.

"Well...yes, mother." Aemond said quietly.

"We fought with them, yes." Baelon said in a similar tone, trying to keep his voice calm.

The brothers exchanged a look, deciding which of them would explain the situation.

"Jacaerys and Lucerys were making fun of me because I haven't claimed a dragon yet." Aemond said, feeling the disappointment again.

Baelon seemed surprised at the obvious dismission of his own guilt in his brother's version, but nodded at Aemond's explanation.

 "They gave him a flying pig while we were in the Dragonpit and claimed it was a dragon." 

"Ser Laenor came with them to apologize. But they said you tried to hit them. And your brother had to drag you out of there," Alicent continued. She locked her gaze on him. 

"Baelon, ask the maids to prepare your shower."

"But mother..." Baelon tried to say, as the prospect of leaving him alone in this made him feel guilty. He sighed in defeat when the lady didn't change her mind.

Aemond watched his older brother leave with a slightly worried expression. He wondered what punishment Baelon would receive later. But now he was more worried about himself.

As Baelon left the room, Aemond looked at his mother. 

"What will you do with me?" he asked, his tone almost afraid of another sudden rebuke.

"You shouldn't let those insults enter your mind," she said, her tone gentler.

"They keep making fun of me, mother" he said quietly, his shoulders drooping as he looked at her with sadness in his eyes. 

"It hurts."

"You will claim a dragon," his mother said, caressing his cheek.

 "And if not, it does not matter. You are Aemond Targaryen, son of the Prince Daemon Targaryen. And my son."

Aemond nodded, but he wanted to disagree with her. He felt incomplete. The lack of a dragon made him feel like something was still missing in his life.

"What if I don't? What if I never claim one?" the prince asked, looking at his mother. 

So what will it matter that I'm his son? Will he want everyone to know it if I only bring him shame?

As the question left his mouth, his eyes widened. He hadn't wanted to say it because it wasn't what his mother wanted to hear. But that was how he really felt.

"Your father has put too much pressure on you," she said with slight irritation. 

"You know he has traditional ideas. Not having a dragon doesn't make you any less Targaryen than your brothers and sisters."

"But I would never be their equal" Aemond said flatly. 

"Aemond Targaryen, son of Daemon... Dragonless" he said the last part bitterly.

The young prince knew that what he said was wrong, but he couldn't help it. The words simply flowed out of him as his feelings of anger and jealousy took over.

"You make him proud. And me," he said as he hugged him tightly. "Even when sometimes he doesn't show it."

Aemond was surprised by the way his mother hugged him. Suddenly, the emotions he had been suppressing inside of him began to come pouring out. He let the words spill out and tears began to sting his eyes.

"I know that claiming a dragon is important to him. I know that I am not living up to what he expects, what he wants. I don't want to be the son who failed his father. I don't want to. I will have to live in his shadow forever" he was rambling now.

"You will. You just need time. You're young," she whispered in a soothing voice.

Aemond nodded into her shoulder, his voice still breaking. He wanted to believe what she said, but he couldn't be sure that he would actually ever claim a dragon. Baelon himself had said it, he had tried with each one. And he had not been successful.

"Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll always be his failure." It hurt him to say the words, but he couldn't hold them back any longer.

Alicent took his face in her hands, making him look at her.

"Listen to me very carefully, Aemond. You are no one's failure. You are not a failure at all. And if I have to slap your father over and over again until he accepts it in front of you, so that your soul can be at peace, I will do it without hesitation."

Aemond chuckled at the thought of it. The image was both comical and, at the same time, believable.

He was starting to feel a little better. The sadness he felt before was still present, but it had begun to fade.

"But if I fail to claim a dragon...what will I be known for?" he managed to ask. The idea of not being able to fly a dragon haunted him at night and he needed the comfort of his mother.

"A warrior. A gentle prince. A knight. Whatever you want to be. No one can take that away from you"

His expression brightened as his mother spoke.

"I'm sorry, I know you're right. I'm just worried about disappointing my father."

Alicent kissed his forehead, looking at him lovingly.

"No more angry outbursts, no more violence. I already have a Rogue Prince to deal with. I don't want a second," she said as she left the room to look for Baelon, who seemed to have taken too much time. looking for the maids. Aemond sat on the foot of the bed, looking at Helaena as she continued to whisper things to the bug that walked between her fingers.

He sighed and looked at his sister.

"Do you think I'll be able to claim a dragon someday, Hel?" he said, although he wasn't really expecting an answer. For the first time in a while, Helaena seemed to notice his presence. She stared at him, as if she was thinking about something.

Finally, she spoke in a solemn voice.

"Someday you will have a dragon. But you will have to close an eye"

Aemond did not give much thought to the matter, believing that it was another of his sister's peculiarities.

Feigning interest in the beetle, he asked silly questions only for her to answer them happily. His mother soon returned with Baelon. Before he knew it he was in his room, wrapped in his sheets, drifting into a restless sleep.

Aemond dreamed of a giant beast, whose roar made the Red Keep itself echo. Whose shadow darkened entire towns. And how he rose in it to the heavens.

As he knew it was his destiny.

Chapter Text

ALICENT X

Alicent sipped the wine slowly, enjoying the sweet taste of the Arbor's red liquid on her lips. The drink dulled her senses slightly, just enough to prepare her for a calm and peaceful night's sleep.

She leaned her back against the headboard of the bed, looking out the window and internally wondering what time it was. It didn't seem dark enough to be the hour of the wolf, maybe a little earlier...

She could be asleep at that moment, if she wanted to. With her four children tucked in and quiet in the other room, her own duties completed, and no sudden late-night audiences, she had no unfinished business left.

But she had decided to wait, like almost every night.

Alicent had reasons to do it. Her bed was rarely empty now.

The door opened with a slight creak and the tall figure entered the room. The light from the candles illuminated the golden cloak, making it sparkle beautifully in the flames.

"Alicent," her husband greeted as she took off her helmet, bits of dirt stuck to her long hair. His face was covered in reddish remains that she preferred not to identify, and his boots were full of mud.

"A little late to be awake," Daemon commented, as always. Despite all this time, he still didn't seem to understand her habit of waiting up for him, and she had never tried to explain it to him. She suspected he wouldn't understand.

“No, I was just resting,” Alicent said. She slid across her bed and stood before him.

“You're filthy. I ordered the servants to prepare you a shower"

Without much further dialogue she leaned down, beginning to slowly unfasten the metal pieces. Her husband watched her carefully, his indigo eyes focused on the delicate movements of her hands.

"So? How was the day?" he asked, trying to break the silence.

Well, here we go again. Let's hope for the best.

Knowing that perhaps this would be the right moment, she decided to take the risk. Daemon seemed to be in a calm mood, perfect for the news.

"Baelon and Aemond fought with Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon again"

He seemed little surprised. Alicent knew he would have laughed, if she hadn't made such a serious face. Baelon and Aemond were not particularly disobedient children, but they did have a certain...tendency to be unruly.

Who did they get it from?

"Why was it?"

"They..." she hesitated before continuing. Over time, she had learned what things could make her husband explode. And when Daemon Targaryen was furious, there was always someone who paid it, whether with a beating or even death.

"If you start saying something, you should finish it" her husband spoke, stopping her rambling. Knowing that lying would be much worse than telling the truth she took a deep breath and mentally prayed to the gods to grant him patience.

"They decorated a pig. With wings. They told Aemond it was a dragon. His dragon"

Daemon's mood changed quickly. She saw in her husband's eyes multiple promises of fire and blood. She tried to fix it, before it was too late.

"Violence is not necessary. The boys apologized."

He was not convinced. She could see it in his gaze. His eyes were always easy to read, after a while of knowing him.

"It seems to me that there should have been at least a couple of broken noses as a result," he said simply in a deep voice. And she knew he meant it. He would be able to encourage the children for it. Or to do it himself.

"Daemon..." she uttered as a warning. Her husband laughed, not in amusement, but cruelly, but he dropped the subject.

Finally, she was able to remove the breastplate. As she continued to help him with the plates on his arms, she noticed him thoughtful and silent.

Daemon seemed to hesitate, before continuing.

"How was... the new child? I heard it was a boy."

Despite it sounding like a disinterested question, she knew it wasn't. Daemon had been present in the Red Keep since the birth of Rhaenyra's firstborn. His reactions had been... complicated. She knew that whatever it was, uncle and niece would always share something special. An unbreakable bond. But it had been her husband who had drawn the line. And he seemed to respect it until then. So, while he didn't seem especially happy with the idea of Rhaenyra siring her heirs with another, he didn't usually express it either. He seemed to keep it to himself.

"The princess had an easy birth. A boy, as you say. The Velaryons seemed delighted," she answered, without going into further details. Alicent knew he would prefer it that way.

Impersonal. As if we were talking about someone else. Not her. Never her.

"A Strong," her husband said, no trace of emotion lacking in his voice.

It was an open secret .Everyone at Court seemed to know it, although few spoke openly about it. Not even Daemon. He had learned that reckless words could bring unintended consequences.

"No"

The prince was unable to hide his surprise. He looked at her with questioning eyes.

"The child is the spitting image of Ser Laenor Velaryon," she explained, finally managing to release the gebras from his arms. She moved slighltly away from him as he got rid of all the extra weight off of his body. He seemed to think about it a lot, before speaking with his usual humor.

"What a dilemma. It seems that the third try is the charm"

Despite his joking tone, she knew he understood the implications. She did it herself. It had been a long time since there had been more conflict at Court than Rhaenyra's cold treatment of her, which she had grown accustomed to.

But with this birth, more serious problems came. Conflicts over legitimacy and inheritance. And the possible war if it could not be settled through hearings and more peaceful means.

After all, she had to not forget that the Velaryons still had the most dragons, and the largest. Which gave them a comfortable position to demand things. And threaten.

She tried to divert her mind from those dire thoughts. Instead, she focused on issues that concerned them.

"You need to talk with him" she finally uttered. He took off his silk shirt, throwing it to the end of the room.

"With whom?" he asked, distracted by his own things, or his own thoughts.

"Aemond"

He turned to look at her, as he undid her belt and leaned Darksister against the wall.

"I saw him this morning. And the impeccable use of his sword" he said simply, before heading to her nightstand, having seen the bottle she had left open and from which she had been drinking before his arrival.

"Wine from the Arbor?" he whispered, as he poured his own glass.

"He seeks your praise. He would do anything to earn it," she continued, trying not to seem especially upset. If there was one thing Daemon used to do, it was try to muffle awkward conversations. It was still somewhat irritating, after so many years.

"He shouldn't. Praise is stupid"

Alicent tried to stay calm, even when his answers seemed to get on her nerves. He wasn't a bad father, she knew that. He just could be... oblivious sometimes.

"You're his father. He won't tell you, but he likes... he needs to feel that you..." her voice broke slightly and she couldn't find any more correct words to continue.

Daemon sighed and set the cup down. His gaze and attention focused on her, as he crossed his arms.

"Say what it's all of this about" he said in a soft voice. She also tried to calm down.

"You already know" she whispered calmly.

There was recognition in his eyes. With a pinch of guilt.

"He is my son. That's all that matters, isn't it?"

It should be. But it isn't for you.

"I know you love him," she told him, still in her calm voice. He seemed slightly offended by the notion that there was another possibility.

"Of fucking course I do"

"But that look when you see our other children, Baela...even the Velaryon boys sometimes..." she continued. Daemon frowned, seemingly unaware of what she was talking about. He seemed genuinely puzzled.

"What look?"

"Pride. He wants it for his own."

The lady knew it was a sensitive topic. The prince took another sip of wine, as if that would help calm his mind.

"We've tried. You know it. No dragon accepts him..."

And again, that problem arose. Alicent did not forget what the first argument in their marriage had been. Her lord husband's reluctance to sire children of his blood who were not worthy Targaryens, as he called them.

But the odds had been on her side. With Baelon, she had shown him that his descendants had the potential to be everything he wanted. Helaena had followed him. And Daeron. But Aemond...

Daemon would never say it outright. He loved him, yes. But the increasingly certain possibility that he would be a prince without a dragon was bitter for him, as a father and as a Targaryen.

And Aemond knew it. Even if his father had never told him. Although, in every way, he treated him the same as the rest of his siblings.

"It's not all about riding a dragon. I gave you three dragon riders."

Is it not enough for you?

She took a deep breath, knowing that she wouldn't win by losing her mind. He tried hard, she knew it. However, that didn't mean he couldn't do better.

Alicent reached out and caressed his shoulder with her fingertips.

"He has your temperament. Prone to anger. Impulsive. He needs someone to guide him."

His father. You.

He lowered his head and rested his forehead against hers. There was no challenge in his voice, at least not now. He seemed quite… thoughtful.

"I'll try," he whispered, and she knew it was a promise, even if it didn't seem like it. It made her feel calmer.

With the apparent conclusion of the matter, he got rid of the rest of his clothes. As he sank into the bathtub prepared on the other side of the room, he let out a long sound of satisfaction.

"Did you say something about a... shower?" he told her, a little amused.

Little unaware of his intentions, she left her nightgown on the bed.

There had been a couple of times before where, in his impatience, her husband had ruined some of them, either with excessive force, tearing the delicate fabric or soaking her from head to toe.

Once she felt the cool night air against her skin, she approached him, who was watching her with hungry eyes.

His arms moved fast and strong, wrapping them around her.

When Daemon pulled her to the warm bath, she was surprised at how quickly her body responded. They kissed, their hands searching and their breathing heavy.

Alicent let the hot water wash over her and ease a day's worth of aches and pains.

She kissed Daemon again, more passionately, her hands reaching for the parts of him she desperately wanted.

When their bodies joined together, she sighed again.

"You're...so perfect," he said, as their passion soared.

She became lost. The way Daemon took her and how her body responded to his touches was incredible.

She rode him, with the water splashing around them. It always made Alicent feel...powerful.

 They both gave a content sigh when they finished, being careful so that his seed was lost in the warm waves generated in the water.

Daemon looked at her, caressing her cheek with his wet fingers.

"You look worried" he whispered.

She knew there was no point in hiding it from him. The knot in her chest had begun to form long before he arrived. And it remained.

"I am"

"I will talk with him. Aemond is a good boy..."

She shook her head. No, this wasn't about her children. Of course, they were the most important thing. But there was something else that filled her mind

"It's not that."

Daemon looked at her questioningly. Alicent struggled to get the answer out.

"The Velaryons," she whispered.

Daemon shrugged.

"It's not our problem," he said, sounding truly disinterested.

"It is not"

"Then why do we even discuss it?"

"You know why."

And she knew it too. If Lord Corlys Velaryon decided to do something about Rhaenyra's last offspring, there would be conflict. And Daemon...her husband had a taste for fighting. And if it came to defend Rhaenyra, would he get involved?

The answer to that question was what worried her.

"I don't plan to get involved in other people's wars," said her husband, although she noticed the hesitation in his voice. Still, she tried to make sure.

"Is that a promise?"

Silence was her only response, as he combed a strand of her wet hair behind her ear. She decided to leave it there at that moment. Alicent wouldn't push too hard, but she wouldn't let it go undiscussed either.

Once they were dry again and wrapped in their sheets, she allowed herself to relax lying on his chest.

She remembered Princess Baela's request for another book from him, but she decided not to do it at that moment. It would be better in the morning, when he was half asleep and confused.

"How was Hel today?"

The question did not surprise her. Their only daughter had been the most difficult birth of hers, leaving her almost half dead. The girl had also spent weeks in the Grand Maester's care, fighting to survive. A beautiful, fragile little thing, who had finally won the battle, just like her. Still, Helaena was... different.  They couldn't say exactly how, but it was noticeable. They both knew it.

"Calmed. She found a beetle in gods knows where. She wanted to talk to you about it."

Alicent could notice the slight smile of her husband.

"I guess I'll have to pay her a visit in the morning then. Let's find the differences between it and the...dozen she has shown me before."

That was one of the prince's redeeming qualities. He could and knew how to be sweet with his daughter.

There had been a time when Helaena had been heartbroken over the death of one of her insects at the hands of a frightened maid. As punishment and as consolation, her father had ordered all her ladies to look for similar beetles in the gardens and every corner of the castle. Helaena had been delighted with the collection she had obtained, forgetting about the previous incident. The rest of the women, not so much.

"I think she would love it."

Finally, he asked for the last one

"Daeron?"

"He took his lessons with the maester. Quiet. Mellos says he could be a scholar."

Daeron was slightly more hyperactive than Helaena, although he wasn't as much as his older brothers . He used to like Helaena to read to him and used to catch all kinds of bugs for her, which horrified some of the servants.

For some reason, he seemed to be the most attached to His Majesty. Viserys used to spoil him, perhaps because he was the youngest. He was also her father's favorite, concentrating much more on his studies than on swordplay. There had even been talk of a visit to Oldtown, although Daemon had refused.

He was still too young and she doubted her husband would want one of their children around Hightowers. He barely seemed to stand Ser Otto, and that at his best moments.

"I would be worried if he was another Vaegon. Luckily, he seems to be more chaotic than that"

She chuckled at the notion.

"All your children are chaotic"

"Thank the gods. Can you imagine them being like Viserys? It would be terrible"

The mention of her brother in law slightly darkened her mood. There was something she had wanted to talk about for a while. Things that Laena mentioned in their talks, and that worried both.

"His Majesty hasn't been feeling quite well lately"

Daemon seemed interested in the topic.

'Why do you say it?'

"It's rumored that he has let Rhaenyra replace him in some Council meetings, when he's not... well. Which has been quite regularly"

The King's state of health was not a secret to anyone. It would have been impossible, it was written on every bit of his face and his body. The night she had given birth to Aemond, it was rumored that the monarch had fainted while his daughter's wedding was being officiated.

His appearance and fragility seemed to get worse day by day. And with it, more and more questions regarding what would lie ahead for the Realm after his death.

"Viserys is not as young as he used to be. That's all"

But it wasn't just that. She heard it in his tone of voice. No matter how many conflicts there were between him and his brother, Daemon loved him. And accepting that sooner or later the inevitable would happen must have been hard.

Viserys is not gonna live enough to be an old man, her father had told her a while ago. And even though she didn't want to accept it, she knew that Ser Otto Hightower was right. Everyone knew it.

Talking about the death of the King could be interpreted as treason. But the doubts were clear.

Would the Seven Kingdoms truly accept Rhaenyra as their rightful Queen?

They had sworn oaths, years ago. And the princess had been preparing for it for a decade. No one could deny her suitability for the position.

But there were the rumors, of course. Malicious and unfounded, most, but some truly worrying.

No one would dare openly mention the bastardy of her children while the King was still alive and the Velaryons supported the claim of Laenor's supposed "children."

But if House Velaryon turned against them...

If things went horribly wrong, they could threaten with a civil war. And not even Viserys could do much about the threat of three adult dragons. The same one that had made him marry Laena in the first place.

And then there was the question of who would be the most worthy heir.

 Rhaenyra had been attending Councils for years, listening to matters of law and edicts.

But she wasn't the only one.

Her father had done the same with Baelon, educating him in philosophy and history while letting Ser Criston teach him what it took to be a worthy warrior. A leader. He had said it was to make his grandson a wise and strong man. And he might have fooled some.

But not to her. Alicent knew what was behind all the preparation of her son. The true purpose of it. After all, Ser Otto Hightower believed there was only one worthy position for Baelon.

He wants him to be the King.

She preferred to divert her thoughts from it and focused on the warm feeling of his body against hers. There would be time for it in the morning. She would talk to Ser Criston.

And my father will want to talk to me. When will all this end? All the intrigues are pulling in different directions. Who will be successful? Only the gods know. And sometimes they can be quite cruel.

In her dreams, she saw three crowns, covered in blood.

She woke up screaming.

Chapter Text

JACAERYS I

The young prince Jacaerys took a step back, just enough to avoid Luke's blow, which hit the air.

His younger brother nearly stumbled, using the same wooden sword as a staff to support himself. From behind, Ser Criston Cole's strong voice echoed sternly.

"Too hasty an attack, Prince Lucerys. Good reflexes, Prince Jacaerys. Both of you, again"

Heavily, both returned to their initial positions, before resuming the fight.

To the left of him, several meters away, he could make out Aemond practicing with his wooden targets. They exchanged glances lightly and Jace lowered his gaze, still slightly embarrassed.

What he had done a few weeks ago still haunted him.

A silly joke he had thought back then. They and the young Targaryen princes had always been in a state of cordiality that was strained from time to time, like that day.

He had laughed at the time, of course. Aemond's face when he had saw the pig had been priceless. Funny.

But Jace's smile had quickly disappeared, when he had arrived to his mother's chambers. There, before the door, his father and Ser Harwin Strong had been waiting for him. Both serious.

It had never been a good sign.

The knight had been close to his family for as long as he could remember. Since before he was born, according to what his own mother had said. Harwin cared for him and Luke with special fervor, as well as for the princess. And he and his father used to be... friendly with each other. The only ones who seemed in a bad mood each time they were put together were his grandparents from Laenor, the Velaryons. It was a... curious relationship.

"I went to the Dragonpit to check on Seasmoke" Laenor had started "Do you mind to tell me what exactly did you do?"

"We were just messing around with him, that's all, we never meant to..." Jace had said, nervous. He had looked at something in both men's eyes that he had never seen before.

Disappointment.

It had been a new emotion. Jace had always been the most obedient son, the prince who had always followed orders, the good brother. But not that time.

"Prince Aemond is your blood. We are family. It is not right that he falls prey to that kind of ridicule. Less from you."

Jace had looked at his father with a mix of sorrow and fear. His younger brother had stayed silent, although he had seen silent tears in his eyes.

"We know that father. We never meant to make it go that far. We just..."

Then, it had been the turn of Ser Harwin to scold him. Jace had always admired the knight, much more than he had admired Ser Criston.

It was terrible, to shame someone like him.

"A knight would never act like that. Much less a prince. Is that the kind of man you want to be, boy? An abusive and cruel one?"

The young prince had shaken his head vigorously.

"No, no, Ser. I do not want to be a cruel man and much less to my own family. I just...I just wanted to pull a prank on him, no more. But it went out of hand."

He had paused for a moment, looking for the right words.

"I'll apologize to the prince, of course. It's the right thing to do."

Aemond had not been in his mother's chambers. And, in a try of last defense, Luke had told her about the young prince's aggression.

But if it had been Lucerys, I would have thrown myself into the punches. It's a natural reaction.

In the end, his father had given him a scolding. And he had waited for his mother's.

She had been sleeping all day after giving birth to Joffrey. But he had known that Laenor would tell her. It had been inevitable.

That night, the princess had called him to his chambers. Worried, he had entered with his head bowed, awaiting his inevitable fate.

From her bed, Rhaenyra had motioned for him to come closer.

"Mother, I..." he had started, embarrassed. Rhaenyra had placed a finger gently on his lips, silencing him.

"You are my firstborn son. Do you know what obligation that gives you?"

Jace had frowned. The question had been unexpected, confusing. Still, he had responded obediently.

"I am a prince. Your heir."

Rhaenyra had nodded, still looking at him seriously.

"You are not heir to small lands, or a lordship. When I am Queen, you will be the Prince of Dragonstone. And the time will come when you must ascend the Iron Throne as King. The most powerful man in the Realm. The Seven Kingdoms have already had a cruel man ruling them..."

Jace had shaken his head. The story of Maegor the Cruel had been taught by the maesters for much of his childhood. And just as everyone aspired to be the next Aegon the Conqueror, any similarity with his youngest son was always alarming.

"It was not my intention..."

"It started like this. Brother against brother. Uncle against nephew. House Targaryen was about to disappear because we fought among ourselves..."

His mother had stopped midway through her speech, probably seeing the tears in his eyes that he had been unable to hold back any longer. The princess had leaned over the bed, lovingly wiping away the wetness as she caressed his cheek. Her stern gaze had seemed to relax and her voice had been much less frightening and sweeter.

"Luke is more unruly than you, I know. But you are the eldest. You must learn to discern what is right from what is not. Do what is honorable and correct. A wise King would do it."

There had been no further conversation beyond that, except for a kiss on the forehead and the punishment of not returning to the Dragonpit for two weeks.

Although the separation from Vermax had been unnecessary. Jace had gotten the point. And, seeing his brother's face the next morning, he knew they had surely had a similar conversation.

So the next time they had met at the training ground he had approached the second son of Daemon Targaryen directly, drawing courage from somewhere deep within him.

"I...I'm sorry for the joke. I know how much it...hurts you. It wasn't the behavior of a prince. I'm sorry."

He had extended his hand, waiting for acceptance or rejection of his apology. Aemond had seemed to doubt it, but he finally had took it, although looking quite serious.

And all had been peaceful between them ever since. Not especially friendly, but calm. Although he still felt tremendously embarrassed every time he saw him.

Lucerys struck his hand with his wooden sword, causing him to drop his own in pain. Distracted, he had let his younger brother catch him off guard.

"That's all for today, my princes," Ser Cole said to the four. He watched as Baelon and Aemond left their own training weapons and entered the Red Keep, probably to look for his parents. They did the same.

As they approached the door, they noticed that it was closed. The guards who usually guarded her were not present. And inside two voices could be heard, in some kind of discussion.

Mother and Father. But they've never...

"Mom's busy. We should go play," Lucerys told him, tugging on his sleeve. Jacaerys nodded.

"Go ahead, I'll be there in a moment."

Without needing to be told twice by his older brother, Luke ran down the hallway, abandoning him. Jace, on the other hand, approached the door. His mind told him that it would be best to leave. But there was something inside him that wouldn't let him walk away.

It is not good manners to listen to other people's conversations.

An unknown instinct made him place his ear against the thick wood. At last, the intelligible murmurs became words.

"Your father has called an audience with all the nobles of the Court. Do not think that I do not know what he intends..." his mother's voice was accusatory, but with a hint of concern that did not go unnoticed.

"Your father won't allow it. A declaration with a public as witnesses…"

"My father is a man afflicted with illness. Your father is a man with three dragons to support his demands."

"Three? Do you think Laena...and I...? Do you doubt...?" Laenor's voice broke the silence in disbelief. Jace had never heard him talk like that.

"Right now, I don't know what to believe. Loyalty is complicated when it comes to family"

There was a long silence. Finally, his father spoke again, this time sounding more serious, almost sad.

"They are my family, as much as my sister or my mother. I love them. All three of them."

"Your father will be willing to say otherwise. He will seek to convince the entire Realm of it."

"He would need witnesses for that. He does not possess such..."

"He will get them. Do you doubt Lord Corlys?"

The topic of conversation was still foreign to him and he felt that the discussion was beginning to escalate. Already a little afraid, he fled down the corridor, colliding with someone.

Two strong hands grabbed his shoulders, stopping him from falling. He raised his face, to see the face of Ser Harwin Strong looking at him worriedly.

"Are you okay, young prince?" he asked him, getting down on one knee to look into his eyes. Jace knew his concern wouldn't go unnoticed.

"My mother and father seem... to be discussing something important. About my grandfather," he said simply. On any other occasion, he would have kept that information to himself. But this was Ser Harwin. The man his mother trusted the most besides his father. Who better to solve this?

"It seems that it is an adult matter then, young prince" a voice behind the knight sounded. Jace could see a man step out of the shadows. He was familiar, too. He had seen him a couple of times in the Red Keep. And Ser Harwin had told him his name. After all, they were brothers.

"Lord Larys" he greeted him politely. The man, still leaning on his cane, bowed slightly.

"I will take care of this. Don't worry, prince," Ser Harwin told him, although he seemed hesitant to leave him alone. His brother gave him a sign with his hand.

"Go. I will take care of our prince. He is the future of the Realm after all. Isn't that right, boy?" he said looking at him, patting him on the shoulder. Jace nodded, although physical contact with that man gave him chills, for some strange reason.

"Of course, Lord Larys. My brother said he would wait for me in the gardens," he mentioned, keeping his tone polite.

"Well, let's go there. Although I'm afraid you'll have to go slowly. My foot doesn't help me much in these situations," he responded with a smile that seemed a little disturbing, although kind.

It's probably my imagination. Torches always create strange shadows.

Ser Harwin looked at them both for a moment. But the urgency seemed to demand more of his attention, walking down the hallway towards the princess's chambers. He and Larys Strong were left alone, traveling almost in slow motion.

"So your mother and father seem to have problems?" the man asked in a gentle voice. Still not wanting to reveal too much information, Jace tried not to give too many details.

"Mother seems...to distrust my father. I don't know why"

Larys nodded in understanding. He made him feel a little less uncomfortable. More in confidence.

"Sometimes there are dilemmas that make us doubt the loyalty of those close to us. As King you will probably have to face many. But do you know who can help you in those situations? It is important to know these kinds of things. You could have an audience and not know how act" the man told him, stopping for a moment, still leaning on his cane.

Jace tried to think.

"My mother. Although she would be gone. In that case... Luke. Or Joffrey. I would ask them for help," he said confidently, knowing that was the right answer. After all, who else he could trust the most? Lord Larys gave a pleased smile, as they resumed their walk.

"Of course. Family is always important in these matters. But what if none of your siblings knew what to do? Or worse, if they were involved in the problem?"

The questioning was more difficult now, although he was somewhat used to it. The maester also used to increase the difficulty of his lessons to test him. Larys was probably doing that, trying to teach him something for his own sake. For his future. That was what adults did.

"Mmmm. I... I would consult my advisors. That's what Grandpa would do" he said after thinking about it for a while. King Viserys was a good monarch, most people said. Surely acting like him would be the right thing to do.

"Exactly. Councilors are loyal subjects when you choose them. It's always good to have friends among them..."

"As are my grandfather and your father, Lord Larys?" he asked curiously. He knew Lord Lyonel Strong's position as Hand of the King, although he was still not entirely sure whether he fully understood the implications of the title.

"Sure. You have a sharp mind, boy. And it's curious, actually...My father serves your grandfather. My brother, your mother. And I..."

Jace looked at him confused.

"Do you wish to serve me when I am King?"

Larys Strong shook his head, smiling.

"If it were your wish, of course. But more than anything, I wish to be your friend, my prince. The Iron Throne is a lonely place. And sometimes, a helping hand is the difference between success and failure. Someone who will help you, accompany you in the most difficult moments. Someone you can trust...fully."

The young Velaryon thought about it. He had seen Ser Harwin comforting his mother when she was sad, giving her his shoulder to cry on, his person to talk to…

 It must be comforting to have someone.

Although he still wasn't entirely sure if he wanted it to be Larys.

"I guess we could be friends...having gotten to know each other well enough," he said sheepishly. The man looked at him strangely. He seemed little offended by the fact that he didn't accept his offer immediately. As if he had expected it. But that was obviously impossible.

How could he know my answers before I said them? It's stupid.

"I would like nothing more, my prince. I am at the service of the Crown and your mother"

He looked ahead and pointed to the front.

"It seems that our prince Lucerys is calling for you"

Jace looked at Luke, scampering through the flowers. He felt the innate urge to chase after him.

"Thank you, Lord Larys," he said, without forgetting his politeness, before setting off in pursuit of his younger brother.

They were there for a long time, before being called to dinner by one of the princess' maids.

When the night finally became completely dark, their mother in person finally appeared to tuck them in, as was her custom. It didn't take her long to leave Luke wrapped in sheets and with a kiss on his forehead.

When she walked up to him and started caressing his cheeks, he knew he had to ask her a question.

"Do you trust Ser Harwin?"

Rhaenyra looked at him strangely. She didn't answer immediately, as if she was evaluating her own answers.

"Of course I do. He's my sworn protector," she said, shrugging her shoulders as she pulled the sheet up to his chin.

"No, but I mean...do you trust him as a friend? As someone you can talk to, and be heard, and..."

Jace didn't know what else to say. The conversation with Larys was beginning to get lost in his memories.

His mother seemed even more confused. She looked at him for a long moment.

"Why the question?"

He himself took a long time to respond. Finally, he opted to say the most sincere thing, even though it would involve a scolding. It was always good to tell the truth.

"I heard you arguing with my father."

Rhaenyra sighed. She stroked his brown curls, and seemed thoughtful. Jacaerys thought for a moment that he had made a mistake and he opened his mouth to apologize, to say that he didn't want to be a gossip and that he would forget everything he had said. But his mother was faster.

"There are some issues we need to resolve. But you don't have to worry about that, Jace, you or Luke. Everything will be fine. I promise."

The words were comforting for some reason. His mother was always right. Maybe this was a meaningless conflict, he had heard that all married couples always had problems. And his father and his mother should not have been the exception. That would be a trivial matter. Nothing else.

"I love you, mom," he whispered. Rhaenyra placed a kiss on his forehead.

"And I'll take care of you. Now rest. And don't get up and snoop around at night like Luke."

Jace laughed lightly, although he didn't say anything. He looked up at the night sky, imagining what it would be like to ride there on the back of a dragon. Vermax was still too small to handle his weight, and his mother had taken him on a flight only once, when he was a baby.

Maybe she or his father could do it again. Syrax and Seasmoke were large enough to carry passengers. And they would have to bring Luke, of course. He never went anywhere without his dear brother.

Thinking of his adventures for the next morning, he soon found the relief of a sound sleep.

Just outside his window, the glow of a firefly briefly illuminated the twilight of the night, before being swallowed by darkness.

Chapter Text

LAENOR IV/RHAENYRA VII

Laenor walked through the Red Keep, heading towards the Queen's chambers. The bags under his eyes and the slight feeling of dizziness, everything made the lack of sleep evident.

The last few days had been chaotic. And his wife was in a similar state.

Lord Corlys Velaryon, using his power at Court and subtle threats, had requested a public audience with His Majesty, with all the nobles present in the capital as witnesses. The news he intended to give, or the accusations he intended to utter were uncertain, though easily discernible to him.

He had known it ever since his father had first laid eyes on Joffrey. The shine in his eyes. The predatory smile.

He plans to use him. As he uses everybody.

The guards in his sister's chambers opened the door for him. From inside, Laena waved them off with a subtle gesture, leaving them safe from gossiping ears.

His sister sat heavily in a soft and visibly comfortable chair. Her belly had grown quite a bit in the last few weeks, although not as much as it had grown with his nieces.

"You look absolutely terrible," she finally told him, in conclusion. Laenor did not try to deny it, he knew that his appearance must be more like that of a beggar from King's Landing than that of a son of Driftmark. Still, he was able to recognize similar signs in her, even when she seemed to hide it much better. He heard it in her tired voice, saw it in the way she tapped her fingers on the armrest of her seat...

He knew her well enough to know what it meant.

Anxiety. Nervousness. There is something that worries her.

"Sleep has eluded me lately. And I could say it has for you too," the knight told her, sitting in the opposite chair, making them face each other. Laena shrugged; the signs of her fatigue visible on her face to her brother's knowing eyes.

"The nightmares become more vivid as the baby grows. It is a relief to know that they will stop soon."

Laenor knew that was not true. They would never do it. In the ten years that her womb had remained empty, Laena had continued to dream of a death similar to that of her predecesor. Still, he chose to be kind.

"Baela and Rhaena must be excited," he said, trying to change the subject.

"The same as Jace and Luke were with Joffrey. Brotherhood is a curious bond. I suppose we better than anyone should understand it"

There was something strange about the sudden turn to mention his children. Something about her voice sounded abnormal. Too much like...someone else.

"This is not a casual visit. I recognize our father in you. The common conversation, the detours, the friendly tone, the subtle direction to the topic you want to get to..."

Laena changed her attitude. She looked slightly embarrassed, tense.

"And father says you haven't learned anything from him."

"I have. I just don't put it into practice, unlike you, little sister. So, what is it?"

The Queen breathed deeply, caressing her belly with her hand gently, in a loving gesture. Finally, she looked up at him.

"Father called an audience. All the nobles of the Court will be present. His Majesty has not been able to do anything about it, he lacks the strength and power necessary to prevent it."

Laenor leaned back in his seat, listening attentively. He knew there was something more. Something even Laena tried to avoid telling him.

"I already know that," he responded, motioning her to get to the point.

His sister's eyes darkened with grief. And sadness.

"Tomorrow, father wants you to testify for him. To swear, before gods and men, that Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon are illegitimate children of the false knight Ser Harwin Strong. That Joffrey Velaryon is your firstborn and your only son. And therefore, your legitimate heir"

Laenor froze. The words echoed in his mind and it took him a long time to take it all in. He stood up from his seat, feeling that his position was preventing him from breathing properly. Finally, he was able to regain speech.

"And why does he think I would do such a thing?"

"Because you are his son. Because honor demands it. Because Joffrey is..."

He couldn't take it anymore. He reached out and took her hands in his, a desperate gesture to seek comfort, both for himself and for her.

"All the words that come out of your mouth are his, Laena. I know you. You don't think that. You've never thought that."

Laena shook her head. He could notice a silent tear rolling down her cheek.

"Mother agrees with him. They asked me to...convince you"

Clear. He sends the woman I love most to do his dirty work.

Laena looked up and this time, it was her hands that sought his.

"He doesn't want the children dead. I can tell that he has even become... attached to them. But he doesn't want them in the position that rightfully belongs to our family."

Laenor shook his head. He wanted to believe Laena's words almost as much as his sister did. Desperately. But even if his father had mercy on children, the whole world wouldn't. They would be condemned to an indelible stain.

"As if their fate were not worse than death, once they were recognized as bastards," he whispered contemptuously.

His sister took his face in her hands, caressing his cheek gently. Her voice seemed sad, but resigned. Laenor had only heard it like that before her wedding.

"What else is left to do? Look I...I married Viserys to give him an heir. But if the gods are good, the child in my womb will be a girl, and it will be the last. I don't want to get involved in the game of thrones. But you... I understood your reluctance to produce your own heirs, I even supported it because of Joffrey's death. But now you have a son..."

Laenor was silent, thinking. Joffrey...had been a blessing from the gods. Having him in his arms had been one of the greatest joys he had felt in his life. But so had Jace. And Luke. He loved those children. Jacaerys with the conciliatory and adventurous air of him. And Lucerys, with his gentle and sweet nature, but a warrior when it came to defending his family.

I would never sacrifice one for the other.

"They are my children Laena. The three of them" he told her with a much more determined tone.

His sister seemed to accept defeat.

"What do you plan to do then? What's the plan?"

"If father asks me to testify, I will tell the truth. That I have fathered three legitimate children in my marriage. Blood of my blood."

And that I would die before stating otherwise.

He could notice Laena running her hands nervously over the fabric of her dress, although she looked much less uncertain than she had been moments ago. Even her voice was firmer.

"He won't like it. He's putting on a big show for this. So the Seven Kingdoms will hear about bastardy."

Laenor felt his blood boil. Of course, that was what his father wanted. A public exposure, a humiliation. Something to remind anyone with a desire to be an enemy that House Velaryon was now almost on the level of House Targaryen. It was a show of power.

"Fuck him. I didn't ask for this. I told him so. He told me to be a man. Well, I'm being a man. I will defend my wife and children until my last breath."

For the first time, he didn't feel ridiculous saying it. Not pathetic. He was possessed of a strange force, taken from the depths of his being. Of his helplessness at Laena's wedding. The helplessness over Joffrey's death. But not this time.

Even Laena was infected by his boost of confidence.

"If that is your decision, I will support it. You know that. But we cannot be hasty..."

"We have Vhagar and Seasmoke. Mother would never fight us. If our father tries anything, we will have the advantage. His surrender before the end of tomorrow"

His sister stared at her wedding ring. The ring Viserys had given her to symbolize their union had the two sigils on it, that of the Velaryons and the Targaryens. Laenor noticed that her mind was on something else.

"My husband would cut out his tongue. Or worse," she whispered, as if the thought had just crossed her mind. The knight sighed, massaging his tired eyes with his fingers.

He hadn't thought about how His Majesty would take the whole matter. The only thing stopping the King from going after Lord Corlys' head was the constant threat of fire and blood. Without them, he would be able to take action. And charges of treason were always paid with death. But the lord of Driftmark was still his father. Nonetheless.

"He has done terrible things. But we are not like him. We can...negotiate with the King. Tell him that our children need a grandfather. Viserys is usually touchable" he reasoned, looking for an alternative. His sister nodded gently, still thoughtful.

"The Night's Watch or banishment. He would be far enough away not to cause any harm, but his blood would not stain our hands," she finally completed. "It's risky"

Laenor knew it. It was a crazy idea, a rebellion plan that involved going against everything that had been instilled in them since they were children.

And yet...

"It can work"

"If you talked to Rhaenyra, she might ask her father to have mercy..."

The stress he had momentarily forgotten came crashing down on him like a heavy brick wall. He remembered his last conversation with his wife. And her insinuations regarding his loyalty.

"Rhaenyra distrusts me. She believes I will put the interests of House Velaryon before those of our children."

Laena looked at him, almost amused.

"Father would wish it were like that"

He leaned down, taking her hand in his again. He knew he must look like a euphoric, delirious madman at that very moment. But it didn't matter. He felt... alive. Like he hadn't done for years.

"We would not be slaves anymore, Laena. Yes, we have the chains of marriage, but no one would force you to return to Viserys' bed or me to Rhaenyra's. We would be...free."

He thought of Joffrey and the life they had always wanted to have. He thought of Qarl, and the life they could still live. Together.

He will never be Joffrey. But I could love him. If my father was far away...

His sister smiled slightly, sadly. With disbelief.

"It's just a dream."

"It could be a reality. Don't you trust me?"

The Queen chuckled lightly. She looked at him with the same love as always. The same complicity. She stood up and kissed his forehead, as she had done so many times to comfort him or to reward him. Her smile was the sincerest he had seen in a long time. Since the last time she had ridden Vhagar, all those years ago.

"For better or worse, I have always trusted you."

Rhaenyra paced around her room like a caged lioness. From time to time, she stopped only to curse her in-laws' name under her breath.

What would happen the next day was beyond her nerves. Hour after hour, she seemed to fall into deeper despair.

But what could she do?

Not even her father had been able to avoid it, limiting himself to looking like a benevolent monarch listening to a subject's request. He couldn't allow himself to be seen as weak.

Velaryons had demonstrated once again what Aegon and his sisters had done so many years. That allies, armies, titles and crowns did not give real power. Dragons did.

Someone knocked on the door. Before she could tell him to go to hell, it opened and Ser Hawin rushed in.

They both looked for a moment, before throwing themselves into each other's arms in a hug that lasted several seconds. Finally, they separated, looking nervously.

They had spent weeks avoiding each other, trying to quell the rumors that were beginning to get louder as the date set by Lord Corlys approached.

But now, being so close, I can't help but see it. I need him, to feel like someone is here for me.

"The children...?" he asked, almost breathless.

"Joffrey, with the wetnurse. Jace and Luke went with Lady Elinda for a walk in the gardens. They don't need to be here, surrounded by this scheming shit..." she replied, feeling the rage resurface once more. The word "bastard" had been echoing on the Red Keep with overwhelming frequency. It would be a matter of time before it reached the ears of her children. Something she wanted to put off as long as possible.

Harwin seemed to notice her anxiety, caressing her face in a loving gesture.

"They will be safe."

She relaxed into his touch, though it was only a slight relief to the emotions gnawing at her insides. Anxiety was one of them, and it manifested itself immediately.

"What did you find out?"

She knew from the knight's gesture that she would not like what she was about to hear.

"The Seasnake seeks to have Ser Laenor declare Jace and Luke bastards and strip them of any claim they may have to the Iron Throne and Driftmark."

Rhaenyra felt ready to burst with anger and nerves. She had spent days and nights wondering what Lord Corlys was planning. What kind of machinations could create the mind of a man capable of killing her son's lover just so he could do what he wanted?

But now, Harwin confirmed her worst thoughts. Her deepest fears.

The legitimacy of her children had always been questioned, although surreptitiously. Much of the rumors had dissipated, thanks to the constant highlighting of the Baratheon lineage that ran through the blood of Laenor and, consequently, his children.

But Joffrey's birth had unleashed everything again, on a scale she had never even imagined before. Spurred on by the Velaryon, the whispers had grown in number and strength.

A boy, with the appearance of Driftmark's children. Two older brothers, the living image of the lords of Harrenhal.

In the end, it had been increasingly difficult to silence them.

"And how is that supposed to work? Who will replace my children in their rightful places?" she asked him, even though she knew the answer. There was only one possible option.

"The Crown for Joffrey and Driftwood for Ser Vaemond"

The princess ran her fingers through her hair, in a nervous gesture. She looked at Harwin, her heart pounding and her stomach in knots.

"Does your brother know anything else that might be helpful?" she asked him without blinking.

Larys Strong was a top-notch gossiper. She hadn't known, until a week ago. Desperate for something that will help them in their situation, Harwin had turned to his brother. And this had turned out to be much more helpful than expected.

He had informants throughout the castle and even outside of it, who allowed him to find out almost anything.

As if they were a hundred eyes and a hundred ears. Why walk when he can know what's going on anywhere in the Realm with a snap of his fingers?

"Not much. Ser Laenor will be the basis of the accusation, although they are still trying to convince him. There will probably be a few more witnesses, but his son is fundamental. Without him, they have nothing."

That gave her a certain feeling of simultaneous tranquility and stress. It all depended on her husband, whether the accusation was successful or not. From Laenor, a man loyal to his family, who had been able to accept the death of the man he loved without a word just by following his father's orders. The fate of her children was in his hands.

And even so...

Laenor was not a bad man. He had known from the beginning who had fathered his two eldest children. And never, not a single day, had he treated them differently because of it. He had been a father, their father, in every aspect of the word.

"Laenor wouldn't do anything to harm them," she said, feeling an almost magical certainty. Harwin nodded.

"I think the same thing. He could have done it years ago, but he didn't."

Harwin and Laenor had always gotten along...relatively well. Sometimes, her husband invited him to hunting parties. Other times, it was the gold cloak who accompanied him to the taverns of King's Landing, in the company of Ser Qarl. And both had always protected, loved and cared for the princes as their own. Laenor, to Jace and Luke. Harwin, to Joffrey.

"What will we do then?" asked the knight, when it seemed to him that she had been silent too long.

Rhaenyra sat up, staring out the window. The afternoon began to turn red to give way to the darkness of the night. The day was about to end, and the next could determine the future of the Realm's two largest houses.

"Wait. We have done everything we could. The rest is in the hands of the gods."

Harwin approached from behind, placing his hands on her shoulders in a kind gesture. She leaned against him, as if the simple act of snuggling against his chest gave her some sense of security. Together, they faced the sunset that day.

Laenor walked along the slippery, wet tiles of the streets of Flea Bottom, soaked with water from the city's sewers. He had spent hours discussing with Laena every little detail of their elaborate plan.

Every small point had been carefully planned, knowing that the slightest mistake could cause everything to collapse resoundingly.

The first step, which was the one he carried out, was not to make their father suspicious. He had been visiting the taverns of King's Landing for years, and this day he would be no exception. But he wasn't here to drink. If present there it had a double function.

First, he would mislead his father about his intentions. To him, his eldest son would just go to another night of drinking and, possibly, sleeping with Ser Qarl in some seedy place.

Second, find the two men who Lord Corlys had paid to pose as his secondary witnesses. A simple, but vital mission. With enough incentive, his father's weapons could be turned against him, causing his testimony and arguments to crumble like sand at his feet.

"Tell me one more time how the hell we ended up at this point," Ser Quarl told him in a nervous voice as they moved through the crowd. Laenor, in a good mood for a while, continued smiling.

"The gods have a curious way of telling us that they have had enough. In my father's case, it will result in his downfall. All of his sins and crimes will receive their punishment."

The young man shook his head. He brushed his sticky brown hair from his forehead, soaked with sweat.

"But you don't want them to kill him," he whispered, confused.

Laenor knew he wouldn't understand. He himself was still trying to assimilate it. For a long time, he had imagined taking justice into his own hands for Joffrey. Night after night. But in the end, he knew that revenge would only leave a deeper hole inside his soul. One that would never be filled. As it had been left by the death of his first love.

Violence, revenge, death. What would it lead us to? At the beginning, over and over again.

"He has always been right about one thing. There is no one more cursed in the eyes of the Seven than those who kill his own blood."

Ser Quarl frowned, lightly punching him playfully on the shoulder.

"You talk like a Septon."

Laenor laughed, taking his chin in his hand.

"And you like a drunk."

They stared at each other before joining their lips in a hungry, needy kiss. For the first time in a long time he allowed himself to feel everything, not just lust.

There it was, the fluttering in his chest, the pit in his stomach, the racing of his heart, the soft feel of his body against his...

And he didn't want to stop feeling it again. Never. Emotions, love or heartbreak, he wanted it all. Always.

"I think your targets are ahead," Quarl whispered, catching his breath. Laenor smiled, turning his head to see the two men his sister had told him about.

"I guess so," he said with a smile, giving him a light kiss on the lips. He moved forward, trying to pass through the huge crowd.

In front of him stood a thin man, with piercing eyes. He had the look of a beggar.

"Ser Laenor Velaryon?" the guy asked. Laenor looked at him confused. He was completely sure that he had never seen it before, and yet...

"Yes. Who ask?" he asked, trying not to take his eyes off the men at the bar.

He felt a slight twinge in his abdomen and the sensation of his warm blood running down his stomach. The man pushed him to the ground while he stabbed the dagger into his body again and again.

In the distance he could hear Qarl's scream and how he tried to run towards him pushing through the crowd, before being knocked down by a punch from another stranger. The people around him, apparently finally realizing what was happening, began to run trying to flee the scene. His attacker wiped the blade with his own clothes, before disappearing with the frightened public.

He turned his head, looking again at the cold, wet tiles. Memories came to his mind, of the night of his wedding.

Was this the last thing Joffrey saw before leaving this world?

His body began to feel cold and numb. He felt his clothes completely soaked, and his eyes began to close.

Qarl crawled on the ground, noticing blood pouring from his nose. With efforts he managed to get closer to Laenor, who was in a pool of blood.

The young knight took his hand in his. He was as cold as ice.

"No, please. Please. By the gods, no. Not this. Please, no" he recited like a prayer, over and over again.

In the distance, a dog howled piteously, with the worst of omens.

Lord Corlys Velaryon's firstborn was dead.

Rhaenyra lifted the glass of wine to her lips, taking her time to control the urge to drink it all in one gulp. Although Harwin's visit had calmed her, her mind was still wandering about what would happen the next day, painting a worse scenario than the last each time.

She had always thought that overthinking things was the quality of a strategist, being able to distinguish all the possibilities of an action. Instead, now, it only served to torment her.

The guard replacing Ser Harwin that night gently opened the door.

"Lord Larys Strong" announced as the man entered her chambers.

Rhaenyra opened her eyes in surprise, though she quickly regained her composure, being quite careful with her facial expressions.

Larys smiled kindly at her, tilting his head slightly.

"Princess"

"Lord Larys. To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked him, trying not to make her caution noticiable.

She had never spoken to Larys Strong. It had been Harwin who had been in charge of asking his brother for all the information, all the data, rumors and names.

Also, night visits tended to be...unusual. Reserved for people who prefered not to be seen.

"I came to check on you, of course. I think it's our duty to ensure your well-being, princess," he said, sitting down without asking in one of the chairs, making himself comfortable. Rhaenyra ignored the blatant disrespect, chalking it up to the tiredness of a sick man. She forced herself to put on a convincing smile.

"Well, I'm quite well, Lord Larys, why shouldn't I be?"

Lord Lyonel's youngest son laughed lightly, looking at her with seemingly innocent eyes.

"Of course. I didn't mean to assume certain things. But given what my brother has asked of me..."

The princess tensed. She glanced nervously at the door, trying to discern whether the guard could hear them or not. Larys seemed to take her silence as a sign to continue.

"We are united by more than just shared loyalties, aren't we? One's own blood is often...a powerful incentive."

Rhaenyra froze like a rock. She felt herself clenching her fists unconsciously and cold sweat began to break out on her forehead.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Larys played with the knob of his cane, tracing the carving of a firefly with her thumb.

"No, of course not. Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys Velaryon seem to be good boys. Strong."

That was enough to snap her out of her lethargy. She turned and glared at him, moving so close that their faces were almost touching.

"Say it one more time and I'll have your tongue torn out," she hissed, pulling at the collar of his robe with all her might.

The man looked pathetic and weak next to her. And yet, he seemed to have a certain presence of...power

"Oh, but there is no need for that. After all, the boys are Velaryon at the word of his father, Ser Laenor. One who no longer has the ability to be... changed."

Rhaenyra let go of him, causing him to fall back into the chair. Her eyes flashed with confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

Larys smiled, and that simple action was enough to send a shiver down her spine. There was something wrong about this man. Very very bad.

"Oh. I suppose the news hasn't reached the Red Keep yet. It won't be long, I promise. I regret to inform you that you are a widow, my princess. Ser Laenor Velaryon was found in Flea Bottom. Horrible scene. He was stabbed repeatedly and appears to have bled to death. An assault, perhaps?"

The princess was stunned for a couple of seconds that felt like hours. She had to lean on the back of a chair to avoid falling.

For the love of the gods. No. This can't be...no

"You're lying. He doesn't...no." she stammered, still trying to absorb what was said. Her eyes locked on him again. Where there was shock in hers, in his there was a dark aura. A twisted satisfaction. She found admission in his gaze.

"You..." she began, feeling sick. Tears began to fall from her cheeks. She wanted to scream, break things, call out to Harwin, to her children, to whoever. She didn't want to be alone with him.

"I fulfilled your wish, my princess," Larys continued, with a voice as soft as velvet. Rhaenyra shook her head vigorously, so much so that her bones creaked.

"No. I didn't...I never wanted this..."

Did I?

"I would do anything for my Queen, of course. And for the safety of her heirs."

Rhaenyra remembered the first time she had seen Laenor. A skinny boy, barely a year older than her. She could remember the man he had become. His moments with Joffrey, with Laena, with her, his smile, his frown, his...

"Laenor would never have..." she began to say. Larys interrupted her.

"But you would never have been sure. Loyalty is usually so changeable... Now, however, you can sleep peacefully. The dead do not speak."

Her stomach began to twist and she felt an almost unbearable feeling of nausea.

She could recognize the truth in his words. That disgusted her beyond belief. But it was true.

Lord Corlys has lost his witness.

In the halls, a cry of agony, sadness, and rage echoed throughout the Red Keep. She recognized who it belonged to.

Laena. The queen. She knows.

Hurried footsteps were heard and minutes later Lady Elinda entered, followed by Jace and Luke, who ran to hug her, clearly scared.

"What's going on?" she asked, ignoring Larys still in the room. The young Massey approached her.

"News arrived from the City Watch. Your...your lord husband was found dead in a tavern, my princess. It is believed that it was an assault. The news was given to Her Majesty and her delivery...was brought forward. As it did Lady Alicent's. But the matrons and the maester say there is a lot of blood. And the child is missing a moon."

And Laena almost didn't survive the last one.

Rhaenyra looked at Larys, who already had his gaze fixed on her. She could see the same recognition in his eyes, and knew he thought the same as her.

The fall of House Velaryon has started.

Chapter Text

LAENA IV/DAEMON X

Laena Velaryon felt as if her entire body was boiling inside, gripping the sheets of her bed so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her fever made her feel on the verge of fainting, waves of pain hitting her one after another, while the contractions became stronger and stronger, although to no avail.

She had been like this for a few hours now. Since someone brought her the news about Laenor.

Laenor. Her brother. The only person she had ever been able to trust in the world.

 Laena had thrown out the maester and the maids with screams and threats. She had wanted to be alone. Cry alone.

At first, she had been completely sure that it had been her father. A slip in their plan, someone whispering to Lord Corlys what she and Laenor wanted to do.

But she had ruled that out a while ago. Specifically, since her father had appeared in her room arm in arm with her mother, his face as white as a candle. Just one look at the man was enough to realize the truth.

The lord of Driftmark had stayed a while.  He looked...like in a trance. Stunned. Shocked. Empty, as if he had lost a part of his already non-existent soul.

Her mother had remained at the foot of her bed, keeping her company, showing incredible resistance not to cry.

Immersed in agony and suffering, her mind had not stopped thinking, however. A thousand and one names turned in her mind, as she dismissed each one with each sharp stab of pain. Finally, in a moment of sudden calm, a space between waves, she found the one.

"Rhaenyra"

Corlys and Rhaenys stood up from her chairs upon hearing her speak, approaching her. Her mother took her sweat-soaked hand, letting her hold it as tightly as she would need.

"What?" They both asked, still confused.

Laena appreciated the gesture. She tried to focus on Rhaenys' face and only that.

"Laenor said that she...doubted him. That she believed that tomorrow he would testify against her in that fucking charade," she whispered softly, beginning to feel again the hints of a new cycle of pain.

Her father, on the other side of the bed, shook his head.

"I did what I had to do, for the good of our House..."

An unusual anger, probably mixed with the physical and emotional pain she felt, filled every fiber of her being. She looked at her father, with the accumulated contempt of so many years.

"I don't want to hear justifications! I don't...I don't want to see you! Laenor would be alive if you weren't a fucking ambitious son of a bitch! Go away! Go away or I'll talk to the guards and tell them to throw you out!"

Laena looked like a crazy patient and she knew it, but she didn't care. Right now, seeing her father felt like someone rubbing salt into freshly opened wounds on the battlefield.

"Laena..." her mother whispered, stroking her hair, seeking her calm. She shot a murderous look at her husband. Corlys, understanding the message that neither woman wanted him there, got up and left, with a loud slam of the door.

"It was Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra ordered his death. Her," she whispered, once her father was away. She felt Rhaenys' hand touching her face and knew that the fever had surely increased further. However, this was not a delusion. She didn't want her mother to believe that what she said should be taken lightly.

"I know it was her, mother. Laenor would never have done anything against those children, but she... I guess she feared the worst. She didn't want to take any risks."

Rhaenys shook her head, placing a damp cloth on her forehead in an attempt to combat the temperature of her body.

"You have no proof," the princess simply told him. Laena grabbed her arm tightly, clinging to it. She felt her bones creak softly at her wildness, but still she didn't let go.

"It was her. Cursed in the Seven Heavens and in the deepest of the Seven Hells. Laenor was a pure soul, too stupid to believe that she would do nothing"

"You need to rest. Save energy," her mother whispered, trying to get her to lie down again.

Still consumed by pain, Laena struggled, hot tears burning her face. She wanted Rhaenys to understand that she wasn't crazy.

Her brother had been murdered. An unprecedented injustice. And her words were being taken as hallucinations.

"Please, Mother. Who else would wanted Laenor dead? Who desperately needed tomorrow to never happen? Father's audience has fallen apart. Who benefits the most?"

She could see the conflict in her mother's eyes. The realization. And the cold acceptance. Her heart could rest a little easier.

She finally lay down on the bed, the soft pillow being of little comfort to the muscles in her neck that tensed with every spasm.

"She can't go unpunished," she whispered, as if she was trying to convince herself. Laena could see her mother sitting next to her, shaking her head.

"Is the crown princess. Your husband's daughter."

She knew what she meant. There was no need to put it into words.

How can you seek justice when the judge will protect the accused at all costs?

But Viserys could go to hell. Protecting her wouldn't change that Rhaenyra was a murderer.

"She could be the Maiden herself for all I care. In the eyes of gods and men she is guilty. My brother... your son."

Laena saw the the doubt in Rhaenys. The young Queen felt desperation rise in her chest. She...gods, she would do anything to get her to pay. But she doubted that her strength would reach her.

"Promise it to me. Promise that you will seek justice. In any way"

Her mother shook her head again, her look stern. She recognized the fear in her eyes.

"I won't make any promises. You talk like you're dying. And you're not."

Laena felt the urge to let out a bitter laugh. The pain was. so unbearable that even breathing required great effort. Still, she gave a smile that was meant to be reassuring.

"Then give this poor sick woman a rest. One less problem to worry my tired mind. Promise me, mother."

Her voice had a touching tone of supplication. One that not even Rhaenys could deny.

The Queen Who Never Was looked at the face of her daughter. She took her hand in hers. And finally, she whispered the words she wanted to hear.

"Laenor's death will be avenged. Justice will be done for your brother. I promise"

The prince marched through the long corridors of the castle, with the echoes of his boots and the clanking of his armor as his only companions.

He had not been the one to find the young Velaryon's body, although he had heard the man who had found him describe the scene.

He died the same way as Ser Joffrey. The Seven have a curious way of mocking their believers.

It was curious to see how everything developed around him. The machinations, the plots, the backstabbing, the murders, the bribery... they had always been interesting to watch. Who would be next to move a piece?

His instincts sharpened when he felt a familiar change in the environment.

The prince took his dagger and with a graceful movement placed it on the neck of the figure that a minute before was in the shadows.

With the other he tore off her hood, bringing her face closer to the light of the torches.

Daemon recognized her immediately, although the steel blade never left her throat.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” he hissed, keeping her pinned.

He hadn't seen her for years. Not since her last fiasco a decade ago, when he had discovered that she had informed Ser Otto Hightower of his escape with the princess again.

Never trust a snake, especially when it has betrayed you before.

Mysaria looked up from him, defiant. Despite her obvious annoyance, she managed to appear arrogant and in control.

"You are not the only one who knows the passages. Nor my only contact within the Court"

"What do you want?" he asked still aggressively. The Lyseni rolled her eyes, irritated.

"This away from my face, if it's not too much to ask for a start," she replied, pointing to the dagger with her gaze. With a huff he freed her, pushing her a couple of meters away from him.

Mysaria fixed her disguise, trying to regain some dignity.

"I have come to speak to you about Ser Laenor Velaryon."

If she was looking for any kind of interest, Daemon didn't give her the pleasure. Even though he knew that her presence denoted something important, he continued to pretend that he didn't care.

 He looked at her with a gesture of slight disdain.

"If you came here to talk to me about a street fight, you might as well have sent one of your harlots with the message."

The White Worm glared at him, half fed up with his rough nature.

"You know it wasn't."

He gave a half smile, amused.

"Is that a confession?"

Mysaria placed her finger in the center of his armor, carefully tracing his plates in a sensual gesture. Her voice sounded silky, suggestive.

"Let's call it a...help"

Daemon wasn't fooled by the promise of lust. Instead, he removed her hand from him with a light smack in displeasure.

"What's the price?" he asked, knowing that anything he had to do with her, whether carnal or not, was always expensive.

"None. Let's say I have certain...interests in this"

Daemon didn't like the sound of that.

"What kind of interests?"

Mysaria used her sweet voice again. She looked at him with feigned innocence.

"Why would I reveal everything? It takes away the fun of..."

Her games strained his already fragile patience. He pushed her against the wall, hearing her cry slightly at his strength. He grabbed the collar of her dress, feeling the fabric beginning to crack under his violent grip. His other hand went to her neck, squeezing it lightly.

"I don't give a shit about the Velaryons. Now, state your goal here or I'll have you dragged out of the castle."

With a small voice, she managed to stammer out a name.

"Larys Strong"

That caught his attention. He loosened his grip on her lightly, enough to allow her to breathe again.

"What with him?"

Mysaria took deep breaths. She coughed lightly, ignoring the tattered clothes on her.

"I recognize the method. The men, inmates picked up by the same City Watch, with their tongues torn out so they cannot indicate the name of their master"

Curious, very curious.

It sounded... smart. Quite a bit, actually. The perfect manpower to develop unspeakable actions, good and convenient enough to make them disappear along with anything that could be considered evidence.

"And then how do you know it was him?"

Mysaria caressed her neck probably feeling the bruises that were starting to form. She didn't make him feel guilty at all.

"Because I know. We snakes and spiders recognize each other."

Appropriate metaphor. They are both the same kind of slippery vermin.

Still, he did not understand where this matter was going. What exactly did she want him to do by giving him this information?

He tried to test the waters

"There is no evidence," he said, reminding her that in the event of a trial, the word of commoners would not be taken into account by Viserys. Much less by Lyonel.

"There won't be any. I already told you."

"Then why are you telling me?"

For the first time he could distinguish an emotion in his former lover. Fear. Slight, but genuine fear.

"Because this is just the beginning. And you know who he's trying to reach. His goal"

Of course Daemon knew it. What could Larys Strong seek by killing Corlys Velaryon's son, if it was not the favor of the crown princess?

"If Rhaenyra had her beloved husband killed, then she is more bloodthirsty than I thought. And intelligent."

She watched him with a mixture of shock, disbelief and despair. Just what he wanted.

"She might be. But Strong is more so. Would you really want to see that cripple advising the Queen?"

Then, he was finally able to discern the direction of the request. Mysaria did not want a warning call, nor a veiled threat. She wanted Larys Strong dead.

And she wants me to do it myself. That's why she alludes to scenarios that might bother me. But give her the satisfaction of giving in to her desires? Not even dead.

"Would you prefer if she had a whore whispering in her ear? I have no problem with killing, darling. But I do it because I want to, not because I'm commissioned."

The White Worm's face darkened.

"Then I hope your lack of action doesn't weigh on you one day."

Her threat caused him little more than amusement.

"I really doubt it"

Furious, she wrapped herself in her cloak again, no matter how her clothes fell to pieces.

"Mysaria..." he told her, before she dove into the same dark hallway she had emerged from. The woman turned to look at him, defiantly. He barely cared.

"If you come back here without invitation, I will throw you into the deepest of the black cells."

Or I will kill you.

The Queen bit the piece of cloth in her mouth, thus stifling her desperate screams. For some time now, the pain had worsened, and she was forced to accept the entourage of matrons and maids and Mellos back.

The pain was agonizing, but she would rather endure it than accept more poppy milk. She wanted to be in her five senses.

Her mother was gone, not by her own decision but for privacy. The cause? The surprise appearance of her husband on the birth bed, at the request of the Grand Maester.

Drawing the will of only the gods knew where Viserys had dared to show himself and remain at her side. Probably almost as surprised as she was, Rhaenys had been forced to abandon her guard, although from the look on her husband's face it wouldn't take long for him to call her back.

In reality, the presence of a husband during childbirth was something unusual, reserved for difficult births. And she didn't mean to fool herself by pretending that she didn't know that this was exactly the epitome of one.

Laena looked Mellos carrying her husband to the other side of the room, conveniently "away" from her ears. The Grand Maester's strange attitude made her have a very bad feeling, so she checked that her face would not show any gesture of recognition while she tried to isolate both voices from the noise inside her chambers.

"Decisions...difficult. We are sorry, Your Majesty, but..." she could read on Mellos's lips. From Viserys's frown, she knew that he hadn't understood it either.

"What... decisions...?"

The old man placed a hand on Jis Majesty's shoulder in a gesture that was intended to be reassuring, but instead startled him. She continued to hear parts of the conversation.

"The infant... survive... if we open... his mother. Same... Queen Aemma... Risky, but... only way..."

Laena had seen Viserys become sick many times especially since his illness had begun. A waxy, sickly tone. But at that moment, his face was almost snowy. For a moment, she even thought he had suffered a heart attack and was about to fall to the ground, dead. Her very heart seemed to be about to suffer something similar. Her mind was spinning and the images from her nightmares came back to torment her like a bad omen.

They will tear me apart and take my son out of my bowels. No better than a deer once hunted, when its interior is removed to sell it. At least they have the kindness to kill them first. Instead I...

She felt the urge to run, even though she knew she wouldn't get too far. Still, her mind began to plot a thousand and one ways to escape from there.

Fortunately, for once in his life, her husband helped her with it. Still processing the maester's words, the King began to shake, gripped by a panic attack similar to her own, although visible.

"No. No, not again," he whispered over and over again. She saw him stumble and stumble backwards, before collapsing to the ground in a faint. On the way, however, he managed to hit his forehead with a wooden piece of furniture in the room, starting to bleed heavily.

"Your Majesty!" Mellos shouted, kneeling to see him. All the maids stopped, as if she herself had stopped being the priority at that moment. And she was willing to take advantage of it.

Laena feigned horror, screaming along with them. When the guard at the door managed to help Mellos to take him up from the ground, Laena did her best to look like an overly worried wife.

"Take him to his chambers! He's your King for gods' sake. Make sure he's okay!"

Her maids and servants nodded, and the entourage that was previously with her began to leave the room, with the health of her Viserys as their priority.

"You must understand, my Queen, that our King requires..." Mellos began to excuse himself, but she indicated her understanding.

 Once with the room half empty, she dismissed the four maids that he had left with her so that they could "inform him of her state of health", requesting that she wished to see her mother immediately and sending them to different parts of the castle to look for her. .

Once alone, she leaned on the bed frame and stood up. She stumbled a little, each step feeling pain like the Seven Hells combined.

Still, she didn't stop, moving slowly but steadily away from her room. Far from the carnage she would carry out. Far from what had always been her destiny since the day she married the King.

In the end, there was only one place she could go. And she headed there.

So, when one of the handmaidens was finally able to find Princess Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was found herself with an empty bed.

With a surly gesture, Daemon greeted Ser Criston Cole, who stood guard at the door of his wife's chambers. With similar coldness, the white cloak returned it, opening the door so that he could enter.

Inside he could see Alicent, kneeling next to the bed. The table and most surfaces were filled with candles and his wife stood with her eyes closed, fervently reciting prayers to the Seven, seemingly unaware of his arrival.

Slightly displeased, but trying not to look like it, he cleared his throat loudly.

"I didn't know you had transformed your chambers into the Sept," he said out loud, trying to remove all the sarcasm from the sentence. His wife remained with her eyes closed for a few more seconds, apparently finishing a prayer, and she finally stood up to receive him. She seemed less euphoric than usual, sad, worried, anxious. Daemon could make it out in the trembling of her hands, which fought against her own to keep from returning to the old habit that used to leave them raw and bleeding.

"Did you find him yourself?" she asked him bluntly. He shook his head, placing his helmet on the bed.

"No. One of my subordinates," he said absently, still looking around her. Her candles gave it a strange, mystical atmosphere. Under other circumstances, he would have found it interesting. Perhaps even aroused lust in him. In this case, however, they gave him the chills.

"I never exactly considered you a friend of Ser Laenor Velaryon."

Alicent shook her head. It was obvious that she sensed his discomfort.

"All the dead deserve at least one prayer in their honor. And not all of them are for him. The Queen is in labor"

Daemon made a slight gesture of surprise. He had heard the screams on his way back, yes, but he had believed them to be the anguish of a sister losing her brother. Now that he thought about it, it made sense.

"I thought she would give birth in a moon," he commented, sitting on the edge of the bed. Alicent continued standing, half a meter away from him.

"She should," she said with sadness and concern. It didn't surprise him.

He knew of his wife's friendship with the Queen. He didn't exactly share it, although he had always had a special respect for Laena. Vhagar's rider deserved no less from him, even though she hadn't ridden her in over a decade.

"Do you think Rhaenyra did it?"

Daemon played with his dagger between his fingers. He thought about it a bit. The fact that the princess had been capable of murder had been a surprise, yes, but not an especially terrible one. Not so hard to believe. She had felt threatened and had responded. It was what a dragon would do.

"I would kill for my children without hesitation. She is not much different. Although not with her own hands, of course," he said, without giving it much importance. Violence had never been foreign to him and he had taken the lives of hundreds. What was one? His niece was almost a saint compared to him.

Alicent sighed, uneasy. He knew that she still wasn't completely satisfied.

"Laenor was a good man," she whispered. He shrugged.

"And a threat as long as he breathed"

Her face changed and she frowned. She took a step away from him, probably trying to discern if he was serious.

"Are you justifying her?"

He did not felt especially bothered by the accusation. In reality, for him it was very simple. Perhaps for someone as his wife it was an abominable sin. For the prince, a simple matter of survival.

"I am telling the truth"

Alicent shook her head, as if the mere possibility turned her stomach.

His wife had never had a taste for blood. She could be sharp-tongued,...wild, in her own way. But she had limits to how far she could do what needed to be done.

"Who? Who could have helped do something... like that?" she whispered, still in disbelief. His response was quick, automatic.

"Larys Strong"

This time her gesture went far beyond disbelief. Alicent seemed to see it as if he had said something really crazy.

"He can barely put one foot in front of the other."

It's true. But the cripple is intelligent and cunning. A real rat that knows how to camouflage itself by pretending to be harmless.

"And therein lies his success. He's so pathetic you'd hardly realize he was a threat."

Alicent sat on the mattress next to him. Now that he saw her up close she looked truly exhausted.

"I think we should be much more concerned about the fact that our future Queen is capable of resorting to murder to achieve her goals," she whispered, as if she still couldn't believe her own words.

"We are all capable of perversion, with enough threat hanging over our heads"

Alicent seemed about to refute that, but before she had the chance to do so, the door opened and Talya, his wife's maid hurried in, followed by Ser Criston.

"My lady, she says is extremely urgent," the knight justified.

Alicent nodded worriedly, as Daemon watched the scene unfold before his eyes.

"I went to check as you asked me to, my lady. Prince Aemond is not in his bed."

Alicent got out of bed at the same time as him. Hee could see her nervousness increasing, her hands shaking.

"What?"

The four of them rushed to the children's room. There, Talya gently picked up Baelon, while she ensured that the rest remained peacefully asleep. Once in the hallway, Alicent questioned her sleepy firstborn.

"Baelon. Where is your brother?"

It wasn't unreasonable for his eldest son to know. Baelon and Aemond were as inseparable as his own uncle Aemon and his father were said to have been. Whether it was pranks, fights, skirmishes or anything else, they were always together. Neither did anything without the knowledge of the other.

"I...I don't know. Why should I know?" answered the prince, half asleep.

Even so, Daemon could tell the lie. He grabbed Baelon by the shoulders and shook him hard enough for the last traces of sleep to leave his body.

"This is no time for jokes. Tell me where the hell Aemond is now. It's not a game."

He saw his wife's grimace at the language, but he didn't care. Already fully awake, Baelon looked at him, nervous. He finally sighed, defeated.

"In the Dragonpit. He said he would try again. I..."

His wife began pacing back and forth, clearly upset.

"Something could happen to him," she said, staring at him.

Ser Criston stepped forward, holding the pommel of his sword.

"I'll go get him, my lady," he offered immediately. Daemon shook his head.

"No. You will be roasted before dawn, and I wouldn't want that to happen without me seeing it. I'll go."

He left Baelon with Talya to take him back to his chambers to continue sleeping and was grateful he hadn't taken off his armor yet.

"Chances of him being hurt?" Alicent asked, before she left.

"If he is intelligent and doesn't provoke them, that's enough," he replied, before embarking on the trip.

If he made it there, it means he knows how to sneak, he thought with a mixture of pride and irritation as he used one of the multiple passages he knew to get there faster. Although in reality, perhaps it hadn't been necessary. With the chaos of Laenor's discovery and Laena's birth, the guard posts were probably just as disorganized. Even Mysaria had managed to pass without any problem.

Daemon finally found himself in the deep well. Even with the torches, there were parts of the caverns as dark as the black of the Targaryen sigil.

For any unaware person, finding themselves there must have been a terrible nightmare. An almost labyrinthine complex, with creatures that made strange and terrifying roars and noises. Not to mention that they could be turned into food at any misstep.

He borrowed one of the fires, guiding himself based on experience in the deep labyrinths. Chirps and clicks were here and here and the heat increased with each step, as if the ground were boiling at his feet. Finally, the roar of a beast that he recognized as annoyance made him run in the right direction.

A nameless young dragon stretched his chain and blew a puff of air towards Aemond's frozen form. Daemon, however, was faster, pushing him to the ground and falling next to him, causing the searing heat to pass several inches away from them.

"Father, I..." the young prince began to say, surprised and embarrassed.

"Your mother wants explanations," he said, helping him get up from the ground. Aemond brushed off his clothes, though it was clear that they were hopelessly covered in soot. With his head lowered, he seemed to accept his inevitable fate, waiting for Daemon to take him back to the Red Keep. But his father didn't move. His son turned to look at him, confused.

"Father?" he asked. The Rogue Prince stared ahead. About ten meters away was the figure of a woman, dressed in a white nightgown filled with blood from the waist down. He recognized her immediately.

"Laena," he whispered.

The Queen finally seemed to notice their presence, although she made no move to approach.

"I thought no one would be here," she said simply, holding her belly. Daemon took a step, Aemond still holding his hand.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in a bed."

Laena smiled sadly. Her feet were raw from the walk, her body was still covered in sweat and she knew she had been dripping blood for several meters. However, her determination had been stronger. It still was.

"When I married Viserys..." she began, walking two steps in front of her target, moving slightly away from them.

"I promised myself that they could take everything from me, except my dignity."

Daemon frowned, confused. He took another step forward, with Aemond watching the entire scene intently.

He doesn't understand it. He thinks I'm crazy. Maybe I am.

The young Queen crouched down, enduring another spasm.

"Aemma was a gentle and good woman. But I am not her. I will not resign myself to dying begging for my life from Mellos and my husband"

"What are you talking about?" the Rogue Prince asked. The poor thing was probably hallucinating from the pain. Still, getting close would be difficult. He reviewed with a mental map where they were within the cave system. His eyes widened in surprise as he realized what dragon lived a few meters from where Laena was standing. Everything made sense.

Vhagar.

"You have two daughters. You are expecting a child," he said, mentally calculating what it would take to run, grab her, and return safely to Aemond. The hero's stupidity had never been his thing, nor did he want it to be, but Laena...

His brother's daughters would be left without a mother. And he didn't know if Viserys could deal with the guilt.

"My child is dead. Don't think I don't know. I haven't felt him move for hours."

He left along with Laenor,

"And I...I'm already dead. I have been since I entered the birthing bed, since Viserys put his seed in me again even though he knew the risks. I'm not giving up. There's simply nothing left to do. Let me have a death worthy of a dragon rider."

The prince felt a knot in his stomach. There was too much determination in her voice. Too much security. And he was still too far away.

"Laena..."

A thunderous sound invaded the Dragonpit while, from the largest hole, a huge dark green dragon emerged. Vhagar shook at Daemon's stunned gaze, Aemond's astonished one, and Laena's happy one.

"Hello, old friend," Laena whispered in Valyrian, as the colossal beast rested its gaze on her.

The dragon seemed to recognize her rider, crouching down without presenting any threat.

The Queen turned to look at him one last time.

"Take care of my daughters. Tell them I love them.”

She turned to look into the eyes of the creature with whom she shared an unbreakable bond.

"Dracarys!" she shouted loudly. Vhagar opened her mouth, but she seemed doubtful, As if she was unsure of her actions. Laena gave a sad smile.

"Please," she whispered, closing her eyes.

The orange glow of fire began to rise from the dragon's throat and Daemon leaned down, pressing Aemond's face against his body so he wouldn't look as the flare hit, covering the girl in fire until nothing was left but ashes.

"No!" he heard a pitiful cry from behind, as Rhaenys came running, her eyes wide in shock.

The three stood for several minutes, until Vhagar's fire on the ground went out, and the dragon returned to her hiding place to continue sleeping.

Finally, Daemon took Aemond's hand.

"Let's go home," he whispered to the boy, who didn't put up much resistance.

They turned to leave, but were stopped by the princess's voice.

"Why?" Rhaenys asked, her tone breaking.

The prince wasn't sure what she was asking him.

Why had her daughter done what she had done? Or why hadn't he stopped her?

It did not matter. Both questions had the same answer.

"Laena wanted the death of a dragon rider. Denying her that would have been as miserable as killing her myself."

"Rhaenyra has taken my two children from me" whispered the Queen Who Never Was, in a mournful tone.

And with them she has taken every last bastion of power from House Velaryon.

Daemon guided his son through the same system of passages that had brought him there, bringing them almost immediately back to his chambers.

"Why did she do it?" his son finally asked.

"You heard me," he replied, helping him into bed. Aemond shook his head.

"Not her. Vhagar. Why did she do it? Why did she do that to her rider?"

The prince sat next to him thoughtfully. He thought deeply.

"A dragon is more than just a horse with wings. There is a bond... that allows it to feel what its rider feels. All the euphoria, the anger, the pain..."

Aemond remained silent, taking it in. Finally, a single word left his lips.

"Mercy"

Daemon nodded. His son seemed to have understood the fundamental basis of the bond between a dragon and his rider. It was not a war machine attached to a commander, nor a mount with a knight. It was a single soul, divided into two bodies.

If only you had one. Gods, the strength of that bond, what you could do.

But he didn't let that show on his face. Only his pride.

"What happened today was... complicated. The first one is usually unforgettable" he whispered, caressing his face. Aemond looked confused.

"The first what?"

"The first person you see die."

His son nodded, although he knew he was probably still in shock. It would be some time before he would accept it. And then, his life would never be the same.

There are things that mark us forever.

Thus, Aemond fell asleep without complaining too much.

 Daemon returned to his wife's chambers. Alicent waited with a nervous gesture.

"And?" she asked, clearly stressed. He sighed.

"The Queen is dead"

Alicent's face transformed into a cold mask. He could see tears beginning to form in her eyes, though he knew she wouldn't shed them, not now.

There were more implications to a death of such magnitude. Beyond the sentimental ones. Politics. An imbalance in power, which harbored the possibility of someone else's ascension. Someone strong enough to take it all.

"To Lady Laena Velaryon. The brave rider of Vhagar," he said, pouring two glasses of wine and handing one to his wife.

She would hate to be remembered as Queen.

Alicent seemed to think for a moment, stirring the liquid in the glass. Finally, she sighed.

"To Lady Laena Velaryon. A loyal friend and exemplary mother."

They both drank deeply. And none of them slept that night.

Chapter Text

AEMOND II/ALICENT XI/RHAENYRA VIII

Aemond shifted his weight from one foot to the other, while trying not to appear overly tired in front of the crowd. Driftmark was the first place away from King's Landing that he had visited, much more scorching and stifling than Blackwater Bay had ever been.

But he had to silence his annoyance. After all, they weren't there for a social visit, but for something much more serious. The funeral of Laenor and Laena Velaryon.

A week had passed since the event. The bodies of both siblings now rested in two large coffins carved in stone, ready to be immersed in the sea as was the custom.

It was strange, the feeling that two people he had known since childhood were no longer there, from one moment to the next.

Jace and Luke's father had always been…kind. He hadn't been especially close to him, but he could remember little things. How he rode Seasmoke in the morning, passing the dragon near the castle's windows. How he used to ask his sister, the Queen, to dance at her name day banquets. How he spoiled Baela and Rhaena.

Thinking about his cousins made him feel a pit in his stomach.

They had never been especially close, although Laena was good friends with his mother. Yes, the Velaryon children had lost a father, but his  cousins had lost their mother and their uncle; and, although he would never dare say it out loud, he suspected that King Viserys wasn't exactly the best father in the world.

That's probably why Jace and Luke look sad, but not completely broken, while Baela and Rhaena seem on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

The first, was hugging her grandmother with all her strength. The second, was sobbing quietly as she watched the Driftmark guards tie ropes to the heavy sarcophagi.

"We join today at the Seat of the Sea to commit the Queen Laena of House Velaryon to the eternal waters, the dominion of the Merling King..."

While Vaemond Velaryon, Lord Corlys' brother, recited some things in Valyrian, he finally allowed himself to think about Laena. The way she had died haunted him at night. His father had covered his sight long before he saw too much, although his imagination used to recreate the scene that his eyes had not been able to register.

The most disturbing thing, what often woke him up and left him like that for several hours, in his bed, in silence, had been... the calm.

Aemond had grown up with stories of Maegor and the Conquest, and invariably in each one, when dragonfire was involved, the screams of the victims were often described, whether of agony or terror; like those of Harren the Black's garrison in Harrenhal or those of Aegon the Uncrowned in the Gods Eye.

But Laena...

The Queen had smiled, before her end, and he had not heard even the beginnings of a scream when Daemon had pressed his face against his body. Not a single sound.

Who welcomes death with open arms? Just a mad woman...or something else.

A light tap on his back brought him back to reality, while Baelon, behind him, surreptitiously signaled for him to pay attention. Slightly annoyed by his older brother's scolding, he turned his eyes back to Ser Vaemond and his speech.

"Salt courses through Velaryon blood. Ours run thick. Ours run true. And ours must never thin" recited the uncle of the deceased, while he fixed his gaze not discreetly on Princess Rhaenyra, the widow of Ser Laenor and her two eldest sons, the orphans.

Next to him he saw his father smile and his mother nudge him.

"Don't laugh," he heard Alicent's whisper, although Daemon didn't seem too affected by his wife's punch.

Three Velaryon soldiers pulled the rope, pushing the stone coffins to the bottom of the bay,

He saw Lord Corlys look away and Princess Rhaenys press Baela closer to her chest, while Vaemond said a last solemn prayer to the waves.

"From the sea we came. To the sea we shall return."

Alicent shook Baelon's hair, filled with sand from the sea breeze as she took the boy with her towards the huge stone balcony where the crowd was gathered.

"You should go with your cousins," she suggested, pointing to Rhaena and Baela who remained in the corner, sitting on a stone bench, alone. His son seemed hesitant, but in the end he approached the pair of girls with a determined step.

Where is Daeron? That boy…

She prepared to set out to search for him, when a voice interrupted her.

"That she had brought him is an insult to our House. And to the memory of my son"

Alicent turned her head to find Rhaenys Targaryen standing next to her, a glass of wine in her hand.

She and Lord Corlys' wife had never engaged in conversation beyond the cold kindness of the Court. It seemed strange that she addressed her in such a...familiar way.

The princess seemed to notice the lady's confusion, since her voice was much kinder. And her conversation, more explanatory.

"Harwin Strong. She keeps him far enough not to be shameless, although bringing him here, to the home of her rightful husband, is a spit on his memory," Rhaenys continued, diatribing under her breath. "Although she seems interested in something else."

For the first time since the beginning of the "talk" she dared to look where Rhaenys had her eyes fixed. She could see Rhaenyra, a few steps away... casting persistent glances at her husband while he was talking to Viserys.

"You should be careful," the Queen Who Never Was whispered, as she finished emptying her cup with a murderous gaze still fixed on her former daughter-in-law. "We already know what she's capable of."

The woman walked away, probably back with Corlys. Her presence was quickly replaced by a more friendly one. The knight of the King's Guard approached, probably worried by the still cold expression on her face.

"Everything okay, my lady?"

Alicent continued to watch the crown princess, a million thoughts running through her head. Only then, did she realize that she was not alone. On the other side, holding onto his staff, Larys Strong seemed to take a similar interest in Rhaenyra.

There was something in his face, satisfaction painted on his eyes... that disgusted her deeply.

Criston seemed to notice it, since his gaze also fell on him.

"Tell me, Ser Criston," she said, with a strange feeling in her chest. "Does that look like a gaze of triumph to you?"

Princess Rhaenyra continued with her head held high in a serious gesture, pretending to ignore the dozen glances she felt fixed on her.

She knew that Laenor's funeral would be a challenge, for everyone in her family.

Jace and Luke had been heartbroken. Her husband had never been known for being a bad father, and that was reflected in the way they both missed them. Luke, for example, had gone back to sleeping in her bed after so many years of trying to be a "big boy" and Jace...

Her eldest son was more silent about his pain, although she could see it right in his eyes.

Joffrey is too young to understand, and maybe it is for the best.

She herself was not well. It had been quite some time since she had a good, peaceful night's sleep. Her memories of that day tormented her, in a way she had never thought possible.

The horror, the denial, the sadness...

But what she remembered most was the enormous disgust at herself, for that brief moment of peace that she had found in the storm. It still made her feel...sick. Like a traitor. As if she was just as guilty as the murderer.

She hadn't told Harwin. It would have been a rather complicated conversation. How could she confess that his own brother had been the intellectual author of that death? Not only would it have been hard to believe, it would have been dangerous. After all, Larys Strong had shown that he did not waver before ordering the murder of someone, even one so close to the royal family. Who could ensure the safety of the gold cloak? Or of herself? Or one of her children?

Jace ran towards her, hesitating for a few moments before hugging her tightly. Rhaenyra stroked his brown hair in a reassuring gesture. She crouched down to look at him. The young prince had a sad expression, but his eyes were dry. Jace had a habit of playing mature, an attitude he believed would make him a better future King.

"How is your brother?" she asked him. She hadn't seen Luke in a while, though she wasn't worried, knowing he was with his older brother.

"He's with Ser Harwin. He doesn't seem... to want to receive condolences. They make him feel sadder," Jace said, looking at her seriously. Something crossed the thought of her first-born son. She could see it in his eyes.

"Lord Larys sees at you...strange, mother. Since we came here. Even Ser Harwin has..."

A person passed by and her son remained silent, being old enough to know that not everyone should listen to a conversation like that.

Although she didn't let it show on her face, Rhaenyra felt a chill at his words.

That night, she had dismissed the man from her room shortly after the arrival of her children, and the report of the tragedy from one of her maids. Since then, she had avoided him as much as possible. Still, she knew it was not a permanent measure. And that he would look for her, at some point.

"There's nothing to worry about. Larys Strong is just a... strange man," she told him, kissing his forehead. The boy nodded, trusting her explanation.

"Go to Luke and take care of him. You know he's not feeling particularly well right now."

Jace nodded, walking back the way he had come out and Rhaenyra stood up again.

This time her attention was caught by a conversation a few feet away from her. Her father, supporting his weight with a cane, appeared to be engaged in a verbal argument with her uncle. Whatever it was, Daemon seemed irritated by his words, whispering something in the King's ear before storming off himself. Her father seemed quite affected by whatever he had told him, indicating to Ser Harrold that he would prefer to go to bed.

Aemond listened to the commotion, watching everyone bow respectfully at His Majesty's farewell. He ignored him, knowing that, crouched as he was, hardly anyone would notice his reluctance.

He continued to see his sister, who had been playing with some kind of spider for an hour.

Helaena had trouble concentrating, but she found a strange fascination in insects and other small creatures.

She liked to let them walk all over her, something that would have given any other lady chills.

"So what's the difference between this one and the others?" he asked her, trying to sound interested. He had hundreds of things in his mind that seemed more interesting, but Helaena was always happy to be asked about her things. And there was no better feeling than making his sister smile, especially in a situation as gloomy as a funeral.

"These have eight legs. The others have six" she explained, letting the spider walk along her hand.

"And that one is poisonous?" he asked her, a little more reluctantly.

Surely Helaena wouldn'tt hold that thing if it was dangerous, would she?

The thought made him break out in a cold sweat. However, his sister's laughter calmed him down.

"Of course not. Although there are others like it..."

Her explanation was interrupted by the arrival of their older brother.

"Mother says we should go to sleep," Baelon said, looking at them both. Helaena closed her hands, trapping the spider in her hands and standing up. Aemond followed her example.

"Do you want a jar for that?" Baelon offered, probably afraid that his sister's pet would escape into their room at night.

Then, a roar was heard in the sky, silencing any further conversation.

The enormous beast that constantly appeared in his dreams flew overhead, at a distance enough to cause no more than a slight draft, although it momentarily darkened the sky, followed by a much smaller figure of a light grayish color.

He watched them go to the other side of the island, which was nothing more than wild land, full of vegetation.

An idea arose in his head, crazy, dangerous and risky.

Once sheltered in the shared room and with his two younger siblings asleep, he dared to vocalize his thoughts.

"Vhagar and Seasmoke don't have riders anymore"

There was a long space of silence before his brother sat on his bed, frowning.

"That's not the kind of things you should think in situations like this"

Aemond knew it. It wasn't the first time he had been called... insensitive. His father said that he had practical thinking, free of sentimentality that clouded his judgment. His mother, that he had to learn to be more empathetic.

For him, it was simple. Certainly, the death of two people was something terrible, which deserved grief and mourning. But the possibilities...

"This could be my last chance. I..." he interrupted himself, thinking better of it. Maybe Baelon was right. Maybe he was being hasty and insensitive.

"Forget it. I'm being stupid"

Baelon sighed, getting up from his bed and sitting on his own.

His face reflected tiredness, but also a certain weakness in the face of his requests. He had always had it.

"What am I supposed to do?"

Rhaenyra heard the sound of waves crashing on the shore filling her ears. She had always found it relaxing, second only to the feeling of the air when she flew with Syrax. The princess felt the wet sand sticking to her shoes as she walked along the beach.

She wasn't there for entertainment purposes. Not even to clear her mind.

"You don't seem very happy," she said loudly, catching the attention of the only person present besides her in that place. Daemon was sitting on the sand, his sword stuck in front of him and his gaze fixed on the ocean.

"I could say the same about you. Widowhood doesn't seem to suit you as well as many think," he replied, without turning to look at her.

She ignored the acid comment, stopping only when she reached his side, remaining standing.

"Laenor was a good man. He will be remembered with affection and love by his family. He did not deserve what happened to him."

Her uncle let out a mocking laugh, playing with a handful of sand.

"I heard that Laenor was going to be the main witness in whatever Corlys was planning. It seems that the coincidences of life favor you"

Rhaenyra looked around her, making sure they were alone. She allowed herself to raise her voice.

"If you have any accusation, say it once and for all"

The Rogue Prince shrugged, still in a mocking gesture.

"I'm not interested, really. We all do what we have to do."

He won't be implying what I think he does...

"I did not kill Laenor"

"I'm not a Velaryon spy. You don't have to pretend here."

His reluctance to believe her and his impulse to make fun of her bothered her.

She kicked the ground, throwing sand on him. Her uncle stood up, cursing.

"I'm telling the truth. I didn't do it. Nor did I have anything to do with his death."

Daemon stood up, putting the sword back on his belt. He was still much taller than her, despite the years.

"I know about Larys Strong," he told her, his tone cold.

She swallowed nervously, both at his commanding presence and at his words.

How the hell would he know?

"Then you know he acted on his own initiative," she muttered, trying not to reflect the anxiety she felt.

"Larys doesn't seem like the kind of man who cares about family ties. I doubt any threat to his brother or his...nephews will matter to him. Unless Ser Harwin has asked him to," her uncle continued, shaking the grains on top of his clothes.

Rhaenyra shook her head. The mention of the true paternity of her children had upset her, although she wasn't too surprised. Daemon had always been the kind of man who said what he thought, without caring too much about the effects his words might have.

"Harwin wouldn't do it. He's not the kind of person to attack from behind. I'd believe he'd support a trial by combat, but a murder..."

Daemon stared at the horizon for a few seconds.

"You seem to think highly of him," he whispered, with slight curiosity. She nodded. It was time to tell the truth.

"He is discreet. And gentle. It feels good to be... desired"

"And for this you have earned the eternal enmity of the Velaryon in return."

Rhaenyra wasn't going to deny it. She had seen Rhaenys' murderous look. Corlys hate. The blame would fall on her shoulders and there would be no one to believe her truth. Or that would be even interested in listening to her. Larys had done his job too well. He had left her alone, with no one else to trust but him. Not even Harwin.

"My father..." she began, her voice much softer. She wanted him to know that her conversation with the King had not gone unnoticed.

"He seems to show more interest in his wife now that she's dead," her uncle responded sarcastically.

"It didn't have to be this way," she whispered, with genuine sorrow. The princess had never been able to fully accept Laena as her stepmother, but she had been the mother of her sisters. She had never wanted Baela and Rhaena to suffer what she had suffered with Aemma.

"What the Velaryon did...will not be the last time someone tries to question my rightful right to the throne," she said, looking at the prince. Her uncle smiled cruelly.

"Then maybe you should learn a lesson or two from Strong."

Rhaenyra knew he meant it. For Daemon, killing, threatening, maiming or things similar were common, routine. Therefore, it had to be him.

"He's not the only one with that kind of lethal effectiveness."

Daemon looked at her, with curiosity in his eyes, still not fully understanding what she meant. Rhaenyra gathered her courage, knowing that this could very well be the last chance she would have to make the proposal she had had in mind since a few days after Laenor's death. One that would benefit them both. After all, she knew her uncle well enough to know of his ambition. And his thirst for power.

"With you at my side as my consort, no one would even dare..."

Daemon cut her off, displeased.

"I have a wife, who has given me no reason to make her a second Rhea."

The allusion to the wife he had murdered threw her off balance for a moment. Daemon had confessed it to her, the same night they had laid together. How he had made her horse rear up. How he had left her, paralyzed and helpless on the ground. How she had provoked him, calling him a coward for not finishing the job. How he had hit her skull with a rock over and over again until her head was nothing but...

"No. I wouldn't even ask you. I've learned from my mistakes. I should never have asked you to leave her in the first place” she answered honestly. For years, she had wondered the reason for Daemon's reluctance to give in to her advances.

In the end, she had understood. He had fathered, until that last time before her marriage, two legitimate children with Alicent. Why would he have reason to abandon them then in favor of the promise of bastard offspring he couldn't even recognize as his own? But now, things had changed. And so did she.

"Still, Aegon had two wives," she whispered, breaking the silence once more. Her uncle looked at her with a mixture of surprise and disbelief.

"Your father would never..." he began, but she didn't let him finish.

"My father lacks the strength to prevent it. And the options. I have been preparing for ten years to take his place. There is no better candidate than me."

And she knew it was true. Not even her father had received such training before becoming King. And who else was left? Rhaena and Baela were ten years old. And the only one with a similar claim was Daemon himself, who had the same chance of sitting on the Iron Throne as his father had of having a male child. In the end, things were finally on her side.

Daemon looked at her for a long moment, as if he were analyzing her.

"You finally learned to defend yourself," he muttered in a flat tone, although she knew there was some pride beneath it. After all, he was still her uncle.

"Someone had to do it," she replied, with similar satisfaction.

The prince gave her something resembling a half smile and headed down the beach back to the castle. She made not the slightest attempt to stop him, nor to demand a response. That he hadn't rejected it right away only meant one thing.

She had gotten into his mind.

And he was willing to do exactly what she had always wanted.

What they both had wanted.

Aemond stumbled in the overgrown grass, crouching for a moment to rest. He had been walking non-stop for quite some time now, fearing with every step that someone in the castle would notice his escape and raise the alarm, taking him back before he even had the chance to try.

Baelon had helped him, distracting Ser Criston by feigning exaggerated discomfort. So, while the knight was seriously considering whether to call Mellos or take his brother to him, Aemond had slipped out of his room, straight outside.

And now, there he was.

From that point, he could perfectly see the sleeping figure of the enormous dragons up the hill.

The Velaryons had requested that Vhagar and Seasmoke be released, perhaps hoping that they would accompany their former riders to their final resting place. It would have seemed foolish to him, had he not himself seen the dragons following the ships.

Father is right. There is a special connection. Beyond reason. Beyond what we understand.

He had always wanted something like that. Longed for. Aemond had seen his father many times with his dragon. Caraxes shared his humor, his fury, his violence. They were so united that the Blood Wyrm came and obeyed his rider's orders without him saying a single word.

That's the kind of thing that gets written about in history books.

Knowing what he had to do and, taking advantage of the adrenaline that ran through his veins, he climbed in a sprint. A little out of breath, he stopped to breathe, trying to be silent.

There, on the flattest terrain, both magnificent beasts rested, immersed in a deep sleep.

With his heart pounding so hard in his chest that he thought it would burst out, Aemond approached. He knew perfectly well how dangerous that was. After all he had been desperately searching for it for too long.

Now, he had no choice but to choose. If the dragon rejected him, he would have no refuge but to run for his life, which would be complicated and stupid against a creature that could fly. Now, if he managed to unite with one, the other was likely to attack him.

He only had one chance. And he couldn't waste it.

Aemond fixed his gaze on Seasmoke. Laenor had always said that he was a calm and generally gentle dragon. Yes, he had seen battle in the Stepstones, but he was no war beast. Furthermore, he was quite young, having hatched from the egg of Lord Corlys' firstborn in Driftmark.

And then, he looked at Vhagar. The dragon was an enormous monstrosity, capable of swallowing a horse and its rider in a single bite. She had become battle-hardened long before King Jaehaerys was even born and was consequently a ferocious and aggressive creature.

In her long life she had had three riders, all notable for their rebellious and combative character. Queen Visenya, his own grandfather Baelon... and Queen Laena.

He weighed the two options.

If he managed to claim Seasmoke, he would have the speed advantage. He had seen Ser Laenor compete in races with Meleys, his mother's dragon, and while the latter won more often, it did not mean that the young dragon did not possess swift flight. Vhagar was heavy and once in flight, perhaps he could easily lose her among the clouds...

But she was bellicose. A blast of fire, a bite, a simple current of air generated by those enormous wings could cause him and the young grayish dragon to end up destroyed or worse.

And that, in the slightest possibility that either of them would accept it.

He closed his eyes, thinking about what his father would say.

The bond between a dragon and its rider allows them to become a single soul, divided into two bodies.

It made sense, actually. Quite. If he wanted to have a chance of claiming one of the two, he had to take the one who was most similar, the one with whom it was possible to form a connection. Seasmoke was docile and calm. Vhagar, hostile and savage. In the end, it wasn't that difficult to choose.

Gently, he placed his hand on the webs that formed a makeshift ladder to the saddle. As soon as his skin made contact with Vhagar's, the enormous green beast opened its fiery orange eyes, emitting a low roar in her throat.

Aemond withdrew his hand almost immediately, panicking, causing Vhagar to ignore him again, laying her head on the ground to fall asleep again.

I can't be a coward. It's now or never, win or lose.

Using all the courage he had and gravely fearing for his mental state, he once again placed his hands on the rope nets, this time in a firm and strong grip.

Vhagar's head snapped up again, looking at him before opening her jaws, showing her throat beginning to light up an orange color.

Memories began to fill his mind and he could almost see the Queen standing again like in his dreams, with that smile, and that pleading tone in the last seconds of her life.

Please.

"Dohaeras! Dohaeras, Vhagar!"

The words left his mouth in a desperate scream. The dragon continued to growl, although she still did not release the breath of fire. He took it as a sign to continue.

"Lykiri! Lykiri, Vhagar!" he continued reciting the words in Valyrian, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Vhagar closed her jaws, still emitting a low roar in her throat. Her eyes remained fixed on him, while she huffed hard, generating a cloud of sand that stung his eyes. He still maintained a firm position, not losing sight of her for a second, letting her sniff him at her pleasure. Finally, he extended a hand, as he had seen his father do hundreds of times with Caraxes.

Either swallow me or accept me. There is no turning back.

The creature brought its enormous head closer to him, until the tip of his fingers brushed against her skin. It was scaly, but strangely warm, rough and hard. It gave him a feeling like no other.

Having already verified that the beast's intentions were far from making him her next lunch, he began to climb the improvised ladder, until he reached the top. He perched on the saddle, still looking nervously not only at the considerable height he was off the ground, just being on top of her, but also at Seasmoke who seemed soon to wake up from his peaceful slumber.

Still, there was only one thing left to do. One to check if Vhagar really belonged to him now.

"Soves, Vhagar. Soves!"

The dragon did not need to be repeated. She shook off the sand that had stuck to her body during her nap, rocking the chair on her back from side to side, making him have to hold on with all his might.

Besides her, he could hear the smaller dragon's hiss, but a stab in the air from Vhagar blunted any attack Seasmoke might attempt against him, scaring him away.

Just as he was beginning to think that he had made a smart decision by mounting Vhagar, the dragon settled her paws on the ground, before breaking into a sprint and taking off.

Aemond clung to her ropes, not trying to control her but simply to survive the climb. With all his strength he managed to place his body back on the chair.

He pulled on the reins, trying to slow the dragon's mad speed before she finally became horizontal.

Vhagar descended, abandoning the clouds for the calm of the ocean. Her wings caressed the water and when he used her reins again, she obeyed his command, rising once more.

Finally, he could enjoy the feeling of the breeze on his face, the wonderful view at his feet.

He could see a light turn on in the castle, but in reality, he didn't care anymore.

There was no feeling greater than this. He felt free. He felt powerful. He felt like he could take on the world. And with this dragon by his side, he just might do that.

Landing was the easiest part of the entire difficult journey. And when he looked at the monstrosity he had left on the edge of the castle, he knew that no one could stop him anymore.

Aemond entered the castle through the same tunnels through which he had left, feeling invincible.

Maybe Aegon felt that way after riding Balerion for the first time. Or even Maegor.

Then he heard the footsteps. Quite a few. For a moment, he feared that the entire King's Guard would come to meet him. Until he saw them.

His cousins, with a furious expression. The Velaryon children, with serious ones.

"It's him" he heard Baela say, with a dry voice.

"It's me," he replied, with a hint of amusement. He could see the two sisters getting irritated by it.

"Vhagar is my mother's dragon" Rhaena said, with a hurt and indignant expression.

He shrugged.

"Your mother is dead. Vhagar has a new rider now"

He felt the slap on his cheek and remembered Baelon's words about gentleness and empathy.

Well, maybe I deserved that.

But then, Baela gave him another one. And another. And another.

He grabbed her hand tightly to stop the attack, pushing her back and causing her to fall.

Jace launched himself to defend her, punching his already injured cheek. He threw him to the ground as well, before Luke and Rhaena did the same to him. The four children threw themselves on top of him, slapping, punching and kicking.

Aemond kicked, not exactly looking at who, to get to his feet. He saw Jacaerys Velaryon wiping the blood from his nose and mouth, before Lucerys lunged at him again.

His anger and his patience were full then. With one hand, he held Luke down, choking him slightly.

"I claimed Vhagar fairly. Are you planning to steal legitimate rights? It wouldn't be the first time," he whispered, still angry.

Jace stood up from the ground, looking at him confused.

"What are you talking about?"

Not even Aemond was sure. He had heard rumors at Court and from his grandfather in some conversations. He didn't know if they were true or not. But at that moment, he only sought to hurt the pair of brothers at all costs.

"Joffrey should be the next King, or the next lord of Driftmark. You bastards are usurping his place," he spat, with the same contempt he had heard all those lords and ladies use.

Luke bit him, making him let him go. Jace stood in front of his younger brother, with a defiant look.

"Recant," he said, pulling a small knife from his sleeve in a threatening gesture. That only fueled his fury, uttering words that he didn't even understand.

"Or what? Will you kill me like your mother killed Ser Laenor?"

He could see Jace lunge at him with the small blade in hand, making threatening thrusts. He dodged them, before throwing him to the ground and taking a rock from it.

"Put it away," he whispered, loud enough so that only he could hear it. Jace glared at him, but he threw the knife away.

Aemond still held the rock over his face, threateningly, although he was beginning to lose his fury.

Then, it happened.

Jacaerys kicked him, causing him to lose his balance, almost slamming the stone directly into his skull... and then Luke rushed to his brother's defense, grabbing the knife from the ground and raising the edge, hitting him full in the face.

Aemond shouted. And screamed. And screamed. Until the sounds of heavy footsteps told him that the entire King's Guard had arrived. Two hands lifted him off the ground, placing him on his back, while he held his hand against his eye, trying to stop the bleeding.

"My prince. Let me see. Just let me see," Ser Harrold whispered, removing his hand. With his other eye's vision blurred, he could see the look of shock on his face. The fear.,

"Gods be good..."

"Mother, wake up..." Baelon whispered in her ear, making Alicent stir in her sleep. She turned to find her husband just as sleepy, waking up at the insistence of her son.

What time did he arrive? Where the hell was he?

But the questions had to wait. Because at that moment, Ser Criston's voice joined the insistent chorus.

"My lady, my prince. Something has happened"

Daemon groaned in his sleep, moving reluctantly. Alicent looked at the knight and Baelon with concern.

"Aemond" her eldest son answered, without her having to ask.

They both stood up immediately after that.

Downstairs, they found chaos. The entire King's Guard, the entire Velaryon garrison, Mellos, the maester of Driftmark himself, the King...

There are too many guards. This cannot be good.

"Mother" she heard the familiar voice. Alicent ran to the chair and knelt down to see her son. Daemon followed her, leaning down to watch him.

Aemond had a huge...it was hard to describe. A wound from above the eyebrow to the nose, passing through the eye.

She felt her heart sink and her hands tremble. She had a thousand questions about this. But first, she had to ask the important ones.

"It will heal, right?" she asked the maester, stroking Aemond's hair. She could see Mellos looking nervously at her husband, as if she feared his reaction.

"The wound will heal. But he has lost his eye, my lady."

No. For the love of the gods, no. I'm having a nightmare. This cannot be happening.

She saw Daemon immediately stand up and instinctively tried to take his hand. He was faster.

"Who the hell can tell me what the fuck happened here?" the prince demanded furiously. Everyone remained in silence.

"Who was on guard?" asked the King. Ser Criston stepped forward.

"Me, Your Majesty. I was with Prince Baelon. I..."

The knight did not have time to say anything else, before Daemon threw himself at him, sword in hand.

"You swore to protect my blood! You are not just an oathbreaker but an idiot! You will pay in blood for this!"

"Daemon," she said, trying to stop him. Criston swallowed nervously.

"I have certainly failed in my duty. But the King's Guard has never protected princes from princes..."

"Silence!" Viserys demanded, making everyone fall silent again. But the damage was done. She could see it in her husband's expression, confusion and then understanding. He knelt in front of their son.

"Who did this to you?" he asked him, his voice cold. Aemond opened his mouth to respond, when the door opened and Rhaenyra entered, followed by Ser Harwin, Corlys, and Rhaenys.

"Luke! Jace!" the crown princess exclaimed, kneeling in front of her children. Her eldest son's face was a mess, covered in blood and missing a tooth. Luke's was no better, with a broken nose...and blood that clearly wasn't his.

Beside her, she could see Rhaenys hugging the twins and wiping away their tears.

"What happened?" Lord Corlys asked out loud. The children began to scream.

"They attacked me!"

"He attacked Baela!"

"He stole my dragon!"

"He threatened me with a rock!"

"He called us..."

"Silence!" The King demanded once again, making them fall silent.

"He called us bastards," Jace whispered in her ear, his voice shaking.

"The knife...was me. He tried to kill Jace..." Lucerys completed.

Both statements left her cold.

She had seen Aemond's eye, Daemon's face. And if her son was to blame for such an injury...

Rhaenyra looked nervously at the ground and then at Harwin, seeing from his look that he had heard it too. She stood up, standing in front of her children in a protective gesture.

"My children were attacked. Vile insults were hurled at them"

Her father frowned, turning to her.

"What kind of insults?" the King asked, visibly upset. Everyone's attention seemed to have shifted from Aemond's injury to the words said in the discussion.

Maybe I will manage to get my son to safety.

"He called us bastards," Jace said, stepping out from behind her.

"He said that our mother had killed our father. And that Joffrey should be the only heir."

The words of her firstborn seemed to hit the mark right on target. Viserys suddenly seemed more incensed by the matter of the insults than the matter of the fight.

"Aemond," he said, approaching the boy. "I will have the truth about this. Where have you heard such things?"

Aemond closed his mouth, knowing that he had better remain silent about that. Her uncle seemed impatient. With difficulty, he moved in front of him, his face inches from his.

"Boy, you will be seriously questioned if you don't..."

Two hands pulled the King away from him, as he heard the sound of multiple swords being drawn.

"Stay away from him! You will do no such thing!" his father shouted, sending His Majesty several steps back. The whitecloaks surrounded him, placing their swords at his neck, but Daemon didn't seem to care, remaining in front of him.

"Sheath your damn swords," Viserys said, making the knights put away their weapons. "My brother acts out of a father's pain. I would be surprised if he didn't react like that."

His Majesty remained standing, although conveniently away from his brother.

"Despite this, I am a father myself. And grandfather. Anyone who questions the legitimacy of my grandchildren commits treason. And their tongue will be torn out accordingly" continued the King. Multiple nervous glances were cast at Ser Harwin and the princess, but no one else dared to say anything.

"Then it is settled..." Viserys continued, clearly intending to return to his bed.

"No. What will happen with this? Over of an insult, my son has lost an eye," Alicent said, her voice breaking. The King looked at her with pity.

"Accidents happen. We can't..."

"It wasn't an accident!" Baelon shouted from across the room, clearly furious. Tempers seemed to heat up once more when Luke, escaping his mother's grasp, took a step forward.

"He tried to kill Jace with a rock! I saved him..."

Rhaenyra covered his mouth. But it was too late.

Alicent's gaze locked on the boy. Hundreds of feelings passed through her chest. Anger, pain, fury, sadness. But ultimately one prevailed. One she would have never imagined.

"If the King doesn't provide justice, the child's mother will," she said in a cold voice that didn't even sound like her own.

"Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon."

The room was shocked and she could see everyone's terrified faces. The King stepped forward, standing in front of her.

"Pain leads us to do crazy things. Don't create another misfortune, sister-in-law"

Distracted as they were by her words, no one could foresee it. Except maybe herself.

Daemon grabbed Darksister, lunging at his niece and her children. Instinctively, Rhaenyra stepped in front of them, trying to protect them. But she wasn't the only one.

Ser Harwin drew his sword from too, parrying her thrust with one of his own. Daemon roared in anger, beginning to clash metal against metal, fighting against him.

In the chaos, Alicent grabbed the knife from Viserys's belt, also setting out in search of revenge. This time, it was Rhaenyra who stopped her.

"Stop this madness in the name of your King!" Viserys shouted. The entire King's Guard moved forward, trying to stop the men's sword duel while she kept the knife inches from the crown princess.

"You've gone too far," Rhaenyra whispered, holding her arm. Alicent felt like laughing at the absurdity of her statement.

"I? What have I done, but what was expected from me? All these years, enduring your contempt, your anger, your machinations without suffering any punishment for your actions. And now you want your son to do the same?"

Rhaenyra pushed further, clearly annoyed by her words. She spat out her next words with contempt.

"You hide behind false innocence. You have had what you have earned. No less"

"My son didn't deserve that!"

"My son is innocent too!"

Ser Criston's hands separated her from the princess, while Harwin Strong's did the same with Rhaenyra. She could see her husband being held by the other six knights of the King's Guard.

"I'll tear out his damn eyes, one for the damage and the other for the interests. I swear it, Strong!" he continued to roar angrily, trying to break free from their grasp.

Rhaenyra looked at her father and then at her uncle. Daemon... anything, any chance of reconciliation had died that night.

Never more.

"You must go to Dragonstone. Now," her father whispered in her ear.

The princess took one last look at the room. She didn't like the idea of looking like a coward. But before all, there was the safety of her children.

And I would never put them at risk in the name of my pride.

Then, she took the two frightened children's hands. And she fled.

Aemond rose from the chair with difficulty, still feeling dizzy.

The scene he had seen had been the most violent he had experienced in his entire life. The time he had spent, the happiest, had turned into ashes in his mouth.

He approached both of his parents, looking at them.

"Let them go," he whispered, struggling to speak. "It was a fair exchange. I lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

Once Viserys was sure that Daemon would not go after his grandsons again, he let the whitecloaks free him. His father shook off his grip, looking at the mess on the floor. Blood, broken things, holes in the ground and furniture made by the sword... it truly looked like a battlefield.

Alicent sent Baelon to bed. Meanwhile, Daemon looked at him, fixing him with a stern gaze. Aemond leaned instinctively against his mother.

"You could have died, not only in this stupid fight, but in that attempt to claim Vhagar. What the fuck were you thinking doing something so idiotic?"

His father's language surprised him. He had never seen him like this, angry and...

Then he understood.

For the first time, he saw his father scared. Scared by something he had done, for putting his life at risk, for...

But, he couldn't explain to him the reason behind his actions. How could he tell him?

"Why does it matter?" he responded.

He was a dragonrider now. He had chosen a dragon. That was more than enough reason to justify him.

"I claimed the dragon fair and square. I don't know why this is being made out to be such a big deal."

He was afraid to admit to his father that he had a lot to prove. If he admitted it, Daemon would have known just how much weight he placed on that.

He didn't want to reveal his weakness.

"Let him alone. He has gone through too much tonight" his mother said, standing in front of the prince.

Aemond knew that this would only climb further. And with tempers burning, he didn't know how far they could go.

"I did it because of you!" he yelled, putting himself between his parents.

"I have always wanted to impress you. To make you proud. I knew that not having a dragon of my own was...I didn't want to disappoint you. I didn't want to be a disappointment"

Tears ran down his cheeks, for the first time since everything began.

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. He looked up and again found something he didn't expect in his father's eyes.

Guilt.

But then, his head began to spin.

"Aemond?" he heard his mother's worried voice calling him. And then everything went black.

"Call Mellos!" Alicent shouted, before Daemon ran out of the hallway. She hugged her son to her chest, stroking his hair and trying to wake him up with gentle movements.

For the Seven, please. Father, give him strength. Mother, protect him...

Finally, the mob of maesters arrived, lifting him off the ground before the equally concerned gaze of his husband.

"He will be okay?" she asked the grandmaester as the servants took him away.

"It's...too early to tell. He lost a lot of blood and..."

The next words were lost in her head. And when she clung to Daemon, for the first time in years she did not find enough warmth in her husband's arms.

Just freezing cold.

Enough to chill her to her soul.

Chapter Text

DAEMON XI/OTTO I

Daemon paced the room, dimly lit by several candles.

He had long since lost track of time, with the windows and curtains closed and barely going out. What time could it be? The hour of the wolf? The dawn of the next day? The afternoon?

It had been a week since the Driftmark incident. He had carried Aemond on dragonback back to King's Landing as soon as dawn the next day had allowed, but the boy had remained unchanged... for the better, at least.

First, it had been the fainting. Shortly after, the fever. And lately...the delusions.

The maester had given him as much poppy milk as he could stand. He had treated with ointments, potions and poultices.

But so far, nothing had worked. The blood loss might have been easy to overcome, but not the infection.

And soon, Aemond had gone from slowly recovering to fighting for his life.

His wife hadn't been better. Alicent was in a state of constant vigilance. Baelon was usually the one who had to remind her that she should eat, or sleep. And her fingers...

Bleeding sores were constant on her hands. Daemon would have tried to stop her, until he had understood that it was the only way for her not to go crazy. He had since left her, although he made sure the maester bandaged her after it.

Baelon, Helaena and Daeron were fine. All, of course, in charge of their grandfather. Daemon didn't like the idea. He had in fact hated it every second.

But it's the price to pay to be close to my son. And there was no other way.

And the options had been exhausted. With the fight between him and the King, the last thing he would have wanted was to entrust a task of that size to Viserys, not when he himself was incapable of caring for his own daughters. Baelon had offered, but he himself was an eleven-year-old boy, as in need of care as the rest of his siblings.

In the end, no matter how much he hated it, no matter how much it ate at his insides and made his blood burn, Otto Hightower had been the decent choice.

That night, informed of the time by the presence of his father-in-law, he and Alicent left Aemond's room only a few paces away, unable to stay too far from the boy but obviously eager to know the status of the others.

Otto Hightower stood in the hallway, waiting for them. It was completely deserted, apparently without anyone else present.

Although he knew it was possible that it wasn't like that. Larys Strong had returned to King's Landing with the King's entourage, rather than following in his brother's footsteps to Dragonstone. And Mysaria was probably continuing to spy in the Red Keep as well.

We are never alone, not here.

"Baelon took his sword lessons with Ser Criston. Helaena sewed a beautiful cloth with the rest of the ladies. And Daeron continues reading avidly with the maester" Ser Otto began to narrate the events of the day. They already knew some details, the children visited them every afternoon in that same place. Helaena was always nervous to get close. Daeron, perhaps because of his age, was a little indifferent. But the one who had it the worst was Baelon.

Daemon had intended to punish Ser Criston from the first moment, being the one who was supposed to have stopped everything from happening in the first place. He would have fought to see the knight stripped of his white cloak and fallen from grace, to kill him with his own hands, to offer him as a snack to Caraxes or even to Vhagar, who, following her recently bonded rider, had returned to the Dragonpit.

In the end, he hadn't done any of that. Not after the confession of his eldest son.

Baelon had sworn before the Seven-Pointed Star, at the behest of his mother and on his own word of honor, at the behest of his father, that he had been the one to distract Ser Cole from his service at his brother's request, to escape that damn night

In the end, Ser Criston had managed to preserve each of his limbs and his life.

But Baelon...

He had tried to talk to the boy, visit after visit. Tried to help him understand that it wasn't his fault. But no matter how much he insisted, how much Alicent tried to assure him that everything would be okay, how much Otto himself explained that accidents happened, at the end of it all, he knew that his eldest son was consumed by dark thoughts and feelings. And that the only way for him to get out of there would be if Aemond got better... which hadn't happened yet.

"Anyway. The three of them are wrapped up and in their chambers. The maids checked and will continue to do so throughout the night" continued the Former Hand of the King. Alicent nodded, with a gesture of relief. Daemon imitated her, although with less enthusiasm.

Then, he noticed it. That look he had always recognized and hated seeing on the man in front of him. That of a mind planning, scheming.

"What is it?" he asked, with a certain grave and stern tone. Ser Otto seemed slightly surprised to have been discovered, although he quickly composed himself.

"Lord Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen request an audience"

The news was to say the least...intriguing. And the prince knew that Otto must have kept it to himself for a while, thinking about whether he would say it or not. He made a touch of anger rise up his spine.

Daemon couldn't stand his father-in-law. He had never done it and he was sure he never would. Still, with all that, he tried to control himself. Alicent already had enough problems. What she least wanted was for her father to fight with her husband.

"And what do you want us to do with that?" he replied in a cold voice, sounding aggressive even when he had tried not to.

He noticed Alicent stiffen, though she didn't say anything about it to either of them. Instead, she caressed her bandaged fingers, probably feeling the urge to hurt herself again simply because of the relief she felt from doing so.

"They said for what?" she whispered, looking at him nervously, and whether it was because of the bad omen that it was her father's presence or simply the accumulation of all the latest events.

Ser Otto Hightower looked down at his hands, fiddling with the wedding ring he had never taken off before looking at them both again.

"I think you know perfectly well why"

And it was true. At least he knew it. There could only be one reason why the Velaryon couple was knocking at their door now.

Revenge.

Ser Laenor had died at Flea Bottom, stabbed by daggers paid for by the princess, so the rumors went. And Queen Laena... it was obvious that the unfortunate news had triggered the birth that would end her life. Both deaths had Rhaenyra as the main suspect, whether she wanted it or not. The Velaryon's hatred for her was clear...but what could they do? They had lost their advantage in dragons. Lord Corlys' fleet was formidable, yes, but not enough to declare war on the crown princess, much less considering that the rest of the Seven Kingdoms would tentatively support her. If they wanted justice, they would need allies. Powerful allies. And there were only a few who had recently suffered misfortunes caused by the Princess of Dragonstone. Them.

"What have you told them?" he asked him, with a slightly accusatory tone. His father-in-law seemed to ignore him. And Alicent silently returned to the interior of the room, probably preferring the peaceful silence to the confrontation between her husband and her father.

"That I would ask the prince and his wife" Otto said with an innocent tone. It only irritated Daemon more.

"We don't need help from the Lords of Driftmark," he spat contemptuously. Ser Otto shook his head.

"I don't agree with that, we share..."

That drove him crazy. Yes, perhaps there were certain similarities between both sets of parents. But there was also an important difference.

"We don't share anything. My son is still alive."

And I will not get tired of saying it until the Seven Hells listen to me.

He was tired of condolences. He had been about to impale Darksister on one of the servants whom he had heard whisper that, in the state the prince was in, perhaps the best thing would have been a merciful death.

Alicent had intervened, although she had seen to that the man was sent to the black cells.

And he'll probably end up on the Wall...or accidentally die along the way.

"True. But mutilated. That is beyond repair. And there is justice to be claimed" Ser Otto continued, with a determined look.

Justice.

The word tasted bitter in his mouth. The only thing that could give him that justice would be the eye of Lucerys Velaryon...or his life, if Aemond lost his.

"I will claim it by myself," he whispered. He knew what his gaze conveyed. He saw it in Otto's face.

"Even if you flew with Caraxes to Dragonstone, Rhaenyra would confront you with Syrax. The King would send an army against you. There are fights you cannot do alone"

Daemon noted that he had said that last bit with a little more caution. As if he was nervous of the consequences of the prince's actions. Daemon himself had never cared about his violent nature. And while the former Hand had used it to defame him in the eyes of his brother in his youth, Otto had never tried to stop him. Everything about his attitude was... strange.

And it was hateful.

"Do you want to try me?" he said in a defiant voice, watching for his reaction. He could see his face contort with disgust.

"If for once you would do what is asked of you..."

The prince let out a bitter, sarcastic laugh.

"Then I'd be one of those ass-licking idiots you have eating out of your hand, like my brother."

His father-in-law seemed to be truly struggling to maintain his composure. He watched him turn a color similar to pomegranates, before taking a deep breath to try and calm down.

"This is important. As a father you should..."

That was definitely the icing on the cake. Daemon didn't know whether to laugh or be furious at the statement.

Otto Hightower giving me fatherhood lessons? What a fucking joke. The same man who would have prostituted his daughter for a crown.

But he didn't say it out loud. The door to the room was still open and Alicent probably could have heard.

"As a father, I know what is best for my son. And what I am willing to do for him, on my own," he responded coldly, with the clear intention of letting him understand that none of his advice was valued... and much less would it be followed.

Ser Otto remained stone-faced, although he could see a hundred emotions pass through his eyes. In the end, they flashed with anger. Still, his voice sounded calm.

"If you had done what you had to do, if you had been a father in the first place, your son would not have wanted to prove himself in front of you and he probably would not be there, on the edge of..."

Daemon punched him. And then again. And then again when he was on the ground. Until his wife, probably hearing the scandal, left the room and put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

The reminder of his guilt in what had happened to Aemond was bitter. The prince had spent so many years wishing his second child would have a dragon. Searching. Trying. But he had never achieved it. And he had transmitted that frustration to the boy. That had been what had made him look for Vhagar that night. What had gotten him into that fight. What had made him lose...

Maybe, just maybe, brute force wasn't necessary this time. Perhaps what would be useful would be the cunning of a snake.

The prince looked at them both, cleaning his fist from the remains of blood that stained it.

"Tell the Velaryons that we accept the meeting," he said, before entering the room and slamming the door.

Alicent stayed outside, helping her father up. Otto Hightower wiped his bloody nose with his hand.

He made sure the door was securely closed, wanting to avoid a second beating, if the prince heard what he would say next.

He looked at his daughter carefully. The circles under her eyes did not take away the beauty of her face, although they darkened it. And her hair remained elegantly combed despite her situation.

The bearing worthy of a Queen.

No one would have imagined that another person was hiding behind that angelic image, not even him.

That night at Driftmark, he had seen something he would have never thought he would see, his daughter turned into a defensive mother.

With the dagger in the crown princess's face, he had watched what he had always wanted.

The willingness to do what is necessary, given the circumstances. Even if it includes violence.

"This has been fortunate. After Aemond, Rhaenyra has ensured his eternal enmity. Daemon will not help her again. If we play our cards right..."

Alicent looked at him...strange. There was pain in her eyes. And a flash of anger.

"My son is dying. Your grandson," she said coldly, interrupting his words.

Ser Otto nodded. If there was a defect that his daughter had, it was letting herself be carried away by sentimentality, in the same way that Daemon was guided by his fury and bloodlust. But there was someone who had to keep a cool head if they wanted to succeed. Someone who would think. And that was him.

"And I'm sorry. But it's time to use things to our advantage. And everything is working out perfectly. So even if he dies..."

Otto was unable to continue when the force of his daughter's unexpected slap caused him to stagger. He couldn't help but look surprised. Alicent had never taken the path of violence with him. Only once had she raised her voice at him, only once had she looked at him with the same contempt with which she saw him now.

The day after Baelon was born.

"From the beginning you have not cared about anything but your damn ambition! You would have sacrificed everything, Gwayne, me, my husband, my children..."

Alicent stopped mid-sentence. She looked him up and down, as if it was the first time, she really saw him. He noticed tears in her eyes, but he knew they were not from sadness or regret, but from fury.

"You disgust me, father. From the depths of my heart today I can tell you that...you disgust me"

She turned to go back inside. Her father, in one swift movement, caught her arm, tilting his face toward hers.

"Will I still disgust you, Alicent, when Baelon sits on the Iron Throne?" he whispered in her ear.

His daughter opened the door and he let go of her arm. When she closed it on his face, he had no choice but to go to his chambers.

Although it hadn't exactly been that bad. Anyway, Otto had to plan details such as the meeting place for said meeting. It would have been stupid to do it in the Red Keep.

The former Hand reached into his robe and pulled out a gold dragon in his hand, which he caressed for a moment, thoughtfully.

Yes. He had the right person to get him a safe corner. And in the process, he would make Daemon boil with anger.

"I was expecting a lecture about how I shouldn't have hit him," the prince said as soon as he saw his wife enter again. Alicent glared at him and sat in the chair on the other side of the bed, ignoring the comfortable seat next to her husband. Illuminated by the candlelight, he could see the blood on her bandaged hand. Someone else's blood. Still, he decided not to mention it.

"Is this the right thing? A meeting with the Velaryon?" his wife asked with a serious face. He shrugged, trying to maintain a carefree facade.

"It could be."

Daemon saw Alicent's gaze linger on him for minutes. He pretended to ignore those brown eyes, as he stared at the crackling fire in the fireplace.

Finally, his wife spoke, uttering words he hadn't expected to hear come out of her mouth.

"I do not blame you"

The statement took him by surprise. He himself remained silent for a long time, trying to process not only what she had said, but everything he felt. Everything he had felt since he had seen Aemond in that chair, being sewn up by the maester. From the night on Driftmark beach with Rhaenyra. Since his fight with Harwin Strong.

"I do."

The prince could see his wife get up from her seat and slowly walk towards where he was.

She sat next to him, looking towards the bed where Aemond seemed to be sleeping peacefully for the first time in days.

"It wasn't Vhagar who did this to our son," she whispered softly. He felt her hand on his shoulder and felt his own body tense. But he knew it wasn't because of her touch. There was a mixture in his chest of pain, guilt and consuming anger.

"Still, I..."

He couldn't finish. He had never seemed weak and it was difficult to vocalize such feelings. He had never regretted anything in his life and to say it now...

"Would you have killed them?"

His wife's voice interrupted whatever internal dilemma he was having. Daemon looked at her face, trying to decipher her gaze. He saw something he hadn't seen in a long time. Determination.

He stopped to think about his response. Alicent had not mentioned names, although he knew who she was referring to. Harwin Strong and Lucerys Velaryon.

But what would that imply? Killing someone who had been a friend, murdering a child, earning Rhaenyra's hatred...

Although deep in his heart, he knew the truth. That he was capable of that and more.

"Yes."

Alicent didn't say anything. Instead, she rested her head on his shoulder. Daemon took one of her hands, intertwining their fingers as much as the bandage would allow.

They gave themselves some quiet time, interrupted only by the arrival of Mellos. The Grand Maester did the usual checkup on Aemond, changing the poultices and taking care of his son's fever. They both stood up from their seats, remaining vigilant to every movement the old man made.

They could see thick drops of sweat on his face as he continued working hard, observing every little aspect, from the color of the wound, the size of it, the paleness of his face, the temperature and others that they could not understand. He finally seemed satisfied, standing in front of both of them.

"This is a crucial moment for the young prince"

The two of them frowned. Alicent stepped forward.

"Wgat do you mean by that?" she asked him, her voice slightly hoarse. Mellos looked at their son and then at them. He put his hands together in a nervous gesture.

"Under certain conditions, a moment is reached when the patient's fate is defined. Prince Aemond has reached such a point. If he makes it through this night...he will survive," he said in a solemn voice.

However, Daemon knew that behind his hopeful words, there was also a dark threat.

There are chances of him dying. Now more than ever.

He saw the same realization fall on Alicent's shoulders, though her face remained stoic. When Mellos left, he saw his wife pacing back and forth, in an anxious gesture. She finally stopped in front of his, putting her hand on his arm and caressing it gently.

"The Velaryon..." she whispered. At first, he did not fully understand what she had meant. But finally, he did it. That night he was supposed to be the one accompanying Ser Otto. The idea of leaving her alone, of leaving their son alone at a moment as crucial as this...

"Fuck them. Aemond is more important"

Alicent shook her head. She cupped his face so he looked into her eyes. He didn't resist

"I don't know if they will take that answer well. We would lose our only chance."

He caressed her hands over his face, in a reassuring gesture.

"We don't need them," he whispered, although he knew he wasn't completely telling the truth. The Velaryons' help would be invaluable. Maybe even irreplaceable.

He knew from the look in her eyes that she knew it too. How far would her determination go to obtain it?

That would be a long conversation...

Ser Otto Hightower dressed in an old, rusty cloak, perfect for the mission before him. He had sent one of his trusted guards to Lord Corlys' chambers an hour earlier, with precise instructions to get to the right place.

The Velaryons continued to live in the castle. Princess Rhaenys had not wanted to be separated from her granddaughters, perhaps knowing Viserys' poor parenting skills. Furthermore, the Lord of Driftmark had knowledge of Flea Bottom... through actions that his lady wife had better remain unaware of. So, it wouldn't be difficult for them to navigate those filthy streets to their destination.

Mysaria had secured a room, comfortable enough for three nobles and discreet enough so that no one else would hear them. The White Worm had been a faithful ally for a long time although he was not stupid enough to completely trust a whore either.

Either way, his money kept her happy for now. And she was silent, which was the most important thing.

Finally, he reached the bedroom door again and knocked. After a while, it squeaked and his daughter came out, closing the door behind her.

Otto narrowed his eyes, somewhere between confused and irritated. If Alicent wanted to argue again, this was not exactly the right time.

"And the prince?" he asked impatiently. He could see a certain sparkle in his daughter's eyes. He didn't like it at all.

"Daemon has decided not to leave our son's bed. The maester has said that tonight could be..."

Otto didn't listen to the rest of the explanation, his mind lost in his own thoughts. Was this a tantrum because of what he had told him a few hours ago? Or had Alicent told him what he had talked to her about? Whatever the case, he didn't believe the excuse that his daughter told him. He would never do it. And worst of all, the alliance, the perfect opportunity he had waited for so long was slipping through his fingers.

"The Velaryon are waiting for us," he whispered, with a hint of anger. He didn't notice any change in his daughter, with her serene face.

Maybe I've done my job too well. Maybe she is no longer moved by anything.

"He knows it. He wants you to carry out the negotiation alone"

Her statement chilled him. For a moment, he thought he had heard wrong. Daemon... would have expected quite a few things from him. That he was sarcastic, rude, indecent, a petulant host.

But this...this was not something that was expected of the prince. Not in a million years .

"He wants what?" he finally asked, not hiding his confusion.

He could see his daughter sighing, looking at him with a mixture of...something. he couldn't discern exactly what.

"My lord husband may hate you deeply, but he loves our son more"

The explanation was a little more believable this time. Maybe he had misjudged Daemon. Perhaps the same sentimentality of his daughter was shared with her husband. And his anger and his unbridled fury could turn into... this. It was almost disappointing.

Otto nodded without showing too much enthusiasm and covered his face with the hood. Before he could leave, however, Alicent's voice stopped him.

"Father..."

He turned to look at her. Her face was more expressive this time, with the usual expression she had when she saw him. Slightly polite and concerned. Although there was also a bit of a challenge still.

"If you screw up, Daemon has asked me to tell you that you will lose your head. That is only after he has torn everything else from you. Arms and legs."

The threat was serious. He knew it. As Hand of the King, he had seen the carts full of severed limbs that Daemon had paraded around King's Landing in his purges as Commander of the City Watch. And he had seen the look in his eyes when he had threatened Ser Harwin Strong.

Only a fool would play carelessly with the Rogue Prince.

"And I suppose you objected to that," he said, trying to gauge his reaction. Her voice and her face automatically became cold, distant and severe.

"I've given you the message. I've done more than enough for you," she spat, before closing the door.

He didn't take too much notice of it. He had better things to do at the moment than attend to Alicent's sudden… lack of manners.

Maybe spending too much time with Daemon really has its consequences.

As he walked straight to Flea Bottom, his mind was filled with ideas. Of possibilities.

Everything was finally lining up perfectly. Even when many things had not gone as planned.

In his youth, he had devoted himself much more to be a knight than to intrigue. Tired of always being in the shadow of Hobert, his older brother, he had traveled to try his luck in King's Landing. He had found it in Lady Helena Redwyne, his wife. And it had continued to bear fruit, when King Jaehaerys had made him his Hand, after the death of Prince Baelon Targaryen.

But after so many years in the service of the crown, a son and a daughter and the death of his wife...

Otto had begun to have gloomy thoughts about his legacy in the world. Hobert had the lordship of Hightower and his name secured for posterity. The princes he served... well, they were princes, dragon riders whose stories would appear in songs, centuries later. But he, a second son, without inheritance, without dragon, without royal blood, what would be left in the world when he died besides his bones and dust?

Then, it had appeared in his mind. The master idea. King Viserys had then just ascended the Throne, elected by the lords of the Realm. And his wife had given birth to a daughter and she was pregnant again. If the gods had been good, the next child of His Majesty would have been a boy and he would have had nothing to do but join him with his beautiful Alicent, who was then the same age as the princess.

But nothing had happened the way he had wanted. Year after year, the Queen had lost son after son. Alicent had blossomed beautifully and her longed-for royal husband had not yet been born. Then, tragedy had given way to opportunity.

Without Aemma, the King had been left broken and alone. He had just needed a helping hand, offered by a beautiful woman.

And his daughter had played her role well, even when it had been unpleasant. Even when she had returned to her chambers to vomit, bathe and sob in the middle of the night.

But her efforts had paid off. The King had shown interest in such a willing young woman and the position of Queen had seemed more inevitable than impossible. But that dream had been torn from his hands by Viserys himself.

His daughter's marriage to Daemon had been... difficult to bear. Otto had always found the prince unpleasant, perhaps because of his arrogance, his constant defiance, or his sarcastic personality. Be that as it may, Alicent had played her role as a good wife, giving him four sons, princes of the Realm at his suggestion to His Majesty. Baelon, the firstborn, had been the ideal candidate for a marriage to Princess Rhaenyra. Until that too had been ruined too.

So, there was no other path left but the beginning. The one he had wanted to avoid. Follow Daemon's claim.

In the end, it had been fortunate that Viserys had not been able to father a male child. And much more so that Rhaenyra fell in her lust rather than her duty. Her bastards had been blessings, irrefutable proof of his unsuitability for the Throne. But despite this, the King had not listened. And now, he could simply never do it.

Finally, he arrived at the slum. For its location, it had a fairly neat, even pretty, façade.

One woman helped him take off his cloak, taking it with him, while another offered him a glass of wine. He accepted it, entering the living room. There, in some elegant armchairs, covered with beautiful fabrics, were his guests.

"Lord Corlys. Princess Rhaenys," he greeted them in the most courteous voice he could muster, as he sat in front of them. Corlys Velaryon returned his greeting with a delicate bow of his head. Rhaenys instead narrowed her eyes at him. He knew they could both see his swollen, hurt face. And drawing conclusions had probably been easy.

"We had the understanding that Daemon was coming," she said, without any filter.

Otto didn't flinch. He had expected the sharp tongue of the Queen Who Never Was.

"The prince and my daughter are busy with their son. I suppose you must know how important family is" he said in a soft, honeyed voice. He saw the change in their attitude, slightly embarrassed. After all, and although few dared to mention it, it was known that Baela had been the one who started the conflict that would end in tragedy.

"What happened to Prince Aemond was a disgrace," Corlys said carefully, trying to emphasize his condolences.

It was almost fun. Corlys had a mind similar to his, being as careful of his words as he was of his actions. For a long time he had hated him for achieving with Laena what he had not been able to achieve with Alicent. Although in the end, the Queen's lack of success had been...comforting. Still, it was interesting, talking to a man like him. As to look in a mirror.

"It was. But the boy was intelligent. He was right, Vhagar far exceeds the value of the lost eye," he said, pretending not to worry too much about the subject. He watched Rhaenys clench her teeth.

"The dragon that belonged to my daughter"

That was precisely the reaction he had sought to obtain. When people were guided by emotions, they were much more susceptible to manipulation. He could see recognition of his tactics in the Driftmark Lord's eyes.

"And that before her was Prince Daemon's father," he said to his wife, ignoring her furious look. His attention returned to him.

"I think the sooner we discuss the matter, the better. If we want Joffrey to take his place as King..."

Otto held back a laugh. Instead, he gave a small, amused smile that made the couple frown.

"I'm sorry. It seems to me that you came with the idea of having the upper hand here. And that's not the case. If I remember correctly, we have three adult dragons, plus two hatchlings..."

He could see the Lord of the Tides' gaze harden. His voice was colder and his words much less gentle.

"That is, if the child survives."

If Daemon had been here, he would have ripped out his tongue. Maybe the Seven really are with me tonight after all.

"He will. But even if he doesn't, we still gain in numbers," he said condescendingly.

Corlys and Rhaenys exchanged awkward glances. The princess shifted in her seat.

"What do you propose then?"

His smile grew bigger.

"Give Joffrey his rightful place, of course... as heir to Driftmark"

They both tensed. Otto could tell it in their body language. Corlys took the glass of wine harder in his hands. Rhaenys gave him a look of hatred.

"Heir to Driftmark?" he muttered as if it was an insult. Rhaenys followed him.

"My grandson is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne"

"Only if you support Rhaenyra's claim. Do you want to proclaim the woman who killed your children Queen?"

The question seemed to put out the fire in both of them like a splash of cold water. After a long moment of silence, the princess spoke again.

"So what are you proposing?"

He almost felt satisfied at her question. He placed the wine glass carefully on the table in front of them before speaking.

"The King still has only one male relative. Prince Daemon..."

"Prince Daemon was disinherited by edict of His Majesty," the Lord of Driftmark interrupted, glaring at him. Ser Otto almost tasted his anger.

Like what you put me through when you married Laenor to Rhaenyra. Everything is paid in this life.

"It's true. But in his absence, his eldest son maintains the claim"

That had been his plan since everything else failed. Daemon had been removed from his heir rights...but not Baelon. And he was the closest male within the King's family, one that he educated to become the kind of man that the others would follow. The kind of man the rest of the Realm would rather put as King before his older cousin.

"The princess…" Corlys began to protest again, but Rhaenys cut him off.

"The princess is a woman, whose heir is a bastard and whose recent actions make her unsuitable to take her father's place. Viserys will not see it, blinded by the love of his daughter. But we we do"

Lord Corlys' wife's disdain for Rhaenyra was...intriguing. Still, he didn't contradict her. After all she was acting in his favor.

"It is treason," the Lord of the Tides whispered.

"And isn't it wrong for a wife to kill her lawful husband?" he questioned calmly. They both glared at him.

"He wants his grandson to sit on the Iron Throne," Rhaenys said, not as a question, but as a statement. Otto didn't bother denying it.

"Baelon will be King. And Joffrey, heir to Driftmark. The rightful place of his rightful father"

Corlys looked at his wife and then back at him. He sat with his arms crossed and a steely look on his face.

"It seems like too little to offer. And there's no guarantee..."

Otto took a deep breath. He would have lied if he had said this would be easy. The Velaryons were proud, claiming a place they believed belonged to them. But it was his. His and his blood. They would have to settle for what he would give them.

"No, of course, I'm not stupid enough to believe in promises based on words and I don't think you are either"

Since there was no objection, he continued speaking.

"It will be an alliance built on marriage. Your eldest granddaughter, Princess Baela, will marry my eldest grandson, Prince Baelon. That, of course, would make her Queen and put her children on the Iron Throne, something I know , you continue to ambition..."

He could see something new in Lord Corlys' face. Just a little changed, but visible to attentive eyes.

"You said marriages, plural," Rhaenys whispered, urging him to continue. The former Hand of the King nodded, as if he had been waiting for it.

"I said it. If Prince Aemond survives, he will marry Princess Rhaena. Finally, Princess Helaena will marry Prince Joffrey, taking her place at his side as Lady of Driftmark."

He watched Corlys and Rhaenys whisper to each other, in a slightly aggressive tone. Finally the princess nodded.

"It seems like a generous offer."

Otto smiled victoriously.

"I think it is"

After a while and with his wife's gaze fixed on him, Corlys was finally forced to nod.

"Well, excellent. I trust the King will not object to this marriage..." Otto said, looking at Rhaenys. She almost seemed amused by the notion.

"Viserys has little interest in the daughters here and more in the one from Dragonstone. I heard that Rhaenyra wanted to offer Jacaerys' hand to Princess Helaena to lower the tension a little. Daemon's daughter would be Queen"

Otto tensed. That would be the kind of offer that could be dangerous, wouldn't it? Although Daemon seemed unwilling to forgive Rhaenyra's transgressions. And he didn't want to accept any more apologies than those that included the eye of her second son.

"Well, I consider this offer more beneficial. Daemon has always preferred pure Valyrian blood."

"I suppose that's true," Rhaenys said as she raised her glass. Otto imitated the gesture. And Corlys did... after a long while.

He is not totally convinced. Neither would I be. He will cause trouble, maybe not today, not tomorrow, but someday. He is someone who should not be left unattended.

Otto smiled. He only hoped that Alicent and Daemon would appreciate his efforts. After all, he had almost secured Baelon's reign in one night.

Almost.

"You should sleep for a while," Daemon whispered to his wife, as he watched her bend down again to check Aemond's breathing, whispering prayers to the Seven.

"No. It could happen at any moment. Any second. I don't..."

He could hear her voice crack and he guessed she was on the verge of tears. He massaged her shoulders lightly, trying not to let his touch be too invasive. After a while, he caressed Aemond's face, brushing the platinum-gold locks away from his face.

It was strange, feeling that kind of fear consuming his insides.

Not even the first time he had ridden to Caraxes had he felt anything like it, nor the first time he had killed a man, nor the first time he had laid with a woman.

Only once... the day his mother died.

He remembered himself outside his chambers. The aroma of candles melting. The tears of his father and then of Viserys. It had been confusing, waiting for one brother and ending up losing both.

He had feared then. That his mother would never return. That, upon entering her room, there was not that wooden sword that she had stolen from the training yard when she was a girl, nor that beautiful tapestry that one of her ladies had embroidered with the image of Meleys. That he would never again feel the warmth of her arms, or hear her mocking laugh when his uncle Vaegon fell for one of her jokes.

In the end, it had been in vain. Everything he had feared had come true. And over time, his greatest fear had been realized. He had forgotten all the previous things, unable to remember anything about Alyssa Targaryen until now. Until now. And he had it again, like when he was still a four-year-old child. Fear, for Aemond.

"He's strong. You said it once," he whispered, trying to convince himself. Alicent nodded, caressing his cheek just below the scar that now invaded almost half of her face.

"He's still a child"

And he could stay like that. Daemon knew it, like Alyssa had stayed at twenty-four, like Aemma at twenty-nine, like Daella at eighteen, like Daenerys at seven. Tragedy had always surrounded House Targaryen. And now, maybe...

"My lady?"

The sudden knock on the door made them freeze.

"Go ahead," Alicent whispered with a trembling voice. When the maid opened the door, the room lit up slightly with the first rays of morning.

"Your breakfast, my prince, my lady," the maid whispered before leaving the room, probably without seeing the shock on their face.

Without saying a single word they hugged each other. He could feel his wife's tears wetting his neck, although he didn't pay much attention to that.

"He will live," Alicent finally whispered to him, after a while, her voice high with tears.

Daemon caressed her back, looking at their son. The boy that was still breathing.

"He will live," he repeated, still not letting go of her.

For the first time in a long time, they opened the heavy curtains, letting the brilliance of the morning illuminate the room.

And the dawn heralded a new beginning.

Chapter Text

BAELON I/RHAENA I

Baelon handed his sword to Ser Criston Cole, feeling the weight of the cold metal in his hands. He had been the knight's only remaining student for almost four weeks, after the departure of the Velaryon princes to Dragonstone and Aemond's accident. Therefore, the white cloak had chosen to teach him personally, allowing him the use of a real weapon in front of his own.

Lately he ended up with his body sore, his muscles burning and his forehead sweaty from the effort. That day, it was not the exception.

Feeling the weakness of his legs, he allowed himself to be escorted by Ser Cole, while, from above, he felt the attentive gaze of his grandfather fixed on him.

It had become common to have Ser Otto closer than usual, although he knew he shouldn't get too used to it. After all, his parents took up more and more of their activities as his younger brother recovered.

Being without him had been... strange. Almost unnatural.

Baelon hardly remembered a time in his life where Aemond had not been present. A year and a half apart on age, they had practically grown up together.

The prospect of losing him had produced a series of scrambled emotions within him. But there was only one word that could accurately describe it: fear.

The first few days he had lost his appetite and along with it, his sleep. The constant insomnia had only subsided with poppy milk and other concoctions that Mellos had prepared when the dark circles under his eyes and the lack of rest had been visible, beginning to affect him in his daily tasks. But that had only led to constant nightmares that had been difficult to wake up from, drugged by the maester's medicine. So he used to spend night after night, dreaming of Aemond's death over and over again.

It had been horrible. The blame. The pain.

The prince had always given in to his younger siblings' wishes, letting Daeron steal extra cake at dinner, letting Helaena save insects from the clutches of the maids to release them peacefully into the garden, letting Aemond steal books from his father's collection to search for books. the ancient Valyrian ways of binding a dragon and a rider.

But none of his concessions had produced any harm. None of them had ever put the lives of his family at risk. Except that one. That damn night.

"You move with the grace of a warrior. Perhaps you will become a knight much sooner than your father did," his grandfather commented, wrapping his arm around his shoulder and giving him a light pat of approval on the back. Baelon accepted the compliment with polite gratitude, although in reality Otto's words only reminded him of other things.

How many times have I seen Aemond with his sword in hand? He could defeat me single-handed...or he used to.

The thought made him shudder strongly. The extent of his brother's injury, the partial loss of vision, was not yet completely clear. He had problems picking up objects, spilling water when the maids brought him his breakfast, lunch or dinner as he could not perceive the distance correctly, and simply walking seemed to have become difficult, not being able to move normally, constantly moving his head to be able to observe everything around him. How would that translate to his fighting skills? They still weren't sure.

The sword had been his younger brother's companion forever. In the absence of a dragon, he had strived to become a fierce warrior and succeeded...only to lose it when he was finally able to obtain his longed-for mount.

Mother is right. The gods give and the gods take away. But father is too. If so, they are extremely cruel. Evil

"Have you thought about what I told you?" his grandfather asked, interrupting his thoughts. Baelon frowned, confused.

"I..." he stammered, unable to hide that he was completely lost. Otto smiled and ruffled his hair with an amused smile.

"Your marriage proposal, my prince," he told her calmly.

The boy swallowed nervously and surreptitiously turned his head back, looking at Ser Criston.

He wasn't sure if the conversation was appropriate for the knight's ears, although Otto seemed pretty sure about it.

His grandfather had told him about it a couple of weeks ago. The deal he had made with the Velaryons to create alliances and strengthen House Targaryen.

"The Velaryon are proud and ambitious," Ser Otto had explained to him as they both sat in the elegant armchairs within their chambers. "Having three princes will pacify them," he had continued, turning to fix his eyes on his. "But I haven't compromised three of you just to bruise the egos of those arrogant people. We'll have three of them tied to us, their loyalty almost assured. Betraying us will be difficult with that."

Baelon had bitten his tongue to avoid asking intrusive questions and had nodded respectfully at his words, although inside he had felt the multiple questions almost making him dizzy.

Treason? Loyalty? Why forge alliances if we are at peace?

But even at eleven years old, he had known part of the answer. His grandfather was preparing for a war. He prepared them all. Which? Against whom? Why? He did not know it. What was certain was that, whatever it was, Ser Otto had made the first move. The first advantage.

His parents had not seen it like that. His mother had been furious at first. Locked inside her chambers, though with the walls not thick enough to contain her screams, Baelon had heard her say a few things. Among them they had highlighted "They are my children, not your pawns!" and "My husband will kill you for this!"

In the end, he had not been able to hear the words her grandfather had whispered in her ear, but, although still slightly distraught, Lady Alicent had accepted her sons' betrothals with slight resignation.

His father had been more difficult. The fame of his irascible nature had never gone unnoticed by him, although he had only seen it in it's splendor the night at Driftmark and...that morning. Even with his mother partally at his side, his grandfather had decided to keep the guards close to him at all times, even during his sleep, probably preventing any crazy actions by the prince Daemon that would lead to his death.

And he was probably smart to do it.

But there were two things that had ended or at least diminished his father's murderous determination. A talk with the Princess Rhaenys of which he himself was unaware of the content and the fact that Aemond had survived. Baelon knew that the happiness brought by it had been the only thing that had kept his grandfather's head from ending up on a pike.

Thus, his father had not given his express permission, but he had not completed the agreed agreement either. And while there was no rush to rush the weddings that had been agreed upon, both the Velaryons and his grandfather had tried... to push them forward.

"I haven't been able to see Princess Baela," he replied politely, letting the lie slip past his lips easily. In reality, he hadn't even tried.

His relationship with his cousins had always been cordial, at least until before the Queen's death. Although they had always been more attached to their older sister and, consequently, to her children.

And Baelon did not forget that the first thing Aemond had stammered the night he had claimed Vhagar was that Rhaena had been the one who was angered by the loss of her mother's dragon... and Baela had been the first to attack, beginning the conflict.

"Princess Baela is strong, but she also has a warlike character," his grandfather told him, as they walked towards his mother's chambers, with Aemond having been left that day under the care of their father. "Maybe you can find common ground there."

Baelon frowned. He had never been explicitly categorized as someone who was troubled, although he knew that he and his siblings were not exactly the calmest children, perhaps with the exception of Helaena.

The blood of the dragon, my father calls it.

It was also true that only Aemond had beaten him in rebellion, although he had also heard many times that it was because he, unlike his younger brother, had inherited part of the gentle character of his mother. That, however, did not imply complete calm. He could be explosive and impulsive like the worthy son of the Rogue Prince that he was... and that they reminded that to him was slightly irritating.

"She tried to kill my brother," he whispered, daring to express his thoughts on the matter for the first time. Otto looked at him carefully, stopping the three of them from walking. He lifted his chin slightly with his hand, giving off an air of authority that only he and his father had managed to muster.

"No. It was Princess Rhaenyra's child. Not her."

Baelon had noticed that recent dislike, that slight impulse against the crown princess. He understood it, in a certain way. He himself had wanted justice for his brother and would have fought for it if he could. But he had that faint feeling that what was driving his grandfather against Rhaenyra was more than just grief for his injured grandson.

"Besides, vague resentment is not good. It weakens a man's power and his good judgment," his grandfather continued, beginning to walk again. Baelon remained silent for a few minutes, reflecting on his words.

"Is not resentment a force against enemies?" he asked, looking at Otto. His grandfather looked at him intently.

"What does your father want more than anything in the world?" he asked him, watching him carefully.

An eye for an eye and you dead he wanted to say, but he held back.

"Justice for Aemond," he whispered quietly, trying to maintain his composure. Otto shook his head.

"What specifically?"

Baelon swallowed again. He didn't want to be so specific, but since his grandfather was demanding it...

"The eye of Lucerys Velaryon"

It was not an unknown truth. In fact, it was obvious that this had been the reason for the hasty departure of Ser Laenor's children and widow to the old stronghold of House Targaryen.

Rhaenyra had always been a good mother. That's why she wouldn't return until she knew that her second child would be safe.

With my father and mother here, it will be difficult.

At last, Otto seemed pleased.

"Yes. The grudge will keep him alive, the offense will stay fresh in his mind. But if we ever needed them? If for some reason the Seven Kingdoms or the Free Cities took up arms against House Targaryen? Do you think he would accept the help? Be allies?"

Baelon thought about all of the above. The answer was clear as day.

"No"

"And that is your father's great defect. He has been hating me for years and that does not allow him to see the greatness of our alliance. The future that we could shape for you and your siblings"

The answer seemed uncomfortable. His father seemed to barely tolerate the presence of his grandfather in the same room. Talking about agreements and unions...was practically a fantasy. Even at his young age he could see it.

"And you? Don't you hate him anymore?" he asked with legitimate curiosity. He had heard whispers from the servants about the great rivalry between him and Prince Daemon. Even his uncle, the King, had once told anecdotes of their most violent confrontations.

Otto shrugged.

"I can say that I could work calmly with him, if we have common objectives"

His words surprised him. He couldn't help but frown again.

"Then you wouldn't punish your enemies? Would you forgive them?" he asked in disbelief, thinking about Lucerys again.

"You talk about forgiveness as if it was an impossible crusade"

The sentence sounded stern and yet true. Baelon knew himself well enough to know what he was like.

Fast to anger and slow to forgive. That's how Aemond once described me. And my mother.

"Forgiving is complicated"

His grandfather gave him one of his intense looks again and knew a sermon was coming.

"Forgiving and forgetting are very different things, my prince. A wise man will be benevolent and will publicly forgive the faults of those who rebelled against him or did him harm, in benefit of the union against a common enemy."

"So..." he began, doubtfully.

"Then, once the major threat has been eliminated, alliances can be reconsidered. Once you have fought side by side there is usually a certain level of... trust. And that is where the key is. It's more easier to take the enemy by surprise by sliding a knife down his throat when he sleeps than by raising banners and blowing drums and trumpets for battle."

We forgive, but we do not forget.

The words began to make sense in his mind. Still, he found it excessive. His grandfather spoke again of great battles, of enormous conflicts.

And Baela...

"Of course. Only if the offense warrants it. A man must know how to discern when his honor has been truly damaged or just his pride."

Otto again seemed to immediately respond his doubts without even having to ask him. Yes, certainly what Baela had done had been an action unbecoming of a member of royalty, much less against her own family.

But she wasn't the one who swung the knife at my brother’s eye.

The princess was partly to blame, but not all. And that was key.

But not everything was completely resolved. There was still a doubt, something he had been wondering for a long time, ever since his grandfather began to pay attention to his education, to insist that he learn as much about history and philosophy as he did about law and the art of the sword.

So, finally, before the door to his mother's chambers opened and he entered, Baelon ventured to ask the question.

"What kind of man would that make me, Grandpa?" he asked seriously.

For the first time he could notice a strange shine in Otto's eyes. One he couldn't recognize completely. His lips curved into a slight smile before he leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"The kind of man worthy of being King."

Rhaena watched out of the corner of her eye as the door to her room opened and instinctively pretended to pay more attention to the book in her hands than to the person who had entered. She knew it wasn't Baela, the silhouette was too tall to be. That left her with three options, none of which she wanted to talk to.

"Rhaena," her unmistakable voice called out to her, revealing the identity of the intruder. The princess did not take her eyes off the yellowed pages she was reading.

"Grandma," she replied with cold formality. Two slender hands closed the book in front of her face with a resounding sound, making her frown. However, she refused to show any further signs of her annoyance as Princess Rhaenys pulled it away from her.

"Where is your sister?" she asked him seriously. Rhaena resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her.

It had been a blessing that Moondancer was still too small to carry her young rider.

Or Baela would have escaped on her back as soon as she could, like Princess Aerea. To Dragonstone, perhaps. Or beyond, crossing the Narrow Sea...

"I have no idea," she replied, still calm.

The separation between them and their grandparents had begun since the death of their mother. Still... there was something unreal about it. As if she was certain that the Queen would appear at any moment in her room, hand in hand with Uncle Laenor, both ready to take her in her arms and pamper her as they had always done.

I have never felt safer than in my mother's arms.

But she knew it was an impossible dream. Her mother was gone, really. And then, the attention of her grandparents, always loving, had shifted to other points.

The news of their engagements had hit them both like a bucket of cold water. And then, the fights had continued.

"I know you don't agree with..." her grandmother began, putting her hand on her shoulder. Rhaena tried to remain diplomatic, though slight irritation was beginning to creep up her spine.

"It's not like our opinion matters, as you have constantly reminded us," she replied, a little less kindly. Still Rhaenys did not give up on her efforts.

"It's what your mother would have wanted," she whispered, sitting next to her. Her proximity made her feel uncomfortable and her words even more so. They didn't talk about her mother often, as if mentioning her name was a constant reminder that she was gone. A constant source of pain. Her father had not mentioned her since the day of her death, taking refuge in his councils and meetings, leaving her and Baela to console each other. Her grandfather had tried to get closer, but he couldn't seem to do anything more than mutter a couple of "I'm sorry." Her grandmother had tried much harder and she had managed to be their crying stick... until that meeting with Otto Hightower.

"We don't know. Besides, we've always been closer to Rhaenyra. Jace and Luke..." she began, her voice slightly squeaky.

Her words were not far from the truth.

She missed Rhaenyra. Baela and her both missed her. Yes, their older sister had been as constant a presence in their life as Laena herself. Besides, Jace and Luke were the only ones who could understand similar grief, having lost their father as well.

But they hadn't had that sympathy. The princes were alone in their own grief and so were they.

"Jace and Luke are away in Dragonstone," her grandmother told her, highlighting the obvious. Rhaena did her best not to start ranting.

Just because you want it.

Rhaena knew that her sister's return to King's Landing was complex, due to the still fresh wounds between Luke and Aemond. But she had learned from Baela that the princess had offered accommodation for her half-sisters on the island where the Conqueror had once lived, trying to ensure that they were not alone, that they were close to her.

And she had also known his grandmother's emphatic response to the proposal.

No.

"Still. They are polite and chivalrous princes. The children of Lady Alicent..." she spoke, hesitant. Rhaenys looked at her with a touch of sternness and compassion.

"They are also educated and chivalrous princes," she completed, refuting her argument.

Rhaena sighed. It was difficult to explain. She and Baela had always been close to their cousins, the Velaryon princes. Her uncle had introduced each of them, from Jace to Joffrey, and they had always been playmates and confidants. But that wasn't the only reason.

Some time ago, before the birth of the last of them, they had heard their grandfather talking to her mother. A conversation that had visibly not been suitable for their small childish ears, and yet had awakened an unusual curiosity in them.

"Baela will make a good Queen," Lord Corlys had said, sipping the light Dornish wine at the table. "As the wife of Jacaerys, she will have that benefit. And Rhaena will have Driftmark, as the wife of Lucerys. Thus, our blood will prevail. Even with the... difficulties that your brother has placed on us" her grandfather had finished.

And since then, she and her twin had been thinking about those future marriages.

Lucerys had always been…polite. A little wild and unruly, but also sweet and charming. Even with the five-year age difference, the prospect of marrying him hadn't been terrible.

But then, tragedy had struck. And the new fiancés chosen by her grandparents had resulted... complicated to digest.

"They will inherit nothing," she whispered, remembering the Lord of Driftmark's words. Rhaenys looked at her strangely, as if she had never expected the words that had come out of her mouth.

"I didn't take you for an ambitious girl, Rhaena. Your mother never was," she told her with a lightly scolding tone. The young princess lowered her gaze with a light blush on her cheeks, embarrassed. No, her mother had never been one. And neither was she. However, they were the only arguments she had against this. The only ones who sounded mature instead of capricious. Taking a deep breath, she tried again.

"Grandpa said..."

"Your Grandfather has reconsidered his decisions as I have. You have always known that it was very likely that you would not marry based on love, but on duty. You believe that your mother married your father because she loved him ?" her grandmother interrupted, startling her slightly. She doubted her response.

Rhaena had never seen a sign of real affection between her parents beyond chaste kisses on the lips, themselves and the sibling she had not been able to meet.

"I..."

Rhaenys softened her face a little, stroking her hair in a reassuring gesture.

As mother used to do.

"Everything has a purpose my sweet girl. I am doing what is best for you. For both of you. Your fiancés are decent guys and your age affinity will make things easier between you"

Affinity. It wasn't exactly the kind of word she would describe her relationship with Aemond.

She remembered the first time she had seen him beyond chance encounters in the hallways, one afternoon when her mother had met with Lady Alicent. The thin and shy boy had not wanted to go with his father and his older brother to the Dragonpit to see the dragons, slightly tired of Prince Daemon's insistence that he try to ride one.

In it's place, he had accompanied his pregnant mother to the Queen's chambers, sitting uncomfortably by the window, looking longingly toward the sky.

Rhaena had felt a certain affinity with him, something strange at that moment. She had never been vocal then about the pain she felt seeing Baela playing with Moondancer, while she only had a cold, rough egg that she placed night after night on the fireplace, praying that it would hatch one day.

The gods had not heard her prayers. And looking into the eyes of the young prince, back then, she knew that he had made similar prayers to the Seven, equally ignored. It had made her feel...less alone.

But that slight kindness between them had crumbled the night he had claimed her mother's dragon. Vhagar was a magnificent beast, the dream of any prince or princess of Targaryen blood. It had been a source of pride to Laena, even though she hadn't ridden it since before Rhaena was born. And it had been heartbreaking for her to see her mother's greatest achievement in the hands of another rider.

And forgiving him for it felt difficult…even with the price he had had to pay afterwards.

"Father has...?" she began trying to discern what exactly she wanted to ask.

He knows? Does he approve? Does he even care?

Rhaenys sighed, still lightly stroking her hair.

"Your father seeks reconciliation between him and his brother," she whispered, finally letting her know his position on the matter.

Viserys had always been a complicated man. Being the King, it was obvious that his duties took up most of his time. However, his attention, even when he was alone with her mother and them, had always seemed to be somewhere else.

Even at the funeral, Rhaena had felt it, when he had wrapped them in an awkward hug as the coffins sank into the sea.

As if he was absent even when he was with us.

Maybe that's why the death of her mother had affected her so much. The loneliness of her absence was palpable. Evident.

"Baela may have inherited your mother's fire, but you inherited her patience and her gentleness. And also her intelligence. Combined, they can be of more use to you than senseless anger," Rhaenys continued with a loving gesture that made her smile slightly. The similarities between her and her mother always made her feel a certain warmth, even more so coming from her grandmother. As if a piece of the Queen was still alive in her.

She looked down from her to the floor, weighing the entire conversation.

"I'll try, Grandma," she finally whispered, leaning against her. Rhaenys put her arm around her, hugging her lightly.

If I close my eyes maybe I can imagine it's her.

But she knew it was useless. She would never get that back, that feeling of peace when she rested her head on her mother's lap while her uncle joked next to her holding Baela. She would never get back their laughter, nor her warmth, nor that pleasant atmosphere that was in the air.

Now everything was cold and dark and...quiet.

And maybe that last one was what made everything so much lonelier. Which made it real.

That nothing would be like before. Never.

Baelon leaned back in his seat, watching his younger brother's chest rise and fall slowly with his breathing. His father had had to resume his duties as Commander of the City Watch, going on patrol at night, and his mother had had to stay with Helaena, who had gotten into one of her strange crises.

So they had left him to take care of his brother at the beginning of the evening.

In reality it was not even remotely a difficult task. With the wound barely healing, the maester used to sedate him with the same poppy milk, leaving him to sleep for the afternoon instead of complaining about the pain. And furthermore, he had the presence of Ser Criston inside the room, standing and silent.

Baelon knew the knight shared a similar sense of guilt. Being his mother's sworn guard, he had seen them all grow up, from him to Daeron. But he knew that Aemond had always held a special place, being as much of a young prodigy as the whitecloak had once been.

The fact that he had been wounded on his guard had tormented him almost as much as Baelon had regretted every day that he had not been there to defend his brother. It was a silent burden, one that neither of them often talked about.

Although if it were up to him, he would have let my father cut off his head. Or lose his position. Anything that would minimally remove his remorse.

The prince sighed, fiddling with the brooches on his cloak. Finally, he dared to ask the question that had been on his mind since the morning.

"Do you think he will recover, Ser?" he asked the knight. They both knew that he was not talking about health, that's what Mellos was there for.

It was something else. Something they both knew was Aemond's strong point. What defined him.

"I cannot say with certainty, my prince. But I will do my best to make it so. I will dedicate myself to it. Prince Aemond will be able to fight with a sword, I can promise you that. And him"

He could see in Ser Criston's eyes that he was sincere. The King's Guard had a certain devotion to his family. He still couldn't fully understand it, given that his father's displeasure against him was evident, but still... he had always been there for them. Like a shadow, sometimes forgetting his presence, like a friend who could be told things, like a teacher.

And there was a certain touch of admiration there too, although they would never dare tell that to the Rogue Prince.

Father would kill him if he knew we sometimes look up to a Stormlands' knight.

Two light knocks sounded on the door. The knight looked at him and then at the entrance, moving heavily to open it.

"Princess Rhaena," he said in a calm voice, allowing her passage. He and Cole gave each other questioning glances, being equally surprised.

"Ser Criston. Prince Baelon" she greeted them formally. Her hesitant eyes looked towards the bed, noticing the sleeping second prince. She seemed as surprised as she was relieved... and at the same time, disappointed. As if she had expected to find him awake.

"I will wait outside, my princes," the knight told them, making a slight sign with his eyes that he translated as meaning that he should be kind. Following the advice, he politely offered her the seat next to him, as the door closed behind Ser Cole. Hesitantly, Rhaena took a quick walk around the room, until she was left with no choice but to accept and take a seat. Baelon could notice the nervous expression on her face and how she avoided looking at his sleeping brother. It started to get uncomfortable.

"I was not expecting your presence, princess," he said in a soft voice, trying not to sound aggressive.

Rhaena sighed, drumming her fingers on the armrest. At that moment, every fiber of her being asked her to get up, open the door and leave that room as quickly as possible. And yet, she couldn't get her body to move even an inch.

She knew that her silence only made it that much more uncomfortable. So she cleared her throat, trying to get her voice back.

"Neither do I, my prince. But I suppose fate guides us to certain places sometimes" she replied, still not looking at him.

Baelon felt the need to say something. Still, he swallowed his words. He didn't want to be the one to start a verbal fight.

"He's recovering slowly, if you want to know. He's getting better day by day."

Rhaena bit her inner cheek, trying to contain all the emotions that seemed to threaten to explode at any moment. She felt that going there had been the stupidest decision she had made in a long time.

But there is no turning back.

"I have seen your mother in the Sept. I have prayed for him like every person in the Red Keep. I have never wished ill upon your brother," she replied, clasping her hands together in a nervous gesture.

Baelon began to feel something bubbling inside of him. The familiar anger. He tried to keep his emotions at bay and speak as calmly as possible.

"And yet you were there. At the moment he was mutilated."

Rhaena held her breath and felt her entire body tense. In reality, it had been naïve of her to go there and hope that the issue wouldn't be brought up. But now, there she was. There was no way around it.

"I was. Although I was not a participant in the act," she said in a whisper. Baelon turned to look directly at her, his indigo eyes flashing with ill-contained fury.

"As I understand it, you participated in the attack, even though you did not cut his eye yourself. And weren't you the intellectual author of the event?" he replied in a much less kind voice.

Rhaena sensed the change in his tone, moving to the other end of her seat to try to be as far away from him as possible, not out of fear, but to maintain her self-control.

"Vhagar was my mother's dragon."

Baelon shrugged, almost dismissively. The prospect of a dragon as a hereditary asset seemed foolish to him. Like a stupid hope. Still, he was polite enough not to say it that way.

"And before her, my grandfather's. If we start to discuss who it belongs to by right..."

Rhaena shook her head, rubbing her temples in frustration.

"It's not about that."

Baelon took another deep breath to avoid an expression of emotion that was inappropriate for him. He continued speaking with a calm but cold voice.

"So you deny that you started a fight just because my brother had the courage to claim her before you?"

The princess remained silent for a long moment.

That had been the crux of all the problems, the starting point. But how to explain what she felt inside? How to make others understand everything that had happened in her head then? Still, she had to try. She wanted to try it. She was tired of being seen as a capricious and selfish girl.

"I do. Vhagar... I mean, who wouldn't want to ride the world's biggest dragon?" she began, analyzing the prince's reactions. Baelon noted that she had said it without the arrogance he had expected. There was something about it that told him there was more about it. Something he had to hear.

"But?" he asked, slightly impatient.

Rhaena took a breath, seeing that the prince's mood remained calm.

"But that's in the background. It was my mother's dragon."

Baelon clenched his jaw, feeling like they were going in circles.

"I thought we had already defined..."

"You don't understand. It was my mother's dragon. How many times I heard stories of her riding that magnificent beast, setting fire to the ships of the Triarchy in the Stepstones? Or the anecdote of the day she claimed her, taking to the skies for the first time, like Visenya in person."

Rhaena's interruption didn't bother him at all, which was unexpected. There was emotion in her words, as if she wanted to scream, cry and laugh at the same time. He didn't know why, but he felt like she was letting off some steam. And he let her do it.

Rhaena looked at Baelon and then at the boy wrapped in sheets on the bed. Her heart pounded hard and when she spoke again, her voice was nothing more than a whisper.

"I wasn't upset with your brother for claiming the dragon before me, although I admit that's what I said. I was upset with him for taking something of my mother. A part of her, of her memory."

Baelon remained silent, surprised and slightly uncomfortable. He could see the princess's sad look. Distraught. He had only seen a similar one in his mother's eyes, and he had never been good at discerning how to give comfort.

So he concentrated on looking directly into her violet eyes, without any physical contact.

"I'm very sorry about the Queen. I don't think I had said it before."

That did not sound like the empty and protocolary sorrows of the rest of the Court. He seemed sincere.

Rhaena felt a tear slide down her cheek and she knew that if they continued to dwell on the topic, she would burst into tears. And it was something she didn't want.

"Don't tell that to Baela. She'll probably slap you. My sister is furious about it," she said, trying to divert the topic. She could see Baelon swallowing nervously at the mention of his fiancée. She almost felt sorry for him. Her sister had never been an easy person, not even for her. And for him...well. It seemed that Baela planned to make it more than difficult.

"I believe that everyone grieves in their own way," the prince finally said. Rhaena nodded in agreement.

"I guess so."

Another long silence arose in the room. A little less shy, Rhaena dared to break it this time.

"Your brother and I used to be playmates a long time ago, did you know that?"

Instantly she blushed furiously, looking away from him to the other side of the room in a desperate effort to hide it.

Why did I say that? What am I thinking about?

She saw Baelon smile slightly, before looking at his brother longingly.

"Aemond tried many times to get away from my father's obsession to get him a dragon...until the obsession became his."

Rhaena dared to look at Aemond again. She imagined the child he had been so long ago, playing at being Balerion's rider while she played at being Meraxes' while their mothers talked together. Their first High Valyrian practices. Their toys carved from wood.

"Dragons are magnificent creatures. To be rider of one... is an ambition that can hardly be abandoned" she whispered, thinking of herself. She had started putting her egg back into the fireplace since her mother's death.

How pathetic is that? How desperate?

"You seem to know the feeling. Maybe you two have more in common than you think," Baelon said, making her jump slightly. The blush reappeared again, although lighter.

"You must understand. We know each other...and at the same time we don't. The prospect of a marriage is complicated"

And it was. It had been a long time since she and Aemond had last played. And she hadn't recognized the prince who had broken Luke's nose that night. Who had held a stone to Jacaerys Velaryon's face.

"I know," the prince whispered. His gaze was...warm.

For the first time she felt understood. It was weird.

Feeling the emotions on the surface again, she got up from her seat, again feeling the urge to flee away.

However, it was not so easy anymore.

She looked at Aemond's calm face and then at his brother's.

"Will you tell him I've come to see him?" she asked him with a slightly trembling voice. The prospect of it made her nervous and...there was another emotion she couldn't identify. Baelon lifted his face, still filled with a strange gentleness.

"Only if you want me to."

Rhaena nodded and, without giving an answer, left the room. She felt Ser Criston's questioning gaze on her, though she tried to ignore it. The princess walked down the hallway, feeling that little by little, tears began to come out of her eyes and at the same time, the knot in her chest was unraveling. In the end, her crying was such that she was forced to sit down, sobbing openly.

Finally after a long while, she managed to calm down. For some reason she felt lighter, less...mortified.

She stood up and wiped her face, hoping her eyes weren't too red and swollen. As she walked back to her room, the entire conversation replayed over and over in her mind. In the end, after her

maids tucked her into her bed and her grandmother said goodnight to her and Baela, she allowed the topic to re-emerge in her mind.

Will I do it again?

Rhaena looked at her sister across the room. Even in her dreams, Baela frowned. The grief had been difficult and even though they were together, they had not been able to share it. Her twin had been filled with anger, she with loneliness. A very bad combination.

So when she closed her eyes and just before sinking into sleep, she found the true answer for her dilemma.

Yes. She would visit him again.

Chapter Text

LARYS I/RHAENYRA IX

Larys felt the scorching sun on his face, while his cane made a heavy noise on the wooden pier with each difficult step. They had arrived at Dragonstone at noon, on a relatively easy but tiring journey. He had never found pleasure in sailing, the sensation of the waves against the boat made him terribly dizzy and the trips were usually long. Still, once on land, he tried to look as presentable as possible. He caressed the envelope in his pocket with his fingers gently, the paper feeling strangely silky under his touch, as his men tended to the ship.

The man had ended up there after a series of events unexpected even for him. King's Landing had always seemed to him to be a crowded, dirty, and decaying city, the perfect fodder for machinations, conspiracies, and plots; the place where a man could rise in status by the information he possessed, by the people he could deceive, by the tongues he could buy. On the other hand, Dragonstone... the island might be a comfortable fortress for the nobles housed there, with peasant women willing enough to give in to the lustful impulses for the right gold, but it was far from the intrigue that seemed so interesting, so familiar, so...delightful.

The bitter things we must go through to reach our sweet goals.

It was not that he hadn't done his best to fulfill his plans without having to leave the comfort and power of the capital. Ser Laenor's death had been carefully planned to ensure a place at the crown princess's side in case things did not work out properly with the Hightowers.

The caution had not been entirely wrong, although he had hoped nonetheless. In the fragile wife of Prince Daemon.

He had known Lady Alicent since she was a child, brought to the King's Court. Back then, little given to noticing the presence of women unless they served a specific purpose, he had categorically ignored her. But everything had changed when she had become a woman. Larys had watched Ser Otto Hightower surreptitiously gloat her in front of the King, a young, innocent, sweet fruit ready to be cut. He had found it…interesting.

By then, the younger Strong had already acquired a certain taste for trickery and manipulation, the sweetness of power in his mouth, the feeling he got from controlling others subtly, the way they trusted him with their eyes closed. And he had wanted to see if the ruse of the then Hand of the King worked not only out of curiosity about the result, but also seeking the benefit that it could bring him.

In the end, things had not turned out for Otto as he had desired and, with the father away from the Court, he had dedicated himself to vigilantly observing his daughter.

Alicent had been the epitome of the perfect pawn, raised as such, obedient and with that touch of innocence and trust in others that made her seem like she was crying out to be used. Accessing her hadn't been difficult either, a helping hand here, a gentle attitude, the convenient whisper of the right secrets and it had kept her suitably curious to know more, in need of just one sincere person in her existence. The lady herself had had no use, but she had been the shortcut to true power, to leagues of machinations beyond his own.

But his ambitions had been cut short by her husband's return to the city. Daemon Targaryen seemed to possess a widespread aversion to him and a strange possessive feeling over her, which had made it difficult for him to access the favor of his wife.

A vulnerable little thing chained to a rabid beast.

Larys had been smart enough to stay away, although his thirst for power had not been quenched in the slightest.

Only Ser Otto Hightower and Lord Corlys Velaryon had had the spirit and ambition to support his wishes in exchange for his own help. And while he wouldn't have minded playing between the two sides, it had been impossible for him.

The first had been deprived of influence by his own son-in-law and his possible place at his side had been taken by the whore of Flea Bottom, the White Worm.

And my brother has made Corlys hate Strong' blood because of his damn progeny. Finding common ground would be difficult.

But in the end, he had found another way out. There had always been a third option.

The breach Harwin had driven between the princess and the Velaryons had been the perfect opportunity to try his luck. And Ser Laenor's sudden fertility, a blessing from the gods.

Rhaenyra had been different from his initial targets. Knowledgeable about politics from her own efforts to become a worthy heir, she had not yet been versed in the game of thrones. Still, that had been his advantage. Where the princess had sought resolutions through diplomacy and loyalties, she hadn't used what she considered herself too noble for, what truly worked, murder and other atrocities.

Ordering Laenor's death had been relatively easy. And he had presented himself to his widow with a tempting offer, the assurance that there was someone willing to take care of her dirty work if she so desired.

In the end, he had imagined himself, standing beside the future Queen or discreetly behind her, the hand that carefully pulled the strings so that the Realm would be whatever he wanted.

But his brother's fucking son had had to ruin everything. The bastard had infuriated the Rogue Prince and Rhaenyra had left because of it, remaining in self-imposed exile to keep him safe.

She just had to gouge the damn brat's eye out. Maim him for staying in the Red Keep, near the crown. I would have taken it out myself.

And he had tried. In a last attempt to stay close to where his networks of influence resided, he had gone to the mourning mother, offering her whatever body part she wanted of Lucerys Velaryon in payment for her dying son. Whether Alicent Hightower would have accepted or not, he wasn't sure, but he hadn't had time to listen. Instead he had found himself slammed against the wall by her husband, with the furious prince's face illuminated by the glow of the candles.

"Come closer to my family again... "Daemon had said, pressing a dagger against his neck "And I will cut off your useless foot, I will give it to the servants to cook and I will make you eat it, along with your useless cock."

Larys hadn't had much choice after that. Not, at least, with the rumors of marriage between Velaryon and Targaryen. They had left him with a simple dilemma to solve; remain in the capital surrounded by people who hated him and would kill him without blinking or leave for Dragonstone, where he still had a chance of retaining some power.

Still, he hadn't hastened his departure. Leaving like a coward in the middle of the night would have raised too many suspicions, not only from his enemies, but from his own father and perhaps even from the King. It was obvious that the sovereign knew the true paternity of his grandchildren, even if he feigned blindness, and his disappearance from the Court to reappear at the princess's side could have had various interpretations.

So instead, he had played the role of the worried brother.

He had approached His Majesty and his father after a Council meeting, limping nonchalantly to an empty seat directly in front of Viserys. No one from the King's Guard had stopped him, they hadn't even looked at him twice. After all, what could a cripple make against the King even in such a deplorable state?

"My brother's absence has been noticeable, father," he had said softly, as if the conversation was directed solely at the Hand.

"Harwin's mood was especially dark that day. I must admit that the crown princess and the young princes also come to my mind. Such small minds damaged by such a grotesque event...and violence. After having lost their father and husband , alone in the ancient fortress of the dragon lords..."

Of course, Viserys had shown interest in the conversation. It had been obvious that similar thoughts had been crossing his mind although he had probably avoided them, knowing his brother's fresh fury.

"Your concerns are understandable, young man. The affection for our own blood will always make us care for them, even when our brothers are stubborn and given to conflict. However, you must have a certain peace of mind. My daughter has sent letters. The well-being of my grandchildren, she and your lord brother have been assured by her own handwriting" the King had responded before Lyonel, although he had not seemed fully convinced. Larys had taken advantage of that, eager to open the wound of doubt even further.

"Of course, Your Majesty. However, what are letters but words? We can write what we wish, whatever we want it to be, even if it is not true. Reality can be distorted on a piece of paper, even if it is with the best intentions. Like to ease a father's heart"

He had watched the carefully planned words take their toll on the poor man's spirit. The anguish. The fear.

"You can always send a messenger to check, Your Majesty," Lord Lyonel had said in a reassuring gesture. Having anticipated this, Larys had nodded his head gently, giving him a few seconds of slight peace before breaking it again.

"Of course, my king. A messenger could come to Dragonstone to give you peace of mind. Although the princess, if I may say so, has always been reluctant to show weakness. And I must say, if I was she, I would do so. My brother, in the other hand, would only trust family."

It had been quite satisfying to be able to see the King's every thought written on his face. Every little idea. The increase in stress. His subtle suggestion had been made that there were only three people that His Majesty considered suitable for the assignment. Viserys himself, him and his father. Of course, a journey of such magnitude for the King himself after the physical and mental exhaustion suffered at Driftmark had been almost unthinkable. And Lord Lyonel, being a loyal servant, would have had to remain in King's Landing, in case the momentary rule of the Seven Kingdoms fell on his shoulders and because of the absence of the crown princess.

It had been an obvious choice. The push had been subtle, but effective.

"If I provided you with men and transportation, would you be willing to go to Dragonstone yourself? Would you swear not to lie to me and to find the truth of things, whatever they may be?" Viserys had asked, his voice serious. Larys had lowered his head, in a humble gesture.

"If it is the wish of Your Majesty. If you believe that I will serve you and the Crown like this, my King, I will depart as soon as I can."

Viserys had retreated, too weakened by the extra weight of worry he had added to his shoulders. And he was left alone with his father.

On Lord Lyonel's chest shone the golden insignia of the Hand. His eyes, however, had been dull, flooded with concern similar to that of the King he served.

My father has always been plagued by vain sentimentality. Why else would he not have reported my brother's transgressions? If he did it out of ambition, I would have understand. But for an emotion as useless as affection... it's disgusting.

"Bring your brother home," the head of House Strong had whispered. Larys had suppressed a half smile, amused by her father's predictability.

"I'm not sure King's Landing is his best place, given his recent feuds..." he had commented in an innocent tone.

Lord Lyonel had shaken his head.

"Not here," the Hand had responded, rising from his seat. He had looked at him with the same compassion as always, with gentleness.

Larys had ventured to observe the man who had fathered him up close. Heavy dark circles appeared in his eyes, his hair had begun to fall out, his pulse began to tremble. However, he remained well. Strong. It would be a problem...or maybe not. He had silently weighed the options.

It's not so unusual for a healthy man to get sick after all.

"It is time for Harwin to take his place as the rightful heir of Harrenhal."

Larys had remained stoic, his face emotionless. He had kissed his father's ring, still immersed in his dark thoughts.

And in the end, he had departed, with a letter of concern from the King in his pocket and a gift for the Dragon Princess in the hold of his ship.

He handed the letter to the castellan, with the King's seal visible on the paper, and heard his shout to the guards on the doors.

"Let him through!"

He watched the heavy black doors slowly open and inhaled deeply. He smelled of incense and salt. He couldn't help but smile a little as he approached the nearest servant and whispered in his ear.

"Tell Princess Rhaenyra that Lord Larys is here."

Rhaenyra looked around the training yard, carrying Joffrey gently in her arms. From there, she watched silently as her two sons dueled with their wooden swords against Ser Harwin. Her sworn knight dodged the princes' blows with astonishing ease, even as he struggled to feign slowness.

The knight had always been a good warrior. Already as her sworn shield, she had seen him stand out in fights and tournaments bearing her favor, knocking down his opponents with his spear while the crowd excitedly shouted his name.

He had rarely been defeated on horseback. One, which she remembered especially well, had been at the celebration of her sisters' name day. Ser Criston, wearing the crown of flowers that symbolized Lady Alicent's favor, much to the annoyance of her uncle, who had been unable to participate due to a broken wrist on a particularly violent night with the City Watch, had knocked down her gallant protector, breaking him all the bones of one arm when he was half detached from the horse and was dragged by his saddle for a couple of meters. The princess had held Jace, a three-year-old boy, against her chest, leaving the scene with her heart in her throat, trying to protect the young boy from the cries of pain and despair while a horde of knights, squires, and servants tried to calm the headlong steed trying to free the rider from his bonds.

In the end, the injuries had not been as serious as the accident had suggested. After leaving her firstborn with Laenor, safe and asleep, she had headed to the chambers of Mellos, expecting to find a bloody mess. Instead, she had found Harwin, his arm black from the beating but alive and conscious, cursing under his breath at Cole over and over again. It had been she who had kept with him, once the maester had wrapped his arm in bandages and left him slightly numb with poppy milk.

"It's not a funeral, my princess," Harwin had joked, sitting on the bed, with his classic smile on his face. He had caused him a mixture of irritation and amusement, although only a frown of had manifested on her face.

"So much trouble for showing off in an idiotic game," she had said, tracing the outline of the injured arm lightly with the tip of her finger. Harwin had hissed slightly at first, but he hadn't stopped smiling. "Even Jace doesn't cause that much trouble."

And it's not even useful. No enemy will charge you into battle with a ridiculously large spear and pompously announcing it.

She had lost her taste for tournaments since the one held in honor of the brother she had never had. And it had seemed quite obvious to her too, that the violent clash that had caused the supposed accident had been on purpose.

As if I didn't know Ser Criston. To men in general, and their desire to establish dominance based on senseless violence.

"Someday, the prince will be a knight. And I bet you will celebrate his triumphs from the box like his mother, my princess" had been his sardonic response. Rhaenyra had rolled her eyes, concentrating on cleaning his less injured arm. Mellos had insisted on doing so, but the princess had dismissed him before doing so.

"You won't be able to fight for a long time, Ser. Is it worth it? Being disabled for the sake of your pride?" she had said seriously, running the damp cloth over the scratched arm cleaning off the bits of dirt and blood that were stuck to it. Ser Harwin would have shrugged his shoulders if he could.

"Ser Steffon's injury was much worse and look at him. As healthy as ever."

Rhaenyra had cleaned a scrape especially roughly, making him groan in pain.

"Ser Darklyn can't turn his wrist."

The knight had chuckled, unable to find a suitable retort for her words. His less injured hand had wrapped around her arm, caressing it.

"Well, I don't need to turn my wrist to do certain... activities," he had commented in a mocking tone. She had felt a strange urge to slap him, push him and kiss him at the same time. In the end, she had seen the door carefully closed but without any kind of padlock as she lazily climbed astride him. Harwin had looked at her, with a mixture of curiosity and nervousness.

"Anyone could come in. At any moment," he had warned her, making no effort to move her even though, hurt as he had been, he could have easily pushed her away from him. The princess's hand had gone between his thighs and then between her own, getting rid of any obstacle that might be between skin and skin.

"Then let's be quick," she had said, with a confidence and boldness that had been hard to believe, even for herself.

In the end, his arm had healed completely, with no truly visible after-effects, leaving him skilled enough to fight her uncle in one of the most frightening moments of her life. And nine months after the tournament incident she had given birth to the future Lord of the Tides, Prince Lucerys Velaryon.

My poor boy.

Her secondborn had always been more impetuous than Jace, although much sweeter. He had arrived much more easily, having taken half the time to give birth to him as she did with his brother.

"The child is eager to come into the world," Mellos had whispered seconds before placing the little ball of flesh on her chest, looking at her with his father's inquisitive brown eyes.

But just as he was, defender, rebel and rebellious, he was still a child.

The event with Aemond...had been an unfortunate and terrible accident. Rhaenyra did not deny it.

Had he been the son of another noble house, she had ensured the care of the boy, giving him a place in her Court, a marriage with some daughter of a great Lord, honorable positions for his family and perhaps some lands, all to mend the situation, the mistake her son had made.

But being the son of Daemon...

The only thing her uncle would accept in exchange for his forgiveness would be the young prince's eye. And that was something Rhaenyra was not willing to give, not in a million years.

 That was why she had secluded herself in Dragonstone. The fortress was nicely prepared in case any Targaryen wanted to be housed within its walls by a crew of servants and with enough space in its hills and tunnels to house claimed and feral dragons.

For the children, it had been like an adventure, slipping into the centuries-old rock castle to pretend they were Aegon the Conqueror, or Gaemon the Glorious. Although she knew that not everything was exactly idyllic. Several times, they had been woken up with nightmares, slipping between her sheets in the middle of the night. On a few occasions, she had woken up with both of them in her bed, one on each side. Whether it was because of Laenor, or because of Driftmark, she wasn't sure.

The one who had the most frequent night terrors was Luke. The boy had been much quieter and more withdrawn, though Ser Harwin had lately managed to draw him out from time to time with promises of long, entertaining play battles.

Still, Rhaenyra knew he wouldn't be out entirely anytime soon. Maybe never.

Guilt can be a terrible weight, especially for someone so small.

She had tried to carry it for him. Admit her mistake in not having been present. After all, she had been left pacing in the hallway that night, shortly after her less-than-subtle marriage proposal to her uncle.

But what's the point of repenting now?

The noises in the courtyard disappeared and loud footsteps echoed on the stairs of the tower, making her smile lightly. The first one to appear and rush towards her was Jace, almost knocking her over. Luke followed, with a little less enthusiasm but at least more than he had shown in recent weeks. Finally the knight with brown curls arrived, his forehead beaded with sweat.

"I got you" her firstborn whispered, clinging to her legs. Luke remained a step away from her, until her arm had pressed him against her body, while she continued to carry Joffrey with the other.

"Teaching my children the art of storming, Ser?" she said, looking scandalized. Ser Harwin smiled, stroking Jace's hair.

"Perhaps. A good knight must learn how to storm fortresses."

She would have said something else, when a servant approached her to whisper something. The news must have been conveyed to her face because Harwin frowned.

"Is everything okay, my princess?" the knight asked, with a slight tone of concern. Rhaenyra pressed Joffrey and Luke closer to her body, as she swallowed nervously.

"Your brother is here."

She could read the emotions of her sworn sword as clear as day.

Once away and having felt safe enough in Dragonstone, she had decided to tell the truth that she had tried so hard to hide from him. What happened on the night Laenor had died. And the perpetrator of the act.

At first, Harwin had taken it as a joke, as skeptical as anyone would have been of the possibility that a man like Larys, and his brother, to finish it off, would be capable of such a heinous action. However, her serious expression had ended up convincing him.

And now, she could read that same expression in his eyes. The one that would suggest not running away, but confronting the villain immediately and ending everything once and for all.

The princess had feared that. Being a knight, it was obvious that the elder Strong's solution to all evils was to face them sword in hand. But Larys was... different. She had the strange feeling that he would not be frightened by a simple blade on the neck and far from fearing him, it would irritate him. And a man like that, slightly upset...

Rhaenyra had never feared anyone in her life, not even Daemon. But she had seen Laenor's body, when the Silent Sisters had prepared it. He had at least twenty stab wounds all over his body, unusual violence. And that, for someone to whom he did not hold any kind of grudge, but rather the coldness of someone who fulfills an assignment. If he faced someone he truly disliked...

"Take the children, Ser Harwin," she told him, cradling Joffrey lightly in her arms, his blue eyes fixed on her. "And let's keep them safe in their tower wing."

She could see immediately that the knight did not agree. Even as he accepted Ser Laenor's firstborn in his arms, he shook his head.

"I will not leave you alone, my princess. It is my duty, as a sworn sword..."

"It is your duty as a sworn sword to obey my orders. And keep my heirs safe," she interrupted, not wanting to prolong the argument. The children were beginning to become restless because of the knight's unusual reluctance. He, in a last attempt, leaned towards her.

"Rhaenyra, please," he whispered in a tone of slight desperation. The princess could recognize the same look in his eyes as Driftmark's, the one he had had before raising his sword to defend Luke from Daemon's attack. That was Harwin, the kind of man who wanted to protect the rest of the world like a knight.

But he is a different kind of enemy. One he can't face fighting. Not like that. Not when he appears with a treacherous smile and my father's seal as a shield.

"I have the entire Dragonstone garrison. Protect the children," she told him, squeezing his hand lightly with hers. Only then had she turned around, heading towards the main hall. She heard him grumble, but his steps did not follow hers. And that was relief enough.

Four more of her guards joined her, flanking her as she made her way to the throne from which Aegon had sought to conquer the Seven Kingdoms.

"Let him through," she ordered in a deep voice. The guards stationed at the door slowly opened it, revealing the slightly hunched man, advancing slowly.

Rhaenyra didn't know why he had ever seemed harmless to her. Certainly, he had an air of fragility, although she could feel her body tense and a shiver from the base of her spine. Larys' crooked smile didn't help at all, causing her a certain level of repulsion that was surely difficult to hide.

"My princess," Larys said with his usual silkiness, bowing as far as his cane would allow. He looked around at the dragon ornaments carved into the black stone with magic only known in Old Valyria. "I must admit that this is an especially beautiful place. Grim, but with a certain vibe of power..."

Rhaenyra felt herself stiffen even more. Yet she struggled to rise above the throne, with a look that would have given any man chills.

"What is your business here, Lord?" she said, interrupting his ramblings, not wanting him to stay longer than necessary.

Larys didn't seem offended by her lack of gentleness.

"His Majesty has asked me to check on the well-being of you and his grandchildren. In fact, I was hoping to find my brother, where is he, by the way?" he asked simply, turning his head around the room. The princess remained with a stone-faced, cold face.

"Ser Harwin serves my House as I wish, his location or task is none of your concern."

One of the guards brought the piece of paper from his hands to hers. Rhaenyra broke the royal seal, reading the contents with attentive eyes. Her expression did not change at any time.

"You can tell my father that we are fine. Dragonstone has always been comfortable for the dragon's blood. And since you have no other reason to stay here I suggest that you return to your ship. You may leave before nightfall."

Lord Larys smiled slightly.

"And here I thought we were having a pleasant conversation, my princess."

His slight provocation made her angry enough. She waved her hand dismissively. Two soldiers stationed themselves near him.

"I don't have time for this. Guards, if you would like to escort Lord Larys..."

She could see the slight surprise on her face. A little... desperation.

"My princess, please," he said in a tone of slight pleading. Her men stayed close to him, waiting for her signal to drag him away if necessary.

"I brought you a gift"

Rhaenyra could see him signaling to his own men, battered sailors, as they left the hall. She clenched her knuckles on the stone seat so hard they turned white. The princess knew the kinds of things that Larys could consider favors for her. Laenor's battered face appeared again in her mind.

"I do not desire another of your gifts," she said angrily through clenched teeth, with a look that would have rivaled Maegor's.

And I swear that if he brings anything as scandalous as a head, I will throw him in pieces for Syrax.

Larys smiled again, with an unsettling calm.

"You will like this one, I assure you."

The doors opened again and the men pushed a third into the middle of the room. Even with his slightly tattered clothes, he looked recently bathed and cared for.

Rhaenyra stood up from her seat and couldn't help but go down the steps followed by a column of guards. She moved closer to him and gently held his face in her hand. She hadn't been sure from so far away, but now, inches away from him, she had recognized him completely.

"Ser Qarl" she whispered the name of her former husband's lover. The man continued to allow himself to be handled with an unnatural meekness, his green eyes devoid of life. Of will. Sure enough, he seemed healthy. With his beard carefully trimmed, his hair combed. And yet, he seemed unable to even respond to his own name. An empty shell. A living dead.

Larys seemed to guess her thoughts, gently running his hand over his hair, getting the only reaction of a slight shudder.

"You will not find traces of any physical abuse. His wounds are in his mind, beyond what any maester could heal. He will confess whatever you ask."

Rhaenyra took a step back unconsciously. The torture to which Ser Qarl had been a victim could not actually be seen on her skin, but it could be seen in his eyes. He seemed like a lost man. Unable to recognize himself.

She remembered him laughing with Laenor, singing the usual tunes of drunken sailors, playing with Jace.

Rhaenyra was able to recognize the offer in Larys' words, without needing the man to describe it in broad strokes. He was the only witness to the events of that night, ready to say whatever she wanted as the absolute truth. It was abhorrent to even think about, and yet Strong offered it as if it was the simplest thing in the world. As if it hadn't involved completely breaking another human being.

"No one would believe it," Rhaenyra whispered, gently caressing Ser Qarl's cheek. She tried to find a call for help, panic, something. Instead, she found only emptiness in his gaze.

Larys nodded slightly. The idea that the Velaryons believed in such a ruse was clearly a fantasy; they had known their son's lover well enough to know that he would have been incapable of carrying out such a heinous act against the man he loved. But the lords of Driftmark were already a lost cause. There were others, however, with less reluctance to accept that truth.

"Not the Velaryons, of course, but the rest of the nobles... he could restore your reputation easily," he said, gently stroking the hilt of his staff.

Rhaenyra closed her eyes. She could imagine it all. Qarl in front of a Court, confessing sins that he had not committed. The sentence could only be one, death.

The princess shook her head, feeling the mere suggestion turn her stomach.

"I will not sacrifice an innocent," she said, forcing herself to look away from the former knight.

Larys pushed the man forward slightly, causing him to stumble. He felt so helpless before his fingers, so vulnerable. Looking at him, he could almost remember his screams of agony during those long weeks after capturing him. Of course, he had made sure that nothing they had done to him left a visible scar on his body. It would have been counterproductive.

"It would be a mercy, given his condition. And innocent people die all the time."

Rhaenyra swallowed nervously, her heart pounding in her chest.

"If that's your offer, I'm not interested," she said with a slightly trembling voice, determined to leave that room, Larys, the wreckage of a man.

Seeing that his cause was almost lost, Larys cleared his throat, pulling out the last ace up his sleeve that he had.

"Your sisters will marry Prince Daemon's eldest sons," he said with feigned calm. He saw the princess stop in her tracks and turn to look at him. There was concern in her eyes that would have been impossible to hide from his expert gaze. The reaction he had been looking for.

"My sisters have been bethrothed to my children for years," she responded with slight disbelief. Her surprise seemed legitimate and that was exactly what he liked the most. Knowing that he still had the advantage of granting first-hand information from his side.

"It seems that Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys have found better matches, ones that align with their own goals," he said with a shrug. The subtle warning beneath his words seemed to be quickly picked up by the princess. After all, the union of two powerful sides whose common goal was her ruin was definitely something to worry about.

But my father wouldn't allow it. Or not? We never made a formal commitment. And he has remained conveniently silent about it.

"It won't happen," she whispered, trying to convince herself.

"From here, it's difficult to do anything. And you doesn't seem in a hurry to return," Larys commented, feeling more and more satisfied with the princess's nervous reactions.

"Enemies multiply and unite with each other. Perhaps it would be advisable to seek new alliances"

He saw multiple thoughts pass through her eyes. Finally, he noted a slight resignation.

"And what do you want in exchange for..."

She couldn't even finish the sentence. How could she call Qarl? Gift? Victim? Scapegoat?

The young Strong stood up with the help of his cane, a satisfied smile on his lips. His voice was clear.

"Harrenhal"

It took her a few seconds to assimilate it. When she finally did, her face darkened.

"It is not my place to grant what rightfully belongs to your brother," he said slowly. However, she knew that was not what Larys wanted. He did not want the illegitimate granting of lands and titles, but the elimination of the only thing that prevented him from achieving them.

"You should know that I have my own solution to this. I just have to know if I have your support or not, my princess," he answered calmly. He pushed Qarl back to his men, while he walked around the princess like a snake whispering things in her ear.

"Harwin as your sworn sword will not work. You know it. Sooner or later, your lord father will ask you to take a husband again and to get rid of the unfortunate rumors you will have to get rid of him"

Rhaenyra felt every muscle in her body tense. What he was telling her was not new, she had thought about it herself after the death of her first husband.

The lords of the Seven Kingdoms will not allow me to ascend without a consort at my side. Stupid, but true.

"Would you kill your own brother just because of your ambition?" she spat contemptuously. Larys shook his head.

"No. I would kill him for the good of the Realm. And if I can make a profit from it, who could blame me?"

Who could believe that I have done it?

He observed the princess's face. Suggesting Ser Qarl's death was one thing, a man so broken that sacrificing him was equivalent to taking a small animal to the slaughterhouse. But Harwin was different. He had given her two offspring. His understanding. His company. His devotion. His loyalty. His...love.

The simple suggestion of killing him was as terrible as it was obvious. And yet, Larys knew that, after Laenor, she would hardly willingly agree to the elimination of another person so close to her. To her children. Therefore, he had exhausted his mind by devising an alternative, more to make her give in more easily to his whims than out of love for his brother. And he had found one.

"But not all solutions involve death and destruction"

He caught Rhaenyra's watchful gaze on him, knowing that was what she expected. A hope.

"If you...married him instead, Harrenhal would be a small price to pay for a place next to the Iron Throne."

His idea seemed so ridiculous that she was tempted to laugh.

It's not that she hadn't thought about it. Years ago, she would have dreamed of marrying Harwin from the beginning, having the knight as her lawful husband. But it was just that. A feverish fantasy.

"A marriage like that would not bring me alliances, but rather a deeper contempt of my enemies"

"You worry too much about the opinion of the Velaryon. Enemies will not become friends, my princess. However, you may find new allies, if you would grant me what I ask."

Larys moved forward slightly, looking at the map carved into the rock that Aegon had had made so long ago. He traced the lines of the rivers, the mountains, the castles.

"My brother would be the King Consort. And since he does not have a son to inherit his place..."

Rhaenyra bit her tongue. Larys' voice sounded condescending, as if he expected her to try to say the opposite. And admitting her children's relationship to him would be something she wouldn't do. Not in front of him.

"What kind of alliances could I get, if I gave you the castle of Harren the Black?" she asked after a long silence.

She noticed the man pause his finger in the Riverlands, caressing the name of Riverrun.

"Lord Grover Tully is a good man, but his health is declining every day. His grandson is a grown man of thirty-six, more approachable and serene, although proud. However, his great-grandson, the future of his house, is a a boy of thirteen, lively and intelligent. Just the right age to be taken as a ward by the righ Lord. Young minds are malleable, as you must know. And the possession of a son usually softens men to certain requests."

Rhaenyra took the small dragon-shaped token, which the Conquerors had used to mark their progress during their battles. She caressed it lightly between her fingers, thoughtfully.

"And what's stopping me from killing you right now and having Harwin do it in your name? I don't need you," she whispered, locking her violet eyes into his. Larys bowed slightly, taking another of the wooden dragons into his hand.

"Because it would be stupid to kill allies, especially when they are depleted every day. Besides, House Tully is only one. My plans have a bigger picture. One hidden deep in my mind"

And you won't be able to get them out of there if I'm a corpse. You need me alive. And at your side.

"Ser Qarl..." she said tentatively. Larys couldn't contain a smile.

"Only a confession is necessary with some of these knights as witnesses. Then a quick death. Painless" he said trying to sound reassuring. What was necessary to overcome any remaining moral inhibitions.

Rhaenyra remained silent, looking again at the carved table of the Seven Kingdoms. Her father's inheritance. Her mother's. And the possibility of defending it from the inevitable attacks that would come against her.

"Harrenhal after your father's death," she finally whispered.

"Harrenhal after my father's death," Larys repeated.

An unfortunate event that won't take too long to happen.

Rhaenyra moved again toward the corner where Ser Qarl had turned away. Larys's men stepped aside, allowing the princess to pass. Without thinking too much she hugged the man that remained stiff, without emotion.

"I'm sorry, I really am," she whispered, before composing herself. Her guards surrounded her as she left the room with hurried steps.

Larys smiled, patting the man's face with unusual joy.

And he was the only witness to the silent tear that slid down the knight's cheek. The last trace of humanity and sanity slipped from his body before his men took him away to make his confession.

Rhaenyra clung to Ser Harwin's arm, guiding him down the intricate spiral stairs leading down from one of the towers. Her pace was so fast that even the knight had a hard time following her.

Dusk had passed hours ago. Only the torches illuminated the place that, in their absence, would have been so dark that it would have been impossible to see her hand in front of her eyes.

She knew that probably, despite the arrangement of her clothes and the braiding of her hair, there must have been something in her face that betrayed her nervousness. That then explained the knight's concern, which seemed to grow more and more as her behavior became more erratic.

The princess had returned to tell him that his brother would have some chambers in the castle and that his stay there would be... indefinite. Harwin had attacked her with dozens of questions that she had been unable to answer, still too overwhelmed by the recent events.

And now, there they were. Running down the steps like two people possessed by a strange madness.

Finally, just as they were about to reach the end she felt a tug. Rhaenyra looked up from her to see the man standing at the edge of the step with his eyes wide and concerned. And she knew she couldn't move him from there. Not if he didn't want to.

"This is not the time for this," she whispered, trying to keep the slight impatience at bay from her voice. The knight remained still, stubborn.

"Princess, please. If we stop to think. If only..."

She took a deep breath. She hadn't had time to give clear explanations. And anyway, it would have been difficult to even try them. How to make him understand that the other option was death itself?

And there is no need to doubt it. Larys will kill him, if necessary. Without batting an eye.

She wrapped his hand in hers, trying to convince him.

"Do you trust me, Ser?" she asked with some urgency. She saw in his eyes the same fear as her. And the reluctance. The reluctance to do something compelled by something less than honor. Less than love.

Rhaenyra climbed two steps, to be at the same height. Her hands wrapped around his face, stroking his beard gently.

"Harwin."

Please.

The knight swallowed nervously, before caressing her own face.

"Always," he whispered, leaning down to kiss her desperately. She allowed it, feeling a similar sense of despair.

"This is the only way," she assured him, trying to make him understand. He nodded, finally allowing himself to be carried more meekly through the semi-dark hallways.

Finally, they arrived at their destination, the immense room illuminated by the light of dozens of candles.

Maester Gerardys stepped forward, the white ribbon in his hands, as the Septon of Dragonstone finished lighting the last of the fires.

"It's time, my princess."

They both held each other's hands, as the ribbon was gently wrapped around them. Rhaenyra smiled gently at him. Harwin tried to do so, although in his nervousness he could only make a slight grimace.

And there, before the eyes of their witnesses, gods, and men, they began to speak in unison.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger..."

Chapter Text

BAELA I/VISERYS V

Baela sat against the wall, eating her dinner in silence while flipping through a book. Her once-long hair, in which her mother used to tangle her fingers to caress her, had been removed, cut with the precise edge of a blade until it reached just above her shoulders.

It had been a rash action, motivated more than anything by the stormy emotions that had tormented her shortly after her mother's death.

And it had not been for less.

The news of her new engagement had only served to darken an already dark mood, which had already begun long before.

It had been an ordinary summer night. She had gone riding alongside Ser Harrold before sunset, having asked permission from her distracted father, who had given it without much conflict, probably barely listening to her request. Consequently, she had returned terribly tired, falling asleep barely after she had taken off her riding clothes.

Having already acquired a bad habit, she had woken up ravenously hungry after skipping dinner. And, silently, she had slipped out of her room in search of snacks.

Baela had been surprised to find no guard outside. Usually, at least one used to escort her door, the ones who used to make her come back grumbling so that she wouldn't wander around the castle in the middle of the night. But, with an empty stomach and no obstacle to solving it, she hadn't stopped to think about it much.

She had remembered little of her arrival in the kitchen. What she did know was that she had stuffed herself so much that her stomach had felt much heavier than usual and, with a little less than her usual agility, she had silently returned to her chambers.

 But then, just after returning to the safety of her bed and wrapping himself in the covers, preparing for a successful night of smuggling, hurried footsteps had entered her room. She had been nervous, and that had not been lessened by discovering the identity of the two unexpected nocturnal visitors, her grandfather and her grandmother.

Rhaenys had closed the door behind her, while Corlys had checked on them. She had been able to hear Rhaena stir in her sleep when the heavy ringed hand had rested on her face and, fearing a scolding, she had imitated her gesture.

Apparently her deception had gone unnoticed, since she had been able to hear the Lord of Driftmark murmur a simple "They're asleep," while her grandmother continued to give nervous glances at the doorknob.

 Even in the darkness of the room she had thought she perceived something wet on her face, although she had not been sure.

"The guards are looking everywhere for our daughter. The King lies in his room, with his senses barely recovered and accompanied by the Grand Maester," her grandfather had whispered seriously, looking at his wife.

"Where is she, Rhaenys?"

Silence had been his response. Baela had shivered silently in her bed. A thousand questions had assaulted her head.

What absurdity has taken over my mother to run through the castle while pregnant?

Corlys had approached her grandmother, his back to Baela. However, she had been able to see his hand go to her face, wiping away tears that neither of them seemed to have seen before.

"She is also my daughter and the child in her womb is also my grandchild. Mellos informed me of the critical nature of the birth situation. If we do not find her soon..." the Lord of the Tides had said seriously. Again, a nervous lump had risen to her throat.

Mother is giving birth. But she runs away.  From what? Why?

She had seen the princess stiffen, with an even more gloomy expression.

"You don't need to keep looking for her. You won't find her," she had whispered. Her grandfather's face had not been invisible, but she could have sworn that he had frowned.

"Enough of the games. She is the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not a girl playing hide and seek. It has been enough disrespect that she blames me for the death of her brother. Where is she?"

The response had caused Baela to unconsciously begin to hyperventilate. Her uncle... dead. It had sounded terribly stupid. No? She had seen him that morning, when he had silently slipped a couple of round stones into the pocket of the pants she usually wore, to use as ammunition for the slingshot she had assembled from carved wood and a kind of elastic rope that the servants had left. She had seen him go to her mother's room with an uncharacteristic nervousness, but she had not thought anything beyond a misunderstanding.

Nothing that could lead him to...that.

"Do you want to know where our daughter is? Look for her in the Seven Heavens, or where the innocent people go whose only fault has been to blindly follow orders her entire life," her grandmother had responded with lightning anger. She had seen Corlys take a step back, unsure. Her stomach had shrunk and she had felt all the food start to return to her throat along with bile, but she had forced herself to stay still.

"What are you talking about?"

She had seen Rhaenys swallow heavily. Her gaze had drifted to her and then to Rhaena, as if she had wanted to make sure they were still asleep. Baela had closed her eyes, pretending. Finally, the princess had spoken.

"Vhagar"

There had been a long pause. When Corlys had spoken, his voice had sounded much hoarser.

"She would not do it"

"Do you think not? Viserys would have turned her into another Aemma. And so would you. She preferred to die turned into ashes than suffer the death of an animal in the slaughterhouse"

She had heard her grandmother sobbing lightly.

"Our daughter..."

Her grandfather had hugged her tightly, in silence. And, after a while, they had left the room.

Baela had waited until her footsteps had slipped away from her room and she had freed herself from her sheets. She had opened the window in desperation and emptied her stomach into the void, while the night air chilled her skin. The princess had curled up in a ball on her bed, feeling as alone as if her sister hadn't been there. And she had fallen asleep crying.

The days had been similar since then. She didn't talk about her mother at all and was in a constant rage all the time. Her explosive mood had led to the start of the fight that had cost one of her cousins his eye. And anyway, she still felt... so much anger.

"Talk to me. Please," her grandmother begged, pulling her out of her brief trip into her memories. Baela had almost forgotten her presence there. Rhaenys had been trying for weeks to get even a word out of her, beyond those curt responses of thanks and monosyllables.

Baela had heard that her sister had gone to visit Aemond...and her future husband. She hadn't been able to ask about the direction of the conversation, too busy with her own stuborness.

She had not shared what had happened that night with Rhaena. With nobody in general.

And it's the kind of secrets that eat you up inside. That leave you with a bitter taste in your mouth and without a shoulder to lean on.

She remained silent, guving another spoonful onto the plate in her hands. Should she tell her? Remove what has been burning in her chest since then?

Everyone seemed to have moved on. Except her.

In the end, she made the decision.

"She gave up," she whispered, placing her dinner on the mattress. She saw confusion in Rhaenys' eyes, understanding and panic.

She hadn't said her mother's name. It was not necessary. And she had promised herself not to do it again.

"Baela..." her grandmother responded, trying to take her hand in hers. The girl snatched it away forcefully, keeping a clear distance between them.

"She had us! Someone to fight for! And she preferred..."

Her voice cracked. Tears left her eyes, even as she tried hard to avoid them. She felt weak. Pathetic. And she didn't like it at all.

She tried to wipe them away with the back of her hand surreptitiously, maintaining an iron gaze.

Rhaenys sighed. She seemed to notice her effort to hide her crying, since she didn't mention it at all. When she spoke again, her voice was much gentler. More understanding.

"Your mother was a warrior. She fought until she couldn't take it anymore. Until she knew that she would inevitably leave with your sibling and your uncle. Still, Laena had the courage to seek the end of a dragon rider." she said softly. Her hand slowly reached out to caress her short hair.

Baela allowed it, too lost in her own thoughts. For weeks, she had thought of her mother as a coward who had chosen suicide over the fight on the delivery bed.

What else could she think? All those words about her running away spoken by her grandfather, her father's little interest, the whispers from the Court...

"No, she..." Baela tried to organize her thoughts. Rhaenys placed one of her hands on her shoulder, pulling her closer.

"She tried, Baela. Do you really think she would have given up? That she would have left you alone? Your mother was the strongest and bravest woman I knew," she said, with a certain note of pride.

Baela felt a silent tear roll down her cheek. She remembered the stories of the brave Laena Velaryon in the War of the Stepstones. The rider of Vhagar. The one that had devastated the ships of the Triarchy, ignited pirates to protect her ancestral home. She remembered her confronting her grandfather and her father. Laughing with Laenor.

"I..." she stammered, unable to hide her tears any longer. Her grandmother hugged her gently, letting her sob into her dress.

"I had so many things to tell her. At least I wanted to...say goodbye" he whispered against her.

 The princess had spent sleepless nights wondering what she could have said to her. What she would have done that night if she had known the fate of her mother.

Why did she have to leave me?

Baela had avoided crying for her for almost four moons. Now, there was no stopping the river that flowed through her eyes.

Rhaenys held her tighter against her. She could notice that her grandmother's hands were shaking.

"Your mother...there are things that one would not want their children to remember"

She raised her face and saw in her eyes the sorrow she herself felt.

It is better to be remembered with dignity than in the poverty of our decline she had heard her father tell Lord Lyonel once, after one of his many health problems that had left him in bed for three days. She had not known her father any other way, but she remembered the Queen in her moments of greatest glory.

Maybe my mother preferred to be remembered that way.

Rhaenys leaned down, placing a kiss on her forehead.

"Her last thought of was in you. Always in you both"

They remained silent, enjoying the sudden closeness they had gained again.

But not for much longer. There were still doubts in her head. Doubts that she needed to resolve in order to be at peace. To be able to continue as everyone had done.

"Why?" she asked quietly, looking at the princess.

"Mother didn't particularly love Rhaenyra, but she didn't hate her either. I know Grandpa wanted us to marry Jace and Luke. Why would they change their minds at the last minute? Why...?"

She saw her grandmother's face darken slightly and knew this was the kind of conversation she wanted to avoid.

"You're not old enough. There are things you can't understand..." she said, trying to change course. Baela crossed her arms, sunk in stubbornness.

"I'm old enough to be engaged, in your opinion," she said with cold sarcasm. She noticed Rhaenys breathing deeply, massaging her temples.

"Baela..."

The girl stood up, taking a step back. She stared at her.

"I deserve to know," she said with a confidence drawn from moons of repressed emotions. Her grandmother must have seen some of that steely determination in her eyes, as she let out a deep sigh.

"Sit down," she finally told her, tapping the place besides her. Baela hesitated for a second, before obeying. She looked at her grandmother carefully.

The Queen Who Never Was seemed lost for a few seconds in her memories.

"You love your children more than anything else in this world. Your mother was the living example of that. I never saw her smile more than the day you and Rhaena were born."

Baela frowned at what seemed like a sudden change of topic. Still, she tried to follow the thread of the conversation.

"She almost died," she commented, remembering the stories the servants whispered. How her mother had been in labor for a whole day to bring her and her sister into the world.

"And yet she found her peace in it, if it meant that you would live. If your mother had thought for a second that the baby would make it, she would have willingly let herself be torn in two," her grandmother continued. She closed her eyes, apparently trying to relive some memories.

"She and Laenor were my blessing. Little troublemakers, they used to run around when they were kids."

Baela nodded. She had always heard stories about her mother and her uncle, united since they were children. The thought was... painful.

"I believe it"

Rhaenys surreptitiously wipe away a tear.

"Losing them both that night was..." she said, her voice breaking. She stopped, possibly so she could catch her breath. Her voice was barely a whisper.

"No parents should outlive their own children"

Baela shifted, uncomfortable. She didn't know exactly what to do or what to say. Certainly the unexpected deaths had brought a pall of sadness over House Velaryon, but immersed in her own grief, she had not stopped to think how it might have affected the rest of her family. To Rhaena. To Rhaenys.

"It was an accident, Grandma," she said, unsure, with the best retort she could find. Rhaenys' eyes darken with more than just pity. Anger.

"No. It wasn't," she whispered. Suddenly, she cupped her face in her hands, making her look directly into her eyes.

"Baela, I want you to listen to me carefully. Your uncle Laenor did not die by accident. He was murdered"

Even in her grip, Baela found the strength to shake her head. There was so much absurdity in her words, so much... but they were sure.

Her uncle had always been a nice person. Along with his friend, the knight Ser Qarl Correy, he often participated in tournaments and celebrations of the type. He used to play with her and Rhaena when he visited her mother. And he was a dedicated father himself, to Jace, Luke and Joffrey.

"Murdered?" she repeated, hoping she hadn't heard correctly. But her grandmother didn't back down. Instead, her grip became more desperate as did her voice.

"It was your mother's wish that justice be sought for it. At any cost"

The girl continued to look at her in bewilderment and confusion. Her mind was scrambled with all the sudden information.

"I don't understand... Who would want...?"

Then everything clicked inside her head. She remembered the night in Driftmark, when she had gotten into that fight over Vhagar. The words she had heard from the ground where Aemond Targaryen had thrown her, spoken to Jacaerys.

"Will you kill me like your mother killed Ser Laenor?"

"No," she whispered, unconsciously turning away from her. She observed something in Rhaenys' eyes. Recognition.

"You know," her grandmother said simply.

Baela felt her entire body trembling. She had heard stories, terrible stories about her older sister.

Lies. Pure lies. Because Rhaenyra would never have killed my uncle, right? He was the father of her children. Her husband.

"Those are lies from that damned idiot," she spat, trying to compose herself. The older woman made a sad gesture. Of compassion. As if she truly felt sorry for his lack of knowledge. Because of her denial.

"They are not. I don't know where the prince heard it, but what he said is true."

Every word that left her mouth made her feel more and more dizzy. Rhaenyra...

She had always been a good sister. She had given them the love and family affection that her father sometimes forgot to give them. She had taken care of them. She had made them feel warmth and love, welcomed with her own family. Therefore, the prospect of her marriage to Jacaerys had been easy to digest.

That her sister was capable of something as vile as murder was simply…impossible.

"You lie"

"Your mother knew. She made me swear that I would seek justice for him. For her. Your mother's tragedy was precipitated by the news. Rhaenyra took them both away."

Baela felt as sick as the night she had heard the news of the death of her mother and her uncle. Her nausea returned and she struggled to keep her dinner in her stomach. Her grandmother took her arm, gently but firmly. She made her look into her eyes, violet against violet.

"You wanted to be an adult. And you're right. It's time for you to know the horrible game we play. You are a princess with the blood of the dragon. You have no choice"

The girl tried to find anything in her eyes. A trace of a lie, an exaggeration, even a joke. But there was nothing but seriousness. Rhaenys was being honest. And she was completely sure of everything she said.

Including her accusations against Rhaenyra.

Traitor. She swore to protect us. Always. That we would be a family. She lied.

"Does Rhaena know?" she finally asked. Her grandmother shook her head.

"You and Rhaena are different. Your sister wouldn't bear the news with the same courage as you. She will know in time. I won't keep her in the dark about this forever. But it will destroy her. You know it," she replied.

Baela nodded. Rhaena had always been closer to Rhaenyra. The princess had taken her under her wing since her egg had not hatched.

And it was clear that her intention was to turn them against the princess, which would be difficult to achieve with her twin.

But she also loved her older sister. And Rhaenys knew it. Rhaenyra had often taken her flying with Syrax.

"Why me?"

Her grandmother stroked the cut edges of her platinum hair.

"Because you won't fall apart. The truth hurts, but I see in your eyes the same determination that was in your mother. Even when there is still a trace of denial"

Baela remained silent. Her nausea subsided a little, although she still had a slight empty feeling in her stomach.

"There will be a war. It will not be today, nor tomorrow, but it will happen. And we will all have to choose a side" Rhaenys continued with a serious tone. She stroked her hair one last time, before heading to the door.

"You will know where your loyalty lies."

Her words stayed with her long after she was gone.

Rhaenyra or my grandparents. My sister or House Velaryon. Jacaerys or Baelon.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to concentrate. What would her mother have done in that situation?

The image of Laena appeared in her mind. The Queen... had been the best mother in the world. They had had her differences, of course, but she had loved her. She loved her. She had been so furious with her and yet...

If for some reason her grandmother was right, if Rhaenyra had to do with the deaths in her family, what would she do? Could she really take that risk?

We must all choose a side.

Baela wiped away the tears that had begun to escape from her eyes and walked over to the window. She opened it, breathing in the cold night air.

Rhaena was outside, in Aemond's room like she was every night, standing guard of sorts. Guilt, perhaps?

If losing an eye does that, how would I feel if I aligned with a murderer? The guilt would kill me inside.

She had never considered her sister anything less than the archetype of the future Queen. Rhaenyra had never been a saint, but neither had she been a villain. Believing what she had supposedly done was difficult. And even so...

Would I be more traitorous if I turned my back on my sister or my mother?

The princess sighed heavily, looking up at the night sky. Finally, she came to some determination. Maybe the next day she would go to the Dragonpit, to feed Moondancer. Maybe at the same time that Baelon did it with Sunfyre. Who knew? Perhaps she would find some answers for herself there.

Viserys felt his head throb so violently that it seemed like it would explode.

He took the cup in his hands, prepared by Mellos with wine combined with poppy milk, and drank it at once, barely noticing the taste. Beside him, his Hand seemed to be in a similar state. Lord Lyonel was shaking from head to toe, a nervous look in his eyes.

The letter with the news of Rhaenyra's marriage to Ser Harwin Strong had arrived a couple of hours ago from Dragonstone.

His first reaction had been disbelief. Then blind rage. And now, nervousness.

Of course, he had hoped that his daughter would take a husband after Laenor's death; after all, her marriage had been intended both to obtain heirs of her own and to have a King Consort who would appease the Lords. But, with less than half a year since the death, it had been impossible to maintain adequate respect for mourning.

But what use have so many precautions been? The girl seems tempted to make things harder for herself.

Rhaenyra didn't exactly enjoy many friends at that time at Court. It would have been stupid not to notice is. Since the death of her first husband, the princess had not stopped accumulating enemies in the capital. Powerful enemies.

And this marriage was just the icing on a monstrous cake.

Ser Harwin Strong...well. For many years, since Jacaerys's birth he had known the truth. It would have been difficult not to. It was written all over the boy's face.

When the baby had born, Viserys had expected to have the Velaryons at his door, Laena making scathing comments, Laenor acting like an indignant husband, revealing his wife's less than honorable activities, and Corlys and Rhaenys furious. But the silence had been... strange.

Beyond the judgmental glances of his in-laws at his daughter, the indiscretions of the nobles of the Court and the whispers of the servants, there had been no major consequences. Jace had soon become a child, adored by the knight he called father, a worthy heir to the Throne.

And without further complaints, he had said to himself, why not?

After all, it is my grandchildren who are to inherit the Iron Throne and the child is a Targaryen. The son of my daughter. And if Laenor Velaryon recognizes him as his son, why would I do anything to contradict that?

Corlys had seemed especially irritated at his son's silence. Rhaenys, resigned. His wife, little more than frustrated. However, no one had said a word.

Lucerys's birth had been much less turbulent in terms of the conflicts caused against the House of Driftmark, although he did not apease himself. After all, Luke had been precise proof that the sin that had occurred to achieve the conception of his first-born grandson was still happening. Adultery.

But with Harwin as his daughter's sworn knight, separating them would have been difficult. And with her husband agreeing with her attitude, he would have risked more vile rumors sweeping the castle.

So he had remained silent.

However, Joffrey's birth had reopened Pandora's box. The legitimate heir of Velaryon blood that everyone had wanted from the beginning became a third son who would obtain neither the Seven Kingdoms nor Driftmark.

He had known that he portended trouble. The discreet threat of the dragons had kept him handcuffed, unable to help his daughter beyond what a conventional judge would do.

Laenor's death, tragic as it was, had been a slight relief from that. Although he knew well that House Velaryon blamed his daughter for it.

But Rhaenyra is not a murderer.

The same letter from his daughter confirmed it. She said that Ser Qarl Correy had been captured on Dragonstone, attempting to take a ship to Essos. Once the garrison of his ancestral home had captured the false knight, the man had not taken long to give a detailed confession of the events of that night.

"A fit of jealousy. Ser Qarl claimed that my lord husband planned to disfavor him for the benefit of others younger, more to his liking. He plunged the dagger more times than he could realize, driven by rage ..."

The text below had been much more informative, detailing the final fate of the found guilty.

"The castellan of Dragonstone has cut off his head, respecting his position as a noble and forgetting that of a traitor. You can tell my in-laws that justice for their son has been served. And that Laenor will remain in my prayers and in my heart for a long time..."

Although that last one hadn't seemed too sincere. Not with her hasty wedding to the Strong heir.

And now...the reactions aroused by news like that could be aggressive. Much more so with the recent addition of her uncle and his family to her enemies list. The King knew well that Daemon was not the kind of person who would let an offense like that go. He had not done it with his first wife, whom he suspected he had murdered. And he wouldn't have it with the boy who had gouged out his son's eye.

A loud knock on the door interrupted them both, as Ser Harrold looked in, with a look of slight discomfort.

"Your Majesty, Lord Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen request an audience."

Viserys and Lyonel stared at each other. A bead of sweat ran down the Hand's forehead as Viserys felt his headache increase to almost unbearable levels.

The moment that he had waited for and that he had wanted so much to avoid since the letter arrived.

"They cannot wait?"

Ser Harrold shook his head.

"I'm afraid they seem...not in the best of moods. Shall I ask them to leave, my king?" he asked doubtfully.

Viserys swallowed. He knew that with a single order, the Lord Commander of the King's Guard would clear the hall, with force if necessary. But was it appropriate to further provoke the anger with such disrespect? It would probably just make things even worse.

"No. Send them in. Better get this over with."

The knight nodded, before pushing the door fully open. Corlys and Rhaenys entered almost hastily, their eyes furious.

"A marriage! My son has been dead for less than half a year!" his cousin said with thinly concealed indignation. Viserys could tell by her reddish eyes that she had been crying, although he didn't want to add fuel to the fire.

He tried to remain diplomatic.

"The news is a surprise to both you and me. However, the vows are exchanged. There is nothing more that can be done," he said softly, although he was far from calm. He saw the Seasnake's face turn red.

"This is an offense against the memory of Laenor. Against our House. The House to which your lady wife belonged..."

The name of Laena, unspoken but not indifferent either, caused him chills. He disguised them as irritation.

"And what do you expect me to do? Drag the two like a couple of teenagers and scold them for their recklessness? It was disrespectful and something I didn't approve of, but like I said..."

Rhaenys seemed to make an effort not to slap him. He thanked her silently. The princess's eyes then fell on Lyonel.

"And what does the young man's father think? Lord Lyonel? What words do you have to say in favor of your son, the gallant knight?"

His Hand seemed nervous about the questioning, but firm.

"Harwin was reckless. He definitely deserves exemplary punishment..."

Her cousin crossed her arms over her chest.

"Like what? Exile?"

Viserys frowned in disbelief. He tried to discern if it was a joke or a serious proposal.

"Jaehaerys and Alyssane were not punished with exile when their mother and Lord Rogar found them married, Rhaenys," he said quietly. The princess seemed to continue in the mood to fight in front of her silent husband.

"Our grandparents had no spouses to mourn. And they were kings"

Her last sentence seemed out of place. His daughter was the crown princess after all. Yes, she might not have made the best decisions, but she was still his rightful successor. The only one.

"My daughter will be the Queen. And her husband will be the King Consort. I don't see the difference"

Finally, Corlys interrupted the back-and-forth between the two.

"This is a serious offense. One that not even the crown princess should be spared, if our King has any respect for the laws."

Viserys looked back at Lyonel. The last few hours had been spent discussing precisely that between the two of them. A sanction that would lower the spirits of the Velaryon, at least enough until they could digest the new matter.

"Ser Harwin will be temporarily removed from his inheritance of Harrenhal, with his younger brother taking his place. My daughter will not return to the Red Keep. For the next five years she is excluded from the affairs of the Court... "

Rhaenys gave a mocking laugh that sounded a little too fake. That was enough to let the King know that his proposal had failed.

"We know that Rhaenyra will not return for fear of Daemon. Not for legitimate punishment"

He couldn't find a way to deny it.

For the love of the gods. If only she would stop getting into trouble...

"And what exactly do you propose? That I exile my daughter for a decade on the other side of the Narrow Sea? That I depose her?" he said with a little more anger. The Lord of Driftmark and Lord Lyonel seemed to notice the sudden rise in tension. Rhaenys continued though.

"I guess it's too much to ask for a fair punishment..."

Viserys began to feel that the situation was beginning to get out of control. He got up from the chair.

"Speak clearly now or Ser Harrold will escort you out," he said in a cold voice.

The threat reverberated through the hall and the guard at the door placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

It would definitely be embarrassing for the couple to leave without getting the justice they longed for, but it would be doubly embarrassing if they were forcibly expelled. That seemed to silence her cousin. Lord Corlys stepped forward.

"We will accept the penalty. Five years away from King's Landing. And..."

The king rolled his eyes.

"And?"

"Rhaena and Baela. Their education, their daily lives, everything will remain under our supervision. Including their future marriages."

The king hesitated a little. The sudden request surprised him.

He had slightly noticed the sudden closeness between his daughters and their grandparents, although he had attributed it to loneliness. Since Laena's death he hadn't had much time for them.

The loss of his wife had been... complicated. They had spent a decade together. But the manner of her death had revealed that he didn't know her at all. What kind of woman immolated herself in dragon fire?

And his daughters...he had been unable to see their faces. Not only out of shame, but also because of the inevitable task of raising them alone now, when he could barely take care of himself.

Still, he showed resistence.

"Do you want the right to marry my daughters, princesses of House Targaryen as you please?"

Rhaenys stood up, freeing herself from the arm her husband had placed in front of her in the hopes that she wouldn't get into the conflict again.

"We want the right to marry our granddaughters, our daughter's children, as we think is best for them"

Viserys let the words sink in for a couple of seconds. His daughters... were good girls. But he felt unable to see through them. At least like a father should. His grandparents could be many things, but they loved them. They were family after all. And if it would help things calm down a little...

"Yes"

The princess let out a light sarcastic laugh.

"If you had waited a couple more minutes, I would have thought you were really thinking about it."

The King did everything possible not to fall for the provocation. After all, that was precisely what she wanted.

"Don't you have other matters where your acid tongue would be a virtue, cousin?" he asked with similar sarcasm. Before she could answer, her husband gently pulled her arm.

"Your Majesty," he said goodbye. He saw his wife give him a dirty look, but she didn't contradict him, as they both left the room. Once the door closed loudly, he and Lyonel sat in silence for a few minutes. Viserys finally let out the long breath he had been holding.

"That seemed to go a lot better than we thought."

His Hand shook his head. He was drenched with sweat. Now that he thought about it it seemed somewhat... abnormal. It wasn't even too hot. Maybe nerves?

"I wouldn't call it a triumph. Just a temporary consolation"

Viserys nodded. Lyonel raised a paper again with trembling hands. A letter that had arrived at the same time as the other but from a different recipient, his second child.

Only the gods knew with what he had written it, when he opened it the paper had released a solid white substance that had remained adhered to Lyonel's fingertips. Maybe debris, or dust? Dragonstone needed some remodeling after all. Or at least an adequate adaptation for their new visitors.

"Your youngest son?" he asked, trying to change the subject. Lyonel nodded.

"Larys says that the princess wishes to keep him at her side as a kind of advisor."

Viserys was amused at the idea, though he didn't convey it on his face. Larys didn't strike as exactly the kind of person that could advise a future Queen. He lacked the nerve. Still, he kept it to himself.

"Maybe he'll follow in your footsteps as Hand."

The Lord of Harrenhal shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe"

A loud cough made his friend lean violently in his seat. He tried to cover his mouth with his hand, further spreading the strange powder over his lips. He held onto the wine glass from him, drinking hastily. When he lowered it he could notice a small red stain on the edge.

"Lyonel?" he asked worriedly. Lord Strong waved him off as the coughing began to subside.

"I'm fine. It's nothing."

Viserys did not inquire further. A dry throat could cause a few drops of blood to be present in the cough. Mellos had explained it to him.

Maybe he'll call the maester to check it. Although who knows. Lyonel can be stubborn.

"So Larys, heir to Harrenhal?" he asked, clearing his throat. His Hand finally seemed able to speak.

"Provisional. Only until things calm down. For the peace of the Velaryon"

"And your...?"

Lyonel sighed and pointed to the small scroll next to him and the ink stains on the table.

"I have already written him a letter. Telling him how much he has embarrassed and disappointed me."

Viserys saw the documents spread out on his table, disordered and abundant. A real disaster.

"Difficult words to hear from a father," Viserys commented, with slight sympathy.

"They are not without foundations"

Again, a violent cough made Lyonel lean his head forward. Viserys stood up from his table to pat him on the back a few times.

"We should go rest. Our health is beginning to seem affected," he told his friend. He noticed his slightly purple face, as he pointed to the table.

"This?"

"Let the servants clean it up"

Ser Harrold escorted them both to the maester, after Lyonel resisted a couple of times with the excuse that he was fine. While Mellos prepared the concoction to soothe his sore throat, the Grand Maester broke the silence, in an attempt to ease the tension.

"The crow that brought the letters is dead"

From his seat, Lyonel cleared his throat slightly.

"Unfortunate news."

The sudden topic seemed strange to the King, although he didn't make it obvious.

"Don't those things die all the time?" he asked. Mellos shook his head.

"Not really. It was young and strong. But, who knows. It's always been said that there are more secrets in Dragonstone than in the Red Keeps itself. Sickness. Mysteries."

The King accepted the explanation. The castle had a reputation for being gloomy since Rhaena Targaryen and the death of her handmaidens at the hands of Androw Farman. And it wasn't the first place with its own ghosts.

"I guess so"

Finally, Mellos gave the Lord of Harrenhal the little glass bottle. The consistency and color were anything but appetizing.

"Take it in the morning, my lord Hand. It will soothe your sore throat."

Lyonel seemed to keep his own thoughts to himself on the matter as well. Once they got out, he joked lightly.

"Taking medicine like an old man"

Viserys laughed. "We started to be"

We are both grandparents. Oh, Lyonel. You've kept the secret for all these years. I guess it's for the best.

In reality he was not that old, although the ailments of age were beginning to affect him. Multiple illnesses, weakness, suppurating wounds, total loss of the fingers of one hand, baldness...

Everything appreciates starting to accelerate. Time moved relentlessly. Therefore, Rhaenyra being ready was completely necessary. And that was why it affected him so much that she put herself into scandals again. The last ten years had transformed and molded her into the perfect heir to the Throne. But even with the maturity she had acquired she was still chaotic. Unpredictable.

"I... I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Lyonel whispered. Viserys saw in his eyes the desire for a confession. Finally, after all those years, would she admit the sins of his son? Something like that could mean death. Not imposed by him, but demanded by the disgraced family itself.

But he loved his grandchildren. They were children of whoever they were. Jace was a good prince, a good heir for his mother. Corlys had come to accept Luke as the future Lord of Driftmark, at least before Joffrey's birth. And the youngest... well, he could look for something that he could inherit. Something that would appease his grandparents, maybe Dragonstone? He still wasn't sure.

"You should rest," he replied, not letting him finish. Lyonel looked at him with pity, but he seemed not to find the strength at that moment to argue.

"Very well. Good evening, Your Majesty."

He patted him on the shoulder before he entered his own room. With the help of his staff, he continued walking followed by Ser Harrold.

The Red Keep looked much darker than usual. Much more gloomy. As he went to bed, he decided to have one more drink of the poppy milk.

The substance clouded his senses and made it much easier for him to begin to fall asleep.

That is good, no? Maybe if it still hurts tomorrow, I'll take a little more.

He felt dazed. It was much more addictive than wine, sure, but what difference did it make? He was in pain and that would solve it.

I'm dying he mused, feeling his eyelids closing. I have been dying for a long time, but the Stranger has not yet come to take me completely. What is this? A divine punishment?

In the end he fell into a deep sleep.

Across the hall, servants picked up the mess on their table. A young boy carefully wiped away the white dust with his hands, scattering it among multiple half-written letters and spilled ink.

The servant was dead by dawn.

Chapter Text

DAEMON XII/ALICENT XI

Alicent sighed heavily, trying to let the air that reached her lungs somehow calm the rapid pace of her heart.

The castle had been in chaos since dawn, when one of the servants had found the corpse of Lord Lyonel Strong, with rivers of still fresh blood leaving his ears, nose and mouth. The mysterious illness had also claimed the lives of two of the youngest servants and, in consequence, the entire Court had isolated themselves fearing to be the nexts to meet the Stranger. The King himself had locked himself up, with his guards preventing the passage of anyone other than Mellos, trying to avoid the spread of the strange epidemic.

Daemon had been in charge of gathering all of their children just a couple of minutes after the terrible discovery, when panic and terror reigned in the corridors; leading them to her chambers. Her husband's gold cloaks escorted the door along with Ser Criston, preventing any frightened people from trying to enter in a panic.

She would have considered it an exaggeration, had she not herself heard the muffled screams in the hallway and the crunch of crashing bones after the knights on guard broke the wrist of a Lord who sought to get to safety at all costs.

Collective paranoia can be much more dangerous than any epidemic.

And, even when the suspicious deaths seemed similar, nothing confirmed that a mysterious disease was spreading in the Red Keep. Still, riots were already a fact both within the castle and in King's Landing. In the city, two of the royal servants had fallen victims of public panic, murdered before they could "infect" the others, with the common people fearing the return of the chills, the disease that a few decades before had spread with the lives of peasants and nobles alike, even taking the first-born of the then King Jaehaerys, little princess Daenerys. Daemon had set out with the rest of the City Watch, trying to so pacify the muddy streets of the capital filled with unruly commoners that would take any opportunity for chaos to indulge in plunder, like it was doing at the corridors of the royal residence, where mass hysteria was wreaking havoc on the Lords and Ladies of the Court.

The sound of boots outside the room brought her out of her lethargy, as she continued to caress Helaena's sweaty hand. While all the children were worried, her only daughter was always a special case and the commotion had only inflamed her already fragile nerves.

Ser Otto Hightower stood before her. Her father had arrived shortly after the whole disaster began, finding refuge in her chambers like the rest of her family. With Daemon already on the streets of the city and suspecting that the problem would only escalate, she had allowed him his way herself. There had been no compassion behind it, but, perhaps, a primal desire to protect those close to her, regardless of whether it was him.

In reality, they had been in a kind of fragile peace for some time now. Even her husband, who would never swallow him whole, had given up his efforts to assassinate him, something he had seemed especially determined to do after learning of the results of his negotiations with House Velaryon.

The news of the engagements arranged without her knowledge had not pleased the prince. Not even her, to be honest. At that time, her lord husband had searched for her father, Darksister in hand, for days and nights, while the brother of the Lord of Oldtown had hidden like an elusive fugitive trying to stay alive against the wrath of the Rogue Prince.

After several failed attempts to meet him, perhaps with Otto suspecting some devious plot to remove him from the board over a shared annoyance, she had finally reunited with him in a room guarded by the grey-and-green clad guards he had brought as his personal escort after his brief exile at the Hightower beacon.

"I warned you that Daemon would cut off your head for this. If you continue in the world of the living it is because you have been lucky enough that he has not find you" had been her first words, although she had known that the warning had been unnecessary. After all, that had been the reason her father had remained constantly hidden, knowing that his own life had been at risk. She had seen the toll that his worry had begun to take on him, with dark bags under his bloodshot eyes and his hands covered in expensive rings constantly shaking.

"Daemon is a fool, unable to see past his own hatred. A rabid dog..." he had spat with the contempt of ill-concealed fear, running his fingers through the thinning hair on his head.

Alicent had listened to the comment with a cold mask, only raising her voice to interrupt the tirade of insults against the one who had been persecuting him.

"You are talking about the father of my children. And I do not completely disagree with him. They are children. My children"

That had been the main cause of her annoyance. As princes, of course, she had known that her offspring would surely marry for the benefit of the Crown, rather than following their own wishes. However, she had hoped that inevitable fate would pass in a few more years. She had wanted, very deeply, for her children to enjoy a normal childhood like any child, without the weight of their titles or the ambitions of lords and other nobles throughout the Seven Kingdoms on their childish shoulders. Instead, her father had decided to interrupt that innocence, that mirage of freedom that she had managed to find for her and her family for a brief moment. And that had been difficult to forgive.

Ser Otto had clenched his jaw, obviously less than pleasantly surprised by the sudden rebellion of his only daughter.

"I did what was best for them. For all of us. An alliance with the Velaryon..."

Alicent had gotten up from her seat, feeling the need to do something so that the brief shiver on her back would go unnoticed.

"Don't think I don't know what a marriage with them would bring us. Both advantages and problems"

It had been no secret that Rhaenys and Corlys sought "justice" for their deceased offspring and how far they were willing to go in their vendetta against the Crown Princess.

And the true author of the tragedy had not been too far from her either. Larys Strong had proposed his services by offering the eye of Lucerys Velaryon in exchange for a place at Court alongside her, and more importantly, her father.

Daemon had made sure to give him a definitive negative answer with a few overtones of violence, and now, with this declaration of union with his persecutors and sworn enemies, which would prevent the second son of the Lord of Harrenhal from directing his resentment towards they too?

Otto had seemed to sense a hint of her concern, as his frown had relaxed slightly, although his voice had remained grave, as if he were uttering a curse.

"You fear that the Velaryon bring us enemies, but you do not realize that you already have them. Do you think Rhaenyra won't put your children to the sword if she thinks it's necessary? Even your husband."

Alicent had known it, somewhere in her heart. However, there, in front of her father, she had resisted accepting it completely. That someone who had been her childhood friend, who had become a stranger over the years, was capable of posing a threat to her own children. Even more so, for the offspring of her uncle, the man Rhaenyra had always adored, despite everything.

Alicent had been aware of the conversation he and she had carried out in Driftmark through her own husband's confession, although the content remained a mystery. He hadn't been missing long enough for them to have had an occasional fuck, and after so many years together she had doubted Daemon would carry out such a disgraceful act with his children around, though she still suspected the conversation had been far from innocent There had been a fire between them that had been unquenchable over the years, that had turned to ashes only by Aemond's incident.

"She loves Daemon. Still," she had whispered, feeling the words bitter like gall in her mouth. There had been no point in lying, either to her father or to herself.

"And yet, she now has three children. You are a mother, Alicent. If the time came when the princess had to choose between her children and her uncle, who do you think she would prefer?"

His question had left her doubtful. She had always questioned herself about the dilemma that concerned her family, whether her husband would choose her and her children over the woman who would become the Queen.

But the opposite had never crossed her mind and the certainty of the answer had been dangerous.

Seeing the effect caused by his words, her father had carefully placed his hand on her shoulder, perhaps trying to discern whether she would slap him as she had done once or, instead, agree with him.

"Your lord husband is a danger to them. And we all know it. Lucerys Velaryon will never be safe as long as the prince lives. And Baelon and Aemond have expressed similar threats. I tell you once, my daughter, there will be nothing in the world that Rhaenyra will not do to protect her bastards, even if it means eliminating her own family."

The threat in her head had sounded sinister, as if the Stranger himself had whispered it in her ear.

"My husband has rejected Larys Strong's help. I think permanently."

Her confession had left her lips quickly, prompted perhaps by some deep place in her mind that had thought necessary for him to know.

Otto had been silent for a brief moment, his hand gently stroking his gray-streaked beard.

"A smart decision. From what I know, Lyonel's second son has a changing loyalty."

Alicent had frowned in surprise for the first time in the entire conversation. Accustomed to her father's habit of keeping all fronts open for possible alliances, she had hoped that the fact that Daemon would nip in the bud any potential benefit they could gain from Larys Strong. She, on the other hand, had encountered something completely different.

If my father agrees with my husband...something must be terribly wrong. Or he knows something that I don't.

Something had seemed strange to her, leaving a bad taste in her mouth. She had looked at Ser Otto with questioning eyes.

"And how do you know exactly?"

The former Hand had shrugged his shoulders, apparently not too worried about revealing that information. Almost as if he had been waiting for her question.

"I have my source. One the prince knows quite well. The whore he quartered himself with when he took Dragonstone."

Alicent hadn't wanted to delve further into the matter after that last sentence. With Daemon there would always be that uncomfortable doubt. The fidelity of her husband had been something she had not wanted to question since that last time. That night at Flea Bottom.

If my lord husband sleeps with whores, I don't want to know.

Ser Criston entered shaking the memories from her mind, opening the door for Prince Daemon to enter. Her husband was dressed in his golden cloak, slightly torn, probably from some pulling, and his black armor splattered with a dark liquid. Alicent was able to recognize what it was when she saw dry, abundant blood on the sword that he held in his hand, dry and abundant, which also stained part of his long hair and his boots.

Her sworn protector closed the door again, remaining inside, probably noticing the look of discomfort in her eyes.

Her father and her husband stood face to face, looking directly into each other's eyes, in a slightly challenging manner. Daemon was a couple of feet taller, but Otto exuded an authority that was hard to ignore.

Having them both in the same room gave her a feeling of imminent danger, like being trapped in the middle of two angry beasts seeking to tear each other to pieces.

Still without separating his gaze from his rival, the Rogue Prince rested the tip of Darksister on the ground.

"The City is in chaos. My men are spread across Rhaenys' Hill, Visenya's Hill, and Flea Bottom. There is still no sign of the riots ending," he said loudly, clearly addressing her even though he didn't looked at her eyes.

Noticing the tension, she placed herself in the middle, forcibly breaking the eye contact they had both tried hard to maintain. However, before she could respond, Ser Otto's hand gently rested on her shoulder as her father tried to gain control of the situation again, responding in her place.

"The absence of a Hand will cause a collapse sooner rather than later. If the King merely gives orders from the safety of his chambers and his bed, as far as I know, deep in the doze of poppy milk..."

The room was suddenly silent. The prospects for what could happen...were really bad at that time. Viserys had begun to rely more and more on Lyonel Strong over time. Skipping a few Council meetings here, letting him start resolving regular issues there. In the end, the King had only been present lately in matters that directly involved his three daughters. Not to mention the alleged addiction to the usual calming liquid that, according to his father, Mellos had informed that His Majesty had recently acquired.

Feeling the hostile look that her husband gave Ser Otto, this time it was she who came forward to respond.

"The obvious choice would be Princess Rhaenyra. A position like Hand would give her the opportunity to give a taste of what her reign would be like. She would hold power, without the title of Queen, at least until the King... "

She had been thinking about it since dawn and it was an answer she was sure of. For some reason, she knew that as surprising as Lord Lyonel's death had been, the fact that the King had not immediately appointed a Hand in a time of crisis went far beyond the fact that he had his mind sedated The only thing that could justify such serious negligence was that, in fact, His Majesty had the ideal candidate for the position, his daughter.

 The same one that just the day before, he had sentenced to five years of forced exile in Dragonstone for the crime of marrying her sworn guard in a quick and private ceremony protected by the darkness of the night.

How all forbidden things are done. What could drive someone to tarnish their public image in such a way?

That had been what she had been wondering ever since the news had reached the Red Keep the night before. Gossip had swept through the Court just before the panic caused the nobles to barricade themselves in their chambers and had taken enough of a toll on House Velaryon. As far as she knew, Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys had been the ones to ask for punishment on the royal heiress. But what had made Rhaenyra consider further fueling her feud with her former in-laws? Love? No. The princess was intelligent enough to know that it was not worth gaining dislike in exchange for something so politically useless. A desperate attempt to try to legitimize her two oldest children? It was a possibility, but the reality was that Jacaerys and Lucerys still beared the name Velaryon and did not seem close to abandoning it. So what could she want to achieve with a union that seemingly worked against her? The answer was still elusive, but she couldn't stop thinking about the news, much less spread due to its apparent irrelevance, of the stay of the new Lord of Harrenhal in Dragonstone as a guest of the princess. It seemed that her rejection of his help had made hjm reconsider his loyalties after all. Calling him "enemy" clearly now gave her a chill every time she said it.

But she was deviating from what was truly important. The emergency at that time was that the Seven Kingdoms needed a Hand of the King. The real question was, would Viserys dare to send the Velaryons to hell despite his recent promises of justice or would he instead try to keep peace with his late wife's family? The first option seemed likely...and disastrous.

Even her husband seemed to share her thoughts, as he frowned, not that the gesture was directed this time at Ser Otto, but in response to her words.

"Do you know how many Velaryon soldiers are now helping to quell the revolts in the city? One word suggesting Rhaenyra's return and Corlys and Rhaenys will take their men and return to Driftmark. The City Watch holds out, but my two thousand men are in trouble to control the riots, especially with the order of my magnanimous brother of not to murder anyone."

Alicent sighed and rubbed her temples with her fingers. She looked at Helaena, who seemed to have finally calmed down a bit, across the room at Aemond and Baelon, distracting Daeron to prevent him from falling into a state of panic similar to his sister's.

In the end, what would be worse? That the Realm remain without a Hand or that the princess return to occupy the position with its respective consequences?

"Would His Majesty risk losing control of King's Landing to Rhaenyra?" she asked. The gazes of both men rested on her, thoughtful. The first to respond was Daemon.

"I have learned to expect anything from Viserys"

Surprisingly, her father nodded. It seemed that, in adversity, he had finally found some understanding with his son-in-law.

"Not even the entire Dragonstone garrison would be able to control the situation if their hands are tied like they do with the gold cloaks now," he agreed with a touch of concern.

"We need the Velaryon. And Rhaenyra away. Both."

The tension was almost palpable. Even Criston, still standing by the door, looking now at Daemon, now at Otto, seemed to sense it.

But what could be done? How to speak and convince a King who had isolated himself in his chambers, apparently abandoning his people to their fate in order not to enrage either of them?

"And what are we supposed to do? Viserys is locked in his chambers. No one enters or leaves. You cannot whisper in his ear, as is your specialty. The decisions depend on him himself... and I doubt they will benefit us" Daemon responded. Her husband's face was stoic, cold. But so was her father's. Ser Otto seemed... thoughtful.

"You are wrong about one thing. There is someone who comes and goes. Someone who can whisper in the King's ear. He has done it before and he can do it now" he answered, with his eyes locked on the dragon prince's indigo ones. Alicent felt a strange sensation in her chest. The name left her lips long before she could realize it.

"Mellos."

The Rogue Prince's gaze locked onto hers for a couple of seconds, taking in what she had said. He finally diverted it towards his father-in-law again. He spat the words with some contempt, but there was also a touch of resignation. As if he knew that he had no choice but the one offered.

"That sneaky rat"

Ser Otto seemed unaffected by the insult to his ally. Instead, he simply shrugged.

"It's useful. And we don't have a better option. If we don't want to see Rhaenyra wearing the Hand insignia and this city in ultimate chaos, it's our best option."

Her husband seemed upset simply by not finding a way to refute it. Having to depend on Mellos seemed to dislike him as much as it did to her, perhaps even more so for having to agree with his staunch enemy.

"Your worm better get it done..." he muttered under his breath. Otto Hightower frowned, stepping forward.

"Is that a threat?" he said with a calm but cold voice. Alicent watched the prince tighten his grip on the pommel of his sword and knew that if she did not intervene, she would witness a bloody scene. And worse still, their children.

"Is it convenient to try to destroy each other?" she said with a trace of slight solemnity. Her father sighed, relaxing his expression slightly.

Her husband's attitude, however, continued to be openly aggressive.

"Daemon," she whispered, squeezing the hand that was still clinging to Darksister with her own. She noticed his jaw tighten, though his grip on the Valyrian steel blade seemed to finally loosen. Her husband gave his father-in-law one last glare before leaving the room, pushing Ser Criston slightly as he left. The tension finally seemed to leave her father's shoulders, although his gaze never left the door. A slight smile graced his lips, probably pleased with how things had turned out.

"It seems you've successfully taught him manners," he whispered with an irritating tone of satisfaction. She rolled her eyes, directing her attention back to her daughter, who seemed indifferent to the entire exchange that had occurred in front of her. The lady caressed her long platinum golden hair tenderly, placing a kiss on her soft forehead, once again ignoring the sounds outside.

In the hallway, Daemon Targaryen walked with heavy steps. As he passed by, the few servants, maids and nobles that he encountered still hanging around the castle managed to stop their nervous frenzy to avoid him, not wanting to arouse the wrath of the Rogue Prince.

To tell the truth, he was tired. He was not as young as before, and the work was becoming more than onerous. Since the first rays of the sun had risen he had concentrated both on maintaining order in the streets of the capital and on keeping his family safe, something that could weaken any man's resistance.

He had not lied in his brief conversation with Otto Hightower and his wife, things in the city were beginning to become rather alarming. Despite the curfew ordered by himself and the authorization of aggressive measures to stop the riots, the management of the enormous crowds that, spurred on by the question "disease" that had already claimed three lives, the only message that the King Viserys Targaryen had sent from the safety of his guarded chambers had greatly limited his ability to control the enormous problem.

"Use the necessary force, but let no man meet death under your sword or that of your men," his brother had ordered, probably believing that the chaos present in the castle was a reflection of that which occurred in the streets of King's Landing.

But the nobles do not arm themselves with sticks and stones to confront the gold cloaks. Lords show no resistance even under the threat of mutilation of a limb.

The inhabitants of the city founded by Aegon the Conqueror were...something else. He himself, as Commander of the City Watch and a regular visitor to its stinking streets, had often said that in the bowels of King's Landing they could be as perverse as the most depraved Khals on the other side of the Narrow Sea. In all his years of service he had witnessed homicides, robberies, savage rapes, brutal beatings, things that could be the stuff of nightmares for men with less stomach. And it was precisely this kind of monsters that thrived in the riots, the ones that stalked his men with their manufactured weapons hidden among their gnawed clothes, ready to take advantage of the panic to carry out their darkest and most depraved desires.

And what kind of deterrence give swords that are  forbidden to take life?

The reality was that, as much as it would be difficult to accept it, the need for a new Hand of the King that Otto mentioned was evident. One who could take the reins, revoke his brother's order not to kill in order to regain control of the city, and ultimately solidify their own position within the Seven Kingdoms.

Lyonel had been…as good as he could be. Neutral most of the time, he had not granted more power to either of them, maintaining a fragile peace that seemed to have been broken with his death. It was clear, now more than ever, the need for someone to adhere to his interests if they were to strengthen his own power.

The other part of the help in consolidating a united front against his newly formed enemies, the Strong, had come from unexpected allies. The Velaryons of Driftmark had not been considered particularly friendly by him, with the ever-present prospect of the possible birth of Laena's long-awaited male heir and the marriage celebrated between Laenor and his niece. Lord Corlys's ambition had always been evidently visible and had seemed almost as sick to him as that of the second-born Hightower.

That was why the prospect of marriage alliances between his nieces and princesses with his children had been so difficult to digest. He had despised the man's ploy that was to his misfortune his father-in-law and had tried to obtain revenge through his death, not caring too much about what that might mean for the deal Otto Hightower had gotten.  Therefore, he had been surprised when, one afternoon, he had met Rhaenys Targaryen in his chambers.

He had ignored his cousin as best he could, but her gaze following him silently had proven difficult to ignore.

"Talk now," he had said in a strong voice, sounding more like an order than a friendly suggestion.

Rhaenys hadn't moved an inch from her seat. She hadn't made use of her ability to make people dizzy with words either. Instead she had been forceful, concise and direct.

"I know that your contempt for these bethrothals is not directed towards the girls. Nor towards Laena. She could have been your wife, if things had been different"

Daemon had seemed barely surprised. Although he would never accept it, the princess had been right. Despite everything, he had never hated the woman who had been Queen. He had despised her task and its possible results, with the significance this would have had for his and her ambitions if she had given birth to the long-awaited son. On the other hand, he had never held a grudge against Laena. The prince had respected her too much for that. The rider of Vhagar had deserved it.

Still, he had sought his own silence in an attempt to cause as much discomfort as she had caused him.

The Queen Who Never Was had fallen for his provocation, probably irritated by his lack of responses.

"You think Rhaenyra won't kill you? Or your children?" she had said in a slightly annoyed tone. Her anger had been almost delightful.

"I'm not paranoid," he had said with a certain tone of condescension.

"No. Neither was Laenor. And look what happened to him"

There had been no anger in the tone, no trace of the previous slight rage. However, it had sounded like a threat. Said in a veiled, even calm way. But it had been still a threat.

"What happened to the boy has more to do with his stupid innocence. Marrying her and then being unable to..."

He hadn't finished the last sentence. Offending a mother who still mourned her son would have been inappropriate, to say the least. Furthermore, it had been difficult to discern how correct it would have been to highlight something like the preferences of the deceased. How much had Rhaenys known, anyway, about Laenor's homosexuality? Of the hardships he had brought on himself, Rhaenyra, and the Realm?

Rhaenys had seemed to preempt his thoughts.

"Do you think I didn't know what my son was? For Laenor, it was always a matter of honor. He had promised the princess that he would give his name to her offspring and he never failed to do so, no matter how much it angered his father. Me...I knew it. I told Corlys. He would never have said a word against those kids, he loved them as if they were his own. Still, he's dead."

"By the work of Larys Strong," he had answered almost automatically. It hadn't been to try to excuse her, far from it, at that point it had mattered little if they believed Rhaenyra guilty of the crime. Still, he had felt the need to clarify.

Rhaenys hadn't seemed to take it that way. She had crossed her arms, with a slightly hostile look on her face.

"Who is her lover's brother. I thought you were already versed enough in the affairs of the Court to know that nothing is a coincidence. Whether it was her sworn knight's orders or her own, my son paid the ultimate price. And his sister with him"

She had stood up with a clearly accusatory voice, looking at him with some suppressed anger.

"And yet, you doubted it. After all, you are not against injustice, but against it affecting you. Good. Is the mutilation of your son enough for you to see the truth? Or is it still your desire for the girl strong enough to make you forget your fatherly duties?"

The comment had made his blood boil, even though he had known it had been precisely in order to provoke him.

"No one will accuse me of negligence against my own children. I have sworn on my life and my House that the boy will give an eye for Aemond's"

"What if he did? What if, out of some attempt at reconciliation, Rhaenyra decided to mutilate her secondborn in order to gain your favor? Would you forget everything?"

The question had been... strange. Complex, actually. After all, he had been on the verge of accepting the offer to become King Consort before tragedy struck. But would it had really been as simple as paying the blood debt that her son had with his son?

No. In reality, the offense had gone beyond the pay of an eye, at the moment when Aemond had been on the verge of death.

"What is your point?"

The princess had looked at him intently. Rhaenys had always had a glimmer of authority that Viserys had never possessed. One that always left people wondering what could have been.

"That this will not stop here. Laenor, Laena and Aemond were victims of injustice and the King has done nothing, protecting his firstborn daughter. What will happen then when she is the one who rises to maximum power in the Seven Kingdoms? Who will be safe? She and her children could do anything without consequences."

"The lords swore allegiance to her years ago. Rhaenyra has prepared herself for the Throne" it had seemed important to highlight and remind her.

And there is treason in saying otherwise. To even think about it.

"And that is why she is aware of how much power a monarch holds. You know the truth. She will never hurt her children, no matter how many threats you make against him. However, she has already shown what she can do against those who seem to pose a danger to her offspring." Rhaenys had said, ignoring his previous warning. Such words were dangerous to utter within the Red Keep, even in the apparent solitude.

"Are you implying that Rhaenyra would kill me once she was Queen?" he had whispered with certain skeptics. Rhaenys had moved closer, putting her face inches from his. She had also whispered in turn.

"Are you implying that she wouldn't? She has shown how far she can go by protecting her family. And her family is no longer you."

The last sentence had caught him off guard. Even then, having rejected any idea of reconciliation, it had still tasted bitter to him.

"Why so much security?"

"Because that's what I would do. She will eliminate you, maybe your wife. And the children..."

Her words had been cold and yet full of a certainty that had caused him a certain feeling of unease. However, he had tried to hide it under a façade of light mockery.

"It seems to me that your paranoia goes too far"

"To keep Lucerys Strong safe, she will kill you. And Baelon, Aemond and Daeron. Anyone who can pose the slightest threat to her bastards. Maybe she will let your sweet Helaena live, a marriage to Jacaerys, Lucerys or Joffrey will make her look good in the eyes of the people. The pious Queen, adopting her orphaned cousin, the only survivor of the tragedy, as her own. Because don't doubt that she will make everything look conveniently accidental."

The prospect had turned his stomach. Imagining his family annihilated, Helaena, alone...

Instinctively, he had tried to find errors in his logic.

"Rhaenyra doesn't have the nerve for bloodshed"

Of that he had been sure sure.

Rhaenyra is capable of instigating her desire to assimilate Visenya, confront her enemies on the back of Syrax, bathing them in dragon fire. But she lacks the temperament to slip poison into her opponent's wine and toast with the knowledge of their glass' contents.

But even that faint hope had vanished with the princess's next words.

"That's why she has her Strong's dogs. Poison, assassins, it's not that difficult. But she'd rather slide a dagger into your neck than hurt her own son."

"And will my sons' marriages to your granddaughters prevent that?" he had asked, this time with much more irritation. She had painted him the worst-case scenario to gain the upper hand and he had wanted to see the ultimate purpose of it.

"They will come for all of us. We are smart enough to know that we cannot face them alone. Rhaena and Baela are barely children, with a single dragon that is less than an eighth the size of Syrax. And not even the Velaryon fleet could face the dragon fire"

The mention of the fleet had chilled him. Since the marriage between Viserys and Laena had concreted and the battles of the Stepstones had ended, the Velaryon ships had returned to Driftmark, with two or three carrying out patrol and trading duties. But Rhaenys highlighting them could have only meant one thing...

"This is not about alliances for survival. You talk about war"

His words had echoed in the room. There had been a sudden coldness. As if the very gods his wife believed in had waited for the declaration of the Queen She Never Was. One that would make a difference.

"Only a blind man would believe that Rhaenyra will not bring war to the Seven Kingdoms when she takes the throne. There are still voices raised mentioning the Great Council of Harrenhal and the prevalence of men over women in matters of succession."

The fact that he had mentioned the same laws that had taken the Throne from her in the first place had made it more serious. What other reason would she have had to use what she considered cursed words if she did not fully believe in them?

"And you think a couple of disgruntled lords will be a problem for my niece?"

"I think you wouldn't be such an idiot not to know your father-in-law's plans with your son."

The notion had silenced him for a moment. There would have been no point in denying it. He had observed Otto's behavior towards his son from the moment he had returned from the war against the Triarchy. The way he had treated him, his upbringing, the veiled comments...he had never allowed him complete control over his firstborn, but he had given Otto enough to make him believe that he was blind to his clear intentions. Those of putting the crown on Baelon's head.

"Is that what you're after with this marriage? The Iron Throne?"

"If I longed for the crown, I would have stood by Joffrey's declaration as the rightful heir. But this is not about blood rights or legitimacy, it is about justice. If he who sits on the Iron Throne offers it to me, I will not have a problem in bending the knee and proclaiming him King"

Again, she had spoken dangerous words.

Rhaenyra is the rightful heir of Viserys. Denying it is treason. But suggest replacing her...

"You speak very lightly of usurpation," he had said in a soft voice, which had not dampened the severe tone of the accusation. Rhaenys had shrugged her shoulders.

"In the end there will always be some crime behind our backs, no one is innocent. But if I have to choose between a usurper and the murderer of my children, then it is not so complicated"

There had something complex about his cousin. Something he couldn't quite understand.

Is she really a mother out for revenge or are there ambitions behind her intentions?

Daemon had tried to test the waters, searching for an answer.

"Is that, or the prospect of your granddaughter bearing heirs, as you wanted Laena to do with Viserys?"

Rhaenys had almost laughed, which had been even more disturbing.

"The idea of the marriages was not ours, but your father-in-law's. I don't doubt that Otto Hightower sees it as a test of loyalty. And after all, your children are princes."

"We are not friends," he had said seriously, as if it were necessary to clarify. The princess had nodded.

"No, we are not. But we are family. It is more difficult to cut loyalty with someone you share blood with. Hightower knows this"

"Joffrey...?" he had asked tentatively, trying to discern what cut they would get out of the deal.

"He will have Driftmark. Less than Corlys expected, but a fair price. House Velaryon will keep its ancestral home instead of giving it to a bastard."

The image of Corlys accepting such a deal...had been difficult to imagine. Rather impossible. There had been something he hadn't quite like about the whole thing.

"Corlys is not the kind of man who gives up easily. I highly doubt he has given up his claim to the Throne."

From the look in Rhaenys' eyes, he had been able to discern that she feared something similar. However, her posture had not changed.

"If you don't trust my husband's words, trust mine. I swear by the memory of my children that if this alliance comes to fruition, we will be on the same side. No matter what happens."

The weight of such a promise had been difficult to ignore. Even with the contempt that such agreements made behind his back he had had to admit that, after all the arguments presented, they had seemed quite beneficial.

"You will need Viserys's permission for such marriages," he had finally whispered. Rhaenys had looked visibly relieved.

"I don't think the King is a big deal. He's never been as interested in their upbringing as he was in Rhaenyra's."

Daemon had bitten his tongue, trying to avoid making any scathing comments. The girls hadn't deserved their brother's neglect, after all.

"Viserys has shown little interest in anything for a long time."

"If the King is not interested in his own Kingdom, I suppose it is a relief then that Lord Hand is not a man of ambition."

The prince had sighed. Lord Lyonel had certainly done few questionable actions. And certainly, unlike many, he had not sought the benefit of House Strong. His sons, however, had seemed to have done the opposite.

"There is little to reproach Lord Lyonel, except perhaps his distasteful descendants"

Rhaenys had nodded in agreement. She had looked towards him, remaining silent for a couple of seconds.

"Then I guess we've come to an agreement."

He had sighed, finally indicating his support for the idea with a nod of his head.

"My children are good kids. Rebellious and wild, but good"

Rhaenys had placed a hand on his shoulder. It had been awkward, but at that point, it would have been a difficult gesture to refuse.

"You keep your promise to Laena with these commitments. Your children and my granddaughters will be safe."

And that's how they had sealed the pact. To his annoyance, he had had to cease his quest to behead his good father-in-law and, instead, he had concentrated all his energy on planning each of the steps to follow in his intricate plan not only of revenge, but of obtaining the highest authority. The only one who, it was clear now, could save his family from complete annihilation.

The recent wedding between Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin had only further confirmed the claims Rhaenys had made. The princess had linked her blood and name with that of the Strongs permanently and had taken both brothers under her protection, an unmistakable symbol that she was willing to use their services if she wanted it.

Two golden cloaks crossed his path, both holding a figure in the middle of them, each taking it with firm grips that were sure to hurt.

"My prince," one said, pushing the person to the ground, causing her to fall to her knees. The other made them raise the face towards him by holding her hair.

"We found her wandering down the hallway," he explained briefly.

It didn't take Daemon long to recognize her. Despite the worn-out maid's clothes she had surely obtained to try to mislead the Red Keep's custodians, her lyseni accent would have been difficult to conceal. Not to mention that most of the knights under his command used to frequent her brothel.

The prince signaled with his hand, causing the gold cloaks to release her from their brutal grip. Mysaria looked up at him defiantly, her hazel eyes meeting his. He still found it intriguing how she could sneak into a place as guarded as the royal residence.

Perhaps she might have been able to slip away if she hadn't had the misfortune of running into her clients.

Still, her presence was not appreciated.

"Taking advantage of the chaos to prosper? Go away. You have nothing of interest to me" he said, indicating with a gesture to his guards that they could take her away. Just as their arms hovered over her to take her again, Mysaria finally spoke.

"I regret that this time my visit is not to see you, my prince. I come to see Ser Otto Hightower"

He found her response as irritating as it was intriguing. Certainly, he did not expect that both of them would continue making deals together. The notion of such ignorance was somewhat worrying.

How many things can be happening behind my back? What intrigues could I not know about? What risks might I not be informed about?

"Your employer is busy hiding with the women and children. You have nothing to do in the castle, much less near the royal family," he said with a certain tinge of contempt, unable to hide his bad mood.

"This goes beyond old grudges. Something is brewing, something much bigger and more terrible than you could even begin to imagine. I warned you long ago and I warn you now. I must see Ser Otto."

The memory of their last conversation was not pleasant. The warning about Larys Strong still loomed over his head from time to time, much more so lately now that he had revealed himself as an ally to his enemies.

But Mysaria was no better. She had already shown before that she could betray her master for a higher bidder.

"Your loyalty is as changeable as the winds. I would not mind if you deceived the old man, but by curses of fate my family is linked to his. I do not trust you. And your words are not welcome in this Court"

Mysaria pursed her lips with a hint of irritation and annoyance. Her eyes flashed with the same indignation, but soon her rebellion was quenched by herself. She seemed to understand that she would gain nothing by rising up against the Rogue Prince.

"My girls and children are in as much danger out there as your soldiers. What do you think the mob would do to them if they found them out there? They would beat them. They would chase them. They would rape them."

Daemon said nothing, listening intently.

"It is their safety that I value above honors and loyalties. And it is the patronage of your father-in-law that pays for the protection that prevents them from falling into the clutches of the mutineers"

To his own chagrin, the excuse seemed credible and her words sincere. It would have been easy to kick her out and throw her into the crowd earlier, when it would have made sense to be skeptical of her information. Now, however, it seemed like a greater risk to ignore her.

"If anyone else sneaks in, I will have the head of the man who is not standing guard properly," he told his soldiers in a cold voice, before lifting the Lyseni by the arm somewhat roughly. The gold cloaks that continued guarding the door seemed to recognize her, seeming somewhat surprised when he led the well-known matron to the same room as his wife and children.

Daemon could notice that the kids were no longer there and in their place were only Mellos and Otto talking openly, while Alicent listened to them attentively. He cast a questioning look at his wife.

"Ser Criston led them to their chambers. I thought the words spoken here were inappropriate. Besides, the Red Keep seems more filled with fear than unrest at this time," she replied calmly. Then it was her turn to question his mysterious company with her own curious gaze.

"She came to see your father," he explained at the same time, directing his attention to the conversation in front of him.

Mellos spoke with worried expressions, making grand gestures. The old man was sweating deeply, his body seemed especially beaten by the events of the last few hours.

"...it is evidently strange. I would dare say that it does resemble many known diseases, so it's really hard to..."

"That is not it"

The voice of his companion rose above the others, demanding everyone's attention.

Her father stepped forward with an inscrutable look in his eyes.

"Lady Mysaria," he said in a calm voice. Daemon could notice a strange expression on his wife's face. One of recognition.

"Ser Otto," Mysaria greeted back, bowing slightly in the presence of her patron. The former Hand of the King analyzed her thoroughly.

"I guess this isn't any social visit. How are things going at Flea Bottom?"

"The mercenaries bought with your gold resist. They are as effective at removing drunks from the brothel as they are at preventing the passage of looters, it seems," said the Lyseni, playing with the ring on her finger. Her gaze suddenly became serious.

"But such chaos is actually useless. There is no disease in these halls, nor in the streets"

A great and long silence was present in the room. It was difficult to assimilate that the disaster that everyone had experienced was... driven by something false?

Deaths, mutilations, beatings, wounds, cuts, rapes, looting. It seemed unreal. Impossible.

Mellos cleared his throat.

"My lady, I don't think..."

Mysaria interrupted him, giving each other a cold look.

"Less than a week ago, a man met with a Braavosi merchant in Flea Bottom. My sources tell me that the boy had a scroll in his hand with instructions, a purse containing plenty of gold, and a noticeable inability to speak."

Daemon frowned slightly. During his investigations into Laenor's death he had found a common trait in Larys Strong's servants. One that the murderer of Lord Corlys' firstborn had not had, but many others did. Especially the ones he used as errand boys.

"A man with a mutilated tongue?" he asked, raising his voice. Mysaria seemed slightly surprised that he, after so much reluctance, finally agreed to speak more to her. She still didn't stop the conversation.

"Apparently. We know who uses accomplices with such characteristics..."

"And what did he acquire?" Otto asked, redirecting the conversation to what mattered to him. Everyone watched the lyseni carefully, waiting for her response.

"A single vial of powder, extremely expensive. The Essosis call it Demon's Dance."

Everyone's eyes widened in surprise. The first voice that could be raised was Alicent's, hoarse, almost a whisper.

"Poison?"

Mellos also came out of his reverie, it was almost visible how the puzzle began to come together in his mind.

"He would explain the symptoms. Hemorrhages, coughing, many blood... it is extremely rare and less common on this side of the Narrow Sea..." he muttered to himself.

"So the riots were planned? The poison chosen in order to cause panic?" the Hightower man asked, enunciating each word slowly. Mysaria shook her head.

"I don't think so, an unpleasant coincidence. But he still has agents here to spread chaos and they must have taken advantage of it to feed the flame. The promotion of the princess would greatly benefit him."

"Then we must act quickly. I think there is no doubt left as to what we must do. Mellos, it is up to you how sweet you can make the words sound for our King..." Otto said. He shook his head respectfully and then the man looked at him.

“Prince Daemon…” he said slowly, as if he was having a hard time saying the words.

"Can you try to keep the city going for a few more days?"

Daemon frowned at him. At the other end of the room, Alicent's eyes locked on his in a plea for peace. He grumbled, irritated.

"I can try".

The prince and the Grand Maester left the room immediately, the weight of their duties on their shoulders.

He did not return to the Red Keep until late at night. The riots in the city had continued with such intensity, although little by little it had gained ground. By the Hour of the Bat, his soldiers were already in control of Visenya's Hill and Rhaenys's Hill, and only Flea Bottom seemed still reluctant to cease their attacks to the City Watch.

The Rogue Prince returned then, with sore muscles and tired eyes. When he entered his chambers, the silence was relaxing, compared to the screams he had been hearing all day.

His wife was waiting up for him, as was her custom. Alicent stood looking out the window, until his sudden presence distracted her mind. The gaze of her brown eyes landed on his and he knew immediately that something was up. There was a trace of nervousness in them.

She confused him a little at first, but his mind quickly made guesses. His face turned gloomy.

"Say it now," he whispered in a deep voice. Alicent took a step forward, closing the space between the two a little.

"Your brother has appointed my father as his new Hand of the King," she replied without too much ceremony, without trying to sweeten the words. His wife knew that it was better for him to hear it from her mouth, directly, without detours.

Alicent could see her husband's brow furrowing even more. She had seen Daemon angry many times before, but he always seemed to reserve a certain type of anger for her father.

"We are stupid for not foreseeing it before," he whispered, with a coldness that was difficult to ignore.

She nodded gently in agreement. The event wasn't more delightful fot her too.

I should have figured out the purpose of this. But I was deceived by supposed good intentions. That was stupid.

"At least it's not Rhaenyra," she murmured, as if that could offer some comfort. The lady knew it wouldn't do it. The fact that her father would resume his old position would only help embitter her husband. Although certainly, the fact that the crown princess stayed away would always bring benefits.

Daemon sat in a chair, his black armor creaking with the movement.

"He will do whatever he wants, with Viserys drugged and in bed. It's what he has always wanted."

Alicent could not deny his statement. The power move had been unexpected for both of them, too focused on the chaos around them and their children to see the machinations clearly. She knew that the prince would not make the same mistake again. And neither would she.

"Our children are also his grandchildren. Even if it's for the wrong reasons, he will keep them safe"

By the light of the candles, she could see her husband's indigo eyes boring into her.

"Wrong reasons?" he repeated slowly. There was no surprise in his voice, no anger, but a questioning tone. Still, she thought twice about her words.

What difference does it make if he knows? He is their father. And we are on the same side, he and I.

"He Wants Baelon to be King."

The words left her mouth effortlessly, quick, precise. His face remained expressionless.

"And you do not?"

The question caught her a little off guard. She had expected screams and curses or taunts. The seriousness in his voice, however, had chilled her to the bone.

"The crown is heavy. I would prefer to see him live in peace" she responded, trying to convey all her sincerity in her words.

Surprisingly, Daemon shook his head.

"There will be no peace if Rhaenyra sits on the Iron Throne. You are too smart to ignore it," he replied, standing up. Daemon's figure rosed powerfully, inches away from her. She forced herself to raise her head, so she could continue looking at his face.

"She will kill you" she whispered. There was no trace of doubt in her voice. It had been the only certainty she had had for a while. That, whatever happened, Daemon's head would surely roll the moment Rhaenyra sat on the Iron Throne. The thought of it for some reason filled her with involuntary panic.

She had spent just over a decade with the man. She had given him children. Imagining someone taking his life so easily... was difficult.

"Death is not something that keeps me up at night," he told her in an eerily calm voice. Alicent knew the prince well enough to know that he wasn't afraid of something as trivial as death, as long as he could take a few enemies with him.

Even if he was the victim of some poisoning, he would spit in the face of his murderer before closing his eyes forever.

That didn't calm her down. Anyway, they were talking about her family. Of the danger that she loomed over them. Therefore, she dared to ask the following question.

"Would she kill them?"

Daemon tensed. Alicent could feel it in his shoulders, in the way his body stiffened. It was enough of an answer, although she wanted to hear it from his lips.

Instead, he dodged the question.

"I dare not guess what passes through someone else's thoughts..."

Alicent cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look down to meet hers.

"But you believe it. Otherwise, we wouldn't be talking about this."

The prince sighed. There was no point in denying it. There would have been if his wife had been blind to the terrible truth. But it was clear that she knew it as much as he did.

"Yes. I believe it."

Alicent analyzed his features carefully. Over time she had managed to learn every scar, every little gesture of his body language. She knew him too well. He was like an open book for her gaze.

"Does the prospect of battle and blood excite you?" she asked softly. Not that she'd need an answer, it was written all over him. Her husband had not been born for times of peace, that had always been clear. The Rogue Prince thrived on chaos, violence and war.

"Do you think I would advocate for a peaceful transition after what was done to our son?" he whispered coldly. Forgiveness had never been one of his qualities and the offense against Aemond had gone far beyond verbal insults.

He would have been lying if he said he didn't crave blood. And they were too far into it to pretend now.

"I want to know you're doing it for the right reasons," his wife said in a calmer tone. Alicent let go of his face, although he could see a gleam of concern in her eyes.

"I don't..." he began, trying to sound calm but still rebutting. She interrupted him before he had a chance to turn it into a fight.

"In ten years of marriage I have not demanded anything from you. Not your devotion, not your fidelity, not your love..." she said, trying to keep her voice from sounding broken. Their time together had brought up a series of emotions and feelings that she had not been able to control or fully understand. Still, she had never demanded to be reciprocated. Alicent had known then and knew even now that Daemon would fulfill his duty to her, which, however, did not obligate him to share her affection.

Either way he seemed to notice. His voice softened slightly and his hand reached for hers. Whether it was a gesture of compassion or pity, she wasn't sure.

"Alicent..."

Her name whispered across his lips sounded almost like a melody, a fervent prayer uttered to the gods by the most faithful believer. Still, she suspected that he would never say it with the same fervor with which he had whispered others.

The last idea hurt like a stab, even though she had already accepted it a long time ago.

"Promise me. Promise me that you believe this is the only option we have. That you will do and support only what you believe is necessary to keep us safe. That's what I ask of you."

Daemon clenched his jaw and his fists slightly, feeling a shiver of adrenaline and resentment run down his spine. Revenge had always been a powerful driving force for him, something that made him rise despite everything in order to take his cruelty and his anger over whoever had offended him. Rejecting old and ingrained customs seemed difficult, if not almost impossible.

But he also saw Alicent. The woman he had started a family with, even when he had been forced to. And his children... would it really be worth sacrificing his offspring, the people he loved most in the world, for blind revenge? Losing the throne would be enough punishment for Rhaenyra and losing Driftmark would be punishment enough for her son. It was not an eye, but being recognized as a bastard could well compensate for the humiliation, much more so when Aemond would still be a prince and would be married to the one who would have been Lucerys' fiancée, before all the plots began.

My blood will be on the throne. And my family will be safe. It's everything any man could ask for.

"I promise."

Alicent nodded. She wrapped her arms behind his neck, pulling him into a hug made uncomfortable by the bulky armor. Still, he felt her tremble, and he knew she wouldn't let go no matter how difficult it was for her to keep doing it.

Her lips touched his, a gesture that for some reason gave her always a certain feeling of peace. Her husband didn't complain about it, pulling her as close to him as the metal plates on his chest would allow.

Finally, when the need for air became imperative she released him, with both of them gasping for oxygen. The lady could see a strange gleam in his indigo eyes, although like many times before she dismissed it as the work of her tired mind.

"Peace has been restored to the castle. Hopefully, it will be restored to the streets soon. I will ask the maids to prepare a bath for you."

Daemon nodded, feeling the texture of her porcelain skin for a few more seconds before she left his chambers. He sighed and poured himself a glass of wine, looking out the same window where she had been watching for his return.

From there, the view of some fires caused by the riots shone in the darkness. Combined with the reddish color of the castle, it created a curious shadow within the room. As if the floors and walls were stained with blood.

Chapter Text

RHAENYRA X/JACAERYS II

Rhaenyra Targaryen descended the stone-carved stairs of the dark, ancient fortress of Dragonstone.

Even now, several years later, she still wasn't used to being able to sense the magic emanating from the rock, Valyrian secrets that had been lost in the Doom.

The princess had learned to call it home. How could she not? Eight years. She had spent eight long years there, with her children, her husband. Even when her father's exile had ended three years ago, she had remained there, valuing the safety of her family over her return to the Red Keep. The marriage of her sisters to Daemon's boys had weakened her position at Court and strengthened theirs, making Lucerys' integrity openly threatened, in Larys Strong's opinion.

Furthermore, she had realized how fragile her own influence had become in the dozens of letters written to Baela and Rhaena, all unanswered. Whether it was of their own will or that of their hostile husbands, she did not know.

But the island wasn't a bad headquarters. Lords visited her from time to time, without forgetting the value of her position still maintained by decree of the King.

The heir to the Iron Throne. Even after so much time, with all her preparation, all the hours spent in Councils and affairs of state, her title still felt strange in her mouth.

She tried to distract herself from those thoughts. Downstairs, she could hear Jacaerys's voice, strong, manly.

It was strange watching her firstborn grow up.

It had been a long time since his tone had stopped being childish and had become deep. Commanding. As a natural leader. Tall, with shoulders and arms that indicated he would be as broad and muscular as his father, his brown curls fell over his forehead gathered in a silver tiara.

At fifteen he was skilled in combat, erudite without being a bookworm, with the weapons master praising him almost as much as Gerardys. It was the latter who was with the prince at that time, reviewing the Valyrian vocabulary with arduous and continuous lessons, translating a tome of Aegon's Conquest.

Rhaenyra  had noticed that peculiarity in her eldest son. Jacaerys was sharp and intelligent, although he had little knowledge of subtleties and detours.

The night after her wedding to Ser Harwin, having chosen to clothe her princes herself rather than her handmaidens, Jace had taken her arm, stopping her hand from caressing the thick mop of brown hair in his head.

"Is Harwin Strong my father?" her little prince had asked, his voice trembling but sure, his brown eyes shining in the candlelight.

He had taken her by surprise.

The princess had been speechless for a few seconds, which her firstborn had taken the opportunity to complete.

"Am I a bastard?"

Rhaenyra had felt something in her chest break slightly at the comment. Back then, her son had been so small in her eyes, but it had been visible that his innocence had begun to leave him.

And she hadn't had the heart to lie to him.

"You're a Targaryen. And that's all that matters," she had told him, trying to convey all her support, her affection, her comfort.

But Jace had taken it to heart, and while he still wore the Velaryon name and the colors on his robes, he had taken his place as a Targaryen prince far too seriously, studying history, training to be a skilled warrior and learning High Valyrian as he thought a legitimate dragon prince should do.

Thus she found him, in the large room with the carved table of the Seven Kingdoms, standing, reviewing the accent of his difficult native language.

"I don't expect you to learn High Valyrian in a day, Jace," she told him softly, making both her heir and the maester turn to look at her.

"A prince must respect the inheritance of his ancestors. One who is destined to be King, even more so," her son responded, bowing slightly in her presence. Rhaenyra smiled, reaching out and lightly stroking his chin.

Just a year away from reaching the age of majority, he was already a head and a half taller than her. And while he did not possess the fine features of his Valyrian heritage, he was still a rather more handsome young man than most. The fact that his childhood was already behind him filled her with a feeling of apprehension and pride.

He must get married soon. It is what is expected of him. Of a prince of the Realm, my son. There will be no shortage of suitors, that is certain.

Already now quite a few daughters of good lords who accompanied their parents to see her were strutting in his presence, trying to get his attention. The selection of a suitable wife would be long and difficult, even more so when the only candidate who had fit all the standards that would have been expected of a future Queen had been taken by another.

Baela and Jace had grown up together, separated by a year from each other, the perfect union in her and Corlys's eyes, once. But in the end, her disagreements with the Velaryons had led her to the altar with her uncle's firstborn, at a wedding officiated by the High Septon himself.

She knew that Jace hadn't mention it, not even once, but the fact that he had lost his childhood companion in that way, and the one he had been told would be his life partner, had been a hard blow. Maybe more because her lord husband bore the traits whose lack, even now, caused murmurs in some parts of Dragonstone and certainly in King's Landing about him. Something that, in some lords thoughts, made the young prince less suitable. Less worthy.

"Unless you plan to overthrow your mother, you will not be King for many years. You have time to laugh, enjoy, love, even with the weight of your inheritance on your shoulders."

Jace opened his mouth to respond, when a small figure ran out of the hallways, lunging at her.

"Visenya," her mother laughed as the girl crashed into her, wrapping her legs in a hug. The little princess was thin where her older brothers were robust, almost fragile. She even seemed quite small, compared to other children her age.

The girl was a miracle in herself. A difficult birth, which had reminded her of Laena's birth with her twins, had left her bedridden for two days and two nights. Although her life had not really been in danger, as soon as she was born, her daughter had had problems retaining heat, crying and opening her eyes, and Gerardys had ended up lighting the fireplace next to the newborn's crib, trying to make her girl to resist at least the night.

For three weeks the baby had been torn between life and death, with her lungs struggling to get air into her little body and her little hands clinging to the linen sheets that wrapped her, keeping her warm.

On the nineteenth day, the princess had finally opened her eyes. A pale lilac color, it had been like seeing her mother's gaze on her again. But it hadn't been the only thing that had made her only daughter special. Her head, bald and  pink during the first moon after her birth had been covered with a mop of golden hair, similar to what her father used to say populated the long hair of Alyssa Targaryen, her grandmother.

The appearance so different from that of her brothers had surprised them at first, although little by little, in fact, they had found answers.

Gerardys had said that her sex could have influenced her color change, in addition to the fact that, in his long experience as he had described, not all of children look like their siblings without the need for a hidden ruse.

"Princess Alyssa had golden hair even though all her brothers sported the platinum gold of the Targaryens, and her green eye was more like that of a Lannister than that of someone from the House of the Dragon, or House Velaryon. However, her legitimacy was clear, just as Lady Jocelyn's was, despite having inherited her mother's violet eyes over the deep Baratheon blue that her brother, Lord Boremund, did."

There had been wicked rumours, of course. Bad intentions. At the end of it all, with her daughter born prematurely and in the rightful colors of her House, many had believed that Ser Harwin's paternity was, ironically, questionable, and put someone else in his place. Her own uncle, Prince Daemon.

Her husband had not been among those who believed such nonsense, of course. The future King consort had himself seen the agony of childbirth, heard the maester say how soon the baby had come into the world, cared for Visenya day after day when she had found herself on the verge of death.

And any suggestion that such suffering had been invented to hide disloyalty would have made me tear his head off with my own hands.

Oh, but Harwin would never have tried such stupidity. A single look at the baby had been enough to convince him of his paternity, even when the resemblance was slight.

"She's all you," he had said the morning the maester had finally allowed her daughter to return to her mother's arms instead of remaining in his care. "Her eyebrows, her lips, the shape of her eyes. She's all you."

If the knight had been a devoted, if secretive, father to his first two children, with Visenya he had thrown himself completely into what bordered on adoration. The princess had certainly been the apple of her father's eye and Harwin had treated her with a delicacy that surpassed even what he had always shown her.

Perhaps it is due to the circumstances of her birth. Maybe because she is a girl, among our boys. Or, simply, maybe it's because he finally has the freedom to claim a daughter as his own, to love her publicly without being judged.

The tenderness and love that her husband had given Visenya had stopped some of the rumors that mentioned her uncle. Better yet, they had sown a slight, flimsy, but present reasonable doubt about the paternity of her first two children.

"If gold and lilac is the result of the legitimate union between a Strong and a Targaryen, taking traits from their grandmother and great-grandmother, then why can't brown and chestnut be the result between a Velaryon and the blood of the dragon, when there is blood Baratheon and Arryn running through their veins?" the Lords closest to Dragonstone had whispered, some settled in the Trident Lands under the towering shadow of the melting castle of Harrenhal and even a few more in the Riverlands and Stormlands, and on the slopes of Vale.

 But just as voices had been raised in her favor, many more had done the opposite, still whispering the name of the Rogue Prince.

It had been clear that, no matter what they did, Daemon's shadow would loom over Visenya, as Harwin's own had done over Jacaerys and Lucerys.

Harwin's arms wrapped around her waist from behind, taking her by surprise, while Visenya still clung to her leg, throwing her off balance. Only that strong grip of his kept her upright, as she felt her husband's rough beard scrape the edge of her neck.

She could see Jace's uncomfortable look and flushed face across the room. The young prince cleared his throat slightly, causing the knight to turn his face away from her, although his grip did not lessen.

"I'll go read a little. Enough High Valyrian for today," he excused himself, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Mother, Ser Harwin" he formally said goodbye to both of them, before leaving the room quickly followed by Gerardys. Harwin laughed in her ear, a low, explosive, loud sound that filled her with a certain sense of familiarity.

From below, Visenya scowled at them, in mock indignation at them not paying attention to her.

 But her father was still the strongest knight in the Seven Kingdoms. And when her husband easily lifted her into his arms, the girl let out a high-pitched scream, combined with a laugh.

"Dad!"

For a moment, she wished to stay in that moment. Like a normal family. However, the illusion broke as quickly as it begun.

"My lords," one of the guards interrupted, clearing his throat.

"Lord Larys Strong is here. Request an audience with the princess."

Rhaenyra and Harwin looked at each other. Although the lord of Harrenhal used to spent long periods in his own lands, trying to reconcile his power and be seen by his subjects, it did not mean that he was not welcome within the walls of their home. It would have been foolish really, to close the doors on him. Although they couldn't deny that they enjoyed it much more when he wasn't around. It was as if the Stranger itself arrived with him every time his ship docked in the port.

"Rhaenyra..." her husband warned, a slight tone of pleading in his voice, placing their daughter back on the ground. For a second, she wanted to heed that silent request, like every time his brother appeared on impromptu visits. But, as always, she swallowed that feeling of nervousness and forced herself to smile diplomatically, so as not to worry Visenya.

"Tell him I'll be there in a moment," she told the knight. She kissed the head of the little princess and the cheek of her husband, before following the white cloak through the corridors of the castle.

The two knights of the King's Guard who now accompanied her in Dragonstone, Ser Lorent Marbrand and Ser Willis Fell, had been sent by her father in her third year of exile, perhaps as a belated repentance, or a measure to ensure her safety and that of his grandchildren in the face of the growing power of her enemies in the capital. Whatever the reason, she had had no complaints. The men were quiet and reserved, but loyal and obedient as only sworn brothers could be.

One of the castle's garrison soldiers finally opened the door, allowing them into the spacious room she used for her informal meetings with the nobles who came to pay her respects.

Larys was already settled in the usual armchair, with a glass of wine on his lips, which he quickly lowered in her presence.

"Princess," he greeted politely. Next to him, there were two boys, one clearly in his twenties and the other just a little older than Jace. Both, with bright red hair, like the center of burning coal. They bowed respectfully.

"Princess Rhaenyra" they spoke in unison.

She bowed her head, appreciative of the gesture.

"I think the boys would like to see the wild dragons from the safety of a tower. They haven't stopped talking about it," Larys said, rising from his seat with the help of his cane and patting their shoulders.

Rhaenyra could see a look of hidden emotion in both of their eyes, although they maintained a serene expression.

"Ser Lorent?" she said, nodding to her companion. The knight bowed his head.

"I'll take care of it, princess."

The footsteps of the three receded, the soldier at the door closed it again and she was left once again, as so many times before, in the room alone with her brother-in-law.

The lord of Harrenhal lazily took his seat again, without waiting for her to do the same. He took another sip of wine and when the princess finally sat down across from him, he spoke again.

"They are good boys, the Tullys. Good squires. The eldest will be anointed a knight soon and the youngest seems to be following in his footsteps quickly."

Rhaenyra tried to read his eyes, his small expressions. She knew he would be doing the same. It was Larys's habit to start conversations with unexpected, irrelevant topics, in order to cause a reaction in her. The princess had gotten used to his games, although that didn't mean she tolerated them any better.

"Have you come here to talk about your wards?" she asked with a small touch of irony, denoting no trace of irritation. Lord Strong let out a light laugh, leaning his back on the couch again and staring at her.

He always enjoyed that, the dynamics, the push and pull, the game. What seemed like an unpleasant duty to her, but which she inevitably had to fulfill, seemed fun and entertaining to him. It was what made him so dangerous.

Again, he let the silence last a couple more seconds before responding.

"I have received news. Lord Corlys Velaryon has been wounded in battle"

The princess struggled to maintain an emotionless face.

The resumption of battles on those inhospitable islands was not unknown to her. Although it was not an open war, the Triarchy still hired pirates who faced the Velaryon on the high seas. After two years of constant fighting, this seemed to be the result. Corlys was no longer young, and she herself had seen knights Ser Harrold's age receive wounds in tournaments and not live to recover.

"The Stepstones seem to keep taking lives," she said, feigning a calmness she didn't feel.

Larys nodded gently.

"That's not all, unfortunately. My informants are precise. It has been said that Ser Vaemond Velaryon has preferred to head to King's Landing over Driftmark, his home."

His voice was flat, but she could read something in it. Intrigue. Rhaenyra did not know Ser Vaemond very well, beyond knowing that he was the younger brother of the Seasnake, without the glory or strategic skill of him. Laenor had, at some point, told her that he was an ambitious man, but tempered by a sense of loyalty to his House and a less than brilliant intelligence.

But he loves his brother. And he travels not to his dying bed, but to the heart of ambitions and intrigues.

"Such a long distance is not covered just for pleasure. Any specific objective? News of the death of the Lord of Driftmark instead of a mortal wound, perhaps?" she said carefully. The fact that Rhaenys' brother-in-law was going to tell her about the death of her husband seemed like the most logical, least paranoid option. She didn't want to be inclined to immediately believe that everyone was acting against her, to think that there were enemies plotting everywhere around her. Although that didn't eliminate the suspicion.

But that was the illness that afflicted Maegor, seeing enemies under the stones and in his friends. The monarch who is inclined to believe the worst about his subjects will end up reaping precisely that.

"No. Corlys Velaryon is injured, that's for sure. However, the fact that his brother did not await his arrival in Driftmark and instead traveled to the capital and requested an audience with his sister-in-law for a change points out that... "Larys began, speaking the words slowly, as if he could taste them in his mouth. He always gave her a hint of disgust, mixed with the need to remain calm.

After all, it was valuable information that he was giving her. Even when it broke her previous resolve.

For the words of the Lord of Harrenhal were not innocent. What he was suggesting was, without a doubt, the furthest thing from honor and loyalty. Secret meetings, malicious intentions.

"He expects it will happen soon. And he has plans about it," she completed without much difficulty. The slight nod from her brother-in-law confirmed it.

"Ser Vaemond has never seemed especially attached to his...nephews. At this moment, I daresay he seems to believe himself more worthy of the seat of Driftwood than the sons of Laenor."

And there it is, that arrogance that Laenor always talked about. It would be harder to believe it if everything he told me was against the things I already know. But they only appear to confirm them.

"The rightful succession has been clear. Despite our differences, Lord Corlys has never changed his mind. My son Lucerys will take his place as Lord of the Tides. Any word to the contrary is treason."

The words she spoke were hard, sure, sharp. Anything that came dangerously close to the question of Jace or Luke's legitimacy always received a similar answer.

"And it would set a dangerous precedent. If the heir of Driftmark can be usurped, it would only be a matter of time before they try to do the same to the Iron Throne," he continued, carefully. The fact that he didn't deny any of her suspicions made her uneasy.

It seemed that was just the path the Velaryons wanted to follow. And he was right, that would only encourage them, if successful, to become bolder.

There are still lords in the Realm who would consider it undignified to kneel before a woman. And if accusations of bastardy were also weighed against my heirs...

"And how exactly do they plan to achieve this?"

Larys stood up, fluttering around the room with slow steps.

"I can hazard ideas. There are some, my princess, who whisper that it is Otto Hightower who rises to power from the Red Keep. If someone were to petition him, I doubt the Hand would consult with His Majesty to make a decision. "

Rhaenyra gritted her teeth. The fact that her former friend's father had resumed his old position of power still made her blood boil, even despite all the time that had passed.

But there was nothing she could do about it and on that point, Larys was right too. A hearing of the Hand with the petitioners would be enough for the inheritance of her son to be called into question. The King trusted Ser Otto, for some stupid reason, so he wouldn't be interested in certain matters if the man told him they weren't important.

My father needs to listen to someone else. Someone who doesn't just whisper what suits him in his ear.

Realizing this caused a series of emotions in her that she tried to control as best she could. The course to follow was clear, although not a little complicated.

"My father will listen to the right voices," she finally whispered, vocalizing her thoughts. Her brother-in-law rested a hand on her shoulder, which she tried to ignore as best she could.

"I think the same"

She stepped aside, feigning distraction, causing his touch to leave her person.

"Okay. Harwin, Jace and I can..."

"It seems to me that the claimant of the title should be present," he interrupted her quickly. She frowned.

Certainly, the trip to King's Landing was clearly inevitable. But the presence of her son there, no.

"No. I will not take him. I thought you were an intelligent man, Lord Larys. Your memory seems to be failing. I will not risk Luke just because you..."

"If the boy stayed here, princess, it would be a sign of cowardice. Who would want to follow a man who hides behind his mother's skirts?"

His words echoed in her ears, forcing her to sit up again. What he said to her was unpleasant, insulting, dangerous. But that didn't make it any less true. Cowards were not welcome anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms and that would be the perception that the lords and ladies would have of her son if they excluded him at this crucial moment for his future.

Even though they were her fears, she knew it. The princess knew Luke well enough to know that if he found out, her son would be the first to travel to the capital.

"He wouldn't be safe there," she said worriedly. At that moment, it seemed less important that Larys could read her every emotion and more the need to protect her son.

Larys stood next to her, his twisted form towering over her.

"He's not safe anywhere as long as your uncle is still alive, actually. But I dare say that Prince Daemon would not be so bold as to become a kinslayer in his brother's own castle."

The confidence with which he said it made her feel uneasy.

There are thousands of men who could safely be underestimated. But doing so with Daemon could result in death.

"That's your guess? Hope for my uncle to not be so bold?" she asked in disbelief and some anger. His idea seemed stupid and, frankly, careless. She knew that Larys had no affection for his secret nephews, though that didn't mean she would let him sacrifice her children so freely.

Her brother-in-law shook his head in a gesture that was intended to be reassuring. It wasn't.

"It is more difficult to murder a Lord of Driftmark with impunity than a boy who until now has seemed hidden and far from his future possessions and subjects."

Rhaenyra took a deep breath. She couldn't deny the statement. Luke had been too far away, from the Driftmark, from the ships, from the salt and the sea.

Laenor had taken him when he was younger to Blackwater Bay, to sail in the calm waters. Corlys had accompanied them a couple of times, when the anger at the manner of his birth had given way to calmer resignation.

But since the death of her first husband, Lucerys had not stood on the bow of a ship. The salty ocean breeze had only accompanied him when he flew on the back of his dragon, Arrax. And that did not seem worthy of a Velaryon heir.

"I am your counselor and this is what I advise you. Take the boy to King's Landing. Let the nobles see him. Let them know that he cares about his title, that he is willing to fight for it. He should take Arrax too. Let them know that their future Lord is a dragonrider, with the blood of Old Valyria running through his veins. He will appease most of the loudmouths and make Ser Vaemond shit himself."

The suggestion was indeed... smart. Yes, the sea ran through the blood of the Velaryons, but fire ran through the blood of the Targaryens.

And if Laenor was both, who would doubt whether Luke possesses more of the dragon than the hippocampus?

A dragon used to be a good deterrent. It made people look up at the sky and see the Targaryens and their descendants with more respect. Let them kneel more easily. Aegon had done it and maybe it was time for her to do it again. But there was still one last obstacle.

"What about Rhaenys?"

For the first time in the entire conversation, she could see Larys hesitate slightly. But it was only a second, a slight flash that went out as quickly as it came on, when he took control of his expressions again.

"The Queen Who Never Was is more difficult, though not impossible. She will not be intimidated by dragons, but the laws are still in our favor. And since her lord husband has not disinherited your son, any other move will be seen as simple envy."

The princess nodded. The last answer seemed weak at best, but Rhaenys started with the disadvantage of being only the wife. And responsibilities for the future of House Velaryon could only fall, by law, to the Regent Lord.

It seemed like something they could win. But they had to be fast.

"Prepare the ship you came on. You will set sail with Harwin and Visenya as soon as possible. The rest of us will go on dragon backs."

"If that is my princess's wish".

The crown princess nodded reluctantly. She couldn't say that this had been something unexpected. She had spent years waiting for a similar attack. Now, she had to set a precedent that would prevent the next ones.

"Mother?"

A voice interrupted both of their conversations, causing them to remain silent.

Rhaenyra stood up to see the boy standing in the doorway.

"Joff" she called him and with a signal, she encouraged him to come closer.

"My prince," her companion greeted him simply.

Her youngest son let her run her fingers through his platinum-gold hair, much curlier than his brothers'.

His blue eyes met hers and as always, it caused her to shiver slightly.

Joffrey was so similar to Laenor that it was disturbing at times. His gestures, his childish face, his way of speaking, his way of walking. When he was younger, they were enough to make her cry. To remind her of old regrets, but that she knew would never go away.

"Luke wants us to go to the Dragonmount, to feed Arrax and Tyraxes," her son said calmly, ignoring the concern that dominated his mother. Rhaenyra sighed, stopping her caress, shaking her head.

"You know you can't go alone"

Joffrey's brow furrowed and it was like seeing Laenor on the day they had last argued.

"But mother..."

His pleading tone melted her, as always. She sighed again, trying to reconcile a solution. She looked at Larys next to her.

Do I really prefer to stay with this man than go with my children?

That decision was noticeably easier. She took Joffrey's hand in hers.

"If you'll excuse me, Lord Strong," she said calmly.

Again, she was unable to discern a trace of emotion in the Lord of Harrenhal's features and, without another word, she left the room.

In the warmth of his room, Jacaerys closed the book, ink-stained fingers staining the edges of the table as he lazily stood up and picked up another tome. He calmly took the silk handkerchief from the corner of the wooden cabinet, wiping his hand carefully before sitting back down and beginning to read once more.

Immersed in activity, the only sound that interrupted the silence was the rustling of thin paper pages with each flip.

Then, the wooden door creaked slightly. Without turning to look, he continued with what he was doing until he could hear the voice behind him.

"My prince".

Jace continued reading calmly, still without looking at him.

"Ser Harwin," he said simply, caressing the creamy pages as he continued his reading. It was clear to himself that his concentration had been broken long ago, although it didn't make it evident on his face.

The knight, his stepfather, advanced across the room. He could hear the familiar boots and feel his presence next to him, tall, strong, familiar.

"Your mother asks if you want to accompany us to Dragonmount. Luke and Joff want to feed their dragons. She thinks you might want to go see Vermax."

Realizing that the insistence would not cease, he sighed and carefully placed the same silk handkerchief between the pages, before closing the volume noisily. He turned his face upward, fixing his brown eyes on his.

"I have duties," he replied simply, trying to sound disinterested. Not that he really was. Harwin's presence was always unsettling in many ways. Their interactions were careful, at least on his part. A wrong word, something that could be misinterpreted, was something he always sought to avoid.

The knight's finger rested on the title of the book, reading it carefully.

"Stories, readings and legends?" he repeated with a touch of disbelief. Jace shrugged.

"I must know the Kingdoms that I will govern"

The prince doubted he understood. He doubted even his mother would do it. The weight on his shoulders had been present since his birth, destined to rule, to maintain a dynasty that had lasted a century.

But his task was much more difficult than that. He had much more to prove.

In all his ancestors, their inheritance had been taken for granted. The platinum-haired, violet-eyed men and women, the last sons and daughters of Valyria, with the blood of gods and dragons present in every last of their abnormal, quasi-divine features.

It's hard to look at my mother and doubt that she belongs to royalty, to the Targaryens.

But he was different. And everything was different for him.

"The books are not going anywhere, my prince. They will still be here when you return. They will remain even after we are all dust," Harwin pronounced, resting a hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. In his childhood, he had been grateful for it. Desired even.

At that time he had loved Laenor, of course, as his lord father. But Harwin had always been his example, the man he had always aspired to be. An honorable, strong knight, a renowned warrior.

But childhood had left him too soon when Luke had taken Aemond Targaryen's eye. The words exchanged that night had planted a doubt in his mind and his heart. And one look at Joffrey had only confirmed it.

Bastard.

The word sounded dirty and left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had taken it as an empty insult for a long time, until then.

But his mother had given a new meaning to everything, that time he had confronted her. She had given him a purpose.

Neither Velaryon, nor Strong. Targaryen. The blood of the dragon.

And he had gone out of his way to prove it. His Valyrian heritage was something no one would take for granted, he knew that. Not with the way he looked. So he had worked hard for it. High Valyrian lessons, sleepless nights reading Aegon's Conquest, the tomes saved from the Doom of Valyria that he had obtained from the ancient library at the heart of Dragonstone, his lessons with the sword, his bond with his dragon.

But the most complicated thing had been separating himself from Ser Harwin.

His marriage to his mother had put them in the same place, where comparisons were inevitable.

That's why Jace avoided him. He spoke to his stepfather formally, as a legitimate prince would with his protector.

Although in reality, he would have lied if he had said that he didn't love his father, his real father.

But the word bastard will always be in the way if they see me linked to him. Strong, not Targaryen.

"It is not an appropriate response for a future King," he said, this time much more firmly, although without being rude. His gaze went back to the table, although the hand on his shoulder remained there.

Jacaerys could see him trying, always. Trying to connect without being so obvious. It was painful.

What is the line between inappropriate and normal? Where are duty and love blurred? Maybe in another life we wouldn't be prince and knight, just father and son. But not in this one.

"You should be less hard on yourself, Jace. You're doing it right. You've always done it right and you'll continue to do it."

The praise hit him hard. There were so many things, so much that he would have wanted to tell Harwin. He would have paid all the gold in the world to be able to hug him, look him in the eyes and be able to say "father" without fear.

But he had a duty. And his obligations could not be clouded by feelings. A good prince had to be correct, educated, good, gentle...and legitimate. Any small slip could lead to his ruin, and that of his family.

He wouldn't take those risks.

"If that is all, Ser Harwin," he interrupted in a formal voice. Jace could see disappointment in his eyes, difficult to hide. It hurted like a stab in the chest.

Still, the knight bowed respectfully.

"If that is your wish, my prince. I will tell your mother. Forgive me for my insistence," Harwin said with an unusually hoarse voice.

Once the door closed again and the footsteps receded, he took a seat again at his table. The pages began to turn again, this time, with much more trembling fingers.

Nights in Dragonstone were often muggy, although the cold rock walls often made the rooms cool enough to be habitable. The air hit across the balcony onto her bare skin as Rhaenyra leaned against her lover's chest.

In the moonlight, their skin shone with an almost sinful humidity, while their tangled bodies faced the peace of the evening.

They had been careful since Visenya's birth. While they could hardly stay detached from each other, Daemon had taught her enough techniques in their dirty talk for their constant encounters did not produce the long-awaited result.

It was ironic. With Jace and Luke, there had always been a purpose, that of giving the Velaryons the heirs they had always wanted, to the Throne and to Driftmark respectively. They had been children conceived with a duty, forced at the time by her husband's apparent infertility. With Visenya it had been different.

A girl conceived within marriage, the product of their love that they could stand proudly for all to see, and fortunately free of the unpleasant rumors of which her older brothers were prisoners, much more so with the presence of Joffrey.

One more child with brown hair and eyes would have raised suspicions, raised voices, opened Pandora's boxes that were better off remaining closed.

At least, that's what she had told her husband, the reason why it was better to settle for Visenya as their last offspring.

And it wasn't as if, with the children they had, they were without problems.

Harwin had told her about the conversation he had had that afternoon with Jace, with expressions that had made it clear that he was hurt.

But what can I do for him? Asking Jace to treat him like his father? That he and Luke condemn each other for the sake of feelings? Harwin would like nothing more than to have the freedom to claim them as his own, but they never have been. They both belong to the Realm.

Although apparently, at that moment, her husband seemed to have finally forgotten about that.

There was always a desperate feeling when they made love. Raw. Passionate.

It had never been like with Daemon, She knew that, although the feeling had been lost too long ago.

And yet, she knew that she loved Harwin. Even now it sounded stupid, deluded and even crazy. But it was the truth.

"Do you believe him?" Harwin finally broke the silence. She turned, letting the cool, humid, warm coastal air hit her back as she looked into his eyes, leaning against his chest. She knew that his conversation was no longer directed towards Jace, but towards the other member of his family that caused him mixed feelings.

"Kermit and Oscar Tully are here, aren't they? He promised me the Riverlands and we have their heirs," she whispered back. The presence of the red-haired children had not gone unnoticed, of course. Nor the meaning.

Harwin sighed and ran his hand through her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear.

"I could have done it myself if I had been Lord of Harrenhal. Without asking for anything in return."

The tone was serious, although with a touch of resentment and pain. As always when he talked about what he could have been. Of what he had lost.

"Harwin..."

"We wouldn't have him here. Close to you. Close to the children"

His concern was genuine, as was hers. Larys always made him nervous. Even more so than Daemon himself.

"We have no choice. It's the only way"

Rhaenyra could feel him sigh heavily, his hand clinging to her bare waist. In his eyes he saw thousands of thoughts, worries, options pass by.

"If you want to go to the Red Keep, that's where I'll go. You're my wife, and my Queen. I don't know if it would cross my mind to refuse a request of yours. I just want to be sure if this is your decision, not his" he finally said, pulling her closer to him.

"Your brother is just a counselor," she replied, trying to give him some peace of mind. Although she didn't convey it, not even to herself.

"And he must remember that place. By force, if necessary"

His suggestion made her shake her head. She couldn't think of a worse way to deal with the matter.

"Larys doesn't like to be threatened," she repeated, as many times before. The princess could see his face darken.

"I don't care what he likes. He killed our father..."

And there it was, again. The same thing that had plagued her husband for years. That had tormented her too.

When she had agreed to give Harrenhal to Larys, she had assumed that Lord Lyonel would keep him from that power for at least another good decade. But she had not been able to imagine, not even for a second, how far the perversion of her then recent brother-in-law would go.

And then there was Harwin. Her husband had never been a particularly ambitious man. He had agreed to be her lover and father her children knowing that they would not bear his name and, even after the wedding he seemed much more excited to be married to her than to be King Consort. Titles had never truly mattered to him.

And the only reason he wanted to be Lord of Harrenhal was to keep his father's legacy alive.

She reached out to him, caressing his cheek gently in an attempt to distract him.

"You have no proof of that," she said softly.

"And yet it's as clear as day. That he died in his prime, right after disinheriting me by decree. You can't think that's a coincidence."

Rhaenyra shook her head. She would never be in the mood to make excuses for Larys, nor to lie for him. She knew what kind of monster he was. Kinslayer. Killer.

"And I don't. Your brother is very capable of killing, I'm aware of that. I'm just saying there's no way you can prove it."

Silence fell once more between them. Harwin sighed, rolling over on the bed and onto her back, staring at the ceiling.

"I loved him once," he whispered, and she could tell that he seemed embarrassed by it. As if loving a brother were the greatest misfortune in the world.

And he would have killed you without hesitation.

"I'm sorry," she responded, with complete sincerity.

The princess could see his chest rise and fall, the familiar scar on his shoulder, the shape of the nose that had once been broken in battle. She had memorized every one of those little things, just as she knew he had memorized every corner of her own skin.

"To King's Landing then?" he whispered finally, looking at her again. Rhaenyra could see a certain gleam of determination in his eyes as he reached for her hand toward his. She took it and brought it to her lips in a light kiss.

"To King's Landing then"

And beyond the dark and foreboding castle, in the foliage of Dragonmount, under the light of the starry sky and the full moon, a dragon roared deafeningly. A signal of what was to come. But no one could understood it, until it was too late.

Chapter Text

ALICENT XII/BAELON II

Alicent took the cream-colored letter, caressing the red seal, which had been broken for quite some time. With sure hands, she slid the piece of parchment under the pile of papers on the table, where her husband's things were located.

She didn't need to read it. She knew its contents backwards and forwards. It was one of many letters from Rhaenyra to Daemon, offering wealth, power, and influence in exchange for stopping the silent but inevitable relentless hunt against Lucerys Velaryon. Pleas, threats, promises, everything was intertwined in each paragraph of each new letter, at least until the last one, sent two years ago.

It was precisely the one she had held in her hands a few moments ago, the one the princess had sent a week after the betrothal between her sisters and her children. That had deeply affected her former friend, a rupture far beyond verbal conflicts, with her own flesh and blood, for it was no secret, after all, that Rhaenyra had always wanted her offspring to be the ones to unite with her sisters with the bond of marriage.

Broken alliances, broken blood ties. Little by little, she seems to become more aware of her precarious situation.

She seemed to have, in fact. Alicent could never erase that last sentence in that last letter. The one that had preceded her silence and that seemed to confirm all her fears. If she closed her eyes, she could still recite her words.

“Should I take this as a declaration of war, uncle? Well, I'll do mine. I swear by the memory of my mother that I will do anything to prevent you from touching a single hair of my sweet Lucerys...”

Daemon had not responded to the first, nor the second, nor any of the subsequent ones. However, her husband had done it with that last one. Three simple words, which had probably penetrated the depths of Rhaenyra's soul, and perhaps, any other mother in her place.

“You will try.”

The prince seemed to have become slightly more serious. He trained, rode Caraxes and patrolled. It had been too long since she had had to hear the rumors of the Lords and ladies of her husband leaving a tavern drunk or hanging around the most popular brothels in King's Landing.

Maybe he has become more discreet.

She wasn't sure about that. What she did know was that her bed was rarely empty, almost none at all. Whether he returned in the middle of the afternoon or the darkest of the night, her husband seemed to have a certain preference for her chambers over his own, perhaps guided by the habit of having a warm body next to him to pass the night.

Whatever it was, she had suspected a ruse and she had not wanted to question his loyalty, fearing the response.

Except once.

It had been quite some time ago, just over six years, with the birth of another scion of House Targaryen, Visenya Strong.

Malicious rumors had been spreading throughout the Red Keep for days, weeks, moons. And finally, she had decided to talk about it.

She had found her husband with a glass of wine in her hand, silent and emotionless as always. However, something in his attitude, so familiar after so long, had told her that she was entering dangerous territory.

"Daemon" she had uttered in a firm voice.

Not "my prince" or "my lord husband," but simply his name. It had always made it more personal, more…serious. The moment she had first uttered it had been when she had truly begun to feel like a married woman, like someone other than Lady Alicent of Oldtown.

But then it had symbolized something beyond that, at least to her. The level of intimacy achieved between them, the grace of being able to pronounce his name in her moments of passion between the sheets of her bedroom.

If her husband had found that same meaning in it, he had shown no signs of recognizing it. And although his gaze had rested on her in recognition of her presence, he had been cold, distant.

Although she hadn't even had to wait too long to find the answer to his aggressive attitude. The prince had leaned against the back of the chair, releasing a light sigh.

"Speaking in riddles is something very typical of your father. If you have something to say, say it now"

The harshness of his words had been palpable. The only reason that could had been able to make her husband so angry could have been, at that moment, precisely what had also brought her there. So, unsure whether she would further fuel the fire of her rage, she had launched straight to the point, with no cushioning words.

"Is Visenya Targaryen your progeny? Blood of your blood as the rumors say?"

The prince had remained silent long enough for the atmosphere to become uncomfortable.

The shadows from the hearth fire had made a strange contrast, his normally indigo eyes painted with a yellowish glow.

Like the eyes of Caraxes.

Alicent had sometimes forgotten that Viserys, sick and confined in his chambers, was of the blood of the dragon. But it would have been difficult to forget it with her husband.

"Do you think so, my lady wife?" he had finally responded with a deep, almost hoarse voice. To anyone outside the room, it would have seemed more like a growl than meaningful words.

Still, a mix of determination and foolishness on her part had driven her to continue speaking. Doubts stored in her mind and heart had come to the surface again, with feelings on it even when she had not wanted it.

It had always been almost surprising to her the control that Daemon could have over her emotions. It had been something she had kept to herself, afraid of what her husband could have done if he had known how much his actions could influence her feelings. That's why she had kept those feelings deep in her heart and soul, determined to never reveal them.

Still, it had seemed to her that her own voice had trembled more than it should when speaking, as if a hint of the pain had not been completely eliminated in each word spoken.

Driftmark had long since become a forbidden topic between the two, one filled with terrible memories and unrevealed secrets. But perhaps it was time for it to come to light.

How many more things do I not know about my husband?

"I think there was more to that night at Driftmark than you've mentioned. I've seen the remorse in your eyes."

There had been no lie in it. At first, she had tried to convince herself that all the blame came from his own actions concerning Aemond, from the days of toil and sleepless nights the boy had endured for the sin of not possessing the dragon his father had wanted for him.

But what had the prince been doing before he entered her bed to later be called for his son's injuries?

Because within the scent of the sea breeze in his platinum-gold hair and the sand in his clothes, she had managed to distinguish the subtle and light, but existing aroma that she knew thanks to her years of childhood and adolescence.

Rhaenyra.

Her husband had tried to put on an impassive mask, although she had been able to see that beneath all the sarcasm a burning anger was bubbling. For having been discovered? Of that she hadn't been sure.

"Do you think I'm capable of feeling guilt? How tender," he had spat with undisguised contempt. That mockery, even forced, had managed to hit something deeply and, more than ever, she had needed to know the answer. What? Rage? Resentment? Jealousy? She hadn't wanted to unravel the tangle that had formed in her chest.

For your children? Yes. Is an abandoned bastard daughter who keeps you up at night?

"You asked for pithy questions. Here's mine: Did you fuck Rhaenyra that night while our son was hurted?" she had responded in turn, without any delicacy. Her husband's already sullen expression had changed to a relaxed but cold face, and a shiver had run down her spine.

She had rarely lost control with him like this before, and for the most part, he had seemed in enough good spirits to take it in stride.

That time, however, he had seemed almost or more upset than she was.

For the first time in many years she had thought about Rhea Royce and had remembered that the same man in front of her, the father of her children, had murdered that first wife with a viciousness and savagery typical only of someone ruthless. Someone scary.

It had been an unpleasant idea.

"I have torn out tongues for words spoken more kindly," Daemon had said, speaking with a calm that had bordered on the unsettling. In his eyes she had seen the same anger as in the eyes of His Majesty's hunting dogs before they pounced on prey and destroyed it, as in Syrax's eyes before burning her food until it was carbonized before devouring it.

And she had felt afraid. Afraid of him.

So, she had seen him. The way her husband's gaze had crossed hers, that of the bloodthirsty predator with that of the unexpected prey who seemed to have realized her precarious situation a few moments before. And, strangely, that fury that had seemed unstoppable moments before had inexplicably receded.

It had been strange, to say the least. Alicent had been familiar enough with primal and savage behaviors to know that fear and vulnerability incited attack, aggression. The sudden restraint of the final thrust had left her feeling weird.

Had it been a rare mercy? Perhaps having remembered their children together, Daemon had reconsidered his decision to hurt her that moments before she had seen so sure in his gaze?

Alicent hadn't been able to fully explain it. After all, her husband had never seemed to back down from the possibility that she might be afraid of him. It had even fed him before.

Although perhaps the most surprising thing had been the response.

Delicacy had never been characteristic of Daemon, so biting in his comments and opinions that hurting someone with his words was almost inherent to what the prince spoke. But there had been no trace of it in what he had told her, only a calm, sincere seriousness more befitting someone like Viserys.

"She proposed marriage to me. Unite our blood like Aegon and his sisters did."

That had taken its toll on her insides again. She had not been foolish enough to ask his answer to such a question, there had only been one possible response from Daemon to such a beneficial proposal. A position as king consort and the possibility of future children who could be of pure Valyrian blood and princes to boot. Getting rid of Strong's children wouldn't have been so difficult once her husband had gotten his hands on the power that would have offered him his title, and the gods only would have known what response Rhaenyra would have given to that.

But her children...

She had only wondered what role the matter would had relegated them to. Forgotten, worthless princes, like the dragonless children of Jaehaerys and Alysanne? Nameless beyond the pages of history books, condemned to be overshadowed by their half-siblings with the right mother, with the right wife.

And she too would have disappeared among the tales of the maesters, a loveless wife, in a marriage condemned to last only until the rightful possessor of his interest and affection would claim him as her own.

Still, a part of her heart had tried to convince her that, while she had always been damned, her children were not. That the prince would not have let them be left aside. After all, he had always been a better father than a husband. And he loved his children. Only them.

Still, everything had turned out to be hypothetical. Even with the agreement revealed and accepted, Rhaenyra had not ended up in a second marriage with her uncle, but with Ser Harwin Strong, much to the surprise and stress of the King and many others at court. And perhaps to the annoyance of others, now knowing the information.

Is that what eats you up at night? The prospect of having lost the woman you love? Or the crown she would give you?

There had been too many questions in her head, most of them with answers that probably would have hurt her. In the end, she had decided to do just one. The one she had wanted to know from the beginning.

"Visenya Strong..." she had said slowly.

The prince had stared at her, with a hint of disbelief in his eyes, of skepticism. As if he couldn't believe she was still asking him the same question.

However, he had responded, without a trace of the irritation he had previously seemed to possess.

"She is of my blood, by Rhaenyra. But I have not sired her"

Alicent had had to believe that answer, what other option had she had? The lady had wanted to convince herself of the sincerity in his tone, and forget the way his hand had reached out to lightly caress her face in an abnormal, strange way, and the way she had thought she saw his eyes crackling in the light of the flames with something more than the usual lust.

She had immediately excused herself, leaving the room with a growing lack of oxygen and had waited outside until she was sure that the wine had inevitably put her husband to sleep.

And only then had she returned to her room, finding the prince at her side of the bed, warm, serene.

And so, lying next to him, she had tried to forget the burning sensation on her skin that that disturbing look had produced for a few seconds, attributing it to drunken ravings.