A/N: Hey guys. I'm back :)
We're getting close to a major turning point in the story.
Sit, relax, and enjoy.
Chapter 14: Bring the Jubilee
Lord Aerion Targaryen always had what he called a 'sixth sense.' He never really described it well to his children, only that he sort of knew by instinct when disaster or danger was approaching. Visenya was certain she inherited it from her father, and it was being felt at the moment.
"Hold still, your Grace," Tyanna remarked from behind her, fingers weaving her hair into a proper braid.
"Are you sure… this is how it's done?" Visenya asked, wincing at another tug of her scalp.
Tyanna nodded. "Aye, this is the Dothraki way. The more intricate the braid, the greater the warrior prowess. And you are the greatest of all the warriors."
She smirked. "My husband might think different." Imagining Aegon's hair long and in braids made her chuckle - it was an amusing thought.
There was no outwardly reason for Visenya to feel danger - everything was perfect. Their meeting with their heirs went smoothly, and the Jubilee feast was tonight. She hated feasts but this one actually appealed to her. As she said, it was… instinct.
"Your son said at supper last night that the you, his Grace, and Queen Rhaenys were three sides of the same coin. Great on their own, but unstoppable together." Her voice held reverence to Maegor's words.
"You seem to fancy my son," the Queen said offhandedly, chuckling… only to raise an eyebrow at the reaction.
Tyanna sputtered, cheeks reddening as she gulped. "Why… why would you think that?" Normally she was never this flustered at anything, but the question caught her off guard. "I do not fancy Prince Maegor."
"I meant it as a jape, but now I have to pry further." Still staring at her through the looking glass, Visenya crossed her arms. "You're denial wasn't very convincing. Do you fancy him?" She was not to be denied.
"I…" She had to be quick on her feet. "I suppose all women in court would fancy Prince Maegor at one time or another."
A scowl. "That does not answer the question, Tyanna. You know better than to lie or omit anything to me." Visenya watched as her handmaiden hung her head. "So do you fancy him or not?"
Hanging her head, Tyanna bit her lip. "He is handsome. I cannot deny that I have looked at him in that manner."
"Well don't. He is married." Not that the marriage is worth anything at this point. While it hurt her to admit, she had been right… although from what she knew it was not to the blame of Lady Ceryse. She has been devoted to him, I am surprised to admit. That family, not so much, but she yes. "Stay away from him."
"Yes, your Grace." Tyanna curtseyed. "Your hair is done, my Queen."
Looking herself over, Visenya had to admit that her handmaiden did a good job. "Thank you, Tyanna." Standing, Visenya turned and looked at her. "Remember why I took you in when visiting Pentos?"
She nodded. "I do remember… you wish for me to assist you tonight?"
"Aye, after the feast." With that, she put the thought out of her mind. It was just a precaution, Visenya told herself. "Let us see the babes." Her grandchildren would put her in a good mood before the feast.
Ser Symond Crayne waited outside the nursery several paces away. "Your Grace," he bowed. "If you wish to see the children, his Grace is there too."
"Oh? He is?" So that's where he ran off to. Visenya couldn't blame him - their grandchildren were a delight.
"Aye, your Grace, and he gave me instructions for him not to be disdurbed."
She frowned. "Well, I need not follow his instructions."
Before they even entered the nursery though, Visenya could hear squeals of youthful laughter echo into the hallway. "Another! Another!" The Queen recognized the squeal as coming from Princess Alysanne, ever excited.
"Please, grandfather, another." That voice belonged to Aegon Stark, sounding much as his grandfather did at that age, only with a northern lilt to his words. He was called 'Eggsy' by the family to distinguish himself from his grandfather and cousin.
Then a laugh, obviously belonging to her husband. "Alright, wee ones. One more then I must be off." Several sets of hands began clapping, happy at the prospect of another… another what, Visenya didn't know.
"Should we go inside?" Tyanna asked.
Visenya shook her head. "No, I want to hear this." Placing her ears at the door, her smile widened as she listened to her husband speak to their many grandchildren.
"I know all of you have heard the story of the Field of Fire and Black Harren," Aegon began, his eyes focusing for a split-second on each of his grandchildren. From Rhaena - holding her cousin Saera Stark - Aegon, and Viserys seated in the back, to Jaehaerys, Aegon Stark, and Alaric seated cross-legged before him, and to little Alysanne resting on his lap, purple eyes gazing up at him with wonder and awe. Gods, how had he gotten so lucky for this to be his family? "And I told you about myself and your grandmother… your muna's namesake, little wolves."
Alaric let out a sigh. "Muna says lots bout her, but never knew her." The resigned, brooding way he said it reminded Visenya of her Egg… and the topic brought a pinprick to her eye.
For Aegon, he had it too, but recovered. "She was… but now it is time you hear a rarely told tale of your grandmother Visenya's life - the great Battle of the Gullet."
Amid the chorus of awe from the younger children - clearly expecting something amazing from the particular emphasis Aegon put on it - Visenya's eyes widened. Not that, Egg. The Gullet was one of her most notable failures as a Warrior Queen. What was he doing?
Bouncing Alysanne on his lap, the King began his tale - powerful body worn with his many decades but eyes sparkling and alert. "While your Grandmother Rhaenys fought the Arrogant King and I battled with Black Harren, your grandmother mounted her dragon and led the Targaryen fleet towards Gulltown - ready to bring the Vale into our kingdom."
He doesn't mention that Sharra Arryn tried to worm her way into our bed, but best not tell the babes that. Sharra was a gorgeous woman back then, but she couldn't hold a candle to Rhaenys in beauty for Visenya. Plus she'd have stabbed me in the back soonest chance she got.
"His Grace seems into the story," Tyanna mused behind her.
"He always loves talking about Rhae and I," the Queen replied back, voice low. He truly loved the both of them…
"...and the fleets clashed in a great battle, the seas awash with crippled ships. Down your grandmother went, burning enemy ship after enemy ship on dragonback, Dark Sister held in the air and glinting from the lightning."
"Wow." Eggsy pumped his fist - he inherited his father and mother's penchant for over the top gestures. "A great victory."
Aegon shook his head. "No, grandson. That battle was actually a loss for us - retreat, we did."
While the older children knew the story, all the younger ones were absolutely shocked. Jaehaerys especially. "No, impossible. Dragons do not lose." He said it with absolute conviction. He needs humility. While her bright grandson was a clever boy wise beyond his years, he was impetuous - prideful in a manner different than his older brother or his uncle in youth. Much of Egg in him.
She then heard Aegon sigh. "I hate saying this, Jae, but a dragonlord is no god. We may have immense power, but we are also mortal. We can make mistakes, and we can lose. I've tasted that sting, and so has your grandmother."
"But you won the Vale," Eggsy proclaimed. "What happened?"
"You're gonna love this part, little dragonwolf," Rhaena cooed to her little cousin, rocking her. Saera merely yawned, stretching her tiny arms in Rhaena's hold.
Aegon smiled wistfully, stroking his chin as a far away look crept on his eyes - framed by crow's feet. "Your grandmother… she was always able to think quickly on her feet. A talent for improvisation."
"Impwov...is..at..at...at…" Alysanne had trouble with the large word, which made Visenya giggle.
"It means she comes up with plans quickly, my little hatchling." He tickled her nose, which made Alysanne squeal in delight. "That was always her best quality, and I couldn't have become what I was without it." Visenya got a little catch in her throat - gods, she loved this man, her baby brother. "She was faced with the Vale, not an army to take it, when she acted decisively."
Eggsy knew instinctively what was coming. "Vhagar!" As always, the dragons were beloved in the nursery.
"Aye, that beautiful beast… though never tell your grandmother I said that." A chuckle left Visenya's lips, listening further. "She never gave up. She never does, and flew past the Vale's armies at the Bloody Gate and landed at the top of the Eyrie - the castle is so tall that no enemy has ever breached it or scaled its walls, yet Vhagar simply landed in the courtyard. When Queen Sharra returned, she found her little boy sitting on her lap, listening to stories of the dragons just as I tell you."
"What happened next?" begged Alysanne, riveted.
Aegon laughed. "Queen Sharra bent the knee, and that was that. All thanks to your grandmother."
Jaehaerys was astounded. "Gods, she was bold."
"Bold she is. The greatest woman in the world." From the back, Rhaena swooned, imagining a man she loved calling her that the adoring way her grandfather did. A man as strong and powerful as my uncle…
Visenya couldn't take anymore. "Enough of that." Pushing open the door, she strode in with all her finery. "It's time for your grandfather to come with me."
"Grandmother!" Both Jaehaerys and Eggsy were at her side in a flash. "You have to tell me about the Field of Fire," the Prince begged.
"You're my hero," added the future heir to Winterfell. "I can't wait to be dragonrider like you."
She couldn't help but melt at their adoration. "While I'm sure you'll make a powerful dragonrider, do not forget that you are also a direwolf, grandson." He nodded, even though his grey eyes were the only Stark feature about him. Seven Hells, between him and his siblings, only Alaric possessed the dark coloring of House Stark, and his eyes were a bright amethyst. "And besides, your grandfather doesn't even tell the story right."
"Oh? Enlighten me, your Grace," Aegon called out, crossing his arms while Alysanne had hers looped round his neck.
"You forgot to mention that grandmother didn't fly to the Eyrie until after Lord Torrhen bent the knee."
"Thank you, Viserys," Egg groaned.
The studious boy beamed. "You're welcome." Him and his elder brother and sister were all dressed up, joining them at the feast tonight while the younger children stayed in the nursery.
Which meant. "Ready to go, my love?" Visenya asked Aegon.
"Absolutely." He leaned up and kissed her sweetly before looking back at Alysanne on his lap. "My dear Princess, do you mind if I escort Queen Visenya to the feast?" Visenya bit her lip to stifle her giggle.
Alysanne furrowed her brows much as Rhaenys had… both Rhaenys'. "Alright… but come back, grandpa."
He grinned and kissed her forehead. "Absolutely. You have my word."
"This is your moment," Lord Lucas Harroway instructed his youngest daughter, finger in her face and a serious frown on his lips. "I don't wish to hear you shied away from it."
"I promise, poppa, I won't," she urged, trembling slightly.
While her mother, sisters, and younger brother were getting ready, Alys' father took her aside for a private chat - as she expected, it was about her budding friendship with Rhaena. Several times she had been invited to the great manse, all by the Princess. "You were always my most difficult daughter," he stated matter of factly. "Too shy and too idealistic to know what you needed to do." Alys closed her eyes for a moment, letting his hurtful words wash from her like water off a duck's back. "But by the gods, you did it. You did what your sister's couldn't do."
She swallowed. "I truly enjoy Rhaena's company, and she does mine…" A squeeze of her shoulder shut her up, wincing.
"Personal feelings matter not, understood?" His scowl had deepened. "You will continue to treat with the Princess. You will charm her and her circle and turn yourself into her confidant, even her lover if her tastes are so inclined." Alys would have gasped, but she had heard such from her father before. She was sure Jorelle had warmed the bed of at least one lonely noblewoman in order to seek out a betrothal at father's instigation. "I will not let this opportunity slide and neither would you, understood?" His tone left no room for argument.
She didn't try. "I understand, poppa."
Alys Harroway hadn't seen her father, mother, or sisters since they arrived at the massive feast in honor of the Jubilee. Why would she? The great hall of the Dragonpalace was massive, a beautiful, awe-inspiring structure that portended something far grander than any in Westeros had ever yet seen upon full completion. But size wasn't everything - she may have lost her family, but she hadn't been alone for a moment before Princess Rhaena snatched her up.
"You must tell me the name of your fabrician?" Samantha Stokeworth gushed, running her hands along the pattern of Alys' dress. "What is this fabric? Silk?"
"Aye," she nodded. "Silk from beyond the Jade Gates." It had cost her father a large amount of coin, but he considered it an investment rather than a splurge. It was a light, clover green in color that hugged her abdomen tightly while blooming out in the skirt - though not as much as the standard Westerosi fashion.
"It is beautiful," conceded Larissa Velaryon, herself radiant in a sea-green gown decorated with white seahorses. "Not as much as our Princess' though," she grinned.
Rhaena's dress did beat out the lot of them. It also departed from the styles of the Reach or Lannisport that dominated the outfits of the ladies here. It was sleeveless, one that exposed just a hint of cleavage, form fitting and pure black with white swirls. Valryian beauty at work, Alys mused.
The herald took that moment to clap his hands, attracting attention. "The Hand of the King!"
Torrhen Stark stood from where he sat close to the dias, where the King and Queen sat upon the massive Iron Throne. "Lords, Ladies, dignitaries, we are gathered today to celebrate the thirty-fifth year of the reign of King Aegon and Queen Visenya." Torrhen Stark was a smart and crafty man, but his northern accent gave off a certain earnestness. His words were genuine rather than platitudes and it showed. "To the King and Queen." He raised his goblet in a cheer. "Long may they reign!"
"Long may they reign!"
With the first cheer, by tradition the feast would now be open to a first dance - the beginning of the social angling of the high society of Westeros in alliances, romance, and plotting in the guise of a fun and intimate art. Already the men were taking their wives to the floor or approaching unattached maidens. Alys closed her eyes and waited for what lordling or knight would ask the companion of the Princess.
"Lady Harroway." Her eyes flew open at the familiar voice, revealing Prince Aegon smiling at her, hand extended. "May I have this dance?"
What could she say? There was no chance she would deny the Prince. "Of course."
It was slow, the minstrels starting with something gentle to ease the guests into the tempo. As such, Alys was forced to pay attention to her partner rather than lose herself in the movements. "You are very pretty, Lady Harroway."
She met his gaze, blushing. "Thank you, your Grace. Your compliment honors me." While she didn't choose this, Alys didn't find dancing with Prince Aegon Targaryen to be unpleasant. Youthful that he was, the boyish features mixed well with those he held of a man coming of age. His face didn't tend to acne like many of his youth, nor did any stubble give an awkward image. He was comly, and would grow to be a very handsome man in the near future. Alys could do worse, especially if Aegon's father, uncles, and grandfather were the basis of his future looks. "I was quite surprised when you chose me as your first dance tonight."
He blinked. "Why would you think that, Lady Harroway? Do you doubt your beauty?" Aegon chuckled, turning them slowly. "Only my sister can compare to you."
Of course, Rhaena was radiant and a brother would always praise his siblings - yet the comment mattered more from a Targaryen than others. We know what they do with their sisters. The King whispering something intimately into the Queen's ear which she found amusing only bolstered the statement. "You could have your pick of anyone," Alys finally said. "Why me?"
Aegon regarded her with a smirk. "I find you interesting." He twirled her around, hand quickly finding her waist again. It made her shiver. "House Harroway isn't a major house. Old and august, yes, but not with power or clout - and yet here you are as a favorite of my sister." Another chuckle left his lips. "My sister may be sentimental, but all her friends are of senior highborns. That means you are something special, worthy of my attention."
That was… strange. Alys could understand if a suitor was captivated by her beauty, both chivalrous and lecherous. This… Prince Aegon was a deeper individual, whose motivations were an enigma to her. Lust? Power? Jealousy of his sister? She couldn't know.
Which made him both an attraction and a danger to her. The latter screamed warning, while the former begged to pull him closer to her.
The former won out, Alys taking advantage of a gentle lull in the music to rest her head against his shoulder as they danced. While his eyes wandered, Prince Aegon didn't pull away.
Watching her beautiful daughter twirling about the dance floor, falling into her northern husband's arms, Visenya sighed happily. "Rhaenys would've loved this. It was always her favorite times, dancing at feasts."
"I wouldn't say her favorite time." Visenya understood her husband's implication and glared wryly at him. He chuckled. "Aye, she would have." Leaning over to where she sat, Aegon took her hand and kissed the wrist, looking at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world - which to him she was. "Right about now, she'd be pushing you onto the dance floor."
"Gods, I hated that," Visenya groaned, for a moment feeling just like the ten and eight maiden being dragged around by her ten and five nameday-old sister. "Our son gets it from her, the effortless ease to make people like him." As always, when he didn't take his wife or some highborn matron for a dance, Aenys was surrounded by a gaggle of well-wishers that he engaged with in conversation. Their merry laughs rang out across the great hall. "He even charms our enemies."
"Rhae had a way of doing that," Aegon agreed. "Little Rhae is like that as well, though she gets her fierceness from you." Never once did any of his comparisons between his two loves ever cause one to come out ahead of the other - even if it unfortunately seemed that way at some time - but Rhae's fierceness was gentle, silent, one that would smile at you genuinely while getting a knife in the back later. Visenya… she'd just claw your eyes out right then and there. Maegor got that, Rhaenys got that… and he was sure Rhaena had that. "Maegor, he's just like you."
She shook his head, finding him always either by himself, by Ceryse, or speaking with one of the Northmen - only twice did he dance, once with his wife and once with Lady Stark. "No, Maegor is your son through and through. He broods, he sulks, and he keeps to himself. That is you, your Grace." Looking back at Aegon, her husband had a mischievous twinkle in his purple eyes. "What are you planning, Egg?"
Still grinning, he looked over to Lord Commander Corlys. "Cousin, if you'd please?"
"Of course, your Grace." He took a spear from one of the household guards and smacked the base against the dias - noise echoing across the great hall. All around, the sounds of laughter and pleasant conversation ceased as the gathered guests stilled, eyes drawn to the dias. "His Grace, Aegon I Targaryen, King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men, wishes to speak."
Standing, groaning softly as he worked out the kinks in his back, Aegon handed out his hand for Visenya to take. "Your Grace."
She smiled wide at him, taking the hand and feeling quite lucky. She recalled at their wedding feast he did something similar… Egg… you're not… But before she could speak, he was leading her down the dias.
Clearing his throat, King Aegon Targaryen still looked powerful in his black gambeson - red silk was stitched in the shape of a three-headed dragon emblazoned on the chest. Blackfyre may have now been the sword of Prince Maegor, but Aegon looked as if he could still conquer the kingdoms as he had three decades ago. "Gathered Lords and Ladies, visiting dignitaries, my beloved bride and I thank you for coming to celebrate the thirty-fifth year of our reign. A land of warring states, united now under peace and prosperity under the dragon's might." A chorus of claps followed, Targaryen stalwarts cheering while the others tepidly joined in. "Today is thirty-five years since my coronation, but also thirty-five years since my beloved Queen Visenya was crowned right next to me. By the gods, I've endured the seven hells upon this earth but never did I tire, because she was beside me."
Even the veteran of scores of battles and years of ruling couldn't keep Visenya from nearly swooning like a maiden at his words. "Egg…" she murmured, audible only to him.
Wordlessly, Aegon signalled to the minstrels, who prepared their instruments accordingly. The King took his Queen into his arms - they were already in the center of the Great Hall, watched by everyone. "I'm not an old man," Aegon told her. "I can still dance with my wife."
"You never dance," she replied in a whisper.
"True." His hand on her waist still managed to send tingles through her skin. "Neither do you, but you do enjoy it on occasion." She nodded, baffled that even after such a long marriage he could make her fall for him all over again.
And the music began again, the King of all Westeros leading his beloved across the smooth stone. It was a waltz from Oldtown, an old andal tune that held grace yet a serious flurry of movements that only a still spry man could follow. And Aegon followed it perfectly, the hem of Visenya's floor-length red gown that hugged her curves toned by still strenuous training brushing the priceless marble
Even in age, the powerful monarchs of Westeros still presented an imposing sight. An intimidating presence that quaked enemies in their boots and awed those that may have raised ire to someone weaker. As long as they lived, the realm they had forged would stay at peace, bound by their power and prospering under their love and rule.
If Rhaena had expected the dance between her grandparents to permanently liven up a rather dull evening, she was sadly mistaken. Granted, watching them glide about with the grace and power of those far younger than themselves was entertaining and wonderful for her, but it was just that… a fleeting feeling. They had long since returned to their seats upon the Iron Throne while yet another series of lordlings at the behest of her kepa and muna drew Rhaena in for dances.
She accepted politely each time, but gods, it was tedious. Most of them barely disguised their lascivious appreciation of her body or smug confidence at winning her heart for their own gain - young Manfryd Redwyne, deep in his cups, even groped her backside with a leer. Cousin to her aunt Ceryse, Rhaena couldn't do anything about it, but a quick word to her great-uncle Corlys to keep him away from her was heeded.
Muna or grandmother would likely send someone to teach him a lesson - Uncle Maegor would do it himself. She had no problem with that if it happened.
The minstrels finished their latest tune with a flourish, a jaunty melody from Braavos quite popular in high society. Rhaena planted her feet on the stone floors and clapped politely with the rest of the guests, curtseying to her partner. "Thank you for the dance, Lord Androw."
Unlike the vast majority of the others, shy Androw Farman was almost pleasant to dance with. He was slow and dense, but polite enough and one to allow her to speak. "Thank you, Princess. It was an honor."
He bowed and she curtseyed again, heading for the gaggle of her favorites gathered around one of the refreshment tables. "I told you my brother was a good dancer," grinned Lady Elissa Farman, lightly tapping Rhaena on the shoulder.
She laughed. "Aye, he is, though when I said that all my partners were imperious and never let me speak once, I didn't suggest the exact opposite." That wasn't exactly true. Young Luthor Tyrell was kind and deferent without being a dunce, yet there just wasn't any spark. Somehow, when compared with her grandfather, kepa, or uncle Maegor all men fell short of them. Especially with her uncle in looks.
"Well you're not giving us much to work with," shot back her cousin Larissa. "Picky picky picky."
"Leave her alone, Larissa," said Samantha Stokeworth. "It's not her fault she hasn't found her soulmate." That drew muffled groans from Elissa, Larissa, Alayne Royce, Tyanna, and Rhaena. "He's bound to be around her somewhere and I will not rest till I find him for you."
Rhaena took in Samantha's dreamy gaze - likely she was planning her wedding already. "Perhaps it's best for you to find a soulmate of your own, Sammy. Let me handle it myself." She made her way for the refreshments, eating some sliced cheese and bread while washing it down with watered wine.
"Ah… I know the perfect sort of man for myself." She gasped, smiling. "Perhaps we'll marry at the same time, and be pregnant together!" She practically simpered with delight at the thought.
Alayne shorted. "Alright, Sammy, calm down. Let's not get ahead of ourselves." The Vale maiden had quickly integrated into their little group - graceful but blunt much like Larissa or her Aunt Rhaenys. Rhaena was so thankful for the friends she'd made almost as much as she was for Dreamfyre. "Gods, Alys is at it again."
"What?" Oh, right… Rhaena caught the other new favorite back in a dance with her brother Aegon, the third time that night. "Is she really after my brother?"
"More like him after her," mused Tyanna. "I saw him staring at her whenever she wasn't with him. He's besotted."
Shrugging, Alayne raised her glass. "Here's to Lucas Harroway. Managed to snag a Targaryen for a goodson." Rhaena wished to rebut that they weren't betrothed yet, but she couldn't. It did sound like something her headstrong brother would do. The Royce maiden suddenly pointed. "Heads up…"
"Your Grace." Rhaena turned to come face to face with another suitor… one quite unwelcome but too important to blow off even if she was so inclined. "May I have this dance?" Ser Tyrion Lannister asked, lips curled in a gentle smile that was undoubtedly charming.
She couldn't refuse, and he didn't seem like a lecher. "Of course, Ser Tyrion." Taking his hand, Rhaena allowed him to lead her to the dance floor, casting a look back at her friends. Noticing how Tyanna slipped away towards her grandmother.
Striding to his bride, Maegor handed her a freshly-filled goblet. "Here you are, my dear." Ceryse accepted it with a light smile, leaning over to kiss his cheek in thanks. There was a time where that kiss would have been on his lips and accompanied by her melding herself flush against him, but Maegor chose not to reflect on what had been.
His brother however obtained such a reaction as he did the same thing for his wife. "Such a chivalrous, noble knight," Alyssa giggled, kissing Aenys' lips and affectionately stroking his shoulders.
"We're not insecure in ourselves, my love," Aenys replied happily. "Both Maegor and I are perfectly willing to act as proper husbands, not foist our duties off to a servant." He grinned at his brother.
"Of course. Proper husbands," she replied, eyes flickering to Maegor, gaze hard before returning a glittering smile for her husband.
Never change, goodsister… His sarcastic thoughts manifested as a sigh as he leaned against the wall. Maegor was certain her affections for Aenys were genuine, but they always took a backseat to her feelings of him. Currently, it was equal parts resentment and loathing, though it hadn't always been the case. Gods, forgive me for that, brother… He instinctively wrapped his arm around Ceryse's waist. She looked at him, slightly surprised at the rather intimate gesture they hadn't even felt while dancing together, but Ceryse didn't question it - merely leaning her head against his shoulder.
Whatever calm affection had brewed was dashed by the arrival of Lady Tyanna. "My Prince, a message from your mother for your ears only."
Catching the curious glances from his wife, brother, and goodsister, Maegor shrugged. "Can't ignore muna."
The young Pentoshi leaned up on her tiptoes, a head shorter than the tall Prince. "You need to rescue your niece," she whispered in his ear. "Her Grace would rather she dance with you than Tyrion Lannister."
Looking in that direction, Maegor could see his niece gliding about upon the dance floor with the Lannister heir. He couldn't deny that the parade of suitors had irked him, but none were of the caliber of a lion of Casterly Rock - and none as deadly. "Excuse me," he said to his brother and his wife, not paying Alyssa any heed. Ire and… something unfamiliar burned in his gut, but he pushed it down for propriety's sake. "I need to take care of something." A kiss to Ceryse's temple and he was off.
With Maegor gone and Tyanna heading back to her friends, Aenys was confused. "What was that about?"
Alyssa snorted. "With your brother, could be anything." Probably going to his mistress or something… "Come on, husband, goodsister. I think my brother and Lord Ronnel are primed for some stimulating conversation."
Her feet throbbed, and much as Rhaena wished to ignore it there was a greater ease in obsessing in the pain than paying full attention to the conversation before her. "...Lord Crakehall was a tough opponent, but on the fifth tilt I managed to knock him from his horse."
"That must have been a heady moment," she replied vaguely. Tyrion Lannister was handsome, no doubt, his golden hair and blue eyes likely to cause any maiden to melt for the lean yet powerful highborn. But there was something about him that made Rhaena… uncomfortable.
"It was, though victory usually is. I don't truly enjoy jousts."
"Oh?" They danced to the jaunty yet airy tune, replete with wide arcs and distance between the dancers - something Rhaena appreciated.
"Aye, I vastly prefer the melee. Less structure, more freedom to engage in the tactics needed to obtain victory." There, in his eyes, was a glint. One that unsettled Rhaena greatly. Most maidens wouldn't notice, and those were free to pursue him as far as the Princess was concerned.
Spinning around again, Rhaena was pulled out of her silent prayers by the stolid form of her uncle. He stood right in their path, one arm behind his back while the other was extended towards her… "Yes, uncle?" she asked, smiling at him in a way she hadn't ever smiled at Tyrion or any of the other suitors for her hand. "Is something the matter?"
He shrugged, smiling softly. "No, just the endurance of the mundane nature of court politics and manners."
A snort from Tyrion. "I find we are in agreement on that, my Prince, but if you would be so kind…"
Maegor ignored him. "Princess, if you wouldn't mind me cutting in?" His tone was so… charming, Rhaena fought a flutter in her heart.
"I would mind, Prince Maegor," replied Tyrion. "Princess Rhaena and I were trying to dance."
"You were trying, Ser Tyrion - she was succeeding."
Rhaena couldn't help the little giggle that left her mouth. Who would've thought the infamous Prince Maegor Targaryen was adept at the subtle insults of court. Tyrion hadn't, and his face reddened with anger and humiliation. But before he could respond, Rhaena squeezed his hand. "Thank you for the dance, Ser Tyrion. It was quite appreciated," she lied, eager to get from his possessive grip and into her dear uncle's. Hoping that it didn't come off that way.
Easing the heir to Casterly Rock away from her, Maegor clasped his back - they were both the same height, but the lion was more slender compared to the dragon's powerful muscles. "A simple jape, Ser Tyrion. Nothing more." He chuckled. "I was just here to inform you that my sister the Princess Rhaenys is in conversation with the other Lords of the Westerlands and wishes to include the discussion to you."
Tyrion eyed him warily - as if seeing directly through Maegor's little tricks. But he was politic, and nodded his head. "Kind of you, my Prince. I shan't deny the Princess her wish." A tiny glint of loathing flashed in Tyrion's eyes, met by an equal one of possessiveness in Maegor's before the former bowed to the latter and made for the Princess' table.
Chuckling, Maegor made his way to Rhaena. "Well, I cannot allow my niece not to finish this dance. It would be impolite."
Her waist tingled as Maegor placed his hand there, a blush adorning Rhaena's cheeks. "We can't have that." She straightened herself, hand squeezing Maegor's shoulder. "Lead the way."
It didn't take them long to reach the tempo of the song, Maegor an even better dancer than she thought he would be. Sensing her curiosity, he smiled to her. "Lady Stark may have been from the swamps of the Neck, but she was a cultured lady. Both I and Brandon were forced to learn the finer arts." Dipping Rhaena, he caught the glimpses of many a highborn. Disgusted looks, ones he noticed when his parents danced or were affectionate… though they seemed more open at him. Incestuous Targaryens.
"I must thank Lady Stark for her teachings - they work to my advantage right now." He spun her, holding his hand so she could twirl… and end up back in his arms. It was a steady feeling, and Rhaena was exhilarated. "Thank you for the dance, uncle. I was drowning."
Maegor frowned. "Ser Tyrion was that bad?" The tone carried an undercurrent of promise - that she just needed to say the word, damned be the political fallout.
"No… it wasn't like that." She wouldn't want her uncle to do something he would regret. They circled another couple, avoiding a collision by mere inches. "He was polite, but unsettling."
The couple they had avoided, a Lord and Lady of the Reach, gave them another glare of disgust. Maegor wanted to cave the man's teeth in, but refrained. "All Lannisters are like that."
"I haven't met Lord Loren, so I wouldn't know." Her feet were throbbing before, but now she didn't even feel them. "Others were worse. Manfryd Redwyne grabbed my ass."
The frown turned to a scowl. "I'll kill him."
Faced with his dragon fury, Rhaena shuddered… he never looked more handsome. "No need, he's just a cunt."
"Are you sure? Ralla's father knows some wildling punishments that would make a man beg for dragonfire."
Somehow she found that amusing, and Rhaena giggled. "No, it's quite alright." Her laugh coaxed a smile from him and they were able to return to enjoying the music.
But as soon as it began, the tune ended and the minstrels took a moment's rest. Both of them broke apart and clapped accordingly along with the rest as the Lords and Ladies made their way off the dance floor. "I rather enjoyed that," Maegor proclaimed.
"Aye, it was most enjoyable. I already enjoy your company, uncle, so it isn't surprising to me."
Locking eyes with his muna, Visenya almost openly urged him to continue. Subtle gestures screaming loud and clear what she wished. Maegor found himself wishing the same things. "Rhaena?"
"Hmmm… yes, uncle?"
He gazed at the other highborns, most going back to their conversations but some still giving him dirty glares. "Would you be up to something more… robust?" If they are scandalized by us dancing, why not give them something to actually be scandalized over.
She looked quizzical, raising an eyebrow. "How robust are we speaking of?" He leaned in and whispered it to her ear, piquing her interest. "I should be able to keep up at that."
"Are you sure? Your dancing is skilled, but such a tempo may be too powerful a challenge." He deliberately stoked her fire, seeing if she was up for it.
Her eyes narrowed. "I am a dragonrider. Nothing is too powerful a challenge to me."
Just what he wanted to hear. Nodding, Maegor made his way to the lead minstrel and slipped him a gold dragon, giving his recommendation. The minstrel beamed and pumped his fist, excited for a challenge of a song. The Prince returned to his niece, extending his hand. She took it, supremely ready for...
In a whoosh, he dipped her twice in quick succession, Rhaena's heart already beating at the rapid movements… only for Maegor to pull her flush against him. Redness filled her cheeks at the closeness - at just how muscled he was - but recovered as the gentle glide of the dance moves began. It was a tune from Old Valyria, quite popular there in the same way dragonriding was. Full of exaggerated movements and sensual gestures, many thought it based off of dragon mating rituals done in the skies between prospective partners.
From the dias, both Aegon and Visenya watched with interest - especially at the scandalized looks of many of the more pious lords. "Oh, Maegor, you beautiful bastard," Aegon muttered, suppressing a laugh.
Parting from Alys Harroway for one of the few times that night since their first dance, Prince Aegon was taking a drink of unwatered wine when his attention was drawn to his sister and uncle. "What in seven hells," he murmured, watching as they danced almost flush against each other, their movements jerky and… sensual. "Rhaena…" he said almost angrily, not liking at all what he was seeing.
Sweat formed a sheen over her forehead and cheeks, but Rhaena noticed not. Her mind was a flurry of movements and positioned, desperate to keep up to her uncle's almost boundless reserve of energy and fire. She knew why this dance was popular in Old Valyria, for only two dragons could handle the sheer passion and heat it required to keep up to the music.
But in spite of her concentration, her senses flickered about to other things. Specifically, her uncle, the rest of the world closed off from her. The glint of the many lights upon his silver hair, looking as an explosion of color. The way his muscles contracted underneath his doublet as they moved. The heady scent of strength. His powerful touch that nevertheless held her with care - as if she was a precious gem that needed to be treasured.
It threatened to overwhelm her.
From the outskirts of the great hall, the Crown Prince and his party were immersed in conversation. A flourish in the music drew a cursory glance which ended quickly… until the true sight was actually processed, drawing more involved and stunned expressions. There was the Princess dancing sultrily, athletically with the Crown Prince's own brother, all knowing of the predilections that House Targaryen was renowned for. Aenys laughed, clapping his hands at the display of skill. Ceryse looked away, face flushed and profoundly embarrassed and jealous.
But none could pale in the cold fury of Alyssa's expression… combined with a slight tinge of jealousy as well. That little shit...
Arms raising, Maegor strained to lower Rhaena to the floor - the skirts of her dress pooling around her like cascades of molten lava from the Fourteen Flames. Only to jerk her back up in a powerful show of strength and dexterity. The minstrels added a final dash of string heralding the end, the Prince spinning his partner around before dipping her back, neck extending just as the last tune was played.
When the King and Queen immediately stood, clapping uproariously, even the most offended of the Lords and Ladies had to join in. Visenya and Aegon were visibly laughing merrily, while from the head of the crowd the arriving Crown Prince Aenys looked awed at the skill of his brother and eldest daughter. Rhaena's favorites cheered their friend, leading the other Targaryen stalwarts to do the same.
Heart pounding in her chest, Rhaena lifted her head back up to find herself gazing into his violet eyes. A gaze that sent her entire soul fluttering. My gods… he is magnificent. Young as she was, it felt to her as if she was looking up at her soulmate.
A/N: The Targaryens certainly know how to throw a feast. Cookie for anyone who can guess where I got the dancing scene from ;)
25 comments and I post the next chapter in a week. Big changes for House Targaryen coming up.