**The Red Keep - Gardens - 101 AC (Late Summer)**
Rhaenyra Targaryen had learned, over three years of being technically three years old, that one of the most annoying aspects of reincarnation was that everyone assumed you needed supervision.
"Stay where we can see you," her nurse had said, settling onto a bench with the twins' other attendants—a gaggle of women who spent more time gossiping than actually watching their charges.
"Don't wander too far," another had added, already pulling out embroidery.
"Be back before the bells ring," a third contributed, not even looking up.
*Five seconds,* Calypso's ancient, patient consciousness thought from behind Rhaenyra's purple eyes. *I give them five seconds before they completely forget we exist.*
*Three seconds,* Annabeth corrected through their mental link. *Watch.*
Sure enough, within moments the nurses were deep in conversation about some scandal involving a knight and a baker's daughter. The twins, officially "playing nearby," were functionally invisible.
"Should we feel insulted?" Rhaenyra whispered to her sister.
"We should feel grateful," Annara corrected, grey eyes scanning the garden. "This is perfect. Where's Percy?"
*Near the reflecting pool,* Perseon's thoughts filtered through their three-way connection. *Pretending to be fascinated by fish. My nurse thinks I'm 'communing with sea spirits' or some nonsense. I have maybe ten minutes before she remembers I exist.*
*Meet us by the dragon fountain,* Annabeth sent back. *The one with Balerion the Black Dread. It's secluded and the acoustics are good—we'll hear anyone approaching.*
The dragon fountain was a massive bronze sculpture depicting Aegon's Conquest, with Balerion at its center breathing a stream of water instead of fire. It sat in a quiet corner of the gardens, surrounded by high hedges that created natural privacy.
Perfect for three reincarnated souls who needed to have conversations that three-year-olds definitely shouldn't be having.
Rhaenyra and Annara made their way over with the careful nonchalance of children who'd learned not to *look* like they were sneaking away. They walked instead of ran, paused occasionally to examine flowers with exaggerated interest, waved at their nurses to maintain the illusion of visibility.
By the time they reached the fountain, Perseon was already there, dangling one hand in the water and making small whirlpools with absent-minded hydrokinesis.
"Show-off," Annara said, climbing onto the fountain's edge with the careful balance of a three-year-old who was still mastering the whole "center of gravity" thing.
"I'm practicing fine control," Perseon defended, making the whirlpool reverse direction. "If I'm going to fight dragons someday, I need to be able to do more than just make big waves."
"You're not going to fight dragons," Rhaenyra said, settling beside her sister. "Our dragons are on our side, remember?"
"*Our* dragons, yes. But what about the ones that aren't?" Perseon pulled his hand from the water and the whirlpool dissipated. "The Dance involves twenty dragons. We have three. Even if we get all twenty on our side somehow, we need to be able to defend ourselves."
"Worry about that when we're old enough to actually *reach* the dragon saddles," Annara said practically. She pulled out a piece of parchment from the small pouch she'd started carrying—officially for "drawing practice," actually for notes about their plans. "We need to talk about Otto."
"He's still here," Perseon confirmed. "Father says Otto's been visiting the Dragonpit, attending Small Council sessions as an observer, having private meals with Viserys."
"Mother says the same thing," Rhaenyra added, frowning. In three years, her body had grown perhaps two feet—she was still tiny, barely reaching most adults' waists, but at least she could walk without wobbling now. "Otto's made himself indispensable to Viserys in six months. Every time Viserys has a question about governance or history or *anything*, he goes to Otto. It's exactly what we were afraid of."
"And his daughter's here too," Annara said quietly.
Both Rhaenyra and Perseon turned to stare at her.
"What?"
"Alicent Hightower arrived last week with her mother and younger brother. They're staying in the Hightower apartments in the city while Otto 'establishes himself at court.'" Annara's grey eyes were troubled. "I saw her yesterday. Six years old. Pretty in that porcelain doll way—auburn hair, huge brown eyes, perfect courtesies. The kind of child who makes adults say 'what a lovely girl' and mean it."
"Did you talk to her?" Perseon asked.
"No. I just observed." Annara unfolded her parchment—covered in what looked like a child's drawings of dragons and castles, but with notes in the margins in coded language they'd developed. "Here's what we know about Alicent from the books: She's Otto's eldest daughter. Raised to be perfect—dutiful, devout, accomplished. She becomes Rhaenyra's friend, then companion, then Viserys's wife. In the original timeline, she's painted as either a villain or a victim depending on whose perspective you read."
"Was she manipulated by Otto or did she choose her path?" Rhaenyra asked, and there was something complicated in her voice. Three thousand years of imprisonment had taught Calypso what it meant to be used as a political pawn—to have your choices stolen by people who claimed to know better.
"The books never made it entirely clear," Annara admitted. "Some sources suggest Otto coached her to seduce Viserys. Others suggest she genuinely cared for him. The truth is probably somewhere in between—she was young, ambitious, raised to be dutiful, and her father pushed her toward a vulnerable king. Whether she wanted it or was manipulated into wanting it..." She shrugged. "We don't know."
"Then maybe we should find out," Perseon said.
"How?"
"Talk to her. Befriend her. Figure out if she's an enemy in the making or just a kid whose father has terrible plans for her future."
Rhaenyra felt something uncomfortable twist in her chest—the old Rhaenyra's resentment mixing with Calypso's more nuanced understanding of captivity. "You want us to befriend the girl who becomes my stepmother and rival?"
"I want us to befriend a six-year-old who hasn't done anything wrong yet," Perseon corrected gently. "Look, we're trying to prevent the Dance, right? Part of that is preventing the circumstances that cause it. If Alicent marries Viserys and has sons, that's a problem. But if we can get to Alicent *first*—if we can be her friends, her allies, *before* Otto tries to turn her into a political tool—"
"—then maybe we can help her choose a different path," Annara finished, understanding dawning. "If she doesn't marry Viserys, she doesn't have rival sons. No rival sons, no Dance."
"Or at least a very different Dance with different players," Perseon amended. "The political tensions might still exist, but without the specific family dynamics..."
"It changes everything," Rhaenyra said slowly. She looked down at her small hands—three years old, barely out of toddlerhood in this body, but carrying the weight of millennia. "We're talking about deliberately befriending someone to manipulate her future."
"We're talking about giving her *options*," Perseon corrected. "Right now, Alicent's path is probably already decided by her father. Marry well. Secure House Hightower's position. Be dutiful, be perfect, be whatever Otto needs her to be. If we offer her friendship—real friendship, not political maneuvering—we give her something else. Someone else to be."
"That's still manipulation," Rhaenyra said.
"Yes," Perseon agreed. "But it's manipulation toward giving her *choice* instead of manipulation toward taking choice away. There's a difference."
Annara tapped her parchment thoughtfully. "It's also risky. If we befriend her and she still ends up marrying Viserys—which could happen despite our efforts—we'll have given her access to us. To our secrets, potentially. She could use that against us."
"Then we're careful about what we reveal," Perseon said. "We don't tell her about the reincarnation. We don't tell her about the Dance. We just... befriend her. Like normal kids making a normal friend."
"We're not normal kids," Rhaenyra pointed out.
"No. But we can pretend to be. We've been pretending for three years."
A sound from beyond the hedges—footsteps, voices, someone approaching. The three children immediately shifted their postures, Annara tucking away her parchment while Rhaenyra and Perseon arranged themselves to look like they were simply playing with the fountain's water.
Two figures emerged through the gap in the hedges: a woman in the grey and white of House Hightower, tall and elegant with auburn hair going grey at the temples. And beside her, holding her hand with careful courtesy, a little girl.
Alicent Hightower was, as Annara had described, almost aggressively pretty. Auburn hair in perfect ringlets, held back by a silver clasp. Brown eyes that were wide and curious. A dress of green and white that looked expensive but not ostentatious. She moved with the careful grace of a child who'd been taught proper posture and deportment since infancy.
"Oh!" Lady Hightower stopped when she saw the three children. "I'm so sorry, we didn't realize anyone was here. We can find another—"
"No, please," Annara said quickly, hopping down from the fountain's edge with the bouncy enthusiasm of a three-year-old who'd been stuck sitting still. "We don't mind! There's lots of space!"
"Are you certain?" Lady Hightower looked uncertain. "You're Princess Rhaenyra and Princess Annara, aren't you? And Lord Perseon Velaryon? We shouldn't intrude on your play."
"It's not intruding if we invite you," Rhaenyra said, standing up with what she hoped was royal-but-friendly dignity. Three years in this body had taught her that people responded better when you acted like you belonged, even if you were barely three feet tall. "You're Lady Hightower?"
"I am. And this is my daughter, Alicent." She touched the girl's shoulder gently. "Alicent, curtsy to their graces."
Alicent performed a curtsy that was absolutely perfect—deep enough to show respect, held for exactly the right amount of time, executed with the kind of grace that suggested either natural talent or relentless practice. Probably both.
"It's an honor to meet you," Alicent said, her voice soft and carefully modulated. Six years old and already sounding like a miniature courtier. "Your graces are very kind to share your space."
*Oh gods,* Calypso's ancient consciousness thought. *She's been drilled to within an inch of her life. This child has absolutely no spontaneity left.*
*We can work with that,* Annabeth's thoughts countered. *Or rather, we can work to undo that. But carefully.*
"You don't have to be so formal," Annara said, deliberately softening her own posture to appear less princess-like and more childlike. "We're just playing. Do you want to play with us?"
Alicent glanced at her mother, seeking permission. Lady Hightower smiled. "If their graces don't mind, you may. But remember your—"
"She'll remember," Rhaenyra interrupted gently, then looked at Alicent with what she hoped was an encouraging smile. "What do you like to play?"
"I..." Alicent hesitated, like she wasn't sure she was allowed to have preferences. "I like... reading? And sometimes I help my mother with her embroidery?"
*Reading and embroidery,* Perseon observed through their link. *Approved activities. Quiet. Ladylike. Nothing that might be inappropriate for a future bride.*
*So we show her something different,* Annabeth decided.
"Reading's good," Annara said aloud. "I like reading too. But we were actually about to play a game."
"What game?"
"Dragons and riders," Perseon said, improvising quickly. "We take turns being dragons and riders. The riders have to try to catch the dragons, and the dragons have to try to fly away without getting tagged."
It was basically tag with dragon-themed justification. Simple, active, and most importantly—*fun* in a way that didn't require perfect deportment or practiced courtesies.
Alicent looked uncertain. "Mother says running games can be unladylike—"
"Mother says lots of things," a new voice interrupted. Otto Hightower stepped through the hedges with the confidence of someone who knew he was welcome everywhere. His smile was warm, paternal, perfect. "But children should play like children, don't you think? Good afternoon, your graces. I hope my daughter isn't imposing."
"Not at all," Rhaenyra said, and forced herself to smile at the man who would, in another timeline, orchestrate her death. "We were just inviting Lady Alicent to play with us."
"How kind." Otto's eyes swept over the three children with undisguised assessment. These were the king's great-grandchildren—*important* children, children whose friendships would matter. "Alicent would be delighted to join you. Wouldn't you, dear?"
Again that glance seeking permission. "Yes, Father."
"Excellent. My lady wife and I will sit here and enjoy the garden while you play." Otto settled onto a bench with Lady Hightower, positioned where they could see the children but were far enough away not to overhear quiet conversations. "Don't let them monopolize your time, Alicent. You have lessons later."
The girl's face fell slightly. "Yes, Father."
*He's controlling her schedule down to the minute,* Annabeth observed grimly. *No spontaneity. No freedom. Just endless lessons and deportment training.*
*Then we give her freedom,* Perseon decided. *Even if it's just for an hour in a garden.*
"Come on!" He grabbed Alicent's hand with the casual familiarity of a three-year-old who didn't understand proper boundaries yet. "I'll be the dragon first! You and the princesses try to catch me!"
And he ran—not far, because the garden wasn't that large and they were technically still in sight of the adults, but fast enough that Alicent let out a startled laugh as she was pulled along.
*Did she just laugh?* Rhaenyra thought, surprised.
*First genuine emotion we've seen from her,* Annara confirmed. *Keep going.*
The game was simple, silly, and exactly what six-year-old Alicent Hightower apparently needed. At first she played carefully, mindful of her dress and deportment. But as Perseon transformed into an enthusiastic dragon—complete with roaring sounds and dramatic wing-flapping with his arms—and the twins joined in as over-the-top dragon riders, something in Alicent loosened.
She started running faster. Started laughing more freely. When it was her turn to be the dragon, she actually *roared*—a sound that made Lady Hightower look up in surprise, because apparently Alicent making loud sounds was unusual enough to be noteworthy.
They played for perhaps twenty minutes—long enough that all four children were flushed and breathless, their careful hairstyles disheveled, their formal clothes slightly grass-stained.
"Again!" Alicent said, her brown eyes bright with something that might have been happiness. "Can we play again?"
"You have lessons, dear," Lady Hightower reminded gently.
The light in Alicent's eyes dimmed immediately. "Yes, Mother. Of course."
"But we could play another day?" Rhaenyra offered quickly. "We're in the gardens most afternoons. You could find us."
"Could I, Father?" Alicent turned to Otto, and there was something almost desperate in the question—a child asking for permission to have friends, to have fun, to have anything that wasn't another lesson.
Otto's smile didn't waver, but something calculating flickered behind his eyes. The king's great-grandchildren wanted to befriend his daughter. That was... useful. Potentially very useful.
"Of course you may," he said warmly. "Friendships between young ladies of quality are entirely appropriate. In fact, I encourage it. Just mind your lessons and your deportment, and I'm sure we can arrange regular play."
*He's already weaponizing this,* Calypso thought darkly. *Already seeing how he can use her friendship with us.*
*Let him think that,* Annabeth countered. *Let him believe he's controlling this. Meanwhile, we actually become her friend.*
The Hightowers departed with appropriate courtesies—Alicent's curtsy was once again perfect, though now her cheeks were flushed and her hair was messy in a way that made her look more like an actual child instead of a porcelain doll.
"Same time tomorrow?" Alicent asked hopefully as she was led away.
"Same time tomorrow," the three confirmed.
Once the Hightowers were gone and the children were alone again, they regrouped by the fountain.
"Well," Perseon said. "That was interesting."
"She's been trained to within an inch of her life," Annara observed, pulling out her parchment to make notes. "Did you see how she kept checking for permission? From her mother, from her father, from *us*. She's been taught to defer to authority in all circumstances."
"She's six years old and already being groomed to be someone's perfect wife," Rhaenyra said, and there was anger in her voice—Calypso's anger at seeing another woman being shaped and controlled. "Otto's not even being subtle about it. 'Lessons' and 'deportment' and 'ladylike behavior.' He's turning her into a tool."
"Which means we have work to do," Perseon said firmly. "If we can give her something else—friends who don't expect perfection, activities that aren't lessons, permission to just *be*—maybe we can help her develop an identity beyond what Otto's trying to create."
"That's a long-term project," Annara warned. "Years. And there's no guarantee it works. Otto has six years of head start on shaping her. We might not be able to undo that damage."
"We have to try," Rhaenyra said. "Because in the original timeline, she becomes a pawn who destroys everything. If we can't prevent her from being a pawn—at least we can try to give her the tools to *choose* not to be."
They sat in silence for a moment, three ancient souls in children's bodies, contemplating the ethics of befriending someone specifically to change their future.
"This is going to be complicated," Perseon said finally.
"Everything we're doing is complicated," Annara replied. "This is just one more complication."
"At least it's a complication that involves making a friend," Rhaenyra added. "That's better than most of our plans, which involve political manipulation and preventing deaths."
"Our standards have gotten very low," Perseon observed.
"Our standards are survival," Annara corrected. "Everything else is just tactics."
---
**The Red Keep - Gardens - One Week Later**
Alicent Hightower had discovered something wonderful: Princess Rhaenyra and Princess Annara were *weird*.
Not bad weird. Not scary weird. Just... different from any other children she'd ever met.
They didn't care about perfect curtsies. They laughed too loud. They asked questions that made adults uncomfortable. And most shockingly of all—they didn't seem to care what anyone thought about them.
"But Mother says ladies shouldn't climb trees," Alicent protested, looking up at where Annara had somehow gotten halfway up an oak tree despite being three years younger and significantly smaller.
"Your mother isn't here," Annara called down, her grey eyes sparkling with mischief. "And I'm not going to tell her if you don't. Come on, it's fun!"
"I've never climbed a tree before—"
"Then today's a good day to start!" Rhaenyra was already at the tree's base, evaluating handholds with the critical eye of someone who'd been climbing since before she could walk properly. "Here, I'll boost you up to the first branch. After that it's easy."
"What if I fall?"
"Then Perseon will catch you with water," Annara said cheerfully.
Alicent looked over at the young lord, who was sitting by the reflecting pool and making improbable shapes with the water—nothing overt enough to get him in trouble for sorcery, but impressive enough that it was clearly *something*.
"I can catch," Perseon confirmed, making the water form into what looked like a cushion. "Or at least break your fall. Probably. I mean, I've never actually caught a falling person before, but I'm good with water and you're pretty small, so—"
"That's not reassuring!" Alicent said, but she was laughing despite herself.
"Life's not reassuring," Rhaenyra said philosophically—which was a very strange thing to hear from a three-year-old. "Come on. Just one branch. If you hate it, you can climb down."
Alicent looked at the tree. Then at the three children who were watching her with expectant faces. Then at the tree again.
*Father would be horrified.*
That thought, more than anything else, made her decision.
"Okay," she said. "One branch."
The climb was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. Her hands didn't know where to grip. Her feet slipped twice. Her dress caught on bark. By the time she pulled herself onto the first solid branch, her heart was pounding and her palms were scraped and she felt *alive* in a way she never did during embroidery lessons.
"I did it!" she said, breathless and amazed.
"You did!" Rhaenyra climbed up beside her with the ease of someone who'd been doing this for years—or perhaps for three thousand years, though Alicent had no way to know that. "See? Not so scary."
"It's terrifying," Alicent corrected, clutching the branch with white-knuckled grip. "But also... nice? I can see the whole garden from here."
"Wait until you get higher," Annara said from above. "The view gets even better."
"I'm not going higher!"
"Not today, maybe. But eventually." The younger princess grinned. "We'll make an adventurer of you yet, Lady Alicent."
They sat in the tree for perhaps ten minutes—Alicent on the lowest branch because she wasn't ready for more, the twins higher up but still close enough to talk. Perseon stayed on the ground, making water sculptures that occasionally made them all laugh.
"Can I ask you something?" Alicent said finally, looking down at Rhaenyra.
"Sure."
"Why are you being so nice to me?"
Rhaenyra paused, considering her answer carefully. Because the truth—*we're being nice to you so we can prevent a civil war by changing your future*—was not age-appropriate for a six-year-old.
"Because you seemed like you needed friends," she said instead, which was also true. "And because we like you."
"But I'm nobody," Alicent said quietly. "I mean—I'm Otto Hightower's daughter. That's *something*. But you're princesses. Lord Perseon is the Sea Snake's son. You could be friends with anyone. Why me?"
*Because in another timeline you marry my father and we become stepsisters and rivals and you have me killed,* Rhaenyra didn't say. *Because we need to prevent that timeline and this seemed like the best place to start.*
"Because we *wanted* to be friends with you," she said instead. "Does there need to be another reason?"
Alicent looked uncertain. "Mother says everything has reasons. Political reasons. Social reasons. People don't do things just because they want to."
"That's sad," Annara observed from above. "People should do things because they want to more often."
"But—"
"But nothing," Rhaenyra interrupted gently. "Look, we can't speak for other people. Maybe other friendships are political. Maybe other six-year-olds are making strategic alliances." She grinned. "But we just wanted to play with someone who seemed nice. And you seemed nice. That's really all there is to it."
It wasn't, of course. But it was true enough to pass for truth—they *did* think Alicent was nice, even if that wasn't the only reason they were befriending her.
"Oh," Alicent said, and something in her expression softened. "That's... thank you. I've never really had friends before. Father says it's important to have *connections*, but friends are different than connections, aren't they?"
"Very different," Perseon called up from the ground. "Connections are political. Friends are people you actually like spending time with."
"I like spending time with you," Alicent said shyly. "Is that okay?"
"It's perfect," the three said in unison—which made Alicent laugh, because apparently unison responses were funny when you weren't used to them.
---
**The Red Keep - Great Hall - Dinner That Evening**
Otto Hightower sat at the high table, positioned close to Prince Viserys and King Jaehaerys, and watched his daughter across the hall.
Alicent sat with the royal children—the twins and young Perseon Velaryon, along with Laenor and Laena who'd joined them. She was laughing at something Princess Annara said, her usually perfect posture slightly relaxed, her formal mask slipping to show genuine happiness.
"Your daughter seems to be settling in well," Viserys observed, following Otto's gaze.
"She is," Otto agreed. "The princess—princesses, rather—have been very kind to her. It means a great deal."
"Rhaenyra and Annara are good children," Viserys said with paternal pride. "Unusual, yes. Advanced beyond their years. But good-hearted. I'm glad they've taken to Lady Alicent."
*Advanced beyond their years* was putting it mildly, Otto thought. The twins were *strange*—reading at levels that made maesters question their reports, speaking with vocabularies that three-year-olds shouldn't possess, demonstrating understanding of politics and history that bordered on prescient.
And young Perseon was somehow stranger still. The boy did things with water that shouldn't be possible—Otto had seen him make a fountain flow *backward* once, when he thought no one was looking. Claimed it was a "blessing from sea gods," which everyone accepted because Valyrians had always been touched by magic.
But these three children befriending his daughter—that was *useful*.
"I hope the friendship continues," Otto said carefully. "Alicent could use companions her age. And connections to the royal family are always valuable."
"Connections," Viserys repeated, and something in his tone made Otto glance over. "Is that what you see, Otto? Connections?"
"I see children being children," Otto said smoothly. "Though of course, friendships formed young often last into adulthood. And who knows? Perhaps Lady Alicent and the princesses will remain close as they grow. That would benefit both houses."
Viserys nodded, apparently satisfied with that answer. He was a good man, Otto thought. Kind, trusting, perhaps a bit naive. Easy to guide, if one did so carefully.
And if Alicent could become *truly* close to the royal children—if she could become indispensable to them, trusted by them, positioned as their friend and confidant—
Well. That would make certain future plans significantly easier.
Otto smiled and returned his attention to his meal, already calculating timelines and opportunities.
---
**The Red Keep - Nursery - That Night**
"He's already planning something," Rhaenyra said, pacing the room with the nervous energy of someone whose body was three but whose mind was ancient and paranoid. "Did you see how he watched us at dinner? That wasn't 'happy father watching daughter make friends.' That was 'ambitious lord seeing opportunity.'"
"Of course he's planning something," Annara said from where she sat cross-legged on her bed, a book in her lap. At three, she still needed help with some of the more complex words, but she was getting better daily. "Otto's always planning something. The question is whether Alicent knows she's part of his plans."
"She doesn't," Perseon said with certainty. He was sitting by the window, one hand dangling in a basin of water—he claimed it helped him think, and nobody questioned it anymore. "She's six. She thinks her father just wants her to be happy and proper and educated. She has no idea he's grooming her to be someone's queen."
"Can we save her from that?" Rhaenyra asked. "Really save her? Or are we just delaying the inevitable?"
"Nothing's inevitable," Annara said firmly, closing her book. "That's the whole point of what we're doing. The Dance isn't inevitable. Aemma's death isn't inevitable. Alicent becoming Viserys's wife isn't inevitable. We have *agency*. We can change things."
"But what if we make things worse?" Rhaenyra stopped pacing and sat down heavily on her own bed. "What if by befriending Alicent, we just give Otto better access to us? What if we accidentally teach her skills she uses *against* us later?"
"Then we deal with it," Perseon said. "But I don't think that's going to happen. Not if we do this right."
"How do we do it right?"
"We give her options," Annara said. "Real options. Right now, her entire life is 'be perfect, marry well, produce heirs.' That's all she knows. But if we can show her other possibilities—education, independence, *choice*—maybe she develops different aspirations."
"Like what?" Rhaenyra asked. "She's six. In ten years she'll be sixteen, which is marrying age. Even if we convince her she doesn't want to be queen, Otto will still push her at whoever he thinks serves House Hightower best."
"Unless she's unmarriageable by then," Perseon said thoughtfully.
Both twins turned to stare at him.
"You want to make her unmarriageable?" Annara asked carefully.
"Not *unmarriageable*," Perseon corrected. "Just... committed to something else. What if, by the time she's sixteen, she's already chosen a different path? Became a septa, or a maester—wait, can women be maesters?"
"No."
"Fine, not a maester. But something that makes marriage to a king politically impossible or practically difficult."
"That's a long-term plan," Rhaenyra said slowly. "And it requires Alicent actually *wanting* something other than what her father wants for her. Which means we need to help her discover who she is beyond being Otto's daughter."
"So we keep befriending her," Annara concluded. "We show her different ways to be. Different possibilities. Different options. And we hope that by the time Otto tries to push her at Viserys, she has enough sense of self to push back."
"That's a lot of hoping," Perseon observed.
"It's what we've got," Annara replied. "Unless you have a better plan?"
"No," he admitted. "This is the best we can do right now."
They sat in silence for a moment, three children contemplating the ethics and practicality of trying to save someone from a fate she didn't know was coming.
"I like her," Rhaenyra said finally. "That makes this harder. If she was awful—if she was obviously evil or manipulative or cruel—this would be easier. But she's just... a kid. A nice kid who's been shaped by terrible parenting and doesn't know there are other options."
"That's why we're doing this," Annara reminded her. "Because she deserves options. Because everyone deserves options."
"Even people who might become our enemies?"
"*Especially* people who might become our enemies," Perseon said firmly. "Because the best way to eliminate an enemy is to turn them into a friend. And if we can do that while also giving a six-year-old girl a chance at a better life—that's worth the risk."
Rhaenyra nodded slowly. "Okay. We keep befriending her. We give her options. We help her develop independence. And we hope it's enough."
"It'll have to be," Annara said. "Because we're three years old with the memories of heroes, and this is the best plan we've got."
Their dragons—Syrax, Brightfire, and Typhōnas, now large enough to fill most of a room—chirped agreement from their positions around the nursery. They'd been listening to the conversation with the attention that marked these three dragons as different from all others.
*My rider worries,* Syrax observed through the bond she shared with Rhaenyra.
*All our riders worry,* Brightfire agreed. *They carry heavy thoughts.*
*We carry them,* Typhōnas said simply. *When heavy thoughts become too heavy, we carry our riders. That is what bonded-ones do.*
And in the strange way that dragons understood things humans didn't, the three knew that their riders were trying to prevent something terrible. They didn't understand *what* exactly—dragon minds didn't work that way—but they knew it was important.
So they would stay close. Would guard. Would grow strong.
And when the time came—whatever time that was—they would carry their riders through whatever storm was coming.
Together. Always together.
As it should be.
---
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