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Rating:
Mature
Archive Warning:
No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories:
F/FF/M
Fandoms:
House of the Dragon (TV)A Song of Ice and Fire & Related FandomsDragon Age - All Media Types
Relationships:
Rhaenys Targaryen Velaryon/FlemethCorlys "The Sea Snake" Velaryon/Rhaenys Targaryen VelaryonRhaenyra Targaryen & Rhaenys Targaryen VelaryonDaemon Targaryen/Laena Velaryon (Daughter of Corlys)Rhaenyra Targaryen/Laena Velaryon (Daughter of Corlys)Daemon Targaryen/Rhaenyra Targaryen/Laena Velaryon (Daughter of Corlys)Meleys | Rhaenys Targaryen Velaryon's Dragon & Rhaenys Targaryen Velaryon
Characters:
Rhaenys Targaryen VelaryonFlemeth (Dragon Age)Corlys "The Sea Snake" VelaryonRhaenyra TargaryenDaemon TargaryenLaena Velaryon (Daughter of Corlys)Laenor VelaryonMeleys | Rhaenys Targaryen Velaryon's DragonJacaerys VelaryonLucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra)Joffrey VelaryonBaela TargaryenRhaena Targaryen (Daughter of Daemon)Viserys I TargaryenAlicent HightowerHelaena TargaryenAegon II TargaryenAemond "One-Eye" TargaryenDaeron Targaryen (Son of Viserys I)Rhaella Targaryen (Daughter of Aegon)Archmaester Vaegon Targaryen
Additional Tags:
Canon Divergence - Dance of the Dragons (A Song of Ice and Fire)No Dance of the Dragons | War For Succession Between Aegon II and Rhaenyra Targaryen Never HappensCanon-Typical ViolenceMaester Conspiracy to Undermine House Targaryen (A Song of Ice and Fire)Laena Velaryon (Daughter of Corlys) LivesBAMF Rhaenys Targaryen VelaryonViserys I Targaryen Being an IdiotCorlys "The Sea Snake" Velaryon Loves Rhaenys Targaryen VelaryonRhaenyra Targaryen & Laenor Velaryon FriendshipLaenor Velaryon LivesI Shook a Targaryen Woman and Intergenerational Trauma Fell OutBAMF FlemethFlemeth shows up in Westeros and ruins Otto Hightower's lifeOther Additional Tags to Be AddedOld Women Yurithat's the main focus of this ficAemma Arryn Haunts the Narrative
Language:
English
Stats:
Published:2026-01-30Updated:2026-04-20Words:63,325Chapters:4/?Comments:186Kudos:353Bookmarks:213Hits:9,045
all shall be well (a prayer is a spell)
littlelamplight
Chapter 4
Notes:
i've been having a lot of fun fan-casting this family as i write, so here's who i was picturing:
rhaella - geraldine james
vaegon - peter capaldi
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The Small Council chambers are mostly empty when Rhaenys and Flemeth arrive, with the exception of Tyland and Corlys, who appear to be deep in conversation, much to Rhaenys' surprise.
'—not exactly known for normal behaviour'.
Corlys is frowning, though it seems directed at what Tyland is telling him, rather than the man himself. 'And yet?'
Tyland sighs, and tips his goblet in Corlys' direction. 'And yet my good-sister is not one to worry needlessly. If she believes there's something strange about the Ironborn's recent behaviour, I'm inclined to believe her'.
Corlys' frown deepens. 'I can reach out to some contacts, see if there's been any odd patterns among their reaving parties'.
Tyland looks a little surprised by the offer. After staring at Corlys closely for a moment, he nods slowly. 'That would be appreciated, Lord Corlys'.
Corlys inclines his head, and turns to greet Rhaenys with a warm smile. 'Lady Justiciar', he presses a kiss to the back of her hand, his eyes twinkling, 'we answered your summons as soon as we received them'.
Rhaenys tilts her head towards Tyland, who's watching Flemeth move about the room with a curious, but faintly wary look, and raises her brow in question. Corlys shakes his head slightly, which she knows to mean he'll tell her later, and instead pulls out her chair for her.
The Lannisters have never been on the most friendly of terms with her husband, simply due to the fact that his journeys throughout the known world elevated House Veleryon's wealth above that of House Lannister. Rhaenys had long suspected that it was for this reason that the Hand had suggested a Lannister replace Corlys as Master of Ships, as House Hightower was similarly threatened by his wealth. After all, while a Lannister would be well suited to a position as Master of Coin, what did they know about ships?
However, while Tyland's apparent friendliness with her husband comes as a surprise, there's little that unites the Houses of the realm more than a dislike for the Ironborn.
The doors to the chambers open once more, admitting Viserys and Ser Westerling, followed closely by Otto and Alicent. Rhaenyra brings up the rear arm in arm with Lord Beesbury, who appears deeply interested in whatever they're discussing.
'Ah, cousin!' Viserys greets her with a wide smile, seemingly unconcerned by the implications of one of his council members calling for an emergency session. 'I take it you have news for us?'
Rhaenys doesn't return his smile. In fact, it takes her a great effort to keep her expression neutral as she says, 'it is ill news I'm afraid'.
She'd been so focused on directing her anger towards Mellos that she had not anticipated how difficult it would be to keep any trace of it from her voice upon seeing her cousin again. She had hoped to have a little more time to process what Flemeth told her about Aemma before she saw Viserys again, but it wasn't to be.
'Should we not wait for the Grandmaester before we begin?'
Perhaps Otto hopes to catch her in a lie. He can't know the outcome of what occurred in the dungeons, aside from the fact that she clearly survived it.
'The Grandmaester is dead'.
Viserys sinks into his seat with a stricken expression. 'What?'
'He was killed while under questioning in the dungeons, by prisoners allowed to escape their cells'.
Otto's eyes narrow. 'And why was the Grandmaester being questioned in the dungeons in the first place?'
Rhaenys levels him with a hard stare. 'Because my investigation revealed his involvement in the attempts against the King's life'. She holds up a hand to silence any further objections. 'A crime to which he confessed'.
Viserys makes a quiet, pained sound, and slumps back in his chair. 'He confessed?'
'Confession under torture is -'
'My hands are clean, Lord Hand'. Rhaenys spreads her hands wide to demonstrate the fact, her voice hardening a little. 'Unlike the Grandmaester's, and his allies'.
Lord Beesbury leans forward with a troubled expression. 'His allies?'
'Quite. The same allies that turned prisoners loose from their cells in an attempt to silence Mellos before he could name them'. She pauses, just long enough to allow a little tension to creep into the room, 'they were not entirely successful'.
Otto's expression turns carefully blank. Rhaenys ignores him, and instead turns to address Viserys. 'Before he died, Mellos confessed to his part in a treasonous plot aimed not only at you, Your Grace, but the entire royal family'.
Viserys stares at her, so pale he resembles the state he was in before Flemeth began treating him. All the renewed life seems to have drained from him at the news of Mellos' betrayal, and Rhaenys wonders whether he's considered what this means. Whether he's realised that he took the advice of a man working against him, and that Aemma died for it. He says nothing, but makes a gesture for her to continue, and Rhaenys takes a deep breath to calm her growing anger at the man.
'He named Larys Strong among his conspirators', she notes the way Alicent flinches in her peripheral vision, but continues on without addressing it, 'Prince Daemon is currently leading the effort to locate him. He will be found, and questioned accordingly'. She pauses, and turns to face the Hand. 'The Grandmaester was a friend of yours, was he not?'
Otto's eyes narrow. 'What are you implying?'
Rhaenys waves her hand dismissively, and allows a note of concern to creep into her voice. 'Nothing at all, Lord Hand. It is simply that, given his crimes, I believe he was motivated to befriend you by your friendship with the King. Consequently, I have reason to believe that you may also be a target of this plot, as well as the royal family'. She gives the man a small, kind smile. 'As such, I've taken the liberty of assigning two guards to accompany you at all times, Lord Hand. They are not to leave your side until we have located the remaining conspirators'.
Viserys seems to rouse himself at last. 'A wise decision, cousin. I thank you for taking Otto's safety so seriously'. He glances at Otto, and a frown furrows his brow. Even Viserys, it seems, can see that Otto appears far from pleased. 'Well, Otto?'
Otto dips his head, which doesn't quite conceal the muscle jumping in his jaw. 'The Princess is very considerate, Your Grace'.
Lord Beesbury clears his throat. 'If I may, Lady Justiciar, what are your plans going forward?'
Rhaenys grants the man a small smile. 'I have no doubt that Prince Daemon will be successful apprehending the former Lord Confessor. In the meantime, his rooms will be searched thoroughly. However, there is a more pressing matter'.
Now for the more difficult task.
Rhaenys turns to face Viserys, who looks up at her with a faintly apprehensive expression, as if he fears she bears more bad news. 'I would like to recall your youngest son to the Red Keep, cousin'.
Viserys blinks. It seems to take him a moment to understand what she's said. 'Daeron? He has only just begun his fostering with the Hightowers'.
'It would be seen as an insult', Otto says, in that low tone he uses whenever he's attempting to sway the King to his side, 'as it would appear as if the Crown does not trust my House to protect those they foster'.
'Perhaps that would be true, were you to name safety as the reason'. As Rhaenys speaks, Flemeth steps up beside Viserys' chair, and places a drafted letter on the table before him. Viserys glances at it once, but focuses his attention on Rhaenys as she continues, 'but I'm sure we can all agree it would be unwise to inform anyone outside this chamber of a plot against the royal family'.
Viserys grimaces. 'That would only invite panic and unrest'.
'Quite. So, I would suggest a different approach. Your family has gathered together under one roof for the first time in decades. Should your son not also have the opportunity to meet his cousins? Wards are permitted to visit their families, unless they're a hostage, of course.' She pauses briefly, turning to Alicent, 'Besides, I'm sure Queen Alicent would be glad to see her son safe and sound'.
Alicent looks a little startled at being addressed at all. She seems to hesitate, avoiding her father's piercing gaze, and murmurs, 'do you truly believe Daeron is under threat?'
Rhaenys focuses solely on the other woman, and chooses her words carefully. 'Their plot has been discovered here, which will force them to retreat. Attempts against the royal family going forward are far more likely to be intercepted. But Daeron is alone, and his guardians are unaware there is a plot to guard against. That makes him a far easier target'.
Her words, though not entirely honest, carry enough truth to affect Alicent, who turns to Viserys with a worried expression. She reaches out to place a hesitant hand on Viserys' arm, and says, 'perhaps my uncle will be reassured if I add my signature to the letter'.
Viserys seems to soften, perhaps affected by the uncommon unity within his family, and pats Alicent's hand reassuringly. 'Of course, my dear'. It takes only a moment for ink and quill to be retrieved, and Viserys signs the letter with a flourish while the Hand quietly seethes. As Alicent adds her own signature to the parchment, the King turns to Rhaenys with a smile. 'You are right, cousin. My son should share in the joy of having his family gathered together once more'.
Rhaenys doesn't smile back, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rhaenyra glance between them with a faint frown. 'I will depart immediately, Your Grace. Laenor and Flemeth will accompany me'.
Viserys looks a little taken aback. He glances at Flemeth, and says slowly, 'is that necessary?'
'A precaution, perhaps'.
'And what of the King's treatment?' Otto seems to regain his footing at last, and Rhaenys is rather certain he's choosing to argue the matter simply to be difficult, because he can hardly want Flemeth to remain in King's Landing. 'Who will care for him in your absence?'
Rhaenyra stands at that, and reaches over to place her hand on her father's shoulder. 'I can retrieve Maester Gerardys from Dragonstone, father. He has treated you before, and while he may not be as talented as Lady Flemeth, I'm sure he will serve adequately in her absence'. Her voice softens a little. 'That way you can be sure Daeron will receive the best treatment available, should it be necessary'.
'A wise solution, Your Grace'. Rhaenys grants Rhaenyra the smile she denied Viserys, knowing as she does that Rhaenyra will notice the difference, and is bound to ask about it.
She'll have to tell her good-daughter the truth soon, though she still has no idea how she will.
At least she'll have some time to think about it during the flight to Oldtown.
'Not that I'm not delighted to escape King's Landing, but do you really require my presence?' Laenor indicates Flemeth with a tilt of his chin. 'You already have a bodyguard'.
Rhaenys steps closer, lowering her voice to be sure they can't be overheard, even though the noise of the Dragonpit makes that unlikely. 'We are hoping to return with a few additional members of our family'.
Laenor frowns slightly. 'You didn't inform the Small Council of that'.
'They may not want to come. In which case, I would prefer not to draw attention to them'.
A look of understanding dawns in his eyes. 'Vaegon and Rhaella?'
Her clever boy.
'Just so. Rhaenyra must remain here to combat the Hand's influence on Viserys, and Daemon is still on the hunt for Larys Strong'.
'And taking Laena would mean taking Vhagar'.
Rhaenys allows herself a small smile. 'A threat I'd rather save for a more appropriate time'.
Laenor chuckles, and bends to press a kiss to her cheek. 'Then I will gladly accompany you, muna'.
Flemeth approaches them then, and hands them both a small, cloth wrapped bundle. 'Supplies, for the journey', she says in response to Rhaenys' questioning look, 'which is a rather long one, I believe'.
Rhaenys nods. 'About half a days journey to reach Oldtown, and another half to return, if the wind is with us'.
They'll have to fly through the night, which is another reason she chose Laenor. At night, a dragonrider must navigate by the stars alone, and Laenor was learning the art at Corlys' knee before he'd learned to walk. Seasmoke might not be as swift as Meleys, but his time in the Stepstones means that he's accustomed to long hours of patrol, so she trusts he has the stamina to fly for so many hours without rest.
'Then we had best be on our way'. Flemeth glances over her shoulder, to where the royal family has gathered to watch their departure. 'Before the King can be convinced to change his mind'.
Despite Rhaenyra's solution to the matter, Viserys had still been a little reluctant to let Flemeth go with them. Rhaenys had half expected him to order her to stay, but it seems even her cousin knew that was a bad idea.
Having already said her goodbyes, Rhaenys climbs up Meleys' side and settles into her saddle. Both Seasmoke and Meleys have been fitted with saddles to accommodate one or two passengers, and Flemeth slides into place behind Rhaenys without a word. The familiar warmth that radiates from her seeps through the leather separating them, and Rhaenys reminds herself that this is not the place to lean into her.
Once Laenor has finished saying his goodbyes and climbed into Seasmoke's saddle, Rhaenys leans forward to smooth her hand over Meleys' scales, and murmurs, 'sōvēs, Meleys'.
Meleys' elation in taking to the skies once more echoes along their bond, and Rhaenys allows herself a moment to indulge in the feeling. She exhales a long breath as they rise high above King's Landing, and gives a faint twitch of the reins to turn Meleys in the direction of Oldtown.
As she draws another slow, deep breath, her lungs filling with fresh, clean air rather than the stink of King's Landing, Rhaenys allows herself to lean back against Flemeth, and murmurs, 'you should sleep if you can. It's a long journey'.
Flemeth hums, and with her chest pressed against Rhaenys' back, Rhaenys feels the vibration run along her spine to the tips of her fingers. 'And deprive myself of your company?'
Rhaenys allows herself to smile at that. It's not as if Flemeth can see her face, after all.
Oldtown comes into view around dawn, the Hightower emerging like a raised sword out of the grey mist lying over the harbour. Rhaenys rubs at her eyes with a heavy sigh, allowing herself a moment of weakness while she can still afford to have one.
She's tired, but perhaps not as much as she should be. She suspects that the food Flemeth prepared for the journey has something to do with it, though she hasn't asked. Perhaps it's not that at all, but rather the knowledge of the task before her that keeps her alert, like a burst of adrenaline that has yet to fade.
'You'll stay hidden, I presume?'
Flemeth's arms flex around her waist as she nods, the only sign of discomfort at the long flight that the woman has shown so far. 'Of course. I can extend that to you, if needed, once we begin our search for your older relatives'.
Rhaenys nods, her mind occupied by thoughts of Vaegon and Rhaella. Once they had Viserys' support, retrieving Daeron became significantly less difficult, but the others are a different matter. She's not entirely sure how they'll react to the news Rhaenys has for them, or whether they'll want to leave Oldtown at all.
While Rhaenys plans to land Meleys upon the great curtain walls surrounding the Hightower, Laenor will remain airborne for the proceedings. Once they venture into the city in search of Vaegon and Rhaella, he's to land Seasmoke outside the city walls. If they're successful, they'll send Vaegon and Rhaella to him. If they're not, he'll join them once they depart the city with Daeron.
Either way, he won't step foot in a city ruled by men who consider him an abomination. That was her only condition on him accompanying her.
Given how quickly he agreed, she doubts he would have argued the matter anyway. But she'd rather be a little over-cautious with her childrens' safety, with the thought of what could have happened to Laena so present in her mind.
Rhaenys silently instructs Meleys to circle the Hightower as she descends, keeping her gaze on the crowd gathering below. As her dragon lands on one of the walls circling Battle Isle, Rhaenys takes note of Hobert Hightower at the head of the crowd, and indicates him to Flemeth with a faint tilt of her head.
'Princess Rhaenys'. Hobert resembles his younger brother in many respects, though Rhaenys notes the man doesn't attempt to hide that he's not exactly pleased to see her. Otto would at least pretend until he had the measure of the situation. 'I apologise for the rather muted welcome; I was unaware we would be receiving you'.
Rhaenys waits until she's descended from Meleys' back to reply. She straightens once her feet touch the ground, dusting off her coat and removing her riding gloves as she approaches the man. 'There is no need to apologise, Lord Hightower. I will only impose on you for a short while'. She reaches into a pocket sewn to the inside of her riding coat, and hands the man the sealed letter. 'I bring a letter from the King'.
Hobert frowns, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the royal seal. Given how quickly they departed King's Landing, Otto did not have time to warn his brother of their arrival, and the uncertainty seems to have rendered the man a little off balance.
While Hobert breaks the seal on the letter, Rhaenys allows her attention to stray to the retinue accompanying him. Most of the Hightower guards avoid her gaze, twitching whenever Meleys shifts behind her, and she finds herself wondering if any of them are involved in the conspiracy, or if they're just smart enough not to look a dragon in the eye.
'This is…' Hobert seems to stop himself, irritation clear in his eyes as he says slowly, 'I confess to being… surprised by the King's decision'.
Rhaenys tilts her head slightly. 'Is it so surprising that a father wishes to see his son?'
Hobert frowns. 'Of course not, but Prince Daeron only recently began his fostering'.
'And he will soon return to continue it'. Hobert's jaw clenches. When he remains silent, Rhaenys raises a brow, and says lightly, 'is there a problem, Lord Hightower?'
Behind her, Meleys stretches her neck with a low, rumbling sound, her tail sweeping back and forth over the edge of the wall in a slow, deliberate movement. Hobert's eyes shift from Rhaenys to the intimidating form of her dragon looming above them, and at last bows his head. 'Not at all, Princess. You will allow us an hour or so to prepare the Prince and his dragon for the journey?'
'Of course'. Rhaenys tucks her gloves into her belt, and turns towards the bridge joining Battle Isle to the mainland. 'I believe I will stretch my legs in the meantime. It has been some time since I've visited Oldtown'.
'Take your time, Princess'. Hobert really has none of Otto's subtlety. She can practically see him weighing the risks of arranging for an 'accident' to befall her in the streets. 'It is a beautiful city'.
They exchange a few more formal pleasantries before Rhaenys turns, murmuring a few words to Meleys before she makes her way towards the bridge. It's not until she's about half way across the bridge that she turns her head slightly, and murmurs, 'well?'
Flemeth makes a face as she falls into step beside Rhaenys. 'As unpleasant as his brother, and without the same intelligence'. She snorts. 'I'd say he'll be sending the first assassin after you the moment you're out of sight'. She waves her hand before Rhaenys can do more than open her mouth. 'He won't succeed, of course'.
Rhaenys feels the corner of her mouth twitch. 'Such confidence'.
Flemeth hums, and casts a glance over her shoulder. There's an odd look in her eyes, and yet Rhaenys realises she's seen it before. 'Are the ghosts here bothering you?'
Flemeth shakes her head slowly. 'No', she says, a crease forming between her brows, 'there are no ghosts here at all'.
Rhaenys would consider that a good thing, if not for the strange way Flemeth says it. The woman shakes herself slightly, and offers Rhaenys her arm. 'Come. As long as we walk together, you will not be observed'.
Rhaenys takes Flemeth's arm, and after taking a moment to orient herself, begins to lead her in the direction of the Citadel. Given Flemeth's abilities, finding Vaegon should be relatively easy.
Convincing him is another matter entirely.
Despite the looming threat to her life and the uncertainty before her, Rhaenys finds she rather enjoys the walk to the Citadel.
Oldtown is a beautiful city, especially when compared to King's Landing. It's remarkable what a little street planning and endless funding can do for a city, and this early in the day, the people are only just beginning to stir, leaving the streets mostly empty.
King's Landing had certainly improved under her grandparents' reign, mostly thanks to Alysanne's efforts. But they'd been mostly abandoned since her death, and the city had deteriorated rapidly since Aemma died.
Perhaps one day Rhaenyra can revive the Good Queen's effort. Viserys certainly won't.
Flemeth proves to be good company, too, though she says very little. Rhaenys follows her lead, uncertain whether the illusion will last if they begin talking, but she finds she doesn't mind. The silence is rather enjoyable, after the chaos that's ruled her life recently.
The pleasant feeling lasts until they reach the bank of the Honeywine, where the twisting cobbled streets give way to the great towers and domes of the Citadel. The bridges connecting the buildings bustle with activity, the grey robed figures of the maesters moving through the morning fog with their heads bowed, the faint rattle of their chains lingering long after they've departed.
It's not simply that the sight of them reminds her of the purpose of their visit, or the fact that they have no real idea how many maesters might be involved. It's that she keeps expecting them to be spotted. Knowing that they won't be seen and actually experiencing it are very different things, she finds.
Flemeth navigates through the twisting corridors and crowded pathways with ease, and the maesters move out of their way without prompting, as if guided by an unseen hand. Once she stops bracing herself for a collision, or for someone to notice their presence, Rhaenys finds it rather fascinating. Do they appear as maesters to those around them, and go unnoticed because they seem to belong? Or do they register as nothing more than an obstacle to be instinctively avoided?
Perhaps she'll be able to ask Flemeth some time, when the days of assassinations and conspiracies are behind them.
It's only once they're standing before the door to Vaegon's quarters, situated in the top of one of the Citadel's great towers, that Flemeth breaks the silence. 'How much do you plan to tell him?'
Rhaenys spent most of the flight to Oldtown pondering the matter. Her grandmother had always said that Vaegon's greatest gift was his mind, even as that very mind made it difficult for him to connect with people. It would be difficult to limit what she planned to tell him, because he would likely notice any gaps in the information provided, and that might make him doubt the whole tale.
And even if she told him everything, there was no guarantee that he would believe her. The thought had occurred to her not long after they'd departed King's Landing, and she hasn't quite been able to shake it. There's no reason he shouldn't believe her considering the facts at hand, but a small, stubborn part of her remembers that he'd doubted her before.
He would not have advised Jaehaerys to call the Great Council otherwise.
Rhaenys pushes that thought away, and shakes her head slightly. 'I am uncertain as yet'.
Flemeth eyes her intently for a moment, in that uncanny way she has of giving the impression she knows exactly what Rhaenys is thinking. But all she says is, 'I will follow your lead, then'.
Rhaenys gives Flemeth's arm a quick squeeze to convey her thanks, before she steps away from the woman to approach the door, and knocks.
There's a faint rustling from within, a few shuffling steps, before the door swings open, and there is her uncle.
In many ways, Vaegon looks much the same as she remembers. Tall and thin, his skin pale even for a Targaryen thanks to the years spent within the Citadel's walls. But he looks older than she expected, aged in a way that goes deeper than the simple passage of time. There are deep lines carved into his face that turn the sullen slant of his mouth into a permanent frown, making him appear far older than she knows him to be.
It reminds her of Alysanne in her later years, when the grief of outliving almost all her children had taken a physical tole on her.
The comparison makes her heart ache.
Vaegon's clear surprise upon seeing her passes quickly enough. He opens the door wider, and greets her with a simple nod. 'Talus'.
Rhaenys is a little surprised by his use of High Valyrian, but she responds in kind. 'Kepus'.
'Your timing is remarkable'.
'Oh?'
Instead of answering, Vaegon steps to the side, and ushers them inside with a sweeping gesture. Rhaenys squints as she steps into the room, as the light is dim. The curtains have yet to be opened, and the room is illuminated by only a few candles and a dwindling fire in the small hearth.
The room is not empty, however. A septa sits by the hearth, her grey robes making her almost difficult to see amid the shadows, and Rhaenys stiffens slightly. They had hoped to keep their visit to Vaegon unnoticed until after the fact, but a septa complicates matters.
Then the septa turns her head, and Rhaenys sees the violet eyes, and a familiar face lined with age, and the grief that accompanies it. She blinks. 'Rhaella?'
Rhaella beams at her, and the joy lifts the years from her face. She rises from her chair and crosses the space between them to clasp Rhaenys' hands in her own. Her hands are thin and callused, but there's a surprising strength in her fingers, and her back remains unbent by time. 'Little Rhaenys', she says, and her eyes sparkle in a way that reminds Rhaenys of her grandmother, before so much was taken from her, 'it is wonderful to see you again'.
The nickname stirs long forgotten memories, and Rhaenys smiles as she gives the woman's hands a gentle squeeze. 'I haven't been little in some time, Rhaella. But it is good to see you again'. She glances at Vaegon as he shuffles into the room, and adds, 'I had no idea you two were in contact'.
'It is a… recent development'. Vaegon squints at Flemeth, who's remained by the closed door, half obscured by the shadows. 'And who is your companion?'
Flemeth steps into the light, and Rhaella makes a soft, astonished sound. Rhaenys turns to find her staring at Flemeth with wide eyes, and the woman's grip on her hands tightens as she whispers, 'it's you'.
Flemeth inclines her head slightly, and her smile is a warm, gentle thing. 'That it is'.
Vaegon looks between them with an expression that perfectly matches the mix of astonishment and curiosity that Rhaenys feels, and says, 'you know each other?'
'No, I…' Rhaella swallows, her eyes never leaving Flemeth even as she addresses Vaegon, 'the dreams I was telling you about. She was in them'.
Rhaenys stares at her. 'I had no idea you were a Dreamer'.
Rhaella shakes her head. 'I'm not'.
Flemeth extends her hand in greeting, and says, 'to begin with, my name is Flemeth. I wasn't quite able to communicate that with you'.
Rhaella takes her hand a little hesitantly, a faint frown deepening the lines of her face as she murmurs, 'well, I'm glad to finally have a name to match the face'.
'When you say communicate', Vaegon interjects, his eyes bright with interest, 'I take it you mean literally?'
'I do. I thought it best to warn you of our arrival, and to drive you two together, thus making our task easier'. Flemeth smiles faintly. 'I wasn't entirely sure I was successful in that, but it seems I was correct'.
Rhaella nods slowly. 'I don't… remember anything from the dreams about Vaegon, but given his knowledge of the Higher Mysteries, I decided to seek him out with the hope he might have some theories'.
Vaegon huffs quietly. 'Given my knowledge of the Higher Mysteries, I'm rather surprised I didn't receive a warning myself'.
Flemeth snorts. 'I tried. Communicating via dreams is a complex business, especially when you have never met the other person. I'm afraid your head was so full of equations that I could not make myself heard'.
Rhaella laughs then, a bright, tinkling sound, and the tension in the room eases. 'That does sound like you, Vaegon'.
Vaegon sniffs and, though he doesn't smile, something around his mouth softens. 'It is my speciality, after all'. That intensely interested look hasn't left his eyes, and he says, 'I would quite like to know more about this method of communication'. His gaze slides to Rhaenys, and his voice takes on a more sombre quality. 'But I take it you didn't come here for a social call'.
Rhaenys tells them almost everything, in the end.
Flemeth's discovery that Viserys was being poisoned, the immediate attempts on Rhaenys' life once she was put in charge of the investigation, the conspirators they know of, and the ones they suspect. That Mellos' confession meant that the conspiracy extended to Oldtown, and what that might mean.
By the time she's finished explaining it all, Rhaella is ghostly pale, and Vaegon has taken to pacing. He hasn't dismissed their words, but his internal conflict is clear from the deep frown furrowing his brow.
He comes to a stop in front of the hearth, and begins to voice his thoughts aloud. 'Surely a conspiracy involving so many would not be so bold in their first attempt. To move against the King, no matter how well placed their allies might be…'
Rhaella makes a quiet noise of agreement. 'Unless it wasn't their first attempt'.
'As you say'. Flemeth, who'd remained standing while Rhaenys explained the situation, perches on the arm of Rhaenys' chair, her eyes fixed on Vaegon's back. 'A conspiracy of this nature would have started… small. If they are bold now, it is only because they have been acting undetected for some time'.
'How long?' There's an edge to Vaegon's voice that Rhaenys has never heard before, and Rhaella shoots him a concerned look. 'You must have a theory'.
Flemeth looks between the three of them for a moment, and Rhaenys finds she's already bracing herself for terrible news. Then Flemeth sighs, and says, 'I believe it began following the Shivers epidemic'.
Rhaenys frowns at that. She remembers the epidemic from her lessons. It swept through Westeros from the Eastern shore, and though the maesters were never able to confirm how it spread as far as it did, it was commonly held that rats were responsible. For two years it devastated high born and smallfolk alike, and claimed the life of Princess Daenerys, the first born daughter of Jaehaerys and Alysanne.
Vaegon's shoulders tense. 'Elaborate'.
'According to records, a third of all archmaesters, maesters, acolytes and novices living at the Citadel died during the epidemic. As did the High Septon, and quite a few of the Most Devout. Those to perish among Jaehaerys' Small Council included Grandmaester Benifer, and he was not replaced until the Shivers ended'.
Vaegon turns to face them, and with the fire at his back, the shadows only deepen his sharp frown. 'Understandable, given that the Conclave was much diminished. They would have had to wait to appoint new archmaesters before they could elect another'.
Rhaenys thinks of the opportunity Lyonel Strong's death gave Otto Hightower. 'You think the deaths provided an opportunity for the conspirators to fill the ranks with those loyal to their cause'.
Rhaella shivers beside her, and murmurs, 'or those who could be moulded to it'.
'Quite. And I believe the following Grandmaester was one of them'.
Vaegon twitches. 'Elysar? He might have been young for a Grandmaester, but… the common belief is that he was elected because Oldtown wished to be rid of him, as he was rather sharp tongued, and shared his opinion whether it was wanted or not'. His jaw tenses, and a sense of agitation seems to overtake him. 'He advised my parents in sending me to the Citadel'.
'Does that not seem odd? That the Conclave would elect him to be rid of him? Is the Grandmaester not meant to represent the order?' Flemeth waves her hand dismissively. 'Regardless, it was while looking over the records of the deaths that occurred under his term that I became… suspicious'. She hesitates then, and her voice gentles a little. 'Specifically those that occurred among your family'.
Rhaenys closes her eyes for a moment to steel herself. She wonders, then, how much of this information Flemeth has obtained from official records, and how much she might've been told from the ghosts of her family still lingering in the halls of the Red Keep. 'Go on'.
'According to the records, while Elysar was Grandmaester, Queen Alysanne gave birth to two children who did not survive the cradle'.
Rhaella makes a soft, wounded noise, and Rhaenys remembers how she remained by Alysanne's side during each of her children's funerals. She was likely there for the ones before Rhaenys was born, too. 'Gaemon and Valerion'.
Flemeth inclines her head slightly. 'Both were small babes, born too early following a difficult labour, and in both cases the maesters feared for the Queen's life'.
Rhaella bites her lip. 'She was bedridden for half a year following Valerion's birth'.
'Indeed. And she would not have been capable of watching over her babes in such a state'.
The implication strikes Rhaenys solidly between her ribs, and she sucks in a sharp breath. Vaegon looks prepared to object, and she can imagine what he might say. That the maesters are men of learning, of healing, sworn to aid those under their care. That they would not stoop to doing what Flemeth is implying. But he meets her gaze across the room, and seems to reconsider. Mellos had already proven that is not always the case, after all.
Vaegon takes a deep breath, and says, 'Alyssa and Maegelle were born under his term'.
'Yes, on Dragonstone, where the maesters may have been loyal, and in the early years of his term, when any death may have looked upon with suspicion'.
Rhaenys frowns slightly. She thinks of her aunt, Meleys' first rider, and a terrible suspicion rears its head. 'Alyssa…'
'Died due to complications less than a year after giving birth to her third son', Flemeth speaks quietly, but it does nothing to ease the blow, 'who did not live to see his first name day'.
That sense of agitation in Vaegon has only grown, and there's a hint of something desperate in his voice. 'What of Gael? Elysar personally tended to her care for a year, to ensure she would live'.
Flemeth hums quietly. 'A frail child by all accounts. And a girl'.
Rhaenys jolts, and in the back of her mind, she feels Meleys' attention turn to their bond, and forces herself to breathe steadily. 'You think the conspiracy was focused on eliminating male heirs?'
'The Faith makes it clear that women are beneath men, does it not?' The gentle tone has left Flemeth's voice, her scorn all the sharper for it. 'What threat could more daughters pose?'
A muscle jumps in Vaegon's temple. 'Then explain Alyssa'.
'Aunt Alyssa died after she'd given birth to two healthy sons'. Rhaenys is almost startled by how calm she sounds. 'And by then I was already considered my father's heir, and my parents had no further children'.
'There is more'. Flemeth rests a hand on Rhaenys' shoulder, and Rhaenys is glad for it given what she says next. 'As far as I can tell, Aemma suffered multiple miscarriages under Elysar's term, and gave birth to a stillborn son'.
Vaegon shakes his head. 'Because she was too young!'
'While I don't doubt that her youth and Viserys' eagerness and disregard for her health undoubtedly played a part, it is worth noting that Rhaenyra was born without any complications after Elysar died'.
Vaegon stares at Flemeth for a long moment. Then he takes two staggering steps to the side, and sinks into a chair. All the fight seems to have left him, and he looks old and frail as he rests his head in his hands. Rhaella reaches out to rest a hand on his arm, and though he doesn't look at her, he doesn't shake it off, either.
Flemeth watches them with an inscrutable expression. When she continues, it's in a far softer tone. 'The next Grandmaester served a short term of four years. Perhaps he was involved, perhaps he wasn't. But he was replaced by Grandmaester Runciter, who was only in King's Landing for a short time before Prince Baelon fell ill'.
'And his death led to the Great Council'. Rhaella glances at Rhaenys as she says it, and despite the enormity of what they're discussing, a small, distant part of Rhaenys wonders what Rhaella thought of the Great Council and it's outcome. She's never asked the woman.
'And Otto Hightower's appointment as Hand of the King'.
Rhaenys shakes herself slightly, and clears her throat. 'Which leads us to the now; a conspiracy to poison the King involving the Grandmaester, a close ally of the Hand, who admitted his orders came from Oldtown. We've come to retrieve the King's youngest son, but given what we've learned… we would take you back with us, if you agree'.
Rhaella hesitates. 'The Red Keep hardly sounds any safer'.
Rhaenys glances at Flemeth. 'We have plans to send the children to Dragonstone, if we can convince the King to do so. You would be welcome to go with them'.
Rhaella bites her lip slightly, and murmurs, 'I have returned to the Red Keep only rarely. It is not a place that holds many… good memories for me'. She blinks, and then her eyes focus on Rhaenys' face, and something in her seems to brighten. 'But I would like to meet this new generation'.
Flemeth's eyes soften. 'Dreamfyre will be glad to see you'.
Rhaella makes a quiet sound at the back of her throat, and murmurs, 'I doubt she remembers me'.
'A dragon does not forget'. She tilts her head slightly. 'She could always tell you and your twin apart, could she not?'
An odd look passes over Rhaella's face, and she turns her face away towards the hearth. 'Yes', she breathes, 'I suppose she could'.
Rhaenys decides to give her a moment of privacy, and turns her attention to Vaegon. 'And you, kepus?'
Vaegon lifts his head slowly. 'I won't be going anywhere'.
Rhaella turns to him quickly. 'Vaegon -'
'I have just been informed that the organisation to which I've dedicated my life has had a direct hand in the tragedies that have plagued our family'. There's a strange stillness about him given how agitated he was earlier, and a look in his eyes that seems entirely foreign on him. 'I may have even had a hand in them, by suggesting the Great Council to my father'. He straightens slowly in his seat, and at last Rhaenys recognises the look in his eyes as one of fury. 'I will not walk away now. Not when I can be of more use here'.
Rhaella stares at him for a moment, and Rhaenys wonders if she's just as surprised by the anger in him as she is. She can't recall ever hearing about her uncle being angry when she was a child. People often described him as being too detached for that.
It's Flemeth who breaks the silence, and she sounds almost curious when she says, 'how so?'
Vaegon takes a deep breath, as if he's trying to gain control of himself. 'First of all, the Conclave will be called to elect a new Grandmaester, once word reaches them of Mellos' demise. I may be able to ensure a neutral choice at the very least, and if not, I can at least take note of where loyalties lie'. He takes another steadying breath, and Rhaenys wonders if he's surprised by his own capacity for anger. 'Secondly, if this conspiracy is as old as you believe, any proof will be here, not in the Red Keep. I am well placed to find it'.
Rhaenys frowns. 'If you're discovered, they'll kill you'.
'Naturally. But that assumes I will be. No one knows you're here, correct?' Rhaenys shakes her head, and Vaegon nods. 'Then there will be no reason to watch me. I've certainly given them no reason to think I'm a threat'. Something bitter and self depreciating edges his voice. 'I presume that's the only reason I was spared'.
Rhaenys remembers the whispers that ran through the court whenever a raven from Vaegon arrived at the Red Keep. The rumours that he wrote only because it was his duty, and that he held no affection or care for the family he'd been too pleased to leave behind. The way Alysanne smiled every time she read the letters, unbothered by the formality of her son's words. That she kept them all, as if she viewed them as a connection to her son, no matter how detached people thought him to be.
Daemon had been surprised to hear Vaegon and Rhaella were still alive. Viserys hadn't raised their names when she'd told the Small Council of a plot against the royal family. Rhaenys herself hadn't thought of them in years.
Rhaenys leans forward to catch Vaegon's gaze, and says, 'not everyone has forgotten you, kepus. Do not let that assumption get you killed'.
'Let me say it more clearly', Rhaella fixes Vaegon with a stern look, 'be careful, Vaegon'.
A flicker of surprise passes over his face, so brief it might have been a trick of the light. He looks between them slowly, and his brow lifts slightly. But he nods once, and that will have to be enough.
Flemeth stands, and crosses the room slowly, reaching into a pouch at her belt as she does. Vaegon stands as she approaches, with far less ease, his frailty seeming all the more apparent beside her. 'You will require a more… secure method of communication to relay anything you discover'.
A circular black stone sits in the palm of her hand. The side facing up is entirely flat and polished to an unnatural shine, while the other is rough and uneven. Vaegon takes it at Flemeth's prompting, that far more familiar look of intense curiosity gleaming in his eyes. He turns it over in his hands, inspecting the two sides with keen interest. 'And this will allow that?'
Flemeth inclines her head. 'It's one half of a scrying stone. I have the other. A single drop of your blood will activate it'. She watches him closely, and for a moment Rhaenys wonders if she imagines the almost melancholy look in her eyes. 'What you are proposing to do is dangerous. If you suspect you may have been discovered, use it. Do not wait. That is how informants die'.
Vaegon glances up at her, and pauses. He seems to absorb the weight of her words, and nods slowly. 'I shall'. The corner of his mouth twitches in what might pass as a smile. 'And if I live through this, I expect you to tell me exactly how this works '.
Flemeth almost seems to smile. 'Then we have a deal'.
Rhaenys turns to Rhaella, and reaches out to clasp the woman's hands. 'Do you need to return to the Starry Sept before you come with us?'
Rhaella shakes her head, and squeezes Rhaenys' hands in her own. 'Septas are allowed very little in terms of personal belongings. Anything I cannot bear to lose remains with me at all times'.
Rhaenys nods slowly. She makes a mental note to find out whether there's any of Queen Rhaena's belongings in the Red Keep's vaults, or whether they remain on Dragonstone. Perhaps Rhaella would like to see them. 'My son and his dragon are waiting outside the walls of Oldtown. He's expecting you. Will you be able to make it out of Oldtown without being stopped?'
Rhaella laughs, and it's a wry, humourless sound. 'Of course. No one really pays attention to septas. We are similar to maesters, in that regard'.
Grey robed figures passing without notice, their faces forgotten in place of the order they represent. For once, that will work to their advantage.
Meleys is furious.
The feeling resounds through their bond until Rhaenys tastes fire on her tongue, and she reaches out to rest a hand on Meleys' jaw. She makes no move to silence her dragon, but the low, rumbling growl coming from Meleys quietens just enough that she doesn't have to raise her voice to be heard.
'I suggest you have your men release Tessarion, Lord Hobert. Before Meleys decides to deal with the matter herself'.
The outrage in Hobert's face is clear, but he gestures to the guards holding Tessarion's chains. The young dragon remains very still as the guards remove the chains attached to her collar, and she doesn't seem to register that she's been freed once they step away from her.
Meleys moves then, extending her head slowly towards Tessarion, a soft, almost cooing sound issuing from her throat. Tessarion lifts her head in response, leaning up towards Meleys, and as she does, Rhaenys notices that the deep blue scales beneath her collar are worn and dull, exposing the fragile, raw skin beneath. Meleys exhales a puff of hot air, and shifts to nudge Tessarion with her snout, gently guiding the younger dragon towards her own bulk.
The sight of Tessarion leaning against Meleys' side only confirms what Rhaenys had suspected. Though she's not a cradle egg, Tessarion hatched around the same time as Vermax, perhaps a little earlier, and should be relatively the same size as him. And yet she looks only a little larger than Tyraxes, who hatched a mere three years ago.
Flemeth moves past Meleys' head, approaching Tessarion slowly with her hand outstretched, and the young dragon makes a quiet, almost pitiful noise as the woman kneels down beside her, and reaches carefully towards the collar. Even with the woman kneeling, Tessarion looks small beside her.
Meleys unfurls her wing and drapes it over them, hiding them entirely from view, and Rhaenys turns to face the man who won't live much longer if Meleys has her way, her voice breaking the tense silence like the crack of a whip. 'Where is Prince Daeron?'
Hobert's jaw clenches, but faced with a furious dragon, he simply steps to the side, revealing the boy standing behind him.
Daeron stands very straight and still, a rigid set to his shoulders as he stares up at her, and the wariness in his eyes is clear. He's a little shorter than Jace, and he takes after Viserys in appearance, perhaps more so than his other siblings. There's something in the roundness of his cheeks that reminds Rhaenys of her cousin as a youth. His hair has been cut short, curling just behind his ears, and he's dressed in a fine green doublet that will be entirely ruined by the time they arrive in King's Landing.
A satchel hangs by his side. Given its small size and the look on his face, Rhaenys assumes that Hobert spent most of the hour telling him she wasn't to be trusted, rather than packing his possessions as he claimed.
'Prince Daeron', Rhaenys offers the boy a small smile, though there's little she can do to ease his fear, 'we've met once before, though you may not remember'.
Daeron swallows, and bends in a perfect bow, polite and courteous in a way that reminds her of Jace. 'Princess Rhaenys. An honour to see you again'. He straightens slowly, and his gaze strays from her to Meleys. 'Uncle Hobert says you're taking me back to the Red Keep?'
'Your parents wish to see you, and to introduce you to your cousins. You will return to complete your fostering in good time'. It's an easy lie. Daeron doesn't appear to have been mistreated, but Tessarion is another matter. She doesn't know how she'll convince Viserys to end the wardship, but she will. 'Come, let me introduce you to Meleys'.
Something in Daeron's face brightens a little, though he makes a visible effort to hide it. He turns to face Hobert, and bows to his great-uncle. 'Goodbye, Uncle'.
Hobert clasps his shoulder. 'I will count the days until you return'. His grip tightens a little before he releases the boy, his voice lowering slightly as he adds, 'and remember what you've learned'.
Daeron nods, and Rhaenys wonders if she imagines the slight haste to his step as he moves to join her. Meleys turns her head as they approach, though she doesn't ease from her protective stance, and Rhaenys reaches up to touch a hand to Meleys' snout. 'This is Daeron. Tessarion's bonded. He will fly with us today'.
Meleys extends her neck to sniff Daeron, and the boy remains very still by Rhaenys' side. Meleys huffs, a grudging agreement, and then turns her head away, her attention returning to the pair she's shielding under her wing.
'She's beautiful'.
Rhaenys glances at Daeron, a little surprised by the awe in his voice. He has a dragon of his own, as do most of his siblings, but given the look on his face, perhaps he doesn't remember them. 'She is. And she's fiercely protective when roused'.
Daeron glances towards Meleys' wing, and nods slowly. He must've seen the way Meleys behaved with Tessarion. 'She doesn't like the chains', he whispers, his shoulders tensing a little as if he thinks they might be overheard, 'but no one listens to me'.
'She won't be chained in the Dragonpit, Daeron. You have my word'.
Something in his expression shifts, and when he looks up at her, that wariness has vanished. It calls to mind the way Helaena looked at Flemeth when she first met the woman, as if she'd been waiting her whole life to be heard, and the comparison unnerves her a little. She hesitates, and then reaches out to place a hand on the boy's shoulder. 'Come. Let us see to your dragon'.
Rhaenys guides Daeron beneath Meleys' wing with a careful, but firm touch, and the tension in his frame seems to ease a little when Tessarion comes into view, tucked close against Meleys' ribs. The young dragon trills softly at the sight of her rider, and Flemeth looks up from where she's kneeling at Tessarion's side. She's removed the young dragon's collar, and appears to have been inspecting the scales beneath. Her expression gives nothing away, but Rhaenys has the sense that the woman is just as disturbed by Tessarion's small size as she is. 'Daeron', Rhaenys murmurs, keeping her voice low despite the barrier Meleys' wing creates between them and the onlookers, 'this is Flemeth'.
Flemeth inclines her head slightly, her eyes glinting red in the light shining through the membranes of Meleys' wings. 'Daeron. Your sister Helaena has told me much about you'.
The mention of his sister has a remarkable effect on the boy, his shoulders slumping beneath Rhaenys' hand. He watches as Tessarion presses her head into Flemeth's hand, and he sounds more anxious than wary when he says, 'are you a dragonkeeper?'
The corner of Flemeth's mouth curls. 'Of a sort'.
Daeron bites his lip. 'Can you help her? I know… I know she's smaller than she should be'.
The way he says it makes Rhaenys suspect he's been blamed for that, and Meleys hisses beside her. Flemeth meets Daeron's gaze steadily, and murmurs, 'I can. But not here'.
Daeron nods, and steps closer to his dragon. Tessarion turns to meet him, and when Daeron wraps his arms around her, she curls her neck across his shoulders. Daeron sniffles, and Rhaenys turns her head to give them a moment's privacy. She suspects they've had very little time to themselves since they arrived in Oldtown.
The boy releases his dragon reluctantly, turning to face Rhaenys with his jaw set and his eyes over-bright. 'I'm ready'.
Rhaenys inclines her head, and brushes her hand over Meleys' scales. Her dragon shifts, pulling her wing back and lowering herself closer to the ground. Rhaenys beckons Daeron closer, and silently guides him up into the saddle, taking note of the tremble to his hands, though she doesn't remark on it. Rather than joining him immediately, she takes the time to bind his legs in place, securing him to the saddle, before she climbs up behind him, pausing to add his satchel to the saddlebags as she does.
As she waits for Flemeth to join them, she leans towards the boy, and murmurs, 'you haven't flown before, have you?'
Daeron trembles at the question, and grips the front of the saddle until his knuckles turn white. 'No. Tessarion isn't big enough to ride, and Helaena never had the chance to take me on Dreamfyre'.
Rhaenys swallows the fire that rises in her throat. Who would have taught him, when Tessarion was old enough? Had that thought even occurred to Viserys when he'd sent the boy away?
'I won't lie to you, Daeron. The flight is a long one, far longer than a rider's first flight should be'. She keeps her voice gentle, and lets none of the anger she feels towards the boy's father show. 'You may find it unpleasant. But I will not allow you to fall'.
Daeron exhales a shaky breath, and leans back against her. His hand leaves the saddle to grasp her own where she holds Meleys' reins, and he whispers, 'thank you'.
Movement in her peripheral vision alerts Rhaenys to Flemeth's presence a moment before the woman slides into the saddle behind her. 'Let us leave this dreadful place'.
Rhaenys feels Meleys' agreement like a low, urgent hum, and flicks the reins once. Meleys spreads her wings wide, and Rhaenys feels a small thrill of satisfaction as the men in the courtyard scramble out of the way with shouts of alarm. She had warned them they were standing too close.
Meleys circles the Hightower once, her talons almost brushing the defensive walls, and Rhaenys makes no move to urge her any higher. She waits, as does her dragon, for Tessarion to join them, and she's glad to see the young dragon take to the skies with ease. Whatever has stunted her growth does not seem to have affected her ability to fly, at least.
As they ascend high above the Hightower, Seasmoke rises from beyond Oldtown's walls, and Meleys roars to greet him. Rhaenys directs her dragon close enough to see Laenor and Rhaella upon Seasmoke's back, and relief washes over her. Without prompting, Laenor guides Seasmoke to take up the rear guard, Tessarion between the two dragons, and together they turn in the direction of King's Landing.
It's only then that Daeron seems to relax, slumping in the saddle and leaning his full weight back against her. Rhaenys says nothing, but she wraps one arm carefully around his waist, like she would with any of her grandchildren, and allows him to grip her forearm a little too tight.
Upon landing in the Dragonpit, Rhaenys is surprised to see that only Rhaenyra and Corlys are there to greet them. She'd expected to see Alicent and her other children present, given how eager the woman had seemed at the prospect of seeing her youngest child again.
If Daeron is disappointed that his family isn't there to welcome him home, he doesn't show it. He remains very still as Rhaenys slides from Meleys' back and turns to undo the straps binding his legs to the saddle. When she reaches up to help him down, he takes her hand after only a moment's hesitation, and Rhaenys braces him with a hand on his shoulder as he lands on solid ground, anticipating the way he stumbles.
'You did very well', she says quietly, keeping her hand on his shoulder to steady him as he sways a little, 'most do not undertake such a long ride on their first flight'. She gives him a small, sympathetic smile. 'You will likely be quite sore come morning, but that is normal'.
Rhaenys certainly will be, and she can already feel the ache settling in her thighs. It's been a long time since she's undertaken such a long flight without taking the time to rest along the way, and she reaches out to rest her hand against Meleys' side. 'Thank you, dear girl', she murmurs, her smile widening a little as Meleys purrs in response, 'I will see that the dragonkeepers bring you the finest selection of prey'.
Usually Meleys prefers to hunt for herself off the coast of Driftmark, but Rhaenys sees no harm in pampering her after flying for so long without rest.
Flemeth has already descended from Meleys' back, and appears to be deep in conversation with one of the elder dragonkeepers. Rhaenys decides to leave her to it, and steers Daeron gently towards the entrance to the Dragonpit as Meleys makes her way into its depths. Seasmoke soon joins her, and Rhaenys lift her hand to greet Laenor as he approaches with Rhaella leaning heavily on his arm.
'As marvellous as that experience was', Rhaella says, straightening slowly with a grimace, 'I think I'm a little too old for it'.
Laenor chuckles, turning towards Rhaenyra and Corlys with a smile. 'Have you met before?'
Corlys steps forward with a smile, greeting Rhaella with a small bow. 'Septa Rhaella. It's been some time. You look well'.
Rhaella laughs lightly. 'For my age, you mean?' She pats his arm, the corners of her eyes crinkling. 'It is good to see you, Lord Corlys'.
The last time Corlys and Rhaenys had seen Rhaella was at Jaehaerys' funeral, and it was for only a brief moment. The last time they'd had a proper conversation had been at Alysanne's funeral, which had been a very different experience. It was only after her grandfather died, and the difference between the two occasions became clear, that Rhaenys realised Rhaella loved Alysanne, but held no affection for Jaehaerys.
Rhaella's smile grows as she turns to Rhaenyra. 'And you, Princess'.
Rhaenyra takes Rhaella's hand in her own, not quite able to hide her surprise. 'I am glad to see you, Septa Rhaella, but I'm afraid I wasn't aware we've met before'.
Rhaella shakes her head with a soft smile. 'I would be surprised if you remembered. You were younger than the boy when we met'.
She indicates Daeron with a tilt of her head, and Rhaenyra turns to face her youngest half brother with a warm, welcoming smile. If she holds any reservations about seeing the boy, or his return to the Red Keep, she hides it well. 'Daeron', she says softly, 'welcome home'.
Daeron bows, and almost topples over. Rhaenys catches him instinctively, and the boy flushes red as he glances up at his sister. 'I'm sorry -'
'There's no need'. Rhaenyra offers Daeron her hand to help steady him, her brow creasing with concern. 'A flight like that would exhaust even the most experienced rider'.
Rhaenys hums in agreement. She turns her head as Flemeth approaches them, and the woman joins the conversation as if she's heard every word. 'I know a remedy that will help with the aches, come morning. I'll prepare some for each of you'.
Rhaella laughs, and nudges Laenor lightly. 'I see why you call her a miracle worker'.
Laenor coughs, avoiding Flemeth's eyes, and gives his father a significant look. 'We should be on our way'.
'I will join you shortly'. Flemeth tilts her head towards Tessarion, watching with a faint frown as the dragonkeepers coax her further into the pit. 'I wish to ensure Tessarion is settled first'.
Daeron shifts, his voice pitching high with worry as he says, 'is there something wrong with her? Is that why she's so small?'
Flemeth glances down at him, and Daeron leans a little into Rhaenys' side. 'You are her rider, child. You should know that better than me'.
Daeron swallows, and looks down at his feet, in a manner that reminds Rhaenys a little of Helaena. 'I… haven't been able to spend much time with her. She… I don't think she's unwell, but she's… I think she's lonely'.
Rhaenyra settles her hand lightly on Daeron's shoulder, and waits until he looks up at her before she says, 'she won't be lonely now, Daeron'. She offers him a warm smile. 'And neither will you. Now come', she gestures towards the wheelhouses awaiting them, 'the rest of your family is eager to see you'.
Daeron is happy to join Rhaella and Laenor in one wheelhouse, which Rhaenys is rather relieved about. The child might not be concerned by the lack of a welcome, but Rhaenys is.
She says nothing as she settles in the second wheelhouse, allowing herself to lean a little against Corlys' side as Rhaenyra takes the seat opposite them. It's only once they begin to move that she gives them both an expectant look, and says, 'has something happened?'
Corlys and Rhaenyra exchange a glance. 'Not exactly', Rhaenyra begins, though her sombre expression is hardly reassuring, 'it's more what hasn't happened. Larys Strong is still at large'.
Rhaenys frowns. 'How is that possible?'
Corlys sighs heavily. 'Daemon believes he's much more familiar with the passages within the Red Keep than Mellos implied, and that he was prepared for the possibility he might need to disappear for a while'.
'That, and he's likely receiving aid from someone within the Red Keep'. Rhaenyra grimaces a little. 'Daemon isn't taking it very well'.
Well, that doesn't surprise her. Daemon probably considers it a personal failing that he hasn't tracked down his target yet.
'Given that, and the belief that there is a plot against the royal family, it was agreed that it would be unwise for the children to leave the Red Keep unless absolutely necessary'. Corlys shifts so that he can look at her, and Rhaenys grumbles faintly when the movement jolts her a little. 'Daemon informed us of what Mellos actually said, and that telling the Small Council there's a plot against the whole family was simply a way to have Daeron removed from Oldtown. I take it that's why Rhaella is here?'
Rhaenys hesitates. She had lied when she'd said that to the Small Council, and yet given everything Flemeth told them, it appears she'd been close to the truth after all. The only difference is that she doubts the conspiracy aims to harm Alicent's children.
'Rhaenys?'
She'd really prefer to explain it with everyone present, so she doesn't have to do so more than once. 'We spoke to Rhaella and Vaegon about the threat, yes. Rhaella decided to return with us, while Vaegon opted to stay. He thinks he can be of more use in his current position'. She swallows tightly, and lifts her hand to forestall any questions. 'There is more. But I would rather explain it only once, so it will have to wait for now'.
Corlys watches her closely for a moment, a worried frown furrowing his brow. He knows her well enough to hear more than simple exhaustion in her voice, and he shifts to slide his arm around her waist. 'Of course'.
Rhaenyra hesitates for a moment before nodding. 'You must be exhausted, velma. You should take the chance to rest before… while you can. The rest of us can handle things for a while'.
The pause was brief, but enough. Rhaenys' eyes narrow slightly. 'Before what?'
Rhaenyra sighs. 'You won't like it'.
Rhaenys closes her eyes to steel herself, and leans her head against Corlys' shoulder. 'Go on'.
'My father has decided to hold a feast, to celebrate having his family all together again'.
Rhaenys cracks one eye open. 'When?'
'Tonight'.
Rhaenys covers her face with her hand, and takes a slow, deliberate breath. It does very little to calm the fire rising in her chest. 'And did it not occur to him that a feast creates the perfect opportunity for an assassin to act?'
Corlys scoffs. 'That did come up. He seems to think that maintaining a sense of normalcy is just as important, and that it will be clear that something is amiss if he didn't throw a feast upon his son's return to the city'.
As much as she hates to admit it, it would seem odd, because Viserys is known to throw a feast at the slightest opportunity. The thought does nothing to quell her anger.
'There is some good news. I flew by Storm's End on my way to retrieve Maester Gerardys. Lord Baratheon and his son will be at the feast tonight'.
Rhaenys lowers her hand from her face to give her good-daughter an incredulous look. She knows that glint in Rhaenyra's eyes. 'What are you planning?'
Rhaenyra blinks at her innocently. 'I don't know what you mean. I simply thought to invite them on Laena's behalf. We were recently discussing the girls, and Laena pointed out that they'll need ladies of their own soon. Borros' elder daughters are close in age to the girls, and what better place to start looking than their own extended family?'
'And Borros agreed to that?' Rhaenys doesn't bother to keep the surprise from her voice. While she's sure her Uncle Boremund would be pleased to see their families reconnect in such a manner, his son is a different matter.
'The advantages it would give his daughters may have needed to be pointed out to him. Besides…' her smile is a small, sly thing, 'I may have noted that his youngest, Floris, is only a year younger than Joffrey. No promises were made, of course, but even he could see the opportunity'.
Rhaenys huffs a soft laugh, allowing herself to focus on the pride that warms her, rather than the anger that still lingers in her chest. Though the Lords of the great houses had sworn allegiance to Rhaenyra as her father's heir, it was not guaranteed that their own heirs would uphold those vows. Rhaenys had pointed that out to Rhaenyra during once while mentoring her good-daughter, and she had used Borros as an example. He was not his father, and despite claiming to love his daughters, it was well known that he desired a son. If Boremund passed before Viserys, and Rhaenyra had no wish to use threats to ensure Borros upheld his father's oaths, she might need to find further incentive.
It seems Rhaenyra has already made moves to do so.
'You've done well'.
Rhaenyra's smile widens. 'I thought it was time to put some of your lessons to use'.
'Why now?'
Rhaenyra shrugs delicately. 'Otto's attention is divided, and has been since the plot against my father was discovered. And now he's focused on you and Flemeth'. She scowls. 'Undoubtedly because he's concerned you'll find proof he's involved'.
Rhaenys sighs. 'It won't last forever. If you start making alliances such as this, he'll notice'.
'Maybe that's a good thing. He won't be so focused on you, then'.
Rhaenys experience a jolt of alarm, and she leans forward to place her hand on Rhaenyra's knee. 'It is better to risk my life than yours'.
Rhaenyra's jaw sets stubbornly. 'I disagree. Your… guidance has been invaluable to me over the years'. Her throat works, and when she covers Rhaenys' hand, she grips it a little too tightly. 'I will need that when I take the throne'.
'Rhaenyra -'
'In fact', Rhaenyra clears her throat, and tilts her chin up to fix Rhaenys with a hard stare, 'as your future Queen, I order you not to get assassinated at the feast tonight'.
'I wouldn't worry about that', Rhaenys can hear the smile in Corlys' voice, 'she has a very attentive bodyguard, after all'.
The tension eases a little from Rhaenyra's expression. 'I suppose she does'.
Despite wishing to impress upon her good-daughter that she is less important in the scheme of things, Rhaenys recognises that will only cause Rhaenyra further stress. So instead, she offers her a small smile, and murmurs, 'as much as I disagree with your father's decision to hold a feast, it may work to our advantage. Given that the poisonings have been easily foiled, if an assassin does move against me tonight, I would wager that it will be more… physical'.
Rhaenyra nods slowly, clearly understanding her point, though the concern in her eyes is clear. 'Which would provide an opportunity to catch them'. She bites her lip. 'And you're sure Flemeth can handle a physical threat?'
Rhaenys thinks of the strength in Flemeth's arms as they had wrapped around her waist, and hums softly. 'I'm sure she'll manage'.
Corlys stays with Rhaenys until she falls asleep. He'd been sure she would resist the chance to rest and simply push through the weariness he could see in her eyes, but she'd drifted off in the bath. He'd ordered it prepared as soon as he'd spotted Meleys in the sky, and she grumbled halfheartedly when he lifted her from it, dried her off and carried her to bed. However, despite her protestations, she'd fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
That worries him more than anything she'd said in the wheelhouse. She had to be utterly exhausted, to allow him to look after her with so little complaint.
He waits until he's sure Rhaenys won't be disturbed by his departure before he slips away, turning back to survey the room one last time before he closes the door. It's not as if he's expecting an assassin to be hiding under the bed, but he'd checked there anyway, just to be safe.
In the outer chamber, he pauses, noting that the balcony doors are open, when they weren't before. Given the presence of loyal guards outside the chamber, and the absence of any sign they've been defeated, he quickly comes to the conclusion that the visitor is not an unwelcome intruder.
He's not surprised to find Flemeth on the balcony. She's lounging on the wide railing like a sailor might sit on a ship's gunwale, one leg hanging down over the side. She holds a slice of bread in her hand, and every now and then she pulls off a small piece and flicks it to the raven perched on the railing across from her.
'May I have a word?'
Flemeth inclines her head, and Corlys moves to lean against the stone railing, far enough away to make it clear he's not attempting to crowd her. The raven caws at him, perhaps displeased it's meal has been interrupted. 'Go on'.
'It's about Rhaenys'.
Flemeth blinks at him slowly, as Meleys occasionally does when she's trying to decide if she's going to tolerate his presence for the sake of her rider. 'What about her?'
Corlys wonders whether she expects him to warn her off. The thought is rather amusing. 'She claimed her time in Oldtown was surprisingly pleasant. Which made me wonder; how many attempts on her life did you foil without her knowledge?'
Flemeth laughs, a surprised, yet genuinely delighted sound. 'Three. The others were prevented simply because they could not see her'. She tilts her head slightly, regarding him with an almost curious expression. 'Why do you ask?'
'I assume you've been made aware of the feast this evening?'
Flemeth scowls. 'Another idiotic decision from that foolish man'.
Corlys doesn't bother to hide his amusement at that. 'And you've been informed of the fact that Rhaenys anticipates a physical attack?' When Flemeth simply nods, he continues, in a more serious tone, 'I trust you will continue to shield her from harm'.
He phrases it not as a question, but as a statement. A confirmation that he's well aware that Flemeth has protected Rhaenys from the moment her life was first threatened, and that he has no doubt she will continue to do so.
That curious look seems to grow. 'Most men would be too prideful to leave their wife's safety in the hands of another'.
Corlys smiles at that. 'Most men are fools'.
'Ha!' The raven startles at the exclamation, and Flemeth flicks it another piece of bread as if in apology. 'They certainly are'. Flemeth tilts her head, and the glow of the setting sun catches in her golden eyes. 'What makes you an exception?'
Corlys shrugs. 'A sailor that does not rely on the aid of his crew during a gale is likely to perish in it'.
Flemeth arches an eyebrow. 'And am I a member of said crew in this scenario?'
'My grandchildren have declared it so'.
Flemeth huffs, and returns her attention to the raven. 'I suppose they have'.
Silence falls between them, and Corlys is content to wait. He didn't get to where he is now by being impatient.
'I will, of course'. Flemeth says it softly, no vows sworn in blood or oaths belted in a public hall. A simple assurance given in the light of the setting sun, as true as the knowledge that the sun will rise come morning.
He'd known she would, and yet he feels the tension leak from his shoulders as she speaks. He inclines his head, and murmurs, 'thank you'.
Flemeth sighs. 'It has been a lifetime since I subjected myself to the trappings of courtly proceedings'. Her lip curls in distaste. 'I will have to find something suitable to wear'.
He smiles. 'I took the liberty of commissioning something for you, with the assumption you would have to stand before the court at some point'.
'Did you indeed?'
'I don't know your measurements, but given your talents, I'm sure you can make any needed adjustments'.
It's the closest he's come to referencing the magic she wields, and she stares at him for a long moment. Perhaps she's waiting for him to ask the questions they've all had since she first appeared on Driftmark.
When he says nothing, a slow smile curls the corner of her mouth. 'You are a very interesting man, Lord Corlys'.
From Flemeth, that sounds like a compliment.
He takes note of the hour, then, and sighs. It's time to wake Rhaenys, so that she has enough time to prepare for the feast. He'd rather let her rest, but it's simply not possible. 'I will see you at the feast. Good hunting'.
He's almost at the doors when Flemeth calls him back. 'Corlys?'
Corlys turns back. 'Yes?'
Flemeth stares at him intently for a long moment before she says, 'I imagine you've seen a great deal on your journeys. That you've perhaps learned a thing or two about the mysteries of the world'.
Corlys nods slowly, wondering as he does whether she's going to ask him if he's heard anything about her. 'That I have'.
Flemeth turns her gaze towards the horizon. 'What do you know about the history of Battle Isle?'
Rhaenys examines her reflection critically. The hour of sleep she'd been granted had done very little to ease her exhaustion, but at least she doesn't look like she's about to keel over at any moment, and the tension around her temples has eased.
The news that the ship they'd sent from Driftmark had arrived in her absence had certainly helped. Along with the belongings they'd sent for an extended stay in the Red Keep, the ship brought men loyal to House Velaryon, knights and sworn swords who had fought with Corlys and Laenor in the Stepstones. They've been stationed throughout Maegor's Holdfast, specifically to guard the children. Though the children would be attending the feast, Rhaella had volunteered to stay in the nursery with Aemon, and Rhaenys feels far less worried about her grandchildren now that they had more guards to defend them.
'What troubles you, wife?'
Rhaenys turns her head to give Corlys a sharp look. 'I believe that should be rather obvious, husband'.
Corlys is unphased. He rises from his seat by the hearth, the firelight glittering in the silver embroidery of his fine doublet, and moves closer to rest his hands on her shoulders. He smooths his thumbs over the silk at the place where her collarbones meet her shoulders, the colours of their House reflecting in the mirror beside them. 'There has been something else on your mind since you returned from Oldtown. I would wager it has something to do with why Vaegon stayed behind'.
She sighs, and leans forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder. 'You are far too perceptive'.
He presses a kiss to her hair, careful not to disturb the intricate braids. 'If I was any less, I would never keep up with you'.
She smiles faintly, and leans back to look up at him, taking note of the open concern in his eyes. It is perhaps a little unlike her to cave with such little resistance. 'It is something I'd rather explain only the once', after she's spoken to Rhaenyra about Aemma, of course, 'but… promise me you'll keep an eye on the children tonight? The boys in particular'.
Corlys' frown deepens. But after a moment, he simply nods, and murmurs, 'of course. Though Laenor is unlikely to let them out of his sight as it is'.
The feast is being held in the very same hall as Rhaenyra and Laenor's wedding banquet, even though there will be far fewer nobles attending. It wouldn't be the first time Laenor had stepped foot in that hall since Ser Joffrey's death, but given the fact that Ser Cole is involved in the attempts on her life, it's hardly surprising he's on edge.
Another reason for her to avoid Viserys this evening. Given how tired she is, she's not entirely sure she'll be able to avoid snapping at the man if she's forced to speak to him.
There's a knock at the door, and Rhaenys makes an effort to smooth the frown from her face as she turns. 'Come in'.
Flemeth sweeps into the room, and Rhaenys is distracted from the scowl on the woman's face by the sight of the dress she's wearing.
At first glance, the dress appears to be made entirely of black fabric, but as the light shifts, the solid black of the bodice becomes a deep, almost reddish purple. The bodice is embroidered with silver thread in a scaled pattern that appears to ripple when she moves. It continues up over her shoulders and down her upper arms, where the fabric has been reinforced with dyed leather to mimic the shape of close fitting pauldrons. A decorative gorget in the same style covers her neck to just below her collarbones, leaving the area above the neckline entirely bare. From the belt at her waist, the skirt flows freely to the floor, and a high slit on each side has been crafted into a fold of silver silk, presumably to provide greater freedom of movement.
Despite it's finery, there's a certain practicality to the dress that reminds Rhaenys a little of riding leathers. Even the gloves are crafted from leather rather than silk, with small iron plates sewn over the backs of her knuckles and fingers.
Indeed, given the scowl, Flemeth looks more like she's prepared for a battle than a feast, and Rhaenys is painfully aware she's staring.
'Is something amiss?' Corlys steps towards the woman with a faint frown, and Rhaenys is glad for a moment to gain control of herself.
Flemeth huffs. 'I simply forgot how much I dislike wearing a dress. I had to remind the King that he is not yet recovered enough to dance'.
The implication is clear, and Rhaenys narrows her eyes. 'Viserys asked you to dance?'
Flemeth's scowl deepens. 'He did. It seems his improved health has only served to make him more foolish'.
In more than one way. Flemeth has spent most of her time in the Red Keep either hidden or avoiding nobility, and this feast is the first time she'll be properly within view. There will be rumours enough flying about concerning the mysterious woman from Essos, and the last thing they need is for Viserys to add any fuel to the flames.
'And the dress itself?'
Flemeth's scowl softens, and she inclines her head towards Corlys. 'More than adequate'. The corner of her mouth quirks, and her gaze drifts towards Rhaenys. 'You have good taste'.
Corlys laughs warmly. 'I do indeed'.
Rhaenys blinks. There's a sense of easy comradery between the two of them that takes her by surprise, because until now she's seen Flemeth be nothing more than politely cordial to her husband. The idea that they've somehow become friends in the brief hour she took to rest feels a little unnerving.
And a little dangerous.
Although she can't exactly relax during the feast, Rhaenys still finds it rather pleasant at first. The food is more than welcome after the endless hours on dragonback, and with Rhaenyra to her right and Corlys to her left, she's spared from having to converse with Viserys, who she's been deliberately avoiding since she returned.
He'd been rather bemused by Rhaella's presence, and though he'd welcomed her warmly, he seemed oddly uncomfortable. Rhaella told her later that it was akin to Jaehaerys' behaviour, and theorised that Viserys simply wasn't sure how to behave around an elder woman to whom he owed respect, and whose line had once been considered for the throne.
It had reminded Rhaenys of those early years after the Great Council, when Viserys could barely meet her eyes.
So she's avoiding him for now. It won't last forever, and in truth she doubts he's even noticed, but it's satisfying in a very petty way.
When the guests begin to mingle among themselves, a few Lords leading their Ladies in a turn around the dance floor, Rhaenys rises from the high table and descends into the crowd in search of her uncle.
She doesn't look back to check if she's being followed, but she imagines she can feel the warmth of Flemeth's gaze on her back, like a supportive hand resting between her shoulder blades.
'Princess Rhaenys!'
Boremund's booming voice rings out through the crowd, and she turns to find him standing near one of the pillars lining the hall, Borros and Laena on either side of him. He hasn't changed much since she last saw him at Rhaenyra and Laenor's wedding ceremony, though there's more silver in his dark hair and beard. She smiles as she approaches, and though he greets her with a simple kiss to the back of her hand, she can see he wishes to sweep her into his arms like she's a child again, and the thought makes her smile widen. 'Lord Boremund'. Her voice softens. 'It is good to see you, uncle'.
Boremund looks her up and down, and something melancholy tinges his otherwise joyful expression. 'And you, niece. You look more like your mother every year'.
Rhaenys gives his hand a gentle squeeze, and murmurs, 'she would be glad to see us together again'. She turns to Borros, and inclines her head slightly. 'Cousin Borros'.
She never knows exactly what to expect from Borros. He's like his father in many ways, but he lacks Boremund's better qualities, which makes him… difficult to deal with. So she's surprised when he bows his head, and greets her almost jovially. 'Princess Rhaenys'.
'Mother'. Laena leans in to press a kiss to her cheek. 'I was just expressing how glad I was to hear that they accepted Princess Rhaenyra's invitation'.
'We were pleased to receive it', Boremund says, all courtly manners, his smile half hidden by his beard, 'just as we are honoured by the opportunity to place one of my granddaughters within your daughters' household, Lady Laena'.
Rhaenys glances at Laena, and though there's very little she can do to express her pride for her daughter in public, she hopes Laena can see it in her eyes. Despite being away from the Red Keep and all its politics for so many years, Laena hasn't forgotten how to play the game. 'I was pleased to hear of it myself. A chance for our families to be close once more'. She glances at Borros, and adds, 'have you decided which of your daughters shall be granted the position, cousin? Your eldest is only a year older than my granddaughters, I believe'.
Borros takes a large gulp of wine, perhaps the very reason for his good mood, and shakes his head. 'We were discussing that. For now, Cassandra is my heir. She might take it as a sign she's being sent away'.
Rhaenys doesn't miss the way Boremund frowns at the words 'for now'. It wouldn't surprise her if her uncle has been pushing for Borros to accept his eldest as his heir. There's no scorn in Borros' voice when he speaks of his daughter, but the easy dismissal grates. 'Baela will be Queen one day, and Rhaena the Lady of Driftmark. Their education will prepare them for their future positions, and any Lady placed within their household will undoubtedly benefit from such lessons'.
Borros nods slowly, but says nothing in response. Perhaps he's had a little too much wine to consider the intricacies of politics. Boremund turns to Laena with a smile that doesn't quite hide the frustration in his eyes. 'Would you dance with me, Lady Laena? Perhaps we can discuss matters further'. Boremund's smile softens into something wistful. 'My sister was a master of that art'.
Laena takes his offered arm with a gentle smile. 'Which one?'
Boremund laughs at that, a familiar, booming sound that belongs to the days of Rhaenys' childhood. 'All of them, in fact'.
Laena casts Rhaenys a look of intent before she disappears into the crowd with Boremund, though Rhaenys can't tell whether it's a reminder to be careful, or an apology for leaving her alone with Borros.
Given Laena's worry for her, and the fact that Borros has been more agreeable this evening than she's ever known him to be, it's probably safe to assume it's the former.
Beside her, Borros snorts into his goblet, and mutters, 'she has the look'.
Rhaenys turns to level him with a stern look at once. Given his good mood, she doesn't think he means it in a negative way. She's often thought her cousin foolish, but surely even he wouldn't be stupid enough to insult Laena in her presence. Then again, he's had a fair bit of wine, and as a youth he had a habit of speaking without considering his words before hand.
Still, for the sake of the bond Rhaenyra is trying to build, she keeps her voice neutral when she says, 'what look?'
Borros glances at her, and immediately flushes. He gestures at her, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim of his goblet. 'That look. The Jocelyn-Look, my father called it. Used to say she had it even when they were children, and that it was the only thing that could get him to behave'.
Rhaenys feels the corner of her mouth quirk slightly. 'Is that so?'
Perhaps sensing he's avoided danger, Borros takes another gulp of wine, and says, 'didn't believe it until I saw it myself. Like looking into the eye of a storm'.
Rhaenys stares at him in surprise. After the death of her father, her mother had spent most of her time on Driftmark, though Rhaenys had frequently flown her to Storm's End upon Meleys to visit Boremund and his family. Those visits had become prolonged stays after Boremund's wife died, as Jocelyn had wished to help him with his son. Borros can't have been more than seven years of age when Jocelyn died.
'I'm surprised you remember my mother'.
Borros seems to hesitate. Then, perhaps encouraged by the wine he's consumed, or the ties rekindled between their families, he says, 'she left an impression. Might've been the only person who could get me to sit still long enough to work on my letters'.
That does sound like her mother. 'Because of the look?'
Borros shrugs. 'Must've been'. He looks away from her, a sense of awkwardness about him that she's often seen in men unaccustomed to expressing sentiment. Then he says, in a rather gruff voice, 'she was a good woman'.
He immediately downs the rest of his wine, turning to beckon the closest servant for a refill, and Rhaenys senses he's not going to say anything further on the matter.
But given that she never expected anything of the kind from the man, it's more than enough.
'Princess Rhaenys'.
Her good mood vanishes. Steeling herself, she turns to face Ser Cole, and says coolly, 'yes?'
She notices two things in quick succession. The first is that Ser Cole is standing far too close to her, and the second is that he's clearly indulged a little too much this evening. He appears to be attempting to present himself in an agreeable manner, though he's having little success. Whether that's because of the wine, or simply because he's inept at such things, she can't say.
'Septa Rhaella requests your presence at once'.
Rhaenys' brow lifts. 'Does she indeed?'
Perhaps his assumption that she'll simply believe him comes from thinking she has no idea he's involved in the attempts on her life. Perhaps he simply thinks her stupid.
If Rhaella truly needed her, she would have spoken to one of the Velaryon guards outside her door, who would then send a trusted servant. She would not have spoken to Cole, a man she's been warned is not to be trusted. Nevermind the fact that Cole has not left the hall since the feast began.
His eyes narrow. 'She does. I will escort you'.
'You will do no such thing'. She takes a step away from him, not to give ground, but to force him to move closer if he wishes to press the issue.
A muscle in his jaw tightens, and his expression darkens. 'You would ignore the call of a sister of the Faith?'
Out of the corner of her eye, Rhaenys notes that Borros has acquired a fresh goblet and is heading in her direction. Cole also appears to notice the man's approach, but that doesn't seem to bother him. Rhaenys tilts her head slightly, and says, 'I would trust that said sister is wise enough not to pull a member of the Kingsguard from his duties. I advise you to return to them'.
She turns away from him to greet Borros with a small smile, finding that she's never been so pleased to see the man, only to be stopped in her tracks by a vice like grip on her upper arm. She turns on her heel to stare at Cole, allowing her voice to sharpen as she snaps, 'release me at once'.
Cole's grip only tightens, the last of his facade falling away to reveal that intense, burning dislike. Borros, having reached her side, takes in the grip on her arm, and a scowl appears on his brow. 'What do you think you're doing, Ser? Unhand the Princess this instant'.
He makes no effort to quieten his voice, and several heads turn in their direction. Rhaenys watches Cole's eyes dart to the crowd, and lowers her voice to say, 'think very carefully, Ser Cole. I am not Ser Joffrey. Do not think you will escape justice as you did then'.
Rage twists his handsome face into something ugly. 'He was an abomination', he hisses, 'as is your family, and that witch you brought with you'.
Flemeth appears behind his shoulder, the crowd melting away before her, and her voice is almost jovial when she says, 'you called?'
The dislike in his eyes hardens, loathing made wild by a moment of desperation, and as he turns, a gleam of silver in his left hand catches Rhaenys' eye.
It all happens very quickly.
Cole lashes out, and Flemeth catches his wrist, and twists. He makes a startled, pained sound, the momentum sending him to one knee, and the dagger in his hand clatters to the floor, the sound of metal striking stone ringing out like a confession.
The crowd of onlookers goes very still.
Flemeth stares down at Cole with an almost bored expression. 'I suggest you stay down'.
Cole doesn't listen. Perhaps it's the humiliation of being so easily disarmed by a woman, or an inability to look past his hatred and see sense, that drives him to shake her off with a snarl, and reach for his sword.
The sword is half way out of his scabbard when Flemeth steps forward, and backhands him across the face.
There's an audible crack, and Cole drops like a stone.
He hits the floor with a clang of armour, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle, the skin of his cheek shredded by the metal woven to the back of Flemeth's glove, his face frozen in a final expression of hatred.
Chaos erupts.
It takes some time for order to be restored.
In the time it takes for Viserys to arrive on the scene, and gather his wits enough to order the hall emptied, Rhaenys has already had a discreet word with Daemon, who'd been the first of the family to reach her.
The Hand is currently too busy voicing his outrage to notice Daemon's absence, and by the time he does, it'll be too late. Cole's room will have been secured and searched, and any evidence he was too stupid to destroy will have been found.
With any luck, they'll have definitive proof of Otto's involvement. Even if they don't, his current behaviour will hardly reflect well on him.
'The Queen's sworn shield has been murdered in view of at least a dozen witnesses, Your Grace!' Otto's gaze remains fixed on Flemeth as he speaks, and his delight at his perceived advantage is rather entertaining to Rhaenys.
Flemeth appears to share her opinion, the corner of her mouth quirked as she ignores the man. She's leaning against the closest pillar, one arm folded over her stomach, the other lifted so that she can inspect the blood on the back of her glove. 'I think you'll find those witnesses will tell you I actually prevented a murder here tonight, Lord Hand'.
'What?'
'Ser Cole attempted to kill me,' Rhaenys gestures to the dagger still lying when it fell, 'I was lucky Lady Flemeth intervened when she did'.
'That is a lie!' Alicent's face is wet with tears, her voice edged with a note of hysteria, a woman clinging desperately to a lie she's told herself for so long that she almost believes it's true. 'Ser Cole was an honourable man! He would never commit such a deed!'
Flemeth turns her head slowly to give Alicent a genuinely quizzical look. 'Did he not commit such a crime already? In this very hall?'
Two splotchy blots of colour appear in her cheeks. 'That was different!'
'It was indeed'. Rhaenys keeps her voice even, and her gaze away from her son. 'This time, he faced the consequences'.
Alicent rounds on her, and Rhaenys ignores her outrage to address Viserys, who still appears stunned by the proceedings. 'Your Grace', she says, her voice cool and calm, 'the man attempted to remove me from the hall. When I refused to go with him, he became physical, and insulted our family. Flemeth disarmed him, and warned him not to make matters worse. He did not listen'.
Viserys looks aghast at her words, and there's a part of her that wants to shake him. Cole already had a history of violence, perpetrated in this very hall, and he had ignored her warning that such a man was not suited to the Kingsguard, just as he'd ignored her request for justice.