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Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences
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Graphic Depictions Of ViolenceMajor Character Death
Fandoms:
Game of Thrones (TV)A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. MartinA Song of Ice and Fire & Related FandomsHouse of the Dragon (TV)幼女戦記 | Youjo Senki | Saga of Tanya the Evil - Carlo Zen (Light Novels)幼女戦記 | Youjo Senki | Saga of Tanya the Evil (Anime)
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Tanya von DegurechaffViserys I TargaryenRhaenyra TargaryenSyrax | Rhaenyra Targaryen's DragonAlicent HightowerOtto HightowerAegon II TargaryenLaenor Velaryon
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WarOriginally Posted Elsewhere
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Published:2024-02-24Updated:2026-05-20Words:319,505Chapters:58/?Comments:1,545Kudos:3,724Bookmarks:1,071Hits:221,087
A Young Woman's Inevitable Dance of the Dragons
Failninjaninja
Chapter 32
Notes:
A great big THANKS to MARch_Of_Time for proofreading and being a great sounding board!
Chapter Text
"A necessary sacrifice. I'll take responsibility for what follows." From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 11
Daemon cursed the Gods as he flew. A daughter, another fucking daughter! His only son was a deformed blight upon his line, and now he had three daughters. A daughter was worth something, and his daughter would one day be Queen, which counted for much. But he wanted a trueborn son to carry on his name and legacy. He had fought for the Stepstones. He had bled for the Stepstones. He would pass the Stepstones to a worthy heir.
A son.
As he flew and brooded, he realized there was another option if Laena continued to give him only daughters and grotesques. Aelyx was his child by blood. He was fourth in line to the throne after Rhaenyra, and would follow any children Jace, Luke, or Aenar might have. He could adopt the boy and make him his heir. The realm might howl at him for openly declaring that Rhaenyra had sired a son outside her marriage, but only the blind refused to see that Rhaenyra's children were not Laenor's.
Yes, he is the child that should have been if Rhaenyra had wed me.
Others would also oppose such a decision, but they were not the Paramount Lord of the Stepstones. Rhaenyra would come around; she would want her sons to have lands and titles. His own wife would be an obstacle as well, but in time, she would relent.
She had mentioned that if I found Maegor so offensive, then he could be fostered elsewhere. I had wanted to hide my shame, but if I did have Maegor fostered, I could replace him with Aelyx who can act as a brother to my daughters.
Daemon smiled as the wind lashed Caraxes. This was a plan he could see working and resolve much. He still wished for a trueborn son with Laena to make things less complicated, but the Gods had seen fit to deny him that.
He had intended to fly all through the night and into the next day. Now that he knew he had an alternative to Laena producing a proper heir, the rage that had driven him faded, and he realized he was weary. Daemon guided Caraxes toward Tarth. They would welcome a Paramount Lord and the brother of the King.
The hour was late when Daemon arrived, but food was made available and as was a comfortable bed. He left instructions not to be woken, and drifted to sleep. He would not wake until the noonday sun had well passed its zenith.
Stifling a yawn, he broke his fast with Lord Tarth. The man was aged but affable enough – exactly the type of lickspittle Viserys would most enjoy for company. Daemon didn't let his contempt show, for the man had been hospitable.
"If I might inquire, my prince, what brings you to Tarth?"
"Merely a rest stop. I have business that needs attending to in the Stepstones. The Triarchy and Dorne ever seek signs of negligence in their defense."
The grey-haired lord nodded. "A wise decision. Since you are here, I hoped to speak with you about favorable tariff considerations from merchants aligned with some of my friends. Tarth does not have a large trading fleet, but given…"
The man prattled on, and Daemon simply did not care. Counting coppers was beneath a Targaryen of his stature. He was no fool; he understood that those coppers were important, which is why you entrusted a favored servant to ensure all was well. Finances needed to be in order, just as chamber pots needed to be tended to, but a prince would never attend to such matters himself.
"Put your proposal in writing and I will review it when I return to the Stepstones. Trade between the Stormlands and the Stepstones is of great importance to me, rest assured."
Tarth seemed pleased by that. Their meal was interrupted by the Maester bearing a message.
"Dark wings, dark words, my lord, my prince."
Daemon was slightly irked that the letter was given to Tarth first, but it was his lands.
"Gods! This is grim news, my prince. Your good-brother, Ser Laenor, he has been gravely wounded in an assassination attempt by the Dornish. They've written it appears to have been poison."
Daemon snatched the letter from the man's grasp and read it himself. This was monumental news. The letter stated only that the assassins were from Dorne, not that Dorne was behind the assassination, but even a child could see what it likely meant. War.
Only if Viserys has the will to pursue it.
That had always been the rub. His brother was too wedded to keeping the peace, too focused on promoting harmony between the Seven Kingdoms. His compromises had revealed his weakness, but this… this could not stand. Daemon had no love for Laenor, and his reputation as the Dark Storm gnawed at him. The people were fickle; Daemon should not care, and yet he did. Nonetheless, he would passionately demand that Dorne be held to account for this attack.
"It seems I must depart for King's Landing. Matters of more import than trade call me away. Thank you for the lodging and the meal."
With that, Daemon mounted Caraxes and prepared to begin the war of words with his brother.
***
"How is Laenor?" Rhaenys asked her husband, who had embraced her, despite her coming straight from dragonback.
"He is fighting, but the Maesters hold little hope." Corlys answered gravely.
Rhaenys nodded. "They held little hope for Maegor as well; they can be wrong."
"So we pray." Corlys paused. "Were you successful?"
"Yes, my love. Our men have the full crew under arms and are bringing them to you as we speak. It should be no more than an hour. You will have time to question them when they arrive. For now, take me to see our son."
Corlys walked with her past several guards. Security was now tight within High Tide. Faces were grim. Some had lost friends, but more than that, Rhaenys felt the soldiers who served them felt shame for not stopping the assassins.
The serving staff were still cleaning the bloodstains left on the floor and walls of their home. Rhaenys would trade the entire fortification if it meant her son would live. They had moved her son to a different location, closer to the Maesters' tools and concoctions. It felt stark and strange for the future King-Consort to be in a room without adornment.
Maester Gerardys bowed. "Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys, there has been little change."
Rhaenys looked toward her boy, but as her weary eyes traveled to his bedding, she noticed several things. The dragon egg that was meant to be placed in Visenya's cradle was instead held in a metal bowl above a brazier next to Laenor. Joffrey Lonmouth was red-eyed and looked lost as he sat beside the bed. Princess Elaena was holding Laenor's hand, her eyes closed. She was so still, Rhaenys at first thought she had fallen asleep.
"Why is Visenya's dragon egg here?" Rhaenys asked.
Elaena slowly opened her eyes. "I recall stories of my own struggles as an infant. It was said that the dragon egg in my cradle gave me strength. Perhaps it is Valyrian superstition, but if it amounts to nothing, no harm has been done."
Rhaenys thought there was little chance of that helping. Laenor was already bonded to Seasmoke. As Elaena had said though, it seemed like it would cause little harm. She looked down at Laenor. Fresh beads of sweat formed on his brow, and he twitched.
Maester Gerardys frowned. "Strange, it has been a couple of hours since the last time he jerked like that."
"What is going on?" Corlys asked, iron tone tinged with worry.
"We've given him a sedative. Milk of the poppy didn't work, but there were alternatives on hand that proved effective. We've also fed him honey and a mixture of herbs. Your son is remarkable." His clinical voice allowed a hint of perplexity to enter it. "Somehow his body is shielding itself from the corrosive effects of the poison. The flesh should be necrotizing by now, and yet it has not. I am at a loss to explain."
Corlys looked at him sharply. "Does that mean he will live?"
"Again... I know not. We are still awaiting word from the Citadel. The Archmaester of Silver or Maester Orwyle may have some additional insight. The poison used was found on several bolts, daggers, and swords. I suspect it has degraded in potency from being exposed to open air for so many hours, and yet, when we tested it on a pig and a sheep, death was violent and brutal. The animals went mad with pain, and here Laenor does not."
Rhaenys moved past Joffrey and took Laenor's hand. Kissing it and pressing her forehead to it as she whispered a prayer. When she was finished, she stood back up.
"I must speak with his wife, and then obtain some rest. Hard choices may soon be upon us. However, if his condition changes for the worse, summon me." Rhaenys commanded.
The Maester nodded and then she turned to Elaena.
"Elaena, your care for your good-brother is kind, but you too should get some rest."
Elaena shook her head. "I can doze here just as easily. Ser Laenor has always been kind to me. I do have a request, Princess Rhaenys. Can you ensure that Laena is not neglected in all this? Stress and worry so soon after giving birth may weaken her and lead to birthing fever. I know the Maesters are focusing their attention on your son, but your daughter must also be cared for."
Rhaenys blinked. So many things had happened in such a short time she had forgotten that it had been less than a day since her daughter gave birth. She turned to Gerardys expectantly.
"Ah, well Maester Vaelar is resting. Neither of us had rested since our slumber was disturbed by the attack. We thought it best that one of us stay with Ser Laenor the entire time, but I suppose I can check on Laena and hurry back." He gave a small smile toward Elaena. "Our young princess here is surprisingly knowledgeable; I had thought bronze and gold the Maester metals she was most familiar with."
"Of course, I'll have Joffrey alert the guards if something changes in Laenor's condition." Elaena helpfully suggested.
That decided, the Maester made ready to depart for Laena's chambers. Corlys stopped him and took him by the shoulders.
"Save him, Maester. Do this and I will owe a debt to the Citadel. Name it and I will provide it. Rare tomes, funding for projects, a new wing of a library, I know not what your kind desire, but speak it and I will see it done."
Maester Gerardys shook his head. "I would do my best regardless, but let us speak no more of debts until I have succeeded. I do not wish to be gone long, so let us not tarry."
Rhaenys took one last look at her son and the two companions at his side before leaving the room. A heavy guard stood outside, and she instructed them that if Princess Elaena requested a Maester, their fastest runner should head to her daughter's chamber to fetch Gerardys.
***
Viserys was angry, in pain, and most of all, tired. Ravens were coming and going throughout the realm. The most distasteful word, war, was on everyone's lips. For the third time in less than two days, the small council would meet to discuss what had happened on Driftmark. This time, it promised to be explosive, as Daemon had just arrived.
He arrived and saw that most of the small council was already present. His reliable Hand and good friend, Otto Hightower, was seated next to Jaspar Wylde, the Master of Laws. Tyland Lannister, the Master of Ships, appeared pensive, while Lyman Beesbury was red-faced with anger. Larys Strong was organizing some sheaves of paper and only briefly looked up to bow with the others and murmur, "Your Grace."
Daemon was seated in the spot where his cousin Rhaenys had begun sitting. A sardonic expression was on his face. Viserys could already feel a headache forming, to match the pain in his foot.
"Where is the Grand Maester?" Viserys asked in a sharp tone.
"He should be here momentarily," Larys answered. "He was composing a response to Maester Vaelar."
That was an acceptable excuse. "We will begin without him. Has there been any change in Ser Laenor's condition?"
Larys shook his head. "No, Your Grace. The report from the Maesters on Driftmark is that it is some sort of rare poison that has been enhanced in some way they are not able to interpret. Maester Gerardys believes it was done with the intent to inflict malicious levels of pain and ensure the victim suffers it consciously. Milk of the poppy does nothing, but they were able to use an alternative means to bring Ser Laenor the relief of sleep."
"Such vileness must face the harshest sanction," Jaspar thundered.
"There is hope yet that Laenor will live, then?" Viserys prompted.
Larys spread his hands. "The news appears grim, but I am no Maester."
"Why would it matter with regard to what you must do now, brother?"
"Of course it matters!" Viserys answered.
Daemon stood. "We all hope for our brave Storm to recover, but a failed assassination is no less a cause for war than a successful one. The Dornish came to High Tide, where my wife had just given birth, and attempted to slaughter the heir to House Velaryon – the husband of the heir to the Iron Throne. There can be but one answer for these transgressions."
"You mean war," Otto spoke softly. "Conflict with Dorne has done naught but cause ill for the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps if House Velaryon and you had not begun the conflict in the Stepstones…"
"You would blame me for this despicable act?" Daemon asked incredulously. "Your hatred for me has long guided you, Hightower, but this is too far."
"It does not matter what provocations occurred in the past!" Wylde thundered. "Daemon could have flown to the Greenblood and had Caraxes defecate in the river, and it would still not excuse the use of vile poison and assassination!"
"My lords!" Viserys raised his voice to prevent several open mouths from speaking over each other. "We still do not know all that has transpired. Our path must be certain before we do anything rash. What news from the Marcher Lords? Has Dorne called their banners?"
Otto shook his head. "The Marcher Lords have reported an increase in Dornish activity across the border, but no large gathering of men. We have received letters from Selmy, Dondarrion, Swann, and Caron, who have called their banners in your name."
Of course they would. This time, I cannot fault them either.
"Larys, what do your whisperers say?"
Larys took a moment to respond as he sifted through some of the notes before him.
"Your Grace, rumors always abound, but I have yet to verify them, so hesitate to trouble the council with them."
"We will make that judgement," Viserys admonished, "what are you hearing?"
"Many things. Weeks prior, there was increased trade between Dorne and the cities of Lys and Volantis. It made sense that Dorne would wish to avoid the Stepstones, so I did not think much of it. Close to home, much of the talk was about the match between Princess Elaena and Ser Kevan." Larys turned and gave Daemon a small smile. "I fear the smallfolk oft let their imaginations run wild. You were apparently defeated by Ser Baldric, and then you attacked him, only for Ser Kevan to defeat you next."
Daemon stared daggers at the Master of Whisperers. "What in the Seven Hells does ignorant nattering have to do with Dorne?"
"Forgive me, but there is a point. Some of the smallfolk have heard of your sudden departure from Driftmark immediately prior to the assassination of Ser Laenor. They say that you may have had a hand in it due to jealousy over the Dark Storm's reputation. I merely wished to put such nonsense in the proper context. As I stated, the smallfolk are oft wrong; my little ears pick up much, but it must be sifted so the chaff is not mixed with the grain."
Viserys looked at Daemon in surprise. "Why did you leave so suddenly?"
"The Gods denied me an able-bodied son, so I departed lest I take my anger out on those precious to me. But we have gone far astray from the topic at hand. Dorne must pay for what it has done."
The doors opened, and Grand Maester Mellos swiftly walked in.
"My apologies, Your Grace. I had to confirm some of the details, but I believe I know the substance now, or at least in part." He was out of breath as he spoke. "It is manticore venom, one of the deadliest of all poisons. A single drop is supposed to be able to kill a man once it reaches the heart. You must understand, Your Grace, Maesters study how to heal those who may suffer from ailments, including poisoning, but we don't deal with such substances firsthand. Sources in Essos have varying degrees of reliability."
"Is there an antidote? Where does this come from?" Viserys asked.
"On the islands in the Jade Sea is where the creatures are found. However, poison masters in Essos sell their product throughout Essos and in Dorne," Mellos replied, then hesitated. "References easily 200 years old speak of venom being modified using magic to be deadlier, and I found a reference to manticore venom on the subject. To my mind, this means the storied lethality of the manticore venom is just that, storied, and there may be hope for Ser Laenor. For why would one need sorcery when something already guarantees death?"
"Wonderful," Daemon's voice dripped with derision. "We have tales of sorcery to go along with me planning my good-brother's death within hours of my departure. None of this changes what the Seven Kingdoms must now do."
"Oh, sit down Daemon." Viserys commanded. "You are not a formal part of this council, and you are here so long as you comport yourself. You will have a chance to speak, but I am King. Sit down or you will be removed."
Daemon stared at him for several long seconds before sitting back down. "Very well, brother. What do you intend to do?"
"I intend to wait to see if my good-son survives. Ravens have been dispatched to Dorne for an accounting. Security has been tightened in the Red Keep, and all lords, great and small, have been made aware of the poisoning. In the interim, the lords on Dorne's borders are calling up their men. If it is to be war, we will not be found lacking. But I will not be rushed into this. If there is to be war, we will not launch it without a clear vision of our aims."
Viserys looked around the table. Otto was on the verge of speaking but held his tongue. Beesbury was nodding. Tyland was looking at Daemon as if expecting a response.
Larys broke the silence. "Perhaps we could do something to improve the mood of the people. From what I have learned from those on Driftmark, Ser Laenor still has a chance of survival due to the quick succor and attending to the wound administered by Princess Elaena."
Viserys felt a chill pass through him.
"What? I had not heard of this." Viserys stared at Larys intensely.
"Oh?" Larys said slowly. "It was Ser Joffrey Lonmouth and Princess Elaena who found Laenor. Laenor was in the guest rooms in High Tide; I am told Elaena was in the room next door. We must thank the Gods for the prowess of Ser Laenor. If the Dark Storm had not been so... effective, I fear that when the princess left her room to investigate the commotion, she would likely have been slain as well."
All color had departed from Viserys' face. His hands clenched, and he could hear his pulse in his ears. Larys continued speaking about recognizing the princess for her quick thinking and bravery—cleaning the wound with wine and...
"Your Grace, Your Grace," Otto was saying, and Viserys realized he had lost track of the conversation.
The world returned into focus.
"Are you well, Your Grace?" Mellos asked, concern evident on his brow.
Viserys shook himself. The news earlier had been brief; they had not shared the details of how close Elaena had been. He stood.
"No, I am not well. I long for peace, but my brother has the right of it."
"Your Grace, I would urge…" Otto spoke, but Viserys interrupted.
"No. He is right," Viserys repeated. "Call the banners. Every house south of Duskendale should make ready to march. The fleets of Lannisport, Oldtown, the Arbor, King's Landing, Driftmark, Gulltown, and White Harbor must be made ready to transport men." Viserys spoke quickly, his words fueled by a fiery rage. "Daemon, we will need you and Caraxes. Laena has just given birth; I will not risk Rhaenyra or Elaena in battle, and Laenor is still facing the Stranger. You and Rhaenys will be of critical import."
Daemon showed his teeth in a smile. "Of course, Your Grace. I would also gladly volunteer my services to take command of the war effort and organize our forces."
Viserys nodded. "Yes, it was your good-brother who was laid low. But hark, Daemon. You will prosecute this conflict as I see fit. You are granted command and will act in my name, so do not tarnish it."
"Your Grace," Otto said more firmly. "We must speak more. We cannot–"
"Cannot!? Am I not King?" Viserys seethed, words laced with danger and a broiling ire the likes of which he hadn't felt in decades.
"You are, Your Grace. I only mean to say that your earlier course was the better."
Viserys studied his friend. "Everyone, leave the room save for Otto. Grand Maester, coordinate with Daemon and see to it that the realm is ready for war."
Daemon walked out and stopped to speak a few words to Larys, who nodded. The others left without comment. When the room was empty except for Ser Harrold and Otto, Viserys looked Otto in the eyes.
"There are two things of which I am most proud in this world: my peaceful reign and my two daughters."
Ottos' eyes blazed. "Four."
"Pardon?"
"I said, four. You have four daughters. Helaena and Daenora are your daughters as much as Rhaenyra and Elaena are."
Viserys felt a slight twinge of guilt. He looked away from Otto for a moment and softened his tone. "They are young yet and have not made their mark on the world. I am sure they will, but that is beside the point, my friend. I had every wish to be known as Viserys the Peaceful, but now that I know the full account of what occurred and how close those assassins were to Elaena... I cannot let it go. Dorne must pay; they must suffer."
Otto nodded. "I understand, Your Grace. I simply believe we should proceed with justified caution. While all evidence, so far, points to Dorne committing this foul deed, we are not yet certain."
"Can it be more obvious? It was carried out by Dornish men. The ship that was to be their swift passage away from Driftmark hails from the port of Planky Town."
Otto sighed. "As you say, Your Grace. I will write to my nephew and ensure he is prompt in raising his banners, and that he compels his peers in the Reach to move with similar alacrity."
Viserys expected a longer argument. "I'm glad you understand."
"I am ever your loyal servant. And as your loyal servant I will always give you honest counsel, but when I can see your heart is set on a course, I will do my best to see the realm fulfills your wishes."
***
Daemon was well pleased with the command he had been given. However, not all was right in the world. The smallfolk of King's Landing had once feared and respected him. Now they gossip and make up stories? He did not care for the opinions of those so far beneath him, but he could not allow this affront to continue.
"Hello, Daemon. It has been some time since we spoke."
"Mysaria, you are looking as ravishing as ever." Daemon truly did admire her lithe form. Her skin was as pale as milk, and her lips a vivid scarlet.
"I no longer dance or entertain; you know this. And you know my trade now. Tell me, then, what do you wish to learn, and what do you have to offer?"
Daemon's smile departed. "I am Lord Paramount of the Stepstones, brother to the King, and rider of Caraxes. Extort or deny me at your peril."
Mysaria laughed. "Ah, you never change. My Rogue Prince, always with your threats. You must know that one gathers more friends with honey than with vinegar. Play your part, and I will play mine to the benefit of us both."
Daemon was tempted to just kill her for her impudence, but that wouldn't get him anywhere. And it wouldn't get him anywhere in the future when he needed knowledge or favors from the depths of King's Landing.
"I want to know why the smallfolk have turned against me. I want it fixed as well. I also wish to know of manticore venom and any within King's Landing who have legitimate claims to sorcerous talent."
"And in exchange?" Mysaria prompted.
"In the Stepstones. Name someone, and I'll have your man appointed as harbormaster. It will become the center of the Seven Kingdoms' trade with Essos, and your little ears' influence will spread. I can also arrange for your invitation to the royal wedding. Imagine how much more powerful the gutter rats will think the White Worm is when you dance with high nobility."
Mysaria tilted her head and smiled. "We have a deal then. As to why your reputation has suffered, that is your own doing. You lost to Ser Criston and then blamed it on a child – one who is beloved. You lost to Lord Selmy, and the whole city buzzed with tales of how you insulted the princess." She looked him in the eyes. "It is still correctable, and easily enough. Mend your relationship with the Realm's Blessing. Ask to wear her favor in the wedding tournament, and the smallfolk will forget your trespasses."
Daemon sneered. "You expect me to do that? No, I will regain their respect by conquering Dorne."
Her eyes widened. "So the rumors are true; they were behind the attack on the Dark Storm. Do as you will; I have provided you with excellent counsel. Perhaps your way will work, perhaps not. You are right though, someone is spreading silver around to sully your name. The work of the Hand and his agents. Otto Hightower is one who understands how valuable appearances can be."
"I suspected as much, but it is good to have my suspicions confirmed. What about the manticore venom and those who claim sorcerous abilities?"
"I know that it is from the Jade Sea and that it is lethal. If Ser Laenor was stricken by it, his death is assured. There are a dozen charlatans in the city who claim to be witches or mages. The sharps will claim powers, but it is sleight of hand and outright lies flavored convincingly. But there is one… she has real power." Her voice took on a slight note of unease. "A maegi."
"Good, where can I find her."
"What is it that you wish to accomplish? Individuals like her are dangerous. Your typical swagger will see you cursed in truth."
Daemon snorted. "I fear no woods-witch. However, I am at odds with some of my family. Ensuring my wife's brother survives certain death, that is the type of currency that can smooth over a number of… actions."
"Well, isn't that amusing. My Rogue Prince has let his temper fray once too… urk."
Daemon's hand closed around Mysaria's throat and tightened. It happened too quickly for Mysaria to register before her ability to breathe was cut off.
"Careful. You are useful, but I will only tolerate so much needling," Daemon warned as he watched her pretty pale face turn a shade of red before releasing her.
"Arrange the meeting."
Mysaria coughed and rubbed at her neck. "That…" she took another breath, "is what you must avoid doing. I warn you, she has power, my prince."
"I'll be at my favorite brothel," he said with a snide smile, "you know the one. Two hours, and you will have someone meet me and take me to your 'maegi,' understood?"
Mysaria bowed her head in agreement, and Daemon made his way to the Street of Silk.
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Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences
Archive Warnings:
Graphic Depictions Of ViolenceMajor Character Death
Fandoms:
Game of Thrones (TV)A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. MartinA Song of Ice and Fire & Related FandomsHouse of the Dragon (TV)幼女戦記 | Youjo Senki | Saga of Tanya the Evil - Carlo Zen (Light Novels)幼女戦記 | Youjo Senki | Saga of Tanya the Evil (Anime)
Characters:
Tanya von DegurechaffViserys I TargaryenRhaenyra TargaryenSyrax | Rhaenyra Targaryen's DragonAlicent HightowerOtto HightowerAegon II TargaryenLaenor Velaryon
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WarOriginally Posted Elsewhere
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Published:2024-02-24Updated:2026-05-20Words:319,505Chapters:58/?Comments:1,545Kudos:3,724Bookmarks:1,071Hits:221,087
A Young Woman's Inevitable Dance of the Dragons
Failninjaninja
Chapter 33
Notes:
Big thank you to MARch_Of_Time for proofreading!
Chapter Text
"Normal humans cannot physiologically process the poison known as Communism – it's as deadly as potassium cyanide." From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 4
Rhaenyra did not want to leave Ser Harwin's embrace. She felt safe there, he was her steadfast rock and anchor. Daemon was the fire that enticed and thrilled her, and occasionally burned her. Laena was like the wind, full of lightness and joy, brushing by like a refreshing breeze and flowing free as she wills. Right now she needed Harwin's quiet and unyielding strength around her.
However, obligations could not wait. News from King's Landing had arrived – her father was summoning the banners. She had been surprised by how quickly her father had agreed with her letter. Corlys had warned her that she might need to speak with him personally. It ended up being unnecessary, and it looked as if they had Daemon to thank for it.
The missive to Driftmark from the King had given instructions for Lord Corlys to assist Daemon with the invasion of Dorne. Daemon had overall command, but Corlys would lead the naval efforts.
Tyland Lannister must be raging over the news that the Sea Snake is more trusted than the Master of Ships. Though perhaps father had left that decision to Daemon.
"I should check on Laenor. Then we must consider returning to Dragonstone."
Harwin removed his encircling arms.
"The garrison at Dragonstone is not large, and while I would not hesitate to command them in war, I would rather stay by your side," Harwin rumbled.
"You will stay with me, of course. With Laena still recovering from childbirth and Daemon off to war, I will need you close."
Harwin kissed her, and then Rhaenyra began the process of making herself presentable. Once ready, she headed to the Maester's infirmary to check on her husband.
After passing the numerous guards, Rhaenyra entered the room with Harwin in tow. Joffrey was sleeping on a cot near Laenor's bed. Elaena was at her usual position, eyes closed, hand firmly grasped on Laenor's. By Elaena's side were several empty plates. Maester Vaelar was hovering nearby with a frown on his face.
"Is aught amiss?" Rhaenyra asked worriedly upon seeing Vaelar's expression.
"The opposite, Your Grace. I am merely perplexed." Vaelar paused, shook his head, and then sighed.
"Laenor's condition has changed—his heart is pumping less often, which is reducing the effect of the poison. The sedatives we've given him should not be so effective, and we even skipped his last dosage. Despite that, there is still no sign of him rousing to consciousness or any further damage to his body."
Rhaenyra did not want to grasp onto hope, fearing it would make the eventual, likely result all the worse, and yet she could not help but do so.
"You should take pride in your work, Maester. You and Gerardys have done far more than the Grand Maester would have," Rhaenyra complimented.
"As you say," he said with little conviction.
Elaena opened her eyes. She looked weary as she gave a tired smile. "Hello, sister, how are you holding up?"
"I have kept myself busy. Ser Harwin has been a great comfort. I've checked in on Laena – she is greatly aggrieved, but the presence of Visenya comforts her. The twins are scared, and I have done what I can to put them at ease," Rhaenyra responded.
"Their fear is understandable. The defenses of High Tide were lax; I hope your good-father corrects that moving forward," Elaena replied tiredly.
Rhaenyra took the chair that Joffrey oft used and leaned down to give Laenor a kiss on the cheek. His skin was cool, no longer feverish.
Is that a good sign or not? Is this the chill of healing, or of death?
As she pulled back, her eye was caught by the egg set over the brazier.
"It is stone!" Rhaenyra exclaimed.
Elaena looked at the egg. "Ah, so it is. There was an old legend I recall reading of from the days of Old Valyria. A Targaryen can draw strength from dragon eggs. Given how I survived my childhood, I suspected that something akin might occur for Laenor. Though I had hoped it would not harm the unhatched dragon."
Rhaenyra whirled to the Maester. "Could that be responsible for Laenor's improvement?"
"This is beyond my ken, princess. I would be skeptical of such ideas, but empiricism is taught at the Citadel. In the absence of another explanation for Ser Laenor's improvement, perhaps this had a hand in it."
Rhaenyra abruptly stood up, went around the bed, and embraced Elaena tightly.
"Your strange ideas sometimes do work out!"
Rhaenyra felt one arm return the hug. "It was merely an idea. I did not know it would work, or if it did work," Elaena replied with little excitement.
Her little sister was always so modest, likely due to the Queen's influence. The Faith of the Seven could be overbearing at times with its teachings on humility and modesty. When one accomplished something grand, one should bask in the glory of it. Still, Rhaenyra knew better than to celebrate prematurely.
"Regardless, my not-so-little sweetling, thank you. You should be busy planning your wedding and your future life with Ser Kevan, not fretting over this. Yet your care and concern may well make the difference."
Rhaenyra wished to do something for Elaena, but she was not sure what.
"I will chide our uncle to crush Dorne quickly so that your wedding date can remain as is."
Elaena's eyes widened, no doubt in appreciation of the boon Rhaenyra was offering.
"Rhaenyra, I have been here for the past several days and know not what transpires beyond these walls. Dorne? Our uncle? Pray, catch me up on what I have missed."
Rhaenyra explained that Lord Corlys wished to exact revenge on Dorne for the attack. She described how she had written to her father, how he had agreed to wage war on Dorne, and how he had appointed Daemon as the overall commander of the King's military forces. She also mentioned that the banners had been called and that fleets were being prepared.
"Has Dorne confessed to doing this?" Elaena asked.
"No, but it is obvious they were responsible." Rhaenyra replied.
Elaena looked frustrated. "When Lord Corlys and Uncle Daemon waged war in the Stepstones did that mean that the Triarchy was at war with all of Westeros?"
"No, father chose not to involve the crown."
Elaena looked at her, and Rhaenyra then took her meaning.
"Ah, you believe it was the Dornish, but it may not have been by the hand of Prince Qoren Martell?" Rhaenyra asked.
"That is one possibility, yes. As to others, I would need more information. We should not be so quick to rush into this conflict. I regret I was not there to advise father."
Rhaenyra laughed. "Oh, Elaena I was just thinking you view yourself too modestly, and now you wish to advise the King on matters of war. Come now, our uncle has fought in wars, he can advise our father ably enough."
Elaena's face took on mien of rarely seen anger, but then she exhaled slowly.
"I am too weary to discuss this, sister. I will say this, urge caution. If it was truly Prince Qoren who approved of such an obvious attack that could so easily be traced back to Dorne, he will be on guard and have some devious plan to thwart our uncle. Advise caution, please. Especially for any dragon riders."
Rhaenyra saw the sense in that. A tremor of fear shook her. Dorne starting a war with the Seven Kingdoms was strange, given that they had no hope for victory against dragonriders. Unless… unless Dorne had some kind of new way for dealing with dragons.
"Sister, I believe I do need to prepare to leave. But I will heed your words, take care of Laenor."
Their gazes locked.
"I will do my best, Rhaenyra." Elaena promised.
***
Daemon realized that organizing the war effort was not a simple task when there were too few he trusted within King's Landing. The entire court was Green, save for old Beesbury.
He had sent ravens to Lord Gormon Massey within the Crownlands. He would be an able administrator and was trustworthy. Lord Borros Baratheon was all the way in Storm's End, but he would be an able field commander and was already in the midst of rallying the Stormlands. The Marcher Lords were itching for a fight, as always.
He had worked with Lord Corlys before, he too could be trusted. He would not trust anyone from the Westerlands or the Reach. The Riverlands were a mixed bag, but they were farther afield. At least the never-ending missives back and forth across all of Westeros kept his thoughts away from absurdly unnerving maegi.
His meeting with her had been altogether peculiar. First, she had said they were kin by marriage and by not marriage, of sorts. When he had pressed her, she had merely cackled, saying that the link wasn't particularly strong. Daemon remembered the emphasis and odd laughter afterward.
The decrepit crone had looked older than the Grand Maester. As to her assistance, he well remembered her words.
"If that is what he was poisoned by, the Dark Storm has blown his last wind. Saving him from such a certain death would require great sacrifice. Only life can give life. But even then… his spirit could linger, but the flesh will have already grown weak and loathsome by the time I arrive. Save your coin, prince."
Daemon was not one to yield easily, so he had demanded more answers. The maegi had given him more, but not much. She explained that blood sacrifice required death in order to give life, but it only gave life. Awareness, thought, and mobility would all be dependent on how much damage the venom had already wrought. Given the time that had lapsed, she had judged it hopeless.
He had tried one last effort. "Are there any whose knowledge is greater than yours? Other maegi or sorcerers who might surpass your skills?" Daemon had asked her.
"My daughter knows as much as I, perhaps more now, but she's not here and the time is already done. Qarth or Asshai may have greater practitioners, but I doubt even they could do as you wish."
Well, he had tried. Daemon had wanted a grand gesture of reconciliation with Laena, which would allow him to adopt Aelyx without fuss. But that could wait until after the war in Dorne. Once it was over and he returned as the conquering hero, the man who had avenged her brother, then would be the time to broach the subject.
Not that he couldn't adopt and name heir anyone he wished. But Rhaenyra would not willingly allow her son to be adopted by him if Laena opposed. And while he could be quite convincing with Rhaenyra when he desired it, her loyalty to Laena was strong.
His musing was interrupted when Aemond was announced by his guard.
What does he want?
"Uncle, I've come to volunteer the services of Vermithor against the Dornish."
Daemon laughed. "You've barely left your mother's teat, has your voice even changed? Get gone with you, I have work to do."
Aemond held himself stiffly and did not turn to go.
"I am given to believe you and the Queen dislike each other. My mother will be most upset if I fly off to war."
Daemon was taken aback for a moment. Was the boy so eager to fight that he would go against his own mother?
Would Viserys allow it?
When Daemon did not immediately respond, Aemond continued.
"While I may be young, Vermithor is not. He would be the largest dragon we could field. Vhagar will likely not take part at first due to your wife so recently having birthed."
Daemon let a slow smile dawn on his features. Vermithor was a powerful dragon. Leaving it in the hands of Aemond could make the inevitable war of succession much more dangerous. However, if the boy died doing something foolish, or a Dornish assassin took him unawares in camp…
"You are young yet, but I admire boldness. The one you must convince is your father, not me. I won't be taking his underaged son to war without his leave."
Aemond frowned. "It is sometimes better to ask for forgiveness, than permission. Princess Elaena had suggested Aegon, Helaena, and I take turns patrolling from Harvest Hall. That was before all this happened of course." Aemond looked Daemon in the eyes. "Once there, the front will be a paltry flight away and my dragon can be of use in the invasion."
It was a clever ploy. It also allowed Daemon to be distanced from any repercussions. If Aemond was dealt with in the dark, blame could even go to Elaena for suggesting such a course.
"We have a bargain then, young prince. I will make use of you and your dragon while you are in the Stormlands, provided that you do not reveal that I have given permission. If anyone asks, it will be said that boyish impetuousness led you to 'help' in the fighting. You'll still need your father's permission to go to the Stormlands; he may feel differently now that the war is afoot."
Aemond smiled. "I will do so. Thank you, uncle. You will not regret this."
Daemon watched the little idiot go. He couldn't fault the boy's desire to seek glory, but his dragon was simply too powerful to let him keep it.
Rhaena is still young to try to bond a dragon like that, but I was going to have her try with Silverwing during the royal weddings. Vermithor would be even better; yes, this could work out for the best.
***
Viserys had delegated much of the wartime decision-making to Otto, his Hand, and Daemon, the commander of his armies. As King, he listened to the reports and was kept abreast of the various lords' accounts and the numbers they could bring to battle.
The superior manpower would overwhelm Dorne. If they huddled in their castles and keeps, their small towns and villages – such as they were in the arid southlands – would be destroyed. Caraxes and Meleys could also see those bastions reduced to funeral pyres. Their fires did not run as hot as the Black Dread's had, but castles would burn regardless.
Plans were made for an armada to launch an assault on Planky Town and Salt Shore. The difficulty lay in the need for supplies. The Dornish were adept at denying resources to invading armies. Daemon would need to plan carefully to ensure his men had sufficient food and drinking water. Sabotaging their own wells to deny water to their enemies would also pose a challenge.
They had adjourned for a few hours and Viserys had taken the time to visit his diorama. It always brought him a bit of peace to look back on the history of his people. So much from that legendary era had faded with time, but this would be a living testament to the greatness of the past, and a beacon for what the future could be. His examination and contemplation were interrupted by his Lord Commander announcing his son, Prince Aemond, had arrived to see him.
"Your Grace," Aemond inclined his head as he entered.
"Aemond, I cannot recall, have I ever shown you this model of Old Valyria?"
Aemond glanced at the structure, then leaned in for a closer look.
"The design well matches what is described in our oldest texts, father. It is well made, but I have come for another reason."
"Yes?" Viserys asked.
"Princess Elaena had broached the subject of my siblings and I taking turns spending time in the Dornish Marches, specifically with Lord Selmy of Harvest Hall. With brother and sister involved in their betrothal, I would ask that I be given leave to journey and remain there until my siblings' happy union occurs."
Viserys looked at his son. "That idea was set in place before we knew we would be at war with Dorne."
"All the more reason for it to be carried out now, father. Knowledge that the Bronze Fury is within a day's flight of both the Boneway and the Prince's Pass will cause grave uncertainty for the Dornish. It would also deter any sort of adventurism into our territory." Aemond responded confidently.
Viserys tried to recall the boy's age. He thought Aemond had reached his twelfth name-day, but perhaps he had not yet. His Hand reminded him of important dates when necessary, so he did not keep as close track as he otherwise might. Either way, Aemond seemed too young to be that close to the conflict.
"I commend your courage, but you are too young." Viserys replied.
"Why should that matter? I have more knowledge than most knights and smallfolk. Ask Ser Criston how skilled I am with the blade; in practice bouts, I've even bested grown men. I am an accomplished dragonrider, and my Valyrian is perfect." Aemond argued hotly. "I merely ask to do what you had already agreed was a wise plan."
"It is war, not some lark!" Viserys's own voice began to match his son's. "My good-son was attacked within the seat of his father's power, and you think it wise to put my blood at risk so close to Dorne?"
"The risk is minimal!" Aemond countered. "Lord Baldric would ensure the safety of my person while in Harvest Hall. In the air, Vermithor will do that even better. So I ask, what risk?" Aemond took a deep breath, and then his tone changed. "Your Grace, father, I must do something. Even if it is just the display of my dragon, I would feel better that I have done some small service to help avenge this deed. Ser Laenor is my sister's husband. Please, father."
Viserys looked closely at his son. The boy's hair was shoulder length, but none graced his chin or cheek. He had a slender build and was nearing a man's height. Aemond's blue eyes did not hesitate to meet his; they were filled with passion. The argument the boy used appealed to him. Family was important, and doing something to feel that he had done his part was a powerful motivator.
"You've grown much over the last few months, Aemond." Viserys wanted to encourage ties between the factions. If Aemond did care for Laenor and Rhaenyra, he wished to nurture those feelings. But he still felt uneasy about putting the boy so close to the front.
"My brother is drawing up battle plans. A dragon so near the front can make the Dornish move in an unexpected way. If you obtain Daemon's permission, you may go to Harvest Hall." Viserys held up a finger. "But be mindful, you will be his guest and you will obey his commands. You are absolutely forbidden to take part in the war."
More like than not, Daemon will refuse him out of spite. But the boy will still see that he almost got what he wished by showcasing familial bonds and will also think kindly of me.
"Thank you, father." Aemond smiled excitedly and went to go find Daemon.
He had only a few more moments to enjoy the diorama when he was interrupted again. This time, it was his friend and Hand, Otto.
"Your Grace, the Grand Maester has received a letter from Dorne. Additionally, Syrax has come to King's Landing. Rhaenyra is no doubt refreshing herself and will wish to speak with you. Shall I wait to reconvene the small council until she can participate?" Otto asked.
Viserys was surprised and concerned by Rhaenyra's arrival. Had Ser Laenor succumbed to his wounds? She was with child, and while it was early, she shouldn't be flying or putting herself under more stress. He wanted to shield her from the ugliness of the world, but he recalled something Elaena had told him some time ago:
'Rhaenyra enjoys Dragonstone more than King's Landing, it is her dominion, and Syrax enjoys the island more so than our capital. However, she is your heir, you should encourage her to sit at the small council at least a few times a year so she can have experience which will do her well in the future.'
Viserys had not pushed Rhaenyra, but perhaps it was time to give her more experience. She needed no formal role to participate as an advisor, much like her good-mother Rhaenys did.
"We will wait for Rhaenyra, but I would know the contents of the letter now."
Otto handed him the letter with the seal already broken.
"The Grand Maester thought it wise to ensure there was no substance upon the parchment that could cause ill."
Viserys nodded; it would not be unlike those foul folk to do such a thing. He read through the contents of the letter. Prince Qoren Nymeros Martell began by refuting any involvement in the assassination attempt. He went on to express hope for Ser Laenor's swift recovery and stated that Dorne had long set aside any ambitions for the Stepstones. Qoren also mentioned that he was sending an emissary by swift ship to King's Landing to speak of diplomacy, as he greatly desired peace with the Seven Kingdoms. The letter, however, ended with a reminder that not even Aegon the Conqueror could make Dorne bow, and neither would Viserys, regardless of the pretext.
"Does he think we are fools?" Viserys asked.
"It is always hard to understand the Dornish, Your Grace."
Viserys felt a sliver of doubt. Why would Dorne make it so obvious they committed the deed and then plea for peace? Was this just a sick farce to cause him and the Seven Kingdoms to hesitate? He did not understand the game they were playing, but they would regret it. Otto was the only one who had hesitated to call for a war, and after their discussion he had not brought the matter up again.
Let me see what my loyal council says of this, and Rhaenyra. It was she was who was most wronged by this.
***
Daeron loved his dragon, Tessarion. The joy of flying was the highlight of his day. Due to her size, she could not carry him overlong, but the half-hour he was able to soar with her was an amazing relief from the day-to-day isolation he felt.
He had no siblings in Oldtown and little time to make friendships with the other young boys. His great-uncle Hobert Hightower had passed from a burst heart, and control of the house had gone to Ormund Hightower. Like his father, they both expected great things from Daeron and focused his time on martial training. He was taught to hunt, fight with a variety of weaponry, and had frequent horseback lessons. The latter he had objected to, feeling it was unnecessary since he had a dragon.
"You can't joust and take part in tourneys on dragonback," Hobert Hightower had decreed, and so he spent time astride a horse frequently.
Besides his martial training, he had daily lessons with the septons. He was quite familiar with the Seven-Pointed-Star, and while he did not mind learning how he should act or growing closer to the aspects of the Seven, such as the Warrior and the Smith – those he was most interested in – it did consume much of his time.
Letters from Elaena had encouraged him to take advantage of the learning opportunities at the Citadel. Despite his already full schedule, and it had been quite challenging, he was proud to have earned his first links in iron and steel. His interest in the Warrior led him to study war, and the new Lord of Hightower believed that learning command and leadership was as crucial as swinging a sword, so he approved.
Neither Ormund nor his uncle Gunthor thought Daeron's fascination with construction was a good use of time. However, Daeron was drawn to the Smith and felt it was a religious calling. How could one look upon the Starry Step, the Citadel, or the mighty Hightower and not feel a connection to the Seven Who Are One? Hightower, the tallest building in all the world, and its closeness to the grandest sept in the world seemed no coincidence to him. Elaena had advised him to heed the counsel of others but also to pursue subjects that truly interested him, and so he did.
Daeron knew he could have earned a gold link, but the Maesters preferred him to join introductory seminars and classes. The first one he attended was absurdly easy and boring. He had mastered summing and division before he was fully able to walk. His sister had taught him far more efficiently, and he couldn't imagine sitting through weeks of such basic instruction. Ironically, the knowledge required for his steel link involved far more advanced mathematics than what was being taught to the novices pursuing gold links!
After landing and turning Tessarion over to the small group of Dragonkeepers who had accompanied her to Oldtown, Daeron had to quickly wash up to rid himself of the dragon smell before dinner with his family. His dragon was well-behaved, and she knew that being with the men who spoke the dragon tongue meant she would receive savory treats. While Daeron didn't mind the smell, others had a different opinion.
Being punctual was important to Daeron. Elaena had said it was a sign of respect, and he had made it a habit to keep careful track of time. He was one of the first to arrive, but soon after, Lord Ormund arrived with his cousin, Ser Gunthor, and Ormund's six-year-old son, Lyonel. Ormund's lady wife was ill again, and despite the best care in the Seven Kingdoms, she would once again be missing the family dinner.
Several household knights, as well as Maester Garth and Septon Renly Mullendore, were also present. Septon Renly, a third son, had chosen the Faith of the Seven over a limited inheritance. He served as the household septon for the Hightowers, and Daeron had mixed feelings about him.
"Momentous news has arrived. My uncle writes that we are to prepare for war and summon the banners in all haste." Lord Ormund announced.
"With all haste?" Gunthor asked questioningly.
"Aye, and it is in your father's own hand, without any device indicating otherwise. I trust you will see to the preparations?"
"Yes, cousin," Gunthor responded, then shook his head. "All this for the sake of a sword-swallower. If you ask me, it was the Seven who struck down Laenor; the Dornish were merely their tool."
Daeron stirred at that. "Do not blaspheme, cousin. It is writ that poison is a tool of wickedness."
His family seemed taken aback. Lord Ormund glanced at Renly, irritation writ upon his brow, and then back to Daeron. "The Seven oft work in mysterious manners."
That was a saying the smallfolk used, but was not actually found within the Seven-Pointed-Star. It was an understandable alteration of passages denoting mankind forever being limited from full understanding of the divine, but before he could make that point of clarification someone else spoke up.
The septon spoke up, "Hmm, despite his tender years, Daeron does not need events simplified for him, my lord. Please, Daeron, explain why Laenor's sins have caused him ill."
"Evil exists in the world, but the righteous are protected by the Mother's Mercy, the Father's judgement, and the Warrior's shield. Laenor, who commits vile actions of slaughter, lustful deviancy, and disgraces the bonds of holy union was not struck down by the Seven. For the Seven will never comingle evil with good." Daeron paused for effect. "However, Laenor, bereft of the grace of the Seven was without their protection. Had he not profaned his sworn oaths, the outcome of the attack may have been different."
Gunthor looked annoyed. "Do not be a little shit; it's the same thing."
Daeron's eyes blazed. "It is not! The Seven-Pointed-Star is clear. Poison is forbidden, and the Seven would never wield it."
Ormund chuckled. "Peace, let us not quarrel when unity is needed. We can leave such theological debates for another time."
Daeron saw Ormund glance at Renly and raise his cup. "A toast to our good septon, who has done well in stirring the faith of our young ward!"
The knights and others all raised their cups in toast, even Gunthor, though his expression remained sour.
The meal continued, and Daeron was informed he would not be participating in the campaign. This was unsurprising, as he had not yet reached his tenth name-day, and Tessarion's scales would be vulnerable to simple arrows. Still, it would be interesting to sit in on the war councils, as practical experience with book learning always surpassed just book learning. Daeron resolved to offer additional prayers to the Warrior, asking for protection over his family during the war.
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