A/N: Well everybody, I'm married! Friday, August 21st :D

Sorry my update took a while, wedding planning was hell. But here we are.

Sit, relax, and enjoy.

Chapter 13: Bequests

Steel clashed within the training yard of Aenys' manse as the two competitors went at each other. "Better, far better," Prince Maegor breathed between clenched teeth. He parried a flurry of blows, noticing his muna's style that tried to batter him down. "You have natural skill." Another parry, one that needed skill against. She wasn't an opponent he could beat without exerting himself.

Smirking, Princess Rhaena felt a surge of self-confidence at being able to match her great uncle blow for blow. "Will today be the time someone finally bests you?" Boys both her age and older had fallen to her furious attacks… including even her brother, who stormed out of the training ground as a result. When her uncle challenged her right after, she smugly leapt at the chance.

"Arrogance doesn't suit you, niece," Maegor replied, giving ground as she struck at him. "At least not when you can't back it up." Seeing her move to thrust aggressively at him, he quickly dodged, batted her sword to the ground, and swiped his feet to catch hers.

With a yelp, Rhaena toppled to the ground. Bested by her uncle. "Seven Hells," she hissed, cheeks flushing red with humiliation.

Anyone else would have gloated over taking down someone so arrogant and strutting, but Maegor refused to. What was the point? She was his niece and this was a lesson, not a chance to show off. So he merely stared at her neutrally. "Yield?"

Rhaena huffed, blowing a silver strand of hair away from her forehead and brow. "I yield, uncle." Looking away in shame, she was prevented from her anger by Maegor grabbing her hand and hauling her up. That forced her to look at him. "Go ahead and say it, you were right and I was wrong."

"As long as you understand it." Shooting a glare to the onlookers, faced with Prince Maegor Targaryen they happened to scatter, leaving only Ser Raymont Baratheon as guard. "You rely too much on your fury, your strength. I know you wish to emulate your grandmother, but she is taller and stronger than your petite frame. Speed and flexibility are your strengths, so lean more into them." Taking in her put off expression, he leaned down to kiss her brow. "You're my niece, Rhaena. I'm only here to help you."

Biting her lip, her ire deflated. "I know." Suddenly, he pulled her into a hug, one she returned quite quickly. Both were sweaty, but Rhaena felt the greatest of comfort against his chest… much as it would have been easier on her to avoid this, she sought it out greedily.

Pulling back, he looked her in the eye. "You've truly grown since last I saw you." A wisp of a thing, scared of her own shadow… "Now you're a youthful version of muna. She's worked wonders."

Rhaena smiled, eyes sparkling. "She can't take all the credit. It was you that gave me the dragon egg."

Surprisingly, Maegor looked awkward and modest. Reserved, he often was, but never modest. "You needed it. Every young dragon does." Perhaps if your brother got one he wouldn't be as much of a spoiled brat sometimes… No, he wouldn't think of his nephew that way. Such was unfair.

Leaving the embrace - and feeling quite empty without it - Rhaena raised an eyebrow. "But, you aren't a dragonrider, uncle? You're stronger than all of us, yet you have no mount to call your own." Even the thought of living a day without Dreamfyre to ride or speak to or simply rest against was agony to Rhaena. "Why is that?"

Maegor snorted. "It's a long story, niece."

She smiled sweetly and looped her arm in his. "My next lesson isn't for an hour. We have time to speak." Perhaps she just wished for the moment not to end just yet, but her semi-selfish desire came true and he nodded, leading her towards the garden.

Oft in his free time, Aenys had a passion for horticulture. From all over the known world did he find trees, shrubs, and flowers to husband and grow, planning to lay the foundations of the new keep's gardens once the main walls and holdfast were completed. It made a perfect place to talk in solitude. "... and when it came to the dragon eggs in the last clutch, none of them bonded to me."

Her gaze was filled with grief. "Oh, uncle." Rhaena squeezed his hand. "I can't bear you knowing not the great bond." After raising Dreamfyre to the point where she could ride her, Rhaena didn't understand how she could've lived before the birth of the little hatchling. "It brings me the worst sort of agony just thinking about it."

"You need not worry for me, Rhaena. I am sure that in the future, I shall forge such a bond with the only one worthy of me." He followed up his comment with a haughty, confident set of his jaw.

Rhaena ate it up, giggling. "Well, I hope so. You're a mighty dragon, just like grandfather." Leaning her head on his shoulder, suddenly the thought came. Of what was said in the luncheon two days prior. It made her stiffen.

The Prince noticed. "What is it, dear niece?"

This was supremely difficult for Rhaena to broach, but she needed to know. Her new attitude and boldness drove her to things that the old Rhaena would have long since cowered over. "Do you truly have a mistress?"

Maegor was taken aback, though his surprise waned after a moment and was replaced with a wince and a sigh. "I take it you've heard about that. Who told you, your muna?" It sounded like something Alyssa would do to spite him…

But he was surprised when he shook her head. "No, it wasn't her. Lady Amelia Westerling was drunk and made some comments about it."

Amelia Westerling? Shit. That meant it was wider knowledge than he thought, and immediately a pouring of guilt for Ceryse filled his gut. His reasons were his reasons, yet he still cared for his bride - it wasn't her fault. "I'm sorry you had to hear that."

"So it's true then?" Rhaena trembled, breathing uneven. "Why, uncle? Why would you do that?" A confirmed chink in the armor of her shining knight. The perfect man her mind had so elevated since she was but eight namedays.

"It…" Maegor cleared his throat, the issue weighing heavy on himself. Never had he truly vocalized it, preferring to bury his emotions less he either lessen himself in the eyes of others or add on to Ceryse's pain, yet to his niece… everything within him said he could trust her. "Ralla's a good person, Rhaena," he finally said, straddling the issue. "Do not think her evil, it is I that seeks her out."

"You looked so happy on your wedding day, uncle. Was that a lie?"

"Then, no it wasn't. Ceryse cared for me and I her, it's just…" Pain crossed his face. "It's been supremely hard for us since she lost our child."

Rhaena's eyes widened. "What? A child?" I had a cousin?

He looked away, trying his best to keep the pain at bay. If he didn't stop it, then there was no chance he could survive the loss - many called him cruel and heartless, but none knew how much it affected Maegor to see his wife after a miscarriage. To see the corpse of one's child not yet born. "Three," he breathed, admitting it for the first time.

"Oh gods." Rhaena clasped a hand over her mouth. "I'm so sorry, uncle."

"You have no need to be sorry, dear niece. It is my burden to bear… and so it seems Ceryse's as well. I've told her it wasn't her fault, but she doesn't believe me. She… blames herself. It's made our marriage bed cold, and I can't ask her to change it. She holds more sorrow than I ever could." And it was obvious where the implication went - for a man needing intimacy, he sought out his former lover. A woman that would never judge him nor ever seek to blame him. "I suppose that makes me as callous and cruel as they say…"

Wordlessly, Rhaena drew him in her arms. It wasn't the hug of a child to a parent, but of one soul intimately comforting another, though neither of them were perceptive enough to catch such a reality at the moment. "You're a good man, uncle."

"Ironic that you say that, for most would think me completely different." He knew the names that banded about among the highborns of the realm - Maegor the Cruel, Maegor the Wildling, Maegor the Monstrous.

"We dragons are higher than any fool that would speak ill of you." She smiled at him. "We answer not to men or gods."

That made him chuckle. "I see your grandfather has told you his stories."

"He does love to tell stories." Both dissolved into laughter, Maegor feeling less weighed down than in years - truly enjoying Rhaena's company.

He looked forward to speaking with her more and watching as the once wallflower bloomed into a proper dragon.

"Forgive me, holy father, for I have sinned."

"Be at peace, child, tell me of what you seek absolution for."

The confessional was supposed to be inviolate. Shrouded from prying ears and eyes, yet young Harren was able to hear just fine even standing five paces away. He was the only of the retainers of Lord Daeron Qoherys allowed to accompany his lord into the Sept of Remembrance, even as a half-dozen Poor Fellows and two rainbow-cloaked Warrior's Sons milled about the massive well of the holy place. An imbalance he found both irritating and hypocritical, but one that didn't rate high on his list.

No… worse crimes predominated.

"My nephew, I feel I cannot control him within acceptable bounds." Harren closed his eyes, calming his anger at the thought of the fat, oafish scoundrel that was Ser Gargon. "He deflowered the dear daughter of one of my most trusted manservants, so ravishing her that her mind has fell to madness." Lord Daeron paused within the confessional. "I wished to kill him."

"Your brother?" asked the Septon, whom Harren figured was the renowned Murmison.

A deep breath. "Aye."

"Even in the greatest of temptations and travesties, the thought of kinslaying is an affront to the gods, my child."

"Then what would you have me do? Make him take the Black?"

Kill him and then kill yourself. But Harren's opinion mattered not. Not yet at least.

"Unless what he does affronts the gods themselves or the laws of the Crown, you cannot force him to what is in effect slavery at the Wall. Seek to show the wisdom of the Seven to fill his soul with the true nourishment, as his desires of the flesh likely stem from lack of the desires of the soul."

Daeron sighed audibly. "Thank you, your eminence." Harren straightened as his Lord walked out. Lord Daeron was the epitome of a Westerosi Lord. His hair was a dull silver belying his Valyrian heritage, but the second son of his father Lord Quenton held the strong gait and chiseled good looks of the knights and heroes of all the stories - as well as the chivalry to match.

Many thanked the gods that the second son took preference over the grandson, but Harren was not one of them. Granted, he hated Gargon too… he wished none of them to inherit.

But he stayed quiet and dutiful. "All done, my Lord?" he asked.

Shoulders heavy, Daeron nodded. "Aye. Let us head to the manse before light falls." Falling into place behind the Lord, Harren locked eyes with Ser Dickon Flowers, one of the Warrior's Sons on duty at the Sept. Almost imperceptibly, they nodded at each other. An accord of understanding.

Harren Rivers was but two and ten when his mother succumbed to the pox. There was no one else for the struggling boy and his young half-sister, leading a friend and former man-at-arms for the Hoare Kings to arrange for him to move to Harrenhal castle as an apprentice guardsman. It was a transformation, the lad that hadn't once left the remote village situated on the banks of the Trident which barely had but a mud track to arriving at the largest castle in Westeros, inhabited by people from all over the world and with its main avenues paved with cobblestones. He had been a bit starstruck, though adapted quickly to the hearty food and weekly baths.

Here he had excelled, rapidly gaining skill at swordsplay and command that left him a Captain after ten short years while his sister rose to be one of the senior maids in the kitchens. Until… no, he would not speak of it. She was safe now, and that was all that mattered in the short term.

House Qoherys owned a manse not far from that of Crown Prince Aenys, though more modest in the austere tradition of Andal knights. The frugal Daeron rarely spent time here, instead renting it out to visiting foreign dignitaries and merchants in order to pay the high upkeep cost of his keep. Only a few times did he host guests, and most of those were of his friends and political allies.

Harren knew this would be one of those times when he spotted the portly Ser Guy Lothston - his Lord's steward - waiting for Daeron in the foyer. "My Lord, Lord Stokeworth and Lord Arryn are waiting for you in the solar."

"Is Lord Reyne here yet?" Daeron asked.

"No, my Lord, he has not arrived yet."

"Fashionably late as always, I suppose." Daeron chuckled before turning to Harren. "Rivers, please fetch my brother and be quick about it."

He bowed. "At once." His face was the mask of loyalty, even when his back was turned.

Gargon was… in the position Harren expected of him. Entering the chambers of the Lord's nephew, the sight of a big-breasted whore straddling the paunchy highborn greeted his eyes. To his disgust, the whore grinned sultrily at him. "Want to join, big boy?"

Cursing, Gargon peeked his head round the woman and glared at Harren. "Get the fuck out of here!"

"Your brother wished for you to join him, Lord Stokeworth, and Lord Arryn in his solar," Harren replied emotionlessly.

"In a fuckin' minute, now get!" Harren couldn't be told twice.

Outside, he came face to face with a servant - one of his friends from Harrenhal. "It's worse, isn't it?" the servant murmured in a low voice.

"Aye. You saw what he did to young Alys."

"I treated her, it's disgraceful." The servant's eyes shifted. "Martyn was broken by it… I think we should take him into the fold."

Harren nodded. "Do it." Watching the servant shuffle away, Harren heard the rough laughs follow a girlish giggle from within the chambers. He gritted his teeth, fingers tightening over the sword sheathed at his belt. Soon grandfather, I shall avenge you.

The sounds of revelry still echoed through the winding halls of the Aegonfort. Thin and wooden rather than the stone of more established keeps, why wouldn't they? The nameday celebration of the Crown Prince was the event of the year, drawing his many friends among the Westerosi Highborns from all over the Realm. So merry and desirous to be liked, one couldn't separate him from the table of honor if war broke out within King's Landing.

So when a flagon of the best Arbor Gold was pilfered from a serving girl's platter as two guests ducked out one of the back entrances for some privacy, no one noticed. Much less the Crown Prince himself.

"Gods, that is insufferable," the older of the two, her feminine lilt slurring from the copious wine she had downed that night, complained. "If I have to stand another receiving line at another feast…" She trailed off as she took another swig before passing it to her male companion.

Ulike her, he took a swig before he spoke. "I love him dearly, but he cares far too much what people think of him."

"Exactly!" Gods, it felt good to voice these things to someone who understood. Her handmaidens were too enamored with the handsome Prince Aenys to get it. "You're not going to make everyone love you, no matter how hard you try. Must be something you learn quickly in the North?"

"Even the people that love you there are likely to punch your teeth out." There was a pause before the two giggled like small children, inhibitions and reservations smothered by the alcohol. "You… you… I've seen what happens. You deserve a stronger man, one who can truly stand up for himself."

Hiccuping, she blinked - half-confused and half… flirtatiously. "Oh, and what man do you have in mind?" She may have been quite deep in her cups, but the hidden lust in her young voice was unmistakable.

His eyebrow raised, too inebriated for his mind to tell him of the mistake he was making… that she was making. "I think an intelligent Lady such as yourself can guess."

"Mmmm… you talk too much." Lurching forward, she sloppily brought their lips together as they gave into their passion.

"Your Grace?"

Blinking, Alyssa Velaryon Targaryen was forced to leave the most welcome and most agonizing memory of her life to return her gaze to Ser Jonos Arryn. The younger son of Lady Sharra was nowhere near as handsome or dashing as the 'King who Flew,' his older brother Ronnel, but he held shrewder eyes - clearly the much smarter of the two. Nonetheless, Ronnel was her husband's friend and the Lord of the Eyrie. "Forgive me, Ser Jonos. There is much on my mind."

"Of course. There is plenty that has to be done for the Jubilee."

That all you think a woman is good for? She hated these sorts of people, but the whims of ruling sometimes took precedence. "I brought you here because I believe my husband will wish your brother appointed to the Small Council."

The younger Arryn raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Well, that's a great honor even considering their friendship. But what does that have to do with me?"

"The Vale needs a steady hand, and you have outdone yourself in my husband's service constructing the new palace. House Targaryen would wish that you return to the Eyrie after Lord Ronnel's appointment is confirmed and he must stay in the capitol."

A tiny smile appeared on Jonos' face as he bowed. "As you wish, Princess. I am honored."

"Good. You have my leave to go." As Jonos left, Alyssa saw her brother slide beside him, clad in a tunic of sea-green that showed off his toned muscles. A fine, proud head of her birth house. "Ah, brother. Welcome."

As she rose, her brother hugged her, kissing her cheek. "I am at my dear sister's beck and call."

"Oh shut it." He was always like this. Never serious lest either sailing or in battle. "I'm glad you could come. Your help can be useful." She gestured to one of the dispatches. "Volantis has begun a naval expansion."

"Hmmm…" Aethan Velaryon took the parchment in his hands. "It seems redundant, since they already defeated the Three Daughters." With the famed Black Guardsmen combined with the infamous Unsullied of Astapor, it was only a matter of time and blood before the Tigers of Volantis could exult in their victory. "Do you consider your source reliable?"

"Whatever whispers have came from them previously have been corroborated, though I cannot be sure." This was where her request came in. "I want you to take a trade delegation to Volantis. See what you can divulge about their intentions?"

"For the crown or for our House?"

"For your House." She was not of House Velaryon anymore. "Would make it less suspicious… and take Prince Maegor with you."

He looked surprised. "Maegor? Why?"

"I want him gone."

Aethan rolled his eyes. "Not this again. I know you find him crude but he loves his brother your husband and is a strong fighter for House Targaryen. You have to let this go."

"He is the ruin of House Targaryen, and for this as my brother, you have to get him out of this city."

Pursing his lips, Aethan couldn't deny his little sister. "I'll see what I can do. You have my word."

Her smile was genuine. "Thank you, brother. Please give young Daemon my love next time you are in Driftmark."

He laughed. "I shall, I shall." Once he left, Alyssa sighed and returned to her seat. She had much to labor over.

The reign of the Conquerors was coming to an end - Alyssa wasn't sentimental enough to try and deny this though she knew her husband would. He would never comprehend a world without his great parents, the thought so painful for him to the point of debilitation. I cried when my parents passed into the afterlife too, but I'd be a fool if I didn't plan for it. As always, she would need to protect her husband. Guard against his naivete. Often a thankless job, but the fate of her line was in her hands.

"You are beautiful, Als."

A smile adorned her rosy cheeks. "I adore you." They kissed again as he entered her…

Alyssa closed her eyes. Willing away the painful memory… and the moan that threatened to bubble up, remembering the emotions of that night. Forcing herself back into the reports.

Never! She wouldn't let his depravity ruin her husband or their dynasty. Never! Never! Never!

There were no patrols. Nothing from Blackhaven or Nightsong - Malcolm Wyl felt a bit disgusted, that the incompetence existed. Granted he wasn't the type to look a gift horse in the mouth but it was still insulting. Orys Baratheon was a cunt but a worthy opponent, which made his mutilation ever more pleasurable for the aged Lord of Wyl.

Where were such opponents anymore? Did the Dragon's Peace make every knight a eunuch? The Starry Sept finally has some true warriors, though. But looking at Septon Garrett of Starpike next to him, they still weren't in charge. Still the zealous fools.

The man he had delivered a massive shipment of arms that night was also a zealous fool, but the trouble was they were all useful. Hefting one of the finely made scimitars, the swarthy peasant worked it about… not without skill. Wyl watched him. Not of noble bastard blood, but perhaps a hedge knight, or a man-at-arms at least. Some realities even escaped his networks unfortunately. "With these blades, we shall rule the Dornish Marches once the dragon bastard croaks."

"I wouldn't be so arrogant about it… your Grace." The Vulture King crossed his arms, glowering at Wyl's calm critique. "There is a new Lord of Horn Hill."

"Horn Hill? The Tarlys do not worry me." He scoffed. "Lord Otto was a weak little shit and so is his heir Garth."

"Garth died a year ago of the pox." You moron.

He blinked. "Then who is the Lord?"

"Samwell Tarly, Lord Otto's second son. A more martial person one cannot imagine." Wyl knew no one could beat someone of that skill unless using unconventional tactics or massive numbers - and only then with supreme intelligence. The Vulture had a sort of animal cunning, but otherwise wasn't of that nature. "He needs to be watched closely."

Glancing at his men beginning to shift the blades, spears, and quivers into burlap packs for quicker transport, the would be king tried to dismiss his opponent. "He follows the Seven. Can't be be persuaded?"

"Those that follow the Warrior are brave in battle," replied Septon Garret, pursing his lips. "I have the unfortunate pleasure of meeting this Samwell Tarly… his attendance of the Sept are outweighed by his visits to his least favorite brothel, and he never sleeps with Dornish girls. Commented that it was an insult to his House."

Not loyal to House Targaryen, but rather more one that loathes all of House Targaryen's enemies. Wyl knew those sorts of persons on both sides, and sometimes it was perfectly enough.

He then heard the Vulture King speak. "...And a quick storming of the castle will result in his slaughter…"

It was done quickly. The infamous butcher from the Dornish War was old and grizzled, but he still retained a spry strength and ferocity as his younger self. His ally was on the ground, Wyl on top of him with a hand round his neck. "You will not move unless I fucking say you can. You will not fuck this up for me, or a death at the hands of the Targaryen dragons will be the outcome you pray for as I slice off every digit of your body one bit at a time." The arrogant upstart's eyes were wide with terror. "Understood."

"I… I understand," he croaked out. Wyl released him, and he sprang to his feet. "So when do we move out?"

Not until the King is dead. "When I give the signal, and you'll know it when it happens. Be prepared."

From what he could tell, it would be any moon now that the weakling would be in charge. He just had to bide his time till then, and the unfinished triumph of Wyl's past would finally be completed.

It took a half-dozen guards to push open the massive bronze-plated ironwood doors that formed the entrance to the Great Hall of the Dragonpalace as what was being constructed on the High Hill was being called. Rhaena Targaryen took a breath, close to her uncle as they, her father, and her eldest brother waited for the doors to swing open. "What could grandfather and grandmother want?"

Maegor shrugged. "Perhaps they want to show us the finished structure."

"Father knows what it looks like," Egg mused. "But he wouldn't let any of us see it."

Aenys laughed and ruffled his son's hair. "That would ruin the surprise, lad. But I promise, it will amaze." The Crown Prince was in charge of construction, and even his biggest skeptics had to admit he'd done an amazing job. He truly had talent in such matters of organization and aesthetics. "Besides, mother and father made me promise - they wanted to show everyone at the Jubilee."

"I knew muna had ulterior motives for throwing this." Visenya using a feast as a power play fit her. She definitely didn't enjoy it for the sake of frivolity and celebration. The doors cracked as they hit the stone entryway. "Well, let's have a look see. Niece?" He extended his arm.

Taking it, Rhaena felt a flutter in her belly. "Thank you, uncle." Their conversation from earlier still repeated in her head - the illusion of a perfect uncle who could do no wrong shattered… and yet… Rhaena didn't think any less of him. She understood, and sympathized. Not everyone had the luxury of marrying for love, and the thought of losing a child, it tore her up inside.

Muna and kepa lost my littlest sister last year. They nearly were destroyed by it. It seemed Maegor and Ceryse weren't as strong as they.

All negative thoughts were dashed when the vast Throne Room of the Dragonpalace came into view. "By Arrax…" she heard Maegor breath beside her.

Rhaena couldn't help but agree, gasping up at what was arrayed above and before them. "Kepa… you designed this?" she asked in awe. Even the usually nonchalant Egg was speechless.

Her father grinned toothily. "I've seen it every day for moons now and it still gets me shivering. The best master builders and painters and sculptors in all the known world."

"It was worth it, brother," Maegor told him.

The first fact noticed was how tall the great hall was. Something gathered from simply looking at the hill, but it created true majesty from looking from within. Ribbed vaults extended from the walls to form a half-dozen different ceilings all connected together. "That's stone, father," Egg commented.

"Aye, it is."

The young Prince was completely flummoxed. "Black Harren tried that for his Hall of a Hundred Hearths but even he had to resort to wood in the end." It was why he burned. "How did you…"

"Flying buttresses outside. They protect against the wind off Blackwater Bay slamming the stone." Aenys chuckled. "Got that advice from your wife, Maegor. Your goodfather used the same designs in his renovation of the Hightower."

"Is that a fact?" Ceryse never told him she conversed with Aenys. Not that they talked much in the last few years. A situation he hated but couldn't for the life of him fix.

Sighing, he looked back at the marvel his brother created. Pointed arches followed Rhoynish columns high from the floor to the second floor, and then another series of arches extending the length of the walls to the ceiling. Statues of great dragonriders filled the hall, as did intricate frescoes and mosaics of scenes of Valyrian and Targaryen history. But what was truly breathtaking…

"Colored glass, kepa?"

Aenys beamed. "From Myr… before the Volentine conquest. They perfected the design." Each pane of glass was huge, letting in a panoply of light that illuminated the entire hall. The glass panes told a story… the story of the Targaryen Conquest. Beginning with the founding of King's Landing and ending with the crowning of Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys at Oldtown along with the forging of the Iron Throne.

A throne which sat mounted upon a raised dais of Dornish marble. Massive in it's monstrous majesty… upon it resting King Aegon I Targaryen and beside Queen Visenya I Targaryen, ruling monarchs of all Westeros. "Took you long enough to notice," Aegon cackled, enjoying how his children and grandchildren raced to stand before them. "No, no, don't kneel. We're family here, not at court." He pushed himself off the throne, groaning at the creaks in his joints. I hate being fuckin' old…

Visenya noticed his discomfort and wrapped an arm around her little brother's bicep, guiding her husband down the steps with a loving touch. A touch reciprocated when he kissed her hair. Still so much in love. "I take it you approve of the Crown Prince's choices as much as we do."

"It is amazing, grandmother," Rhaena said, twirling around. "It's as if being in Dragonstone… yet in Westeros too." The combination of their styles truly felt as if… "It's like a new world being built by our family."

"I did try and go for that," Aenys remarked, earning a chuckle from his brother.

"A bit dark if you think about it, kepa," Egg critiqued. He never did like Dragonstone. "I would wish for more light - more majestic that way."

"That's what the stained-glass is for, valonqar." Egg narrowed his eyes - that pet name irritated him for… reasons unknown to him. It just did.

But he loved his sister, so he let it go.

"That is actually why we summoned you here," Aegon stated, both him and Visenya growing more serious. "We have ruled for thirty-five years, my children. A rule of the most prosperous peace and the bloodiest, most terrifying war imaginable." He paused, closing his eyes in a painful memory, one only banished when Visenya squeezed his hand. "A full life that I have few regrets for, but a life soon to reach the end."

Four pairs of eyes widened at that. "No father, don't say that," Aenys began, only for Aegon to cut him off.

"Need to face facts, my son, I am aging. In the twilight of my life." As if to emphasize, he coughed. "This is my twilight, and I'll be damned if I let the realm your munas and I built go to ruin because of powerhunger." He walked forward, looking Aenys in the eye. "Which is why your muna and I are appointing you Prince Regent of the Kingdoms."

Aenys couldn't believe what he was hearing. Prince Regent, effectively the ruler of the realm unless directly countermanned by the King or Queen. A heavy responsibility… "I shall make you proud, father." Aegon smiled and kissed his son's brow. He looks so much like his mother - so kind, so full of life. It brought a happy sorrow to his heart.

Visenya approached young Egg. "Grandson, your kepa has handled the diplomatic progresses as Crown Prince since your grandfather and I are too aged, but as Prince Regent he is needed here. Therefore, it must fall to you to continue the progresses."

Swelling with pride in himself, Egg nodded. "I shan't let you down, I promise."

Squeezing Aenys' shoulder once more, the King strode over to his second son. The one man in the room who could both rival and eclipse him in height and strength even in his advanced age. I remember when he was still in his swaddling clothes. Aegon blinked back a tear at how far Maegor had come. "My son," he breathed, clasping his upper arms with affection.

Maegor had faced wildling cannibals, pirates, and the certain death of trying to be the first to scale the walls of a Lysene fortress - those hadn't fazed him, but the loving gaze of the King hit him like a sledgehammer to the heart. "Kepa," he could only say.

"You left for the North a boy, and came home a man," began Aegon. "You left for the Narrow Sea a man, and came home a true dragonlord… by the gods," his voice caught. "Your muna and I cannot be prouder."

"I am not a dragonrider, kepa," Maegor replied modestly. The three and ten Maegor would never have self-deprecated in such a manner, and he now wouldn't usually. But it was his father… "I cannot call myself that without one I can call my own."

"Nonsense," dismissed the King. "You're my son and have fought with the fury of the dragons of old." And I know whom you are destined to sit astride, my boy. "You need to promise me something, Maegor."

The Prince had seen his father in many moods… never once was the mighty conqueror so vulnerable. His emotion raw with the desperation of a man accepting of his mortality. The thought was painful. "No… don't do this, kepa…"

Aegon's grip grew tighter, his violet eyes more desperate. "Please, my son… you need to promise to be loyal to your brother. To do whatever it takes when I pass…"

"You shan't pass for a while, I know it. You're much too strong."

"Valar morghulis," replied Aegon. All men must die. "I need you to promise this to me. That you will ensure our dynasty will survive the tribulations of the new era."

"I promise, kepa." Maegor was reduced to tears… a sight that was so rare as to be unknown by most. Aenys wrapped an arm around his shoulder comfortingly, while Rhaena wanted so badly to give him a hug.

Nodding, Aegon reached for his belt and drew Blackfyre from its sheath. "You shall do so with this." Flat he held it in his hands, offering it up to Maegor.

Rhaena gasped, Aenys' jaw dropped, and Egg's eyes bugged out of his sockets. "What…" Maegor trembled as his father pressed the blade into his hands. Shame falling on him for the sword of the first King of the Seven Kingdoms even daring to grace his touch. "I can't accept this…"

"You deserve it, my son. Use it well - let it be both the sword and shield of your family." There were no words left. Maegor leaned it against his leg and embraced his father, the King laughing softly and clapping his son on the back.

Beaming at the heartwarming scene, Rhaena wiped her eye just as a glittering, reflected light caught her peripheral vision. Her gaze flickered for a moment… only to stay rooted there in shock as she saw what was coming. "Grandmother…" Visenya was smiling, Dark Sister out of its sheath - not drawn in any hostile manner. "You mean to bequeath your sword to me?"

"Quite perceptive, granddaughter."

"But… I am not ready…"

While his grandfather giving up Blackfyre to his uncle made… some sense, his father not the martial type, young Egg's cheeks suddenly flushed at the thought of his sister earning one of the great heirlooms of their House. I am the heir. "She can't even stand true in a proper spar…" But he trailed off when Visenya sent him a glare. Eyes darting to the floor.

Confident her grandson wouldn't make trouble for his sister, Visenya approached Rhaena. "I am still your teacher and will still oversee your training, granddaughter, but my days of personal combat are past. It is your moment, my dear - the moment to show the world that Valyria still produces warrior queens."

Taking Dark Sister in her hands, Rhaena could feel the power emanating from the ancient steel. The essence of generations of proud Targaryen warriors, ones that fought the Rhoynish, conquered the Ghiscari, and hacked through their enemies as the family fled Valyria to start anew. She couldn't help but smile in awe. "Thank you, grandmother."

Visenya embraced her protege. "In the afterlife," she murmured in Rhaena's ear. "Your grandmother is smiling for you, I just know it. Do not let her down."

"I shan't. I will make all of you proud."

"I'm already proud, my dear."

In the halls of the newest Kings, sunlight streaming through the glittering windows of colored glass, those that had forged the Iron Throne passed the torch of dragonfire to the new generation. A generation not knowing of the blood, toil, tears, and sweat that created the unified kingdoms where only division had existed before.

The conquerors could conquer no more. It remained to be seen if their children and grandchildren could keep what they had won.

A/N: Since Rhaena is a fighter here, she can get Dark Sister while Maegor gets Blackfyre. Fitting bequests, while Aegon is a bit jealous.

Next chapter's gonna have some awesome stuff. 25 comments and I shall post it in a week.