Red Reign

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/41615478.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Category: F/M, Multi
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Relationship: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow/Rhaenys Targaryen
(Daughter of Elia), Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen/Rhaenys Targaryen
(Daughter of Elia), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Character: Jon Snow, Daenerys Targaryen, Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia),
Lyanna Stark, Aegon Targaryen (Son of Elia), Jon Connington,
Margaery Tyrell, Original Characters, Myrcella Baratheon
Additional Tags: Robert's Rebellion Fails | Rhaegar Targaryen Wins, House Targaryen
(A Song of Ice and Fire), Politics, Erotica, Polygamy, War, Canon-
Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Dragons, Dark Jon Snow,
Targcest | Targaryen Incest (A Song of Ice and Fire), Magic, Warg Jon
Snow, Sibling Incest, Aunt/Nephew Incest
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-09-10 Updated: 2023-04-24 Words: 75,098 Chapters:
7/?

Red Reign
by gutterking, Sleepy_moon29

Summary

The early death of King Rhaegar allowed a new regent to rule over Westeros. Now his
eldest son, Aegon sits throne. Dragons and magic have returned to the world, but foes from
Westeros and beyond to try and strike house Targaryen at its weakest.

Notes

Loosely inspired by HOTD amongst other things.

It's a little different as to how I would normally write these things. Shoutout to all the guys
who have helped write this. I am simply too washed to write on my own.
 Daenerys I

---- CIRCADIA ----

DAENERYS

A gush of wind hit her like a hammer to the chest.

Daenerys tightened her grip on the leather reins, pulling back as her hair fluttered in their wake like
a sheet hanging out to dry. Syraxes roared and shook his head in annoyance. Yet, the bond between
dragon and rider was strong, and so the dragon obeyed her commands with a swift beat of his
massive wings until they were drifting above a mass of white clouds.

Into the horizon, they flew.

Syraxes' powerful strokes sent them careening in and out of packs of clouds until they were high
above the blue sparkling waters of Blackwater Bay. The air was crisp and cool on her face. It was
another clear day and she could see for miles all around her. It was beautiful and peaceful, but she
was not in the mood for such idyllic flying.

She wanted more.

With a powerful tug on the leather reins, the dragon spiralled down in a mad dive. Her gleeful
yelling was all but lost in the harsh howl of the wind as it pressed her body down into the saddle.

Daenerys felt weightless and bold. Fire burned in her veins. She yelled her excitement yet again.
Then, she kicked her heels into Syraxes' sides to push him ever faster. The resounding roar of her
bonded dragon was enough to fill her fluttering heart.

It only took a handful of moments before Syraxes climbed out of his steep dive and spread his
massive wings and glided over the shadowy waters. At Syraxes' roar, she loosened her grip on the
reins and leaned back into the cantle.

A sense of glee and happiness washed over her.

This is what it means to be Targaryen, she thought. This freedom and power were unmatched.
Even Aegon on his Iron Throne pales in comparison to my seat. And yet, the thought of her
nephew made her heart ache. Aegon was the only one of Rhaegar’s remaining children not to have
a dragon to call his own. Over the years as his royal cupbearer, Daenerys had learned how much it
truly bothered him to be a Targaryen King without a dragon to call his own.

When word had arrived from the north that Jaehaerys had claimed his own mount and had named
it Urrax, Aegon had dismissed the small council with a wave of his hand and locked himself in his
chambers. The running of the realm had been left to Lord Jon Connington, who took his greatly
increased influence to heart. It had taken her and Rhaenys’ combined efforts to finally draw him
from his royal chambers and resume his duties to the realm.

Her heart did not allow her to dwell on Aegon’s misfortune. He had always been an afterthought in
her heart whenever Jaehaerys was around. Not for the first time, she wondered what Jae was
doing.

Does he think of me as I do him?

Syraxes growled and shook with anger before careening through another set of clouds until the
towers of the Red Keep came into view. Daenerys chided herself. She knew better than to think of
Jaehaerys when she rode on dragonback.

Syraxes was a possessive creature and coveted her like some prized possession. There had been
times when Jaehaerys had gotten too close to her in Syraxes vicinity and had nearly lost an arm to
the dragon’s wroth.

They flew onwards, away from the Red Keep and towards the Dragonpit. The once fearsome
building was now in ruins, however, it was still the best place to keep their dragons.

Syraxes took them low over the city, the citizens of Kings Landing all looked up at her as she flew
ahead. The sight of dragons over their city was still something they were growing accustomed to.
Her dragon roared loudly as they circled the pit before making their final descent.

Men clad in light armor holding spears and whips slowly made their way toward the winged beast
as he landed firmly on the hard ground of the dragonpit.

Dany climbed off his side, before petting him on his dark red snout. Taking a few steps back to
admire Syraxes’ form, he was as black as night, with blood red eyes. Dany smiled. He was growing
quickly, now larger than most of the carriages in the city and he’d grow bigger still.

Waiting for her on the ground were her niece, and her guard, Ser Baristan Selmy. The knight was
dressed in his perfect enamelled armour with a three-headed dragon engraved on his chest plate.
His snow-white cloak was attached to the pauldrons on his shoulders and it fell smoothly down his
back. His thin blond hair was cut short and his blue eyes sparkled as he saw her. Ser Barristan was
an older knight, but he was no less deadly than some of the younger members of the Kingsguard.

Everyone knew of his feats in the war of the Ninepenny Kings. Barristan had battled Maelys the
Monstrous, the last of the Blackfyre pretenders, and thrown him back into the sea. Barristan had
not been able to kill him, but he had wounded the Blackfyre pride so badly that there had not been
a hint of another rebellion since.

“Your Grace.” Ser Barristan said with a deep bow. Dany smiled at the old knight, for out of all the
Kingsguard, he was her favourite.

“I knew I’d find you out here,” her niece said as Dany walked across the dragonpit. She took off
her riding gloves and rubbed her hands together before smiling at Rhaenys.

“It is not a secret that I love to spend time with Syraxes, especially now that I can ride him,” Dany
answered as she turned back to look at her dragon. Syraxes was growing quickly, almost at the
same pace as her niece’s own mount, Meraxes. “It is always such a pleasure to see the realm from
up high.”

“Perhaps that was not the only thing you were looking for,” Rhaenys teased, causing her to blush
deeply. “You two have been separated for quite some time. Maybe you were looking for a glimpse
of him?”

“Perhaps,” Dany answered with a shrug. In the eyes of the realm, Jaehaerys had gone north to
foster at his mother’s behest with his northern family, but Dany knew the ugly truth of the matter.
It had been three long years since she had seen her nephew, and she missed him dearly.

“Although, I am not the only one who has missed Jae,” Dany continued, a slight smirk playing at
her full lips.

Rhaenys only smiled in return as the two girls looped their arms together and made their way
towards the carriage. Her relationship with Rhaenys could be described as sisterly. They had grown
up together in the shadow of the Red Keep’s towers.

“Do you think Jaehaerys has forgotten us? That he has become besotted with a northern maid?”
Dany asked quietly.

“There is no maid more beautiful than yourself, sweet aunt,” Rhaenys said as she patted her hand.
“And if Jaehaerys has forgotten, then mayhaps you ought to steal into his chambers at night and
remind him.”

“Rhaenys!” Dany said as she barely contained a giggle. Her heart fluttering in her chest, she turned
her head to see if they had been overheard, but thankfully the men were busy coaxing Syraxes
inside. Only Ser Baristan Selmy stood close enough to hear Rhaenys’ mad suggestion, but she
knew the old knight’s vows were as strong as castleforged steel.

A knight of the Kingsguard does not tell the secrets of the royal family .

Rhaenys’s eyes were shining with mirth and Dany shook her head. Rhaenys is the more
experienced one when it comes to men. Perhaps she is right.

“More importantly, Connington has called for a small council meeting this morning,” Rhaenys said
as they approached the carriage. Ordinarily, she would ride atop her own palfrey, but seeing as she
was with Rhaenys, she would suffer the carriage.

“Really? I wasn’t informed. What has changed?” Dany asked as she stepped inside the carriage.

“I do not know. Perhaps Lord Connington has another decree that he needs Aegon to sign for him,”
Rhaenys said bitterly and Dany pursed her lips. Lord Jon Connington was a fierce advocate for her
late brother, King Rhaegar, and after his passing, he had made the strongest case for ruling as
regent until Aegon was of age.

It was no secret as to why Rhaenys did not like Lord Connington. The Hand of the King had not
waited a day longer than her sixteenth nameday to announce her betrothal to Ser Andar Royce,
Heir of Yohn Royce, the Lord of Runestone.

Ser Andar had died a few moons prior and Rhaenys had hurried home to King’s Landing a bit
colder than when she had left. Dany wasn’t surprised when she glanced at her niece only to notice
the wasteland that howled in her dark eyes. She has more than ample reason to hate the Lord of
Griffin Roost.

Whilst Dany did not have much love for the man, she couldn’t deny that he had proven to be a very
capable regent. She could only hope that Aegon would not be too easily blinded by the man.

“The smallfolk seem to be in a cheerful mood,” Rhaenys commented as they started the ascent up
Aegon’s hill.

“The lords of the Reach had a very fruitful harvest this year,” Daenerys replied with a nod.

Rhaenys frowned. “Yes, but this year it seems like even more of their goods are flooding the streets
of King’s Landing. The Red Keep’s larders are brimming with so much grain and meat that Aegon
can afford to keep the bellies of the smallfolk full and fat for the upcoming winter.”

“Is that disapproval I hear in your voice, Rhaenys?” she questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Rhaenys shook her head. “Of course not. I am merely wondering what price the Reach is expecting
Aegon to pay for these gifts ,” she said with a sneer on her face. “Mace Tyrell is a blubbering fool.
Yet, it is Olenna Tyrell who truly rules that family.”

“Do you think the Tyrells wish for Aegon to wed their daughter, Margaery?” Dany questioned. She
had heard of the girl. A maid who was said to match the beauty of even a Princess of House
Targaryen.

Rhaenys nodded her head. “My brother is a good man and will make a good King, but you know
how Egg is with Connington.”

“He does trust the man too easily,” Daenerys said with a shake of her head. She could count the
times Aegon had rejected counsel from the Lord of Griffin’s Roost on a single hand. “But maybe it
is well-earned. Rhaegar trusted Jon Connington and considered him a noble friend.”

“Mayhaps,” Rhaenys muttered, her focus not entirely on her, but the smallfolk as they crowded the
streets, trying to catch a glimpse of the remaining Princesses of House Targaryen.

Daenerys bit her lip before letting the comment slide. They had this discussion one too many times
for her liking. And she didn’t want to entertain another one of Rhaenys’ foul-mouthed tirades when
it concerned red-faced Jon Connington. Instead, she hummed her response and looked out the
carriage’s window, waving every few minutes to the smallfolk as they passed the centre’s square
and ascended Aegon’s high hill.

When they arrived, Rhaenys tugged on her hand. “Come on, we should hurry. You need to bathe
before the meeting.” Rhaenys said.

Dany made a sour face in response. “Are you saying I smell?”

Rhaenys sniffed and scrunched her face in disgust. “Like dragon.”

Daenerys pouted. “What is wrong with that? We are Targaryens afterall. We are meant to ride
dragons.” She crossed her arms across her chest then turned away from Rhaenys’ smirking face.

After a short moment and a deep sigh from Rhaenys, Dany felt her niece’s hand on her shoulder,
prompting her to turn around and glare at her niece. “What?” she said indignantly.

“May the Seven have mercy on my fool of a brother for suffering you, my sweet little Princess,”
Rhaenys said with a shake of her head.

Dany had always known Rhaenys was beautiful. Sometimes, she envied her niece’s olive skin and
the dark sleekness of her flowing hair. But, there was something about the way the pale sunlight
streamed through the Myrish glass window of their carriage that made her heart lurch that she
couldn’t help the blush that formed on her cheeks.
Embarrassed, Dany had to turn away before saying, “Fine. I will meet you at the bathhouse.”

“Will you now?” Rhaenys said, sounding surprised. “I do not recall mounting Meraxes and
spending all the morrow and most of the midday gallivanting across the skies.”

At that, Dany blushed a deeper red. But before she could reply, Rhaenys had edged closer to her
turned back and rested her head against hers before whispering in her ear. “But I suppose I may
meet you there. All of sudden I feel like a nice warm bath would do us both well.”

Later, when her skin was red from the heat of the bathhouse, and Rhaenys had left her to her
tumultuous thoughts, a group of servants waited for her to leave the simmering waters before
draping a large towel about her shoulders.

One of the serving girls towelled her hair dry and another patted the smooth skin above her bare
breasts and down her flat tummy until she was dry. Satisfied with their work, she let them usher her
into an adjoining changing room. Inside, she was guided to a stool where for the next half hour she
was met with a dizzying amount of commotion and fussing until her hair was neatly braided and
pinned to her head and a flowing dress in the colour of her House flowed to the rushes. With a
wiggle of her toes, she stepped into a pair of lace slippers and dismissed her servants and
attendees.

When she was finally alone, she looked into the Myrish mirror, and was more than pleased with
what she saw staring back at her. Will he look upon me as fondly as he had before he left?
Daenerys shook her head at the thought of him. Rhaenys had embarrassed her relentlessly during
their bath about her foolish mooning over Jaehaerys.

Yet, she couldn’t help how her heart seemed to skip a beat whenever a thought of him entered her
mind. You mustn't act like some love-sick maiden . Dany bit her lip. With a huff, she shook her
head and decided that enough time had passed. The small council meeting would be beginning
with or without her there.

Outside, in the hallway before the heavy oak double doors, stood a knight caped in snow waiting
for her. As she approached, she nodded her head in greeting. The sound of the elderly man’s heavy
boots against the rushes was the only sign that he was following her.

After traversing several flights of stairs and passing through the courtyard, Daenerys found herself
staring at a familiar figure. Another knight of the Kingsguard. This one was far younger and some
would say just as bold as the shadow behind her.

Jaime Lannister stood tall in his polished armour and white cloak. His golden locks curled around
his handsome face. The green of his eyes held a note of mischief but when he looked down at her
there was a smile playing at his lips. “It is good to see you, little Princess.”

With a sniff, Daenerys raised her nose. “I wish I could say the same, Ser!”

Ser Jaime shook his head in mock disbelief. “As a Princess, you should know the meaning of
courtesy.”

“It was always my intent to offend you, Ser. Now, if you would be so kind and remove yourself
from my path. I must bear the royal cups.”
“See that you do. Our young prince has been quite parched as of late.” With that, Ser Jaime
knocked on the door and announced her arrival. “The Princess Daenerys Targaryen!”

Jaime Lannister, ever the gallant knight, parted the door for her. With one quick glance at the two
Kingsguards, she stepped through the door.

She lost count of how many times she had filled Mace Tyrell’s cups.

It seemed with every new topic, a cup or two of the Arbor’s finest summerwine was required to
sate the blubbering man and his thirst. He was currently taking another pull from his cups when
Lord Connington cleared his throat.

“Your Grace. My Lords,” Jon Connington started as he looked around the room. “I believe it is
time we discuss the finer details concerning our Prince’s upcoming coronation.”

Aegon placed a black dagger back on the table. It was a beautiful piece, made of Valyrian steel
that she had noticed after she had poured him a cup of wine earlier in the meeting. Her nephew had
mostly preoccupied himself with the splendid looking dagger as his small council discussed the
mundane dealings of a ruling over a kingdom.

“I was led to believe everything had been planned for,” the future King spoke up for the first time
since the meeting had begun. “What more is there left to discuss that we haven’t already?”

Lord Connington cleared his throat. “I apologise, Your Grace. Everything has been taken care of
and planned. The only matter left at hand is to bring you up to date on the many delegations from
all over the realm that have arrived and are still arriving, to swear their fealty to their future King
and his house.”

Aegon nodded his head and motioned for Lord Connington to continue. “Very well. I would like to
hear which of the great houses have travelled to uphold their oaths to House Targaryen.”

Dany filled Lord Tyrell’s cup once more as Lord Connington unfurled a scroll of parchment and
began reading from a long list of names. This explains why the city feels as if it’s about to burst at
the seams , Dany thought as she made her rounds, filling cups when called, and standing in the
shadows when she was not needed.

“House Blackwood are also in attendance, Your Grace,” Lord Connington said after taking a sip
from his cup. “They send their deepest gratitude for not having them housed near House Bracken.”

Lord Paxter spoke then. “Fools. Do they believe we would suffer their feuds on such an important
day? They should thank the gods they were even extended an invitation by His Grace.”

“Lord Paxter is right. The further north you journey upon the kingsroad, the more unpleasant the
company becomes,” Mace Tyrell said, his jowls shaking with mirth. “I would use stronger words
to describe those tree worshipping fools, but we have a lady and Princess in our noble company.”

Anger bubbled in her stomach but she managed to bite her tongue, stopping herself from causing a
scene in the midst of Aegon’s small council meeting. Jon Connington would relish the outburst if
it gave him the reason he needs to dismiss me in front of Aegon.
Jon Connington was not a charitable man.

She had only been a child when the Lord of Griffin Roost seized control of the realm. No one had
expected the man who broke his promise to bring Robert Baratheon’s head to her father, King
Aerys, at the Battle of the Bells to return from his exile a calculating and merciless man.

His rise to the regency was enough to send Lyanna Stark fleeing to the North only months later.

Although, that wouldn’t be the last that the realm would see of Lyanna Stark or that of her son
Jaehaerys Targaryen. Throughout the following years, the northern Queen could be seen in the
halls of the Red Keep along with her son. Whether it was for royal business or merely Jaehaerys’
incessant need to be around his blood, she didn’t know.

What she did know though was that those days had desperately become her most cherished.

I am a besotted fool , she thought.

Dany felt her face redden. Embarrassed, she looked around the room, but found that the council
had resumed listening to Jon Connington’s droning on about more and more families that had sent
brothers and sons and fathers to bend the knee to House Targaryen’s new king.

And yet, she couldn’t relish the relief that washed over her.

“A raven has arrived from House Stark, Your Grace,” Lord Connington said with a clipped tone.
The whole room seemed to straighten in their seats. Even Lord Tywin’s interest had been piqued as
she watched the normally placid man steeple his fingers and stare intently at Jon Connington.

“What of my brother and his family?” Aegon questioned.

“Lady Lyanna and her son have set sail from White Harbor—”

“Queen Lyanna,” Dany interrupted. “She was my brother’s wife. He was your King and Lyanna
Stark his wife.”

“She was his second wife and the Seven does not look upon such unions with any fondness,” Lord
Connington said in a cool voice.

But before she could reply, Aegon slammed a fist down on the table, startling the blubbering Mace
Tyrell in his seat. Lord Paxter and Lord Tywin turned their gaze to Aegon. Lord Connington
continued to glare at her. Maester Gormon merely looked on, as if anticipating such an ordeal.

“This will cease before it even begins,” Aegon motioned between her and Jon Connington.

“I agree, Your Grace. We mustn’t suffer the interruptions of a cupbearer during such an important
meeting amongst men.” Lord Connington’s gaze was as cold as ice.

“A royal cupbearer? My Lord, you forget you are speaking to a Princess of House Targaryen.”

“Royal and my aunt you may be, but you are a cupbearer in service to your future king.” Aegon
turned from her and stared at his Hand. “My Hand would do well to remember with whom he
carelessly offends with his words or I may be in need of a replacement. One that doesn’t carelessly
let his tongue loose.”

Lord Connington shifted in his seat. “I apologise, Your Grace. You must forgive me. Many years
have passed but it will take many more still to forget the treasons of House Stark against your
family and the realm.”

And the defeat you suffered at Robert Baratheon’s hands , she thought to herself.

“Let’s move on from this topic of discussion,” Maester Gormon said. “We have spent far too long
dwelling on the transgressions of the past. The realm is in need of stable rule.”

“Agreed,” Lord Tywin said with narrowed eyes. The older lord leaned back in his chair and looked
everyone up and down the table. “The realm is in need of stability. And there is no greater or noble
way of proving that our young king is up to task than an alliance through marriage.”

For the moment, the attention shifted from her and towards Aegon who seemed to have completely
forgotten his black dagger from earlier. Frowning, the future king leaned forward in his seat.
“Marriage? Is it not too early for such an announcement? I am yet to ascend the Iron Throne.”

“It is never too early to secure your rule,” Maester Gaemon said with a sage nod of his head
towards the Lord Tywin. “Your family has seen one too many tragedies in such a short amount of
time. Although the gods have blessed House Targaryen once more with dragons, a dragon cannot
sit the Iron Throne and rule the realm.”

Mace Tyrell seemed to stir from his wine-drinking stupor. “Maester Gormon speaks true. Marriage
must be the next thing this council tackles as we move ahead with the coronation.”

Aegon slouched back and waved a hand. “Very well. If my small council believes this is the course
I must take to show the noble families of the realm that House Targaryen is fit to rule over them,
then so be it.”

Lord Connington cleared his throat and pulled another scroll from his person. “I have been
compiling a list of favourable maids from good houses and stock, Your Grace. If you would allow
me to read its content and you could share your thoughts?”

Aegon motioned once more. “I pray that this list proves to be far shorter than the one before.”

Lord Connington’s smile was predatory. “Of course, Your Grace. I selected only the sweetest
maids from only noble and honourable houses.”

The list turned out to be only three names. But only one of them made her insides knot.

Her eyes were closed.

Daenerys hummed contentedly. The feel of her niece’s fingers through her hair was a divine thing,
almost as pleasurable as riding Syraxes. They were in the Red Keep’s godswood, beneath the
canopy of the great oak. Jae always loathed this place , she thought. His gods do not dwell here.

She opened her eyes and stared into Rhaenys’ dark eyes. They were brooding, like her half-brother
was wont to do. Dany raised a hand and cupped her niece’s cheek. “Are you well?” she asked
quietly.

The wind picked up then. It shook the branches and let loose a wave of red-brown leaves that fell
like snowflakes around them.

It is the hottest day of summer , she thought with a rueful grin.

Rhaenys chuckled and leaned into her hand. “Do you remember when we were little girls? How
we would sit in this very spot and pick the dragon’s breath beneath the great oak until we had
enough to weave our own crowns.”

“Jae hated it.” It was something he would never be able to give , she thought. “But Egg said he
would raise you from being a Princess to a queen.”

Rhaenys laughed. “Egg has always been a fanciful fool. But even the gods know how I wanted to
believe him.” Rhaenys turned from her searching eyes and stared off into the distance. “But I knew
better.”

“You would have made a wonderful queen,” she said.

“ A king cannot have the spoils of his sworn lords,” Rhaenys bit out. Her Valryian was tinged with
anger and venom. “That is what Lord Connington said to me when I pressed him on Aegon’s
succession. I am a Princess of House Targaryen. The blood of the conqueror runs through my
veins. Yet I was only a piece to be bargained with for my brother’s reign.”

Dany pulled away and sat up before taking Rhaenys’ hands in her own. “It is not your fault. It isn’t
Aegon’s fault. You know how Connington sees us, how he sees Jae. He believes we’re a breath
away from committing treason.”

“What good is having dragons when we’re so powerless?”

Dany bit her lip. She tried to answer. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.
Instead, she rubbed her niece’s hand in silence as the wind shook the tree once more.

This time, the leaves fell like tears all around them.

It wasn’t until a while later that Dany found the words she had wanted to say. Yet, she knew if she
spoke them now, Rhaenys would not listen. Not after all her anger had soaked the dragon’s breath
and smokeberry vines. Instead, she edged closer to the older girl, determined to comfort her niece
in any way possible. She has always been there for me when my heart ached for Jae’s return. With
their shoulders touching, Dany laced their fingers together, humming a calm tune.

After a while, Rhaenys spoke, her voice rough with disuse. “Tell me of the small council meeting.”

Dany bit her lip. She knew she shouldn’t. “A royal wedding may be on the horizon.” But she
couldn’t help herself. Rhaenys was family. She deserved to know.

“The gods have mercy on my brother,” Rhaenys said with a bitter laugh. “Who is it?”

“Margaery Tyrell.”

“The Rose of Highgarden.” Rhaenys shook her head. “It was plain to see. The many Lords of the
Reach that surround my brother. Their gifts of food and wine. Their loyal men who stalk our
streets. The street peddlers who thank this Margaery Tyrell for their good fortune in the same
breath they thank the Mother.”

It was plain as day. Yet, I was blind to it.

“You have grown closer to Egg in my absence. Tell me, do you think he will accept?”

“He will,” Dany said after a while. He must.

“As much as it pains me to say, it might be for the best. The gods know Jon Connington is a
dreadful man with a mountain of vices, but he is loyal. Maybe not to us. But to my father, Rhaegar.
He will do what is best for his last remaining son in his eyes.”

We can only hope , Dany thought. And as she looked into Rhaenys dark eyes, she knew she wasn’t
alone in her thoughts.

Dany sighed deeply before closing her eyes. It was all becoming too much. She prayed to the gods
that the days to come would not prove to be as treacherous as the men who surrounded their
family.

Her thoughts turned from the unknown future to more pleasant memories, time seemed to come to
a stand still. Yet outside of their quiet bubble, the midday sun gave way to twilight as the last
remnants of sunlight was caught in the heavy canopy of elms and alders that shadowed the acre of
the godswood.

With eyes heavy with weariness, Dany stretched like a cat before resting her head on Rhaenys’
shoulder. She is warm , she thought. A pleasant feeling filled her tummy. She looked down at their
entwined hands and thought of Jae. Would my hand fit in his so easily?

Once more, she found herself blushing.

Rhaenys squeezed her hand gently. “He will be here soon enough.”

Dany looked up at Rhaenys who seemed to be staring intently off into the distance. But before she
could speak, Rhaenys had disentangled herself from her and moved closer to the edge of the
clearing.

“What is it, Rhaenys?” Dany questioned from beneath the oak. A tinge of annoyance had colored
her tone.

Rhaenys looked back at her as the wind picked up once more and brushed against her. Her dark
hair fluttered softly before falling back to her shoulders. The older girl smiled and pointed out into
the distance where the godswood ended and met the Blackwater Rush.

“Do you not see it?”

Dany stood up from the ground and squinted her eyes. There was a glittering speck of something
over the horizon. It seemed to grow larger with her every breath she took. She moved closer to
Rhaenys until they were standing next to each other. Unconsciously, she grabbed her niece’s hand
and squeezed it hard.

“Is it?”

“I believe so.”

It didn’t take long for her assumptions to be proven true.

A dragon from on high roared and it shook the earth. When it descended from the heavens, its
shadow feasted upon the city.
 Lyanna I
Chapter by Sleepy_moon29

Chapter Summary

Cyclical

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

LYANNA

Her eyes settled on the Red Keep.

For years, the castle had tormented her. With its ghosts and abandoned hallways and its spectre
knights draped in black armour that stared down at her as if she didn’t belong. And truly, she did
not belong. Yet, Rhaegar had seen to her discomfort and held her and Elia Martell by his side
throughout it all. They had become entwined in some form and fashion, married at the hip to the
other during their short time together.

But then, her brief moments of happiness with them was never meant to be.

A stormy night had swept the illusion she had built with all her might and energy. How quickly
glass houses shatter, she thought to herself. With the passing of her husband and king, the
whispering and scheming had grown out of control without his steady hand to keep them at bay.
Yet, their whispered words behind her back meant little and nothing to her. She had suffered worse
before.

But what she wouldn’t suffer was the treatment of her only son.

They had named him bastard behind his back. They called him a dark stain on her husband’s cloak
in his presence. And without Rhaegar to defend his son, they dubbed him a black prince, for being
born under the shadow of the rebellion.

Yet, she had named her son Jaehaerys Targaryen, after the Old King himself. A strong and wise
name for a Targaryen. Her son’s birth had been a treacherous thing that nearly took her in the
birthing bed. Soaked in blood and weary of delivering the wailing child, she had nearly succumbed
to the weakness of being a woman. Her only saving grace was Ser Arthur and his sworn brothers
who had seen to her swift care and treatment at the hands of the Maester of Starfall.

Lyanna looked up towards the heavens. These petty lords do not know how true of a Targaryen our
son has become, Rhaegar. The ache in her heart grew. She let out a sigh. Her hand touched the
wooden railing. She leaned forward and for a split second, she thought of falling over. She saw
herself fall into the deep and dark sea. She felt the waves pull her under, dragging her away from
all the madness that awaited her and her son.

But then she exhaled and her grip tightened painfully on the wooden railing and the madness was
gone once more.

Nothing has really changed.

Lyanna smiled sadly as the Red Keep grew before her eyes.

As a little girl, she had dreamt of this place, of its streets and harbours teeming with life. But what
she hadn’t accounted for was the shit that festered beneath the veneer of this idyllic southron
mummer’s farce. Yet, a small part of her wished she could go back to those times, when her
dreams were as green as summer grass, when the taint of men and power had not yet touched it.

This castle and its keeps are just a sweet memory.

Ever since Rhaegar and Elia had died, the remaining warmth the city had held for her vanished
before her very eyes. Everywhere she looked, she saw their ghosts. Sometimes she swore she could
even feel Rhaegar behind her as she lay in bed weeping at his absence. Other times it was Elia’s
tinkling laugh that brought her to her knees.

She had lost a husband and a lover, a wife and a friend. All in the blink of an eye. All because of
his madness. She could never forgive him. Yet she would always love that man and his
foolishness. Even if it meant she had to shoulder the burdens he left behind for their son.

Although it had proven more difficult than she could ever imagine, she had never tired in her
attempts at securing her son and family’s safety from those who would seek to do them harm. Even
from those she had once considered a close friend. Ser Gerold, she thought sadly. If only we had
spoken once more. The man had been once considered one of the sharpest minds of the realm, a
tactician to never underestimate upon the field.

Yet it seemed his sharp tact had dulled with age.

With the realm grieving for its dead king and his royal family, Jon Connington had moved swiftly,
and secured the power and men he needed to ascend to regent to the then boy-king Aegon
Targaryen.

Without her husband to give her power at court, her influence quickly diminished and she was
pushed to the side. As did the men who had sworn their loyalty to her when she had ascended to
Queen. How fickle these southron lords and ladies are, she thought. What little remained to her
was not enough to shield her son or her family in the north.

Dragonstone soon became her sanctum, afforded to her by the love Aegon Targaryen held for her
and his brother Jaehaerys. Yet even blood soon proved too little in the face of Lord Connington’s
desire to remove her son from Aegon’s influence.

I would have sooner let Robert Baratheon take me to wife than feed my son to the lords of the
Stormlands.

But now she was returning with loyal men in hand. Her brother Benjen Stark was chosen by her
brother Eddard Stark to accompany her and Jaehaerys on their journey back to King’s Landing. He
had grown considerably since their childhood. Strong and broad-shouldered, he towered over her
like most of the men in her life. Once he looked up at me, now I turn to him for protection.

“Mother,” a familiar voice said behind her.

Lyanna turned her head to see her son standing on the deck of their flagship. His eyes shone
brightly beneath the midday sun. At his side, she saw blood red. The direwolf's eyes always left her
feeling restless, as if the beast was able to peer into her very soul. Ghost lurched forward and ran
his body against her leg before rounding back to his master.

“Are you well, mother?” her son questioned. Lyanna looked back at her son. There was concern on
his handsome face. So much like Rhaegar.

“Of course, my sweet boy,” she replied with a smile. “Come here, allow your mother to see you.”

Jaehaerys frowned. “Must I?”

But the look she gave him made him reconsider his question.

Lyanna had to look up at her boy, his grey eyes now dark and cold beneath the shadows of the
flagship’s masts. Her hand touched his cheek before turning to his dark brown hair. It had grown
longer than she deemed princely, but her son was a wild spirit. Much like his mother.

He had filled out from his days as a lanky greenboy. There was now strength in his swordarm and
the coldness in his eyes to use it. Her son was a warrior. It is not what I wanted for you. Yet it was
what was needed of him. When they had left Ser Arthur in King’s Landing, Ser Oswell had
reassured the grim knight that Jaehaerys would find no sleep beneath his tutelage.

True to his word, Ser Oswell had worked Jaehaerys down to the bone. So much so, that she had to
stop herself from intervening. From polishing armor and fighting in the yard with blunted swords,
Ser Oswell was a merciless teacher. There were times she found Jaehaerys in the dead of night,
barely clothed in the yard as Ser Oswell watched her son practice his form.

“Satisfied?” Jaehaerys pulled away her searching hand. He kissed the palm of her hand before
tucking her into his side.

“Your father would have been proud,” she said after a while.

Her son’s hold on her tightened. For a moment, she felt at ease, as if Rhaegar had never died, as if
he never abandoned her. But the moment was fleeting and it was gone just as quickly.

“Are you ready?” she questioned her son. The deckhands scurried around them, pulling on ropes
and tying down the sails. Their flagship was being docked. Their household guard were slowly
assembling around them. Hard men, northern men. Men who were loyal enough.

“You need not worry, mother,” Jaehaerys said finally. “I am as ready as I can be.”

Lyanna looked up at Aegon’s high hill and stared at the pale-red stones and the massive seven
drumtowers that brooded over the Blackwater Rush. “Worrying is all a mother can do,” she said
softly.

A low rumble came from Jaehaerys’ chest as he laughed at her side. “Things will not be the way
they were before, mother. I am a man grown beneath the shadow of a dragon. Things will be
different. I promise you this.”

The press of bodies ushered them from the flagship’s deck. They crossed the ramp, down to the
pier with steady steps. A handful of men were busy securing the vessel and shouting orders as they
waited for the rest of the men to disembark the ship.

“You are correct, Jaehaerys. Things will be different.” Lyanna grasped her son’s face until they she
was staring into his cool grey eyes. “However, I forbid you from antagonizing the Lord Hand. We
did not travel all this way to make more enemies. We are here for your brother’s coronation.”
Jaehaerys looked down at her with a smirk. “You wound me, mother. I am not so foolish as to stir a
nest of vipers. I will be like Ghost. Unseen and unheard,” he said pointing at his loyal beast.

Lyanna studied the prowling direwolf, its ruby red eyes menacing, as it sniffed the air. The beast
was truly silent, it never seemed to make a sound. Until it was too late. But its mere presence was
enough to part the growing crowd. Fear shone in the eyes of the men. She could hear the whispers
of foul beast and demon from the crowd of onlookers.

If this is what it meant to be unseen and unheard, then she feared for them, she feared for her son.

But before she could voice her thoughts, she heard a familiar voice.

“Queen Lyanna,” the man called. She turned her attention to the direction the voice had come
from. The first thing she noticed was the man’s white armor, polished and gleaming in the twilight.
Then it was his eyes, pale and violet, shrouded under a head of dark hair that touched his broad
shoulders. Strapped to his back, stood proudly the famed sword Dawn of House Dayne.

“Ser Arthur Dayne,” Lyanna said in greeting with a nod of her head. “It has been a long time.”

“It has, Your Grace. One could say too long,” the Knight of the Morning replied with a faint dip of
his chin. “I trust my sworn brother proved leal service to House Targaryen?”

“Ser Oswell has proven, once more, the meaning of loyalty.”

Seemingly satisfied, Ser Arthur bowed once more towards her son Jaehaerys. “My Prince. It is an
honor to see you in good health. I have faith you have continued your lessons in sword and lance
with my sworn brother?”

Jaehaerys straightened his back before the famous knight. “I have, Ser. And I am pleased to see
you are also in good health for our upcoming spars. I do not want to hear excuses of old age or that
it was bad health that proved my victory over you.”

Ser Arthur smiled slightly, his pale eyes cool. “I see Ser Oswell has imparted much and more than
just swordsmanship. It would honor me to remind you that with old age comes experience.”

A bark of laughter came from behind her. After so many years in the man’s company she could
recognize it anywhere.

Ser Oswell came strutting down the ramp of her flagship, his white armor freshly polished by
Jaehaerys no doubt, and his helm with the famed bat sigil beneath his arms. “I see not much has
changed in our absence, Arthur. You are still a dour excuse of a man.”

The two Kingsguard men were tall and still in the prime of their strength. To her, they seemed like
giants as they studied the other. But it was Ser Oswell who smiled first. “It is a good thing we have
returned when we did. Otherwise, I fear Ser Arthur would die with such a sour expression on his
face.”

Ser Arthur shook his head. “I have missed you too, brother.”

The two Kingsguard quickly embraced each other, patting the other on the back with heavy mail
fists. To her, it seemed like both men were trying to murder the other with their blows. She shook
her head at the foolishness of martial men.

A few minutes passed before things settled down. They had moved from the dock and into the
harbour proper, where a crowd of smallfolk stood a respectable distance away, held back by a
contingent of Gold Cloaks.

“Queen Lyanna has returned!”

Yet it was not all welcome and cheer. Lyanna could hear a few jeers in the crowd and she was not
blind to the viciousness that the Gold Cloaks used to silence them. She had anticipated such a
welcome. The smallfolk could be fickle and merciless at times.

All she could do was hold her head high.

Once they arrived in the square, she felt a bit of relief to see a line of horses waiting for them. She
looked at Ser Arthur who nodded his head at her. “I knew you would prefer to ride than be driven
up the long road to the Red Keep.”

“You know me so well. I thank you, Ser Arthur.”

Ser Arthur stepped aside next to Ser Oswell and waited. They kept a close eye on the crowd as she
and her men found a horse to mount.

“I will take this one,” she announced finally when she spotted a deep grey palfrey with intelligent
dark eyes. She ran a hand down the horse’s crest before hiking a leg through the stirrup and
mounting the horse proper.

Jaehaerys rode up next to her, flanked by her brother Benjen Stark. They both had chosen darker
colored palfreys that seemed excellently bred. “You have made yourself quite scarce, brother. I was
starting to worry we had lost you at sea.”

Benjen waved her comment away. “The next time we decide to journey such a distance, it will be
on solid ground.”

Jaehaerys laughed. “Uncle, mayhaps a ride on Urrax would fare with you better?”

Benjen paled at the mention of Jaehaerys’ dragon. “My blood runs too cold to entertain such a
offer. I thank you, nephew, but I will make do with a sensible mount.” He patted the dark palfrey
for emphasis.

“Stop teasing your uncle, Jaehaerys,” Lyanna chided her son. “You know how he gets whenever
dragons are mentioned. He is liable to take the black if it means he never has to see one again.”

“A pity that,” Jaehaerys smirked.

They had left fishmonger square and turned onto the hook, the steady pace of their party was
making good time and soon they would be beneath the shadow of the Red Keep.

“It is a shame,” Jaehaerys started after a while riding in silence.

“What is?” Lyanna questioned.

“I wish Uncle Ned and Robb were here to see the tournament.”

Ever since Robert’s failed rebellion, her relationship with her brother Ned could only be described
as strained. It had gotten to the point where only the tersest of words were exchanged and even
then silence was the most common commodity between them.

Jon Connington and his decrees were of little help in the matter. The newly appointed regent had
gone after every rebellious family in the realm and levied heavy taxes against them, even
demanding heirs and daughters be sent to the Red Keep to reaffirm their vows to Aegon Targaryen
now that his father had passed.

Since then, Ned had done everything in his power to ward off entreaties from the south, going as
far as to rebuild Moat Cailin and command their brother Benjen to oversee the task.

“As long as I draw breath, the North will never abide another mad king,” her brother Ned had told
her on one cold night when she found him on the wooden walkway that their father had often
brooded upon.

As such, Ned had forbade his heir and eldest son from travelling south with them and sent their
brother Benjen in his stead. Lyanna knew such a slight would not go unnoticed, but there was little
and less the Crown could do to rebuke such a powerful and ancient house, especially now that a
dragonrider of Targaryen and Stark blood held domain in the skies.

“There will be other tournaments. I believe my brother Ned will eventually see reason and open his
borders. You know how little Bran wishes to be a knight. My brother would be a fool to deny him
the chance of earning his spurs when the time comes.”

She could only hope.

“Our brother has been different since the war. One can only hope your words come true, sister,”
Benjen remarked as they begun their ascent.

Jaehaerys looked up at the dark purple hues that colored the sky. “The Maesters say this long
summer is soon coming to an end. It would benefit Uncle Ned and the north to see this folly for
what it is, sooner rather than late.”

Benjen glanced at her son. “It is not so easy to heal the wounds of the past. The north lost a lot of
good men. A thousand mothers and daughters or more who will never see their brothers or fathers
again. With so much northern blood spilt, it is a blessing your Uncle Ned has not done more to
seclude the north from the rest of the realm.”

Lyanna’s heart raced in her chest. Her gloves crinkled in her ears as she tightened her hold on the
reins as despair and frustration set in the pit of her stomach. The truth of her past would always be
something that left her feeling ill.

How the whims of a foolish girl in love sparked rebellion across the realm.

Yet not all of it was her burden to carry. The stirrings of a rebellion had been brewing for some
time before she absconded. Her lord father and his southron ambitions were far more responsible
for throwing the realm into chaos than any foolhardy maiden forging her own destiny.

Or so she told herself, if only to ease some of the guilt that ravaged her heart thinking of her dead
brother Brandon strangling himself as he watched their beloved father burn alive before a cackling
mad king.

Lyanna let out a sigh and turned from the conversation. She needed some time to rein in her
emotions. She couldn’t let them see her so ill at ease, especially her sweet son. Lyanna couldn’t
bear the thought of Jaehaerys thinking she regretted her decision that led to his birth. Because she
knew, deep in her heart, she would gladly take Rhaegar’s hand again if it meant they could be
together once more.

Even if it meant throwing the realm into the flame again.

But she knew she couldn’t give voice to her thoughts. They would know her madness then. They
would see the selfishness that had ran hot in her veins during that hot summer. So instead, she
smiled, faint and bittersweet before she said, “The past is smoke. Let us leave it behind us.”

Silence met her words and yet they rode on. None the wiser to the ghosts that lingered in her sight
as they continued to ascend Aegon’s high hill.

A set of horns followed by trumpets blared announcing their arrival.

A thousand lit torches blazed along the curtain wall as they rode into the courtyard. Lyanna was
filled with a sense of familiarity as she took in the massive drumtowers and its parapets. The three-
headed dragon of House Targaryen danced against the pale red stone of the Red Keep.

When they came to a halt, her grey knickered as she went to dismount from the saddle. With a deep
breath, she steeled her spine. “Ser Oswell, make sure my men are properly cared for. It has been a
long journey and these men would enjoy a place to rest and drink.”

“By your will, Your Grace,” Ser Oswell replied in a gruff voice. The Kingsguard knight bowed and
turned from her, directing a contingent of Gold Cloaks to him with a wave of his hand. “You heard
the Queen. Let’s show our northern visitors how we do things in the south.”

Satisfied, Lyanna motioned to her son. “Come, now it begins.”

Ser Arthur led the way, his snow white cloak billowing behind him. Jaehaerys walked at her side.
At the stone steps Ser Arthur stopped and bent the knee and lowered his head before rising to his
full height. His voice was deep and commanding as he spoke.

“The Queen Lyanna Stark and her son Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen!”

Aegon Targaryen had grown. He was tall, as tall her own son, as tall as his father Rhaegar. He
towered over her. It made her feel insignificant in this world ruled by men. She had to remember
who she was, where she came from. I am a Stark of Winterfell, she thought. She had endured deep
winters and survived a bloody war in the birthing bed. Yet she didn’t think it would be the
suffocating embrace of her step-son that would end her life.

She felt like a child as Aegon embraced her tightly around the waist. In his enthusiasm, he seemed
to forget his kingly courtesy and even lifted her off the ground, her feet dangled helplessly as he
twirled her around to a round of laughter. “Mother,” the boy she had helped take care with Elia
Martell all those years ago said in a deep voice. “You have finally returned home. The Red Keep
welcomes you.”

“Put me down, you silly boy,” she had to say in her most commanding voice. “I fear this reunion
will be cut short if this is what is awaiting me.”

Aegon laughed as he set her down. His eyes were filled with mirth. “I will be your king soon
enough and my first decree will be to forbid you from leaving King’s Landing without my leave.”
Lyanna folded her arms over her chest and gave the boy the most scathing look she could muster.
“Even your father could not keep me within these walls. What hope do you have?”

“He will have our support.”

Lyanna glanced past Aegon’s smirking face to the two beautiful young maids that had silently
watched her trying ordeal with her step-son. Rhaenys Targaryen was the striking image of Elia
Martell. Olive-skinned and dark eyes with darker hair, she had grown into a beautiful creature. Yet
even she could not deny the breathtaking beauty that radiated off of Daenerys Targaryen who
seemed to have inherited the ethereal features of her late lady mother Rhaella Targaryen.

But where her lady mother was subdued and broken, Daenerys is brimming with fire.

“Come here,” she called to them. In a span of a breath, she had enveloped both girls in a deep
embrace. “The both of you have grown into such beautiful princesses. Your mothers would be
proud,” she whispered to them.

It was the sound of Jaehaerys clearing his throat that eventually forced her to break her embrace
with the two girls who meant so much and more to her. Lyanna took a step back from Rhaenys and
Daenerys before glaring at her brooding son. “Is my son well or has he fallen ill in the last few
minutes that he demands our attention?”

Jaehaerys frowned.

She smiled prettily in return. “You would do well to remember your courtesies, Jaehaerys. I did not
endure your birth to have such a rude son.”

Aegon laughed at his brother’s agitated face. “I see things have not changed. I fear they may have
grown more vicious in our time apart.”

Lyanna smirked. Rhaenys and Daenerys giggled.

“It seems I am outnumbered.”

“And outmatched,” Aegon said as he stepped closer to his brother. They were nearly of the same
age, but wholly different in appearance. Where Aegon was classical in his Targaryen coloring,
Jaehaerys was all dark and shadows. The only thing shared between them was the intensity of their
gaze on the other.

The two young men sized the other up before Aegon smiled for the both of them. “Brother,” he
said. “It has been too long.”

“Aye, it has,” Jaehaerys agreed. Both young men embraced the other, and like the Ser Oswell and
Ser Arthur before, beat each other backs with heavy fists before breaking apart.

“Aye? I see you have adopted the northern way of speaking,” Aegon japed. “It makes me wonder
what else have you brought from the north with you?”

Jaehaerys smirked in reply. “In due time, brother. I cannot share all my secrets so soon.”

Lyanna had to hold back her laughter at the petulant look that formed on Aegon’s handsome face.
But it seemed her son had ignored his brother’s foolishness and instead enveloped his sister into a
bone crushing hug.

All the while, Daenerys stood off to the side, biting her lip and looking anxious.
Things really have not changed, she thought. Lyanna smiled and stepped closer to her good sister.
“As my son said. All in due time,” she whispered into her ear.

Daenerys glanced at her quickly, her cheeks a rosy red. Lyanna gave her a knowing smile. Yet her
good sister remained silent, nibbling on her lower lip as she returned to watching the reunion
between brother and sister.

“It has been too long,” Lyanna heard her son say as he kissed her on both cheeks.

“For once, I am in agreement with my little brother,” she replied with a smirk. Rhaenys’ dark eye
turned to her before returning to her son. She leaned in close to his ear and whispered something
she couldn’t hear. When she stepped back a moment later, Lyanna could see her son’s jaw had
tightened as Rhaenys flitted away with a giggle next to an anxious Daenerys.

Unceremoniously, Rhaenys pushed Daenerys from behind, causing her to nearly stumble and yelp
in surprise. Rhaenys could barely contain her laughter as the younger girl glared at her with fire in
her violet eyes. “Rhaenys!”

Jaehaerys chuckled. “Do not mind my foolish sister, Dany,” he said in a low voice.

Lyanna couldn’t help the feeling she was intruding on something she shouldn’t be a witness to
when Daenerys turned to Jaehaerys’ direction. For the brieftest of moments, both of them were
silent as they looked at the other. Worry blossomed in her heart. She knew that look in both of their
eyes. She had seen it reflected in her own before, when Rhaegar had ridden on his black destrier
and crowned her before the realm.

And just as his father before him, it was Jaehaerys who moved first. His embrace swallowed the
girl against his chest. He raised her from the ground before lowering her gently back onto her feet.
She heard him whisper a few choice words and saw the look of happiness that crossed Daenerys’
beautiful face.

They have always been close growing up, she thought. And it seemed nothing had changed in the
years apart, even if she did not trust her son to be wholly forthcoming with his aunt. She would
have to keep a watchful eye on the two, if only to make sure Daenerys was not hurt by her son’s
carelessness.

“The Maiden truly has blessed you, Dany,” Jaehaerys said as he stroked a loose tendril of her hair
behind her ear.

Daenerys’ smile was brilliant. “I thank you, nephew, for your kind words.”

Even from here, Lyanna could sense the look that was shared between them

It was at that point that her mood soured and her eyes grew as cold as a northern winter.

“Lord Connington,” she greeted her voice cool. “We meet once more.”

“My Queen,” Jon Connington said with a shallow bow. The rigors of regency had taken its toll on
the once reckless lord. The man was now as stoic as the dead, his red flaming hair streaked with
grey and his pale blue eyes humorless. At his neck hung the pin marking him as Hand of the King.

“I prayed to The Seven for a safe journey from White Harbor. With The Citadel set to soon
announce the end of this long summer, I was filled with worry that your journey would be fraught
with danger.”
“I am thankful for your prayers, my lord. But the seas were calm and our sails were brimming with
the northern wind.”

Jon Connington dipped his head. “As My Queen says,” he said before turning to her son. “I am
glad that our young prince is hale and strong. House Targaryen only stands to benefit from such
fine sons.”

Jaehaerys for his part smirked. “House Targaryen will prosper all the more for it, now that both of
Rhaegar’s sons have reunited.” Jaehaerys turned to Aegon who had remained quiet throughout the
whole encounter. “Is that not right, brother?”

“My brother’s words ring true.” Aegon gave a cross look to Jon Connington.

The Hand to the King chose to remain silent. Lyanna was all the more thankful for that small
blessing. Thank the gods Aegon is not blind to the man’s games, she thought.

“Your Grace, surely you did not travel all this way without an escort from House Stark?” Jon
Connington said in an attempt to change the subject at hand. “Where is your noble brother?”

“He is here,” came the familiar voice of Benjen Stark. Lyanna glanced at her brother who had
waited for them to finish their introductions at the foot of the stone steps.

“I have had the pleasure of meeting Lord Eddard Stark before on the field of battle,” Jon
Connington said in a cold voice. “Yet I do not recall Lord Stark being such a small man.”

“I will be sure to regale my brother with your lofty compliment, Lord Connington.”

Jon Connington narrowed his eyes at her brother. “Brother, you say? I say, surely you must be
Benjen Stark, seeing as Brandon Stark can no longer be counted amongst the living. It still brings
me great pain to remember the tragic manner of his death. Such a noble and brave son, gone too
quickly.” The Hand of the King gazed at her, assured in his power and delighting in the pain that
had ran through her chest.

Lyanna swallowed the bile that had crept up her throat.

“Your words ring as hollow as your victory at the Battle of the Bells.” Benjen Stark said in a voice
as cold as a northern winter. “Yet I am not surprised to hear such false words from a man who has
been brought so low as to taste exile.”

But before matters could get further out of hand, Aegon spoke in his most commanding voice. “My
Lord, I believe I warned you before on what would happen if you continued to speak out of turn.
You will apologize to my brother and his family.”

There was a sickening glint in Jon Connington’s eyes as he peered at he before bowing. It made her
stomach churn as if she were stuck at sea during a raging storm. She wanted to retch at the sight of
such a monstrous man. And yet, it wasn’t the mummer’s farce of an apology on display that made
her feel ill at ease.

It was her son’s silence and coldness of his grey eyes as he watched the red-haired man bow and
beg forgiveness.

Later that night, as she lay in bed, she would remember hearing the howl of a wolf deep from
within the godswood.

///
The coronation took place on the next day in the Great Sept of Baelor.

She was seated in a section for the royal family. On one side sat her son and on her other Benjen
Stark watched the tiring ordeal with a queer eye. When she turned to her left, she noticed Jaehaerys
and his siblings were deep in conversation, their voices low. She smiled at the sight, proud that
their bond was so strong.

Today was a day of celebration, of feasting and merriment. Yet her mind and heart were troubled.
Aegon Targaryen VI of his name would be ascending the Iron Throne. Today would be another
day that her lover and husband would not be alive to witness.

The task had now fallen to her.

She had been to a coronation before, when Rhaegar had ascended the Iron Throne after the Mad
King had fallen too ill to rule the realm. It had been a sigh of relief to the nobility and great
families, or so she thought.

She had been a fool to think as much.

Rhaegar had chided her that night as Elia stroked her matted hair out of her eyes, a look of
amusement on her cherub face. “My young queen has much and more to learn of life at court,”
Rhaegar had said, mirth in his normally melancholy eyes. His large hand had been between her
thighs, pleasing her in a way she never could achieve on her own.

“The rise of a new king only means a new game has to be played,” Elia had said as she looked
down at her. The Dornish queen had caressed her sensitive breasts, and the assuredness of
Rhaegar’s fingers had made it difficult for her to breathe.

The seriousness of Elia’s words had never rang as true as they did now.

Every noble family of the realm was in attendance. Every one of them was concocting a new
scheme or plot. For what end? She would not know. Only time would show what part these noble
lords and ladies would take in this new game.

This is merely the opening act , she thought to herself.

And yet, an unwelcome feeling formed in the pit of her stomach when she glanced at one particular
family that had never risen so high.

Lyanna had learned many things abed with Rhaegar and Elia. From how hard she enjoyed being
fucked, to the ambitions that every house stoked. She had taken a keen interest in such ploys as she
lay exhausted from their lovemaking. It had been on one of those exhausting nights in particular
that Rhaegar had broached the subject of House Tyrell.

“Have you ever seen such a thing?” he had asked, while his thumb brushed her bruised lips. “They
are a house of stewards, without a drop of king’s blood, yet they circle my throne with polite
courtesy and a dagger behind their backs.”

As with most things, her husband had the truth of it. Soon as his death was known, they had
swooped in like vultures, ready to feast on the remains of what Rhaegar had been trying to build.
And then, even Rhaegar had anticipated such a turn of events.

The dragon has three heads.

Lyanna exhaled deeply, her emotions a riot of confusion. She chanced a glance at her children, so
deep into their conversation in High Valyrian that they failed to notice the tears that threatened to
spill down her cheeks.

If they knew the truth, what would they think of their father, of Rhaegar and Elia, of her?

Promise me, Lyanna.

Her hand tightened into a fist before she turned away from her children. She prayed to the old gods
and new that the truth would never be discovered, that the past would remain behind them as their
children forged a new and brighter future, one where so much blood didn’t need to be spilt.

“Are you okay, Lyanna?” her brother whispered at her side.

Lyanna glanced at him before nodding. “Yes, of course, I was simply remembering the past.”

Benjen’s gaze was searching, as if he didn’t really believe her. But instead of pushing her for more,
he sighed and leaned back in his seat. A few minutes seemed to have past as they sat in silence,
waiting as the Great Sept continued to fill to capacity.

“I was expecting something more, I must admit,” Benjen said after a while. “Lord Tyrell does not
strike me as a man to be feared anywhere but the feasting table.”

Lyanna had to stifle a giggle. “I would agree, if it weren’t for the Queen of Thorns who sits at his
side. Lady Olenna rules that house, not her oaf of a son.”

“That old woman? She appears to be of an age with Old Nan.”

“You do her a disservice. As old and frail as Olenna appears, she is not to be trifled with. House
Tyrell only stands so high because of the foundation that old woman has cultivated over the years.
There is not a family in the Reach that does not owe its influence to her.”

Benjen nodded his head.

“You see Mace Tyrell? His wife is Alerie Hightower. She is the daughter to Lord Leyton
Hightower, nephew to the late Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Gerold.” It was through
this ageing old man that the Lord Hand had been able to find the backing needed to take the
regency from her.

“What happened to Ser Gerold?”

“He died of old age. A curious death for a knight who lived through the reigns of so many kings.”

Benjen gave her a queer look before shaking his head. “I already grow tired of these rosy lords.
Tell me of the lion. Ned warned me of that man. He said to never trust a Lannister.”

“Of all the men who sit Aegon’s small council, Lord Tywin is the most calculating of them. He
had always been loyal and true while he was in my husband’s service. I do not expect much has
changed in that regard. Yet that does not mean you can let your guard down around the lion. He is
always bidding his time, waiting for an opportune time to pounce.”

“I assume his daughter is as troublesome as the father?” Benjen remarked.

Lyanna smirked. “Is the wolf interested in the she-lion? You have best put such thoughts out of
your head, brother. As highly regarded for her beauty as Cersei Lannister is, she is a hideous
creature to be around. Heed my warning, little brother. You do not want to go sniffing around the
madness that is Lord Tywin’s daughter.”

Benjen frowned. “The father cannot be trusted to his own devices and the daughter is a witch. Is
gold all House Lannister has to offer?”

“There is gold. And then there is Jaime Lannister. A true knight, loyal and bound by honor. He
serves House Targaryen and the royal family as well as Ser Arthur himself.”

“One out of three I suppose aren’t terrible odds,” Benjen quipped.

“There is Tyrion Lannister.”

“Is he not the dwarf? I would expect a man such as Tywin to have killed the deformed creature in
the crib.”

“A dwarf, yes. Yet Princess Daenerys values his counsel. She says he might fall short of being a
man, but his mind is as sharp as any sword.”

A booming toll resounded in the Great Sept of Baelor. Six more times it tolled and silence reigned.

The High Septon walked in first. He was a rotund man with an overflowing gut and balding head
that he tried to hide with his crystal crown. He was dressed in white robes with the seven-pointed
star etched onto his large chest. Behind him seven septas followed, each holding a burning candle,
chanting in a low voices.

A cacophony of sound filled her ears as every lord and lady and child rose to their feet as the High
Septon and his column of followers walked past them.

The bell tolled again a total of seven times marking the beginning of the ceremony.

“My gathered lord and ladies,” the High Septon intoned in a raucous voice. “We have convened on
this blessed day to mark the beginning of a new reign. A reign full of promise and prosperity for
all. We are at the dawn of a new age. An age of wonder and magic and splendour the likes in
which none has seen since the time of the Wise King himself.”

It was then that Aegon Targaryen entered. Her step-son looked every bit the king dressed in a
black doublet and matching breeches with the bloody red accents of his house’s colors. The
embroidery of an even darker black, depicting the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen on his
chest. Strapped at his hip with black leather was a curious dagger, one that caught the eye of many
and more lords for its fine craftsmanship.

Aegon stopped before the great dias and bent down on a red pillow of velvet.

“Aegon Targaryen VI of his name of House Targaryen comes before the sight of gods and men as
a man.” The High Septon intoned in a deep voice. Septa handed the fat man the seven oils before
he started to dash droplets of the holy water onto Aegon’s shoulder. “In the name of the Father,” he
started. Then another splash and another. “In the name of the Mother…”

He continued until every god had blessed Aegon.

When the High Septon was finished, he grabbed a crown of gold. Dragons were etched into the
precious metal, depicting them aflight or spewing flames in the colors of glistening rubies or
emeralds. It was a beautiful piece, one fit for Elia’s precious son.

The High Septon placed it on Aegon’s head. “Rise! Rise a king!”

A resounding wave of clapping filled the sept then. Cheers and yells of “Long may he reign!”
filled the great hall as Aegon Targaryen VI of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the
First Men began the start of his reign with hard violet eyes.

The feast was well under way when she sat down at the high table.

A sense of exhaustion had consumed her as she took a deep pull from her cup. She was drinking
more summer wine than she could ever remember having. It is good to forget sometimes, she
thought to herself. She was watching the dancing and singing, she even leaned back in her seat and
tapped her fingers to the rhythm of the heavy drums that reverberated against the thick stone walls.

“Mother!” Her grinning fool of a son had found her. “So this is where you have been hiding?” He
looked around at all the empty plates and cups of wine that lay forgotten on the table. “I suppose
you could have chosen a worse spot.”

“Hush, you,” she said with a shake of her head. “I am not hiding. I am resting. There is a
difference, Jaehaerys. I am sure you are keen enough to find it.”

Jaeherys took a seat next to her. “So you say, but I think I will hide with you here. I have fended
off too many besotted maids to last me a lifetime.”

“My poor, foolish son, I pray to the gods your suffering soon comes to an end.”

Undeterred, Jaehaerys grinned. “Tell me mother, now that Aegon is king. What does that make
you?”

A queer question, but Lyanna chose to answer. “I suppose that would make me the Queen
Mother,” she said, as a servant came to fill her cup with the finest summerwine.

Jaehaerys hummed as they continued to watch the festivities. She took a deep pull from the cup as
the musicians had started to play a lively tune then. A string of lutes and harps burst into life,
followed by a menacing rhythm on the heavy drums.

“Would my lady mother care to join me for a dance or has her age gotten the best of her?”
Jaehaerys asked as he stood up to his considerable height. He looked down at her with grey eyes,
waiting for a satisfying answer.

Lyanna smiled. “Do not let my experience confuse you for old age, Jaehaerys. I can dance as well
as any of these young maids who chase after you.”

Jaehaerys laughed a deep laugh. She always enjoyed the sight, regardless how rare such a thing
turned out to be. He guided her down the dias to the rushes, where a mass of young suitors chased
after noble maids, where she caught sight of Aegon being passed around from one young maid to
another.

They moved to the rhythm, stomping their feet and clapping and laughing as the harps hummed
and sang. They closed the distance and twirled under the madness of the banging drums. It was a
thrill and her heart raced with excitement as she remembered a time when Rhaegar had danced with
her throughout the night and into the morrow.

It was with sweat on her brow that Jaehaerys caught her in his strong arms. She was exhausted and
her heart was beating rapidly in her chest. But she couldn’t help the smile on her face as her son
righted her. “We will have to do this again during Aegon’s wedding.”

“A wedding?” Jaehaerys exhaled. “He is not promised to anyone.”

Sometimes she wondered if raising her son away from King’s Landing had been the right choice.
“You would be surprised how quickly these things come to pass. I would not be surprised if the
betrothal had already been agreed upon moons ago, and are waiting for an opportune time to make
the announcement.”

“It seems there are things I did not take into consideration,” he said more to himself than her.

She patted his cheek with a soft touch. “You will learn, Jaehaerys. It comes with time and
experience.”

The music and rhythm changed once more as they caught their breath. But before they could
continue their dance between son and mother, they were interrupted.

“Pardon me, Your Grace. My Prince,” Ser Jaime said with a nod of his head towards Jaehaerys.
“This humble knight to comes seeking the hand of his beautiful queen for a single dance.”

Lyanna smiled. Jaime Lannister was a gallant knight, beautiful and honorable. He had the bearing
of a good man, someone who she knew she could always depend on to keep her safe. Delighted at
the prospect, she let go of Jaehaery’s hand without noticing the coolness of her son’s gaze as he
watched her take Ser Jaime on his offer.

“I would be pleased to share this dance with you, Ser,” she replied. “But I do not want to leave my
son brooding all alone.”

“There is another reason why I asked you for this dance, Your Grace,” Ser Jaime said with a
brilliant smile. He motioned to a striking beauty at his side. She could be his daughter, she was so
beautiful. Her hair shone like beaten gold, framing her sweet face and bright green eyes. “She is
my niece Myrcella Lannister. The daughter of my sister Cersei Lannister.”

The little maid with emeralds in her eyes curtsied. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Your Grace.
I have heard only good things of you and your son Prince Jaehaerys.”

“A sweet girl with even sweeter words,” Lyanna said as she looked at Jaime. “I will allow this
obvious distraction, Ser, if you make it worth my time.”

“On my honor as a knight,” Ser Jaime bowed deeply and held out a hand to her.

“I do not believe I am owed such flattery, but I would be a fool to not accept them from such a
sweet maid,” she heard her son say as he took Myrcella Lannister’s dainty hand and followed them
into the growing crowd.

This time it was a slower tune, as the harps took over and filled the great hall with sad notes.

Ser Jaime was close. Closer than she could remember allowing anyone but her son getting. His
shoulders were broad and his hands were rough and calloused from the training yard. He towered
over, a mountain of shining gold and emeralds. Her heart raced as he guided her through the steps.
Her stomach turned into knots when he smiled at her.
Everything was wrong.

And yet, she continued.

Deep into the night, her heart raced with every glance from Ser Jaime Lannister. When another
lord asked for her hand in a dance, Ser Jaime’s bearing changed. Gone was the light in his eyes, the
smirk that played at his lips as they laughed at one joke or another, and in its place was the grim
stare of a man who danced with steel as well or better than his grace on the dancing floor.

It wasn’t until a while later, when her feet felt like they were ready to go numb and her hair was a
matted mess that she bid the gallant knight farewell. He had looked at her as if he wanted to say
something. A small part of her was curious and stood waiting, but the rest of her was full of dread.
So when he chose silence instead, she was relieved and thanked the gods that he disappeared into
the shadowed great hall like a wraith from her past.

Afterwards, she sat alone and drank and watched. She watched her children dance with one
another, as her son held Daenerys close to him, guiding her through the push and pull of the
shuddering crowd. She watched the noble lords and pampered ladies surround their new king, and
the courtiers who wished to change their fortunes, and even the nobility with their queer outfits and
styled hair that had sailed across the Narrow Sea to pay tribute to the new king.

She watched it all.

But her mind was someplace else, some place distant and yet only a stone’s throw from where she
sat, brooding like her son. She thought of the training yard, of the spars that she had watched from
the balcony as Ser Jaime trained with the Sword of the Morning. She had been husbandless for a
time by then, and the daze of his death had not left her, yet the yard and its singing steel had proven
a capable distraction from the pain that lingered in her chest.

It was the first time I noticed Ser Jaime Lannister for more than a knight of the Kingsguard, she
thought to herself. He had been just as graceful then as he was now. Every move he made was done
with an assuredness not found in someone so young. He flowed around the yard, matching the swift
strokes and feints of his famed opponent.

Until he didn’t.

She could still remember the peal of laughter that escaped her as he flopped to the ground in a
heavy thump, groaning in pain as Ser Arthur hovered over him like a demon from the seven hells.
It was the first time she had seen the proud lion made mortal.

Since then I have always found my eyes drifting his way. The thought made her angry enough to
take another deep swallow from her cup. One after another, she drank until the flagon stood empty
and her stomach threatened to riot against her. Yet, she regretted nothing, as she was too consumed
with washing away the guilt that threatened to drown her.

She was saved from finishing another flagon when the sound of her son’s voice echoed over the
strumming, madness inducing music, with a firm and loud call for attention.

“My noble lords and ladies!” Jaehaerys called, repeating himself several times until the music had
died down to a silence and a crowd of onlookers huddled around him at the foot of his chosen
table. His black dublet had come loose. His hair a wild tangle. Her son looked dishevelled. But
there was a glimmer of excitement in his usually stony grey eyes.

Lyanna put the cup down, somewhat aware of what her son had planned. Anything is a welcome
distraction.

“Today marks the first day of my brother’s prosperous reign,” Jaehaerys started as he grabbed a
cup from the table and raised it in Aegon’s direction. The new king was seated, his sister Rhaenys
at his side and Daenerys on the other. She noted how kingly he looked, even if his hair was
tussled, and the cuffs of his doublet were unbuttoned. There was noble bearing to his subdued
demeanour.

Aegon raised his own cup, returning the toast to his brother.

With a smile, Jaehaerys took a long pull from the cup. When it was empty, he let it fall to the
wayside with a loud clatter. He stepped down from the table. “I have been gone many years from
court. And in that time, I have done and seen many things. I have seen direwolves prowling the
snowy fields in the north, I have slain a shadowcat and I have pissed over the side of the Wall.”

Laughter echoed throughout the hall as Jaehaerys smirked at his less than princely endeavours.

“All of these things and more, I have done without my blood brother at my side, for a king cannot
leave his seat unattended. But a king must be able to lay eyes on his realm, to reassure his people
and loyal servants that they are in able hands.” He turned to Aegon then, his words light. “My
brother must be like our forefather Aegon the Conqueror and travel his lands on the back of his
own mount, his own dragon. It is after all his right by blood and birth.”

The hall was silent. Aegon’s eyes had turned hard as stone as he stared at his brother in the middle
of the great hall.

Jaehaerys smirked. “I bear gifts, brother,” her son said in High Valyrian, shattering the oppressive
silence.

“And what gifts are these? All you have done is slight me before those who have sworn their
loyalty to me.”

“Ser Oswell!” Jaehaerys intoned. “Have my gifts brought before the King. Let us reassure him that
I bear him no ill will.”

There was a moment’s pause before she heard the heavy oak doors part open and the sound of
heavy footfalls echoing off the cavernous ceiling. The crowd that still remained on the dancing
floor parted in half as Ser Oswell could be heard shouting, “Make way! Make way, I say!”

Behind him and his flowing white cloak, a column of northern men carried a heavy chest by its
heavier leather-bound handle until they reached the dais where the king sat, his eyes softer than
before, but still cautious as he watched the spectacle before him.

With a loud thud, the chest dropped, startling some of the onlookers.

Jaehaerys waved away his men and motioned to his brother from the foot of the dias. “Here are
your gifts. Let them herald a new age of Targaryen rule, brother.”

Lyanna watched Aegon give his brother a hard stare, before his eyes flicked to the heavy chest
before him. After a moment, he rose from his seat as silence reigned throughout the hall.

Not a breath could be heard.

Aegon Targaryen VI of his name, knelt. Then undid the latches that held the chest closed before
heaving it open and staring into the abyss.
 It could have been years or just a few beats of her heart before she heard Aegon speak.

“Where did you get this?” He rose, and pulled a heavy object from the chest.

Jaehaerys merely shrugged.

Aegon glared at him before his eyes softened as he stared back at the egg-like object in his hands.
“It is warm and it feels alive,” he murmured. He looked at his brother once more. “This is not one
of your ill-intended japes, is it?”

“The future of our house is something I would not play games with, brother. Rhaenys or Daenerys?
They are fair game. But not this. Never this,” he smiled at the two girls who did not look amused
by his words.

Aegon laughed. Hard and booming. The tension in the great hall eased as they saw their new king
share a joyous moment with his brother.

The crowd stirred with life. A chear, then a roar filled the great hall. Calls were made and repeated.

“Show us the gifts!”

“Show us the gifts!”

Aegon glanced at his brother who shrugged. “You are the king. Give your people what they want.”

Aegon turned around and walked back up the dias. When he turned and faced the crowd, he held a
heavy stone object in his hands. The light danced along the shell of gold and amber. Aegon raised
it above his head and allowed the whole crowd to see.

The great hall cheered at the splendid gift. “An egg for an Egg!”

It was truly a time for merriment and applause. But as with everything, Jon Connington was always
there to ruin the moment for her. The Lord Hand was staring at her son with a baleful gaze and a
sneer on his leather-lined face. No one noticed. Not even her son, who was embracing his brother.
Neither Rhaenys or Daenerys as they joined in on congratulating Aegon and his new egg, oblivious
of the dark cloud that loomed overhead.

Only she saw it all.

Chapter End Notes

Updates won't usually be this fast. I'm going to aim for an update every 7-10 days.
That should hopefully give us enough time to write and edit and produce a good
chapter.

Let me know what you think. Thanks for the comments.

 Rhaenys I
Chapter by Sleepy_moon29

Chapter Summary

Chirality

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Today was the start of the King’s Tourney.

But before she could make her way down to the tourney grounds, she had several royal duties to
attend to, chief amongst them was meeting Daenerys for morning prayers at the Great Sept of
Baelor.

Rhaenys was not looking forward to it.

Her faith in the gods was less than the gold dragons in a hedge knight’s purse. Ever since the
mysterious deaths of her parents, she had found the concept of prayer a fool’s folly, one best
avoided.

After all, other, more enjoyable vices had proven well worth her time than remembering sacred
hymns or lighting candles.

Currently, she was being readied for the tiring ordeal by her handmaidens. A group of young maids
from noble houses. They flew around her, a gaggle of blushes and roaming hands, as they worked
at her hair and combed through it until it was a shining mass of curled silk.

She stood when they finished. She had to stop the laughter from bubbling out of her as her
handmaids blushed at the sight of her naked form. Rhaenys ran her hands down to her slender waist
with a sigh. She was of average height. A hair’s length shorter than Daenerys. But that was all that
could be called average. Her breasts were fuller than her aunt’s and her hips thicker and ready for
bearing children if she ever chose to. Whereas her aunt was lithe and slender, she curved where she
knew it mattered most.

I may not have the classical Valyrian beauty, yet I am still as fair as any maid in the realm .

Though her marriage to the late Lord Andar Royce was short-lived. The heir of Runestone had
been a good man, loyal and without a bastard with which to shame her before all of the realm. Her
fingers traced her flat tummy, smiling sadly.

Yet I would not bear him a son .

Even then, she carried the scars of marriage. Spoiled and unwanted , she thought. Some even
named her a murderer. A godless woman who invited men into her bed and murdered them with
poison after taking her fill of their seed and lust. Others went as far as to say she was barren, a
waste of good Targaryen stock.
To them, she cursed them all.

Her handmaidens returned none the wiser to the awful thoughts that plagued her mind. They had
brought a dress of red satin and black Myrish lace. When she stepped into it and it was fastened,
she twirled before the looking glass. Satisfied with how the dress looked on her, she motioned for
her royal jewels. “Bring me the black opal necklace.” It had been gifted to her by her father on her
eleventh nameday.

With a sigh, she raised her hair and waited for the necklace to be secured in place. “It is a beautiful
piece, Your Grace,” one of the serving girls said. “One day I wish to have something as delicate
and fine as this.” Rhaenys smiled, her fingers playing with the shining opal.

“It truly is a marvellous piece,” she murmured more to herself.

Rhaenys stepped down onto the rushes. It was warm in her chambers and the balcony door was
opened, allowing the cool morning breeze to waft through the room. Outside, she could see the city
coming alive. Smoke billowed from the stacks as the clanging of hammers on metal begun to
drown out the morning silence. In the distance, she saw The Great Sept of Baelor and frowned. She
did not want to spend such a fine morning choking on candle incense.

Not for the first time, she thought of her father and what he would think if she were to mount her
dragon Meraxes and flee from the city, never to look back. She smiled at the thought. He would be
proud of her for the simple truth that she commanded the sigil of their house.

Or so, she told herself, as her hand tightened around the necklace at her neck. Would he be proud of
Aegon ? She did not know. She hoped he would be, but her father was a mysterious man with
deeper secrets. Rhaenys leaned on her elbows as they rested on the balcony’s railing and gazed
towards the Dragon’s pit.

Aegon the Dragonless , she whispered the words. It tasted foul to her. Yet it pleased her that she
would never hear those treacherous words whispered behind cupped hands. With the egg that
Jaehaerys presented his brother during his coronation’s feast, her brother would surely now
command his own mount and place himself amongst them in the skies.

They would all be together again.

Like the days they spent in the godswood playing lord of the crossing or monsters and maidens
amongst the elms and alders. Or when Aegon named himself the Conqueror-Come-Again and
Jaehaerys brandished his wooden play sword and said he was Aemon the Dragonknight. All the
while Daenerys and her wore their woven crowns and waited to be rescued from the ice-spiders
that threatened to eat them.

A small smile formed on her lips at the memory. But that was all they were, memories, best left in
the safety of her chambers away from the petty lords and ladies that stalked the halls of her home.
She was so deep in thought; she barely acknowledged the presence of her escort in his flowing
white cloak and polished armour. Life was returning to the castle as servants hurried up and down
the hallways, carrying new folded linens and the odd chamber pot. They curtsied to her before
scurrying away like rats.

“You are oddly quiet this morning, princess,” her escort said as they entered the courtyard.
Rhaenys looked up at her protector with owlish eyes, surprised she hadn’t noticed the grim
knight’s presence.

“I am sorry, Ser Arthur,” she said with an impish smile. “I was lost in memories of the past.”
“My apologies for intruding, princess,” the knight said, as he fell silent once more.

Rhaenys studied the man and his piercing eyes, noting the small scars that lined his face. He was a
handsome man with shoulder length dark hair and rough hands. But there was something in his
eyes, a sadness that never seemed to leave him.

She swallowed. “Ser Arthur, tell me… you were there when my father passed, what was he like in
those final days? I recall much and less of his time at the Red Keep.”

A flash of pain crossed the knight’s face as he fell into a contemplative silence. For a moment, she
believed Ser Arthur would ignore her question but then he spoke in a rough and low voice. “During
the last of his days, he was deep in thought and deeper in his cups. It was out of character for him,
to say the least. Even his desk was covered with scrolls and tomes as old as the stones that form the
foundation of the Red Keep.” The knight looked away from her for a moment, his eyes sombre.
“Truthfully, we did not speak much. Our friendship had grown strained for a time as your lord
father harboured his ever-growing list of secrets.”

Rhaenys frowned. She had not expected such an answer. She raised her hand and rested it on the
polished steel of Ser Arthur’s armour and whispered. “It is not your burden to bear, Ser Arthur. My
father was called the Last Dragon, but even he was given to the same madness that runs in our
blood.”

The knight’s voice was like stone against stone. “I thank you for your kind words, princess. But a
knight of the Kingsguard should die before his king. This is a shame I must carry to my grave.”

Rhaenys smiled sadly. “Men and their burdens. I will never understand them.” She stepped past the
knight, but not before hearing his response.

“We all have our roles to play and this is the one I have chosen.”

The journey to the Great Sept of Baelor was quick and uneventful.

She found Daenerys waiting for her at the marble steps. At her side, Ser Jaime stood, watching the
slowly growing crowd for any signs of danger. Her aunt looked pretty in a pale white dress with
long sleeves. A scarf of silk and lace in black and red covered her graceful neck from the chilly
morning. She had on a thick necklace of pearls that had been gifted to her by Aegon a few moons
past.

“You are late, Rhaenys,” Daenerys said, her arms resting on her hips.

Rhaenys had to stifle a laugh. Her aunt was more endearing than she was confrontational. When
she reached the summit, Rhaenys brought her aunt into a warm embrace. “I had hoped that if I
arrived late enough, you would have conducted the prayers without me.”

“And deny you the pleasure?” Daenerys asked as her lips formed into a smirk.

Rhaenys could only shake her head. “You truly are insufferable,” she mumbled. “Come, let us get
this tiresome business out of the way.”

A thousand and more candles were already alight, casting a yellow glow across the white marble
walls and floor. “I must say, I detest these early morning prayers,” Rhaenys whispered.
Daenerys hushed her with a finger on her lips as she led them down one of the seven broad isles.
Rhaenys rolled her eyes, a bit tiffed she was about to waste such a fine morning kneeling before an
altar.

“This way,” Daenerys whispered as she reached for her hand.

“Is it time to leave already?” Rhaenys mused out loud, indifferent to some of the stares she received
from some of the onlookers.

Daenerys answered by yanking on her arm, nearly causing her trip. She was about to pull her arm
free from her aunt’s death grip but then they suddenly came to a stop before the altar of the
Warrior.

“We should light our own candles.”

Rhaenys stared at Daenerys as she went and fetched two candles. When she returned, she handed
her one and looked at her expectantly. “Do not look at me, I have no desire to entertain such folly.”

She had the passing thought of smashing the candles on the white marble floor and leaving. No
god had ever helped her. No god had ever answered her prayers. She would not make a fool of
herself once more asking for their guidance.

But she knew she would hurt Daenerys with such madness. She bit her lip, slightly annoyed that
her aunt put her in such a position.

“For me,” she pleaded, her voice as soft as a whisper.

Her heart felt like it would burst. She cursed Daenerys a thousand times over before she grabbed
the candle out of her awaiting hand. “I am only doing this because you asked it of me.”

Daenerys answered with a beaming smile.

Together, they lit their candles and placed them before the altar.

“Let this bring courage and strength to Jae in the coming tourney,” her aunt whispered as she knelt
beside her and begun her prayer.

Rhaenys felt uncomfortable as she stood around, watching Daenerys with her hands clasped in
prayer, asking the gods to protect her brother. Eventually her embarrassment grew to the point that
she knelt on the cold marble floor, if only not to look so ridiculous in the eyes of the many
onlookers.

She looked up at the Warrior and sighed. “If my brother is hurt in this tourney, I will ride on the
back of Meraxes and show you the meaning of Fire and Blood.”

Rhaenys ignored the giggle that came from Daenerys as she clasped her hands together and prayed.

As soon as their prayers were finished, Rhaenys yanked a giggling Daenerys behind her until the
scent of incense and smoke was safely behind them. She didn’t say a word until they were away
from Baelor’s great sept.

She had lost count of how many knights she had spotted on their winding path through the city.
Well over a thousand and more had come from all across the realm. It would be a big tournament,
one only fit for a king.

“How large are the winnings?” Rhaenys eventually asked.

“Fifty thousand golden dragons to the champion of the joust.”

“And for the melee?”

“Thirty thousand, I believe.”

“Those are sizeable purses.” Rhaenys commented as she raised an eyebrow in surprise.

Daenerys nodded her head in agreement. “The winnings don’t even count how much the crown is
paying for entertainment and food and the costs of administering. It was quite the heated
conversation during the small council meeting.”

“I assume the crown will bear most, if not all the expenses?”

“You assume correctly.”

“We should be thankful Aegon has yet to develop a taste for such lavish fairs.”

“I pray to the gods you are right.” Daenerys said. “There are much better things to spend our coin
on than these frivolous games.”

Rhaenys looked back out of her carriage as a comfortable silence brewed between them. The ride
was bumpy in places, and she swore the carriage’s driver was intentionally seeking every hole in
the road.

“Do you think Jae can win the tourney?” Dany asked, breaking the silence.

“Truthfully?” Rhaenys questioned. “Jae has always been a good rider and he has trained with some
of the best knights in the realm. But he is up against experienced competition. I have heard even
several of the Kingsguard are riding in the lists and they are finer still than the already stiff
competition awaiting my brother.”

Daenerys nodded her head. She looked anxious and afraid.

“You worry too much, Dany. It is a joust and Jae is blood of the house royal.”

“Is it obvious?” Dany mumbled.

“Only to those who know you as well as I do.”

A blush formed on her pale cheeks before she swallowed loudly. “Speak plainly, do you believe he
thinks me a besotted fool?”

Rhaenys sighed before she inched closer on the soft seats and pulled her aunt into a light embrace.
“You are no fool. My brother would be the fool to think so. Do you remember how many ravens
Jae sent to you during his fostering? For every one he sent me, there were three more on the way
for you.”

“There was, wasn’t there?” Dany smiled as she peeked at her beneath her fluttering eyelashes. She
is so pretty , Rhaenys thought, rubbing her thighs together. If she was not careful, she would have a
problem to solve. And she did not fancy doing it on her own.
She was saved from an uncomfortable situation as the carriage came to a halt.

“Come on, little one, it seems we have arrived.”

As if on cue, Ser Jaime opened the door to the carriage. “We have arrived safely, princesses,” the
knight announced.

“I never once doubted that we would,” Daenerys quipped at the knight as she stepped out of the
carriage and onto the grassy field.

Rhaenys followed closely behind, covering her eyes from the rays of the bright sun. It had travelled
some distance across the sky since she had left the Red Keep. The morning dew had all but
vanished and the cool breeze had turned into something almost to the point of being unpleasant.

Before they could continue on their way, a royal page arrived looking worse for wear. His face was
red from running and beads of sweat lined his forehead. “Your Grace,” the young boy exhaled with
a clumsy bow. They waited as the boy caught his breath. “The king sends this message.”

Rhaenys grabbed the offending document from the boy’s shaking hands. “You can go now, boy.”
She waved him away, her attention on the rolled-up piece of parchment. Quickly, she unfurled it
and read it in annoyance. “My brother, the king, summons us to join him in his private box.”

Daenerys frowned. “We were heading that way regardless of his summons.”

“It seems his kingship is letting that crown sit too comfortably on his head.” Rhaenys glared in the
direction of the tournament stands. She had other plans and her little brother, king or not, was not
going to put a damper on them. “Come along, Dany. I have business I need to see to.”

“But Aegon—”

“But Aegon, nothing. His kingship will survive without us there for a few minutes.” She grabbed
the protesting girl by the elbow and dragged her along, oblivious to the two Kingsguard shaking
their heads as they trailed behind them.

“I am not a child, Rhaenys,” Dany huffed after being pulled along far enough. She quickly shook
free and looked around before smoothing out her dress.

“Then try not to be as obedient as one. I am sure Jaehaerys would appreciate it if you found your
sense of adventure.”

“That is not fair!” Dany ground out.

“Now who is acting like a child?” Rhaenys said with a smirk, her arms folded across her chest. It
felt like she was truly her aunt’s mother at times.

“Fine! Come along, Ser Jaime, Ser Arthur. Let us see what business my sweet niece finds more
important than the summons of her brother, the king.”

Wooden stalls had been erected along a dirt path. Merchants from all over the kingdom had set up
their shops, yelling into the crowd as they tried to advertise their wares and services.

The grounds were teeming with life.

Tents and pavilions of all sizes had been erected. The banners of many noble houses flared in the
hot wind. She spotted knights armoured in magnificent steel and some who had seemingly raided
forgotten caches in the family’s vaults.

“Ser Jaime, who do you think will win the tourney?” Daenerys asked as they passed the black
kettle on red of House Kettleblack.

“Who else but me?” Ser Jaime answered as he stood tall in his polished armour.

“And of my nephew? What chance does he stand against men as gallant and courageous as
yourself?”

“None and little,” Ser Jaime quipped. “But from what I gathered from Ser Oswell last night in the
White Sword Tower, the young prince is a good rider. He will conduct himself befitting his role as
prince to the realm.”

“Really? I know Ser Oswell and he never compliments anyone.”

Ser Jaime chuckled. “So, you should take what little he does give as high enough praise.”

Daenerys grabbed her hand and pulled her to a stop. Rhaenys looked at her aunt with a curious
glance as she looked up at the looming form of Ser Jaime and Ser Arthur. “Is my nephew merely
riding towards his defeat?”

“If he rides against the likes of us,” Ser Jaime said with a shrug. “Not even his royal blood will
save him from my lance, if he even manages to get that far in the lists.”

“Does he stand no chance?”

“Mayhaps against riders of an age with the prince.”

“Ser Loras is of a similar age and he might prove a difficult challenge for Prince Jaehaerys,” Ser
Arthur added on to an already distraught looking Daenerys.

Rhaenys had to hold her laughter back. She almost pitied her niece. Almost , she thought. She
yanked the girl’s hand and pulled her down the path. “Come along, Dany, it is unsightly for a
princess of House Targaryen to be in tears in front of the realm.”

“I am not in tears, Rhaenys!” Daenerys nearly shouted. Rhaenys looked back at her blushing aunt.
Her face was red from anger and a fire was burning in her eyes. She really enjoyed teasing her
aunt.

“As the princess says,” Rhaenys quipped.

They continued on in silence, passing more and more lavish tents until they reached a small
outcropping of hills. She spotted the royal banner of House Targaryen flapping in the wind in the
distance.

But a problem lay before her path. A rather large and ornery problem.

It was the shield of black iron studs on a bronze field that barred their path and the man who stood
beneath it. The Lord of Runestone was a large man, similar in height to the Mountain That Rides.
He cast a long shadow as he stood at the foot of his tent in his polished and legendary bronze
armour.

“Princess Rhaenys, I was not expecting you.” Lord Yohn Royce called from his tent.

“Lord Royce, you should continue doing so as I have other matters at hand to tend to,” Rhaenys
said as firmly as she could. But the old lord was formidable in his stature and made her feel small
as a child in his presence.

“A pity, that.” Lord Royce said as he stepped closer. “I have wanted to speak with you for several
moons now. Imagine my surprise when I woke to news that my son had passed and his wife gone
from his side. It was a most curious predicament.”

His bronze armour was gleaming in the sunlight and she could finally make out the etchings of the
runes that had been inscribed in the armour centuries ago. Her lord husband had once told her the
runes were magic, capable of warding all manners of harm from touching its wearer.

“Pray tell me, what is so curious about it? My union to your son was not of love, but of duty and I
fulfilled my duty.”

“You speak of duty yet you were not at his side as he was laid to rest. What kind of wife does not
mourn her husband? Instead, you fled under the cover of night on that beast of yours. That does not
strike me as the actions of an innocent woman.”

She would have responded. But the sound of Ser Jaime’s blade leaving the safety of its scabbard
was response enough. “Lord Royce, choose your words carefully. Those are grave accusations
against a member of the royal house.”

“Forgive me, Ser Jaime. I must have forgotten myself in my old age. But I merely wished to
question my good daughter concerning my son’s death. Surely, a father has that right?” Lord Royce
said in a cold voice, his eyes hard.

“The right? You have no right to question me,” she sneered. There was fire in her blood. And she
would remind him of it. “What right does an old man in a suit of bronze have to question me ? A
princess of House Targaryen. You are forgetting yourself, my lord .”

Lord Royce’s face was stony and his eyes a wasteland of ice.

“You heard the princess, Lord Royce, step aside.” Ser Arthur intoned as he stepped forward to
stand next to his sworn brother. The milkglass blade of Dawn caught the light and glowed a pale
white, nearly blinding her with how bright it shone.

The sight of the legendary blade was enough to cow the lord. The Lord of Runestone nodded his
head and stepped aside, his eyes never leaving the sight of Dawn until it was safely in its scabbard
once more.

“I trust you did not forget the words of my house. We remember ,” Lord Royce said as they begun
to pass by.

Rhaenys turned around and faced the old man one last time. “You should take heed to remember
mine own, my lord. I would hate to have to remind you.”

As they left the Lord Royce behind, she felt the eyes of the old man boring into her back.

They had almost arrived to their destination when Daenerys finally spoke. “I did not know he
harboured so much resentment towards you.”

“It matters not what the old fool thinks. I did not kill his son. I believe he knows that, but will never
admit to it. There are many things he could wring out of my brother with the allusion of such an
allegation hovering over our house.”
“Maybe—”

Rhaenys turned toward her aunt. “Let it lie. I do not wish to speak of it any longer.” She turned to
the two Kingsguard knights. “Make sure this does not reach the king’s ears. I do not need my
brother trifling in mine own business.”

“We are sworn to protect the king,” Ser Arthur said in a deep voice. “But we will keep this secret
for as long as it doesn’t bring him harm.”

It was the best she could hope for. With a nod, she accepted Ser Arthur’s words. It felt like they
had traversed a terrible distance when they finally approached the royal banner of House
Targaryen as it welcomed them to their nephew’s tent.

Ser Arys Oakheart stood guard outside of her brother’s tent. He was armoured in his white-
enamelled scales with a white wool cloak pinned across his chest. He had always been a cordial
man who knew his courtesies well. “Princess Rhaenys. Princess Daenerys,” the knight said in
greeting.

“I am looking for my brother.” Rhaenys said.

“He is inside with his squire, preparing for the lists.”

“Ser Jaime,” Ser Arthur called. “You may go and see to any preparations before your name is
called to enter the lists. Ser Arys and I will see the princesses to the royal box when they are
ready.”

Ser Jaime nodded. He gave a final parting bow to Daenerys and her before heading back from
whence they came.

“Princess Rhaenys and Princess Daenerys of House Targaryen!” Ser Arys announced.

They heard the muffled voice of her brother beckoning them inside. “Send them in.”

Ser Arys stepped aside after opening the flap of the tent for them. They quickly hurried inside and
were met with a curious sight.

Her brother was bare from his chest up as a young boy struggled to carry a heavy shirt of mail. The
young boy was tanned of skin and shared the same silver-white hair of Valyria. His violet eyes
were wide as he spotted them.

“Princesses!” The young boy fumbled forward and nearly fell to his humiliation, if it wasn’t for the
quick hand of her brother Jaehaerys grabbing him by the scruff of his tunic.

“What am I going to do with you, Monterys?” her brother sighed.

"I am sorry, cousin!”

“What did I say about calling me cousin. Am I going to have to give you a clout in the ears to make
you listen?”

“Jae, don’t be too harsh on the boy,” Daenerys said as she helped Monterys gather himself.

Annoyed, Jaehaerys shook his head. “Am I not entitled to beat my squire if he is in need of learning
a lesson? You ask too much of me, Dany.”

“Yet you will not deny me,” she shot back with a dark look in her eyes.

Rhaenys watched the two as they glared at each other. She found the whole ordeal quite
entertaining.

“Very well. Monterys, you’re relieved of this task. But I expect my horse will be made ready. I will
not be so lenient the next time. Do you hear me, boy?”

The young squire nodded his head. “Of course, right away.” He bowed deeply and hurried out of
the tent looking far more relieved than he had any right of being.

Jaehaerys turned to Daenerys who looked oddly smug. But the look in her brother’s eyes told
another tale. “What are you waiting for? I am not going to get dressed on my own. Bring me my
mail and plate.”

Daenerys furrowed her brows. “I am not your servant to command.”

“No, but you relieved me of mine own. Now this task falls to you.”

A heavy silence filled the tent. All of sudden, it seemed as if she should intervene on Daenerys’
behalf, but something in the back of her mind wanted to see how this would play out.

Jaehaerys stood waiting. “Will I have to clout you in the ears for not obeying and doing as you
were told, aunt?”

To her, it looked as if Daenerys was shaking with rage.

“The seven hells will freeze before I ever obey a word you say!” Daenerys hissed before she
stormed out of the tent.

Rhaenys shook her head. She grabbed the forgotten shirt of mail and motioned for her brother to
sit. “You have just arrived and already you have made her mad with anger.” Her brother raised his
arms so she could help him into the heavy shirt.

“She is likely to forgive me before I forgive her,” he replied.

She hummed. Daenerys would forgive him. These spats were common occurrences between the
two. They would often fight in one breath and forgive the other in another. “You might have taken
it too far this time, little brother. She is a woman flowered now. Not the little girl who used to
sneak into your bed when it stormed at night.”

Jaehaerys grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her around until she sat in his lap. His eyes howled
with ice. “What do you mean?”

Rhaenys pulled on her hand until he softened his hold. “Only that you should be careful. One day
you might do something that she will be unwilling to forgive.”

Jaehaerys went silent, nodding his head. “Help me with the rest, sister.”

She scurried out of his lap and straightened her dress before quickly grabbing the rest of his
armaments. She begun the slow and arduous task of clasping latches and securing the pieces
together.

“You have experience,” Jaehaerys said after a while of her working.

“I may not have cherished my lord husband, but I was a dutiful wife. I saw to it that he was
properly fitted before he went out to compete.”

“And was he victorious?”

“Not any time that I can recall.”

Jaehaerys smirked.

Rhaenys went back to focusing on her task. When she finished clasping the heavy chest made of
black plate, he spoke again.

“I apologise for not being there when you needed me most. Lord Connington had no right to give
you away like that.”

“We all have our duties, Jae. Yours is to go out and die on a field of battle. Mine happens in the
bedchambers. We must play our parts.”

The look in her brother’s stony gaze was enough to frighten her.

“I will never let that happen to you again. You are mine own blood .”

Rhaenys smiled. “You say too much, you haven’t noticed I finished with my task, brother.” Her
stomach was in knots and she needed to leave. “I will take my leave. Someone needs to find
Daenerys and make sure she is well and willing to forgive you.”

Her brother said nary a word. She took his silence as a sign to leave. But before she reached the
entrance of the tent, he called for her.

“Wait. I have something for you.”

Rhaenys turned on her heel, apprehension running through her veins, and smiled. “A gift? How
chivalrous of you.”

Jaehaerys, even armoured in his plate and mail, moved with a grace she hadn’t expected. He was
rummaging through a chest beneath a long oak table at the back of the tent. When he found what
he was looking for, he approached her, his hand behind his back.

“Lay out your wrist,” he asked of her with a commanding edge. That fire from before hadn’t all
vanished from his eyes as he grew closer.

“When did my little brother become so commanding?” she questioned as she did as she was asked
or rather commanded.

“We have our parts to play, do we not?” He smiled, his eyes softening.

“Aye,” she imitated his words from before. It sounded odd on her tongue, but something about it
endeared her to the odd word.

With a chuckle, Jaehaerys grabbed her wrist. A cool feeling touched her olive skin. It was a
beautiful bracelet of smoke black steel. “Where did you get this?” she questioned, amazed at how
light it felt wrapped around her wrist.

“You would be surprised what kind of things people are willing to give up when facing a dragon,”
Jaehaerys said with a smirk.
She gave her brother a hard stare. “Did you steal this from some poor fool?”

“Steal? Me, a prince of the blood? I am offended by the suggestion. I call this slander, sister. And I
will not stand for it.”

Rhaenys scoffed. “And what would you call this?” She placed a hand on her brother’s chest plate
and shoved him back a step.

Jaehaerys laughed. “I name it abuse of the highest count.”

Her chest tightened at her brother’s laughter. She looked at the bracelet, admiring the splendid
craftsmanship. “It truly is beautiful,” she said after a while. “I will cherish this gift. I thank you.”

It was a short time later that they left the confines of her brother’s tent.

They left the tent with Ser Arthur trailing behind them at a respectable distance when they saw her.

Arianne Martell could be confused as her sister. Dressed in a fine silk dress of green and gold, the
short and buxom olive-skinned Princess of Dorne had inviting dark eyes and hair as black as pitch
that fell to her waist. She was a lascivious woman with a penchant for inviting noble lords and
greenboys into her bed.

At her side stood an imposing figure. He cast a long and intimating shadow. He wore a shirt of
tightly rung mail and steel gauntlets. A longsword was scabbard at his hip. The sandy brown-
haired knight kept a careful eye as they approached.

“Cousin!” Arianne greeted them with a smile.

Rhaenys smiled in return. They embraced tightly, whispering words of endearment in the other’s
ear before they broke apart, their eyes shining brightly under the pale morning sky.

“I have been searching everywhere for you, cousin.” Arianne said. “It is only by the grace of the
gods that I ran into Princess Daenerys when I did.”

“How was she?” Rhaenys questioned.

Arianne furrowed her brows. “Should I have been worried?”

Rhaenys waved a dismissive hand. “It is of no importance.” She turned to her brother. “Have you
met my cousin Princess Arianne Martell, the Princess of Dorne?”

Jaehaerys shook his head. “Not that I can recall. I believe I would have remembered such a lovely
beauty,” her fool brother said as he bent down and took her offered hand, placing a light kiss on
top.

“You see Ser Daemon,” Arianne said as she took her hand back. “This is the proper way of
greeting a princess. You should learn from Prince Jaehaerys.”

Ser Daemon nodded his head, his blue eyes no longer as light as they had been before. “I will make
sure to keep this in mind, princess.”

“Ser Daemon? I have heard of such a name. It never ceases to amaze me how high bastards can rise
in Dorne.”
Rhaenys frowned.

“My prince,” Arianne said in a soothing voice. “It is not his fault his birth happened on the wrong
side of the bed. We must be more understanding to the plights that trouble those more unfortunate
than us.”

Ser Daemon chose silence as his response.

“Come now, I do not have a taste for talking about bastards at this moment.” Rhaenys said, pulling
her cousin by the arm. “My brother has a tourney to enter.”

“Very well, princess.” Arianne giggled. “Come, Ser Daemon. Mayhaps you can show Prince
Jaehaerys a thing or two about riding in the lists.”

Jaehaerys wrinkled his nose. Her brother looked at the older knight. For his silence, the bastard cut
an impressive figure. Her brother would have to be careful if he were to ride against such a man.

The path back towards the tournament grounds was more crowded than before as more and more
knights began to converge near the stables. Luckily, Lord Yohn Royce’s tent was absent of his
presence as they passed by.

“Mayhaps later, when this dull affair has come to an end for the day, we might dine? I have heard
some tales and rumours.” Arianne whispered behind cupped hands.

Rhaenys giggled, but before she could answer, she caught sight of a familiar head of silver-gold
hair. What are you doing? Quickly, she stopped and grabbed Jaehaerys by the arm and attempted
to pull him the other way. She did not want to give her short-tempered brother a reason to cause a
scene, especially with her cousin.

But it seemed her efforts were for naught.

“Who is that?” Jaehaerys said.

Arianne looked in Jaehaerys’ direction. “That is my foolish brother, Quentyn Martell.”

It was at that moment that things strayed from bad to worse.

Daenerys seemingly gazed in their direction, as if the gods themselves had told her to look in the
path where her brother stood as menacing as a dragon. Daenerys’ pale-violet eyes glanced at her
before they shifted towards her brother Jaehaerys. A small smile formed on her pretty face as she
broke her gaze and laughed at something Quentyn Martell said.

My cousin has never been so entertaining, Rhaenys thought. Quentyn could not be described as a
man who knew his way around words. If anything, he was clumsy at the best of times and a fool
more often than not.

Rhaenys knew what was about to happen before it did.

A fine red and silken scarf with a single black and lace dragon sewn into the hem came from
around her neck. She took her time tying it around his arm, delicately knotting it and stepping back
to see her work. Before she was done, she gave Jaehaerys one final fiery look with her violet eyes
and leaned towards Quentyn and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

Then she was gone as if she were a ghost, disappearing into the crowd, not knowing the
consequences of her action.
Jaehaerys was silent. She looked up at him and wondered what was crawling through that thick
skull of his and whether or not she should warn her cousin.

“You better check on your squire and make sure he did as he was commanded, Jae,” she said,
hoping to see some kind of response from her brother.

Wordlessly, he turned on his heel and headed towards the nearby stable, where the shouts of men
could be heard.

“Ser Arthur, make sure you keep an eye on him.”

The grim knight nodded his head. “As you command, princess.” With a swoop of his white cloak,
the knight slipped through the crowds.

Rhaenys turned onto Arianne and grabbed her by the elbow, dragging her towards a large oak tree.
“What is the meaning of Quentyn’s actions? Everyone knows the kind of relationship my brother
has with Daenerys.”

Arianne smiled with a shrug. “It is apparent that Daenerys does not feel the same way your brother
does.”

Rhaenys scowled. “Don’t be foolish. Daenerys is playing a game with my brother and Quentyn is
the fool caught in the middle. I would warn your brother. You do not know the lengths Jaehaerys
will go to make sure no one other than him is at her side.”

Arianne looked at her nails before answering. “It is not my problem. I had warned him that a
certain princess would be out of his grasp. But you know little brothers, always reaching for things
that do not belong to them.”

It struck her then that not every sister had the kind of relationship she had with her brothers.

Suddenly unnerved, she sighed. This was going to be a long day and the tournament had yet to
start.

“It will be your brother’s pyre.”

“All the better for Dorne.” Arianne smiled as if she was a cat who just caught a rat.

She was alone when she arrived at the royal box.

An assortment of powerful men and their families had taken residence in the many seats. She saw
the flaming red hair of Jon Connington and the blubbering face of Mace Tyrell as they spoke in
hushed whispers. Further up the seats, she saw Lyanna sitting next to a long-faced Benjen Stark.
There were many pockets of conversation going on at once, some tried desperately to get the
king’s attention, others took a more subdued approach and allowed for the conversation to flow
between the varying parties vying for influence and prestige.

But what caught her eye was a beautiful maid.

Thick and curling brown hair flowed down her back. She had large doe-like brown eyes and when
she laughed it sounded like the jingling of bells. Margaery Tyrell was every inch the Rose of
Highgarden. The little rose was quietly conversing with a group of highborn ladies, no doubt
hoping to get into the young maid’s good graces.

So, it is true then . Rhaenys thought back to her conversation with Daenerys a few days ago. The
Tyrell family had been vying for such an opportunity for as long as she could remember. And it
looked like the fruits of their labour was finally paying off if the looks her brother was giving the
maid was any indication.

Aegon Targaryen sat in the centre of it all.

Gone was the crown from his coronation and replaced with a simpler affair of banded gold and one
lone shimmering ruby set in the middle. At his side, there was an empty seat. But to his other, sat
an anxious looking Daenerys holding a cup of summerwine.

“Rhaenys!” her brother greeted. “It is nice of you to join us. I was starting to believe my page had
failed to find you.”

Rhaenys smiled. “I am sorry. I was seeing to our brother. He needed assistance with fitting into his
armour after having to dismiss his page.”

“Monterys?” Aegon questioned. “Is the lad well?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “He is well. There is no need for you to worry.”

Aegon took her at her words. “I trust if any issues arise with our little cousin that I would be the
first to know.”

Lyanna caught her attention. “How was my son? The north did not have many tournaments and
when they did, they were more modest affairs. This will be the first time he rides amongst such
celebrated knights.”

Rhaenys took a cup of offered wine from a skittish looking attendant. A young boy with brown hair
and brown eyes. He was silent as a mouse as he moved around the box. “I believe he will make a
good show of himself.”

“Indeed,” Aegon agreed. “My brother has always been gifted in the more martial affairs.”

As the conversation flowed, she kept an eye on Daenerys who seemed indifferent to the
happenings around her. Rarely did she hear a word from her aunt, but when she did, it was short
and to the point.

“It is curious to find you so quiet, Daenerys. Are you well?”

Daenerys put her cup down and stared out onto the tourney fields. “I am just anticipating the
beginning of the tournament.”

“I have never known you to be so taken by such displays.”

Daenerys gave a small shrug of shoulders. “I have suddenly grown an appetite for the sport.”

“You will not have to wait long,” Aegon said as he rose from his seat. He was dressed in a fine
black doublet and breeches. A three-headed dragon was pinned at his breast made in polished
silver. He took the steps down the box with confidence befitting a king.

Trumpets blared loudly as a thunder of hooves could be heard. The smallfolk slowly began to grow
quiet as knights began to pour onto the clearing followed by pages carrying their personal coat of
arms and house banners.

It was as quiet as it would ever be when her brother Aegon begun to speak in a loud and
commanding voice.

“My lords and my ladies, welcome! Welcome all who have travelled across the realm and even
from across the Narrow Sea from the Free Cities to see the finest knights in all the kingdom battle
for glory and honour!”

As Aegon spoke, she watched the mounted knights assemble in a long line facing the king. It was a
sea of steel and heraldry, of noble pomp and ambition. It was menacing and thrilling. She even
spotted her foolish cousin in his steel raiment. She thought Quentyn Martell looked noble and
gallant in his polished steel and flowing cloak of gold and red.

Yet a small part of her feared for his safety. Her brother had not been too pleased when he had
stalked off to find his mount earlier in the day. She could only hope that Jae wouldn’t go too far.

“My lords,” Aegon called once more. “I have one more announcement to make. It brings me great
pleasure to share with you all my coming marriage to Margaery Tyrell of House Tyrell. Today truly
marks the day of Targaryen stability and peace for generations to come!”

Rhaenys clapped. She smiled. She drank from her cup and clapped some more. But her thoughts
were dark and full of apprehension. She congratulated her brother on his future marriage. But her
heart wasn’t in it.

It was with this air of celebration that her brother Jaehaerys entered the tournament grounds.

He was all shadow, black of steel and red in blood. The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen
etched into his shining breastplate. The destrier’s hooves thundered as it lapped the tournament
field.

The crowd’s cries and screams grew louder. They cheered his name. They cheered for House
Targaryen.

“Prince Jaehaerys!”

“Prince Jaehaerys!”

Her brother rode back and faced the royal box, his blackened lance reaching for the sky.

“As a prince of House Targaryen, my brother will choose who he rides against first to open these
games!” Aegon cried out.

Jae’s black destrier reared in answer before it trotted up and down the line of noble knights from
the ancient and great houses.

It was to no surprise to her when her brother Jaehaerys stopped his steed before Quentyn Martell.

Everyone else watched with bated breath as the prince of House Targaryen levelled his black lance
at the Dornish prince, jabbing the point into Prince Quentyn’s shield.

“Come out, come out little prince,” he sang in a loud clear voice for all to hear. “It is time you
faced the dragon.”

The challenge had been set before all the realm.

A rain of splintered wood fell from the sky as Jaehaerys broke another lance on Quentyn’s shield.

The destriers reared when they reached the end of their lanes as both men shouted. “Lance!”
Rhaenys watched as Jae wrenched the lance from little Monterys’ hands. He then turned to race
towards his opponent once more.

The destrier thundered down the dirt path.

Both men met in the centre, their shields swallowing the hollow lances as they crashed again. But
unlike before, Quentyn fell back in his seat, as his brown destrier cantered down the lane in a flurry
of horse hide and hair.

Her cousin had suffered a terrible blow but he had proven his worth by righting himself in his seat.
Jaehaerys was already a third of the way before Quentyn’s horse broke out of its trot and sped
down the path.

When both riders met again, it was Quentyn who proved his cunning this time. With a ferocious
jab, his lance’s tip pierced the hollow of the black destrier’s neck. The lance snapped in half as a
spray of blood issued forth and painted the dirt red. A horrifying, anguished sound filled the
tourney grounds as the horse fell to its bloody and slow death.

Luckily, Jaehaerys had released his hold on the reins as he fell with a resounding crunch of steel
and mail. Rhaenys held her breath as she watched her brother slowly rise to his feet, seemingly
dazed. The sound of Jae’s horse dying had startled Daenerys who stood out of her seat.

“Is that legal?”

“The goal of jousting is to unhorse your opponent. And it seems the Dornish prince has done just
that.” Lord Connington said with a chuckle.

“He should be disqualified for such blatant cheating.” Daenerys bit out, clearly agitated.

Aegon raised a hand for silence. “I will not interfere with my brother’s tilt. It would make him look
weak in front of the realm. My brother will have to win this on his own.”

It was Lyanna who spoke then. A voice as cold as winter itself. “You do not have to fret, princess.
My son’s veins run hot with steel. He will repay this Prince of Dorne in kind.”

“It seems Prince Jaehaerys wishes to continue.”

All eyes turned to Prince Jaehaerys as he called for his sword. A young Monterys scurried out onto
the muddy field wearing an arming cap and mail shirt. He held a scabbarded longsword in his
outstretched hands. Her brother grabbed the sword without a glance at his young squire and called
out to Quentyn Martell.

“We will finish this on foot.”

The Dornish prince called for his own sword and dismounted from his steed. The two stalked
towards each other like great lumbering giants in steel plate.

Then the two danced.

The first kiss of their blades drowned out the agonised cries of Jae’s fallen horse as it lay in a pool
of muddied blood. Her brother was quick and relentless, slashing down with heavy strikes that
crashed against Quentyn’s oaken shield.

It was quickly reduced to a ruin of splintered wood and banded iron as Quentyn was faced with
continuous blows that left the Dornish prince staggering back, struggling to hold his ground. But
Quentyn was not to be outdone and when Jaehaerys went for another strike, Quentyn bull rushed
with what remained of his shield and slammed it into her brother’s steel breastplate.

The impact was loud and ringing and it hollowed out the crowd.

It shook Jaehaerys’ balance enough that Quentyn was able to break out into an offensive. The
Dornish prince moved with a surprising grace that caused her brother to keep his shield raised,
blocking the resounding blows from doing him any meaningful harm.

“Our brother is playing with his food.”

Rhaenys glanced at her brother. “It seems to my eye that Quentyn is at the advantage.”

Aegon smiled as he continued to watch. “To the untrained eye, it would seem like that. Our cousin
is showing impressive stamina, swinging his sword as madly as he is. But look at how calm and
graceful our brother is moving between the strikes, allowing them to glance off his shield rather
than taking the brunt of the impact like Quentyn had at the start of the duel. Jae does not show
signs of tiring. He is waiting, biding his time for an opportune time to strike.”

Rhaenys returned her attention to the duel.

It seemed as if Aegon’s words had some merit to them. The pace at which Quentyn was landing
blows had slowed considerably and the strength behind them left much to be desired. His careful
movements from before had grown sloppy, less calculated. There were times when she thought he
would slip in the muddy dirt.

This is not turning out so well for my cousin , she thought.

Then it was over.

As quickly as it had started, it came to a crushing end. One fell stroke from her brother’s
longsword to Quentyn’s golden helm sent him staggering back in surprise before another blow
smashed into the midsection of his breastplate.

It sent Quentyn sprawling to the ground with a heavy thud.

But Jaehaerys wasn’t finished. He rushed forward and began to rain down blows on the
defenceless Dornish prince. It was a clanging sound that ringed in her ears as Jaehaerys pounded
against the heavy golden plate with his own steel.

“Will he not kill him?” Daenerys questioned over the resounding twangs and hiss of steel smashing
into steel.

Aegon shook his head. “The steel is blunted. No lord would risk sending his heir to die. Yet even if
it weren’t, I would not stop it. It is not my place to stand before a noble, let alone a prince, seeking
his own renown before the sights of the gods and men. Quentyn will have to seek mercy from our
brother.”

“I doubt Jae knows the meaning of mercy.” Daenerys said with a sigh. “This has to come to an end
or else Dornish blood will be on his hands.”
“Where has this worry for our cousin Quentyn come from? Surely it wasn’t there before when you
decided to give Quentyn your favour as my brother watched from a distance.” Rhaenys asked,
curiously.

Daenerys blushed. But her words were as cold as ice. “It is not Quentyn I worry about. I worry for
Jae and any punishment that will lay at his feet if he kills a Prince of Dorne.”

I almost pity Quentyn. A pawn in the games of women, Rhaenys thought to herself. But her aunt’s
words held a grain of truth. There would be problems for the Crown if Jae managed to kill the fool
before the whole realm.

It was the sudden gasp from Daenerys and the cheer from the crowd that brought her attention back
to the tourney field. Jaehaerys had stopped and loomed over Quentyn’s quivering body.

“I yield! I yield!”

The crowd cheered.

And yet Jaehaerys hadn’t finished.

He planted his sword into the muddy dirt and dropped to one knee beside Quentyn’s sprawled
form. He grabbed roughly at Quentyn’s arm and wrenched the offending piece of cloth of black
and red silk from his arm and raised it before the realm in victory.

“I will take Princess Daenerys’ favour and Prince Quentyn of House Martell’s horse as mine own
for all the trouble he has caused me this day.”

As the onlookers and noble families cheered for such a spectacular start to the day’s events,
Rhaenys bit her lip as she watched her brother tie the silk cloth around his gauntleted hand. When
he was done, he stared into the royal box, his gaze as cold as ice.

Later that night, as she finished her supper, her patience came to an end.

Rhaenys glared at Jaehaerys and Daenerys in turn. “The two of you have robbed me of the pleasure
of enjoying this meal. Instead, I have had to sit in the midst of your childish spat.”

“The fault lies with her.” Jae said as he leaned back in his seat. His meal of roasted pig lay half-
finished on the plate.

Daenerys slammed her knife on the table. “If you hadn’t treated me like some common slave to do
your bidding then I wouldn’t have needed to find a man more deserving of my favour!”

Rhaenys sighed. “The both of you need to move on from this before you drag some other innocent
fool into your games.”

“It matters not to me,” her brother said with a shrug. “I will simply beat whatever dog wishes to
curry favour with the wench.”

“That is enough!” Rhaenys nearly shouted. She pointed a finger at Daenerys, silencing her retort.
“My brother is a fool, but even at his most foolish he wouldn’t dare drag someone else into
whatever little game the both of you have decided to play.”

In the same breath, she rounded on her brother, wiping the smirk from his handsome face. “And
you, what makes you think you can lord over our sweet aunt like some common servant? Is she
your whore that you can command as you please?”

Her brother frowned. “She should not have concerned herself with how I treat my squire. I have
suffered far worse in my service to Ser Oswell.”

Daenerys folded her arms over her chest, but remained silent.

“It is true,” Rhaenys said, breaking the silence. “A squire’s training is left to his master. It was
wrong of you to interfere.”

“Fine,” the younger girl said. “But I won’t be made a fool of by you. You had no right to command
me like some common dog.”

Rhaenys could tell that Jaehaerys had stronger words to say, but surprisingly he held his tongue and
nodded his head instead. “Very well, princess. I will be more chivalrous going forward.”

She sighed, and leaned back into her seat. Hopefully this would temper their anger just enough to
move on from this incident.

It was Jaehaerys who decided he had enough. He picked up his fork and knife and continued to eat
his supper in relative peace. Slowly, Daenerys picked up her own utensils and followed suit. She
took a pull from her cup as a reward, satisfied that things could reach some semblance of normalcy.

They ate in silence. Only sharing a few words here and there to compliment the food.

Later, when Daenerys had finished the steaming vegetables on her plate, she spoke.

“You rode well, Jae,” she said in a low voice. When he didn’t answer. She continued. “I never
doubted you would win your list.”

He looked up from his plate, his grey eyes a pool of mystery. “Prince Quentyn had something on
his person that did not belong to him. I only did what my honour demanded of me and remove it.”

“It suits you better.”

Rhaenys glanced at the tightly bundled scarf around her brother’s wrist. He had kept it on him well
after the lists had come to an end.

“If it pleases you, Princess, I will wear it once more when I ride in tomorrow’s lists.”

Daenerys blushed, nodding her head. “It would please me.”

Suddenly, she felt very alone.

With a wistful sigh, she stood from her seat. Afraid of the feeling that churned in her stomach as
she watched the obvious desire that burned in her sibling’s eyes.

When she found a comfortable place to sit before the crackling fire of the hearth, she looked back
at the table, surprised to see Daenerys had made domain of her brother’s lap. She was tying her
favour around his arm as Jaehaerys held onto her like some prized gem.

When she was finished, Daenerys stared into her brother’s eyes.

Rhaenys watched, oddly excited, as Daenerys tilt her head and lightly captured her brother’s lips.
Her hands had found purchase in Jae’s tangle of hair and his hold on her only grew impossibly
tighter. For the second time that day, Rhaenys rubbed her thighs together, embarrassed by the heat
that pooled in her cunt when Daenerys moaned her brother’s name.

She expected her brother to fuck her right then and there. Yet he showed restraint.

Jaehaerys was tightly wound, she could tell. He stopped Dany’s eager movements with an iron
grip, willing her to sit still in his lap. There was a certain patience to his madness, an unlikely
softness to how he handled her.

It made her heart ache.

Rhaenys turned away, afraid of what she might do if she continued to watch. She grabbed onto her
dress, looking for anything to ground her in place. But her resolve proved to be weak and the desire
too much of a drowning force to overcome.

Desperation coursed in her veins as Jaehaerys had picked up Daenerys and lifted her off his lap to
place her on the table. A clatter of plates and forks and knives went scattering to the ground with a
loud clang. But neither of them noticed, they only had eyes on the other.

The restraint from earlier had all but vanished. Her brother had opened Dany’s legs and placed
himself between them, his hand roamed along her side and to her the swell of her chest. He
squeezed her breasts harshly, causing Dany to hiss and pull on brother’s mass of dark hair.

A knock at the door startled her. Twice more it echoed through her chambers before she controlled
herself enough to stand up.

“You two must either find another place to continue this or put an end to it. I will not welcome the
slander that will come our way if it is found out that my brother has spoiled a princess beneath the
king’s own roof.”

They parted, panting like dogs in heat. Jaehaerys released her breast and brought his hand to bear
upon Dany’s slender neck, holding her firmly in place. He whispered something Rhaenys couldn’t
hear in Valyrian to their aunt.

Another knock shook the door.

Her brother answered. “What is it?”

The gruff voice of Ser Oswell answered. “A royal summons, my prince.”

Jaehaerys looked down at Daenerys, loosening his hold on her as she wrapped her legs around his
waist to stop him from leaving. There was a look of hunger in her aunt’s eyes. A mewling sound
fell from her lips as her brother unwrapped himself from her hold.

This time, when he spoke in Valyrian, Rhaenys heard him say. “ We will finish this later. ”

“Send them in!” Jaehaerys replied to Ser Oswell in the common tongue.

The door creaked open and a timid young boy entered. He was dressed in a blood red tunic and
breeches and he had the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen pinned to his chest. “I apologise
for the interruptions, Prince Jaehaerys. But His Grace has need for Princess Daenerys in the small
council chambers.”

Jaehaerys glared down at the boy. “What for?”

“My apologies but I do not know, my prince.” The boy bowed deeply at the waist and backed
slowly out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Jaehaerys ran a hand through his tangled web of hair. “Will you go?” he asked simply, without
sparing Daenerys a glance. His jaw was set and it seemed to Rhaenys he was fighting to keep from
grabbing Dany and resuming from where they had left off.

It took a while for Daenerys to answer. She had taken a moment to straighten her white dress and
pull her hair into a tight braid that danced down the length of her back.

“It is my duty.”

“To bear cups for my brother?” Jaehaerys questioned in a harsh voice. “My kingly brother will
survive without your presence for one evening.”

Daenerys looked at her with pleading eyes. But Rhaenys had no solution for her. She would have to
choose between her duty and Jae. She did not envy the girl.

With a sigh, she looked at Jae and cupped his cheek with a small hand. “If it pleases you, I will see
you on the morrow, Jae.”

Without a word, Jaehaerys brushed a look of her errant hair behind her ear. “It would please me,”
he said simply. “But I will not make it a habit of letting you go at my brother’s every whim and
want.”

Daenerys smiled, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment. Her aunt bid them goodbye and rushed
out the door with one long, agonising look towards her brother.

When she was gone, Jaehaerys smashed his fist into the table, cursing loudly.

“What is the matter with you, Jaehaerys?” Rhaenys hissed from across the room. “Ser Oswell will
break through that door if you continue to throw a tantrum like a child!”

Jaehaerys cursed. He looked at her, eyes alight. “I have not seen her for many years. Yet she runs
off to tend the cups for my kingly brother rather than spending time with me?”

“Are you jealous, brother?” Rhaenys smirked.

“I am not in the mood for your japes,” he muttered.

Rhaenys closed the distance between them. She rested her hand on his arm, soothing the tension
that had built in his muscles. He gazed down at her. “You foolish man. Daenerys only has eyes for
you.” She ran finger along his jaw towards his lips. Jaehaerys may have towered over her, but in
that moment, he deferred to her with anxious eyes.

I will always be his elder sister.

Jaehaerys caught her searching hand and pulled it towards his bruised lips. His lips were warm on
her olive skin. A shiver ran down her spine.

“Do you speak truthfully?”

She nodded her head. “You should go to her on the morrow.”

The light returned to his eyes then. “But what about what I want, sweet sister? She made her
choice. And I will make mine.” He pulled her towards him and grabbed her by the neck, tilting her
head towards his as he leaned down to capture her lips in his.

Rhaenys did not know how much time had passed. She only knew his roaming hands, the strength
of his hold as she melted into his touch, and the feel of his searing kiss. She curled her toes as she
tried to get closer, to feel his hard body against hers. She wanted to taste him. She wanted to make
him feel the erratic rhythm of her beating heart.

And yet, it was wrong. She couldn’t do this.

Slowly, yet painfully, she broke the kiss and stepped away from her brother. A look of hurt flashed
in his grey eyes that quickly vanished and turned to stone. Rhaenys instantly regretted her actions.
But she knew this was wrong.

“Why?” Jae said in a low voice.

Because I am not some silly maid who forgets herself with one kiss , she thought. But the words
were caught in her throat. She couldn’t voice the lie to her brother. She could not do that. So
instead, she told the truth.

“Daenerys.”

“You are here. She is not. She made her choice ,” he ran a hand through his hair in annoyance.
“Our sweet innocent aunt left and now all I have is you.” He sat in his chair before a look of horror
passed across his handsome face as he realised what he had given life.

Her heart turned to stone. Rhaenys narrowed her eyes “I am merely a distraction? A play toy for
my princely brother?” Anger bubbled in her stomach. She thought of Jon Connington, of her Lord
of Runestone, of the look in his father’s eyes as he condemned her before the sight of gods and
men.

Silence fell over them like a knife. Her heart ached. She could not be second to the whims of men,
even if that man was her foolish brother. “I think it’s better that you—”

“Rhaenys, wait. That is not what I—”

“What you meant to say?” Rhaenys hissed, interrupting him. Tears began to form at her eyes. She
wanted him gone from her sight. She needed time to herself. He reached for her; his powerful
hands that had held her only moments ago made her stomach knot in pain.

“Let go of me, Jaehaerys.”

Rhaenys wanted to shout the words so loudly that Ser Oswell would come rushing through the
door to save her. But she felt weak and her vision was starting to blur. And when she tried to get
away, to find some dark hole to die in, Jaehaerys kept pulling her back.

“You are not a distraction. I swear it. I need you, Rhae,” he whispered against the top of her head,
kissing it a thousand times and then a thousand times more. He held her together as the memories
of the past crept through her mind.

No one had ever needed her. She had been wanted , of course. She was a princess of House
Targaryen. Every lord had wanted her. Every man had professed their undying love to her, begging
for her. But she had always been aware of the truth behind their sweet words and gestures.

Was her brother different? Could she trust him?

He held her for a longer while still.

“I need you,” he whispered again when the fire from her hearth had turned to dying embers.

“Rhaenys!” A voice hissed, waking her from her sleep. She blinked her eyes, as the blurry figure of
her aunt came into focus. She glanced around the room, searching for her brother. But it seemed
the fool had tucked her into her bed and warmed the fire before leaving.

“Dany,” she said eventually. “I did not expect you tonight.” Her voice trailed off as she slumped
back beneath her sheets.

“Where else would I be?” Daenerys grabbed the sheet, motioning for Rhaenys to make room for
her.

A name came to mind. Though she did not have the heart to speak it. Instead, she yawned and
patted the space she made for her aunt. With a smile, the younger girl eased in next to her.

“You are still wearing your dress,” her niece questioned as she stared into her eyes. “Did something
happen?”

To her relief, her brother had not taken the liberty of dressing her in a more appropriate attire meant
for sleeping. “Jae must have been kind enough to put me in bed when I fell asleep.”

Dany frowned. “I was hoping to meet him later in his rooms. But he was not there.”

“He has made it a habit to visit the godswood. Mayhaps, he went to pray to his gods.”

Rhaenys sighed and stared at the ceiling of her bed. Her heart still ached. She was not in the mood
to talk about her brother just yet.

Daenerys touches her face with gentle fingers. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, little one.”

Even to her, the words sounded hollow like the hole in her chest.

She hoped Daenerys didn’t notice the wistfulness of her voice or how she closed her eyes as she
thought about Jae’s soft lips and how easily they could wound her.

The feeling of loneliness grew. She felt alone and lost.

Yet Daenerys was there.

“I don’t believe you.”

Rhaenys turned to her niece’s expectant eyes. “I will survive even if you don’t.”

She regretted the words as soon as she said them.

Daenerys shifted, moved until she was so close, she could feel the heat of Dany’s flesh soaking
through the light fabric of her dress. She was as close as Jae had been. Even closer , she thought.

“What did he do?” she questioned him, her eyes flecks of violet as she blinked in the dimly lit
 room. She was hovering over her, spread over her middle as she rested on the crux of her elbow.

“What makes you think he did anything?”

“It is Jaehaerys we’re speaking of, niece. When has there been a time when he wasn’t guilty of
something or another?”

Rhaenys bit her lip, holding back the smile that wanted to bloom on her face. “You may be right,”
she said after she gained a semblance of control of herself. “But that is not to say he is guilty of
anything now.”

“Speak truthfully, Rhaenys. Or I will leave and find him and make him tell me.”

The idea of her slip of an aunt roaming through the castle at night was a ludicrous thought. One
that nearly made her laugh at the absurdity of it. “You know you would have to enter the
godswood at such a late hour to find my brother. And you have heard the rumours, same as I, at
court of the beast that roams those overgrown fields now.”

“Jae would not let harm come to me.” Dany said with a glare. “Even from his so-called beast.”

No, he wouldn’t.

She only hoped he wouldn’t hurt her.

Chapter End Notes

Should we aim for slightly shorter chapters in the future? This one has run on a little
bit.

Jaime/Lyanna may or may not happen. We haven't decided yet. I don't think there's
anything wrong with Lyanna noticing how attractive Jaime is. However just because
she thinks he's attractive doesn't mean she will act on it.

Let me know what you think. We'll try get the next chapter out in 2 weeks.

Sleepy
 Daenerys II
Chapter Summary

Cupiditas

Chapter Notes

Who thought we'd actually make it to C4

See the end of the chapter for more notes

In the Queen’s ballroom, they broke their fast.

It was an intimate affair of family and heavenly food. Her mouth watered when the servants
brought out the freshly baked honey cakes filled with berries and nuts. She put two on her plate and
savoured every bite. Rhaenys and Lyanna both filled their plates with different fruits from all over
the realm: strawberries and raspberries to even cherries and figs.

Jae and Egg were different.

They piled their plates with thick strips of savoury bacon and fried duck eggs with blood pudding
with slices of buttered bread. Their meal had been inspired by Aegon’s most northern realm.

“A meal fit for a king,” Aegon commented as he ate. “It is no wonder you stayed in the north for
as long as you did.”

Jae nodded his head. “I am pleased it is to your liking, brother. Mayhaps you might enjoy some
beef and barley stew for tonight’s supper.”

“A marvellous idea.” Aegon motioned to one of the servants. “Speak with one of the cooking
servants from the Queen Mother’s household and learn what must be prepared for this so-called
beef and barley stew.”

“As you command, Your Grace,” the servant bowed and quickly left with a faint click of closing
doors.

“If you keep this up, Jae. Our brother will soon move his seat to the north so he can experience the
northern way of life.”

“I do not think my uncle would be welcome to dragons roaming his lands.”

Dany shifted in her seat. Her eyes were on Jae, specifically on his hands as he tore a piece of bread.
She remembered when his strong hands were on her, touching her, feeling the heat that threatened
to overwhelm her with every breath.

Does he think of last night? The thought echoed in her mind as she took another bite from her
honeycake. She delighted in the sweetness of every bite. It reminded her faintly of Jae’s lips when
he was kissing her. That had been just as sweet.

No, she reassured herself. It had been sweeter .

Dany took a deep breath and glanced around the table. Rhaenys was drinking from her cup as
Lyanna nibbled on some grapes with delicate fingers. Aegon was focused on the rich and golden
splendor that oozed from his fried duck’s egg.

Satisfied no one was paying her any mind, she slipped a foot from its silken slipper and graced a
path along Jae’s breeches. His cool grey eyes met hers for half a heartbeat before he took a drink
from his cup and continued to fork the rest of his eggs into his mouth. Relieved he hadn’t
scrutinized her actions; she pressed the tip of her foot against the inside of his thigh.

Dany had never done such a thing.

Surrounded by blood and family, she was enjoying the rush of heat that ran through her veins at
the thought of being caught by their king or even their Queen Mother. She would surely be
reprimanded for her reproachful behavior and sent to her rooms with a gaoler barring her door.

Jae would find a way in , she thought. She looked at him as he took another bite from his buttered
bread. She straightened her foot so it touched the growing hardness between his powerful legs.
Dany hid the small smirk that formed on her face as Jae looked at her with dark grey eyes, his
nostrils flared, with another bite of her delicious honeycakes.

Her bare foot was still drawing lines up and down Jae’s hard cock when Aegon chose to speak.

“I have been thinking about it since you gave me such an excellent gift, but where did you find the
dragon egg?” he looked towards his brother with a careful eye.

“Did you not have better things on your mind?” Jaehaerys shook his head, his eyes dark and grey
and hard as he looked at Dany before he turned his attention back to his brother. “I would expect
that a man faced with the ill news of marriage would have better spent his time whoring rather than
staring at an unhatched egg.”

Dany pushed the nail of her toe down the length of his hard cock after his callous remark. She
gave him a harder look. But it was Lyanna who spoke.

“Mind your manners, Jaehaerys. I did not raise you to speak of such things in front of pleasant
company.”

Aegon chuckled. “It is fine, mother. Jaehaerys has made a valid point.” The elder brother stared at
his younger brother with a hint of amusement in his violet eyes. “I am soon to be married and my
days of whoring will come to an end; this is true. I would not dishonor my soon to be wife, the lady
Margaery Tyrell with bastards.”

“Egg, please, there is no need to humor us. No one will bat an eye as long as you do not father an
army of bastards.” Rhaenys said. Dany did not like the idea of bastards, she found them to be a vile
type, always scheming and definitely not to be trusted. The realm would suffer greatly if either men
of House Targaryen decided that the Iron Throne needed more claimants.

“Like Aegon the Unworthy?” Aegon scoffed. “We may share a name, but we do not share the
same appetite for fathering bastards. The last thing the realm needs another Blackfyre Rebellion on
its hands.”

The talk of bastards made her cease her teasing.

Dany glanced at Jae and wondered if he had sired bastards of his own. The very idea enraged her.
She knew Jae wasn’t as innocent as her. The way he kissed her and touched her with his hands last
night was evidence of that. Everything her body yearned for; he had provided, she had been mad
with want and need and would have allowed him to claim her on that table to an audience of one.

Jaehaerys has known his share of highborn ladies , she thought.

Yet, she knew that he was hers.

She pressed the sole of her foot against the length of him, willing him to turn in her direction. But
instead of turning her way, he leaned forward. “I bartered for it,” he said simply.

Aegon was incredulous. “You bartered for a dragon egg?”

“What did it cost?” Rhaenys raised an eyebrow.

“Desperate men make excellent trade partners,” Jaehaerys shrugged. “And who am I to deny such
a desperate man who has only known the seas and its waters but yearns for the soft touch of a
woman? I simply offered him what a man in his position could never deny.”

“What can’t a man like this say no to?” Aegon asked with a smirk.

“A night with our lovely sister.”

“Jae!” Rhaenys hissed. She had a full of grapes that she threw at her brother’s smirking face,
clearly not satisfied with his jape.

“You must forgive me sister,” he said. “We all know you are worth a fortnight.”

As they laughed, Jae looked at her with hunger in his eyes. He shifted in his seat, so the fullness of
his cock rubbed against her. He was so warm, it bled through the fabric that separated them.

“I do not know how you endured this insolent welp of a brother for all those years in the north,
mother.” Rhaenys said as she huffed in her seat.

“The gods as my witness, there were moments when I debated sending him to the Wall to take the
black. It was the only way I believed I could find peace from his wildness. And then there was the
company my foolish son kept around him. They were hard men who could make your skin crawl.”
Lyanna said as she shook her head at her son’s smug face.

“An empty threat,” Jaehaerys said without a care. A smug look rested on his handsome face as he
stared at her. “We all know my lady mother would be sullen and miserable without me.”

“Be that as it may, your brother asked you a question, Jaehaerys.” Lyanna said, exasperated.

“Believe it or not dear brother, the tale is not at all that interesting. The egg comes from Urrax.”
Jaehaerys finally said, answering his brother’s question.

“Your dragon laid an egg ?” Dany asked in disbelief. She tried again to pull her foot free, but his
hold had only grown as fierce as the fire in his eyes when he looked at her, daring her to continue
her line of thought.

He is hiding something from us , she thought.

“I thought it was said only fully grown dragons could lay eggs?”

Dany shook her head, braving Jae’s intense gaze. “Little is known about the nature of dragons and
even less is known of how they produce their eggs. Even the greatest Maesters at the Citadel
cannot agree on the matter.”

“I bet Marwyn would know,” Aegon muttered.

From what little she could garner of the elusive Maester, Marwyn had deep interests in the arcane
and magic, so much so, that even her brother Rhaegar had recognized his prowess and had brought
him into his counsel as a personal advisor.

“Maester Marwyn is dead.”

Lyanna spoke the words as if they were venom. She shook her head as if a bad memory had crept
into her thoughts at the mention of the Maesters’s name. When she looked at Jae for his reaction,
she was not surprised to see the suspicion that lingered in his narrowed gaze.

“A pity, he and my father must have had a wealth of knowledge,” Aegon said bitterly, oblivious to
the way Lyanna flinched at the mention of the now dead Maester. “Did Urrax lay any more eggs?”

Jaehaerys regarded his brother for a long moment before shaking his head. “No,” he said, turning
to her once more. “Sadly, Urrax has only laid one egg and even venturing close to the beast’s nest
took a measure of boldness that I didn’t know I possessed.”

He is lying , she thought. Dragons do not lay one egg, but clutches of them . She bit her lip when he
squeezed her foot one last time before he leaned back in his chair and allowed her to pull her foot
free of his hold.

Where Rhaenys enjoyed hawking and the finer arts, she had enjoyed venturing through the stacks
in the family’s library like her brother before had done. There was a kinship hidden in those dusty
pages of their family’s history. In some odd fashion, she felt closer to her brother Rhaegar, as if he
was there reading over her shoulder under the pale glow of candlelight.

“Good,” Aegon said. “Rhaenys and Daenerys, I want you to check on your dragons in case they too
have left us a surprise. We cannot afford for anyone not of this family to come in the possession of
any eggs. They are ours by virtue of blood.”

“We will check on our dragons before heading towards the tourney fields,” Rhaenys said, oddly
excited.

“I had hoped for a few moments alone with Dany after breakfast.” Jaehaerys said to his brother.

“Is it important?”

“It is,” he answered with a shrug.

“Very well.” Aegon sighed. “Only a fool would enter a dragon’s lair in search of eggs that may or
may not be there.”

Rhaenys nodded her head. “If it pleases you, Dany and I can go if Syraxes or Meraxes show any
signs of brooding.”
Aegon nodded. “Then it is settled.”

“Let us speak of other issues. Tell us of your small council meeting last night. Surely it must have
been important to take this one from us during our meal ,” Jaehaerys said as he glanced at her for a
moment before turning his attention back to Aegon.

The joy from Aegon’s face was replaced with grim seriousness. Dany feigned boredom as she felt
his violet eyes brooding over her.

“Our Dornish cousins were not pleased with how you embarrassed Quentyn before the whole
realm. You should have shown more restraint, brother.”

“Their issue lies with their Frog Prince. The fool should not take something that doesn’t belong to
him if he doesn’t have the strength to defend it from those who would seek its return.”

“I would speak with Arianne,” Rhaenys said. “I met her earlier in the day before the joust started
and she seemed quite pleased with her brother’s boldness. I will remind her that she shouldn’t have
expected our hot-headed brother to share in her happiness.”

“I would not care so much if it were only Arianne. It is Oberyn who is most displeased by
Jaehaerys’ and his actions.” Aegon added.

“You should tread lightly, Jaehaerys,” Lyanna spoke then with a hint of worry in her voice. “Prince
Oberyn was never fond of me or my union with Rhaegar and Elia. Now you have salted the wound
by humiliating a prince of House Martell before the whole realm is a slight that Prince Oberyn will
not suffer. Let us hope that Prince Doran is able to control his viper of a brother.”

“I will speak with Arianne and Oberyn then,” Rhaenys repeated, her voice calm and steady.

Dany felt her stomach knot with worry. She knew Jaehaerys would be a fool to take the threat of
Prince Oberyn lightly. The Viper and his Sand Snakes were infamous throughout the seven
kingdoms for their less than honorable achievements.

With Jaehaerys brooding in his seat, Aegon sighed. “As for the rest of the meeting, men from
lands afar have come to the city for my tourney, and Lord Varys has reported that they come
spreading interesting tales concerning Robert Baratheon or how he has come to call himself, The
Last Storm.”

This news seemed to brighten Jaehaerys’ sullen mood. “The last storm?” He laughed. “Exile sure
has a way of making men regard themselves more important than they truly are.”

Rhaenys giggled.

But it was Lyanna who spoke, putting an end to their merriment.

“Do not be foolish, children. Robert Baratheon was a formidable warrior; one your father respected
and feared in equal measure.”

“But mother,” Jaehaerys said with a look of boredom on his handsome face. “We have something
father did not.” He leaned back in his seat once more, his eyes a cool winter breeze. “If this Robert
Baratheon wishes to meet steel against his great foe’s sons, then we shall fly out to his fleet and
burn them to the bottom of the Narrow Sea before they have a hope of landing on our shores.”

“A brother remains to Robert Baratheon.” Dany pointed out.

“Lord Renly?” Jaehaerys scoffed. “Lord Renly would sooner fuck the lustful boys of King’s
Landing than help his brother lay siege to its walls.”

“Be that as it may,” Lyanna said as she raised an eyebrow at Jae’s crude language at the breakfast
table. “They called Robert the Demon of the Trident that day, for every man who challenged him
was quickly smashed aside by his war hammer. It was only because of luck that your father
survived his encounter with that man. Sometimes that is all you need to turn the tide of war. Things
would be different if Rhaegar had fallen that day at the trident. Perhaps none of us would be here,
mocking the downfall of a man who had nearly broken the Seven Kingdoms with every swing of
his mighty hammer.”

Jaehaerys looked more annoyed with his lady mother’s words than Aegon, who looked somber and
pensive. A deep silence pervaded the room as everyone thought about where they would be if
Rhaegar had not been blessed that day and had instead fallen in battle by one of Robert Baratheon’s
fell strokes of his hammer.

Would I still be alive? Would mother or brother or my wretched father? Dany looked at Jae and
her other siblings.

Would they?

After a while, Aegon spoke. “Let us put these morbid thoughts behind us. I wish to speak of the
north, of my brother’s family the Starks, and the lands they rule in my stead.”

“They say the north always remembers, brother.” Jae started with a shake of his head as he looked
down at his empty cup. Annoyed, he reached over the table and grabbed Dany’s cup and took a
swig of the freshly squeezed orange juice.

Dany gave him a look of annoyance but held her tongue.

“They remember the cruelty beneath the Mad King’s reign, the murder of their lords and sons as
my grandfather hanged from these very rafters. My uncle still remembers the call for his head as
our royal grandsire called for his banners. The north never forgets. They are hard people, like good
castleforged steel. They would break themselves upon castle walls than suffer beneath the rule of
another tyrant.”

“I am not surprised Lord Stark did not send his heir south to swear their fealty to House Targaryen
after hearing this. The wounds of the rebellion are still felt to this day. It will take alliances forged
through marriage and blood and still, a great many more years to heal such transgressions.”

“I do not believe my brother wants a southron wife for his heir Robb Stark,” Lyanna confessed
with an air of sadness. “I have spoken on such matters with my brother. He is still paying for our
father Rickard Stark’s ambitions to this day. He will have to heal any lingering resentment to
House Stark with blood and marriage.”

Aegon tapped his fingers on the table. “And what noble lady will have the honor of being the
future Lady of Winterfell?”

“I believe Alys Karstark. Although there is still hope for a match between one of the Manderly
girls.”

“Why does he prefer the Karstarks to the Manderlys?” Aegon asked.

“Like House Targaryen and House Velaryon, we are kin and share the same blood. Lord Rickard
Karstark also proved his loyalty and mettle at my brother’s side during the failed rebellion. It also
plays in the favor of House Karstark that they keep with the old gods, unlike House Manderly.”

“All this is nonsense,” Rhaenys muttered. “The north may be vast and its people hard, but the
rebellion has long since passed and dragons rule the sky once more. They should be currying favor
with us.”

Aegon sighed. “They have no need. A queen sits at my side and a dragonrider of Stark blood holds
domain over Westeros. The north was bloodied during the Robert’s failed rebellion, but they have
grown stronger in the years since.”

Dany frowned. She had not thought of the advantageous position House Stark found themselves in
with Jaehaerys becoming a dragonrider and the power Lyanna still held as Queen Mother to
Rhaegar’s remaining children.

There is much and more to still gain for House Stark if they looked beyond their snowy borders.

Dany chanced a glance at Jaehaerys who was oddly quiet during the whole conversation. He
seemed anxious to her keen eye, as if he wished to move to a different topic.

“What did Lord Stark think of your dragon?” Rhaenys asked.

“Of Urrax? Impressed and a little fearful truth be told. Although no more so than any man would
be when they see a dragon flying above their keep.”

“Then perhaps when mine own dragon hatches, I will fly north to remind him why Torhen Stark
knelt in the first place.” Aegon said.

“Lord Stark is not planning on rebelling against you, Aegon.” Jaehaerys said with narrowed eyes.

“I do not believe he is, brother. However, you must understand what it looks like. My reign is mere
days old and already one of my wardens have slighted me before the great and minor lords alike.”

“The blood of the First Men may run through my veins as the blood of the Rhoynar runs through
yours and our sister Rhaenys. But do not question my loyalty to our house. I have never questioned
yours. Leave the north and its people to me and our mother. It will be easier for these unforgetting
men to swallow their pride if it comes from someone who keeps with their traditions rather than a
southron king who scoffs at them.” Jae’s eyes were shards of ice as he stared at his brother.

Aegon did not seem bothered by his brother’s defiance. Instead, he waved it away and spoke. “I
have never doubted your loyalty, brother. I know that Valyrian blood runs through your veins as it
runs in mine own.”

“The two of you would rule well together,” Rhaenys said thoughtfully, as her gaze lingered on Jae
for a moment longer than usual. “It would do you well to have someone truly loyal to you on your
council, brother.”

“Help my brother rule? There are no positions open on his small council.” Jae scoffed. “And it has
never interested me.”

Liar , she wanted to say. I remember every time you swore to make me queen .

“It does not matter. You can be an advisor. And more importantly, you are my heir until one of
mine own blood is born. The Prince of Dragonstone must see how the realm is run and what must
be done to keep the king’s peace.” Aegon said in a serious tone.
Jaehaerys shook his head at the prospect of sitting on his brother’s small council. The table was
quiet, and the sun had risen enough that streams of pale light bounced off the polished mirrors in
the ballroom.

“I am a man who does his best thinking with sword in hand, brother. But I know that during times
of peace a man cannot expect to wield his sword as freely.” Jaehaerys sighed. “With that said, I
would be honored to serve as your advisor on your small council.”

Aegon smiled. “Good. That is what your king likes to hear!”

A round of congratulations went around the table. Though a part of her, still remembered how
easily he had lied before. She wondered if this was all an elaborate ploy by Jae.

But for what ? The only thing that came to mind was Jon Connington. And if Jae was of a mind of
ridding themselves of such a cantankerous man, she would support him.

“Tell us of your wife to be, brother. It seems I have barely spoken to your bride beyond what
chivalry demands.”

“What is there to say?” Aegon questioned out loud. “This all might seem sudden, but we have been
exchanging ravens for many moons now. She has a quick and biting wit that I am seemingly drawn
to and that is to say nothing of her beauty.”

“And what of her nature?” Lyanna asked.

“Lady Margaery is kind and thoughtful.” Aegon answered with a shrug. “She is of the mind that
those of lower birth should be helped, when possible, that a well-fed people are a loving people.”

Jae scoffed at the idea. But to her and Rhaenys and even Lyanna, they saw such a sentiment to hold
merit.

And yet, there was a shadow over Aegon’s words. Dany voiced it.

“As pretty as she is, nephew. Do not let it blind you. She is the granddaughter of the Lady Olenna
Tyrell. You will do well to be wary of her and her sweet words.”

“I have yet found reason to fear my lady wife,” Aegon answered. “But I will keep your counsel in
mind. Even I know that every beautiful rose hides its thorns.”

Lyanna nodded her head in agreement. “Rhaegar would be proud of you for speaking such wise
words. Your father had always been wary of Lady Olenna Tyrell’s cunning. It eases my heart to
know one of his sons is not so foolish as to be easily swayed by pretty words and gestures.”

“I thank you, mother,” Aegon said as laughed at his brother’s plight.

Jaehaerys looked rather annoyed by his lady mother’s use of words. “The second son does not bear
the responsibility as the first born. I will do as I please, mother.”

“Speaking of responsibilities, it is still yours to wed and produce strong sons for House Targaryen.
And with your performance during the joust, you have made a strong impression with many lords
of the great houses.”

Dany hid her hands in her lap as she clenched them tightly into fists. She was dreading the
direction this conversation was heading ever since it started.
“Marriage?” Jae chewed on the word. He looked at her with dark eyes before returning his
attention to Aegon. “I am yet to find anyone who pleases my eye.”

Aegon glared at his brother. “It is a good thing your eye is not the thing that needs to be pleased to
fulfill your duties to your house.”

“Aegon Targaryen!” Lyanna hissed. “Leave that kind of talk to the brothels and whorehouses.”

Jaehaerys smirked as Aegon begged his pardon.

“I apologize for such crude words, mother. But there are times when only strong words can get
through my brother’s thick skull.”

“Be that as it may, I will have none of it at the breakfast table.” A king he may be, Lyanna is still
his mother and he would be a fool to act otherwise .

Aegon took a long pull from his cup before he faced his brother once more. “The lords of several
powerful houses have offered their daughters to you.”

“Would one of them be a certain Lady Myrcella Lannister?” Dany questioned, fear and anger
coursed through her veins in equal measure. She would not lose what was hers to a lion.

She was a dragon after all.

Aegon nodded in her direction. “You have met her, have you not, Dany? She is a lovely and sweet
girl I am told.”

It pained her to say the truth. “Myrcella Lannister is as sweet as summerwine.”

“You lot are of the belief that a request from this Myrcella Lannister would please me,” Jaehaerys
said in a bored tone.

“Everyone at the feast watched as the two of you shared a couple of dances,” Aegon countered.

Dany shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable. She had been one of those who had watched Jae
dance with the girl for what she considered too long to be courteous.

“I danced with her to be polite, not out of any desire to take the girl to wife.”

“Perhaps she is not the one you want. That is understandable. But it is time that you find a wife.”
Aegon said after a moment. “Regardless, I have agreed for the two of you share lunch together in a
few days’ time.”

“Lunch?” Jaehaerys questioned.

“It is only a harmless lunch between the two of you and her septa. I will not have it said that
House Targaryen scoffed in the face of proprietary.” Aegon sighed. “I am not commanding you,
brother. I merely wish you would give the girl an opportunity to impress you. I will not force the
matter beyond the first meeting.”

Aegon glanced towards Rhaenys, his meaning abundantly clear. “I will not commit such a grave
error again.”

Rhaenys nodded her head in response. “It is in the past, brother.”

“I will do as you say and have lunch with this Myrcella Lannister. But on the condition that we
continue this discussion in a more private location. I have a few things I would speak to you about.
There is a maid or two who I find are pleasing enough to the eye.”

Dany’s heart raced.

Aegon nodded his head. “When it pleases you, you are always welcome to my private solar.”

“It would please me if we went and spoke of this now.” Jae insisted.

Aegon gave his brother a hard look before standing from his chair. “Very well. We will go now.
The tourney is not set to begin until midday.”

Lyanna spoke then. “Well, it seems as if our breakfast has come to an abrupt end. And who would
have guessed it was because of talks of marriage concerning my fool son?”

Everyone shared a laugh except her. She was slowly rising from her seat when Jae called her name.

“Daenerys,” he said, his eyes for once soft and warm. “If it would please you, I would have you
wait for me in my rooms. I have some things in my possession that I believe belong to you.”

Dany blushed as everyone looked at her. “It would please me, Jae.”

Lyanna failed to hide her smile. “Do not fret. I made sure that whatever Jae wished to give you
would be appropriate for a princess.”

“I thank you,” Dany said, her face a darker red than before. “I will go now and wait for you.”

Jae nodded his head and went to take his leave before Aegon said words that chilled a path down
her spine.

“We best hurry, brother. You are not the only one who has received proposals.”

Alone in Jae’s private chambers, she threw herself onto his bed and closed her eyes, picturing him
at her side. His scent was everywhere she turned. Snow and pine , she thought. There was
something else in his scent, some heady aroma that curled her toes.

And yet, it did not bring her the comfort she had hoped it would.

It felt as if everything was slipping through her fingers.

Jae had only just arrived and talks had already begun about an upcoming marriage. It was enough
to leave her feeling abandoned. Yet she knew she should trust Jae. He had always protected her. He
had always been there when she needed him the most. He would know what to do.

He has to , the thought echoed in her mind.

But then there was her own marriage to look forward to. Dany knew there had been plenty of
proposals from many noble houses. But Aegon had reassured her he would never allow Jon
Connington to force her like he had Rhaenys.

“I have learned my lessons. It only pains me that it came at the cost of my sister’s happiness,” he
had told her one late night. His eyes had been earnest, desperate for her to understand.

And she had.

Yet even she knew that such things could not be avoided forever. Aegon had done enough to stall
these unwanted proceedings. Now she had to put her hopes in Jae that he was strong enough and
possessed the will to keep her at his side.

It was like this that Jaehaerys found her.

His grey eyes were hard and it looked like he had run his hands through his hair one too many
times. There was a deep sense of exhaustion as he sat down beside her on the bed. He rested his
hands on his knees and took a deep breath.

There is something amiss , she thought. But she didn’t move, nor did she speak. Instead, she chose
to remain silent, if only to watch him for any signs of distress, for any forewarning of the things
that awaited them.

Eventually, he spoke, low and humorless. “I won’t marry her.”

Dany brought her knees to her chest and stared at Jae’s strong back. “Who?” But she knew. She
wanted to hear him say it if only to quell the fear that clawed at her heart.

“Myrcella Lannister. Any of them,” he waved a dismissive hand, his frustration and anger evident.

But still, she chose to remain where she was, not trusting herself quite yet.

“What of Aegon?” she ventured a beat later.

His reply was ominous. “Aegon will have to accept my choice.”

Dany sat up and moved closer to Jaehaerys until she could press her chest into his back, her legs at
his sides. She rested the side of her head against his back and wrapped her arms around his middle.
“And what of my fate?”

“Your fate has always rested in my hands, princess.”

She tightened her hold, curling her fingers into the fabric of his tunic.

A deep sadness wrung her heart. She was helpless to this damnable boy and his wild hair, this boy
who had sheltered her through rain and storm on their fortress at sea. She wanted to weep. But the
last thing she knew Jae would tolerate were her tears. Not now , she thought. I have to be strong.

When she was alone, she would flood her chambers with her tears. But not now, she had to harbor
Jae as he worked through his anger, his hands clenched fists at his sides.

An eternity or more may have passed—she couldn’t be sure—as she held him in her arms.

But in that time, all she knew was him; the steady beat of his heart, the slow fall and rise of his
chest as they shared the same air. She thought of some distant future where it was only them, their
castle hallways alive with the patter of feet and children’s laughter.

And in the sky, dragons flew over their lands.

They would want for nothing. Fear no one. They would be with each other for as long as their
bones bore the weight of time.
It was only the midday sun that stirred them to life.

Slowly, Dany untangled her tingling limbs from his body. She would have enjoyed spending the
rest of her days in this room with him, closed off from the rest of the world, but duty was never too
far off.

Life seemed to return to Jae as she watched from her place on his bed. When he looked at her, his
eyes were a cool winter breeze, and strands of his wild hair had fallen over them, obscuring their
beauty from her.

Her fingers itched to touch him.

It looked as if he wanted to speak but instead of words coming out, he sighed and stood from the
bed. He gave her one last searching look before he wordlessly crossed his chambers to a heavy oak
chest bound with leather straps.

Excitement beat in her chest as she watched Jae pull something from its depths. When he made it
back to her, it was with his hands behind his back and that damnable smirk back on his handsome
face.

“I did promise you a gift,” he said in a low voice.

“I do remember such a promise,” she said, stretching once more like a cat on his bed. She had
ruined his sheets. But she didn’t care. If she had it her way, they would always be in a state of ruin.

“You continue to tempt me, princess.”

Dany smiled but her curiosity got the better of her. “Give me my gifts,” she commanded as she sat
up on the bed and held a waiting hand out.

“Close your eyes and you may find yourself in possession of a trinket or two,” he answered with a
shrug of his shoulders.

Dany searched his grey eyes. “Very well. I will give you this boon.” She closed her eyes and
waited.

She did not have to wait long.

“Keep them closed,” Jae murmured as she felt the rush of finely stitched skin caress her arms and
shoulders. It was heavy and yet silky and it smelled of the wild and snow-covered banks.

“What is this?” she questioned; her eyes still shut.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded, his voice hard like stone.

Dany obeyed immediately as a warm tingle ran down her spine, through her cunt, and finished at
her toes. She stared in disbelief at the fine cloak. It was a terrible black, devoid of light, as dark as
any starless night. Yet there were lines of white that cut dangerous paths through the black field.

“Do you like it?” Jae questioned with a satisfied smirk.

“Don’t be foolish, nephew. Of course, I do. It’s beautiful,” she breathed its wild scent once more.
“But what is it? I have never seen such a fine cloak, let alone a pelt like this.”

“Shadowskin.”
A shadowcat’s pelt ? she thought. “How did you find such a thing? They are rare in the north and
rarer still this south from the Neck.”

Jae shrugged. “I cannot reveal all my secrets.”

No , she thought back to their breakfast, to the words he had let slip, to the constant late-night
outings in the godswood. You can’t.

“ Do you trust me, Dany ?” His Valyrian broke her out of her stupor. She gazed at her nephew with
unfathomable eyes.

“ I do ,” she whispered. Even with all his secrets churned in his grey eyes, she did.

He held out his hand. “Then follow me, little one.”

Dany grabbed hold of his hand and followed him from the bed. He led her to a standing mirror. It
was polished and gleaming and when she looked into it, she saw herself and Jaehaerys. He towered
over her as much as the shadowcat’s pelt engulfed her small frame. She felt diminutive before him.

A possessive hand rested on the back of her neck as he leaned down until their eyes were level.
“Our children will be the best of us, I think,” he whispered into her ear.

Her heart thundered in the cage of her chest.

Jaehaerys smirked. “Close your eyes one more time, mayhaps it will give you time to settle that
racing heart of yours.” He released his hold on her neck and stood at his full height as her cheeks
flushed red and annoyance colored her expression.

Daenerys did not like how easy he could befuddle her with a word or a simple touch.

“ Fine ,” she said, more annoyed with herself than him. She closed her eyes for the second time that
day.

This time, it was cold.

Hard and snake-like, it traversed the expanse of her exposed neck like a stream. Until it clicked
shut and grasped her neck like Jae’s hand had only a short moment ago.

“You can open them now.”

A roaring dragon of silver and ash stared back at her with red rubies for eyes. The choker encircled
her neck and fanned out to wings along her collarbone. Slowly, she traced its fine craftsmanship
with a delicate touch.

“I have no words,” she whispered, as she turned into his chest and stared up at him. A deep hunger
had stirred in her belly. She bit her lip and stood on the tips of her toes. “But I am hoping this will
suffice.”

Jaehaerys bent down and captured her lips with his. It was a slow, searching kiss that stole her
breath away.

But Jaehaerys in all of her time knowing him had never been a patient man.

His tongue demanded entry. She could only yield to him as she welcomed his searching intrusion.
They kissed like this, with Jae leaving his mark everywhere his hands and tongue and body pressed
against hers. And when she moaned his name, begging for more, it died between bitting teeth and
bruised lips.

It wasn’t until she felt as if she would faint that he broke the kiss and backed away from her, his
fists boulders at his side as he struggled to remain in control. She wanted him as badly as she
wanted him the night before. The urge to fuck him and have him fuck her on the floor of his
chambers was overwhelming.

He would ride in the tourney with just more than my favor about his person, but my maiden’s
blood on his cock.

Wanton and feeling no more than a common whore, she too, took a step back and tried to reign in
her out-of-control heart and desires.

When the air between the two of them had cooled enough, it was Jaehaerys who approached, his
confidence and arrogance a mask over his moment of weakness. He touched her face and grasped it
in one hand. His eyes were a storm of emotions as he stared down at her, his body pressed so
heavenly against her.

“Let that be a reminder that no other will ever have your favor, princess.”

It was a while later when Dany bid Jaehaerys farewell, her lips bruised and her heart a mad drum in
her chest. She was overwhelmed and full of excitement. Every few steps her hand would go to the
choker and how it coiled around her neck possessively, as if she were his prize and this piece of
gleaming silver and blood-red rubies a warning to all who beheld its beauty.

Marked by the dragon .

The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

Later, when she arrived at the courtyard, she noticed a familiar man waddling towards her.
“Princess Daenerys!” the man shouted, though he was short, his voice carried across the yard.

“Lord Tyrion,” she greeted.

Tyrion Lannister was an oddity compared to the rest of his house. Short and ugly, the dwarf could
be frightening with his green and black mismatched eyes and jutting forehead. “It is a pleasure to
see you on this fine day, Princess Daenerys.”

“The pleasure is all mine, my lord.”

The dwarf nodded his head as he looked around the yard. There were a few servants running
around with fresh linens and candleholders as they went about their daily tasks. “It seems most of
the castle has made their way down to the tourney by now. We should get going as well. We
wouldn’t want to be late.”

Dany raised a fine eyebrow. “I suppose you will be riding with me then?”

“Always the perceptive one.” Tyrion’s face morphed into a grotesque mummery of a smile.

It had been a long while since she had spoken with the tiny lord, she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to
allow him to ride along with her. “There is room enough for the both us.”
“There is always room for a dwarf, princess. Even in the most cursed of places,” the dwarfed
laughed and followed behind her as a guard opened the door to her carriage.

Their journey through the long narrow streets of King’s Landing was peaceful. Many of the
smallfolk had emptied the streets and were heading towards the tourney grounds off into the far
distance. Men of the many of the families carried their children on their shoulders who waved at
her as they passed the inns and many of the closed markets.

“How do you find the tourney and the festivities?” she asked.

Tyrion held a silver flask in his stubby hands. “It is a grand affair, fit only for a king. If I were as
skilled with a lance as I am at reading books, I would have surely entered.”

“You seem to have a strong grip, my lord,” she motioned to his tight hold on the flask. “Perhaps
next time you should pick up steel and join the melee.”

Tyrion shook his head, his dark eye watching her. “I plan to die in my own bed, with a belly full of
wine and a maiden’s mouth around my cock at the ripe age of eighty. Not in some melee where my
sister can try and have me murdered by one of her thugs or admirers.”

Dany stifled a laugh. “Lord Tyrion, you cannot use such language around a princess.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” the dwarf feigned sincerity.

“I could not imagine harboring such hate towards my siblings. Is the Lady Cersei really this wroth
with you?”

“You have been blessed with fruitful relationships with your family,” the dwarf took a swig from
his flask before continuing. “But not everyone, and especially not dwarves, are blessed by the gods.
My sister has always hated me. She once told me how she pulled on my little cock as a babe when I
wouldn’t stop wailing for our dead mother.”

Dany frowned. What an awful woman this Cersei Lannister is , she thought. Though mayhaps
Tyrion Lannister was right, not everyone could count themselves blessed by the gods to have such
a strong and kind relationship with their family as her.

“And what of her children? Are they as horrible as the mother?”

“What do the smallfolk say, that the apple does not fall far from the tree?” Tyrion said more to
himself. “The eldest of her brood, Joffrey, has given merit to the queer saying of the smallfolk. He
is an insolent and spiteful boy, truly his mother’s son.”

“And of the other two? Do they too fall close to this apple tree you speak of so queerly?” Dany
questioned.

Tyrion shook his head, his flask forgotten for the moment. “Despite Cersei’s best intentions
otherwise, Myrcella and Tommen are sweet children.”

Dany looked away from Tyrion’s searching eyes. She had hoped all of Cersei Lannister’s children
were as foul as the mother, but it seemed her good luck had run out.

“You seem rather disappointed, princess.”

Dany crossed her chest with her arms. “What gives you this impression?”
“A young maid such as yourself, taking a keen interest in the children of my sister. If it is not for
your own marriage, perhaps it’s for another.” Tyrion shrugged and looked out the window, clearly
apathetic to her plight.

Later, when the sky grew with black smoke from the workshops of overworked blacksmiths as
they pounded on metal and sharped blades, Tyrion spoke.

“Did my lord father request a match between a certain prince and my niece?”

I will not marry her , his words rumbled in her mind. But even she knew that Tywin Lannister was
a powerful man with the full might of Casterly Rock under his control.

“It matters not what Lord Tywin has requested.” Even to her, the words sounded petulant. She
looked away from Tyrion Lannister’s green and black eye. The rumors of his ‘evil eye’ proved
more truthful by the second.

“I am not surprised,” the dwarf began. “Ever since the tales of Prince Jaehaerys claiming a dragon
had reached Lannisport, my lord father has had a desire for such a fortuitous match between our
great and noble houses.”

This piqued her interest enough to brave Tyrion Lannister’s pervasive eyes. “Why not Aegon?
Every maid has dreams of being a queen. Surely Myrcella Lannister counts herself amongst them?”

Tyrion laughed. “In a realm ruled by dragons, a king without one is only a king in name only,
princess.”

He’s committing treason before me , she thought. If he were any other, she would have fed him to
her dragon for uttering such blasphemy.

His black eye turned even darker when he glanced at her. “However, your nephew seems to truly
love his brother. He gifted him an egg after all. An egg for an egg , they said at that feast of his. If
it were to hatch and match the size of the other dragons, then Aegon can truly name himself king.”

The dwarf stopped and took another long pull from his flask before turning his beady eyes on her
once more.

“The thing my father abhors about me the most is not my stunted legs or these mismatched eyes.
But my perchance for gambling. My father never gambles. He would rather place his bets on the
sure thing. And Jaehaerys and his winged beast is the sure thing. Not the egg that is yet to hatch.”

With a delicate hand, she touched the choker around her neck. Tyrion Lannister did not seem
bothered by her silence as they ambled along the paved road and onto the path that would finally
bring them to the tourney grounds.

It wasn’t until the carriage came to a stop that she continued the conversation.

“How is Ser Jaime faring?” she questioned.

Tyrion Lannister was smug and his eyes piercing. “My brother is hail. He is looking forward to
riding today.”

They passed a line of stalls as they sold their wares and trinkets. All around them, children were
chasing after each other, playing one game or another. Some stood and gawked at her. Others
gawked at the dwarf and laughed.
“He seemed very assured of his victory the day before. Although I could not share in his
excitement.”

“I suppose you could not,” the dwarf leered. “Young love, I believe they call it.”

Dany blushed. “It is more than that, my lord.”

“Isn’t it always?” Tyrion Lannister looked down at her from the first two steps that led up to the
royal box. His mismatched eyes seemed to be alight with humor and perhaps even madness as they
shone in the midday sun. “Even if our prince was to make it as far as to meet my brother in the
lists, Jaime is not the kind of man to yield. He will ride hard and his lance will not miss. I have
mine own weight in golden dragons on this bet.”

“By the end of the day, I suppose we will know if this dragon is something not to bet against.”

When Jae first made his appearance, it was against Lord Jason Mallister.

Her prince had ridden in his gleaming black plate, Monterys following behind holding the flapping
banner of House Targaryen. The crowd had been anticipating the prince’s first tilt and had
welcomed him with ear-shattering roars and calls of his name.

But such a fantastic welcome had gone to waste as the tilt had proven less than fortunate for the
Lord of Mallister, for only two passes later, Jae’s black lance smashed into Jason Mallister’s shield
and took him clear off his seat and sent him to the ground in a heap of plate.

Jaehaerys trotted around the stadium to the cheers before stopping the royal box. He raised his
visor and stared at her before trotting off the grounds.

Dany could smile, her heart as loud as the roaring crowd.

Later, after Ser Jaime had unhorsed his fellow sworn brother Ser Oswell in a tilt that had taken
nearly eleven broken lances, Jaehaerys rode out to carry the bursting fanfare from the previous
match.

This time, his opponent proved to be more of a challenge.

“That is Ser Daemon Sand,” Tyrion said as the knight met Jae in the middle of the grounds, their
lances turning to dust from the monstrous impact. The crowd roared as the ground shook as both
men rounded the fence and called for new lances. “He is said to be one of the finest swords in
Dorne.”

“He is proving himself to be a fine lance as well,” Lord Redwyne called from behind her.

Tyrion nodded his head. His cup was empty but his eyes were focused. “He does have excellent
form and courage.”

They clashed again and again. Neither faltered in their saddles.

Dany was no expert in the matters of jousting. But it seemed to her that Jaehaerys’ form was better
or equal to that of Ser Daemon. Jaehaerys neither flinched nor did he turn away at the moment of
impact.
Instead, he met it steadfast.

“Jaehaerys will win,” she proclaimed boldly, hoping no one noticed the hammer in her chest.

Tyrion Lannister gave her a queer look with his green eye but said nothing.

It took four more turns at the tilt for a winner to be decided.

As they rounded the fence, she watched as Jae took the lance from his squire Monterys, and sent
his destrier in a dizzying canter down the lane. There was something different about this time,
though in her inexperience she couldn’t quite identify it until Tyrion spoke.

“He plans to unhorse the bastard this time around,” he said with narrowed eyes. “Our prince may
have outlasted the Dornish bastard’s determination.”

It was like two giants meeting.

The wooden lances were pulverized into dust and rattle of steel and mail drowned out the growing
clamor of the audience. Dany had to stand and gasp as she watched the Dornish bastard get carried
right out of his seat by the impact. It seemed as if he was trying to stay on, but had lost his hold on
the reigns, and smacked into the mud and dirt with a resounding thud.

The crowd roared. Dany sighed a breath of relief. Madness had taken hold of her heart.

But Jae was ever the chivalrous winner and rode towards the fallen bastard and stared down at him
with an unfathomable expression on his face before he unmounted from his destrier. She and the
crowd watched on as Jae grabbed the bastard by the arm and raised it before the realm.

“Quite the performance by Ser Daemon Sand,” Tyrion remarked. “It may have been enough to
impress our prince.”

As the two men were cheered off the grounds, Lord Redwyne spoke. “A good showing by our
prince. But he will meet an even finer knight next.”

“Indeed.” Tyrion took another pull from his cup. “He will have to contend with Ser Loras next.
One can only speculate how the prince will fare against a knight of the Kingsguard.”

“The Queen Mother may be right,” Dany said. “Prince Jaehaerys has steel in his blood, my lords. It
is time you take this dragon prince as the threat he truly is.”

“No offense to the Queen Mother,” Tyrion raised his cup to her. “But even a queen can fall victim
to a mother’s love for her children.”

Lord Redwyne nodded his head. “You speak boldly but truthfully, my lord.”

Daenerys could only smile, mindful of her courtesies as she took a drink from her cup to wash
down the words that burned on the tip of her tongue.

It was then that Rhaenys decided to speak. Her words as dry as a Dornish desert.

“My brother is a prince of House Targaryen. He has squired for Ser Oswell Whent and even before
that had trained beneath the famed Ser Arthur of House Dayne, the Sword in the Morning.”
Rhaenys eyed Tyrion Lannister with her dark eyes, seemingly undeterred by their horrible
mismatched nature. “Ser Loras with all his splendor cannot hope to match him.”

The dwarf’s smile was predatory. “You speak highly of your brother, Princess Rhaenys. I will heed
your warning and place one hundred gold dragons on our prince as a show of good faith.”

Rhaenys eyes did not shift from the dwarf as she narrowed her eyes. “How kind of you, dwarf.”

“I am a more pragmatic man,” Lord Redwyne said with a sniff. “I will counter your wager, Lord
Tyrion. And place my own bet on Ser Loras. A true knight who has seen a southron tourney and
not the backwater jousting our northern brethren partake in.”

Although the outcome of their bet would have to wait, they were not left wanting.

Ser Jaime rode next against a beast of a man.

“Who is that knight?” Dany questioned.

“He is no knight, princess. That is Sandor Clegane. One of my father’s loyal dogs.” Tyrion took a
deep pull from his cup as he leaned back in his seat.

She watched as the lords wagered on this Sandor Clegane. “The Hound is a brute and even Ser
Jaime will have a difficult time of unhorsing a dog when it latches on to its prey.” Lord Redwyne
said with a clear distaste for both competitors.

Tyrion chuckled. “I will place another hundred golden dragons on my brother. Even a dog knows
not to bite the hand that feeds it.”

It was as Tyrion Lannister said. The Hound was loyal to its master and went down after four
broken lances, leaving a clearly agitated Ser Jaime the winner of the tilt. But it seemed to her that
even the Kingsguard had hoped for more from his father’s loyal dog, as he berated the scarred man
before the realm.

“If you weren’t my father’s dog, I would slay you where you stand for such a dishonorable
showing for a knight.”

“Piss on your honor, Lannister. Your father pays better to make sure his golden heir is nice and
safe.” The Hound barked a laugh as he trudged off the field, his face in a grotesque sneer.

Tyrion shook his head as his brother charged off the field on his destrier. “My brother will never
learn to never underestimate the lengths our father will go to ensure his safety. It would bring a tear
to my eye if I didn’t know the kind of man our father was.” He took another drink from his cup and
eyed Tywin Lannister who sat next to his brother Kevan Lannister as they discussed something of
import.

It was past the middle of the afternoon when Jaehaerys made his third appearance. Her heart had
sped up at the announcement of his name as horns bellowed for the heir of Dragonstone.

He looked kingly as he trotted before the cheering crowds in his black steel and mail armor. The
three-headed dragon of House Targaryen was emblazoned his black breastplate, red rubies
flickering in the midday sun. Rhaenys stood from her seat and cheered as loudly as any of the
smallfolk. Dany had to fight the blush from her cheeks at her niece’s lack of embarrassment.

And yet, a small smile formed on her face as she saw her favor curled around his arm. A hand went
to her neck and touched the delicate choker. He wears my claim proudly , she thought. And so, will
I . Dany stood then and clapped and cheered, and hoped to the gods that Jaehaerys would fell all
who would challenge him.

But the crowd did not quell in its excitement at the arrival of Jae’s opponent.
Some could say, it grew louder and more boisterous as the Knight of Flowers entered the
tournament field upon the back of a white coursier. Where Jaehaerys was armored in black steel
and mail, Ser Loras’ raiment was gleaming white and scaled enameled plate with a cloak of wool
pinned to his chest with the rose of House Tyrell.

The Kingsguard and the Prince stared at one another from across the field. The crowd had grown
oddly silent as both men studied the other with focused eyes. Only the sound of banners against the
wind disturbed the peace. They raised their lances in the air in a sign of respect before they kicked
forwards on their mounts, a plume of mud and blood and dirt in their wake.

As it often happens, these things came to a head in the middle of the field.

It sounded like what she imagined a tree falling in a forest would sound like as it plummeted to the
hard ground below. Both men shuddered from the impact as their lances became cinder in their
hands. They rushed past the other without so much as a backward glance and called to their squires
for another lance, only to meet once more.

They rode hard like this for an age.

“They ride well,” Lyanna spoke after the fourth lance was broken. “Both have been trained well.
Both have the skill to beat the other. It will come down to who the gods favor more.”

“In the south we worship The Seven,” Margaery hedged. “The Warrior will bless my brother with
a victory over Prince Jaehaerys.”

Dany bit her lip but remained silent.

Rhaenys’ voice was quiet, but it seemed as if everyone had heard her speak when she said: “A
prince of House Targaryen does not bow to gods nor men. My brother will find this victory, no
matter how many lances he breaks upon Ser Loras’ shield.”

“Aye,” Aegon raised his cup in salute to his sister. “You speak truthfully, sister.”

Dany had never been as forthright as Rhaenys, but when she glanced at her niece to thank her for
her reassuring words, her niece’s dark eyes were warm and the smile on her lips inviting. It was as
if she knew of the worry that crawled up and down her spine as every bone-breaking impact of the
lances echoed through the tourney grounds.

It was with this feeling of anxiousness that Jae finally found an opening in the Knight of Flower’s
armor. Both men rushed to a maddening clash, their horses were demons and the lances in their
hands, weapons enough to end the world in one great clash of wood and iron. But Jae had angled
his lance in such a way that it glanced off Ser Loras’ shield and caught the edge of his helm and
wrung him straight off the coursier.

Yet Ser Loras had not sat idly by and had managed to strike true.

Ser Loras shattered his lance against Jae’s shield with such force, it looked as if her prince would
tumble to the ground, but he had held, his gauntleted fist death itself as it gripped onto the horse’s
reins.

When Jaehaerys righted himself, it was to the standing applause of the realm.

It was to the relief of her heart.

Tyrion spoke soon after, smug and his cup empty. “I thank you, Princess Rhaenys. It is your good
account of your brother that has netted me this fine purse from Lord Redwyne.”

Rhaenys eyes were daggers as she stared at Tyrion Lannister. “They say a Lannister always pays
his debts. I will be waiting for such a chance to collect, Lord Tyrion.”

The tourney carried on as the sun inched its way across the sky. There was an hour pause as the
melee started and ended in a clash of steel and broken limbs. It was such a bloody affair that she
was relieved that none of the fighters had been visited by the Stranger that day, though a few of
them would likely never see a tournament field again nor the field of battle.

It was as the day was slowly coming to an end that the final joust was to take place.

“Now for the final.” Lyanna spoke with an air of confidence a she sipped from her cup of wine.

Both riders had entered to the cheer and applause of the monstrous crowd. It seemed to have grown
larger and larger as the day had progressed. Many of the fallen knights had also taken their place
along the fence line, surely partaking in their own wages and discussion of who would win it all.

“Our prince has accounted himself well before the realm, but his reign will end here at the end of
my brother’s lance.” Tyrion Lannister said with a nod of his head.

Lord Redwyne couldn’t help but to agree. “That is the truth of it. Ser Jaime rides with years of
experience against some of the finest knights in the realm.”

“I have heard such talk from my lords for the last two days,” Aegon said as he rested his chin on
his hand, watching the spectacle on the grounds. “I grow tired of it. I, like you, did not believe my
brother would ride for this long, but I would be a foolish man and king to not appreciate the skill
my brother has put on display.”

Margaery smiled at Aegon Targaryen. “Wisely said, Your Grace. It pleases me that my future
husband can admit when he is wrong with such forthrightness.”

A round of claps grew in the royal box as many of the lords agreed with the Rose of Highgarden.

“Lady Margaery spoke well, Your Grace!” Mace Tyrell shouted over the applause; his face as red
as the crimson on a Lannister’s coat of arms.

Dany had to stop herself from rolling her eyes as she looked at Rhaenys who seemed to be just as
disturbed by how quickly Jae’s favor had turned for the better.

But a trumpet blared then, marking the beginning of the end.

There was no preamble to this, no raising of the lances in honor of the other, nor were there words
exchanged. It was only the pure madness of combat and the boldness of the rider, as they exploded
from their end of the field.

It was a blistering sight to behold as both horse and man became one with the other, positioning
themselves for the perfect hit, only to meet the end of their opponent’s shield, sending thousands
and thousands of splintered wood into the twilight sky.

The excitement got the best of her.

Dany stood and shouted, all forms of embarrassment and courtesy lost to the wind.

“Get him, Jae!”

Her hands were iron as she gripped onto the railing. It felt was if she would cleave it in two with
every failed pass.

“He’s right there! Get him, Jae!”

Then on the seventh pass, Jae took a shuddering blow to the helmet that left him sprawled on the
back of his destrier. The crowd gasped and her heart turned to stone as she cursed Ser Jaime to the
seven hells.

But as if coming back from the dead, Jae lurched upright and found his hold on his destrier. Yet he
did not yield. Instead, he called for a new lance as his helmet lay a forgotten ruin the mud.

“Is he mad?” Lyanna cried out.

“The fool will ride to his doom.” Rhaenys saddled next to her.

“You have to stop this,” she heard herself say.

“I cannot. He made his decision when he decided to continue to ride against Ser Jaime.” The king
had responded and not her kind-hearted nephew.

Then as the sun began to set and the fervor of the cheering crowd grew into this monstrous thing of
noise, she caught his eyes—white as bone and otherworldly—she felt her belly knot as she watched
with morbid fascination as the boy she loved since her childhood became a demon cloaked in
shadows.

And yet, as soon as she saw it, it was gone and the sound of crushed steel took hold of her senses.
Dany let out a surprised gasp, her eyes wide as Ser Jaime was removed from his proud destrier.

The Kingsguard knight resembled a children’s doll as he tumbled across the ground, kicking up
dirt and mud and debris before coming to an exhausting stop beneath the glowing eyes of her
prince.

Later that even, after Jaehaerys had crowned her before the realm as his Queen of Love and
Beauty, and after the feasting and celebrating had run its course, she set out to find her prince and
offer him his reward.

But everywhere she looked, he was no where to be found. None of the Kingsguard knew where the
prince had gone to and when she asked Lyanna where her son could be, the Queen Mother could
only answer with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Do not fret, Dany. You will find my son and all his woes on the morrow.”

Dany could only frown as the Lyanna went back to discussing something with Lord Benjen of
House Stark. They seemed to be in deep conversations concerning Jaehaerys’ spectacular victory
over Ser Jaime Lannister.

When she was about to give up on her search and head to her chambers, she ran into Rhaenys on
the balcony as the older girl overlooked the city as it continued its celebrations in the streets.

“Have you seen Jae?” she questioned, her voice low and subdued. Dany took a place next to her
niece and leaned her elbows against the railing as she cast a wistful glance at the city below.

The elder girl shook her head. “I wished to speak with him about the other night and followed him
out here, but he seemed to be in a hurry.” Rhaenys took a swallow of her cup before flinging it
towards the horizon. “My brother can be such a fool.”

Dany raised an eyebrow as Rhaenys turned to leave. “Did something happen last night?”

“Nothing, little one.” Rhaenys smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “But if it’s my brother you are
searching for, mayhaps you will find him in that forsaken godswood of his. He seems to always
hide himself amongst his trees whenever his mind is troubled.”

Before she could say another word, Rhaenys had disappeared into the feasting hall, leaving her
alone with her thoughts.

What is happening with everyone ?

It took her another hour before she could sneak out of the feast and make her way down the path
that led towards the godswood.

A dense fog had crept through the alders and elms. It gave the path an eerie, haunted appearance
that sent a chill down her spine. Dany tightened the shadowskin cloak around her shoulders as a
ward to fend off the horrors of the night. She followed the moonlit path as quickly as she could,
careful not to trip over any of the fallen branches or holes underfoot.

But as she crept along, the feeling of being watched grew with every step. Her heart began to race
as she searched the dense tree line. “Is anyone out there?” she called out into the night.

The trees answered by swaying with the chilly wind.

She called out again, this time louder. “I am Princess Daenerys of House Targaryen and I command
you to show yourself!” Her heart was beating a mad rhythm against her chest as she took another
step forward and then another, until she was almost in a run.

It was already too late when she saw it.

With a yelp, Dany fell to the ground, closing her eyes as she knotted her head against the hard
ground. She groaned as a few tears ran down her cheeks while the odd feeling of something
towering over her continued to grow and grow.

Blood red eyes stared down at her when she stirred. She gasped and her fingers trenched into the
hard ground. She tried to pull away but the beast only opened its massive jaw, baring its white
gleaming teeth in the moonlight. She didn’t move. She didn’t make a sound. Fear had gripped her
heart.

In her mind, she called for Jaehaerys to rescue her from this beast. But he never came. There was
only her and the wolf and the moonlight as it pierced the canopy above.

The wolf’s massive snout inched closer to her face, sniffing her hair and eyes before a wet and cool
tongue peaked from its mouth and licked the slowly trailing tears along her cheek. As she watched
the wolf’s eyes, she was surprised to see some kind of intelligence lingering in their fiery depths as
if she was familiar, as if it recognized her.

The wolf slowly backed away, watching her as she struggled to stand up. After finding her feet,
Dany eyed the beast.
 It was then she truly realized how massive the wolf was. It’s as big—no bigger, than a horse, Dany
thought, as she took one step back in growing fear.

But the wolf, seemingly, had other things on its mind.

It lunged forward, stopping Dany in her tracks. The wolf circled her, once, then twice before it
shouldered into her, pushing her forward.

Dany stumbled, almost losing her footing but at the last second, she managed to catch herself. Yet
that was all that the wolf needed to vanish into the tree line. Not wanting to linger, Dany picked up
her skirts and continued down the path, intensely aware that she was being stalked by bloodred
eyes.

Past the bend and down a steady incline she went until the clearing eventually came into view.

Dany’s heart breathed a sigh of relief. Yet it was short lived.

Two figures stood beneath the shadowy canopy of the heart tree. Her heart grew with worry as she
thought the worst. But as she grew closer, the wolf from earlier loped from the tree line on silent
paws and sat at the base of the tree, its ghastly eyes watching her every step.

“Jae!” she called out, in hopes that this was not all for naught.

The figure with its back towards her raised its hood and turned to her, his face a moving shadow.
The now hooded figure—a man—said something she couldn’t quite discern before stepping out
from underneath the heavy branches of the heart tree.

As the hooded man walked towards her, the wolf’s bloodred eyes flickered white, catching her
attention. Dany took a step back as a familiar sight echoed in her thoughts. I have seen such a thing
before , she thought to herself.

Jaehaerys caught her eyes with his own then, his hand resting on the massive beast’s head. He
stepped into the clearing, the wind brushing against his towering frame as the hooded man breezed
by with ice in his eyes.

When she turned to face the man, he was gone, swallowed by the shadows of the alders and elms
that surrounded the clearing.

Suddenly anxious, Dany returned her gaze towards Jaehaerys as he watched her from beneath the
swaying heart tree.

“You have grown more adventurous in our time apart, Dany.”

Chapter End Notes

So this chapter was a little earlier than usual. We had it finished ahead of schedule.
The next chapter will be around a similar 2 week time frame. Give or take a few days.

No more jousts for a WHILE.

That Valyrian wedding in HOTD was pretty cool. How are you guys finding the
show?

Let us know what you think, comments are appreciated. See you guys on the next
chapter...I'm sure you can guess who it'll be

<3
 Jaehaerys I
Chapter Summary

Domus

Chapter Notes

Sleepy went to bed. So I posted the chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Maegor Targaryen had been a cruel king.

And yet, Jaehaerys thanked his ancestor for the madness and strength to secret his tunnels
throughout the Red Keep and his holdfast.

They were deep in the bowels of the castle, surrounded by a darkness that was everlasting and
tangible. The pitter-patter of droplets as they splashed against the stone floor, echoed off the
cavernous walls.

He pulled Daenerys along with one hand and held a torch in his other.

Only a few knew of these secret tunnels, and even fewer knew their entrances and exits. He and his
siblings had mapped them together, drawing incomplete maps of their endeavours by the dim light
of candles when they were supposed to be abed.

“Where are we going?” Dany asked in a whisper.

He gave no response as he pulled her along with a tug of her arm. He heard her hiss behind him
like some water-logged kitten. He paid it no mind. The quicker they made it out of these tunnels,
the sooner he could show her.

Down they went until they came to a ladder in the floor. It was sealed by a door. Curiously, he
raised his torch, casting light over the trapdoor. Someone has come through here, he thought to
himself. He had a vague idea of who it may have been.

It seems my list of things will never cease growing.

Behind him, Daenerys grabbed onto his arm and looked down at the trapdoor. “Is something
wrong? Why did we stop?”

“It’s nothing,” he replied, but something in the way she studied his face told him she didn’t believe
a word he said. He would have to be more careful of things he said around her from now on.

Though, that is easier said than done.

He handed the blazing torch to Daenerys. “Be careful not to burn yourself, princess,” he whispered,
smirking at her annoyance. Had it always been this easy to rile her up?

She took the torch with narrowed eyes. “A dragon does not burn, nephew. Or did you forget?”

Daenerys had always been the oddest of his siblings. Her baths had always been the hottest. When
she sneaked into his chambers, feigning nightmares, her body as she lay next to him beneath the
sheets had been this thing of fire and blood and captivation. Like a moth to a flame, she had easily
become his undoing.

Annoyed, he shouldered past her. “I do not need reminding of your freakishness,” he told her.

“Says the fool who sleeps nude in the height of winter.”

He turned back to her. “Do not pretend you wouldn’t still seek my bed.” Satisfied that he made her
blush in embarrassment, he continued with his task and heaved the trapdoor open.

Daenerys, not one to be outdone, shoved past him. She raised the torch over the dark pit and stared
into the abyss. “Do you remember when we found this?”

“How could I not?” he answered quietly. “It was the last year before everything changed, when we
were still children playing at games.”

“A lot has changed since then.”

“A lot more has stayed the same,” he looked into her eyes. They were glowing violet. He envied
her and his brother for being able to call themselves true descendants of Old Valyria. He
swallowed his jealousy and took the torch from her.

“You still know how to ruin a moment,” she whispered, her voice playful. But he could see the
frown, see the desire that turned to ash in her eyes. But as quickly as he could anger her, he could
ignite that need and hunger just as simply.

He loathed watching her go.

With one last glance behind him, he followed.

At the bottom, he found her sitting on an outcropping of stones they had bunched together for
makeshift seats years ago.

She was staring at the pools of water that had formed between the circle of rocks ages before them,
in the time of their forefathers, or mayhaps even before. The water was smooth and placid but
sparkled like the scales of dragons in the moonlight.

“It’s hard to believe that this place remains undisturbed beneath Maegor’s holdfast,” she looked up
at him with curious eyes. “Do you think Maegor knew?”

“Are you growing sentimental over our murderous granduncle?”

Daenerys splashed the water at him. “Of course not.” She looked away, her moonlit hair swaying
against the rocky ground. He knew she was deep in thought, so he remained silent, curious to know
what was crawling through her pretty little head. “I only find it sad that he died alone on the Iron
Throne.”

“He doesn’t deserve your tears, princess.”

“I know.” She stood from the rocks, brushing the seat of her rough spun pants. He had grabbed a
pair of servant’s clothes, enough to disguise them from prying eyes. When she turned to him, her
gaze was soft and sad. “I spend much and more of my free time in that dusty library, I find myself
reading the histories of our family. The remaining tales of Old Valyria. Aegon’s conquest, his sons.
And it frightens me how similar you are to Daemon and even Aemond.”

Jaehaerys frowned. “My mother named me after the Old King, the finest king this realm has ever
seen since Aegon the Conqueror. She did not name me for its villains.”

“Are you angry with me?”

He wasn’t.

In all honesty, it didn’t bother him as much as she believed. But he would let her believe what she
wanted; it suited him either way. “My aunt compares me to cruel men and kinslayers and asks me
if I am angry with her.” He shook his head and began to walk away from her, towards the narrow
tunnel that would lead them out into the night.

“Jae!” her voice echoed behind him. “Wait for me.”

“You do not command me, princess,” his voice echoed back.

And yet, a voice echoed in the back of his mind.

The difference between them and me is that I won’t be alone. I swear that before the old gods and
new.

He clenched his hand into a fist so tightly, he swore he could smell the coppery scent of blood as it
crashed with the salt of the sea.

///

Out, from below the Red Keep and through its hidden passageways, they emerged onto the coast
that would take them to a path the local fisherman used to reach a small harbour. It was a chilly
night and the full moon burned in the sky.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, he saw through the eyes of his
companion as he lay beneath the heart tree. With a blink of his eyes, he was back in his body,
following the trail beneath swaying oaks.

It seems like Ghost wishes to laze about for now, he thought. His companion deserved his rest. The
direwolf had been constantly trekking up and down the coast, scouting paths and learning routes in
and out of the countryside.

“What was that?” she questioned again. She pulled on the long sleeve of his tunic. “I know what I
saw. Tell me what it is, Jae.”

The trees swayed.

He continued heading up the path towards the city and its streets and alleyways. Mayhaps if he
kept pulling Dany along, she would forget her questions and turn her attention to other matters.

But she tugged on his sleeve, this time harder. “I know you hear me.”

He stopped and gazed down at her with cold eyes. “What is it that you think you saw, princess?”

Dany tightened her hold on him. “I saw you… in the tourney. Your eyes,” she turned away from
him and bit her lower lip. What he would give to silence her questions with a kiss. All he had to do
was lean down and grab her by the neck.

But she knew his game and the fire in her eyes warned him of his woe if he would try.

“They were white during your joust. They were white again when your beast sat at your side.”

If he wasn’t careful, she would put the pieces of the puzzle together. It was better if he told her
now, instead of her forming her own conclusions.

“It is called warging.” He looked away from her. This far from the Wall, such a thing could only be
named monstrous, a demon’s magic, best burned away by the sanctity of The Seven.

“I have heard of it.” Dany loosened her hold. “They say Bloodraven was a warg.”

Jaehaerys swallowed. The name left a sour taste in his mouth. How many eyes does Lord
Bloodraven have? The riddle was as old as time itself. A thousand and one. Yet he had only
counted three.

“Bloodraven was many things, princess.” He pulled her along.

Dany made a face. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I believe it did,” he said with a shrug.

They walked on for a while, the silence over them heavy like a cloudy day.

“Do you still have trouble finding sleep, princess?”

“Only sometimes.”

He looked at her, surprised to find the truth in her words.

“After I found Ghost, I started to have dreams. Wolf dreams, Old Nan had once told me. All the
Stark children had them, some stronger than others. It was unusually potent in little Bran and
Arya.”

He could see the small smile that played on her lips as he told her. It is so easy to please her, he
thought. I only have to tell her the truth.

They were close now. The smell of shit and fish was heavy in the air. There was laughter and the
sound of the smallfolk celebrating leaking out of the Inns and whorehouses along the Fishmonger’s
Square.

He grabbed Dany’s hand and stopped her. “Hide your hair.”

“Do I have to?” She gazed at the large crowd. The presence of the gold cloaks along the street
paths and alleyways. There were whores and knights and commonfolk alike amassed in the streets.
“No one will notice me, I swear it.”

“Do not make oaths you can’t keep, princess. Put it on or we can turn back now.”

“The others take you,” she mumbled, as she pulled her hand free and reached into her back pocket.
In her hand was a thick woollen cap dyed in Maester’s black. With a glare, she tied her hair back
and pulled the cap on. “Satisfied?”
“No,” he answered truthfully. “But it is necessary if we are to roam about the city without word
getting back to our king.”

Dany nodded her head, realising the truth of his words. “Fine. But I want to see all the city has to
offer.”

He smirked. “Stay close to me.”

Fishmonger's Square was alive, teeming with the commons and knights and foreigners from across
the Narrow Sea.

Torches blazed and music spilled into the streets. Whores stood in the door of brothels, making
bawdy remarks to every man who passed by. At every corner, two gold cloaks stood, their eyes
watching for any signs of mischief.

Dany grabbed his hand as they entered a narrow street. He wanted to reach the square proper,
away from the dregs of the city, away from the foul smell of shit and piss that lingered in the
sewers that poured into the Blackwater Rush.

It took him several minutes of navigating the streets, passing by the patrolling gold cloak, then the
foreigners from the Summer Isle or Braavos, to even the roaming thief in search of a victim.

But it seemed Dany had other things on her mind as they trekked through the long streets of King’s
Landing. Every now and then, she would pull on his arm to stop him, only to gawk at some juggler
or band of dwarves as they parodied one song or another. “It’s so different during the night,” she
laughed as two hairy dwarves donned blunted swords and started a dance to the death.

They were near the Street of Sisters. From where he stood, he could see the Dragonpit brooding on
its hill. The end of our family started there, he thought. He had been glad that Urrax had not found
the deep tunnels that burrowed throughout the hill appealing. Let Urrax find his own dwelling on
the coasts and rocks and cliffs that line the Narrow Sea.

Let him reign over the skies.

Jaehaerys glanced around the street. He shouldn’t have given Dany the wool cap to hide her hair.
Without her silver and gold hair to mark her, she blended in too easily with the commons in her
roughspun wool tunic and men’s breeches. Quickly, he set out, his hand resting on the pommel of
his sword as his cloak swayed behind him.

He searched the nearby booths to no avail, his heart a drum in his chest as worry began to creep
down his spine. If I have to call Ghost here to find her, I will. Woe to who has put a hand on her.
He tightened the grip on his castleforged steel as he looked around the square.

He continued his search in a nearby field that had been cleared. There was a stage of wood and
rope and roughly embroidered pennants flapping in the dark wind. A crowd had gathered around
the high stage when he spotted a familiar figure. He rushed over, his blood rushing in his veins.

When he was about to put a damning hand on the back of her neck and scold her, a set of torches
blazed to life and a woman came out onto the stage wearing an innkeeper’s robe.

“Welcome one! Welcome all!” the woman shouted at the watching crowd.

He hissed in Valyrian in Dany’s ear as the woman continued her speech. “I told you to stay close.
And you run off like some whelping.”
Dany’s eyes burned violet beneath the torch-lit night. “I knew you would find me.” She turned her
attention from him and stared at the stage as a group of actors and performers appeared from
behind the drawn curtains. “Let’s stay and watch. I have never seen a common’s play before.”

He had the mind of dragging her by the hair through the streets. But his rage subsided as she began
to clap, her face breaking into a smile. He looked around the crowd. They could stay for a moment.
Allow her a taste of the world outside of her red bricked castle and its keep.

He put a hand on her hip and gripped it tightly. “As you say, princess. But do not be disappointed
by what you see or hear. The smallfolk do not keep to the same courtesies as court.”

Dany leaned into his touch as she clapped again. “You worry too much.”

And you, too little, he thought.

The play started. It was a tale as old as time. A tale of two brothers.

“Oh look! A new and noble king sits the chair !”

“The eldest son of Rhaegar, his one true heir!”

The crowd cheered as a dwarf stepped onto the stage wearing a gilded sack to cover his nakedness.
On his head sat an iron band with square rocks painted red.

“Born to the noble Elia, our sweet but frail Dornish Princess.”

“Aegon is our King, and surely his reign will be a success!”

The dwarf king sat on a tiny chair made of wood. He was drinking from his wooden cup and
toasting the crowd as three more dwarves dressed as women danced around him in threadbare
dresses.

“Oh, but look! Another Prince is here!”

“A prince of the north, although not as fair!”

A drum boomed and then a dwarf with hair dyed black stepped onto the stage. He was dressed in
all black and he was glaring at the crowd as they jeered at his appearance.

The booing grew as a few in the crowd threw curses at the dwarf princeling. One even threw a
worn boot, narrowly hitting the dwarf in the head.

“Born to Lyanna, the Queen Who Fled,”

“Rhaegar’s second son, for whom the realm bled!”

Dany stiffened in his arms. She looked up at him, worry in her eyes. “Let’s go, we don’t have to
watch this any longer.”

“No,” he shushed her and directed her attention towards the stage. “You wished to see all the city
has to offer. This is only a taste of it.”

“He comes from the North,

With a dragon of his own!

 The Black Prince Jaehaerys has returned,

To steal his brother’s throne!”

“Let’s go,” she turned and faced him. “I no longer wish to entertain fools and halfwits.” Her fingers
coiled into his and he looked from her to their hands, his face as carefully constructed as the Wall.

Dany pulled him along. “We should have their heads. This is nothing but lies and slander against
you.”

He stopped.

They were in the middle of the square now. The smallfolk’s play was still going on behind him—
he could hear their shouts and cheers as the performance continued to his detriment. “Many of the
smallfolk would believe that I would don the moniker of kinslayer if only to prove their opinion of
me true.”

Dany shook her head. “Not everyone believes that. You saw them. You heard them cheer your
name. They were cheering for your victory. Not like these treasonous fools.”

“They cheered for me because I was fighting for their entertainment. They did not care for me,
they never have,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. He looked up at the sky. It was darkening
and the stars were burning hotter.

“Ja—”

He interrupted her with a humourless laugh. “Do you know why they call me the Black Prince,
Dany?”

Dany nodded her head, meeting his eyes with hers. “But it isn’t true.” Her words were earnest and
her eyes as inviting as a hot summer.

“Tell that to the thousands who bled and died.”

He walked past her, his thoughts tumultuous.

Being the child of a king with two wives, his birth had been deemed illegitimate since his first
wailing breath. And only by the grace of his royal sire had he been spared the humiliation of being
named a bastard before the whole realm.

Jaehaerys clenched his fist.

“This isn’t turning into the night of celebration I had envisioned,” a gentle voice said at his side.

“No, it isn’t,” he replied simply. He glanced at Dany. She was looking up at him with dark eyes,
her woollen cap shielding her silver-gold hair from the world and him. He itched to tear it off her
head. “But it doesn’t have to be that way. Let us go, there are other sights and sounds to experience
than the slander of these people,” he smirked at her.

Dany smiled. “I was only speaking true.”

He held his arm out for her. She looped her arm into his. He steered her away from the square and
down another long road.

///
Jaehaerys glanced at the hill named after one of Aegon’s sisterwives.

Rhaenys’ Hill sat on the north-east side of the city and bore the weight of the Dragonpit. As he led
Dany down the lavishly lit street, he swore he could faintly hear the monstrous roars of Syraxes
and Meraxes. Briefly, he wondered if Urrax had come into contact with the two dragons.

Surely the realm would have heard such a clamour of scale and tooth.

Dany’s eyes were wide as he glanced down at her, she was biting her lip. He could tell she felt a bit
of apprehension as they passed whores and drunken men coming in and out of buildings in
different states of dress.

“Are we—?” she trailed off.

Jaehaerys smirked. “On the Street of Silk?” he questioned. He stopped and pulled her against him
before resting his chin on her slender shoulder. He motioned ahead of them, down the dimly lit
street and the alleyways that cut down different paths. “It is time you tasted something far sweeter
than any summerwine.”

“But what if we’re caught?” she voiced her fear.

“Is your cap secure?” He pulled on it. He watched a smile form on her pretty face as a result.
“Then you have nothing to worry about. Come, let us get out of this street before someone does
recognise you and alerts the king his aunt has absconded with an evil black prince.”

They were standing before Chataya’s, a well-known brothel throughout the city. It had been a
place Aegon and he had often frequented during their late-night excursions through the city, in
search of what it had to offer two young and strapping princes.

Dany had tucked herself into his side as he led them in through the front door.

They were welcomed by a tall woman in flowing silks. Her skin was the colour of ebony and her
eyes were soft sandalwood. “I am Chataya,” the woman said in an exotic accent. Her eyes studied
him and then Dany, but she did not remark on their violet glow as she smiled. “I take it you do not
wish to make a habit of names in my establishment?”

“Aye,” he said, his northern brogue more pronounced. “It would please me if tonight’s activities
would remain in the shadow of Rhaenys’ Hill.”

Chataya fluttered her eyes. “This establishment is well known for accommodating and pleasing its
patrons.”

Dany fidgeted beside him as a low groan carried down the stairs. He tightened his hold on her. “I
would like to show my companion the sights and sounds your fine establishment has to offer before
we are to go to our rooms.”

“I will make the turret room available.” Chataya smiled before gliding off into the bowels of her
whorehouse, more elegant than any whore had the right to be.

Alone with his aunt, Jaehaerys followed his ears further into the manse where the sound of fucking
and moaning could softly be heard through the walls. There was a common room in the centre of
the large manse, decorated in fine silks and mosaic carpets depicting women in lewd positions, that
he and his brother had put to good use years ago.

It will prove invaluable in teaching my little princess, he thought to himself. He looked behind
him, satisfied that she was following closely, her tiny fist balled into the fabric of his cloak.

He entered a large room filled with the soft moans and cries of pleasure of whores and patrons.

Silk and lace hung from the walls. An abundance of soft pillows lay arranged across the floor,
making secluded nooks and hideaways, away from the centre of the room where a few couples in
various states of undress were kissing and touching one another. Whores flittered around the room,
carrying polished plates filled with food and wine and other savoury delicacies.

He secreted Dany beneath the lace and shadows that loomed over the room.

Already she was hot in his hands as he pulled her against him and held her close by the hips. He
leaned down and let his breath wash over her pale and slender neck. “Watch them,” he whispered,
as her directed gaze towards a dark-haired man and a woman with honey in her hair. “Watch as she
takes him in her hand. See how she holds him? Firm and yet with reverence.”

Dany’s mouth was open, her eyes wide. The woman was stroking the man’s cock as he lay against
the marble pillar, his eyes closed to the world. The whore’s movements were deft and precise and
they knew exactly how to draw the pleasure out for her patron.

Jaehaerys ran a possessive hand over Dany’s cunt. He grabbed her through her roughspun breeches
and felt her weeping through the fabric. He played with her as she watched the whore continue to
stroke the man’s hard cock.

“Do you wish for me to do that to you?” she asked, her voice breathless.

That and more, he thought, but he remained silent and instead answered with carefully feeling the
inside of her thigh with his rough hands. She moaned when his hand slipped beneath the lash at her
waist.

A sigh escaped her open mouth. “Please,” she begged.

He dipped his finger between her folds. “Open your eyes,” he commanded. “Keep watching the
whore as she takes him into her mouth.”

Dany mewed. He pulled his finger out of her. Reluctantly, she obeyed and opened her violet eyes.

The whore had taken the man’s cock into her mouth. Her tongue was peaking between her lips as
she ran her small hands up and down the length of him. The man was groaning softly and was
pulling at the whore’s honey colored hair braid.

In all their years of skirting the edge of pleasure with one another, he had only tasted Dany a
handful of times. It had been erroneous to think such fleeting moments would have ever satisfied
him, but at the time, that was all that he could afford to take from her, lest rumour and slander
follow her every step.

The last thing he wanted to do was bring his sweet princess’s virtue into doubt.

But now, things were different. His shadow was as long—longer even than the Iron Throne. Urrax
had made sure of his power and had steeled within him the boldness needed to take what he
wanted.

And what he wanted was squirming in his arms, his name a whisper and a moan as he explored her
depths with deft fingers. She was leaking with desire. Her tightness was a vice. He kissed her neck
and ran a hand up her slender waist to the swell of her chest as she heaved for breath.
“That’s it,” he murmured into her ear. “Give in to me.” He slipped another finger inside of her, his
thumb playing at shapes against her weeping cunt.

Dany dug her nails into his thighs. Her eyes were still open, watching as the whore quickened her
pace, her head bobbing obscenely as the patron’s roaming hands grew tighter around the whore’s
braid.

With the intrusion of his fingers, she groaned loudly as she fell against his chest, her limbs weak
and unable to keep her upright. Dany was malleable in his hands. He shaped her from within—
prodding and scraping against her maiden’s walls. He fisted her breast, played with their tips until
all she could do was pant from her mouth.

Dany clenched her thighs against his roving hand. “Jae,” she begged. “Don’t stop.”

Jaehaerys hadn’t planned to, not until she was his, not until she was ruined before the sights of gods
and men.

He fucked her with his fingers.

He went slow at first, inching his fingers in against her tightness, feeling the vault of her womb as
her folds kissed the knuckle of his hand. When he pulled out, it was to the low and desperate
command for more.

And yet, he was not one to be commanded. But right now, beneath the lace and silk, as the smoky
scent of the incense burned around them, as Daenerys came undone in his hold, he obeyed.

If only to bring her to the pleasure she so desperately needed.

It came in waves.

One after another, it crashed against her lithe form as she closed her eyes shut and whispered his
name. He held her in his embrace and whispered words of endearment, of love, of what their future
could possibly hold, as her body was racked with her release.

It wasn’t until later, when the whore had drained the soul out of her nobleman’s cock, and Dany’s
cunt had loosened its grip around his fingers that she settled against him, her breathing even and
relaxed.

Across the room, he could see Chataya leaning against the entranceway, her sandalwood eyes
watching them beneath the shadowy lace that hid them. It was the look in her eyes that told him
everything. Then she was gone, vanishing once more into the whorehouse as the sound of fucking
intensified around them.

He pulled his fingers from Dany’s cunt. Violet eyes opened, a satisfied smile on her lips, as she
watched him taste her. Sweet like summerwine, he brought his middle finger to her own lips and
like the obedient girl she was, she opened her mouth to him.

“Taste yourself, princess,” he commanded. “Better than any Abhor wine.”

Jaehaerys smirked at the queer expression that crossed Dany’s face as she sucked on his finger.

Dany pulled away, clearly not agreeing with his sentiments. “If my prince says so,” she flushed red.
But before she could say another word, a loud moan rang through the room and her eyes drifted in
its direction.
He followed her eyes to a couple fucking against the pillowed ground. Another whore was playing
with the man’s sack as the first whore rode herself into oblivion. Dany swallowed and looked at
him.

Desire burned in her violet eyes.

He supposed he could remedy that.

///

It was not the first time he had visited the turret room in Chataya’s brothel. Although, as Dany
stepped from out of his shadow, he supposed it might be the last time.

Lavishly decorated, the turret room sat on top of a tower that overlooked the city below. The moon
was still high, burning as brightly as any of the stars, and the sound of the commonfolk’s reverie
echoed through the city streets and alleyways.

In the far distance, the Red Keep loomed menacing.

Jaehaerys sat at the large chair near the hearth and watched Dany as she looked around the room,
studying the tapestries that hung from the wall. Oftentimes, she would throw him a look as she
commented on the poses and positions the women were depicted in as they were fucked or licked
or kissed by their partner.

“Septa Isabel had often told me a wife’s duty is to bear healthy sons for her husband.” Her eyes
burned as she looked at him. “Yet she seemed to omit the thrill and excitement that can seemingly
be had in its performance.”

For a long time, he only watched her. Her lips were bruised, her clothes in disarray, a dangerous
need burned in her violet eyes and yet, she kept her distance, mindful of his eyes as they followed
her around the room.

Eventually, she grew bored of staring at tapestries and making idle remarks. He had enough
patience to let her come to him to ease the wanton desire that was so evident in the way she threw
glances at him or bit her lip when she believed he wasn’t paying her any mind.

He was in his second cup when she made her way before him, her hands behind her back. “Did you
tire of the tapestries, princess?” he questioned as he placed the half empty cup on the table.

“I may have found something more intriguing than old tapestries,” she replied, shrugging her
shoulders. He had to veil the smirk that formed on his lips as she snatched the cup from the table
and took a strong pull of the summerwine.

Briefly, he wondered if she would show this much boldness later, when he had her begging
beneath him.

When she finished, she set the cup back down and bit her lip. That boldness from before still
lingered in her gaze as she sought the words to say to him. Yet it seemed as if she could not find
them and frustration bloomed to embarrassment against her pale and slender neck.

“What is it, princess?” he questioned, slightly amused as he watched her struggle.

Dany swallowed and looked away from him and out towards the balcony window that lay open. A
cool breeze wafted through the open balcony doors, throwing the dim burning candles into shaky
shadows that stretched across the rushes. The city was still alive as the sounds of moaning and
fucking bled through the turret room’s walls.

As amusing as his confounded aunt could be, he was not a patient man. He tapped his fingers on
the chair’s armrest. His eyes were as warm as a summer snow. When he was about to speak, she
returned her gaze from the silk curtains that breezed along the open balcony doors.

Little Dany has gone and, in her place, stands Daenerys, he mused.

Courage had swelled in her chest as she fell to a knee and then another. He was intrigued by her
bold actions, by the steadiness that prevailed in her fingers as they inched along his thighs.

Seemingly, he parted his legs for her, his gaze unwavering.

When she reached for the buttons that held his breeches closed, he grasped her hand. “What do you
think you’re doing, princess?”

“I want to pleasure you…” she trailed off.

Jaehaerys chuckled. “Like the whore in the hall?” He brought her small hand against his terse cock.

Dany nodded her head as her gaze fell to the swell in his breeches and back to him. “But I am
afraid you may not find it as pleasing.”

He remained silent as it seemed futile to speak; Dany’s focus had turned from him to the buttons
that lined the front of his breeches. It was with fumbling fingers and wholly too much detail that
she undid the latches that kept her from his cock.

He had been with whores and noble maids. They each had their own quality to them like a good
castleforged steel. Some rang beautifully when they danced and others were balanced on a knife’s
edge, each masterfully crafted by others.

Yet there was something enticing about unforged metal that made him excited.

Dany wrapped dainty fingers around his cock. Her hand was too small to envelop him so she used
another and tightened her hold of him as if she was ready to flog the court’s fool.

Jaehaerys hissed between his teeth.

“Are you okay?” she questioned beneath dark lashes. She tugged on his cock when he didn’t
answer. Her hands were warm and rough and inexperienced, but it had been enough to send a thrill
down the base of his spine.

“Have you never done such a thing? Not even with some little lordling’s cock from court?” he
asked.

Her hold of him only grew harsher and the fire in her eyes burned even fiercer than wildfire. “Of
course not, Jae,” she murmured. She was running her hands up and down his cock, her entire focus
only on the thing that stood before her. “Not all of us are slaves to our appetites.”

My appetite has always been you, he thought to himself, as he leaned back and closed his eyes. She
was working into a steady rhythm now, her hold of him more comfortable as the trepidation leaked
from her.

As Dany pleasured him, his mind drifted.

He thought of the many things he would do to her; of the ways she would bend and fold beneath
him as he took her every way he knew how. He imagined her quivering beneath him, his cock
coated with her maiden’s blood, as he filled her with his seed.

Somewhere, in the back of his dark mind, a wolf howled. His hands turned to claws as they dug
into the chair’s armrest.

Dany had brought him into her warm and waiting mouth. The sound of her obscenely sucking on
his hard cock made the monster caged behind the cage of his ribs wake from its slumber.

Jaehaerys opened his eyes.

He saw the dim light flicker against the wind. He saw Dany’s lips working their way around his
cock as she bobbed her head. Her moonlit hair taunted him. He reached for it and grabbed a
handful before he held her in place.

Dany coughed and her hands turned defiant as they attempted to push against his damnable
strength. The feel of her teeth as they scraped against his length managed to ease his hold.
Jaehaerys groaned as she coughed and spat a mixture of seed and saliva to the rushes.

“You’re a bastard,” Dany said, glaring. Her eyes were watery and yet they burned with lust and
desire and a desperate need to continue.

Jaehaerys leaned forward and gripped her harshly by the jaw. He stared into her eyes before kissing
her. Briefly, she fought against him. But his chest was stone and her balled fists were as effective
glass as she smashed against him.

Eventually, Dany fell prey to him as he deepened the kiss. Her mouth was sweet and tasted of salt.
When he sought more of her, Dany opened her mouth to him. All the defiance from before turned
into breathless moans and pleas for more, to hold onto her, to never let her go.

He never intended to.

Jaehaerys cradled Dany to his chest as she ran a rough hand through his hair. When she pulled at it,
she turned it wild, riddled with knots as she moaned into their open-mouthed kisses.

All the patience he had maintained throughout the night vanished when he touched the bed with his
knees. He was more beast than man as he threw her to the bed. His hands were as sharp as knives
as they tore at the meagre clothes that housed her nude form. When she finally lay bare, her mouth
parted, her beseeching eyes shone in the low light.

He parted her legs.

The sight of her pretty cunt caused his cock to stiffen. He swallowed and braced a knee on the
featherbed. He came upon her like a wolf stalking its prey. With a sigh, she squirmed beneath him.
He was kissing the inside of her thighs until he reached her pink and inviting cunt.

Dany was hot and sweet and tight as he delved between her folds. She moaned his name as he
feasted upon her. He was lost, his mind addled with a deep desire to conquer her, to own her, to
mark her before the sight of gods and men.

The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth as he tore into her smooth and unblemished flesh. He
felt his mind shift from here and there as he gorged himself on her pleasure, on the pain he inflicted
as he held her squirming legs apart.

“Jae!” she shouted. But he paid her no mind. He was focused on the lust and his cock was a
terrible weight between his legs and he felt as if he would come undone before he even reached the
deepest reaches of her.

He carried on like this, frantic and out of his depths, his mind spiralling until the sweet taste of her
release knocked the madness that crept into his eyes, washing away the colourless night from his
vision.

Dany tightened her hold on him. She was whispering, praying even, into the night and all he could
do was hold her as it rocked through her limbs, to her fingers and toes, until it lurched from deep
down her throat in a satisfying groan of his name.

And yet, as Dany’s chest heaved and her eyes fluttered open and closed like the wings of a bird, he
loomed over her like some dreadful beast, his cock pulsing in his hand. He lined himself at her wet
and quivering entrance and stared at her pretty face as a sense of sadness washed over him.

Jaehaerys didn’t want to hurt her. But the wolf in him was vicious.

He slid his cock between two pink folds. The heat and tightness sent his spine crawling. But his
intrusion hadn’t gone unnoticed. Dany’s attention focused on him. She swallowed and nodded her
head before she spoke softly into the night as the city burned feverish beyond the turret room’s
thick walls.

“I’m ready.”

With a grunt, he shoved himself into her, widening her as the smell of her maiden’s blood mixed
with the smoke and salt overwhelmed his senses.

His concentration was immalleable.

Dany was tight and growing more overwhelming with every inch he gained. He felt his spine crawl
as his cock seated itself before her womb. He felt as green as summer grass as he stilled his
movements. His breathing was erratic, coming in deep or languid breaths as he closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes, it was to a darken sky, the moon a burning ember at his back as he loped
through the forest, the taste of blood heavy on his pink tongue. It wasn’t until he passed a running
stream that blood red eyes haunted his visage. With a blink, they were gone and his vision was
swimming, as he found himself back in Chataya’s turret room, surrounded by lace and smoke and
Dany’s vice-like cunt.

Jaehaerys moved then.

He fucked her slow and steady. When she pulled at his hair, he swallowed his name as he kissed
her silent. He kissed her until he was satisfied. When he broke the kiss, it was to a low running
moan.

Dany grasped at his chest before running a path to his back, to the muscles that strained and
relaxed as he entered her deeper and deeper. “I love you,” she whispered, her eyes a mixture of lust
and need and violet as she held his flickering gaze.

In the depths of his mind, bloodred eyes loomed.

///

The world went pale as he gazed through the eyes of his mortal companion.
The direwolf was resting beneath an outcropping of rocks as he gazed out into the open field. He
could hear the running of water as it rushed through the stream and river. The direwolf’s belly was
bloated and full from the night’s hunt.

His vision swam as he closed his eyes.

After he had returned Dany to the safety of her bedchambers, he had slipped into her enflamed cunt
several more times throughout the night until the early morning rays peeked through her shaded
curtains.

And yet, he felt alive, the taste of blood still heavy on his tongue, as he trekked through the royal
gardens. The morning dew dripped from the blue and red blooming roses. The castle was still
quiet, oblivious to the shadow that crept through its winding halls and corridors.

A sense of relief pooled in his belly.

After so many years playing on the knife’s edge, he had finally claimed his aunt. He would protect
her from Aegon and his schemes of marriage and power. All the power House Targaryen needed
resided in him and his sword arm.

He flexed his hand and carried on through the castle.

But as he crossed hanging tapestries, his mind wandered to his sister. Rhaenys, he thought. What
am I to do with you? He knew he should not have expected the same girl from his boyhood. But to
see her now, her dark eyes hard like stone, it angered him. He damned Jon Connington once more.
He damned his fool brother for lacking the strength to protect their sister.

If only I had been here. But even he couldn’t believe his own words.

Jaehaerys released a sigh. If he had been here in her moment of need, he would have hurt her in his
wroth as he did the night before when Dany had walked out on them. He would have to mend the
distance that had grown between them since that night.

He came to a stop at the yard. Torches blazed at every corner. He yearned to return to the yard, to
the hot summer days when the sun bore down on his skin as he fought and sparred with his brother
Aegon. He wished to return to those better days spent surrounded by Dany and Rhaenys as he and
Aegon played their games before the heart tree.

Yet time marches on.

For the first time, Jaehaerys felt as if he was leaving his sister behind. Too much, too quickly had
happened since his arrival to the Keep. His plans had been set aside too easily in the face of Dany
and her beauty, in the sadness that lingered in Rhaenys’ dark eyes as she begged for him to never
let her go again.

He raised his face to the cool morning air and pushed his wild hair from his grey eyes. The castle
was stirring to life. Soon, the halls would be filled with roaming servants and lords and courtiers as
they went about their tasks and affairs at the Red Keep. He had no mind for such stifling business.

“I always believed you were mad for waking so early in the mornings,” a familiar voice said,
interrupting him from his dark thoughts.

Jaehaerys gazed at his mother as she walked towards him. Her long brown hair fell neatly around
her face as her eyes shone grey in the dawn’s early light. A lighter coat hung from her shoulders as
two guards bearing the colours of House Stark trailed behind her.
“Mother,” he greeted. “I did not expect to see you up so early.”

“I am not so old that I would willingly choose to lay in bed.” Lyanna stood next to him and looked
out below to the empty yard. New guardsmen were taking their posts, torches still in hand. Soon
they would not need them. Soon the noise of blunted steel clashing loudly would ring throughout
the yard. Until then, they enjoyed the other’s silence and stared off into the distance, deep in
thought.

“You rode well in the lists yesterday,” his mother said after a while. “Your foolishness and bold
display reminded me of your father.”

He smirked. “The tourney of the false spring?”

Lyanna nodded; her face grim. “I hope it does not bear repeating what happened during that
summer.”

“I am not wed nor am I promised to anyone.” He brushed off her concern with a shake of his head.

“You are not, this is true. But it will not be this way forever.”

“The Lannister girl,” he voiced his displeasure. Myrcella Lannister was pretty. One he could see
himself proud to call his wife, to bear his children, if the shadow cast by his intended didn’t loom
so large before the little cub of Lannister.

“I met her once. Polite and courteous and best of all unmarred by her mother’s poisonous ways, she
would make a good match for you. It does not hurt that the Lannisters are an ancient and powerful
house, one that we cannot so easily offend.”

Perhaps I should have waited before gifting my brother his egg if I knew he would reward me with
such a burden.

“My brother wishes for me to wed the girl. After all, it is my duty to our house.”

“Except your heart yearns for another.” Lyanna gazed at him, a sad smile on her pretty face.

He could see why his father had crowned her before the whole realm. Even now, her chest filled
with grief to last her a lifetime, his mother could still be named one to envy. “Daenerys has always
been my first choice.” He turned away from his mother’s searching eyes as a memory of Dany
beneath him, her face flushed in pleasure as his seed spilled into her drowned his thoughts.

“The time for idle play is over, Jaehaerys. You will need to put these childish desires behind you
and walk the path your brother has laid out before you.”

His eyes were ice as he glanced at his mother, surprised at how easily she could say such a farce.
Yet he knew he should have expected as much. This was the woman who had lain with his sire in
some forgotten tower in the wastes of Dorne while the realm bled and fought and burned around
her.

“A second son could not ask for more,” she continued. “A castle to call your own with lands and
people to pay you with taxes. You will command your own men.”

“I have men,” he interrupted as he pulled away from his mother.

“Men?” Lyanna scoffed. “One man will not give you an army or lands or a legacy. He will bring
you doom and nothing more. It is in his blood.”
“Surely, you of all people cannot doubt his cause.”

Lyanna shifted in place, her hands shed their idleness and grasped his clenched fist. She stared into
his eyes as she soothed the tension from his bones. “I would agree with you. Your creature is many
things but above all he has shown a certain loyalty to you and your cause. It is more confounding
than it is reassuring, Jaehaerys.”

Jaehaerys squeezed his mother’s hand. “Everything you say is true. But none of it has ever
concerned me. If I were to take Lady Myrcella as my wife, I would surely live up to the whispers
and gossip at court.”

“You Targaryens and your queer customs,” his mother said, wrinkling her nose. “Even Rhaegar
lamented his lack of sister to wed. And now my own son wishes to take his aunt as his wife.”

Selfishly, he wanted more than just Daenerys and her silver-gold hair. Dark eyes blinked in the
abyss of his mind as he shared a smile with his mother. “It is the blood, mother. We must keep it
pure if we are to keep what has brought strength to our house.”

“Is that all it is? Blood?”

The yard rang with blunted steel as the young squires and knights from around the realm entered
the sparring rings. He watched them as they fell into the familiar rhythm of battle. He was quiet for
a while as his thoughts formed; he was quiet as a few simple words formed on his tongue.

“No,” he said eventually. “Sometimes it is more than just blood.”

“I am the last one who should speak on such matters,” Lyanna said, as she leaned against him. His
mother was warm and soft and yet her words were anything but. “My choices gave me you. But
they also created the chasm between my brother Ned and I that still lingers to this day. Sometimes I
wonder if we were ever to bridge it and become the brother and sister we had been before your
royal father Rhaegar stepped into my life.”

“Do you regret it?” He looked at her, at the sadness that tinged her grey eyes.

His mother shook her head softly. “Truly? I would do it again. I would watch the realm burn if it
meant my silver prince could return to my side.”

As the sun began to peak over Aegon’s hill high and the morning birds flew overhead, he realised
how similar he and his mother were. Cut from the same cloth, he thought. “The wolf is a selfish
creature,” he said aloud.

“It is,” his mother agreed with a small smile. “Yet there is more than just the wild wolf’s blood
running through your veins.”

His eyes flickered white.

He saw black—nothing—but heard the rush of waves as they crashed against rock. He felt
unmoving and stalwart as scale and bone and wing rippled to life. Molten amethyst eyes slid open
and stared into the morning light as it pierced the cave’s abyss.

And yet, unlike with Ghost, he could not linger for long.

An ancient intelligence stood bastion and sent him reeling back to whence he came. Sweat ran
down his forehead as he clutched the wooden railing with all his strength. He gasped for breath as
his mother’s worried glance made him feel ill.
Clay Cerwyn and Galbart Glover, his mother’s sworn swords, stepped forward, their dark eyes
wary of what they had just seen. “Your Grace?” they called.

But he waved them away. “I am all right.” He caught his breath as his body was pulled south. He
looked towards the horizon, over the drum-towers and turrets, over the sprawling forest and
towards the sea.

In the distance, a roar echoed, as Urrax woke from its slumber.

After his mother’s worried eyes turned to anger at his foolish actions, his squire arrived silencing
the scolding that would have left him with a clout to his ears.

“Monterys,” he greeted the boy. “What is it?”

“A royal summons, my prince,” the young boy squirmed beneath his gaze. He would have to do
more to prepare the young heir for the trials that awaited him when he rose to lord.

Jaehaerys narrowed his eyes and grabbed the rolled parchment from his squire’s young hands. He
unfurled it, shaking his head as he read. “It seems my brother wishes to have me join him in
today’s small council meeting.”

Still visibly frustrated with him, his lady mother sighed. “Go on then. But do not think this is over,
Jaehaerys.”

He kissed his mother goodbye. “As you say, mother.” He looked back to his squire. “Boy, go down
to the stables and make sure my horse is fed and watered and brushed. And when you’re finished
with that task, you will oil my blade and polish my steel.”

Monterys nodded his head furiously. “By your will, my prince,” and scurried down the wooden
planks, nearly tripping over his cloak in the process.

“He reminds me of you at that age,” his mother laughed.

He glared at his mother. “I was more bold at that age.”

“I will not tell you lies,” she laughed as she motioned for her guards to follow behind her. “Don’t
keep your brother waiting. You know how agitated Aegon gets.”

Not as much as me when I have to deal with lickspittle lords and their plots.

With one last glance at the training yard, he sighed and made his way down the wooden steps and
into the castle.

///

King Aegon sat at the head of the table as he entered the small council meeting.

Dressed in a simple red and black doublet, his brother looked every inch the king as he spoke and
admonished his lords. “Brother,” Aegon called as he neared. “It pleases me that you could join us.”

Jaehaerys inclined his head. “When the king calls, even if he is your brother, one must obey.”

Aegon smiled and gestured for him to sit. But before he could, Jon Connington spoke.

“Forgive me, Your Grace. But I was under the impression that this meeting was for council
members only.”
“You speak truthfully, My Lord,” Aegon said with a nod of his head towards Lord Connington.
“That is why I have decided to give my brother the title of Lord Justiciar.”

“Lord Justiciar?” Lord Tyrell questioned. “Prince Jaehaerys has only returned from the north. Their
ways and customs are different to the ones in the south, Your Grace.”

“The king’s justice is not only a southron practice. Even the savages and barbarians in the north
keep to my brother’s peace.”

Lord Tyrell glared. “We can only hope that stays true, Prince Jaehaerys. I would not like to march
up the kingsroad to give these northern dogs a taste of southron justice.”

“I am sure my uncle and his bannermen would welcome you and your host outside of their keeps
for a feast. After all, northern winters are long and brutal and one could always use more grain to
stock the larders.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. Aegon glared at him and Lord Tyrell in turn. “That will be
enough. We are in a time of peace. I will not have my small council be the first place war breaks
out.”

Jaehaerys inclined his head and took his seat next to his brother without a further word. But as he
glanced down the table, he noticed that Lord Tyrell’s face had grown as red as Lord Connington’s
hair.

Curiously, he heard a tittering sound, and his eyes roamed in its direction until he saw the smiling
face of Lord Varys staring at him. The perfumed eunuch was dressed in his customary robes, his
face powdered, and when he spoke it was in subdued and whispery tones.

“Your Grace,” he smiled. Everyone’s attention turned to the spymaster. “I do not wish to shatter
this illusion of peace, but I fear if I don’t, the office of Master of Whispers would be wasted upon
me.”

“What ill news do you bring me, Lord Varys,” Aegon said as he leaned forward in his seat. His
brother’s stare was earnest and dutiful. It was something he could appreciate about his brother. He
would be one to never skirt his duty to the realm.

“My little birds bring me harrowing tales from the east. It seems as if Robert Baratheon’s company
grows bigger. Men from Pentos to the Dothraki Sea and to the shores of Meereen are said to be
flocking to the old Lord of Storm’s End.”

Lord Tywin spoke then. “How large, Spymaster?”

Lord Varys tittered. “My little birds put their estimates in the thousands.”

Lord Tyrell smashed his fist on the table. “Whether it is five or ten thousand, he would have to
contend with the full might of Highgarden if the fool plans to set foot in Westeros.”

“It is not Westeros that Robert Baratheon has in his sight but Volantis.” Lord Varys let the words
hang over the room before helping himself to a cup of wine. He took a sip and then another before
he placed the still full cup back on the table and stared at Jaehaerys. “I do wish our little princess
could be with us today. I dare say we could all use a drink of the Arbor’s finest.”

“The princess has borne enough cups for this council. I believe it is time a new cupbearer was
found.” Jaehaerys glanced at his brother, who seemed to be deep in thought.
Lord Varys tittered; his smile predatory. “You are right, of course. The princess is no longer the
little girl we all remember. She is now a woman grown.”

He knows. The thought sent a chill down his spine as he sat straighter in his seat.

For a brief moment, he wondered if he could sidestep Ser Barristan as the knight stood vigilant in
his white cloak, and gut the cockless foreigner before the good knight could subdue him. He shot a
quick glance at the old man, his fingers flexing against the hard woodgrain of the table. For all his
old age, Ser Barristan was still one of the finest swords in all the realm. His odds did not bode well.

Dissatisfied, he clenched his sword hand into a fist beneath the table and glared at the Spider. He
vowed he would discover Lord Varys' secrets. I will not have mine own secrets paraded before me
and the whole realm by some powdered eunuch.

As he fought the maddening desire to run Lord Varys through with his sword, his brother Aegon
stirred from his thoughts and sat back in his high back chair. “Lord Varys, what more has your little
birds said of Robert Baratheon and his movements? Did they say why he is so focused on reaching
Volantis?”

“I can only speculate, Your Grace,” Lord Varys said. The eunuch folded his hands around his
round belly and stared into the fire of the hearth. “The Triarchy is said to be soon having a voting
session. Perhaps the old Lord of Storm’s End wishes to show his support and garner favours in
return? I wish I could supply you with more information but my little birds do not fare well so far
from their master.”

“What of the Free Cities?” Lord Redwyne said. “The King’s house commands dragons once more.
We could use them to send a clear message.”

“A fruitless endeavour.” Tywin stated. “Robert Baratheon is no threat until we see the masts of his
ships flapping against the wind as he sails the Blackwater Rush. Until then we will suffer rumours
and tales of his movements.”

“I am inclined to agree with Lord Lannister,” Aegon said. “Volantis is the most powerful of the
free cities. But they have not shown to hold no interests in matters across the Narrow Sea. Let the
cities quarrel amongst themselves, mayhaps Robert Baratheon will meet his end to some sellsword
or he will die underfoot of the Golden Company’s elephants.”

“We cannot let this matter run its course,” Jaehaerys started as he looked at his brother. “It would
be foolish to think the gods will handle this traitorous dog for House Targaryen and the realm.
After all, Robert Baratheon still curries favour amongst the Stormlords. It would be ill advised to
turn a blind eye to the man.”

“The current Lord of House Baratheon is weak. Renly Baratheon is not even capable of handling
the bandits and pirates that roam his bannermen’s lands.” Connington admitted, though the words
seemed to have pained the Lord Hand. “The situation could turn dire if Robert Baratheon makes it
to his family’s ancient shores. Robert had always been an openhanded leader and commander. Men
will flock to him as easily as they had before.”

“It only takes one good deed to turn a man. Robert Baratheon only needs to offer these lords
another solution to their problems and he will have them.” Grand Maester Gormon said with a nod
of his head.

“Then it only remains that we remove this solution from Robert Baratheon so he cannot use it
against us,” Aegon said. He turned to his Lord Hand. “Why have I not heard of these pirates and
bandits before?”

“There were more pressing matters of import, Your Grace.” Lord Connington answered quickly.
“It did not seem possible for bandits to cause such a problem for such a martial kingdom as the
Stormlands. Yet without an effective liege to lead and command, it seems the great houses have
been fending for themselves.”

“That will be changing from this moment forward,” Aegon vowed. “We will be reassuring the
stormlanders that they only need to turn to the Crown for their protection, not some exiled lord
who failed to usurp my father. Send two knights of the Kingsguard with two score of men. I wish
this mattered settled by the next moonturn.”

“Your Grace,” the knight bowed. “I will see that your will is done.”

After the Ser Barritan left to make his preparations, Aegon tapped his nailed finger on the table and
leaned back into his high back seat. “What of the rest of the realm, My Lords? Surely there is news
worth celebrating.”

“Indeed, there is,” Jon Connington, as he unfurled a few parchments. “The King’s coronation
tourney was very popular amongst the noble families and smallfolk alike. Even the visiting sea
merchants seemed to enjoy their stay.”

“Then it seems the proposal to raise the taxes on luxury goods was in our favour.” Aegon said with
a nod towards his Master of Coin. “This extra coin will go a long way for a few of my plans that I
am not quite ready to share with my council. But rest assured, my Lords, there are even greater
things awaiting us on the horizon.”

“Would one of these things be a royal wedding?” Lord Varys tittered as he hid his face behind the
long sleeve of his rich robes.

Aegon chuckled. “I am sure you will likely know the date I set before I even announce it.”

“You honour me, Your Grace.” Lord Varys slinked through the room, his powered face in a large
and predatory smile as he took a seat at the table. “But perhaps we should make haste on such an
announcement. The realm will want to know that the matter of succession is well in hand.”

“The realm has nothing to fear on that matter. My brother still remains my heir until the time that I
have a son from mine own flesh.”

“Even your heir remains unwed,” Lord Connington broached the subject. “Perhaps it is time the
second son fulfils his duty to his noble house and take a wife.”

“The matter of my wife will be settled at my own discretion,” Jaehaerys said. “I do not need to be
reminded of my duty by a man who still has not secured his own succession.”

Lord Connington glared as he responded. “If the crown prince is determined to find his own wife.
Let us not waste time and decide the merits of reaffirming the alliance House Targaryen holds with
House Martell.”

Aegon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Jaehaerys noticed a look of worry flash in his brother’s
violet eyes before turning hard.

“House Martell already enjoys a son of their house on the Iron Throne. What else do they
demand?”
“Even princes have to pay their dues. It might not come from your flesh, but it will come from
Princess Daenerys when she weds Prince Quentyn Martell.”

He wished to stand and slam Jon Connginton’s smug face into the table for his remarks. But the
cold look in his brother’s eyes chilled him enough that he took a deep breath and waited.

“That will be all,” Aegon declared. “There are matters I must discuss with my brother. Alone.”

The sound of chairs scraping against the floor was enough to drown out the hammer of his heart as
he stared at his brother. A feeling of betrayal churned in his stomach. He flexed his fingers and
counted down the time until he heard the final footsteps fade away and the sound of the heavy door
slamming shut.

Alone with his brother, Jaehaerys fixed his brother with a glare. “Is there something I must know,
Egg?”

Aegon sighed as he closed his eyes. When he opened them, it seemed as if his brother had aged
twenty years. “Dorne is demanding Dany’s hand in marriage. They say it is repayment for the
years of humiliation suffered at the hands of northerners.”

“Daenerys will not marry that Dornish bastard.” Jaehaerys hissed. “I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow it?” Aegon’s eyes were alive and spitting fire. He was briefly reminded that even
dragonless, his brother’s veins still ran hot with the blood of dragonriders. “Are you the king? Did
the High Septon crown me by mistake? Who are you to tell me what you will or won’t allow?”

Jaehaerys sighed and shook his head. His lack of sleeping from fucking Dany throughout the night
had finally caught up to him. He was exhausted and his words ill fated. “Calm, brother. That is not
what I meant.”

“Is it?” Aegon smashed his fist onto the table.

A long silence hung over both brothers as they stared at the other. Until, eventually, Aegon ran a
hand through his hair and stood from his seat and paced before the hearth. “I do not wish to quarrel
with you. This should be a time of celebration, of new beginnings, and yet we’re shackled by the
chains of the past.”

“It is as you say.” Jaehaerys spoke, his eyes downcast. “Must we continue to pay for our father’s
transgressions?”

“No,” Aegon said. “We won’t. Not anymore. With you at my side, the Seven Kingdoms will
remember the ancient power of House Targaryen.”

“And what of Dany?” he asked.

Aegon stopped before the hearth and stared into the fire. “Prince Oberyn is seeking Dany’s hand as
repayment for your slight against House Martell. Even if you hadn’t humiliated Prince Quentyn
before the whole realm, I would have considered the match.

“Even after what our sister went through?”

“Do you have so little faith in me?” Aegon questioned, his eyes hard. “I said I would consider it.
Ultimately, the decision would lie with Daenerys.”

Jaehaerys ran a hand through his wild hair as a sense of relief filled his chest. “Then it is settled?”
he broached, hoping he didn’t need to push his brother further than he needed to. There was only so
much he Aegon would suffer before all his patience was little or less than a summer’s memory.

“I will see to it. It will anger Prince Oberyn more than House Martell, I suspect. But you must not
do more to stir my uncle from slipping out from beneath Prince Doran’s feet. The viper is not an
enemy to slight.”

Neither is the dragon, he thought to himself, but he kept his silence and nodded his head. “I swear
it on the old gods and new.”

“Come,” Aegon motioned. “I have something I must show you. I believe it will make you
understand all that I’m trying to accomplish.”

Curious, Jaehaerys followed his brother through the side door that led down a private hallway until
they came to the king’s solar. It had been many years since he had set foot in those vast rooms with
its panelled walls and Myrish carpets.

“What is it, Egg?” he asked as they entered the room. But there was no need for his brother to
reply, for the answer lay in white marble on a massive table that sat in the middle of the room.

“As my siblings took to the skies, I needed something to pass the time,” he said with a sad smile.
“They say Viserys I had sculpted Old Valyria during his reign. I, as well, laboured in rebuilding a
piece of our ruinous past.”

Jaehaerys followed the smooth lines that flowed into arches. He was amazed by the detail in the
many windows that overlooked the large estate. There was even a pond full with placid and clear
water that mirrored the reflection of the grand castle.

“Our father was born here,” he said. “A tragedy like no other.”

“Another heedless king in search of our birthright,” Aegon whispered. “Aegon V had many
failings, but this was his greatest.”

“What do you think happened?” Jaehaerys asked as he traced the roof line with a delicate finger.

“Little and less is known of that night. The only ones to survive no longer walk amongst the living.
But from what little Dany has been able to find through the archives and notes and letters requested
from the Citadel, it seemed our grandsire wished to bring dragons back into the world.”

King’s blood, he thought. What else could wake dragons from stone? A stormy night flashed
before his eyes. He blinked it away, his heart loud in his ears.

“You wish to rebuild Summerhall?” he questioned; his mouth suddenly dry.

“I wish to gift it to you. You will not have to fear for your place in this world. It will be at my
side.”

“This is a wondrous gift, brother.” He stared into Aegon’s violet eyes. “But I desire more.”

“More?” Aegon scoffed. “I will have a castle rebuilt for you and you ask me for more?”

“Is that not the purpose of a king, of the elder brother?”

“Spit it out then.”

“I will take Daenerys to wife.”

Aegon glared, his violet eyes regained the fire from earlier. “You vow to never let what happened
to Rhaenys befall our aunt and you scheme behind her back for her hand? I do not know if you are
better or worse for it.”

“That is not fair, brother. You know things are different. I am not some lordling seeking favour
from the king by marrying his aunt. I am your brother and I will care for her.”

“You have never cared for anyone but yourself, Jaehaerys. Don’t try to take me as a fool.”

“I took great care when I took Dany’s maidenhead last night.”

He regretted his actions as soon as he said it.

Jaehaerys found himself winded and forced against the panelled wall as Aegon tightened his hold
around his collar. “You did what?” he seethed.

A terrible smirk played on his lips as he stared down at his helpless brother. “I fucked her.
Throughout the night and into the morning as was my right.”

Aegon slammed him against the wall before letting him go, shaking his head. His brother’s back
shook with rage, his fists balled into fists. “I should have your head. But then I would be called a
kinslayer.” Aegon faced him once more. “I should have you exiled, never to set foot in my
kingdom until your bones are dust and scattered against the wind. But then there would be a
dragonrider beyond my reach and control.”

“Then let me wed her.” Jaehaerys said. “You know this is for the best. Our children will wed,
uniting our house even further.”

Aegon’s face softened. He took a seat before sighing deeply. “You would have had my blessing if I
were only a brother. But I am a king. I have lords to please and a realm to govern. How do you
think it will appear to the great families when gossip of you spoiling our aunt in the dead of night?”

“The dragon does not stoop so low, brother.”

“You have not only ruined an agreeable match with Dorne, but you would be a fool to think that
Tywin Lannister will suffer another slight.”

“I owe nothing to the Old Lion. If I must remind the good old Lord of Casterly Rock of our father’s
mercy, then so be it. I will mount Urrax tonight. Then we will see whose debt will be collected.”

“Not everything can be solved on the back of a dragon.”

“You may be right, brother,” Jaehaerys said with cold eyes, “but this is one matter that can.”

It looked as if Aegon had suffered a defeat. His eyes were hard and stared into the distance, beyond
him. “You will keep your word to me. I expect you to keep appearances and meet with Myrcella
Lannister. The poor girl has done nothing to receive your scorn.”

“I will not wed her.”

“No, I suppose you won’t,” Aegon agreed. “Consider this a command from your king.”

Jaehaerys glared at his brother as he stood to his full height. There was something in Aegon’s
violet eyes that chilled him. I may have pushed him too far too quickly, he thought to himself. But
the deed had been done.
He was not one to dwell on regrets.

“As my king commands,” Jaehaerys bowed.

“Leave me,” Aegon said as he turned from him and went to the curtained bay windows that looked
down onto the city below. The midday sun was bright. Not a cloud could be seen crawling through
the sky. “I have much to consider and little time to play games with you.”

He carried ice in his chest as he left.

///

Later that evening, a knock sounded at his door.

A cup or two lay scattered on his writing table as he tossed the empty bottle to the wall. The
remnants of ale pooled on the ground as the bottle burst into pieces.

Anticipation swelled in his chest; he hoped it was Dany. Even my sister will do, he mused bitterly.

“Enter!” he shouted after the third knock.

Yet his growing elation turned to ash in his mouth as a hooded man entered his chambers.
Jaehaerys gripped the blade that sat against the table and glared at the man. “How did you get in
here?”

“I merely entered,” the man said as he pulled the hood down revealing his pale eyes.

Jaehaerys loosened his hold on the blade. But only slightly. He sat up in his chair and looked the
man up and down. “Well? What is it?”

The man smiled. It was not the ghoulish thing he had expected. With all his less than desirable
tastes, the man before him could pass as a handsome lord. “I did as my prince commanded me,”
the man started as he stepped around the room, his notice quickly fell to the shattered bottle. With
a shack of his head, he gazed at him with pale eyes. “The Dornish prince seems to share your taste
for family.”

Jaehaerys narrowed his eyes. “Speak plainly. I do not have time for your games.”

“There was no thrill in this chase. Your Dornish prince attended court. Then he went to the yard
and sparred with some bastard knight. I believe you know him.” The man took a seat across from
him and looked around the chambers. “You Targaryens have the queerest of tastes when it comes
to bedmates and seemingly chamber decorations.”

Jaehaerys sighed. “We Targaryens also have razor thin patience.” He let the words hang over them
like a knife.

The man smiled. “I suppose that is also true.”

“Do you wish to test this theory of yours?”

Laughter echoed off the walls. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” he said with a subtle incline of his
head. “Where was I? Ah, now I remember. I did not think the day could grow duller, but it did. I
followed him to the bloody Sept of all places. I thought I would suffocate from the smell of incense
and smoke. But then a most curious thing happened as I was about to leave.”

Jaehaerys grabbed his blade and laid it on the table between them. “I don’t think I need to explain
 what will happen next if you continue to play these games.”

“A woman who bore a strong resemblance to your sweet sister arrived. She did not seem too
pleased with poor Quentyn. They said some words. None that I can bear repeating in your royal
presence,” the man sighed. “But she did say one thing I think you would find of import.”

“And that was?” he asked, his eyes as cold as a northern blizzard.

“She spoke of Arthur Dayne, of a curious rumour concerning your royal father.”

Jaehaerys swallowed. The fist in his chest tightened as he leaned forward. “Tell me all of it.”

Chapter End Notes

This one took so long because I was busy with stuff. I hope you enjoyed our first walk
through Jae's head.
 The Little Lion
Chapter by Sleepy_moon29

Chapter Summary

Dias

Chapter Notes

Real life is important too. Sometimes other things take priority and updates come a
little slower

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Myrcella

A week had gone by and she was yet to meet Prince Jaehaerys.

Frankly, she was relieved.

The idea of meeting the Black Prince chilled her to the bone. He had been an enthusiastic prince on
the night of his brother, King Aegon’s, coronation. His roaming hands had been strong, searching,
and invasive as they trailed the smooth curves of her body. Prince Jaehaerys had been all smiles
and courtesy, the perfect prince from the songs, but there was something in the depths of the
prince’s grey eyes that frightened her.

It looked like death.

I do not wish to marry this man , she thought.

With a sigh, she fled to the balcony, to the crisp air that washed over her. The northern chill that
had crept through her bones, seemingly abated beneath the midday sun.

And yet, relieved, she felt like the biggest fool in all the seven kingdoms. If her mother knew of the
fear that gripped her thoughts at the prospect of marrying the Black Prince. For once in her life, she
loathed being who she was, what she was born into…

Duty , she thought. What does it matter?

Wistfully, she peered out towards the bay, to the waves that ebbed and flowed along the coast. She
watched the ships that resembled specks of dirt crawl over the horizon. But as she counted the
ships and imagined the men who made the crews and what their next destination could possibly be,
a queer sight stole her focus.

A great cog rolled over the waves.

Steadily, it grew larger and larger until she could vaguely make out the gold and crimson
embroidery that made up the flapping masts. It reminded her of her house’s sigil. But there was a
dark undertone to it, a defiant mockery to the proud and roaring lion of House Lannister.

Grandfather will have their heads , she thought. Oddly, she prayed to the seven that whoever sailed
the ship could leave just as quickly as they arrived before word traveled through the Red Keep that
a laughing lion was harbored in the Blackwater.

Myrcella went back inside with a smile on her face.

She looked at herself in the mirror and frowned. Will I ever step out of my mother’s shadow ?
Green eyes blinked. She ran a hand through her loose golden curls. Briefly, she wondered if her
slender figure with its curves would appeal to the prince.

Suppose he does , she thought. Would I welcome it?

The answer came quickly. But a resounding knock on her bedchamber’s doors made it elusive and
it fell through the cracks of her mind.

“Who is it?” Myrcella called out, annoyance in her eyes as she stared at herself.

“It’s us,” the door opened.

Her frown turned into a smile. Rosamund Lannister, her cousin, and their closet friend Joy Hill
walked in together, arms linked like forlorn lovers, their red lips in inviting smiles.

“Cousin!” Rosamund greeted. “Did you hear it?”

Joy Hill ran towards her and gave her warm hug. The bastard girl had always disregarded her
courtesies when they were alone. But if my lady mother sees her, she will have her head .

“Hear what?” Cella asked.

“The dragons !” Rosamund ran past her and out to the balcony, where the younger girl fell onto the
railing and sighed. “Meraxes and Syraxes took to the skies. They even said the prince’s dragon,
Urrax, took flight after them!”

Myrcella frowned. “Oh,” she said.

Rosamund stared at her as a small breeze danced through her cousin’s golden hair. “Are you all
right?” She stepped back into the room when Myrcella didn’t answer.

Joy Hill rubbed her back. “What is wrong, Cella?”

“Tell us, cousin. What is it?”

She didn’t want this .

She wanted to go back to Casterly Rock, to her halls of glimmering gold, surrounded by family that
she loved and cared for, to the streets of Lannisport where the stench of piss and fish and shit
didn’t overwhelm her.

Myrcella wanted to go home. She didn’t want to become a princess. But she knew she couldn’t say
that to them. Even they expect greatness from me. So that I might raise them .

And so, she chose to lie instead of speaking the truth.

“I am just…nervous,” she shrugged her shoulders. “I do not know how to act around dragons.”

Rosamund smiled, shaking her head mirth. “I do not think anyone knows how to act around
dragons.”

Joy Hill grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Rose speaks true. Even they don’t know how to act,” the
bastard girl whispered into her hear, lest someone hear her blasphemous words. “You have seen
the manner in which Prince Jaehaerys behaves around his sister and the Princess Daenerys.

Myrcella nodded her head in agreement. “I have,” she said. “It is ungodly behavior.” Throughout
her stay at the Red Keep, Myrcella had noticed the queer way Prince Jaehaerys would loom over
Princess Daenerys or at court how the closeness Princess Rhaenys enjoyed in her brother’s
presence—though a rift seemed have formed between the two, if their cold barbs at each other was
anything to believe.

They are no different to Joffrey and I , she thought,

Mayhaps, that was a lie. They were wholly different. Whereas genuine love and care was evident
in the way Prince Jaehaerys handled Princess Rhaenys, her brother Joffrey treated her with disdain
and outright contempt.

“Then it is a good thing the gods have blessed you with a chance to curtail such behavior,”
Rosamund said with a disgusted shake of her head. “To bed a brother or sister? It is only by virtue
of their dragons that they are not held to the same standards as the rest of the realm.”

“Rosamund!” Myrcella hissed as she glanced at the door. “You know you can’t say such things.
Especially here.”

Rosamund stuck her pink tongue out from her lips and taunted her. “You mustn’t worry, cousin.
There is no way neither the Black Prince or the Dragonless King will hear my treason.”

I wouldn’t be too sure of that , she thought.

Her uncle Tyrion Lannister had often told her of Lord Varys, the Master of Whispers and
Spymaster to the king. “He has an unnatural ability to know things he shouldn’t,” her uncle had
told her on the carriage ride through the city. “It would be to your benefit if any and all unsavory
things were kept to the safety of Casterly Rock. Even then, it’s best to not speak it.”

Joy Hill seemed to be of one mind with her, though, and said, “Cella is right, Rosamund. You
heard your cousin Tyrion Lannister warn us of saying such things while at the Red Keep.”

Rosamund rolled her eyes. “Fine, let us talk of more pleasant things.” Her cousin closed the
distance and grabbed her hand before steering her in front of the mirror. Rosamund rested her chin
on her shoulder and ran a light touch down her side, down to her waist and whispered. “Like what
will you be wearing for your lunch with the Black Prince.”

Joy Hill smiled. “Yes, let us!” The bastard girl scurried to the door and vanished from her sight as
her footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Myrcella wiggled her toes on the rushes. She glanced at Rosamund. “What is Joy doing, cousin?”

Rosamund smiled. “It is a surprise.”

The surprise turned out to be a line of servant girls carrying piping-hot buckets of fresh water. They
marched through her bedchambers and into the bath like ants. The sloshing of water rang in her
ears as she stepped into the room. As the final girl came and went, Joy Hill slammed the door shut
and hurried back into the bath.

“I think it’s time,” Rosamund snickered.

“Do I have to?” Myrcella frowned at the hot steaming water. Already the room felt suffocating, the
scent of oils cloying.

“You must! He is the heir to the Iron Throne. You mustn’t meet your future husband in the sweat
and filth of the day before!” Rosamund was exasperated and shook her head. “Come along now,
you wouldn’t want your lady mother to be witness to this, would you?”

To her cousin’s raised eyebrow, she sighed. “Fine,” she said, as her bare feet slapped against the
tiled floor. Already she could feel the warm and delicate hands of Joy Hill unlacing the back of her
dress as Rosamund poured more oils and grabbed a bar of soap from the stand.

“You will be as clean as a newborn babe,” announced the girl.

Myrcella groaned as the hot water climbed up her delicate feet to the length of her pale legs and
pooled around her middle. She was standing nude in the thigh-high water. With one last look at her
closet friends, she took the plunge and sat down on the copper tub’s smooth floor and sighed with
relief as the water lapped across her unblemished skin.

She felt the water shift around her.

Myrcella opened an eye to her nude cousin’s form as she joined her in the large tub, a mischievous
smile on her pretty face. “It’s like old times,” the girl whispered as she moved closer, the bar of
soap and a cloth in her free hand.

Myrcella sighed as Rosamund grabbed her foot beneath the water and began to scrub between her
painted toes and around her ankle to the heel of her foot. A low groan rang in her ears when she felt
Joy Hill’s roaming hands at her shoulders, as they snaked and kissed the length of her neck and
delved into her golden curls.

“It really is,” she answered back, somewhat at ease as her closest two friends took their time in
caring for her, making sure she was clean and beautiful and presentable for the miserable prince in
black and shadow.

Breathlessly, she moaned when felt Rosamund’s fingers at the entrance of her cunt. Her fingers
lightly plunged into her. “We must take care that every part of you is clean.”

Myrcella could only hum as she fell back against the curved slope of the tub, her mind blissfully
aware of how delicately Rosamund’s exploring fingers were; how they curled and twisted inside of
her to the beat of her racing heart.

Above her, she heard the little giggle of Joy Hill. “You two are almost as bad as the Targaryens.”

Rosamund laughed. “We are cousins.” Two fingers slid into her. “It is not the unholy unions of
brother and sister.”

“It does not hurt that Cella is such a beautiful maid,” Joy Hill said as her fingers ran through her
hair, a look of hunger in her eyes.

It wasn’t until later, when the heat from the water had cooled down, and the hunger for her had
sated that all three girls climbed out of the tub, satisfied and wet and giggling.
The process of finding the proper dress with the proper jewelry to highlight her beauty and the
shine of her eyes proved to be monotonous. On and on, she went, twirling and posing in different
cuts of fabric that bore too much or not enough to satisfy her two closest friends.

“You must wear the black one,” Joy Hill commented after the sixth dress was thrown out of
consideration. “Prince Jaehaerys will appreciate your appearance in the colors of his house.”

Rosamund nodded her head, but the look in her eyes told her something else. “Mayhaps gold and
crimson will do better. It will flatter your hair and your eyes, cousin. And it will remind the prince
of where you come from.”

Myrcella could only nod her head as both girls took it upon themselves to dress her, their hands
careful and delicate, as they went about putting her into the gold and crimson dress with its frilly
lace and the detailed embroidery that traveled the span of her waist.

For a moment, she felt more beautiful than her mother, more beautiful than any maid in the realm,
but as she heard the gasps of appreciation ring in her ears, her excitement turned to ash on her
tongue.

I’m doing this for him , she thought.

“There is no way his eyes will roam to Princess Daenerys or even his sister,” Joy Hill commented.

Rosamund nodded her head in agreement. “You are quite lovely, cousin. The betrothal is all but
assured.”

She dreaded that.

“She is, isn’t she?” A cool voice stated.

Myrcella followed her mother’s green eyes in the polished mirror. Where her mother lacked in
height, she made up with beauty and charm and the need to ruin everything that came into her
grasp. Cersei Lannister was a petty and poisonous woman, but she was her mother, and she loved
and envied her all the same.

“I thank you, mother,” Myrcella said with a small smile.

Rosamund and Joy Hill greeted her mother with a perfect curtsey before stepping away from her.
Cersei smiled at both girls, before she stood behind her and rested two delicate hands on her
shoulders. “With every passing day, you continue to become the envy of all the realm.”

Myrcella held her silence.

“You will make a beautiful Queen one day,” Cersei Lannister said. “I will expect nothing less from
you.”

Myrcella turned and faced her mother, fear churned in her belly. “But mother—”

A finger rested on her pink lips, shushing her. “I know what you are going to say. But what of the
Tyrell girl? What of my husband and his claim to the Iron Throne that seems to dwindle before my
very eyes…” Cersei Lannister chuckled softly. “Your grandfather will see you rise higher than
even I, his favorite. I will help you of course. How else would you accomplish such a task without
a guiding hand?”

“I don’t see how, mother,” Myrcella said, as her eyes glanced towards Rosamund’s envious glance
and Joy Hill’s terrified eyes.

Treason was openly being discussed in the king’s own household, in the very apartments that was a
stone’s throw away from the king’s royal chambers.

“I held the same worries,” Cersei started. “I begged your grandfather to seek Aegon Targaryen’s
hand for you. But your grandfather was firm in his rebuttal. Do you know what he told me?”

Myrcella shook her head.

“A crown does not make a king. It is power. And what is the most powerful seat a man can take in
all the realm?”

“The back of a dragon?” Myrcella whispered.

“Beautiful and intelligent,” Cersei smiled. “You truly are my daughter.”

“But the Black Prince gave King Aegon an egg at his coronation,” Rosamund said in a low voice.

Cersei turned to her cousin. “This is the difference between you and my daughter.” Her lady
mother leaned down and grasped her cousin by the chin. “You can only think with the heat
between your legs.”

Myrcella frowned at her mother. “Mother—”

Cersei Lannister held a hand up, instantly silencing her. “Aegon holds an egg, you are correct. But
it will take time for the egg to hatch if it ever does. In that time, Prince Jaehaerys’ beast will
continue to grow larger and fiercer than his siblings.”

Myrcella had studied the histories. For all their greatness, House Targaryen was one great tragedy
away from being nothing more than another song in the annals of time. All it would take was the
right words whispered in the wrong ear or the perfect maiden to lure and ensnare a certain unruly
prince that loomed in shadow amidst the halls of the Red Keep.

It could be so simple. And it could all be for naught. For who were they to scheme and plot against
the house of dragons?

Myrcella took a shaky breath as she stared into her mother’s searching eyes. “But what if I fail?”

“Then could I really name you my daughter?” Cersei Lannister removed her hands from her
shoulders and stepped away, a look of disgust in her beautiful green eyes. “You are the blood of
lions, my sweet. You are a Lannister of The Rock. You are not some common girl from the streets
or a lesser family. The Prince will bend to your words, to your sweet scent, to the way you look at
him with those very eyes I gifted you. Do not disappoint me, Myrcella.”

“Of course, mother,” Myrcella replied, as obediently as she could muster without letting the
trepidation that churned in the pit of her belly spew so haphazardly.

Cersei Lannister smiled. “I know that look,” she said. “I know it well.”

A table brimming with piping hot and delicious food never looked so ghastly to her.

Prince Jaehaerys sat waiting for her, every inch the Targaryen prince in his silk and tailored
doublet of crimson red and Maester’s black. Dragons were stitched at the collar. His dark hair was
wild, a mess of tangles that fell into his grey eyes as he watched her enter the idyllic white-fenced
pavilion that had been erected in the godswood.

Roses in red and blue were blooming. She could hear the songbirds chirp and chitter in the trees
that swayed overhead.

As she approached the table, the prince stood at his full height. He towered over her. She felt tiny
in comparison and yet, a thrill ran down her spine. Or is it fear? The thought was enough to poison
the image of the gallant prince.

“My Lady,” Prince Jaehaerys greeted. “It is a great honor to meet and eat with you on this fine
summer day.”

Myrcella smiled. Her hands laced behind her back. “I thank you, Prince Jaehaerys for doing me
this honor,” she curtsied, as graceful as ever.

Prince Jaehaerys returned the smile. “The honor is all mine, I swear it.”

If she didn’t know he wasn’t telling her the truth, his smile would have been enough to make her
heart race. Instead, her stomach lurched at how easily he could play his part, the ease with which
his lies slipped between pristine teeth.

But all Myrcella could do was blush and take the offered seat.

When she was sitting, Prince Jaehaerys hands lingered longer than what was courteous. He leaned
down beside her. The heat from his closeness was nearly enough to overwhelm her.

Myrcella fisted the fabric of her dress beneath the table. His eyes were captivating and alluring and
yet death lingered in his gaze. “I meant what I said that night of my brother’s coronation,” he
whispered at her side. His hand fell from the table and landed on her slender thigh.

He squeezed lightly.

Myrcella shifted in the chair as she bit her lower lip. “A lot happened that night, My Prince.”

Her heart was a fist in her chest as he took his seat. When he filled her cup with the blood red wine
of the Arbor, she quickly drank more than her courtesy deemed sensible amongst such company.
But she could not deny the sweet rush of the wine as it eased the tightening around her chest, how
it made the blinding noon sun not nearly as indomitable.

She took another pull.

The prince loaded his plate with meats and breads and some ripe grapes. He glanced at her,
smiling. “You will have to forgive me, Lady Myrcella. I seem to have grown an appetite since this
morrow’s activities. They were rather… strenuous .”

She had to remind herself that this was yet another move in the game they were seemingly playing.
Myrcella nodded in turn. “Who am I to question the endeavors of a prince?”

The prince raised his cup. “I knew there was more to you than your beauty.”

Myrcella held her tongue. With one last glance, she was left with a plate of fresh fruits and sliced
breads. Every bite did little to ease the turmoil that churned in the pit of her stomach.
They continued on like this, silent and apathetic to the other. And yet, with every pierced fruit and
nibbled bread, she couldn’t help her roaming eyes as she curiously pondered her shadowed prince.

Her prince was decidedly different here, beneath the summer sun, and away from the prying eyes
of the coronation or the cheering crowd of the tourney grounds. There was a peacefulness to the
prince that left her unnerved, as if he had no care in the world, assured and steadfast in his
presumption that he was untouchable.

And as he went about clearing his plate, his gaze adamant and focused on the task at hand,
Myrcella was left feeling bizarrely drawn in. There was something beautiful about watching the
prince as he cut and sliced through savory meats and hams, as he chewed and savored every bite.

“Is there something on your mind, Lady Myrcella?” Prince Jaehaerys said, breaking her from the
lunacy that had gripped her only a moment ago.

Myrcella held her breath, her eyes wide. She glanced back down at her own plate, but the
reproachful gaze of her mother flashed in her mind, causing her to swallow her trepidation for the
second time that day.

Surprisingly, she wanted to know more about the prince her family had made her suffer. Her fork
and speared grape lay forgotten as she stared into his grey eyes. Winter could have come and gone
by the time she knew what to ask. “Your dragon,” she started, her words were, but as she continued
to speak, she found her steel and forged ahead. “Everyone has seen Syraxes and Meraxes, yet I
have only heard rumor and gossip surrounding your mount.”

“I had anticipated such a question,” her prince smiled. “The dragons are curious creatures. Yet I
would like to think that Urrax might be the most curious of all.”

“Curious how? Aren’t they all the same?” Myrcella asked, her curiosity piqued. She took another
stab of her fork and hummed as the juicy grape burst in her mouth.

“In certain regards, yes, they are the same. But in others, they are different.” Prince Jaehaerys said,
his eyes playful for the first time since she could remember. “In the same way the gods fashioned
us in peculiar shapes and sizes, so too do the dragons suffer such whims at the hands of the gods.”

Prince Jaehaerys took a pull from his cup before continuing. “The dragons are large. They will
grow larger, still. But that is where their familiarities end. I have observed over the years that these
beasts seem to take on the attitudes of their bonded rider. Syraxes is fiercely protective and
possessive over Princess Daenerys. Meanwhile, Meraxes doesn’t suffer such childish moods and
rather mimics my sister’s regal bearing. And then there is Urrax…”

Cold , was the first thing that came to her mind. But there was something else to this prince, to this
trusted brother to the king. Myrcella hummed. “I think I understand, My Prince,” she said, mauling
over his words further. “Urrax could be seen as devious as his rider.”

Prince Jaehaerys smiled and raised his cup. “I do believe you understand.” He took another pull
and before he leaned back in his seat. “Although, I would like to believe that I am more than just
the devious prince.”

Myrcella smiled.“Mayhaps,” she said with a playful shrug. You are that and much more .

“Mayhaps,” he answered back, leaning forward onto the table. He tapped his finger, his eyes the
cold stone grey from before. It dawned on her how quickly her prince shifted in his moods. She
would have to take care of what she said—and how she said it.
Deep in his contemplation, Myrcella continued watching him. She traced the line of his jaw with
her eyes, how his hair fell into his eyes and the aggravated way he would sweep it from his sight.

She fought the giggle that bubbled at his madness.

It was then, as she struggled to maintain her composure, that he decided to return his piercing gaze
on her, as if aware of her doomed efforts and spoke.

“I believe it is my turn, Lady Myrcella.”

Anxious, she swallowed. “Your turn?” she questioned.

Prince Jaehaerys hummed. “Turnabout is fair play, is it not?”

It was , she thought. But the idea repelled her. What would he ask of her? What would she say? It
plagued her mind as she replied, “Very well. Ask your question and I will do my best to answer if I
can.”

The prince chuckled. “Bold to think I would give you the choice.”

Prince Jaehaerys turned his attention from her then, his eyes a cloud of grey. He seemed to be deep
in thought if the incessant tapping of his finger against the table was anything to go by. To distract
her mind, she emptied her cup, savoring the rich and sweet flavor as it tickled her tongue and
senses.

Still, Prince Jaehaerys remained quiet.

Beneath the pavilion, she could see a line of white clouds waxing through the blue sky at a
leisurely pace. How would it feel to fly? The thought amused her, it made her think of the all the
things and wonders that awaited her past the horizon. It made her heart clamor slightly less as the
prince’s cold grey eyes became inscrutable in the midday light.

“Tell me what it is you desire; what it is you think you will gain by meeting me here and enjoying
this summer’s farce.”

If she were honest with herself, she had expected Prince Jaehaerys to be even more callous and
direct with his question. But it seemed her prince had tempered his words in his silent
contemplation.

“Nothing,” she said, allowing the weight of the word to hang between them. Myrcella needed
Prince Jaehaerys to understand that no matter how princely he may be, no matter the strength he
could muster, or what destiny may or may not lay before him—that it interested her little and less
than the feast that lay forgotten between them.

His expression gave nothing away. “I do not know whether to express surprise or anger at your
outburst,” he mused out loud. “But I think I will settle on relief, for the sake of both of us.”

“Relief?” A small smile formed on her lips. “Pray tell me, what relief would you gain from my
lack of interest? Your brother, the king, will be disappointed. Then there is the matter of my
grandsire and his expectations of this farce of a meeting. When this is all said and done, My Prince,
you might find yourself sitting across the table of a less noble, less beautiful maid from some
minor house in the north.”

“I do run the chance of such an ill outcome.” Prince Jaehaerys frowned. “But this is where you are
wrong. My brother will suffer me in this, I assure you. And Lord Lannister will have to suffer me in
this. If not, the Old Lion of Casterly Rock will have to reckon with more than another dragonless
king.”

Myrcella’s heart raced. “Is she so important as to slight such a powerful house as House
Lannister?” For a moment, her heart ached. She folded her hands into fists in her lap. If only to
hide the sudden frustration of the situation from her prince.

“Who?”

“Pardon me, Your Grace. You are many things but a fool is not one of them.”

“Aye,” he said. “You are right. You are no fool. I should have anticipated the granddaughter of
Tywin Lannister would be more than a sweet face and inviting smile.”

Myrcella remembered her courtesies and smiled, swallowing the venom that lingered on the tip of
her tongue at the prince’s insulting words. “I thank you, Your Grace,” she said, finally. “A
woman’s keen eye is sometimes best kept hidden around fragile men.”

Prince Jaehaerys cold grey eyes were rimmed with mirth. “Even the north has its share of fragile
men, Lady Myrcella. So I do not fault you in keeping such an inviting attribute secret this far south
from the neck where the men are soft and sweeter than summer.”

Bristling, she held her silence. Instead, she took another bite from her plate, if only to distract
herself from the smirking monster across from her.

They lapsed into silence as she ate what remained on her plate.

It wasn’t until later, when her stomach was full and she had downed another cup of Abhor’s finest
that the heat from the earlier conversation had abated enough that she could look upon the prince’s
smirking face and not have treanous thoughts rampant in her mind.

“You never asked me another question.”

“The food was too good to ignore.”

Prince Jaehaerys laughed one more time. “The little lion does, indeed, have claws.”

Myrcella blushed, hating how her heart raced at the sound of the prince’s laughter. “I did not know
we were still playing this little game.”

“There is always a game being played in the Red Keep,” Prince Jaehaerys shrugged his shoulders.

That was true enough , she mused. “I find it curious that ever since your arrival at King’s Landing,
the godswood has become a place no one visits. Court would have you believe there is a beast
prowling the path at night, baying at the full moon, and snatching away the odd castle servant.”

“Court would have you believe many things,” Prince Jaehaerys started. “But in this matter, they
are partially correct. A beast does prowl this wood at night. Although I would know if it were
snatching up little boys and girls from the castle’s kitchen.”

Her interest piqued, Myrcella raised her eyes to meet the prince’s. “Pray tell me the manner of this
beast.”

“For one, the beast has a name.” Prince Jaehaerys answered as he leaned forward. “ Ghost ,” he
whispered low, across the table.
Somehow a fitting name , she thought.

“But Ghost is no mere beast. He is a direwolf. And he is my mortal companion.”

The queer words of companionship to the side, Myrcella questioned the prince. “A direwolf?” In
all her lessons in the histories of the realm, she had read little and less of such a creature. Only that
was linked to House Stark and could only be found north of the Wall. “I thought it was said they
lived beyond the Wall. How did you find one and bring it back?”

“The Wall for its majesty is not infallible, little lion. There are paths and cracks in the ice that can
be exploited by men and monsters.”

Myrcella mauled on those words. “This Ghost found you after embarking through these cracks and
paths, as you say?” she questioned.

Prince Jaehaerys smirked. “No,” he said. “The tale is long.”

“The sun hasn’t set yet.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “It hasn’t.”

The prince surprised her then by filling her cup with wine. Before returning to his own and taking a
mouthful of the Arbor’s finest. “Normally, they are not seen south of the Wall. In this you are
correct. But as the gods would have it, my cousin Robb Stark and I had stumbled upon a most
gruesome scene in the wolfswood outside of Winterfell one cold morning.”

“Wha—”

But the prince raised a finger, silencing her with a hard look.

“A storm had gone by the night before. The snow had gotten so high, it reached past our leather
boots and crunched with every step we took through that wood. There had been tales of wildlings
scaling the wall, tales of wildlings raiding the nearby villages, you see. Robb had gotten into a
quarrel with his father Lord Stark and wanted to prove his worth as the next Lord of Winterfell.
And well I,” her prince shrugged his shoulders as a small smile played on his lips, “I wanted to test
my new blade.”

“We shared nary a word, our minds focused on the task at hand, as we carried on through the
wood. A few hours must have passed before we stumbled upon the remains of a band of wildlings.
The previously fresh snow was marked and tainted with streaks of blood and torn limbs. It must
have been a score of them from the count Robb and I managed, but there could have been more,
hidden beneath the sleet and ice and overgrown bushes.”

The prince drank from his cup before continuing.

“For all the wildlings suffered, it wasn’t for naught. The further we moved into the clearing, the
more remnants of their weapons we found. Broken spears and rusted swords lay strewn and
forgotten amongst the swaying pine and oak of the wood. The trail of forgotten weapons led to the
hulking form of a dead direwolf. Its coat of grey was matted with blood and wounds. Spears jutted
from its shoulders and a rusted sword stood proudly from the beast’s massive skull.”

Myrcella sucked in a breath, horrified. “They killed her?”

“At the time, we didn’t know it was a bitch.” The prince shook his head. “As we searched the area,
we realized that the wildlings had never made it passed her. She was protecting something, that
much was obvious to us. And so we headed further into the wood, until a faint noise reached our
ears. We found the litter of five in an ancient and hollowed tree, surrounded from the elements by a
thick patch of bushes, laden with snow and ice.”

“Five?” she asked, horrified that there were more of these beasts prowling at night.

“One for every Stark child.”

Myrcella knew from her lessons that House Stark had five trueborn children. “If there were five for
the Stark children, what of—”

Prince Jaehaerys interrupted her with a chuckle. “Ghost? It proved more difficult to find him. His
name marks his nature. Silent and out of sight until it is too late,” he let the words hang between
them like a knife before continuing, “he hid amongst the snowdrifts and the wretched remains of a
tree. It was only the sight of his blood-red eyes that allowed me to find him amongst that ruin.”

“You weren’t telling tall tales when you said Ghost is your companion.” Myrcella ventured as she
came to the realization that there was some kind of kinship between her prince and his pet beast.

“It is similar to how my sister and Princess Daenerys have bonded with their dragons. A connection
of sorts that can be traced between beast and men.”

Whispers of rumors and gossip played in her ears as a vague memory of the tournament flashed in
her mind.

She recalled as her noble uncle Jaime Lannister had fallen from his steed, how the crowd sprung to
their feet, chanting the prince’s name into the night. But what had caught her attention wasn’t her
uncle’s misery or the merriment of the royal box as the lords and ladies applauded the new
champion, but of Prince Jaehaerys’ eyes as they shone more white than grey in the twilight.

“Court has proven one rumor true. Will it prove another?” she asked, her voice so soft, she feared
the wind would carry it away.

The death of the midday sun lingered behind her prince’s shoulder as he held her gaze with his
own, flickering white, and back again. “Mayhaps…”

Myrcella was nude and alone with restless hands.

She found sleep listless and waning. A fruitless endeavor. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw
a vision of him, of his grey eyes turning white, of the mockery in his smile as he leaned forward
and whispered.

A chill ran down her spine.

Myrcella shifted and huffed and moved again until she found a comfortable position on her side,
her idle hands cradled between her naked thighs as she stared into the open abyss of her balcony.

A thousand stars lit the moonless night.

For once, the godswood was quiet. For once, she could hear the hoot of the owls and the sway of
the branches as they scratched against the limbs and barks of the ancient alms and alder trees.
With a huff, she blew an errant golden lock from her gaze. Her lady mother had been displeased on
her return. She could see the disappointment in her green eyes as she shook her head, condemning
her for her failure.

“You are no daughter of mine,” Cersei Lannister had said, with a sneer on her beautiful face.

Myrcella had not anticipated the hurt, the jabbing pain that had laced her chest then, as her lady
mother stalked out of her bedchambers, her long and pale green dress a flurry of commotion behind
her.

Her elder brother Joffrey had also been there, sneering. “All you had to do was open your legs like
the whore you are,” he had said, his eyes brimming with anger and hate and something else that
made her skin crawl.

And yet, as she stood humiliated in her bedchambers with her fist shaking in anger at her side, it
had been her grandsire Tywin Lannister, the Lord of Casterly Rock, who had shown her the faintest
hint of understanding.

“When I brokered this betrothal, I had expected failure.”

Myrcella closed her eyes to the memory and tried to find sleep.

But, her mind raced, and sleep slipped through her fingers. She hunted for it, searched for it high
and low, only to find frustration.

It was like this, in the throes of her struggle, that a faint knock—and then another—made her still,
her eyes now open and alert. She stared in the direction of the door. The beat of her heart was so
loud, that she nearly missed the sound of the door creaking as it was pushed open.

Myrcella stirred from her position on the bed. She sat up, the thin and smooth silk sheet slipped
down her body like water. Quickly, she covered herself. “Who’s there?” she called into the waning
candlelight as it flickered and kissed the paneled walls.

“It’s me!” came a harsh whisper as her little brother Tommen appeared from the shadows like a
ghoul, his green eyes curious as he stared at her. “Did I wake you?” he asked.

Unlike their elder brother, there was no hunger in his green eyes, no ulterior motive in his stare as
she sat nude but the satin sheet covering her. “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I was not as
tired as I thought I was.”

“Good,” came the eager nod of Tommen’s head. A wave of golden curls shook. “Everyone is in
grandfather’s solar. Let’s go!”

“What’s going on?” Myrcella pressed as she tightened the hold on the sheet.

“I don’t know, sister. I only know that even our uncle Tyrion took time away from drinking in the
library to be here.”

Uncle Tyrion ? It would take a momentous occasion for their uncle Tyrion to put down his cups,
even more so if he had to suffer her grandsire’s indomitable presence. Myrcella bit her lip and
weighed her options. She could either stay in bed and hear about the night’s excitement on the
morrow from her excited brother or she could bear witness to it herself.

A good clout to Tommen’s ears would be awaiting him if it turned out to be a waste of her time.
Myrcella stood, the silken sheet a rumpled afterthought, as she scurried around her bedchambers.
Nude and aware of Tommen’s open curiosity, she donned a simple dress of white silk and lace. She
slipped her feet into a pair of slippers and faced her brother’s surprised expression.

“Don’t act surprised,” she admonished her brother. “I know what you and Ser Pounce get up to
when we visit Lannisport.”

A deep shade of crimson colored Tommen’s chubby cheeks. “Are you going to tell mother?”

“Not if you keep this a secret.”

With a nod of his head, Tommen agreed. “Promise?”

Myrcella reached out a hand. “Promise.”

Hand in hand, brother and sister quietly crept out of her bedchambers and tiptoed across the rushes
and to the adjoining hall that would take them to their grandsire’s apartments.

Lord Tywin Lannister’s solar door loomed at the end of the hall.

Two knights of their household guard stood outside. As they approached, both men scrutinized
them with hard eyes in the same familiar shade that many Lannisters, even those of Lannisport,
shared with them.

“I see you found your sister, Lord Tommen,” Ser Lucion Lannister said. The son of Ser Damion
Lannister and Shiera Crakehall, Lucion Lannister had been a constant fixture in her and Tommen’s
lives.

“Lady Myrcella,” Willem Lannister greeted them. The boy was of a similar age as her and her
brother Joffrey, but whereas her elder brother was skittish and prone to bouts of rage, Willem
Lannister had proven the more martial of the two and had begun squiring for her uncle Jamie
Lannister at an early age.

Much to my lady mother’s disdain , she thought.

Myrcella greeted them both. “Tommen has led me to believe that there is a family meeting?”

Lucion nodded his head. “A curious man arrived hours ago, saying such outlandish things. I am
surprised your grandsire hasn’t had the man’s tongue pulled from his mouth yet.”

Surprised, Myrcella pressed further. “What kind of things is he saying?”

Tommen tugged on her hand then. “I think it’s better if we see for ourselves,” he ushed her
forward.

Both her cousins stepped aside, wry looks on their handsome faces, as Tommen pushed open their
grandsire’s door and into the lion’s den, where the sounds of arguing could be heard.

As they entered, Lord Lannister raised his hand and the room stilled. “Silence, daughter. I have
heard enough from this man to discern the truth of his words.”

Myrcella caught the look in her grandsire’s eyes as he nodded in her direction. “Good. Tommen
has brought Myrcella from her bedchambers.”

Everyone in the room turned in her direction, except for brother Joffrey who seemed to be more
concerned with the tall and heavily bearded man at the center of the solar. The man with a full
head of golden hair struck an imposing figure. Lean with broad shoulders, he gazed at her with a
calculating gaze before turning his back to her and eyeing her grandsire.

“What is happening?” she asked, more nervous than she intended.

Her dwarf uncle’s mismatched eyes landed on her. “It seems my father’s long-lost brother has
returned from the dead.”

“Is it true?” she heard herself say.

Tywin Lannister nodded his head. “It is,” he said as he eyed Jaime Lannister. “And he brings
certain matters that could prove of great fortune for House Lannister.”

Myrcella tightened her hold on Tommen’s hand, but before she could voice her thoughts, her
grandsire turned his attention back to the man now known as Gerion Lannister.

“Tell them what you have told me,” Tywin Lannister said in a commanding voice.

It was as if a great song filled the solar as Gerion Lannister spoke.

“Like my brother, I wanted to bring great honor and glory to House Lannister,” he began in a soft
voice, that was equal parts captivating and haunting. “The waves of the Narrow Sea crashed
against the Laughing Lion as I set sail from Lannisport. I had everything I desired; good and loyal
men, a strong wind in my sails, and a hunger to show my brother that he was not the only one who
could bear his claws.”

Myrcella’s exhaustion from before was but a terrible memory in the face of Gerion Lannister’s
words as he spoke of his great adventure, of the many new people he met at the harbors that plotted
his course to his final destination.

“Even with all the gold beneath the halls and tunnels of Casterly Rock, I knew there was one thing
my brother wanted above all,” he continued, his green eyes mischievous.

“My lord father already has everything he could want,” Cersei Lannister said with a huff. “I have
given him a strong heir and beautiful granddaughter to do with as he pleases. My brother Jaime is a
famed knight throughout the whole realm.”

Gerion Lannister laughed.

“These are all things that were never out of his reach,” he said as he touched a hand to the pommel
at his waist. “Yet for all the gold and the power and legacy my brother has created for our house,
he still lacks the one thing that would place House Lannister on an equal or even greater footing
than the other great families.”

“Valyrian steel.” Tyrion Lannister said in a bored and dull tone. Her dwarf uncle was sitting in a
high-backed chair, his mismatched eyes all the more gruesome in the queer flickering light.

Gerion Lannister smiled. “You were always my favorite nephew.” Before anyone could say
another word, Gerion pulled a blade from its wooden scabbard in one fluid motion. As the blade
flourished, she swore she could see smoke.

“It cannot be,” Jaime Lannister said, his eyes wide in surprise. “That blade was lost in a place no
one has survived to tell the tale. Except for one man.”

Death crept into her granduncle’s gaze as he stared hard at Ser Jaime. “Euron Greyjoy,” Gerion
said as if the name was a bitter poison. “I was first to see the ruins of Valyria. I was first to brave
its shores. And I was first to taste defeat at Euron’s hands.”

The room was quiet, all eyes focused on the bearded man as his rage quivered in his green eyes.
Myrcella held her grasp as she looked down at her little brother’s frightened eyes.

“What treachery did Euron Greyjoy employ?” Cersei Lannister questioned. It seemed even her lady
mother was drawn into her Gerion Lannister’s tale.

“He is the reason it has taken me so long to return,” Gerion Lannister said, as he sealed the
smoking blade back into its scabbard and removed it from his belt. He placed the sheathed sword
on her grandsire’s desk. “Brightroar, brother. She is now yours.”

Tywin Lannister nodded his head. The older man placed a reverent hand on the scabbard before
looking up to his brother. “You have done well,” he said. “But this place will be better served in
the hands of one far younger and more capable than I.”

Myrcella watched as her grandsire motioned for her uncle Jaime Lannister to step forward. “You
have brought me honor and shame in great measures and yet I would be a fool to entrust this blade
to anyone else. Take Brightroar. Let the realm hear House Lannister’s roar.”

Wordlessly, her uncle Ser Jaime took the proffered blade and released it from its confines.

The sight hollowed her chest. Black smoke wisps danced along the glinting edge. She felt Tommen
at her side stir forward. Her little brother’s eyes were wide in amazement.

“It’s beautiful,” Tommen said, his awe carried through the room like a wave.

“A fitting blade then,” Ser Jaime smirked at little Tommen as he smiled back at his uncle. But as
Myrcella eyed the room, she wasn’t surprised to see the leering hunger in her elder brother’s eyes
as he came out from their mother’s shadow.

“Do not grow too fond of that blade, uncle. I will be its master soon enough.”

“I look forward to that day,” Ser Jaime said, his eyes hard like glinting poison in the hearth fire.

Myrcella fought the laughter that bubbled in her belly. She knew that day would never come. Her
fool of a brother was more a bully than a noble fighter like their uncle. Tommen is more likely to
use the blade when he’s of age , she thought as she glanced at Joffrey’s glaring eyes.

Later, when the awe of the blade had been washed away by several cups of the Arbor’s finest, and
Jaime Lannister had been excused by a rather forceful Lord Lannister, Gerion Lannister continued.

“Many years may have passed and yet It is no small wonder that you live to stand before us all,”
Jaime Lannister said with a shake of his head. “Euron Greyjoy’s manner is no secret to the realm or
of the free cities of Essos. He is not known to leave any survivors in his wake.”

“No,” Gerion Lannister answered. “You speak truly, nephew. Even then, Euron had made a name
for himself, small as it was. It may have been luck or the will of the gods that saw me through that
great ordeal.”

Myrcella swallowed, her eyes focused intently on her granduncle. Gerion Lannister roved the
rushed, his eyes hard and his hold on the cups even more so, but as he spoke of the battle upon the
smoking sea beneath that blinding sun, she felt terror.
“Silence came upon us,” she heard her uncle speak into the crackling fire. “It was a sight most
queer—even now I question it—but how could a ship so vast move upon us without making the
slightest of sounds? It was nothing more than the Stranger’s work,” he shook his head as if
ashamed. “Before we knew it… a horde of reavers had bloodied the deck of the Laughing Lion .”

A long pause stretched throughout the solar as Gerion Lannister took another hard pull from the
cup, his eyes glinting green in the hearthfire.

“It was hopeless. We stood nary a chance of confronting such a force. It was as if they knew no
pain. We stabbed and slashed a score or more and yet not even a cry of pain rang through the air.
Eventually, hopelessness set in. Call me craven or a fool, but I took what little remained to me and
jumped. I abandoned them.”

“You did what was yours by right of being a Lannister,” Tywin Lannister spoke, his voice hard,
like stone crashing against stone.

“It is as you say, brother,” Gerion Lannister scoffed. “I had time enough, to think about my
shortcomings as I held onto what little remained of my flagship. Days turned into more days until
hunger crawled in my guts and the horizon was a mess of shapes and confounded imagery sent to
confuse me by the gods.”

“When I believed I could last not a moment longer, I felt a rough set of hands fish me out of the
water like some waterlogged cat. But I brushed the indignity of it away. I was too thankful to those
sailors brave enough to save me from the monsters that lurked beneath the smoking sea.”

“They took me from those foul waters and nursed me back to health. All the while, my hand was
stone around the middle of that blade. I had already lost everything. I would be damned if I lost
even more. But they did not seem too concerned with the sword. Mayhaps if they knew the true
manner of the blade they would have cleaved the blade from my hold, but alas, they did not. And
we continued to sail through storm and salt until we came upon the mighty harbor of Volantis.”

“You have been in the safety of Volantis this whole time?” Cersei Lannister scowled. “My father—
your brother—has scoured the seas and lands for you and you were in Volantis?”

“Volantis and elsewhere,” Gerion Lannister said.

“Silence, daughter,” Tywin Lannister interrupted. “If this was truly the end of this tale, you would
be correct in your wroth. But there is much and more you do not know.”

The fire crackled.

“Pray tell me, father,” Cersei Lannister said with narrowed eyes. “But what could be of such import
that would cause your own brother to abandon your calls to return to safely home?”

A chill ran down her spine as her grandsire’s hard eyes turned to her. Lord Lannister steepled his
fingers as he leaned forward. “Myrcella’s failure to make inroads with the Black Prince may prove
a greater boon than I had expected.”

Myrcella swallowed. Suddenly, she felt fear grip her heart.

“How could my daughter’s failures prove beneficial to us, father?” Cersei walked the room until
she stood behind her. She felt her lady mother’s tight grip on her shoulder. “And what does it have
to do with the arrival of my uncle?”

“House Lannister did not rise so high on the shoulders of children,” Lord Lannister said as he
 continued to stare at her with those glinting green eyes. “I had little and less reasons to believe that
your attempt to curry the Black Prince’s favor would end without failure. Yet I had hoped that his
father’s foolishness had run its course in the north if the rumors and gossip were anything to be
believed. But it seems even distance and time does little to tame the blood of the dragon.”

Tyrion spoke then. “Why am I not surprised that you used her?”

“If even a dwarf can prove useful to House Lannister then I see no reason to believe that the girl
could be used to test the waters,” Lord Lannister said replied harshly. “I am not a man of half
measures. I needed to be sure the prince’s crowning of his aunt during the tournament was more
than a farce.”

“Anyone with eyes could see it wasn’t a farce,” Tyrion Lannister smirked. Her dwarf uncle took a
pull from his cup as her grandsire’s expression turned to stone. “You dangled the little cub before
the dragon to see if it would bite.”

“I did,” Lord Lannister said. “I would do it again and again if it meant there was but a small chance
of success. But now that my long lost brother has returned to us, there will be no need to tempt
fate.”

“Speak plainly, father,” her lady mother said, as her nails dug into her shoulders. “This is my
daughter you are toying with.”

“Tell them, brother,” Lord Lannister said as he leaned back into his seat. “Tell them what you have
seen.”

Gerion Lannister seemed to grow taller in the flickering shadow of the hearthfire. “King Aegon and
his siblings ride dragons. Have they ever taken them across the Narrow Sea?”

Tyrion frowned. “In all my years unraveling the sewers in King’s Landing, I have heard little of
journeys on dragonback across the Narrow Sea.”

Gerion Lannister nodded. “Then there is hope he spoke truthfully.” Her granduncle rummaged in
the pockets of his cloak before pulling out a sealed scroll. He unfurled it on the table and glanced
back to the silent room. “I have here an offer.”

The room seemed to grow smaller as everyone crowded forward and peered down at the yellowed
parchment painted in Maester’s black. Myrcella gasped when she read the letter. They it was bold,
with its promise for glory, of newfound power, of an alliance that would shake the foundations of
the red keep to its core.

Chapter End Notes

Was this chapter late? Probably.

Will the next one also be late? Likely.

Let me know what you think. There are a few lines in here that will prove crucial in
the future of the story. Both short term and long term.

Comments are always appreciated. Thanks for reading.

 Rhaenys II
Chapter Summary

Dimer

Chapter Notes

This chapter has a substantial girth.

House Blackfyre is also in the kitchen, cooking up something BIG

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The wind blew through her dark hair.

Rhaenys took a deep breath and held it in her chest. Roses, she thought. Inside the Red Keep’s
royal gardens, the beds of flowers were in perpetual bloom. An assortment of red and blue and
black danced before her eyes. She stopped and knelt on one knee. With a delicate hand, she
touched the velvet petals.

How long has it been? Too long, the errant thought whispered. A decade and more had passed
since she walked these gardens with her lady mother, hand in hand, beneath the sweltering heat of
summer. She could remember her faint laughter, its soothing lilt, and how it grew fainter and
fainter as her royal mother’s weakness slowly ate at her bones.

By the end of it, I could hardly recognize her.

Rhaenys wiped a tear from her cheek. No matter how fraught this place—the garden—was with
sad memories of a different time, she could still find solace in the sweet cloying smell of the earth.

And yet, there was a coldness in her chest. It brooded every time she breathed, every time she
woke in the middle of the night abandoned.

A week had gone by without her little aunt’s warm body draped about her olive skin. She longed
for her, for her delicate fingers as they intertwined with hers beneath the silken sheets. Rhaenys
blushed as her hand tightened around the plucked rose bud. She watched as the velvet walls
collapsed beneath the strength of her hold until it was nothing more than a flowery ruin in her
hand.

Curiously, she wondered if this would be Daenerys’ fate in the hands of her brother.

Another ruin.

Daenerys must have thought her a fool to think she could hide such a thing from her. Either that or
she thinks her skill at mummery has grown from all the practice. But no matter the tale, it could not
hide the glow of a woman who was being well and thoroughly fucked. It was all in her aunt’s eyes
and how they shined, satisfied in her womanly nature—reassured that she had laid her claim.
Rhaenys couldn’t completely fault Dany or her fool brother. Ever since they were children, she
could recognize the connection between the two, how they gravitated towards the other before all
—even her. She was guilty of such behavior with her own brother Aegon. It had all been but a
forgone conclusion that Aegon would be the one to wed and bed her.

But everything changed in a span of hours on that terrible night.

Rhaenys shook her head of the foul memories. The morrow’s dew was at her feet. A wave of
clouds crawled overhead. It was such a beautiful start to her day that she didn’t want to darken her
mood, only to spoil her good humor.

Her brother Jaehaerys seemingly had chosen Daenerys. And she could not fault him, their aunt was
everything she wasn’t; graceful and pure—unspoiled—by another. Still, it burned her, as she
remembered her brother’s fervent whispers that tragic night not so long ago.

I need you.

Perhaps it was time to put away her childish toys and wants and move on. Perhaps she wasn’t
meant for such things as love from neither of her brothers, destined to wilt beneath some low lord’s
lecherous hand. Rhaenys splayed a hand over her middle as her nails dug into the fabric of her dress
at the thought of such a fate.

I would rather die alone.

Deep in her thoughts, she nearly missed the subtle sound of a woman’s approach behind her.
Rhaenys stilled and blinked the longing from her eyes before turning and meeting the familiar eyes
of a servant girl.

She was not beautiful nor was she ugly. A fair young woman with brown hair and even browner
eyes. She appeared doe-like in the morrow’s growing light with her pink lips. “Casella,” Rhaenys
greeted with a small smile. “I hope you have brought what I asked of you?”

Casella curtsied and bowed her head. “Princess,” she greeted. “I have done as you asked.” The
serving girl pulled a note from the inside of her clean and white apron and handed it to her.

Rhaenys peered at the sealed envelope and opened it. Quickly, she read a few lines and gave the
serving girl a small smile. “You have done well,” Rhaenys said as she started to fold the letter back
into its confines. “I hope the rest of my girls are doing just as well?”

Casella blushed, smiling. “Of course,” she said. “They are doing as instructed. There has been
much gossip spread amongst the girls and we are sifting through the important details.”

“Pray tell me, Casella.”

Casella fidgeted beneath her gaze. For a girl she had known since her infancy, she was still quite
nervous when standing before the blood of the house royal. “Your brother, King Aegon, has been
seen spending much of his free time with his betrothed.”

“Has he bedded the girl yet?” Rhaenys questioned, causing the other girl to flush a deep crimson.

“No, not yet,” Casella shook her head.

“It will be only a matter of time before then. Make sure the Lady Margaery is provided with the
proper tea when the time comes. I do not need a scandal marking the beginning of my brother’s
young reign.”
“I will see to it personally, Princess,” the servant girl responded.

Satisfied, Rhaenys hid the letter in the folds of her dress. She had another meeting soon and did not
want to answer any undue questions. But before she dismissed Casella, she asked the servant girl
one last thing. “I fear with the arrival of my youngest brother, I will be needing to expand my reach
into the city and its bows. Are there certain hands that could be obliged with gold or promises of
prestige? I am open to giving those who prove useful my patronage.”

“I do not know, Your Grace,” Casella frowned. “I am rarely allowed to leave the city. And I am
only a crofter’s daughter. I would not know much about the company the young prince would
keep.”

Rhaenys hummed. “You are right. My brother is not one to slate his thirst on whores when he has a
princess who is willing to fulfill his every desire so close at hand.” Rhaenys turned from the
serving girl and noticed the brightening of the morning sky. “That is all, Casella. You have proven
yourself useful once more. Your family will be well rewarded as always.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Casella said before giving way to the subtle sound of her retreat back
through the maze of the royal gardens.

Alone, Rhaenys took a moment to dwell on the words in the letter. She would have to speak to her
wild Dornish cousin soon enough. With thoughts of Arianne on her mind, she delved deeper into
the maze of hedges and to the center of the maze where a raised platform sat in the middle. There
was a lone table beneath a white marble pavilion, decorated with dragon motifs.

Rhaenys took a seat at one of the benches and waited.

As she waited, she thought of Meraxes and how it would feel to have the hot summer breeze in her
hair once more, to smell the salt of the sea as dragon and rider flew over Blackwater Bay. It had
been long enough that she had forgotten the feel—the heat—of the dragon’s scales between her
legs.

Perhaps it would be enough to soothe the ache inside of me.

But before she could dwell longer on the alluring prospect, her guest arrived with two shadows at
her back, clad in mail and leather, and emblazoned with the sigil of House Stark and the personal
sigil of a blue rose on a field of grey of the Queen Mother.

“Daughter,” Lyanna Stark greeted with a smile. “I have missed you at the breakfast table.”

Rhaenys smiled back. “Good morrow, mother. You will have to accept my apologies. I have lost
my appetite as of late,” she said with a shrug.

“Are you well?” Lyanna frowned. “Did you see the Maester?”

“Oh no! It is nothing like that, mother. I simply wish to have my morning meal later in the day,
when it’s more… peaceful,” she struggled to convey her emotions in words.

Lyanna eyed her with discerning grey eyes. “You are hiding something from me. But I will not
press you. Just know that I am here to listen if you need me.”

Rhaenys smiled. “I thank you, mother.”

Lyanna gave her one last long look before taking a seat opposite her. They spoke of nothing,
content to sit idle as the birds flocked from branch to branch, as the morning breeze danced
between the folds of their light summer dresses. “Your mother and I spent many days in these
gardens,” Lyanna said after a while. “She loved it here. A home away from home, she would say.”

“Did she not love the Red Keep?”

“Does anyone?” Lyanna sighed. “For all its beauty and grandeur, this place could never really be
her home.”

Rhaenys clenched her hand into a fist. “Why didn’t my father do anything? Surely, he must have
known.”

“I am not one to speak on Rhaegar’s actions.” Lyanna said. “But take heart in knowing that your
father did everything he could to make this place more welcome to her—and me—after King
Aerys’ passing.”

“I miss her,” Rhaenys bit her lip, staring at the Red Keep’s towers as they jutted out like a demon’s
claws, rending the peaceful morning sky open.

Lyanna squeezed her hand. “I know you do, sweetling. I miss them too.”

“I often wonder about the day that they died.” Rhaenys stared into Lyanna’s grey eyes. “I can
remember it as clearly as if it was yesterday. Ser Barristan had barged into my bedchambers in the
middle of the night. At first, I thought another rebellion had sparked, that the rebels had stormed
the castle and slain my siblings. And yet as I stared into Ser Barristan’s eyes, I knew something far
worse had happened.”

Lyanna looked away from her. Her hold on her hand had softened and when she spoke, there was a
coldness in her voice that reminded Rhaenys of her brother Jaehaerys. “There is no use in dwelling
on the past. What is done is done. Nothing we do in this life can ever bring them back.”

Rhaenys pulled her hand away, as if scolded. “You are right,” she answered, “there is no use in
dwelling on ghosts.” But as she said the words, Rhaenys knew she didn’t believe them.

There is more to this story, she thought. And my mother knows.

A moment of silence fell upon them like a grey cloud. Yet her thoughts could not linger for too
long on Lyanna’s queer reaction. As Rhaenys glanced at the Queen Mother, she could see the pain
that lingered in her gaze, how her hands had turned into fists.

Rhaenys reached a tentative hand out. Carefully, she stroked the tension from Lyanna’s fist until it
gave to the softness and warmth she had known all her life, before she laced their hands together.
“Thank you,” was all Lyanna said. “It still hurts to know that they’re gone.”

Rhaenys hummed. “I understand, mother.” She did, but she also knew Lyanna held her own ghosts
if the tired look in her eyes was anything to believe.

It wasn’t until a little while later that Lyanna spoke again. All the pain from earlier was gone like
the morning breeze. “Elia would be displeased to know we were behaving like brokenhearted
maids in her favorite place. Come, let us no longer dwell on the dead and instead speak of the
living. How fares your cousins from Dorne?”

Rhaenys smiled, nodding her head. “They are well. Recently, I have spent many of my evenings
amongst my mother’s family. The Dornish apartments hold a certain liveliness that all of King’s
Landing pales to imitate.”
“I have no doubt of that,” Lyanna said, her voice wistful. “As you know, my relations with Dorne
have only been cordial and tolerant at least. But that was something I never had to worry about
with Elia. She taught me much and more in the ways of dealing with her family.”

“And still, they look upon you with such disdain.” Rhaenys shook her head.

“That is true, my sweet,” Lyanna said, her grey eyes piercing as she stared at her. “Yet we cannot
let history, however bitter, hinder our attempts at diplomacy. When Elia and your royal father died,
I had attempted to offer Dorne a seat on the Small Council, but it had proven much too late. Lord
Connington had his betrothal and the backing to push me further from court.”

At that, Rhaenys glanced beyond Lyanna’s shoulder, to her two shadows that stood a courteous
distance away. She had not noticed before, but they were hulking men, tall like her brother, but
whereas there was a graceful beauty to Jaehaerys, these northerners were crafted differently—
harder, their eyes like coal. “May we speak freely,” she asked, eyeing her northern guard. “I wish to
speak on certain matters that concern the court.”

Lyanna furrowed her brow but quickly raised a hand. “You may go,” she called without a glancing
back.

The two guards responded with the heavy sound of their boots crushing the grassy path beneath.
As the two men disappeared into the hedges, Rhaenys could not help but notice the way the
younger one eyed Lyanna’s graceful form. She had to bite back the laugh that bubbled as she
watched the man linger on Lyanna’s naked shoulder and how it gracefully dipped into the light
fabric of her silken summer dress.

He may not see women clad in so little so far north, she mused to herself.

“What do you find so humorous, daughter?” Lyanna questioned.

Rhaenys smiled. “Oh, it seems you have an admirer.”

Lyanna narrowed her eyes before turning to glance back at her two guards. When she returned her
attention to her, she shook her head. “I suppose you mean Cley?”

“If he is the young comely one, yes,” Rhaenys teased.

“He is one of my protectors,” Lyanna admonished. “I am old enough to be his mother as it is.”

“No one will judge you, if you do. You have mourned long enough, mother.”

“I have mourned long enough,” Lyanna began. The older woman’s expression turned somber in the
morning light. For once, Rhaenys could see the harsh hand of time and grief as it lined her mother’s
comely face. “But when the sun has set, no candle can ever replace it.”

A cold chill ran down her spine as she saw a glimpse of herself reflected in her mother’s grey eyes.
She struggled to find the words to say that would comfort her mother, that would seal the beating
wound in her chest.

“I—” she started, lost.

But it would be Lyanna’s warm smile that eased her suffering. “It’s okay, child,” the older woman
said with a warm smile. “My heart may belong to another, but I am not blind and even with age a
woman doesn’t seemingly lose her taste.”
Rhaenys smiled. “You will think about it?”

Lyanna shrugged. “I will not make promises I do not plan on keeping.”

It was as good a confirmation as she would get.

“Now pray tell me,” Lyanna eyed her, “what was it that was so important that I had to send away
my guard?”

Rhaenys glanced around the royal gardens. It was still morning. But the fog and dew had slowly
faded away until the crisp and maintained grass fluttered in the easy summary breeze. “I wish for
Jae to take Lord Connington’s place as Hand to my brother.”

Lyanna nodded her head. “There is merit to this wish of yours.”

And yet, as Rhaenys studied her mother, she could tell the older woman wasn’t as convinced as she
was letting on. “But?” Rhaenys questioned.

“What about your brother? Does Jaehaerys wish for such a position? I know my son and he does
not have the temperament to sit idle. He is a man of action, consequences be damned. You know
this as much as I.”

Rhaenys bit her lip and mauled over Lyanna’s words. She speaks truly, she thought. Jaehaerys
would sooner bring the world to a standstill than let it spin out of his grasp. She tapped a delicate
nail on the marble table. “You are right. Jaehaerys temperament leaves much to desire. But he is
loyal to my brother and his family and surely, he could be made to see reason.”

Lyanna remained quiet for a beat before she spoke again. “Do you remember the tale of the wind
and the sun?”

Rhaenys blinked, surprised by such a queer question. “Perhaps?” she said, more unsure than she let
on. “Father spoke of many tales and riddles.”

“Your father valued the many small lessons one could discern from such notions. He often would
regale me and your mother as often as he would you and your brothers.”

“Really?”

Lyanna hummed, nodding her head. “It is easy to forget Rhaegar’s ramblings as that of a mad man,
but there was meaning and cause for it. Think back, daughter. What would Rhaegar say of those
who wield power most convincingly?”

Rhaenys thought back to a time when her royal father was still around, to the look on his face as he
sat her and her siblings down around a crackling hearthfire.

“It is better to suggest—” Rhaenys said as she fumbled with her thoughts. But as she went on to
explain further, she frowned as irritation set in when she couldn’t quite put her thoughts into words.

“To suggest your will, rather than force it upon others,” Lyanna said with a smile. “You will not
force Jaehaerys into this position. As much as you may think it is for the best. It pains me to admit
that he is too much like this mother in that regard. You will need a gentle hand to push him in the
right direction.”

“Meraxes wouldn’t bother with such subtlety.” Rhaenys muttered more to herself than to Lyanna
rolled her eyes at her childish response.
“The threat of dragons may work on others. But do not forget that you are not dealing with Aegon,
but with another dragonrider. It will serve you better to thread with caution. Just like you,
Jaehaerys will spurn any command he doesn’t agree with.”

“I am beginning to realize that it would be easier to remove Lord Connington from his seat of
power than it would be to force my brother into such a position.”

A sad smile formed on Lyanna’s face as the older woman shook her head in disagreement. “Lord
Connington brings his own problems.”

Frustration churned in her stomach. “You led me to believe there was merit in this plan of mine,
yet you have only shown holes that would sooner sink me.”

“I did not lie when I said there was merit to placing Jaehaerys at Aegon’s side. It only has to be
done with a woman’s touch—subtle—as to not wound the men of this family.”

“You are reminding me more of my father,” Rhaenys said. “Speak plainly, mother.”

“I wonder, how does someone remove a hand that festers?” Lyanna said in a whisper. The older
woman stared at her with hard grey eyes that reminded her of Jaehaerys. “Lord Connington holds
something far more valuable than men or lands or coin. He has your brother’s trust, forged over the
years with dutiful and noble service like the links in a Maester’s chain.”

“Then I will sever these links Lord Connington has used to blind my brother. I’ll show him the rot
and poison that has allowed the vultures to circle our family’s throne. I’ll make sure the position is
untenable.”

Lyanna nodded. “You are beginning to understand.”

From the onset, she knew her plan was but a child’s dream, a child’s want to see her family safe
and protected from the outsider who dared intrude on what little remained to her. She knew she had
little and less hope of forcing Jaehaerys to do her will. She hardly trusted his boisterous claims of
protecting his family. There was a darkness that lurked behind his eyes… a certain selfishness that
would come alight whenever he believed no one was paying attention.

Yet she was always listening. Always watching.

They continued throughout the morning, speaking in hushed tones, the designs that would bring
low a lord who had risen too high, too quickly, and for too long, for their liking. An hour or more
may have passed, Rhaenys didn’t know, too emboldened as she was by the return of someone who
held the same desire as her.

“I wish you had stayed in King’s Landing,” Rhaenys had heard herself saying.

Lyanna smiled. “I do too, my sweet. But alas, a queen quickly sees herself without power once her
king is no longer amongst the living. I cannot begin to tell you how many times I had to bite my
tongue in the many quarrels I had to endure. It had grown so out of my control that I was left with
little choice but to take Jaehaerys away from this pit of vipers. And yet, in my desire to protect my
son, I forgot that I was a mother to you all as well. I can only hope for forgiveness.”

Rhaenys shook her head. “You are not to blame. As I have grown older, I have started to see the
true nature of men and the world.”

Lyanna looked away from her, blinking harshly. She didn’t speak for a pause or two, until
eventually the proud young woman she remembered glanced at her with a sudden sadness that left
an ache in her chest. “Come now, let us not waste a moment longer discussing that man. Tell me
about your brother. Tell me of Aegon and how he is fairing with his betrothal.”

Rhaenys smiled. “Have you met her? His betrothed?”

Lyanna nodded. “Only briefly, during a short lunch, but from what I was able to discern from our
encounter, The Rose of Highgarden will make a lovely wife for Aegon and even lovelier sons.”

“I have only spoken to her in passing. And from what little I learned of her; I would have to agree
with you. She is well-mannered with a quick mind. She will make a good queen for my brother.”
Rhaenys said with a sigh. “But I cannot help to think that she is too perfect… too plain for Aegon.
Surely, I am not alone in thinking this?”

“Plain?” Lyanna raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“Dornish blood runs hot, mother,” Rhaenys said without an inch of embarrassment coloring her
tone, “Aegon will not keep to one bed. Not for long anyways. Lady Margaery will not be able to
keep his mind from straying, let alone the rest of him.”

“Aegon will not be the first king nor the last to father bastards,” Lyanna said with a look of disgust.

Rhaenys nodded her head in agreement. If only Aegon had been stoic in his desires, she thought.
But he hadn’t. He differed from his brother Jaehaerys, who could never afford to entertain such
follies. And now as a newly minted king, his desires would soon prove endless if her regard for
Lady Margaery proved true.

“Perhaps it is time I learned more about my future good sister,” Rhaenys remarked.

“That is something we both can agree upon,” Lyanna answered. “Invite Daenerys as well. Soon or
late, the girl will be part of this house. It would be wise to keep appearances, if only to feign
innocence if matters turn sour in the future. We cannot have it gossiped or whispered at court that
House Targaryen was anything but courteous to its new member.”

A dark look passed over her face at the mention of Dany’s name. “I fear it will prove difficult to
find Daenerys,” Rhaenys said simply. “It seems the little princess has become rather preoccupied
as of late."

Lyanna shook her head in amusement. “Is everything all right between the two? It is unusual for
Daenerys and you to be at ends. That privilege is usually afforded to either Aegon or Jaehaerys.”

“Everything will be fine,” Rhaenys waved Lyanna’s concern away. “It has become odd to have to
share Dany’s attention with another—even if he is my brother, after so many years together.”

“They have not forgotten you,” Lyanna said in an endearing tone. “There are only so many letters
on the foot of ravens that can convey their feelings adequately. They will come back to you. Just
give them some time.”

All Rhaenys could do was nod her head, too craven to voice the pain in her heart. And yet, as both
women sat idle beneath the pavilion, Rhaenys couldn’t help but think that maybe Lyanna was
right.

Perhaps all it would take to ease the ache in her chest was time.

After a while, they departed the royal gardens, Rhaenys resting on Lyanna’s shoulder as they
trekked silently through the hedges. They passed several servants as they went about their tasks;
carrying arms full of clean linens and the odd chamber pot. They paid no mind to their frightened
greetings and simply strode past without another look.

They moved like this through the hallways in silence, all the while accompanied by Lyanna’s
shadows until the bite of ringing steel called to their feet and pulled them into one of the many
training yards housed behind the walls of the Red Keep.

On top of the stone balcony, she leaned over the ridge and glanced down at the clamor in the
courtyard.

Aegon, her brother, stood in a loose-fitting cotton shirt that exposed the ridge of his chest. He held
a sword in his hand, his concentration sharp as a razor as he circled his sparring partner. Further in
the distance, she spied on her youngest brother, Jaehaerys, shouting a few choice words to his
squire Monterys whenever the boy’s stance was less than ideal.

“It seems my son will have a handful with his squire,” Lyanna remarked at her side.

“He doesn’t need to be so forthright with his words.”

“Perhaps,” Lyanna shook her head as Jaehaerys corrected Monterys once more, “but it is the way
Jaehaerys learned.”

Rhaenys hummed as she glanced back in the direction of Aegon and the crowd that had formed
around his sparring square. The clang of blunted steel was enough to send a shiver down her spine.
She tightened her grasp on the hard stone and stared intently as the two men continued their
fearsome clash.

“Who is Aegon sparring?” Lyanna questioned. “He appears familiar.”

“His name is Ser Gerold. He is a cousin of Ser Arthur,” Rhaenys explained. The men had fallen
back, eyeing the other, their swords deadly in their tight grips. “He is said to be quite formidable
like his famed uncle with the blade.”

“I wonder what Ser Arthur makes of the boy?”

Rhaenys shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps he will inherit Dawn when the times come?”

At that, Lyanna made a face as she scrunched up her face. “I wouldn’t be too sure,” she finished as
the Danish knight blocked a rather heavy overhead blow from Aegon.

Ser Gerold, in the better position after such a strike, edged forward, faster than she thought
possible, and swung his sword in an arc that caught steel. It seemed her brother Aegon had been
prepared for such a blow and had met his blade with his own.

“Good!” Ser Barristan barked from down below. “Keep your guard high and Ser Gerold will find it
difficult to land a blow!”

With both blades clenched between them, Aegon heaved his shoulder into Ser Gerold, managing to
shove him back a few paces, before laying into the knight with a few choice strokes that had the
Dayne on the backfoot.

Aegon was ruthless and quick, his strokes mighty and full of vigor. Although the castleforged steel
was blunted, it rang and echoed on the stone walls as both men clashed. Rhaenys was impressed
with her brother. He had improved tremendously since Jaehaerys had left to foster in the north.
Where Jaehaerys had always been swift of feet, Aegon had been blessed with a stronger back and
wider shoulders and had relied on his strength to bull his way through his adversaries. Though it
appears that Ser Arthur’s harsh lessons over the years have taught my brother the patience to find
an opening, rather than bludgeoning his way to victory.

The spar continued.

Aegon did not relent. He pressed forward. The echoes of a smirk played on his lips as he assaulted
Ser Gerold’s admirable defense. Rhaenys cheered for her brother as he pressed the knight to the
edge of the field, his swings mad with strength, with the assuredness of a king as Aegon seemingly
slipped past Ser Gerold’s handguard and rode the length of his arm with his blunt edge of his steel.

Ser Gerold, surprised, hissed in pain as he fell to the dirty ground.

Her brother’s visage was soon massed by the press of knights and Kingsguard giving their praise of
his impressive victory.

“It pleases me to see Aegon has taken his martial studies seriously in my absence,” Lyanna
remarked as Aegon clasped hands with the Dornish knight. A few words were exchanged, but
Rhaenys couldn’t hear them over the playful jeering from the men below.

“A certain madness took hold of my brother,” Rhaenys said with a side glance to Lyanna. She did
not need to elaborate on what had spurred Aegon to take his training with sword to heart. The only
Targaryen heir without a dragon, she mused to herself. She prayed to whatever gods were listening
that Aegon would be blessed like her and her siblings. He is fearsome with the sword. All he needs
is a mount and none will dare challenge him.He wHe

As if some unseen force had taken hold of her, Rhaenys’ gaze drifted in the direction of Jaehaerys
as he stood with arms folded over his chest, his eyes hard and lips a thin line, as he stared in
Aegon’s direction. She could not name what lingered in his stoney gaze, only that it caused her
heart to skip a beat, whether it was fear of him, or for her brother—she could not say.

It only disturbed her further.

It was like this that Jaehaerys seemingly caught her gaze with his own. A small smile formed on
his handsome face, but she couldn’t wash away the lecherous look that had been on display for the
whole realm to see.

Rhaenys bit her lip. “I will see you later, mother. It seems I am in need of Meraxes,” she said with
one last long look in her brother’s direction.

///

The remains of the Dragonpit brooded ahead of her.

It was a ruin of stone and bone and ash. The Dance pushed us over the precipice, she thought. A
thousand crumbling columns lined her vision. It was a rocky path towards her destination, one
which—unknowingly—had marked the beginning of the end of her family’s power, to the magic
that sang in their blood.

But a new dawn is upon us.

Rhaenys felt it in her bones. The essence—magic, that made them otherworldly, grew more and
more potent the closer she neared the beast that had entombed her heart with its existence. It was
an odd sensation, to be so thoroughly attuned to such a terrifying beast. It thrilled her and in the
same breath, it could humble her.

When she reached the top of Rhaenys’ hill, she pulled on the reins of her horse until she came to a
stop before three men. Two of them were as green as summer grass, dressed in their cotton spun
breeches and black leather vests. But it was the man in the middle, with his grey hair and wooden
staff in his hands that grabbed her attention.

“Princess Rhaenys,” the man intoned in Valyrian, “Meraxes has grown anxious in your absence.”

Rhaenys held the reins to the youngest of the group and strode past with the wizened dragon
keeper, who silently fell into step at her side. “I trust you have done everything in your power to
make her comfortable in my absence?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” The old dragon keeper responded with shrewd eyes. “We have sung the songs
and stoked the fires. We have brought Meraxes enough aurochs to feed the realm for an entire
summer and yet Meraxes has not settled in the least.”

Rhaenys hummed. It was odd to hear of the normally stoic dragon showing such emotion. It was
concerning. She looked up from the middle of the massive hall, towards the gaping ceiling that had
been smashed open so many years ago. “Leave me,” she said, “I will see to Meraxes.”

“As you command,” The old dragon keeper all but whispered at her side. “It is said only a mother
can tend to her child after all. Regardless of the wants of men.”

Rhaenys smiled at that, but the shake of her hand as it moved to the flat of her stomach left her
unsettled before the piercing gaze of the old man. For a moment, she was lost in the dizzying
sunlight that drew jagged shadows beneath the collapsed canopy of stone and mortar. Her
namesake could have ended it all here.

If she knew what would befall her and her family, would she make the same decision?

The question roiled her chest.

Could I make such a choice? She thought back to what she had seen in the courtyard only moments
ago, the unbridled hunger that lurked behind Jaehaerys’ eyes as he watched their brother celebrate
his spar against the Dornish knight.

Rhaenys let out a heavy breath and looked behind her. She was pleased to find herself once more
alone with only her tumultuous thoughts to keep her company. Knowing she needn’t worry about
such a future; she pressed forward into the black doorway that led to the belly of the dragonpit.

Meraxes awaited.

///

Her stomach churned with excitement. “Sōvēs!”

Meraxes spread her massive wingspan, casting a deep and jagged shadow across the dwindling city
below. A plume of dirt and debris lay faded as quickly as it appeared. Rhaenys tightened her hold
on the leather reins and willed the massive beast forward, faster, higher.

With a mighty roar, Meraxes responded.

Soon they were circling the city. She felt powerful and mighty as she looked out onto the horizon
and realized, not for the first time, that this was her domain. Rhaenys peered down and felt her
heart tighten. It all seems so insignificant, she thought. Without another look, she pressed Meraxes
further away, down the winding coast, and over the Blackwater.

To her left, Rhaenys could see the jagged cliffs that lined the coast. Tall and angry, the sharp and
deadly rocks jutted out from the earth like claws, ready to gore anyone foolish enough to fall from
their heights. It was there that Urrax had made its lair, she knew. It was there that Jaehaerys’
dragon had laid its claim.

Instinctively, even Meraxes seemed to know they were passing by another dragon’s territory. The
dragon kept a single, burning eye for any sign of her brother’s elusive mount.

Rhaenys released a heavy breath and patted her fingers against the hard scales of her mount. She
had anticipated Urrax to make an appearance. She knew full well how irate dragons could be when
it came to their territory. The few broken claws between Meraxes and Syraxes were a testament to a
dragon’s ire. Yet it was to her relief that they passed over the rocky cliffside without incident.

It didn’t take long for her to fall into a comfortable lull as memories passed her vision. She had lost
count how many times she had taken this path to Dragonstone along with Daenerys. A thousand
times or more, she thought, with a smile. Her black hair streamed behind her as Meraxes dived and
flew closer to the glistening water.

Below, a blurred reflection of her face streaked by with every powerful beat of Meraxes wings.
Dany always loved flying so close to the water, she swore she could feel the crush of the waves
against her feet. Rhaenys shifted her gaze, not wanting to be reminded of her aunt, out towards the
horizon.

Somewhere in the distant sound lay Dragonstone.

The beginning after the end.

It had been the end of her family, the end of her elusive father and his secrets, of her lady mother
and her failing body.

Yet it had spurred the dragons to life.

From stone, they came. Eyes like molten lava, they peered into the abyss that fateful night. Kept
and guarded on Dragonstone, the three dragons that hatched grew into monstrous, uncontrollable
beasts. They grew until Urrax had disappeared. They grew until Meraxes and Syraxes had been
tamed by the two last remaining Targaryen princesses.

By then, she could recognize the look of envy and desire in Jaehaerys’ eyes when he gazed in her
direction. It was the same hunger that had masked his face earlier that day, that same fire had
burned in his eyes years ago, promising something she didn’t want to name.

So lost in thought, Rhaenys failed to notice the dread that bubbled in her chest. It was only thanks
to Meraxes that the fog that covered her mind lifted only to be replaced with something far more
sinister than the unfounded fear that taunted her.

It was a familiar sound, a sound she could remember from years past, one she wished she could
forget.

It started as an erratic clicking that only grew more and more terrible with every beat of Meraxes’
wings until suddenly, the sound gnawed at all her senses. A streak of coldness ran down her spine
as her hands tightened on Meraxes’ reins.

Rhaenys glanced behind her, searching for the sound that seemed to envelope her. When she
couldn’t spot the origin of the sound, she kicked her heels into Meraxes’ tough scales, urging the
dragon to go faster.

And yet, Meraxes only took her higher, past the clouds, and closer to the blazing sun. The strength
of the sun’s rays on her back did little to warm her. Instead, the chatter of bones grew with more
excitement, wilder, as if beckoning her to peak over the heavy clouds and into the unknown.

When she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, the sound ceased and all that was left was the wipe
open blue sky and the warmth and comfort of her companion. Rhaenys looked around, shoulder to
shoulder, her hair a stream of black on the placid sky.

“Meraxes?” she questioned.

The dragon only huffed in response before suddenly, an ear-piercing screech ravaged her mind.
She felt her insides constrict at the sudden and abrupt stop of Meraxes as the dragon beat its heavy
wings. Rhaenys felt the blood drain from her face as she struggled to hold onto the reins.

What felt like an eternity was only a few dizzying beats of her heart. Meraxes righted them, her
massive wingspan catching the air. Rhaenys gasped and turned her neck towards the blazing sun
only to feel a dagger of fear pierce her chest.

Compared to his siblings, Urrax had been hewn differently. With scales as white as sun-bleached
bone and eyes the color of shimmering gold, Jaehaerys’ dragon could only be called beautiful.
Deadly but beautiful, she groused, as she fought to calm her racing heart. Above her, Urrax
continued to circle the sky, the dragon’s scales glimmering like jewels on a fiery horizon.

The fear from before had all but been forgotten as she screamed. “Jaehaerys!”

But it was not the sound of a reticent brother—begging for forgiveness—that reached her ears, but
a bold exclamation, goading her into a game. “Let us race, sister. Let us see who holds domain in
these skies!” Jaehaerys exclaimed from his seat, his cold grey eyes gazing down at her.

Meraxes continued to catch the hot summer air in her wings as Rhaenys stared in disbelief at her
fool brother. He nearly toppled me from my mount and demands I play his games? A hiss filled her
ears as Meraxes sensed the anger that boiled in her stomach. Easy girl, she thought. He is not worth
our ire.

And he wasn’t.

Rhaenys shot a glance at Jaehaerys from his lofty seat. She did not give her brother time to react.
All she could do was swallow the anger and disbelief at his actions into something that he could
understand.

And if it meant she had to best him at his games…

Then so be it.

As their eyes met, Rhaenys smirked and kicked Meraxes in the side.

With a monstrous roar, Meraxes dived, plummeting through the clouds, down towards the
murderous sound below. Rhaenys gulped, swallowing the fear and anger and excitement that
welled inside of her.
Her hair was a whip, snapping back and forth with a thunderous sound. Behind her, she could feel
the heat of Urrax searing into her back. Jaehaerys’ dragon was larger by a fair amount. Yet Meraxes
is faster. Rhaenys snapped the reins tighter, pulling herself until she was as low into her saddle as
she could get.

The hot summer air was like a sheet against her, pushing against her, running through her wild hair.
When it seemed like it would consume her, Meraxes unfurled massive wings made of scale and
bone, the red membrane lined with veins pulsing blood glowed beneath the harsh sunlight.

They were gliding now. Her cheeks flushed from the excitement; she loosened her hold on the
reins. Rhaenys gazed back into the sky and searched for her brother. But try as she might, she could
not spot him or his beast.

She carried on. Her destination was so close, she could see the black speck of stone and magic on
the horizon.

And yet, as the feeling of triumph seeped into her blood and filled her belly with joy, she could not
help the burning sensation that crawled down her spine.

As she turned to quail her mounting apprehension, she spotted him, before she heard him.

Urrax was a blinding, monstrous thing of claws and scales. The beast shook with anger. On its
back, Jaehaerys looked determined, oblivious to the cold grip that embraced her chest as she
watched the dragon edge closer and closer with every beat of its heavy wings.

Though Meraxes was quicker and deft, Urrax’s mighty wingspan was enough to thrust the beast
further. She felt helpless beneath its shadow. It crept over her until it consumed her. Meraxes
roared in defiance and pulled her wings close to her sides, diving further down until they were
nearly skimming the top of the black sea.

We’re so close.

She could taste the salt in the air, hear the seagulls as they squawked in terror. And yet, she was
too late. The sight of Urrax landing, clawing deep into the earth and kicking up the wet sand in a
flurry of scale and wings shattered any illusion of victory.

Rhaenys cursed. Meraxes roared angrily once more as they touched down. She did not blame her
mount, but patted the fiery scales in soothing words. “We cannot win every race, my sweet,” she
whispered beneath the crash of waves.

The wind was kind to her brother. His Targaryen red cape fluttered in the wind as he stood in his
black boots and windswept hair. He stood a respectable distance, closer to Urrax than Meraxes, a
small smile on his once lecherous face. Was it only this morning? She washed the image of it from
her vision and scowled.

“It seems you are the victor, brother.”

“Aye,” Jaehaerys called out, moving closer. “I would wager it was more luck than skill.”

“I do not need your platitudes.”

Jaehaerys smirked, raising his hand in surrender. “You should learn to take a compliment, sister.
No one likes a sour loser.”

“It is not the flowery words of a brother seeking his sister’s approval that has me in such a state.”
The playfulness that was present earlier dissolved from her brother's eyes as he stared at her with an
unwavering gaze resembling granite. Behind him, Urrax lifted his massive head from its perch on
his claws. There was a menacing, burning depth to the dragon’s stare, one she had grown to respect
from her encounters with Meraxes and even Syraxes.

“Urrax!” Jaehaerys shouted against the sound.

For a moment, the dragon’s gaze lingered, sending a cold chill down her spine. When it seemed as
if the dragon would ignore the command, Urrax shook his tail and huffed hot air across the black
sandy beach. The dragon turned from them and stalked further down the beach, shaking the earth
as it went.

Rhaenys folded her arms over her chest and raised a delicate eyebrow between the two. “I do not
know who is more childish. You or your dragon.” Rhaenys said, shaking her head in disbelief.

Jaehaerys stepped closer but stopped mid-step as her own dragon responded in kind.

Meraxes growl was low behind her, like a wet hiss that cut through the crashing waves.

Absent-mindedly, Rhaenys raised her hand and with delicate fingers trailed them through her
mount’s golden scales. “Calm,” she whispered. “There is no place for anger here. It is only
Jaehaerys. He is my brother and he meant no harm.”

Meraxes gave her one withering look before she, too, stalked off down the sandy beach towards the
jagged black rocks that clawed into the crashing sea.

Alone, Jaehaerys shook his head. A small smile crept on his face as they stared at each other. He
ran a hand through his hair before turning away from her and staring out towards the horizon, a
look of contemplation on his face.

For a long moment, it was only them beneath the midday sun. There were so many things she
wanted to say to him. There were so many things she wanted to hear him say, to explain, and make
her understand. Do you miss me like I have missed you? The words were like venom on her tongue,
she turned away.

Perhaps it was wrong of her to be here with him. After all, she had fled on Meraxes to be alone
with her worrying thoughts and yet he had terrorized his way to her side as he chased her through
the clouded sky.

Rhaenys looked at her brother’s intimidating figure. He’s so much taller now, she thought, feeling
smaller than she could ever remember feeling. Her hand twitched at her side, anxious to reach out
and touch him—shake him, and make him look at her for once.

And yet, for all her talk of being bold, she couldn’t bring herself to make the first move.

Silence reigned. Until it didn’t.

“Dragonstone is as I remember it,” Jaehaerys said. He turned from the horizon and stared up at the
monstrous fortress built on black rock. She gazed up at the towering spires and the menacing
looking depictions of dragons that loomed over them like an ominous cloud.

“It is still as dreary as ever,” Rhaenys said.

Jaehaerys looked back at her, a small smile on his handsome face. “I seem to remember some days
were not as brooding as others.”
Heat flushed her cheeks. “Perhaps.” Memories crept into her mind of their childhood, of games
played in the torched filled halls, of the sunny and bright days spent on the beach finding the queer
forms of life that lived in the black sand and waters that entombed the fortress from the world.

Jaehaerys reached for her hand. This is not the soft hand of a greenboy, she thought. They were
rough and traced with the marks of calluses due to Ser Oswell Whent’s grim tutelage with sword
and lance.

Rhaenys tightened her hold. The anger and anguish from before were swept away, receding with
the waves from whence it came.

Jaehaerys tugged her behind her, navigating his way through the jumble of black rocks that littered
the coast. She kept her eyes on his strong back, watched how the wind danced through his hair
which seemed to annoy her brother to no end.

“One day I will sheer it all off,” he said when a powerful gust nearly rocked them from their feet.

“That day will be your last,” she replied with a hard squeeze of her hand.

The smirk on his face lasted until they reached the thousand and more steps that marked their path
up the black rock that formed the foundation for Dragonstone, their ancestral home.

///

When they reached the great doors that would lead them into their family’s seat of power, they
were greeted by a line of servants and kitchen staff and maids. At the forefront stood a familiar
face, one marked by age.

Frail and with a bad hip, the near ancient Maester Cressen stood waiting for their arrival. At his
side was his ever-loyal aid and successor Maester Pylos. Whereas Maester Cressen could be
likened to an old withering tree, Maester Pylos was young and spry.

“Greetings,” Maester Cressen said with a shameful bow, “It is an honor to see Prince Jaehaerys and
the Princess Rhaenys once more upon these black shores. It has been too long since these halls
have seen a prince.”

“Aye,” Jaehaerys said as he looked around. “It has been that.”

Rhaenys smiled at the old Maester. He had not always enjoyed his time on the island, beleaguered
by constant storms as it was, but he counted himself luckier than most to be able to see the dragons
as they came and went.

“Will you be staying with us for long?” Maester Cressen asked. “Your quarters have been made
ready.”

Jaehaerys looked down at her. “How long will we be staying here, sister?”

“Until we are missed,” she said softly to his side.

With a nod of his head, he glanced back at the frail Maester. “We will leave when the time comes.
Until then have the kitchen staff prepare us a quiet meal. My sister and I wish for some time
alone.”

“As you command, My Prince,” Maester Cresson replied. “Will I be letting the Red Keep know of
your presence here?”
“Let my brother know he does not need to worry for our sister’s safety. I will be with her until we
return.”

“Dragonstone is now yours, My Prince,” Maester Cresson said before motioning to Maester Pylos.
The younger Maester took the old man by the arm and began shuffling him back inside through the
black gate and into the great hall. The servants and maids scurried behind him like rats, their eyes
flitting to her and Jaehaerys as they trailed behind the two Maesters.

With a resounding echo, the doors slammed shut behind them.

Their household guard took sentry at the doors and some set to follow them through the winding
staircases. They took their time meandering through the empty hallways, remembering their past
visits and childhood years. They continued to head further into the fortress, passing embroideries
and paintings of ancestors and dragons, of lewd depictions of love making and even detailed
paintings of Old Valyria before the Doom.

Jaehaerys stood before the painting and gazed at the mysterious freehold. “How different would
our lives be if the old freehold didn’t fall to ruin?” He gazed at her, long and hard. “Would I still
have you at my side? Would Daenerys?”

Rhaenys bit her lip and turned from her brother’s searching gaze.

She couldn’t remember how many times she had stood before this painting, memorizing the
gleaming towers made of marble and gold, or how the skies were filled with every shape and size
of dragon she could imagine and even some that were queer to the senses. “At the least,” she
started after a long pause. “You would have me.”

Their trek through the fortress continued in relative silence until they reached their destination.

The old Stone Drum tower sat brooding in ancient black stone. It had been hewn from stone and
magic to resemble the edifice of a dragon. The entry was the open maw of a dragon with stone
teeth and shadows that led to a set of heavy red doors.

Engravings of dragons were etched into the stone by means lost to time. Rhaenys grazed over
them, feeling the sharp ridges of the engravings on the pad of her finger. Even to this day, she
wondered how such a feat was possible. What kind of magic did our ancestors wield? She pulled
her hand back, biting her lips in concentration.

A hand touched her slender neck, clutching it softly. “We will never know the mysteries of this
place,” Jaehaerys said behind her.

“Doesn’t it intrigue you?”

“It did once,” he said, his voice low. He tightened his hold on her neck ever so slightly. “But I am
not our father and as the years have passed, I have grown to care little and less about our past. I
have only eyes for our future.”

She felt bare when his hand slipped away, vulnerable like never before.

Later, after they had parted, she tore off her riding leathers and donned a more fitting dress. It was
made of Myrish lace and clung to her waist and chest in such a fashion that she knew her brother
would take notice.

Red bloomed on her cheeks as she stared at her reflection in the warped Myrish mirror. Is this how
Daenerys felt? The thought made her pause. Then apprehension settled in her belly like a heavy
weight, as if she had swallowed stones.

Is this okay?

The thought echoed in her mind with every step she took to the solar.

Jaehaerys sat at a table, a white silk shirt lay unbuttoned down to his chest. His hair was pulled
back and held tightly by a leather strap. A few bracelets hung around his wrists, they shimmered
gold and silver as the hearthfire light was caught by the precious metals.

Silently, she took a seat across from him. Two cups and a bottle of wine sat between them along
with an assortment of meats and fruits and breads. “Have you been drinking without me?” She took
the bottle and swirled it around, satisfied to find it still mostly full.

“A cup or two,” he said without looking up.

Rhaenys raised a delicate eyebrow. “What seems to have your attention?” she asked, more annoyed
than she wanted to let on.

Jaehaerys ran a hand through his tightly bound hair. With a sigh, he leaned back in his seat and
looked at her. “It is nothing,” he said. The look on his face told her to leave well enough alone, but
her curiosity got the best of her.

“It does not seem like nothing,” she said, holding a hand out for the letter. “Let me see what is
worrying my little brother.”

“These are matters that do not concern you, sister,” Jaehaerys bit back as he folded the letter and
stashed it in his trousers’ pocket.

Anger bubbled in her belly, threatening to ruin the good humor she had been in when she entered
the solar. To save them from the mounting argument, she emptied her cup and slammed it on the
table with more force than she had meant.

“Very well, brother.” Rhaenys said. “If you do not wish to share what is bothering you then surely
you won’t miss my presence.”

As she was beginning to stand, she felt a hand on top of hers, stopping her in her tracks. Rhaenys
looked down at her hand and then Jaehaerys with a cool gaze. She was of the mind of yanking her
hand free, but the look in her brother’s eyes gave her pause. They were soft with a certain
warmness to them that she knew was rare for him to show.

“I did not mean it that way,” Jaehaerys said with a sigh. He pulled his hand back and motioned for
her to take her seat again. “Please, stay. Share this meal with me.”

Rhaenys contemplated her brother’s words. She did not want to fight nor she did want to leave him
all alone when there was something clearly bothering him. She closed her eyes, shaking her head
before giving in and taking her seat once more.

They stared at each other as an awkward silence took hold. Not one to sit and brood, she made the
first move and grabbed for one of the loaves of bread. It was freshly baked, still warm, and coated
with melted butter. When she took a bite, it was soft and welcoming, the savory taste reminding her
how hungry she had been.

I have not eaten since this morning.

She took several more bites, content with sharing the meal with her brother in silence.

Jaehaerys proved to catch on and filled his plate with a few choice slices of meat along with the
loaf of bread. They ate in silence, only commenting on the deliciousness of whatever was on their
plate.

As they ate, the candles burned and time crawled by. The twilight sky gave way to night and as
was customary of staying on Dragonstone, the rumblings of a storm came in with the waves that
crashed below the Stone Drum tower.

A deep boom filled their ears as they ate. They looked up from their plates, small smiles on their
faces as the storm outside continued to grow fiercer by the moment. Again and again, the echoing
boom of a drum shook the tower, but they paid it no mind, too accustomed to the odd phenomenon.

“Remember how scared Daenerys would be on nights like this?” she said, breaking the silence
between them.

Smiling, Jaehaerys nodded. “How could I forget? It was my bed she would run and sneak into.”

Rhaenys giggled. A cup of wine in her hand. “Do not pretend like you did not enjoy our little
princess sneaking away every night into your bed.”

Jaehaerys waved away the implications of her statement. “We were children. I, yet, did not have a
mind for such things.”

Rhaenys didn’t believe him.

There had always been something more brewing between him and Daenerys, whether he would
admit it or not, did not make it less true. But she would be the forgiving older sister and let him
have this small win.

Another boom shook the tower. Rhaenys stood from her seat, her stomach full and warm from the
meal and summerwine. She made her way over to the hearthfire, throwing a few of the soft pillows
to the floor before plopping down in a very unladylike manner. She looked over her shoulder, to
where Jaehaerys was still sitting alone.

“Come, bring the wine and let us enjoy the rest of the night.”

“I will bring that and something more,” Jaehaerys said from behind her.

Rhaenys smiled, wondering what her brother had in mind. She took the bottle of wine and poured
herself a healthy amount. As the wind howled and the thunder echoed through the tower, she hoped
it would be another bottle of the sweet summer wine. It tasted so good in her belly, made her feel
warm and carefree as she sat on the down-filled pillows and watched the fire crack in the hearth.

“I fear I’ll reach the bottom of this bottle if you take any longer,” she called out into the dimly lit
room, her curiosity turning into frustration at her lack of company.

But the only response came from the storm as it battered the old Stone Drum tower with its wind
and rain and thunder.

“Jae!” Rhaenys called out, feeling her patience wearing thin. She was about to get up from her
comfortable cocoon of pillows when she felt his presence behind her.

“I am right here, dear sister,” chuckled her brother behind her. “It took me longer than I had
anticipated to find what I was looking for.”

Rhaenys turned her head, an eyebrow raised, as her anticipation turned into disappointment that it
wasn’t another flagon or two of wine that occupied his hands. “How much dust did you have to
clear off of that?”

“Not as much as you think,” he said with a shrug. He slipped past her, sitting across from her, his
back towards the hearth. Before settling in, he placed the old board they used to play cyvasse on
between them then a plain looking box besides it.

Rhaenys eyed the familiar board, remembering a time when their family would spend weeks
secluded on the mighty fortress, away from the machinations of the court. Their royal sire had
taught them the fundamentals of the game, teaching them the basic strategy and how to claim their
opponent’s pieces in the process.

The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen was emblazoned on the polished oak box, giving the
otherwise ordinary looking box a regal bearing. Opening it, revealed an equally fitting velvet, the
color of blood, where intricately made pieces of onyx and ivory lay waiting to be used again.

Rhaenys looked up to her brother. “Another game?” she asked, while Jaehaerys placed the black
screen between them, shielding the view of their pieces from the other.

“I recall being made a fool of in this game,” he said as he eyed an ivory piece. It was delicately
made to resemble a dragon. He looked at her and smiled. “I wish to redeem myself.”

“You do?” Rhaenys questioned. She had already placed a few of her pieces, claiming the
mountains with several of the onyx trebuchets and catapults. “That would be quite the feat, little
brother. I do not recall either you or our royal brother being able to defeat me.”

“Things change, Rhaenys,” he answered with a shrug. In the hearthfire’s glow, he looked
handsome, inviting even, but when she looked into his cool grey eyes there was only a quiet
determination.

Not for the first time, she wondered how much of her little brother had, indeed, changed. “I’ll
entertain this game with you, little brother. Perhaps you have learned more about the game than
just swinging a sword.”

With that, she made the first move.

It did not take her long to realize this was not the same boy from years ago, the same boy who held
his passes with elephants and kept his dragons cresting mountain tiles, opening himself to a swift
defeat at the hand of her own dragon.

“Have you studied the game in your time away?” she questioned.

“I remember a certain sister explaining how it’s best to be studied on a subject before taking part in
it,” he said, confidence clearly evident in his tone. He was looking at her, a smirk on his handsome
face as he took a sip from his cup of summerwine.

Rhaenys smiled. “I cannot take all the praise. Prince Doran has always been obsessed with the
game. You can imagine how much time I spent before the cyvasse table, watching the moves my
uncle would make, the pieces he let fall to the wayside.”

A few turns later, she sat perplexed at the outcome of the game. Her King lay on its side, checked
by Jaehaerys’ ivory dragon. Rhaenys took a swig from her cup, washing the taste of defeat away
with its sweetness. “You come back to the Red Keep with more than just a sword at your hip and a
dragon at your back, but with the wits to put them to good use.”

“I couldn’t return the same greenboy who watched his sister and brother take everything from him
in four turns.”

It could have been the odd crash of thunder or the way the hearthfire danced across her brother’s
face, but she swore she saw something cold and hungry in his grey eyes. She took another pull
from her cup to clear her mind.

“Another round?” Jaehaerys asked suddenly.

“This time I won’t underestimate you,” she said, remembering his cool gaze, the hunger from the
yard, and how defiantly he flew in the skies. Her brother had changed, whether it was for the better
or for the worse, it was too early to tell.

Yet he is the brother who I choose to love.

They played several more rounds, taking a win from the other. Two bottles of summerwine lay
empty on the rushes. Jaehaerys had stood from his place on pillows and stoked the fire, causing it
to roar to life and throwing deep shadows across the stone walls.

“Your dragon is powerful, but it is not the only weapon you have,” she said after he took his seat
once more. He had brought a bottle and poured it between the two.

“Mother tried to tell me a similar thing but a few days ago, right before she advised me to marry the
Lannister girl,” he said with a frown.

“She did?” Rhaenys said, unsurprised.

“She spoke of alliances,” he said, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the board of cyvasse.

“Lyanna was right to suggest such a match for her son,” Rhaenys said. She picked up her onyx
dragon and held it in the palm of her hand. The black dragon glistened from the hearthfire as it
caught the light. “You are more like this dragon than you think. Powerful and yet alone. You can
do much on your own, but even more could be had if you had the backing of House Lannister.”

“We are not at war. This is a time of peace.”

“I don’t believe you honestly believe that,” Rhaenys said, frowning. My brother cannot be this
blind to the vipers that surround our family.

Jaehaerys looked up at her, his gaze cold. “Only a fool would stand in defiance before House
Targaryen as long as I am breathing,” he said, his voice cold as ice.

“Urrax does make a formidable foe,” she said, eyeing the piece of onyx in her hand. “And he is not
alone. There is Meraxes and even Syraxes.”

“I am glad you are not blind to the power that we wield,” Jaehaerys said. He raised his own ivory
dragon and held it out to her. “We are the blood of the dragon. The seed of the Conqueror. As long
as we stand together, the only thing we will have to worry about are the fools that stand between us
and what we want.”

“Aye!” she said, mimicking the queer mannerisms of the north. She hoped the fake cheerfulness of
her voice was enough to mask the worry that resided in her heart. Dragons were powerful
creatures. But Dorne had proved that even the mighty beasts could be countered, even if the cost
would be untenable.

Jaehaerys laughed, raising a cup in a toast.

And yet, as they shared their drink, the look in his eyes told her he knew.

Wanting to steer the conversation to more pleasant topics, Rhaenys didn’t press further and instead
complimented him. “Your skill on the back of Urrax was impressive.” Terrifying. “I believed I had
won when I spotted Dragonstone on the horizon, only for your mighty beast to swoop down and
smash my hopes.”

“It was a struggle, I must admit. Urrax is larger, but your mount proved swift. It was only the long
distance that secured my victory,” he said, shrugging.

“There must be something in the air that far north that has made Urrax grow so much larger.”

“Perhaps,” Jaehaerys said. “Before I had tamed the beast, Urrax had made a home in the cliffs near
the Wall.”

Rhaenys hummed. “They say the Wall is magical.”

“Bran the Builder was said to have built the wall with the help of the Children of the Forest and
giants and other beasts,” Jaehaerys added.

“Do you believe such tales?”

“The Wall had to be built somehow.”

Rhaenys mulled over his words. It would be odd for her to deny such a tale when dragons were
roaming the land once more. But if she believed such a tale, was there merit to the other tales that
lingered amongst the smallfolk?

Rhaenys shuddered at the thought.

Jaehaerys noticed her discomfort. “I have heard a curious rumor,” he began, before pouring her
another glass of the sweet summerwine. “Do you know if the dragons have journeyed beyond
Dragonstone? If Meraxes and Syraxes are anything like Urrax then I imagine they enjoy the
freedom of roaming the lands.”

Rhaenys put her cup down. She thought about Jaehaerys’ question for a long moment. Meraxes had
once been spotted as far as the Prince’s Pass, but she did not know if her mount had gone further
than Dragonstone. “I cannot speak of Daenerys’ mount, but I know Meraxes has been spotted near
the Prince’s Pass at times, but other than that I cannot say,” she said with a shrug.

Nodding his head, Jaehaerys ran a hand through his hair, seemingly deep in thought.

Her brother’s silence did little to quell the curiosity that brewed in her belly. She shifted forward
and crawled around the table that separated him. So deep in his thoughts, Jaehaerys failed to notice
her touch on his brow and how close she was to him. “What rumor has my little brother heard that
has you this way?”

Jaehaerys grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed her fingers, the palm of her hand,
the tender part of her wrist. When he finished, he looked into her eyes. “Lord Varys said something
of concern during a small council meeting.”
The heat from his kisses was nearly gone at the mention of the cockless spymaster’s name. “Lord
Varys?” she questioned. “What did he say?”

Jaehaerys held onto her hand, lacing their fingers together. “There were reports of dragons over
Pentos.”

Pentos? she thought. “Perhaps Meraxes ranged further during one of her hunts,” Rhaenys said,
offering the only explanation she could.

“It is not something to worry about. It could have been one of the dragons or the storied
imagination of the smallfolk. Whatever it may be, it does not concern us.” Jaehaerys said.

“Doesn’t it?” she questioned.

Jaehaerys tightened his hold on her hand. He ignored her question and instead asked: “I noticed
you are still wearing the bracelets.”

Their eyes lingered, she wanted to press him further on Lord Varys’ report, but his sudden change
of the matter made her decide now was not the time. Perhaps if there were more than the words of
the smallfolk a world away.

I will question him another time, when there is more to ask.

With the subject of Pentos and dragons averted for now, Rhaenys let go of Jaehaerys’ hand and
played with the delicate bracelets that graced her wrist. “They are beautiful,” she said, quietly.
They were a gift from you. She held her hand up to the light, satisfied with how such tiny pieces of
gemstones could catch the light in such a pretty manner. “Although I remember a certain prince
regaling a princess of the many secrets he was yet to reveal.”

Jaehaerys chuckled low, his hands pulling her closer to him. He was strong, his fingers hard on her
waist. “Is this the price I must pay to get back in my dear sister’s good graces?”

“You will have to do more than just gift me a pretty bauble,” Rhaenys said with an indifferent
shrug. She was not a maid who could be bought with fancy jewels or soft silks. She wanted more
from her brother.

“Tell me what it is you desire,” he said. “And if it’s within my power, I will gift it to you.”

“You are a prince of the house royal. Nothing is outside your realm of power.” Rhaenys
admonished.

“Aye,” he said, his northern brogue heavy on his tongue. “As you say, I am a prince of the House
Targaryen. Ask me for anything and I will gift it to you.”

“I will claim one of your secrets.” Rhaenys said. She ran a hand through his hair, drawing it free
from the leather strap. “I wish to know more about you, about your time spent in the north, your
travels, the people you met.”

“Where do I begin?”

“Obviously from the beginning,” she quipped.

And so, he spoke. And she listened to his tales.

He told her of the long nights, of the cold and how it bit into his flesh. He spoke of his training
with Ser Oswell Whent, how his hands blistered and bled with how tightly he held onto his training
sword whenever he was alone in Winterfell’s training yard. He told her of Robb Stark and their
rivalry that turned into something that could only be called brotherly.

“Sometimes I feared Robb Stark would take Aegon’s place in my heart,” he said in the dead of the
night. She had crawled into his lap, her legs resting at his sides, their faces so close she could taste
the sweetness from the wine on his breath. “I was relieved to find out it wasn’t true.”

“You could never stop loving Aegon.”

Jaehaerys nodded his head, his eyes dark, unfathomable in the dimly lit chambers.

Rhaenys cupped his face in her hands. “Promise me you won’t forget that,” she said, her lips so
close to his…

Instead, he looked away and continued to tell her about the rest of House Stark.

As Jaehaerys spoke of Lord Stark, it was with a quiet sadness. “When I first met Lord Stark, it was
as if I was seeing the Wall for the first time. His manner was cold and distant and insurmountable.”

“Surely the honorable and noble Lord Stark did not mistreat a prince of the blood?” Rhaenys
asked, anger bubbling in the pit of her belly. She grasped his hand, squeezing tightly, as if to
reassure him.

“Mistreat me?” Jaehaerys asked, shaking his head. “No, it was nothing like that. It was more the
distance he put between us than anything else. I simply had not expected it. Mother had spoken so
highly of her brother and yet I was faced with this man who deemed me a nuisance in his
household.”

“We are dragon riders,” Rhaenys said, her voice low. “We can be in Winterfell in a few days’
time.”

Rhaenys felt a deep rumble coming from Jaehaerys’ chest as he chuckled at her suggestion.
“Winterfell is home to me. There is no need to frighten my uncle in such a manner.”

“But—”

“Eventually,” he said, interrupting her. “Lord Stark saw me as more than just Rhaegar’s son.”

On and on he went, describing the sometimes-smothering nature of Lady Stark when it came to her
children. “Lady Stark can only be described as the perfect southron lady, always mindful of her
courtesies, and would often save my uncle from stepping too far with my lady mother.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mother and Lord Stark often did not see eye to eye. Especially during the beginning, although,
over time the anger that festered between the two had slowly begun to diminish.”

Rhaenys hummed. “It seems like your fostering was not at all as I imagined.”

Jaehaerys glanced at her. “How so?”

“I imagined your mother’s family welcoming you only for me to hear otherwise.”

“They were,” he clarified. “It was only really Lord Stark. But enough of that, the Starks were not
the only family I met in my time in the north.”
Rhaenys eyed her brother with a critical eye, aware of him changing the subject, but the mention of
more family piqued her interest to let the subject lie. “Who else did you meet? I was not aware you
had more family other than the Starks?”

“Not only me,” he said with a laugh. “We have blood at the Wall.”

It took her a moment to realize who Jaehaerys meant. “Granduncle Aemon?” she questioned,
hoping she was correct.

“Aye,” he said. “Our uncle Maester Aemon has led an interesting life, more than you could
imagine.”

“Tell me then.”

Jaehaerys stared past her, towards the crackling fire as he spoke. “Lord Stark had received word of
Wildlings crossing the Wall. Somehow, they climb it, all eight-hundred feet of solid ice and sleet.
It’s unimaginable, but when your only way of life is raping and pillaging, I suppose men are
willing to traverse anything to slate this hunger.”

When Jaehaerys paused to gather his thoughts, she heard the howl of the wind as it battered the old
fortress. She felt cold all of sudden, wrapped around her little brother as she was, it made her
tighten her hold around his waist even more.

“When we arrived at the Wall,” he began again, “Lord Stark met with the Lord Commander Jeor
Mormont, a bear of a man, with a thick white beard and a pet raven as his companion.”

“A raven?” she looked at him with a queer expression. “The Lord Commander of the Wall keeps
with a raven of all creatures?”

“It is a special raven,” he said with a shrug, his eyes narrowing. But he did not elaborate further
and instead continued his tale. “Alone with Robb, we happened upon the rockery after exploring
the Shield Hall and blacksmith’s forge. Maester Aemon was there, his eyes shining white, as if
waiting for us to arrive. We spoke then, for far longer than I imagined we would. At some point,
Robb left us and it was only me and him in the rockery.”

“I can imagine. Father and Uncle Aemon were in constant communication.”

“I must confess, my curiosity on that matter got the best of me one night and I asked him what he
spoke about with our father before his death.”

“Did he say? I’ve asked mother and if she knew, she didn’t… or wouldn’t say,” she said, annoyed
with the secrets that seemingly surrounded their royal father.

Jaehaerys’ brow furrowed. “It had to do with a certain prophecy. Although, Uncle Aemon did not
elaborate entirely on what it meant. Only that it had to do with a prophecy from the time of Aegon
the Conqueror and his ambitions to unite the Seven Kingdoms.”

“There seems to be an unspoken tradition with House Targaryen meeting their demise because of
prophecies,” Rhaenys said with a shake of her head.

A dry chuckle escaped Jaehaerys then as he nodded his head. “Uncle Aemon said father was
plagued by dreams and visions. That the last raven he received from father explained how
something changed and he had to correct it, if there was to be a chance for a new dawn. A fortnight
later, the realm learns of our father’s death.”
“Madness,” Rhaenys said. “It runs through our blood.”

Jaehaerys glanced at her. “It is a sobering thought to realize that all the whispers and rumors turned
out to be true. The Last Dragon was as mad as every Targaryen before him, it only took longer to
manifest.”

Rhaenys thought of Daenerys then. She turned away from Jaehaerys, afraid he would notice the
chill that ran down her spine at the thought of their niece.

He cannot know.

But it seemed as if the gods took pleasure in mocking her.

“Should we speak of this to Daenerys?” Jaehaerys asked, oblivious to the turmoil raking her mind.

Startled at hearing Daenerys’ name, it took her a moment longer than intended to answer. “You
know how Daenerys views her brother. It would break her heart to know that in his final days
madness had taken hold of our father.”

“Is something the matter?” he questioned.

Rhaenys swallowed the truth and instead smiled. “I think there is relief in finally knowing
something,” she lied. But before he could answer, Rhaenys interrupted him with a question that
would hopefully steer the conversation away from prophecies and visions. “Speaking of our little
princess, where is she?”

Jaehaerys’ expression turned sour and when he spoke, it was mocking and full of bitterness. “That
morning, she left to deal with her charities and to give her patronage to a new orphanage that
opened in Flea Bottom. All for the sake of the smallfolk.”

“You loathe the smallfolk.”

“The feeling is mutual, I suspect,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “It is no secret the origin
of my infamous moniker.”

Rhaenys nodded. “I understand better than most,” she soothed her fingers through his hair,
comforting the hurt that was evident in his eyes, the hurt he hid from the rest of the world. “We
may not share the same mother, but that is where our differences end. In the eyes of the smallfolk,
compared to Aegon and Daenerys, it would be best if we didn’t exist.”

“I once believed I wished for the adoration of the smallfolk like our father,” Jaehaerys started. “Can
you believe it? I was once envious of the cheers Aegon would receive when we rode through the
streets. But not anymore. Their favor means little and less to me now.”

“You may not need their admiration. But they still need you to protect them. It is your duty as a
prince of House Targaryen,” Rhaenys admonished her brother.

“When did you grow so wise?” he asked, his voice low and his eyes dark.

“You are not the only one who has grown.”

“Did he treat you well?” he asked suddenly.

Rhaenys knew what her little brother meant. She had hoped he wouldn’t speak of her time in the
Vale, but it seemed as if he would always carry that small moment in her life as a burden he must
shoulder.

Wanting to finally ease his thoughts, she nodded her head. “He was noble and caring. But he was
not the man I loved.”

“I should have been there to stop it.”

“You were a boy green as summer grass,” Rhaenys chuckled, aware of the harshness of her words.
But if she wanted to lessen this burden he carried, she would have to make him aware that nothing
he could have done would have changed her situation. “There is no need to dwell on the past, Jae. I
have moved on; it is time for you as well.”

“I do not know if I can give you this,” he said, anger in his voice.

“Are you not a prince of House Targaryen?” she pulled on his hair until he was staring up into her
eyes.

“I am,” he said. “I can forgive Aegon. Hells, I can forgive myself. But I cannot forgive
Connington.”

“Jon Connington will get what he deserves in time,” Rhaenys answered.

“What about what you deserve?” Jaehaerys interrupted.

“I have everything that I want now that you are back,” she said. “And even though our
circumstances have changed, Aegon will never forsake me again.”

“What of Daenerys?”

“She is yours,” Rhaenys said with a sad smile playing on her lips. “I would be a fool to come in
between the two of you. I am content with this.” She leaned down, their lips just touching. She felt
herself quiver as he moved beneath her.

Their kiss was slow, tentative, at first.

He held her close, her chest against his. She could feel the steady beat of his against her racing
heart. His hands were as invasive as his tongue, seeking the softness of her skin. When his fingers
dug into her waist, a small groan escaped her parted mouth.

Flushed with heat, she pulled away and stared into his grey eyes. They were dark and full of
hunger. Rhaenys smiled down at her little brother, satisfied with the need that was evident in his
touch.

“I know I cannot give you what you want, not yet, but I will find a way,” he said.

There was an unbridled determination in his gaze, she hadn’t the heart to let him down, that
anything more would be tempting the gods. And yet, as his sister, and the eldest, she had to be the
one to show him reason. “You have promised yourself to Daenerys. There is no place for me. I am
content as I am.”

“As you said, I am a prince of House Targaryen. Nothing is outside my realm of power.”

“Except this,” she teased, her fingers in his hair. “This is only an ambition a king can fulfill.”

Beneath her, wasn’t the brother who had kissed her so sweetly. Instead, in his place, was the boy
from the yard, the look of hunger in his gaze as he stared up at her, promising her darkest desires.
 “So be it,” he said, in the dead of night.

It wasn’t until later that night, as she lay in bed, that she realized the magnitude of his words.

Chapter End Notes

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