The Lover
Duty had made her forget how sweet his kisses tasted. Weeks of his absence had done nothing to lessen her affection for him. Efforts to deprive herself of him since his return had proven futile and so, she allowed herself to plunge into her desires, ignoring the shame rising within her as she did so.
Battle-calloused hands had a possessive grip on her hips. Pinned against the wall, Rhaena deepened their kiss, bringing out the sweetest groan from the man she had married once upon a dream. An involuntary squeak left her as those hands picked her up by her bottom, whirled her around and placed her on the table, her nightgown already hiked up to her waist.
Their scant clothing, meant for sleep, was hurriedly discarded, their kisses becoming hungrier and more urgent, tongues dancing in each other's mouths. Truly, who needed to breathe when there was such delight to be found in tasting each other?
Wrapped in her palm, his manhood was as hard as oak, pulsing with desire. It thrilled her to hear his noisy breaths coming in strained gasps under her mischievous ministrations. "Gods," he rasped. Rhaena brought his head down for another kiss, swallowing more of his groans.
As her ministrations continued, his hands roved her body, slowly, softly, paying particular attention to her breasts. Moans she could not control escaped her as his hands kneaded those breasts. She was proud that they had grown this past year. Would Luke have loved them? The stray thought crept inside her mind. She would not have that, so she took his hand and guided two of its fingers into her. Those traitorous thoughts were silenced as she took a large breath at the pleasure that spread from her core to the tips of her toes.
They both proved to be relentless in their ministrations. It was not long before they both came apart, their chests heaving in unison, breathing each other's air.
"Come here," he said as his breathing even out. She was in the air once again, her legs instinctively wrapping around his middle. His eyes were half-lidded with lust when Rhaena chanced a look at them. The triumphant smirk on her face was wiped off with another searing kiss as she was placed on the bed gently. Corwyn was always gentle.
"You have no idea how much I've missed you," he rasped once again. Robbed of breath when she felt the most glorious intrusion at her core, she could not reply. All thoughts left her entirely as he began to move within her. Moans and groans and the obscene squelch of their flesh coming together filled the room in a glorious, intoxicating melody.
"Oh, Gods!" she shouted in a high-pitched voice when she felt the waves of her peak approach. That seemed to only spur him further, his pace now relentless. There was a hand palming her breast and a finger at her middle, stroking that magical nub at the tip of her womanhood. Only a moment later, she felt a dam breaking within her. A river of pleasure rushed through and out of her. The bliss was almost overwhelming; eyes remaining shut, breathing coming in desperate gaps, her body shaking on its own accord.
Lips were on hers once again, kissing her with intent to devour. Eyes still shut, she felt herself being lifted once more and made to sit. Still inside her, his manhood pulsed with unsatisfied need and Rhaena could not have that. Judging her lover comfortable under her, she began to move her waist, slowly at first, before gradually increasing her pace.
Corwyn was lost to his pleasures when she opened her eyes. It was her turn to give him a searing kiss. His manhood twitched inside her. He was close to his peak now. Rhaena set a punishing pace, the tide of her own pleasure approaching. This time, it was he whose dam broke first, though hers followed soon after, on account of feeling his seed spill within her.
They remained there, his head cradled against her breasts, both of them unwilling to move just yet. A while later, when his manhood had gone limp within her and their breathing had evened out, she disentangled herself from his loving hold and lay on the bed beside him.
"I missed you," he said, his body turned to face hers, his finger tracing unintelligible circles on her stomach. There was a light sheen of sweat on his skin that made him glow in the candlelight. Their eyes met, and the devotion in his made her heart lurch with guilt. She did not deserve that. Still, she ensconced herself firmly in the warmth of his gentle hold.
"That makes two of us," Rhaena replied, forcing a smile on her face. He cradled her face and brought her in for a gentle kiss. She truly did not deserve that.
"How was the journey?" she asked, attempting to stem the tide of shame rising within her, "I hope Baela wasn't too… Baela."
He chuckled, "Not too much, though her impatience drove our horses almost to the point of exhaustion."
Rhaena laughed, "Thank you, truly, for keeping her safe." With the realm teeming with bandits and outlaws, she had been reckless to send her twin on such a foolhardy quest. Not as dangerous as sending her brother to claim a dragon that had made a meal out of scores of would-be dragon tamers over the decades. Her brother was a true Targaryen, she offered herself the false comfort, if there was any that could master that dragon, it was him.
"Was that what that was, a show of gratitude?"
The glare she gave him was mayhaps, a touch too sharp, "You think I did not miss you either?"
"I cannot be certain of that," he responded, in a quiet voice, "There has been distance between us since Morning hatched."
There were tears in her eyes as she looked at him, "I did not mean to hurt you. It's just…" Duty was a cruel mistress, and it was hers to save her house. The gods had thrust upon her dreams of her family's downfall and the dragons' extinction. Much as she held affection for him, he could never know of that. None save for her brothers and sister could.
"You have no obligation to explain your grief," he said at her extended silence, "I know much and more of it."
Shared grief had brought them together. Disease had taken his wife and two daughters. War had taken her brothers and parents. Up high in the mountains of the Vale, they had found some measure of understanding in each other, an understanding that morphed into affection. He had been the one to hold her when news of Father's death reached her, the one to give her comfort as the moon turned and turned again without word from Baela. If it wasn't for him, she could not imagine being able to hold herself together.
She held him tighter than before. Shame and guilt replaced the unrelenting grief draped around her like a shroud. Corwyn would never say it, would never accuse her of it, but she knew she was using him; to abate the grief for the family that was ripped away from her, to keep at bay the madness that clawed at her mind when the dreams began. Were Rhaena not such a selfish creature, she would have let him go, let him find someone would love and cherish him the way he deserved.
Unlike in the dreams, she knew marriage between them was an impossibility. Duty was a cruel mistress indeed. The girl in the dreams had let herself love and be loved. She had let herself take comfort wherever she could find it, even with a scion of the house that had been the cause of so much calamity to hers. How fortunate she had been, to forgive and forget and move forward without any burden of responsibility to the hallowed family she was born into.
That girl was nothing more than a shadow.
Rhaena Targaryen was real and could not afford to waste time with distractions of healing her shattered heart, lest her family lose all their ancestors had granted them. There was much to be done and only one lifetime to do it all.
"I should leave."
"Dawn is still a ways away," he responded with a softness that made Rhaena's heart lurch all over again.
Already putting on her small clothes, then her nightgown and the robe above it, she responded, "If I stay until dawn, we shall be discovered."
Corwyn's hands encircled her waist from behind. She turned around in his grasp and brought his head down for a kiss. This is all they would be, a secret tryst only in the dead of night, when the rest of the world was asleep and unaware. They could not be anything more. Not in this life, at the very least.
The wall gave way once she turned a lever beneath a false pale-red brick near the fireplace of her lover's chambers. Without looking behind her, she descended the rungs into the darkness, the sconce holding a dozen candles in her hand lighting the way. Future spymasters had used the network of tunnels beneath the Red Keep to gather a wealth of secrets used to both safeguard and imperil the Iron Throne and its dominion over the continent. Thanks to the dreams, some of that knowledge was hers.
It would take some more time to map out the secret ways in their entirety, but the progress she had made already was remarkable. She knew the single tunnel dug beneath Maegor's Holdfast, separated from the rest of the network of passageways, that led from the king's expansive chambers to a cove underneath the cliffs facing Blackwater Bay. The cove it led to was large enough to fit three fully grown dragons, and not a long way from the city's harbour. Despite his cruelty, Rhaena was in awe of Maegor's ingenuity. It was the perfect way to make an escape from the castle should their safety in it be threatened.
The rest of the network connected almost every other room in the castle with obscure exits in different parts of the city. Some led out into the Red Keep's godswood, others into the Blackwater Rush through the sewer system her great-grandfather commissioned. There was even one that emerged into the Dragonpit. She could not wait to map them all and show them to her siblings. Ironic, that their cruellest ancestor had left them with such a great gift. There would be no more secret sieges with Targaryen kings being held hostage in a keep built by their ancestors.
After the death of the clubfoot, none else seemed to be using the passageways. The markings she'd made against the walls as she mapped them remained untouched. All that remained was the question of maintaining them. The opening and closing mechanisms of the secret doors needed to be oiled after some time and the tunnels needed to be kept free of rats and other vermin.
With her brother's ascension, rat-catchers had been allowed back into service in the castle after the usurper had them hanged following the death of his son at the hands of one. Unlike previously, however, they were not granted access to the network of tunnels. It would be foolish not to take the death of the usurper's son as a cautionary tale. She would have to have trusted and loyal servants see to maintaining the passageways. That would come later though: first came mapping the network in its entirely.
The false wall opened to a lonely corner of the castle's library once she twisted a lever behind it. Light of the candles she carried pierced the darkness. Just as she'd left it, the tome she detailed the dreams and her plans for their future was on the corner of the farthest shelf, disguised with other books. One could not take too much caution, even with the pair Dragonkeepers stationed outside the library doors that would forbid entrance to all others by her command. She took the book, sat down by her writing desk to pick up where she left off.
Recently, Aegon had taken to Gaemon Palehair, an alleged bastard of the usurper, compelled by the impulse to care for him the way he could not Viserys. During the nights, both of them slept in the same bed, though their sleep was fitful, according to Lady Elinda. Rhaena was happy to leave them to it. The bastard boy had watched as his own mother was hanged by the usurper for her treason during the Moon of Madness. If they could find even a small measure of comfort in each other, she would not deny them that. Almost all her brother's waking hours were spent with her anyway.
Plagued by persistent terrors of the future and unending grief for the past, Rhaena's own sleep was more troubled than her brother's. That was no bother. When her body wished to rest, it would. Elsewise, she found comfort in the silence of the late nights. Since the friendship between her brother and Palehair bloomed, she would spend those late nights in the solitude offered by the empty library, chronicling her dreams and drawing up designs of the future to ensure they never came true.
The next several hours before dawn were spent doing just that. Her focus was broken by the creak of the opening library door as the rising sun purpled the eastern sky.
"Princess," one of the Dragonkeepers standing sentinel by the door said, "Lord Corlys wishes to break his fast with you."
"I'll be there soon," she replied, shut the tome, blew out the candles and left the library.
They met often, Grandfather and she. Most of the time they talked of matters of the realm before they were put before the council. There were other times, few and far between, when they spoke of Mother. Much as she missed her, that pain of her loss had dulled with time. She had died before Rhaena truly lived.
Most of what she knew of her were from stories told by Father and her grandparents. Short as it was, Laena Velaryon's life was full of laughter and joy and adventure. Her husband had been a man of her own choosing. The children she bore were not sired for duty's sake. Atop Vhagar, she had seen much of the cities across the Narrow Sea. That same dragon had gone on to slay Father, she remembered.
A sigh left her. These days, every memory seemed tainted by pain, even the pleasant ones.
The Dragonkeeper standing guard outside the king's chambers opened the door for her. Around the table in the main room, Aegon sat, joined by Gaemon Palehair and Lady Elinda, the latter cajoling the two boys to eat.
"Rhaena," Aegon called out, bouncing towards her and holding her in an embrace, his voice filled with optimism, "Did you hear? Viserys is alive! He's at Dragonstone with Baela. They flew there on Silverwing."
News of her little brother's return had finally made it to the Red Keep, it seemed. That it took this long in the first place surprised her, "Where did you hear that from?" she asked, ensuring her voice was laced with as much scepticism as she could. Hope was a sweet poison. The quest she'd sent her brother on was a dangerous one.
"Dyanna told me," he said, "She heard it from some of the Velaryon men that arrived last night."
"You should not believe in rumours," she replied, her heart twisting in shame, "If Viserys were back, he would have written to you, would he not?"
Guilt flooded her as she watched her brother's face drop, "Yes, he would have."
If Viserys died trying to claim the Cannibal, she knew she could not move forward from that. Aegon would certainly not, now that he'd allowed himself a glimmer of hope that the brother he had to leave behind was alive. She thought of writing to Baela, asking her to come home regardless of him being dragonless. They had eggs they could try and hatch, and there was Sheepstealer in the Vale, a far more friendly dragon than the Cannibal.
No. This had to be seen through. They could not hatch new dragons while unclaimed ones still flew about the realm. Not after the war had shown Westeros that any with a few drops of dragon blood could ride one. Not with the peril their house and dragonkind now faced. Almost a month had passed since Viserys told her of their return to Westeros and intention to attempt their quest. With the absence of tragic news, it stood to reason that taming the Cannibal was proceeding well.
She embraced her brother, "All will be well, valonqar."
After a long while, she said, "Grandfather has asked me to break my fast with him. I'll join you afterwards."
She ruffed Gaemon's pale hair, "Make sure you both eat. I'll come watch you train," Gaemon nodded with enthusiasm while Aegon only picked at his food, his ever-present despondence having returned.
On her way out, she called for Lady Elinda. At the door, she said, "I need you to fetch me a cup of moon tea."
"Oh," Lady Elinda said, "Is your blood upon you?"
For a moment, she thought of lying, but decided otherwise. Elinda had been in charge of Dragonstone's household in the decade before the war. Since they flowered, hers and Baela's blood came on the same day each month, and never had that changed. Elinda knew that, and Rhaena knew she was loyal. Deceit was useless.
"No," she said, and watched as her eyes widened with realization.
"Oh!" she said, "I will make sure to be discrete then."
"Thank you." Much as she knew she was closer to her blood than her fertile days, the precaution would make her feel safer. A bastard child born now would not be welcome, and would be the source of much scandal.
Tome in hand once more, she went to her own chambers, shed her nightclothes and got into the bath she had prepared for her every dawn. Once bathed, she oiled her skin, had a maid braid her hair and dressed in a black gown that had scant trimmings of red. She took Morning and coiled her about her shoulders, the pink dragon not even stirring from her slumber. Just as she was to head out, Elinda returned with the moon tea, and she gulped it down as fast as she could, taking a large swill of wine afterwards to rid her tongue of its foul taste.
"Bleh!" she exclaimed, jutting her tongue out of her mouth, "That never stops tasting disgusting."
Elinda laughed softly, "It is so to encourage unmarried girls to remain maidens."
"Did you manage to remain discrete?" she asked, "The amount needed during one's blood is smaller than that needed to prevent pregnancy."
"I know this," Elinda said, "I assure you, none will know but us three."
"Us three?" Rhaena asked, puzzled.
"Aye. You, me and the fellow lucky enough to have your maidenhead," Elinda said, laughing softly once more, "I know if it were me, all of Westeros would know I bedded a princess, especially one as lovely as you."
With a roll of her eyes, Rhaena exited her chambers, on her way to the Tower of the Hand, two Dragonkeepers on her tail. The castle was slowly coming to life, servants tending to various tasks and men-at-arms either standing guard or making their way to the yard. Aegon would join them soon enough. At first, she thought to excuse him from training-at-arms until Viserys returned, thinking that his company would make him determined, but she changed her mind. Aegon was king, he needed to be seen fulfilling all the duties of one. His martial ability could not be questioned.
The Velaryon men guarding the door to the dining chambers in the Hand's Tower let her in without prompting. She almost collided with a servant heading out of the chamber.
"Cousin!" Alyn, first to see her, came forward and gave her a wet kiss at the back of her hand. He was all smiles when he said, "It is lovely to see you today, and might I say, you are as alluring as the morning sky." He gestured to the open window and indeed, the sky was a lovely pink as the sun rose in the horizon.
A chuckle left her, "Alyn, have you ever been told that flattery is one of your strongest vices?"
"Many a time, princess. Many a time," he replied.
"When did you arrive?" she asked, curious. He was not in the castle last night.
"Mouse made harbour at the Hour of the Wolf," he answered.
"I don't understand why you insist on sailing on your mother's old cog when you have the entirety of our fleet at your disposal, diminished as it is," Grandfather's gravelly voice sounded as he entered the dining chamber.
"What would you have me sail on, Grandfather, the old wreckage that is the Sea Snake?"
Anger laced the Sea Snake's voice, "That ship made all House Velaryon is. It is the first of its kind this side of the Narrow Sea, and it is the reason you had a dragonrider for a father and brother. You would do well to remember that, boy."
The mood was much more muted as they took their seats around the table. A servant came by to fill their glasses with wine. As refusing would be seen in poor taste, she settled for taking small infrequent sips.
"The entirety of the crown's gold the Lannisters had in their possession has been returned," Grandfather remarked, after some time of the three of them eating in silence.
"It's been counted already?" Rhaena asked.
"Aye, only the Braavosi and the Hightowers remain with their shares."
"Baela visited the Hightowers during her progress. They will return their share. For the Braavosi, we will treat with them during Aegon's wedding celebrations."
"The Braavosi are known to be stubborn pricks," Grandfather said, "You can be sure they will try to fleece us."
"That would be rather unfortunate, as coin is not the only thing in Braavos' possession that belongs to the crown."
"Dreamfyre's eggs," Grandfather stated one of the other things. She had certainly given a lot of thought to them. In her dreams, an orphaned Targaryen girl, enslaved by a Dothraki Khal, hatched them in the middle of the Red Waste. That would not happen now, as that girl would likely not even be born. Those eggs had to be retrieved in her lifetime, she had already resolved.
"Braavos threatened Jaehaerys with the Faceless Men when he tried to have them returned," Grandfather contemplated, "Though, the Sealord whose son was to marry your mother promised them as bride gift during the wedding."
Rhaena had certainly not known that, "You would have us marry the Braavosi? A Sealord's rule barely lasts a lifetime. As Mother's betrothal showed, it is useless to join our blood to theirs."
"I know not of another way they would willingly return the eggs."
Neither did she, yet. There was much to think about. Mayhaps Baela landing Silverwing outside the expansive palace of the Sealord would do much to diminish his defiant notions. Since the city's founding, no dragon had landed on any of those hundred isles. The only true way to cow Braavos was to get rid of its Faceless Men. That fanatic, magical cult of assassins was the only reason the city felt itself invincible. If only they had the magic their ancestors did.
The obsidian candles currently in Baela's possession were the only vestige of that ancient sorcery left. They had to master them. The ability to gaze across mountains and seas with stunning accuracy and speak other candle users from anywhere in the world was invaluable. She could not wait for her sister's return to begin her study of them.
"Speaking of marriage, have you given any thought to yours," Grandfather's rough voice brought her out of her reverie.
Rhaena gave a look to Alyn, sensing where this was going, "Not yet. We will decide as a family, once Baela returns from her progress."
Alyn let out a mocking laugh, "No need to be coy with us, princess. We know Baela travelled to Red Lake to claim Silverwing. We are also aware that she is presently at Dragonstone with your youngest brother, Viserys, who is working to tame the Cannibal."
"The point still stands," she continued, "We will talk of it as a family."
"What is there to talk of? The king will marry Aegon's daughter and Viserys will marry Baela, as both of them are dragonriders. That leaves you," Alyn explained with a knowing smile.
"And let me guess, you think my best match would be you."
"Why not?" Alyn continued, ignoring Grandfather's barely hidden exasperation, "Our union would strengthen the ties between Houses Targaryen and Velaryon for another generation. You would be Lady of the Tides, as our grandmother was." She had to give them their credit. That they kept up the charade even now was admirable. Most already knew Alyn to be Grandfather's child and not his grandchild.
She had readied herself for such a proposal, "The ties between our houses have never frayed since we left the Old Freehold. That will not change for this generation or the next; mayhaps not ever. No other house in the realm shares as much blood with us. Marriage to me would be all for naught.
"In fact, I have in mind a match that would be better suited for you than I could ever be," she explained.
"Who?" Grandfather looked interested.
"Bethany Hightower, the sister to the Voice of Oldtown. Her family is wealthy, of great standing, and she is a great beauty from what I've heard. To add to that, Hightower ships would supplement the Velaryon fleet as dowry, going a long way to compensate you for the losses suffered fighting the usurpers. More than all that, your marriage would contribute greatly to knitting the realm back together. Your two houses created the crevice along which House Targaryen was divided."
Alyn was as thoughtful as Grandfather was disappointed, "Would House Hightower accept such an arrangement?"
"They would be delighted by the offer," Rhaena lied through her teeth. Was it a lie if it turned out to be the truth eventually?
Grandfather and Alyn shared a glance, before Alyn said, "Very well, we will consider it."
Once the meal was done, Rhaena put forth, "Have you gone over the men the king and I proposed to fill the positions on the council?"
Grandfather sent Alyn to retrieve that list.
"Wait. A Redwyne is to be the realm's admiral? I'm not offended by that at all," Alyn remarked as he examined the list, his voice filled with sarcasm.
Rhaena gave him a well-deserved eye-roll, "Grandfather is already Hand. Giving another Velaryon the admiralty would be blatant favouritism. Also, Ryam Redwyne's sister was Lyonel Hightower's mother."
Grandfather chose to ignore his grandson's complaint and instead answered her question, "I have. The choices you've made are well-thought, especially with the new positions added, but, there is a lack of Aegon's supporters on it. Save for Lord Redwyne, no other Green sits the council."
Rhaena had to acknowledge that, "The choices made are based on their competency in the posts they've been given, not just their allegiances in the war. Lord Thaddeus Rowan is admired for his fairness and indiscriminate enforcement of the crown's laws in his lands. Grand Uncle Vaegon is the Archmaester of Economics in the Citadel. His aptitude for numbers is unrivalled. Better yet, as a maester of the citadel, he cannot be considered a Black. Gorronno Edoryen is Volantene, if you recall. And the conclave appoints the Grand Maester.
"Adrian Thorne has been a captain in the Gold Cloaks from the time Father served as Lord Commander. He led a resistance against the three kings that arose during the Moon of Madness. And, the rest of his house did fight for the usurpers. You and Lord Thaddeus are actually the only outright Blacks in the council."
After a moment of contemplation, Grandfather explained, "I would suggest adding three advisory positions to be occupied by the Lannisters, Hightowers and Baratheons. They were the principle Great Houses that supported Aegon's claim. Your brother has to show the realm that he rules all of it, not just those who fought under his mother's banner. If I think this, others will too. You must at least provide an appearance of conciliation."
As far as ideas went, that was not a bad one. It would provide them with three more hostages more prominent than mere ladies. Still, it risked rewarding overmighty bannermen that had opposed rightful rulers once already with more power than they deserved.
"We'll consider it," she concluded.
"One other thing," Grandfather asked, "Who will have the regency before Aegon comes of age?"
"Baela will," Rhaena replied, "She is the eldest Targaryen alive, the rider of Silverwing and a veteran of battle. She is near enough to her age of majority to make no matter."
"You think the lords of the realm will accept that?"
"They have no choice but to," That was not negotiable. They would not allow lords to use the power of the regency to advance their own eminence in the realm, "Any lord ready to refute that can take their complaints before the Silver Queen." In the dreams, Viserys had successfully prevented a regency being imposed over Aegon's son once he took the throne. Daeron was only fourteen and dragonless. None would gainsay her on the matter.
Once there was a small lull in conversation, she made her exit, "If you'll excuse me, Morning is quite famished and needs to be fed."
In her chambers, she found the Dragonkeeper sat on the lounge of her main chamber, guarding the nine dragon's eggs in the hearth. He stood immediately she came in, offering a greeting. Rhaena had said over and over again that she did not mind him taking a seat so long as she kept a watchful eye on the eggs.
"Would you mind having some food fetched for Morning from the kitchen?" He obeyed. Her dragon was now fully awake, restlessly perched atop of her head, disentangling the elaborate braid she had her hair secured in that dawn. Like she did when hungry, she leaned against her ears and let out a shriek that made her jump.
"You will get your food soon little dragon," she replied, as if talking to a babe, hiding the exasperation in her tone, trying to keep her manner soft, "You need to be patient."
The reply the dragon deemed worthy of her sweet words was a shriek in her opposite ear. Fuck! She would go deaf. Gingerly, she took her from her shoulder and placed her by the hearth before the biting began. The drake never bit hard enough to make her bleed, but that did not mean that her sharp black teeth were not painful.
"Princess," one of the Dragonkeepers guarding the door said, in the midst of another shriek from her dragon, "The Grand Maester bid me deliver this to you."
"Thank you," she replied, her voice urgent, "Have Morning's food brought right now!" The Dragonkeeper that was to fetch her drake food entered only a moment later. The force with which Morning flew at the man almost brought him to the ground. Rhaena left them and went into her bedchamber.
Quickly, she unsealed Baela's letter and read through its contents with dread. The breath that left her was filled with relief. The Cannibal now had a proper name; Jacerion, and a rider, her little brother of nine. It was an outstanding feat. At least a fortnight would be required to further tame the dragon, her sister informed her, to ensure he would not be a scourge on the city once her siblings returned to it.
Viserys wrote in his own hand to thank her for making it possible for him to be a dragonlord. Sealed within was another letter, addressed to Aegon. Once Morning was busy tearing apart the three haunches of goat delivered for her morning meal, Rhaena marched to her brother's chambers, vibrating with joy, to hand the letter to him.
She found her brother and the bastard boy helping each other fasten their armour for their time in the training yard.
"Valonqar, it seems you were right. Viserys is back and he wrote to you."
It was a joy to watch the hope she had robbed her brother of return once more as he read through the letter's contents. She was puzzled as that joy turned into confusion, then fury.
"You had him claim the Cannibal?" he asked.
She stood firm, "Aye. The dead dragons of the Dance provided an opportunity I could not let pass us by."
"Why would you do that?" It was good to see that beneath the despondence, her brother was still a dragon.
"Look around you Aegon," she said, ensuring her voice remained even, "Do you not see the peril our family is in? We need the dragons to ensure none else could challenge us the way the usurper did."
"And none will! My marriage to Jaehaera will join Mother's line to his, ensuring peace in all the land. Our children will have both our blood!"
That was when the realization dawned on her. She did not really want that, did she? Why would she toil so long and hard, just to hand the legacy she was building to those with tainted blood? The usurper's spawn did not belong in the future she was working to build.
"Jaehaera is what, eight?" This time, she did not stop her voice from rising to match her brother's, "That means you have eight more years, at the earliest, to consummate your marriage with her. How do you intend to keep peace in that time, oh wise king of mine?"
"By ruling justly!" he shrieked, "Giving all in the realm a chance to rebuild from the devastation the war brought to them!"
"And you think that would be enough?" she asked, following the question with a derisive chuckle, "Your grandfather, our uncle, was a just ruler, was he not? Yet as soon as he died, his wishes on succession were repudiated by his grasping sons, and one of them burned your mother in the ensuing war."
That was uncalled-for, she knew, but Aegon needed to let go of his childish delusions, "The only way we can guarantee peace is to make the possibility of war seem hopeless. And the way we do that is to ensure we are too formidable to oppose," she took a breath, making her voice even once more, "Sheepstealer still flies lose in the realm. Now that we have two grown dragons under our command, we plan on retrieving him from wherever he hides. Once we do, you must be ready to claim him. You are our king. You need to be the most formidable of us all."
With that, she exited his chambers, leaving her little brother deep in thought.
It was in the spicy-scented godswood, with a sated Morning flying above her to exercise her wings, that Rhaena was able to collect her thoughts. Aegon would not be joined to the usurper's daughter, she decided. They four of them were already perfectly matched, with the blood of the Rogue Prince flowing through all them. Baela was always meant to be queen. She was more deserving of that honour than Jaehaera could ever be.
The future was clear in her mind's eye. Aegon and Baela seated on the Iron Throne, with their dragons, Silverwing and Sheepstealer, looming large behind them. On either side of them would stand Viserys and she, Morning and Jacerion circling the sky above them. Father would be honoured with that vision.
What would they have to do to see that achieved? Would she kill Jaehaera? It would be justified. She was the last of the usurper's line and her death would deliver true vengeance for all the tragedies they had suffered. Much as she itched to do it, to deliver true justice for the true queen, it would certainly mean war once more. The usurper's supporters were not the most rational of men, they would risk life and limb to see the girl avenged.
The ground they walked on now was too shaky. If war was to break out once more, Baela would be the only one to fight it. Even on a dragon as formidable as Jacerion, Viserys was too young to be risked in battle. Her eyes followed her dragon's shrieks above her. Morning was too small to take to battle and would be for some years. Her desire for vengeance would risk the life of her twin, a prospect she could not stomach, courageous as Baela was. For now, the girl would be spared.
The rest of the morning was spent absently watching Morning's joy in flying amongst the trees, darting from one branch to the next, as if she was Baela's monkey. Yet another victim of the usurper's cruelty.
Thoughts of her dilemma floated around in her mind. The usurper's daughter could not be killed, yet she could not be made her brother's queen. After a while, she decided to table the matter until her siblings returned. After all, she could not make any moves in that regard before the Hightowers returned their portion of the royal treasury to King's Landing. Other than that, there were two-score days to her brother's wedding and coronation, she would have found a solution before then.
With a now tired Morning back asleep amongst the unhatched dragon's eggs in her chamber's blazing hearth, and her brother taking out his frustrations with her on the training yard, she had a group of ladies gathered for the midday meal in the Queen's Ballroom.
Houses from all over the realm were slowly trickling into the capital in anticipation for the new king's wedding. That came with noble ladies jostling for places in the royal household. It was funny to see their vassals volunteer to be hostages of the crown, lured by the veneer of prestige being a lady the royal family gave them. Once the wedding had happened and the positions were formalized, Rhaena planned to prioritize those from houses that fought for the usurper in the war. The realm would see it as an effort to reunite warring factions.
In her husband's reign, Queen Alysanne made hundreds of marriages for her ladies to see the realm more unified. They would do the same, wedding the usurper's supporters to the crown's. Cousin Alyn and Bethany Hightower would only be the beginning. She made a note to list all such marriages possible.
A round table was set with a veritable feast before very long. Half an hour was spent chronicling in her tome before any of the ladies arrived. The Lannister girls, Tyshara and Cerelle, were the first to prance into the hall, their garments gaudy and their bearing imperious. They were the daughters of the late Jason and nieces to the conniving Tyland after all. Accompanying them was Rohanne Reyne, more muted when compared to the other lionesses.
Next was Lucinda of House Wylde, one of the twenty-nine children of Ironrod, the usurper's Master of Laws. Marianne of the Atranta branch of House Vance, Ryella Butterwell and Rosamund Darry were close to one another. It was thus not a surprise for them to arrive together.
Alyssa Royce was the last to make her entrance. Though her house was nominally an ally, they had been content to sit on the sidelines for most of the war, only sending a token force during Cousin Rhaenyra's short hold on the city. Even Lady Jeyne had been displeased by the meagre numbers they mustered as the Valemen marched into King's Landing once the war was done. Mayhaps they still held resentment towards her father. Nonetheless, it was their allegiance and fealty that they needed, not their affection. Alyssa assured that.
Their household would be completed as the wedding drew closer. Already, she planned to have the Baratheon daughters, Patricia Redwyne, Myrielle Peake, Bethany Hightower and Mina Tyrell join it. All of them were from houses that rebelled or were content being fence-sitters during the war. Of course, allies would be included as well, but choosing among those would be easy.
Once their midday meal was finished, of which Rhaena ate little of, they got to work, making as complete a list as possible of all that would be needed for Aegon's wedding and coronation. The ladies before her had been to multiple weddings, even helped prepare for some. Their extensive experience in such events would make up for her lack.
The list was complete by the late afternoon. There was only one thing they could not get within the city; the king's crown. The simple unadorned golden circlet Aegon chose in the dreams would not do.
On one occasion, her brother had mentioned off-handed wishes of having his mother honoured as the true queen in all official records and historical documents, undoing the usurper's last decree. Rhaena did not think that went far enough. In her view, the usurper, his siblings and children deserved nothing less than to be stripped of their status as royals and attainted as treasonous traitors.
Nonetheless, Aegon ascending the throne with the same crown his mother wore, the same crown The Conciliator wore, would go a long way in signalling the true line of succession as Uncle Viserys and King Jaehaerys before him intended. It seemed she would need Baela to fly to Braavos after all. Rhaenyra used that crown as payment for passage to Dragonstone from King's Landing, straight into the jaws of usurper's maimed dragon. The ship providing passage was Braavosi in origin.
Quickly she put down a letter with the request to her twin. Just as she was about to disperse her ladies for the day, a panting page was let into the hall.
"Princess," he gasped, "An outrider bade me tell you that the delegations of House Peake and House Baratheon are about to enter the capital."
"Very well," Rhaena replied before turning to her ladies, "I'll join you at the castle's gates in welcoming the Baratheons and Peakes."
She stood at the front of their welcoming party after seeing the message meant for Baela attached to the raven departing for Dragonstone. The Peake company was first to arrive, Lord Unwin riding at the front, on his hip the ornate hilt of Orphan-Maker catching the daylight, its pommel encrusted with a shining red ruby. The man himself was dressed richly in a brocade of black and orange, the colours of his house. A perpetual half-scowl seemed etched on his face.
"My lord," Rhaena greeted, hoping her performance of pleasantry was convincing, "Welcome to the Red Keep. I trust your journey was not too tiresome." The ladies behind her offered elegant curtsies.
"The journey was long and banditry is rife within the realm. My party was attacked twice as we travelled," the man replied with a brusque tone, looking her up and down. The lack of honorific in his address was not lost on her.
An air of false pleasantry was unmistakable in her voice, "A shame that the pretender's rebellion left us with such strife and disorder. The king will have it dealt with, worry not. But, for now, a meal, a bath and a fire awaits you in your chambers." If he picked up on her taunt, he did not show it. Behind him rode his daughter.
"My lord," she continued, "I would like to extend your daughter an invitation to join the royal household as one of its ladies-in-waiting. The king has guaranteed her a place in the queen's service once crowned."
The half-scowl faded away for a moment, "Myrielle would be glad to join the royal household and serve the queen." If only he knew which queen she would serve, he would not be as pleased with himself. Baela was not meek and helpless like the usurper's daughter was. Whatever thoughts he had of his daughter seducing the king would be all for naught.
Still, Unwin Peake had the usurper's daughter thrown out of her chamber's window to be impaled on the iron spikes surrounding Maegor's Holdfast. From afar, he had schemed to have the king and queen poisoned and Viserys' wife killed. All so Lady Turnips would be crowned queen and ensure the next king had his blood. Of all the coming dangers to her family shown to her in the dreams, the Lord of Starpike, Dustonbury and Whitegrove was among the worst. One way or the other, the man had to die, Rhaena resolved. All she needed to plot was how.
"It would be an honour to have her," she told him as the delegation followed a page to their chambers in the castle.
The Baratheon party arrived soon after the Peakes vacated the courtyard. The most notable of the party were two men riding at the front of it, one in yellow, the other in gleaming white armour. Royce Caron, Lord of Nightsong, grandfather and regent to little lord Royce Baratheon, was first to dismount. Beside him was old Willis Fell, the sole surviving member of Uncle Viserys' Kingsguard. He'd spirited the usurper's daughter to the safety of Storm's End. In the dreams, he was offered pardon and made the Lord Commander of a rebel's Kingsguard. No traitor would be part of her brother's seven.
A wheelhouse came to a stop behind them. From it, dismounted three of the Four Storms, their hair black as polished jet and their eyes as blue as the sea. The fourth storm had taken the lifelong vows of the Silent Sisters, a punishment for goading the kinslayer into slaying her betrothed. Too harsh a punishment, she thought. The one-eye monster possessed a cruel black heart; he needed no goading to put on display his true nature.
To their credit, the Baratheon delegation remembered their courtesies. As one, once they had all dismounted their horses or the wheelhouse, they stood in a line and bowed before her. Of that, she was glad. It seemed Baela's visit had done much to dissuade them from following Borros' example. That they, their own kin, had chosen to turn traitor during the war was unfortunate.
But, that seemed to be their way. Sharing blood with the Conqueror did not prevent them from being their most belligerent adversary. A Baratheon was the ultimate cause of their dynasty's fall, after all. Hopefully, once she had enacted all the plans she had, that sort of rebellion would be made infeasible.
"Welcome to King's Landing and the Red Keep, Lord Caron, my ladies," she offered, a welcoming smile plastered on her face, "I trust your journey here was as pleasant as could be."
"It was, my princess," Lord Caron replied, his tone filled with deference.
"That is good to hear, you will be shown to your chambers, where food, a bath and a warm fire awaits you. The winter's chill gets worse every day."
"Thank you, princess," he said.
"Oh," she continued, "And I would like to invite your granddaughters, Ladies Cassandra, Ellyn and Floris to be a part the royal household as ladies-in-waiting."
Lady Cassandra was the one to respond, "You honour us. We would be glad to join you."
"It would our honour to have you. Mayhaps you could join us in the morn as we break our fast. It would be a good way for us all to get to know each other."
They vacated the courtyard soon after, once the Baratheons had entered the castle and their servants joined the Peake's in unloading their belongings. After an animated tea with the ladies as the sun began to set, they all dispersed, Rhaena returning to her chambers for a bath.
An aching tiredness bloomed behind her eyes while she relaxed in the bath. Her skin had been scrubbed clean by the maids and the water had been changed. When was the last time she had truly slept?
Morning seemed to be in good spirits as she fluttered about her tub. She had been fed quite adequately, with beef during midday and rabbit in the evening. Her drake would have one more meal at the hour of the bat before she slept for the night. It was good to see her thrive so. Food and freedom in plenty had been granted to her. How she died so young in the dreams was a mystery to her.
"That will not happen this time, my sweet," she vowed, patting her dragon's pink scales with her wet hands. Morning cooed in response.
That she was gifted with prophetic dreams was immensely fortunate, and troubling. It meant the gods thought their circumstances perilous enough to intervene. Normally, they were content to passively watch their tragic lives. They even seemed to enjoy bearing witness to their endless suffering. The last time they interfered was before the Doom, when an entire peninsula exploded and hundreds of dragons fell out of the sky.
Was that the reason they intervened? She questioned as she cradled Morning on her bare chest. The entire species would have been extinguished in the Doom if not for Daenys the Dreamer. Though Rhaena did not know how, but dragonkind was to go extinct within two decades. And, on the night of her first dream, she had been shocked awake by the sound of Morning's egg cracking.
Her skin was wrinkled when she emerged from the now tepid bath. There were no commitments for the rest that evening, so she chose to put on her night clothes now, with a lavish robe over them, ensuring her modesty. Gazing at herself in the mirror, she noticed the subtle darkening beneath her eyes. Rhaenyra's words came back to her. Beauty was a weapon. She could not allow hers to fade. She truly needed to sleep. That night she would ask the Grand Maester for dreamwine, loath as she was to use it or any medicine of its kind.
It was the first day in many not spent with Aegon by her side, so she supped with him, though she only nibbled a bit of what she was served. A part of her regretted how she spoke to him in the morn. Much as he needed to understand the necessity of her actions, her frustrations made her forget the atrocity he witnessed.
"How was your day?" she asked, attempting to make peace.
Gaemon Palehair was the one to reply, childish excitement present in his voice, "It was good. We trained with Ser Corwyn, and he even let me hold Lady Forlorn."
"Good, ensure you take his instruction to heart. There is a reason he was chosen over his elder brother to be the wielder of their family's ancestral sword."
"Aegon," she addressed her brother directly, "How were your lessons with the maester?"
He was snapped out of his impassive trance, "They went well."
"What did you learn?" she inquired, trying to capture his attention.
That her brother did not give answer to. Instead, with his gaze absently painted at a wall, he said, in a quiet voice almost too quiet to hear, "I will not claim Sheepstealer."
A sigh left her. Thank the gods Grand Uncle Vaegon remained hale and healthy. Convincing him to serve on the king's council would be an arduous task, but it could be done, she hoped. If not, they would have no option but to make peace with Netty.
"Very well. I will not force you."
"I do not want to ever be a dragonrider again!" he asserted, his voice high, his eyes filled with tears, his body beginning to shake.
Just the notion of claiming another dragon gave him such distress. Even with the dreams, she underestimated how deep her brother's hatred for dragonkind ran. With time, she thought they could bring him to remember the majesty of their bonded. Mayhaps they still could, but Rhaena would not count on it any more. Gorronno's first task would be to see to the rebuilding of the Dragonpit. It was the only assured way to secure riderless dragons.
She brought him into an embrace, "All is well Aegon. None will make you ride a dragon if you do not wish to."
Aegon's wet, sad eyes made her heart twist, "But you made Viserys risk his life taming the Cannibal."
"Viserys wished to be a dragonlord. You do not, that you have made clear. Trust I will not throw you atop a dragon's back."
Gaemon joined their embrace, and they stayed like that for long moments.
A fortnight later, as her brother and she were frolicking in the godswood, the thundering roars of dragons split the darkening afternoon skies overhead. Aegon jumped on her, startled and terrified.
Baela and Viserys had returned. Their family was whole again; at least, as whole as can be.
Author's Note: Three more chapters of the story and the link to my Discord Server, where you can connect with me and get exclusive updates on all my writing endeavours, can be found by searching up 'neyra29 linktree'.