89 AC. The Red Keep
The next afternoon, the midday sun generously bathed the spacious terrace of the South Tower in light, where Princess Viserra had settled into a wicker chair with a small bowl of ripe cherries. The breeze from the bay brought the salty scent of the sea and the cries of gulls, but here, at this height, a relative peace reigned. Ser Ryam Redwyne, as usual, stood guard at the entrance to the terrace, frozen like a silent white sentinel whose presence had almost ceased to irritate the princess, having turned into an inevitable element of her daily life.
Viserra recognized Rhaenys's footsteps at once - they were quick, light, and accompanied by the distinctive rustle of the fine silk of her favorite dress. The King's granddaughter stepped onto the terrace with a beaming face, clearly pleased that she had managed to escape the endless lessons of history and etiquette with which the septas tormented her.
"I see you are enjoying your solitude," Rhaenys said cheerfully, dropping into an adjacent chair without invitation and unceremoniously reaching her hand into the bowl of cherries. "As for me, I barely survived last night's supper. Mother was more determined than ever. If I didn't know her so well, I would have thought she was going to announce my betrothal right between the courses of roasted boar and lemon cake."
Viserra set aside a cherry pit and looked intently at her niece. Yesterday's conversation with Corlys was still turning over in her mind, and she was looking for the right moment to broach the difficult subject they had discussed beneath the weirwood tree.
"And who topped her list of favorites this time?" Viserra asked with mild interest. "Could it be one of the wealthy lords of the Reach or the grim Northmen?"
"Worse," Rhaenys made an amused grimace, swallowing a berry. "This time, she and Father were seriously discussing Lord Tymond Lannister. Mother spent a solid hour singing the praises of the riches of Casterly Rock, their gold mines, and how this alliance would bind the Westerlands unbreakably to the crown. Father merely nodded in agreement, though I could see his thoughts were entirely occupied by the latest reports from the Stepstones, where the pirates have begun growing bold again. I told them I would sooner fly Meleys across the Narrow Sea than become the wife of a man whose greatest virtues are mountains of gold beneath his feet and a self-importance that rises higher than the Hightower."
"I imagine the fact that he is thirty and was once considered a suitor for Daella also played a part in your judgment," Viserra said with a faint smile, but her face quickly turned serious. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and lowered her voice, even though Ser Ryam stood far enough away not to overhear their whispers.
"Rhaenys, this is all jests, but you must understand that time is passing. Your father is the heir to the throne, and you are his only child. The King, my father, will not tolerate your refusals forever. To him, your marriage is a matter of the stability of the entire realm after his passing. He is terrified that if you do not have a strong, lawful husband whose claim cannot be questioned by the lords, the realm will erupt into war the moment the Iron Throne becomes vacant."
Rhaenys sighed, her cheerfulness evaporating instantly. She leaned back in her chair, gazing out at the distant masts of the ships in the harbor.
"I know it, Viserra. Better than anyone. Mother reminds me of it often. But what can I do when all these lords see me not as a person, nor as a dragonrider, but merely as the key to the Iron Throne? They wish to rule in my name, to take what is rightfully mine. I refuse to be a mere pawn in their game."
"And what if the husband you choose does not try to take your power? What if he becomes your shield, secures your rights, and yet allows you to rule as you see fit?" Viserra paused, closely watching her niece's reaction. "Yesterday in the godswood, Corlys and I spoke at length about your position. And he gave me an idea that seemed pure folly at first, but the more I think on it, the more fitting it appears."
Rhaenys turned her head to her aunt, her eyes narrowing in surprise and awakening curiosity.
"Lord Velaryon is pondering my marriage? How very kind of him. And whom does our great mariner intend for my husband? Not some magister from Essos, I hope?"
"No," Viserra replied, looking her firmly in the eyes. "He believes you should marry Viserys."
Silence fell over the terrace. Only the wind could be heard rustling the hem of Rhaenys's gown. The King's granddaughter stared at Viserra as if she had spoken in an unknown language.
"Viserys?" Rhaenys repeated, genuine astonishment in her voice. "Uncle Baelon's son? But... Viserra, he is still a mere... boy?!" she finished uncertainly, at a loss for how to describe her cousin. "He is three full years younger than I! He spends more time in the kitchens begging the cooks for sweet cakes than in the training yard!"
"Now, yes," Viserra countered calmly and weightily, employing Corlys's arguments. "But three years is nothing for a dynastic marriage. You are fifteen, he is twelve. Several more years will pass before any potential wedding. In that time, he will grow up. Viserys is a Targaryen, a grandson of the King through the male line. If you marry him, your union will unite the two strongest branches of our house - your father Aemon's line and your uncle Baelon's line."
Viserra rose from her seat and took a few steps across the terrace, her voice even and persuasive:
"Think about it, Rhaenys. Who are your chief potential rivals in the future? My brother Baelon - the Spring Prince, the darling of the smallfolk and the knights. And his sons, Viserys and Daemon. If you ascend the throne alone, any lord dissatisfied with your rule, any rebel or old traditionalist will immediately turn their eyes toward Baelon's sons. They will say a man should sit upon the Iron Throne, and they will try to use them against you. It is a common occurrence in history, Rhaenys, such things have happened many times over. But if Viserys becomes your husband and Prince Consort, that threat vanishes on its own. Your children will be heirs to both branches, and not a single man in the Seven Kingdoms will be able to claim their rights are unlawful. My father, the King, will be overjoyed to bless such a union, for it guarantees that the House of the Dragon will not fracture from within."
Rhaenys listened to Viserra, and her expression gradually shifted. Her initial skepticism gave way to deep contemplation. She was too intelligent not to grasp the potential of such a decision. She lowered her gaze to her hands, weighing the idea Viserra had put forth.
"Unite the lines..." Rhaenys murmured softly. "It would indeed strip my enemies of their greatest weapon. But Viserra, Viserys's nature... you know him. He is good-natured, easygoing, but he lacks the qualities my husband must possess as my closest counselor."
"That is precisely where your greatest advantage lies!" Viserra returned to her chair and leaned toward her niece. "Corlys noted what others fail to see beneath his amiability. Viserys is a mild, yielding man. He loves comfort, feasts, books, and a peaceful life. He possesses none of those destructive ambitions that would drive him to contend with you for real power. Even his younger brother has more ambition, despite his tender age. Viserys will gladly accept the role of your loyal co-ruler, husband, and protector, but the reins of the realm he will willingly and without regret leave in your hands. You will never have trouble with a husband who tries to claim your throne or dictate his will to you. You will remain the true Queen, and he will become your steadfast support, whom the entire court will accept due to his birth and kindly disposition. Furthermore, he has yet to claim a dragon of his own, while you already ride Meleys. Your supremacy will be obvious and unquestionable from the very start."
Rhaenys fell silent for a long while, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon where the azure sky met the dark waters of the bay. Viserra could see the intense work occurring in her niece's mind: her previous girlish dreams of gallant knights were crumbling, replaced by the stark, pragmatic reality she would require for her future reign.
At length, Rhaenys drew a deep breath and turned to her aunt. A faint but genuine smile appeared on her lips, carrying a sense of profound respect.
"Your Sea Snake... he truly possesses the mind that allowed him to rise so high. His plan is good. This solution will spare me from having to wed some arrogant Lord Lannister or Hightower, while preserving my freedom and power. I... I shall certainly speak with Father. Gently, when the opportunity arises, I will hint at this notion. I think he too will appreciate its worth and discuss it with Grandfather. Thank you, Viserra. And pass along my gratitude to your suitor. He has done me a service I shall not forget."
Viserra relaxed, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from her soul. It had been vital to her to help Rhaenys.
"I am glad you heard me, Rhaenys, and that I was able to help you," the princess said softly. "Corlys truly cares about the future that concerns both of us. And, by the way, speaking of him... I have another piece of news. Yesterday he informed me that his lady mother, Alyce, arrives here in King's Landing in a few days to visit her sons."
Rhaenys animated instantly, her eyes flashing mischievously once more, restoring her usual spirited look. She leaned forward, nearly dropping the bowl of cherries.
"Lady Alyce? The Lady of Driftmark herself is coming to the capital? Oh, Viserra, that can only mean one thing!" Rhaenys gave her aunt a conspiratorial wink. "Your Corlys has decided it is time to present his proud princess to his mother. It will be an unforgettable sight. Prepare yourself, dear aunt, for meeting a future mother-in-law is a trial before which even Grandfather's stern glances might pale! Corlys must have had quite some amusement informing you of this yesterday."
Viserra drew herself up proudly, though a flush once again betrayed her inner agitation.
"I am the daughter of Jaehaerys Targaryen, Rhaenys. And I shall find a way to charm Lady Velaryon, no matter how strict her rules may be. Let her come, I am ready."
They both laughed softly, and the laughter, carried away by the sea wind beyond the terrace, dispelled the last remnants of gravity. A turbulent future lay ahead of them, full of intrigue, marriages, and power struggles, but on this afternoon, sitting on the sun-drenched terrace, the two princesses of the House of the Dragon stood united, ready to face any storm hand in hand.
89 AC. King's Landing
The clamor of the capital's harbor had always possessed a peculiar, chaotic allure. Here, by the River Gate, the air was thick not only with the familiar dampness of the city, but with the sharp scents of tar, salted fish, rotting timber, and spices brought from beyond the Narrow Sea. Dozens of vessels from every corner of the known world lined the wooden wharves in uneven rows, bobbing upon the dark waves of Blackwater Bay. The shouts of stevedores, the neighing of dray horses, the swearing of sailors in a dozen different tongues, and the piercing cries of gulls merged into a single din that never truly subsided.
Lord Corlys Velaryon stood at the very edge of the stone pier, his hands clasped behind his back. His doublet of deep blue, fastened with silver buttons, and his heavy cloak, embroidered with seahorses, billowed slightly in the gusts of a cool wind. The silver-white hair that betrayed his Valyrian blood was neatly bound, and the gaze of his purple eyes remained fixed on the distance, where the silhouette of a two-decked galley beneath the turquoise sails of House Velaryon had appeared on the horizon. The ship came on confidently, cutting easily through the waves and standing out starkly against the lumbering merchant cogs with her graceful architecture and swift speed.
Beside Corlys, his younger brother, Daeron, shifted from foot to foot. Unlike the reserved Master of Ships, who was well-accustomed to ocean storms, Daeron felt less at ease amidst the harbor's commotion. His fine doublet of thick green cloth seemed overly festive for the grime-stained planks of the wharf, and his hand went mechanically, now and again, to the hilt of his shortsword. Behind them, seven Velaryon guardsmen stood like a solid wall in scale armor and half-helmets, their turquoise cloaks drawing the eyes of rare passersby and compelling the port's rabble to keep a respectful distance.
"She comes on under full sail," Daeron said quietly, squinting against the bright glare upon the water. "Mother never favored wasting time in transit. Though, truth be told, until the last moment I thought she would refuse this journey. Driftmark is beautiful at present, and King's Landing at this time of year smells... well, you know how."
"Mother never makes decisions on a passing whim, Daeron," Corlys replied calmly, without turning his head. "If she has chosen to leave High Tide and come to the capital, it means she has weightier reasons for it. And for some reason, I suspect those reasons are perfectly well-known to you. One could fashion a veritable chronicle of courtly life from your recent letters to her."
Daeron cleared his throat slightly and looked away, attempting to appear innocent, though the faint color rising to his cheekbones betrayed him completely. He knew that Corlys rarely displayed displeasure openly, but his brother's shrewdness was ever a dangerous weapon.
Meanwhile, the galley named Sea Maiden smoothly approached her designated berth. The sailors deftly cast the thick mooring ropes, which were instantly caught by the harbor hands and secured to massive iron bollards. The ship came to a halt, rocking gently beside the wooden decking, and with a dull thud, the crew lowered the wide wooden gangplank, lined with thick cloth for the comfort of noble passengers.
First to descend to the shore were four heavily armed knights of Driftmark. Silver gleamed dully upon their breastplates, and the longswords in their sheaths bore witness that Lady Velaryon's guard had been chosen with meticulous care. Following them, Lady Alyce herself appeared upon the gangplank. In the elegant maturity of her one-and-forty years, Corlys's mother held herself with a proud, straight posture and that innate grace distinguishing true daughters of ancient Valyrian houses. Her gown of heavy sea-green brocade was adorned with fine pearl embroidery along the collar and sleeves, and a light silk veil, held by a silver circlet, covered her head. Her eyes, as piercing as those of her eldest son, instantly found the figures of the brothers among the waiting crowd.
Corlys took a long stride forward, extending his hand to help his mother step onto the stone pier. Daeron hastened to follow, endeavoring to maintain a slightly more formal bearing.
"Welcome to King's Landing, mother," Corlys said, bowing his head respectfully and kissing Lady Alyce's extended hand. "I trust the sea was kind to you during your voyage from Driftmark."
"The sea is ever kind to Velaryons, my dear Corlys," Lady Alyce replied, a warm, genuine smile softening her stern countenance. She inspected her eldest son thoroughly, as if checking whether the grueling cares of state had taken their toll on him. "I am glad to find you in good health. You have grown to look even more solemn, if such a thing is possible for the Master of Ships."
"Mother!" Daeron stepped forward and enveloped Lady Alyce in a brief but firm embrace. "You look as though those days of travel never happened. The capital's air will surely grow cleaner with your arrival."
"Ah, Daeron, your silver tongue outpaces your deeds as always," Lady Alyce remarked with light, gentle irony, tapping her younger son's cheek as she regarded him with a smile. "Your letters were so thorough that I felt as though I had spent these past months at King Jaehaerys's court myself. Though, I must confess, certain details required personal clarification."
She cast a brief, meaningful glance at Corlys, who remained entirely unruffled, merely arching an eyebrow.
"We should not linger here upon the wharf," Corlys smoothly redirected the conversation. "The wheelhouse is already waiting at the gates, and the bustle of the harbor is no place for protracted greetings. Your chests will be brought to the manse shortly under secure guard."
Ser Adam, the Lord Commander of their household guard, nodded, issuing orders to his men, and the small procession made its way toward the exit of the harbor zone. Lady Alyce's knights mingled with Corlys's guardsmen, forming a secure ring around the lords and lady. By the River Gate, a spacious, enclosed wheelhouse drawn by a team of four horses did indeed await them. Upon the doors of the carriage was an intricately carved seahorse, painted in silver.
Once they were seated inside, and the wheelhouse rumbled to a start over the cobbled streets, heading toward Visenya's Hill where Corlys's capital manse was situated, Lady Alyce leaned back against the soft velvet cushions and sighed.
"The city has not changed a whit," she observed, peering through the small window at the timber and stone facades of the houses passing by. "The same din, the same throngs of people, and that same foul stench that seems to bake into the very stones. How do you endure it after the open expanses of Driftmark?"
"Service to the realm demands sacrifices, mother," he replied with a faint smile. "Besides, I spend the greater part of my time at the shipyards or in the Small Council, where my thoughts are occupied by the fleet rather than the city's woes. My manse sits high enough that the sea breeze manages to dispel the stifling air, and I have placed several charms around the grounds of the manse to keep the air cleaner."
"And that is true, mother," Daeron chimed in. "Our manse is a true sanctuary. It features a beautiful garden, and from there one can look out over the bay, which almost makes you forget that you are in what is currently the most populous city in the Seven Kingdoms."
The conversation flowed leisurely, touching upon minor tidings from High Tide, grain prices, and the health of House Velaryon's old friends. Corlys listened attentively, occasionally interjecting, but within him grew the certainty that the true conversation was yet to come. Mother had not traveled here merely to complain of the capital's stench or to discuss Driftmark.
After a time, the wheelhouse turned into a quiet, guarded lane and passed through massive iron gates into the inner courtyard of the Master of Ships' residence. A well-tended garden encircled the house, where a pleasant coolness reigned among the neatly trimmed hedges and ornamental trees.
No sooner had the servants lowered the carriage step to assist Lady Alyce to the ground than a massive black shadow glided silently from the open doors of the main entrance. It was Ares. The panther moved with an inimitable, terrifying grace, his powerful paws treading upon the stone flags entirely without sound. Muscles rippled beneath his glossy, black coat, and his amber eyes burned with a vivid, wild fire.
Ignoring the men, Ares padded straight toward Lady Alyce. The predator halted two paces from her, lowered his great head, and let out a low, guttural rumble that from any other beast would have sounded like a menacing growl, but now expressed the utmost feline contentment.
Lord Velaryon watched this with a faint smile, while Lady Alyce, showing not a flicker of fear, took a step toward the panther. She confidently placed her slender palm upon the beast's broad, massive head. Ares squeezed his amber eyes shut at once and leaned forward, with obvious pleasure offering his powerful neck and the spot behind his ears to her fingers.
"Fancy that, he remembers me," Lady Alyce said softly, a tenderness in her voice as her fingers combed through the thick black fur. The predator tilted his head slightly, offering the other side to her touch, and began to purr softly and deeply, flicking the tip of his long tail. "It seems capital life has not spoiled his wild nature, since he still recognizes those who used to feed him on Driftmark."
"Ares has an excellent memory for those who were kind to him, mother," Corlys remarked, drawing closer and offering his arm to escort her inside. "And he remembers perfectly well who shielded him from Grandfather's wrath when he knocked over that costly Myrish vase in the Great Hall of High Tide."
"Oh, I remember that day," Daeron said with a chuckle, following behind them. "Grandfather promised to turn him into a rug for his solar back then. Who knew this cub would grow into such a monster."
"A monster?" Lady Alyce affectionately patted the panther's scruff before withdrawing her hand. Ares opened one eye in displeasure but remained seated, lazily observing the humans. "What nonsense. I remember perfectly well how tiny and helpless he was when you, Corlys, brought him to Driftmark from your first great voyage to Essos. He fit inside a small wicker basket, constantly hissing, scratching, and refusing to eat. I had to personally ensure the servants warmed milk for him and cut his meat into the smallest morsels. And now look at him - look how he has grown."
They entered the cool vestibule of the manse, where the steward greeted them with a low bow. Lady Alyce requested a little time to refresh herself after the journey, after which the family gathered in the small dining hall on the second floor. The windows of this chamber offered a magnificent view of the bay sprawling below.
The midday meal was lavish in the Velaryon fashion yet restrained: servants offered fish baked in herbs, fresh oysters delivered from the coast at early dawn, tender spring lamb, and an abundance of greens. A light, chilled wine from Driftmark was also served, a perfect match for the midday heat.
Throughout the meal, Lady Alyce behaved as an ordinary guest, questioning Daeron about his successes in managing the house's city affairs and his acquaintances at court. However, as soon as the servants cleared the main courses, leaving only fruit and wine upon the table, the atmosphere in the hall shifted. Lady Alyce took a sip of her wine, set her silver goblet carefully upon the table, and turned her searching gaze upon her eldest son.
"And now, Corlys, let us speak of matters weightier than harbor taxes and the building of new ships," she said, her voice taking on that unyielding firmness that could silence even the most stubborn servants. "Daeron proved quite talkative in his letters. He mentioned a certain detail that compelled me to cross Blackwater Bay much swifter than I had intended."
Corlys met his mother's gaze evenly, reaching out to take a ripe plum from the bowl.
"Daeron has been cursed with an overactive imagination and a passion for exaggeration," he replied to his mother in an even tone. "May I inquire as to which detail we are speaking of?"
"Do not try to evade me, my boy," Lady Alyce said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "We are speaking of Princess Viserra Targaryen. My younger son writes that you spend a suspiciously large amount of time with her, that your meetings in the Red Keep's godswood have become regular, and that an understanding exists between you that goes far beyond a casual acquaintance."
At that moment, Daeron suddenly took an immense interest in his plate of grapes, careful to look at neither his brother nor his mother.
"I am glad, deeply glad, that you have finally shown a serious interest in a woman, Corlys," Lady Alyce continued, a hint of slight resentment tingeing her voice. "Princess Viserra is the King's own daughter, one of the most coveted maidens in all of Westeros, a clever and proud girl. An alliance with her would be a great honor and a tremendous triumph for our House. Yet another matter distresses and wounds me deeply. Two moons ago, you sailed home to Driftmark. You spent nearly a week there, inspecting the shipyards that are building new warships for the royal fleet. We supped together every evening. And in all that time, you spoke not a single word to me of the princess. Why must your mother learn of such monumental changes in her eldest son's life from the letters of his younger brother?"
Corlys set the fruit aside, his countenance remaining grave and composed. He understood his mother's feelings, but his nature did not allow him to be swayed by emotion or to rush events.
"Mother, I had no intention of hiding anything of import from you," he answered, his voice steady and persuasive. "But two moons ago, when I was on Driftmark, there was nothing substantial between Princess Viserra and myself. Our acquaintance was only just beginning. We met at formal feasts and exchanged polite conversations that bound us to nothing. You know passing well how the royal court functions: a mere rumor, an incautious word, and the princess's honor could be compromised, and our relations nipped in the bud by the King or Queen. I had no wish to feed the court gossips, nor did I wish to raise your hopes prematurely until I was certain of Viserra's own feelings and the earnestness of her intentions."
Lady Alyce listened closely to his explanation. Her anger, if indeed she had felt any, subsided, giving way to a profound maternal understanding. She reached across the table and gently touched Corlys's hand.
"You have ever been too pragmatic, Corlys. You think like a strategist, calculating every step. In politics, it is a priceless quality, but in matters of the heart, one must occasionally be a little more open. I am not merely a lady thinking of the advantages of an alliance. I am your mother. I wish to see you happy. You spent the best years of your youth in perilous voyages to the ends of the earth, risking your life for the glory and wealth of our House. I have not forgotten how anxious I was when you told your grandfather and me that you had visited the ruins of Valyria. You have achieved everything one could dream of - you have become the wealthiest man in the Seven Kingdoms, the Master of Ships, and your vessels are known across the world. But wealth and ships will not keep you warm in your old age, Corlys. They will not continue your line. I want to see your children, to know that High Tide will pass into the secure hands of your heirs, in whose veins great blood will flow. And if Princess Viserra is the one who has kindled a fire in your heart, I shall do everything in my power to see this union brought to pass."
Corlys lightly squeezed his mother's fingers in return. It was a rare display of personal emotion, which he usually kept locked deep within himself.
"Thank you, mother," he said softly. "Your support means much to me. And… you are right. Our relations with the princess have progressed much further now. I can see that she shares my feelings."
"Of course she does, the girl never stood a chance against that charm of yours," Lady Alyce said, pride ringing in her voice.
Daeron, satisfied that the storm had passed and his brother had no intention of calling him to a duel for his loose tongue, breathed a sigh of relief and raised his goblet.
"Well, since all has been made clear, I propose a toast - to a Targaryen princess joining the ranks of Velaryon brides!"
They were interrupted by a quiet but persistent knock at the dining hall door. With Corlys's leave, the steward of the manse entered the room, bearing a sealed scroll of thick parchment upon a small silver tray.
"Forgive the intrusion, my lord, my lady," the servant said respectfully, bowing. "A rider has arrived at the gates. He delivered this message directly for Lady Alyce Velaryon from Her Grace, Queen Alysanne."
Lady Alyce raised her eyebrows in surprise, took the scroll, and broke the heavy seal of red wax. Her eyes swept quickly over the lines written in an elegant, firm hand, and a knowing smile touched her lips.
"It seems rumors in the Red Keep fly swifter than the fleetest of your ships, Corlys," she said, setting the parchment aside. "Queen Alysanne welcomes me to the capital and invites me to sup in her private chambers this very evening, as soon as I have had time to rest from my journey. She writes that she would be glad to renew our old acquaintance and speak intimately upon her terrace."
Corlys narrowed his eyes slightly, considering the news.
"The Queen rarely extends an invitation with such haste, without granting a guest even a day's respite. It means the matter to be discussed is a grave one. Mother, you truly must rest. This evening, I shall escort you to the Red Keep myself, along with our guard."
As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, painting the sky over King's Landing in shades of gold and orange, the small procession of House Velaryon departed the manse on Visenya's Hill. This time, Corlys rode a magnificent white stallion beside his mother's wheelhouse, while Daeron remained behind to oversee affairs at the residence. Ten guardsmen in ceremonial armor formed an escort of honor, their polished weapons catching the final rays of the dying day.
They easily made the ascent up Aegon's Hill and passed through the massive gates into the courtyard of the Red Keep. There, in the inner yard, they were met by the Queen's servants and a young knight of the Kingsguard, Ser Harrold Westerling, clad in shining white plate armor. Corlys dismounted, helped his mother from the wheelhouse, and escorted her to the entrance of the royal apartments, where by protocol he was to leave her.
"Be careful, mother," he whispered softly in farewell. "Queen Alysanne is kind and wise, but above all else, she protects the interests of the crown and her husband."
"Do not try to teach your mother how to swim, my dear," Lady Alyce replied with a faint, barely perceptible smile, adjusting her veil. "I have known this game since before you were born. Go, and await my return."
The Queen's handmaidens respectfully led Lady Velaryon away, guiding her through a succession of richly adorned halls where the walls were hung with tapestries depicting the Conquest of Westeros, deeper into Her Grace's private wing.
Queen Alysanne's chambers possessed a peculiar comfort that set them apart from the rest of the castle. There was none of the oppressive monumentality that reigned in the Throne Room. Vases of fresh flowers stood everywhere, the air scented with dried lavender and sweet incense, while soft Myrish carpets covered the floors. From the main solar, wide double doors opened onto a spacious terrace, offering a breathtaking view of the sea and the lights of the city kindling below.
It was here, settled in a comfortable high-backed chair, that the Good Queen Alysanne was to be found. She wore a simple yet elegant gown of deep red velvet embroidered with gold, her silver hair caught up in a neat netting. Beside her, on a small table, plates of light savories, fruit, and lemon cakes had already been laid out, along with a flagon of the famous Arbor gold.
Upon her guest's appearance, the Queen rose, her face alight with genuine, warm joy - the sort Alysanne reserved for old and loyal friends who had walked through the years with her. Before her marriage and move to High Tide, Lady Alyce, then a young maiden of House Celtigar, had served as the Queen's lady-in-waiting. They had shared secrets, the joys of their early years of wedlock, and the burdens of royal duty, though life had long since separated them into different castles, their former closeness had vanished not a whit.
"Alyce, my dear!" the Queen said, taking a swift step forward and opening her arms. In that moment, she was less the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms than a woman reuniting with a beloved friend. "How long it has been since we sat together. Your arrival is a true comfort to my eyes."
Alyce, even as she yielded to the Queen's warm embrace, did not forget her courtesies. She sank into a graceful curtsy, an art she had once perfected here in the Red Keep, but Alysanne gently yet firmly caught her by the elbow, drawing her out onto the moonlit terrace.
"Leave off your ceremonies, Alyce," the Queen said with gentle reproach, guiding her into a deep chair. "Sit closer, the evening grows cool, and we have so much to catch up on. To think how many moons have flown since we last met."
The handmaidens silently filled their silver goblets with chilled Arbor gold and left the terrace, pulling the heavy oak doors shut behind them. The ladies were left alone beneath the darkening sky of Westeros.
"If my memory serves me, the last time we sat so close was upon the terrace at Driftmark," Lady Alyce said softly, sipping her wine.
"Aye, old Lord Daemon's funeral," the Queen sighed, a genuine sadness entering her eyes at the old memory. "He was a good man who lived a worthy life. And I must admit, Alyce, your eldest son has proven a more than worthy successor to his grandfather."
"Corlys gave his entire youth to our House, Your Grace," Alyce replied reservedly, yet with deep maternal pride. "And I am glad his labors bear fruit for the realm."
"My dear, all of Westeros speaks of his labors," Alysanne smiled warmly, leaning a fraction closer to her former lady-in-waiting. Her tone grew more intimate, stripped of official stiffness. "My husband never tires of praising his wit at the Small Council meetings. But let us admit, dear, you and I have ever been adept at noticing what men miss. Your Corlys is a magnificent seafarer, but of late, his ship seems to anchor more and more often by the shores of my own family. I speak of Viserra."
Alyce arched an eyebrow slightly, inwardly glad that her old friendship with the Queen made this conversation light and direct, without any need to test the waters through intrigue.
"It is true," Alyce murmured softly. "My younger son, Daeron, has inundated me with letters, but I wished to hear the truth from the one whose word I trust above all others. This day, Corlys confirmed his interest in the princess."
"I am glad your son is earnest regarding my daughter. Viserra has ever been a singular girl," Alysanne continued, idly tracing the rim of her silver goblet with her fingers. "Proud, headstrong, and well aware of the value of her beauty and high birth. Many a young lord has tried to win her favor, but she saw them only as flatterers. With Corlys, it is entirely different. I see how she changes in his presence, how her tempestuous nature grows calm, giving way to genuine affection. My husband, the King, shares my view entirely. Jaehaerys is well aware of our conversation tonight, and asked me to convey that the crown will gladly bestow its blessing upon this match. In these unsettled times, the blood of ancient Valyria must stand together to strengthen the peace of the realm. We wish to propose a formal betrothal, Alyce."
Lady Velaryon listened to the Queen, feeling a pleasant warmth spread through her chest - not so much from the potent Arbor gold as from the realization of the grand destiny awaiting her eldest son. An alliance between House Velaryon and House Targaryen through the marriage of Viserra and Corlys was a singular honor. It advanced the interests of Driftmark, binding them to the ruling dynasty, and, what mattered most to a mother's heart, promised happiness to her firstborn.
"My heart rejoices, Your Grace," Alyce replied, warmth bleeding into her voice. "Our House will deem it the highest honor to be joined with yours. Princess Viserra is a magnificent maid, and I shall be happy to welcome her to High Tide as a daughter of my own. As for Corlys... I shall certainly speak with him this very night upon my return to the manse, though I assure you there is scarcely any need. My son is more than ready to wed Viserra. At midday today, he opened his heart to me and confessed that his feelings for the princess are sincere and earnest. He was slow to declare them only because he sought to shield your daughter's honor from the frantic gossip of the court until he was certain her affection was returned."
The Queen let out a sigh of relief, her smile turning brighter still. She reached across the small table and gently squeezed the hand of her former lady-in-waiting.
"What a comfort," Alysanne murmured, looking out at the kindling lights of King's Landing below. "There is so much politics in my castle, and so little room for genuine feeling, that a wedding brought about by mutual consent and love will be a true blessing for our houses. Jaehaerys will be glad to hear that our intentions match. Tell Corlys that tomorrow, before the Small Council sits, the King will await him to make a formal offer for our daughter's hand."
They remained upon the terrace for a time longer, discussing the initial details of the upcoming celebrations. The Queen observed that so significant an alliance demanded a grand feast in the capital, one that would demonstrate to the entire realm the unity of the crown and its loyal vassals. Yet Lady Alyce shook her head with a soft, knowing smile.
"Knowing my son, my Queen, he will surely wish to hold the wedding on Driftmark," she said, firm conviction ringing in her voice. "Corlys is far too proud of his homeland, his achievements, and his seat to lose an opportunity to host the royal family in our ancestral nest. And believe me, knowing his nature, this celebration will be so lavish and splendid that all of Westeros will remember it for years to come. Driftmark will welcome the princess as she has never been welcomed in any kingdom."
Queen Alysanne merely offered a knowing smile in response, conceding her former lady-in-waiting's point - the character and ambition of the Sea Snake were passing well known to the Small Council, and the crown had no objection to House Velaryon bearing the expenses for such a grand celebration.
When the night chill finally descended upon Aegon's Hill, Alyce rose to take her leave. Her heart was at peace, and before her lay the journey back to the manse where her eldest son awaited her.
================================================================
A/N
Read ahead on P@treon!
• Navigator Tier: 4 advance chapters & images.
• Master of Ships Tier: 6 advance chapters & images.
[email protected]/MarcelVelaryon777
I'm deeply thankful for any support you choose to provide by joining my paid tiers. It truly makes a difference! A quick tip to save money: Please use a web browser to subscribe instead of the iOS app. Prices on the app are 30% higher due to Apple's commission, so subscribing via browser ensures you get the lowest possible rate!