A/N: Hi guys. Got a new job so that's good. Got my first positive reply from a med school as well so that's exciting - still not set yet and there's like 2 dozen left to go. Fingers crossed.

Sit, relax, and enjoy.

Chapter 17: Coronation

"I'm not sure about this, muna." Rhaena was apprehensive for what was about to happen. "What if I make an ass of myself? Or say something stupid?"

Stopping outside the Small Council chambers, Alyssa took her daughter in her arms. "You stop that right now, Rhaena." She looked her in the eyes. "You and your brother shall be the new generation of power in House Targaryen, the children of the King himself. It is time that you take a central part in the Realm just as your younger siblings will once they come of age."

Looking away, Rhaena bit her lip. "But am I truly ready?"

A smile formed on Alyssa's face. "I know you are, my beautiful daughter." She kissed Rhaena's cheek, which made the girl smile back - her perfect Valyrian Princess. "Now, come on."

Rhaena stepped through the doors and was greeted by the chamber of the Small Council, currently housed in one of the meeting rooms of her kepa's manse. All of her grandfather's councilors were there, as were Lord Butterwell, Lord Reyne, Ronnel Arryn, and others that muna hoped to appoint to the council once Aenys was crowned. Her uncle Orys was there, but her grandmother wasn't, much to her disappointment. Aegon sat beside their mother's seat, while Lord Torrhen waited beside…

Uncle Maegor! Rhaena fought a sheepish blush at the sight of his smiling… oh so handsome face. Gods, he looked beautiful… No, stop it… Her budding feelings for him were greatly confusing, and the whirlwind of her grandfather's death had prevented her from truly addressing it.

"Daughter, come here." Aenys waved her over. "Sit beside me and your uncle."

Oh shit. Wordlessly she nodded, slipping into the seat beside the object of her infatuation. "Niece," he said sweetly.

Damn, his voice lit a fire in her. "Uncle."

"May we begin, father?" Aegon asked.

"Don't be impatient, my son," Aenys replied. "We will start as custom dictates."

Formalities were observed, bread and salt passed around for guest rite and introductions made - the banter of highborns was shared, discussing births, deaths, marriages, and other special occasions as the servants brought out wine, ale, and finger-food.

Eventually though, serious matters were brought up. Namely, the initial steps that Aenys would need to make soon after his coronation.

"We need to be cautious, your Grace," Torrhen Stark commented. He had a good working relationship with King Aegon - Aenys and he did cooperate smoothly on matters concerning finances and the construction of the Red Keep, but on the actual issues of comprehensive governing he could feel the rawness and tension. The boy was well-intentional, but seemed almost naively optimistic. "Your father's death will serve, however unfortunately and misguidedly, that Westeros is weak and open to attack." His eyes flickered to Prince Maegor and Alyn Stokeworth, both of whom held the experience and good sense to agree with him.

Drumming his fingers on the table, Maegor thought for a moment. "We should move forces to the borders - not a significant amount to threaten invasion but enough to send a message. The Faith Militant has been expanded so they can do the trick alongside the Marcher Lords."

"We can make them more amenable to calling their banners if we subsidize their call," stated Lord Butterwell. "I could have the bullion minted from the treasury…"

"No, we shan't engage in warmongering tactics." All fell silent to Aenys, just speaking up. "How would my reign look if my first action is to call banners and amass spears and swords along the border with Dorne?"

Maegor leaned forward. "Brother, it would send a signal to our enemies that you are not one to be trifled with…"

But the King was insistent. "We defeat our enemies by making friends with them." He stroked his beard, eyes alight with passion. "Since my father and mothers were crowned, a this realm has exploded in prosperity and material wealth, much more so than simply six independent realms. We can use our power in trade to maintain the peace without resorting to violent wars that bring nothing but ruin.

Admiring his brother's passion, Maegor did concede his proposals had merit. Coin was a powerful incentive, but for traditional enemies to make peace… "The Dornish swine will never accede to peaceful relations without a show of force," thundered Orys, slamming his fist on the table.

"I must agree with your uncle and… brother." Maegor was shocked to hear Alyssa agree with him - Alyssa was equally shocked, but she wasn't petty enough to reject good advice. "You must show them you cannot be bullied before inviting them to the table…"

Aenys shook his head. "I shall not start my reign off with war. The smallfolk desire peace and bread, and I shall give it to them."

"Perhaps…" Rhaena began, only to quiet down.

"Daughter, what is it?" Aenys asked.

"Nothing," was the hesitant reply.

"Rhaena, you may speak your mind," Alyssa coaxed.

But she was slightly intimidated. "Really, it's nothing…"

"Please, dear niece. Speak."

Maegor smiling at her, Rhaena smiled back - a little confidence swelling in her. "Well… kepa, you could invite the foreign dignitaries to the capitol for trade negotiations. We can show off our strength and wealth from the safety of our own capitol, no need to threaten or demonstrate."

"Except perhaps with our dragons. Each of them have riders now, just as before." Maegor smacked the table. "I like it." Rhaena swelled with pride.

"I like it too, dear daughter," Alyssa smiled. "Your Grace?"

Chuckling, Aenys stood - kissing his daughter on the crown of her head. "You are wise beyond your years, my beautiful little dragon." Rhaena beamed, while most of the Small Council nodded approvingly and her brother merely frowned in silence, "This will be the event to cap off an ambitious project. We must show that the reign of Aenys Targaryen, First of His Name, is open and willing to share its prosperity to all that seek peaceful friendship. That is why I want all of you, my children, to begin royal progresses to the other Kingdoms, you as well brother."

"And you, your Grace?" Torrhen asked.

"The Queen and I shall travel to Braavos, Pentos, and Volantis, capping it off with a visit to Dorne once their delegations have finished in our fair city. The world will know of our might and our wealth, beginning the first true peace since the Doom of Valyria." He received a standing ovation - while Maegor and Torrhen had reservations about the details, those could be worked around. The King had charted a firm course and it was their duty to see it through.

An hour passed in a flurry of mundane discussion, largely about the coronation festivals and updates on various world events - none of them concerning. Finally, it was done. The Princess was eager to head to her sparring lessons. What could grandmother wish to have me learn this time? As Rhaena made her way out of the small council chamber, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up and immediately her heart made a little catch. "Niece, do you have a moment?" Maegor asked her, giving her a melancholic look.

"Of course, uncle." Sensing a look of disapproval from her mother, she simply refused to look around. "What is it you wish to discuss?" Rhaena bit her lip, trying not to blush. It was hard being around him these days with the new feelings she held - gods, she didn't understand them herself.

Stepping out towards the gardens, Maegor guided his niece in the direction of the courtyard. "Your grandmother… after your kepa is crowned she'll be journeying to Dragonstone. I have no idea how long she'll be gone but considering how much she loved your grandfather…"

"She needs time alone, I understand." Rhaena thought for a moment. "Does that mean you'll be taking charge of my swordsplay and dragonriding training?"

"You are a perceptive young lady, dear niece," he smiled. "In dragonriding… I'd be better off taking lessons from you." The two shared a laugh at that, Rhaena resisting the urge to hold his arm and lean into his shoulder - he was her married uncle, after all. "As for swordsplay, I'd be far too busy in my role as Master of War to properly train you."

A saddened look took hold of Rhaena's face. "I can't say I'm not disappointed." She greedily looked forward to any time alone with him, no matter how much it ultimately hurt. "So who shall be teaching me, then?"

His grin widened, as if holding an important secret. "You shall soon find out."

Waiting in the courtyard was a thin man. He was dressed in a simple tunic and rousers of black, grey leather cuirass strapped to his chest. His salt-and-pepper hair and wrinkled face belied a hard life and great experience, yet there was a serenity about him that intrigued Rhaena. This is not a man to trifle with. "Your Grace," he said, bowing at the Princess. "You are as beautiful as your uncle has spoken to me of."

"Oh…" She blushed at the idea of her uncle praising her beauty - wished to hear such in person. "I thank you, good Ser… Apologies, but I do not know your name."

Chuckling, Maegor patted her shoulder. "Dear niece, this is Ser Gawen Corbray, former master-at-arms at Dragonstone."

Rhaena's eyes bugged out of her head. "Ser Gawen… it is an honor." Ser Gawen was a living legend, having fought at the Field of Fire for House Targaryen and personally slaying Prince Edmund Gardener in single combat at age ten and seven. He had served through the entire Dornish War and personally collected the bounties on five Dornish highborns, making him a personally wealthy man as the second son of the now deceased lord Lyonel Corbray. One of the most deadly knights in the Seven Kingdoms.

Clipped to his belt was Lady Forlorn, a beautiful longsword of Valyrian steel.

"The honor is mine for my reputation to be so high among the royal family." Polite to her, he raised his brow at the Prince. "She looks to have the fortitude of your mother, but she's still raw. Arrogant even."

"Huh?" Rhaena was confused.

Maegor squeezed her arm. "I summoned Ser Gawen from Heart's Home to serve as your teacher in the art of swordsplay, the more advanced lessons, mind you. He taught me when I was much younger than you, so neither I nor your grandmother could think of anyone more qualified for you, niece."

She beamed. "Thank you uncle." Without thinking, she leaned up on tip toes and kissed his cheek. "Words cannot express how grateful I am."

"Just express your gratitude by learning enough to beat me in a spar." Maegor smiled once at her before departing, whispering something in Ser Gawen's ear first.

The experienced knight looked her over once more. By the click of his tongue, he was not impressed. "You wear Dark sister at your waist."

Rhaena nodded. "A gift from my grandmother…"

"Put it away. You are not worthy to fight with the blade of Visenya Targaryen."

"Excuse me…"

Before Rhaena could speak more, Ser Gawen tossed leather trousers and a linen shirt at her. "Go put these on and be back here in fifteen minutes, lest you wish for thirty laps around the manse. I didn't go soft on your uncle and neither will I on you." Rhaena made haste to comply…

Looking up, she could see a blue blur of Dreamfyre soaring high in the sky - it made her harden her fortitude. The prospect of being a mighty dragonrider and warrior like her grandmother was in her grasp. Gawen Corbray wouldn't break her.

Eyes fluttering open, Trianna Vhassar found herself sighing in contentment. Just as she was wont to do every morning of the last few moons. Her family was still immensely wealthy, and the Elephants still maintained the junior position in the ruling wartime coalition dominated by the tigers - no, the source of her happiness was more the simplest of things.

A man.

Allowing such simple, selfish thoughts in the confines of her bed - increasingly their bed - Trianna hugged her lover's muscular form. He was bare, as was she, indicative of the night of passion shared while still awake. They do say Lys is the city of pleasure.

"If you squeeze me any tighter, I will stop breathing."

Trianna smirked. "I would think a mighty northern warrior such as yourself could take it. Apparently not, so I'll have to find someone with more strength."

A possessive arm wrapped tightly round her shoulder, making the second-most powerful person in the newly-christened Volentine Empire yelp. "I think not, sweetling."

"That's a term for children, isn't it Lord Ryder?"

"I call you that because you are quite sweet, Lady Vhassar," Eddard Ryder of the Rills stated flatly. "And I'm no Lord, not anymore."

She hugged him again. "You are a Lord to me, lover, at least within this bed." The power imbalance was extensive, but at least in here the young noblewoman could indulge herself and her dreams. She held enough power to hold whatever lover she desired, at least in private.

Which is what we have to be.

"Time to get dressed, I believe that pompous cunt has summoned us," Ryder spat. As the Captain General of the Company of the Rose - currently under indefinite contract by the Empire since their actions helped the Unsullied legions take Myr with a quarter of the predicted casualties - he was privy to all sessions of the war council. Ironically, that was where they met. Kissing her forehead, he swung his legs out of the bed. "My offer to kill him so you can rule still stands."

Trianna sighed, sitting up and pulling the bedsheet to cover her chest. "He's the legitimate Chief Triarch of Volantis, elected by the nobility within the Black Walls. However much we disagree, I cannot plot against him or risk losing all support I do have."

"My father betrayed his Lord and King by refusing to bend the knee to the damned dragons, and while he lost his lands and titles look where his son has ended up." Eddard yanked up his trousers, covering Trianna's favorite bits of him. "Fucking the most beautiful woman in the world."

The silver-haired noblewoman blushed. "You are a charmer underneath that brutish exterior."

"How else did I get you, my dear?" They shared one last kiss for the morning.

Lys was synonymous with pleasure. Such had been the state of affairs since it was but an outpost on the westernmost reaches of the Valyrian Freehold. Dragonlords adored purchasing manses here, both men and women alike flocking to the pleasure houses to satiate their boundless passion. The Doom hadn't changed the city one bit, even if it became more populated by the swell of refugees and freed slaves from the ruins of Valyria.

But even from her wheelhouse, Trianna could sense a change in the atmosphere. She had been to Lys before as a young woman, and the various activities were still present. The marketplaces buzzed with life, the streets were packed with throngs of people - the majority tattooed in bondage - and the pleasure houses endured plenty of traffic. However, all was not well. Armed men had seemed to triple, roving groups of thugs joining the hired muscle that most business partook in. Tightly disciplined in comparison were the Black Guardsmen of Volantis itself, as well as the ramrod straight hoplites of the Astapori-trained Unsullied legions.

For decades they served the whims of the Good Masters of Slaver's Bay. Now, they served the Volentine Triarchy. Trianna knew not if it was much of a difference.

While she elected a manse at the edge of the city, Catoyn Maegyr used his clout to appropriate the Magistrar's palace for himself. It was an immense, gaudy creation of white marble and limestone, completely different in nature from the black stone manses of old Volantis. Trianna appreciated the airy architecture. What she hated was the grandiosity - such a waste. What had to be three hundred Unsullied and a thousand assorted guards stood guard around it, speaking more to Maegyr's paranoia than his sense.

Lys was the city that resisted the least to the war of expansion.

Enslaved servants led Trianna and her retinue through the halls of the manse to the formal reception chamber. There she saw the military leaders of the War Council - including her beloved Eddard - intermixed with several Volentine highborns of both the Tigers and Elephants. Also there were three of the most powerful figures in Lys that did not hold supreme authority during the war. Admiral Tylor Lohar of the Lysene navy, ridiculously-wealthy merchant Bambarro Bazanne, and the High Plenipotentiary of the Lysene Bank Lakor Rogare. The latter interested Trianna the most. Aside from Maegyr, the King of Westeros, and the Yi Ti Emperor, Lakor Rogare was likely the most powerful man in the known world. Tread lightly.

At the seat of honor, Catoyn cleared his throat. "Many greetings to my colleague, Triarch Vhassar. Her arrival signals the beginning of our discussion."

"I am honored to be a part of this occasion," she stated politely, taking a seat next to Eddard. Quite deliberately. It was no secret he was her lover - they were discrete, so no one cared.

Clasping his hands together, Maegyr motioned to Eddard Ryder. "Captain General Ryder is one of Volantis' best field commanders. At my request, he has calculated the size of our armies."

Clearing his throat, Eddard rose. "Your Excellences, the Empire of Volantis currently fields an army of two hundred thousand foot, fifty thousand cavalry, five hundred war elephants, and a navy of three hundred ships. If the forces of the Three daughters are added, the land numbers rise by half that amount and the navy triples in size." The logistics would be a nightmare, but such was the largest army since the Freehold collapsed. He seated, report done.

In front of them all on the table was a massive map of the known world. "The Targaryen King is dead." That they already knew, so Trianna merely leaned back, waiting for what Catoyn would say next… though she had a feeling she knew that as well. "His son, Crown Prince Aenys, is a far different man."

"A weak, sentimental fool. We all know this, Maegyr," Lakor Rogare huffed, arms crossed.

Lord Admiral Trechel smacked his hand on the table. "Show the Lord Triarch some respect!"

"I'll show respect when it's earned,lest you wish to kill me as you did the magistrars of Myr and Tyrosh."

"My friends, let us calm down." Catoyn didn't want bloodshed. He couldn't afford it within the Empire he had forged his land into. "Yes, Lord Rogare, Crown Prince Aenys is rather pliable and simplistic a man - clever but not warlike. Competent but not decisive. He still retains the Small Council of his father but they are old and likely to pass on such as Lord Hand Torrhen Stark."

Trianna heard a snort from her lover. "May the old gods condemn him to the blizzards of hell," Eddard muttered.

"What about his brother?" Bazanne remarked. "Prince Maegor, we know of his ruthlessness first hand."

Catoyn waved it off. "He is not the King, his brother is, and I have it on proper authority that the various unhealed wounds of the Targaryen conquest will soon fester under the less intimidating rule of Prince Aenys." He gestured to the large map. "As such, our Empire is primed for expansion. Pentos and the northern reaches of the Rhoyne lay primed four our sphere of influence, not to mention the Summer Isles and Naath to increase our slave population."

"How large do you intend to expand?" asked admiral Lohar.

The Tiger smiled. "We are the heirs to the legacy of Old Valyria, and under my leadership I intend to eclipse such a legacy. Only with the support of your networks, ships, men, and coin can I make this happen, though." Trianna tried to hide her surprise. While expansion was what she expected, this… lofty goal wasn't. Where could he possibly seek to expand to eclipse Valyria? The Dothraki were still being bribed to stay away and the Ghiscar good trade partners.

On the edge of the map laid Westeros, which provided a rather frightening answer. No, he's not that stupid.

"You are forgetting one thing, Maegyr," spat Rogare, leaning forward to point an accusatory finger. "The Valyrians conquered half the known world using thousands of dragons to overwhelm the Ghiscar and the Rhoynish, and then only just. Dragons still exist in much smaller numbers, but in the hands of those you wish to also dominate. I find it hard to believe you can snap your fingers and end my worries of your abilities."

Trianna watched her colleague with quizzical eyes. Wanting to know his response. The leader of the tigers only waved off the concerns. "You need not worry, Lord Rogare. The problem with the dragons shall take care of itself - especially with what the Empire is currently planning."

He frowned. "I will need assurances, Triarch. You cannot secure my support with mere innuendo and empty promises."

Nodding, Catoyn motioned for Rogare to follow him to the far end of the massive chamber - far enough away so no one could hear their whispers. "Are you aware of what he was alluding to?" Eddard asked her, thinking she'd know."

Embarrassingly enough, Trianna was just as clueless. "He rarely tells me his plots unless I am a necessary step in realizing them." The Tigers ruled the war council, so they could always scrounge up majorities to wield power unilaterally if need be. Trianna would rather knuckle under and live, at least until opportunity arrived.

Returning, a small smile adorned Rogare's face. "My objections have been mollified, and I am willing to throw my support behind his Excellence Triarch Maegyr." As the other Lysene highborns followed Rogare's lead, Trianna met Catoyn's eyes. He smiled to her, but the eyes were plotting, devious. What are you hiding, my friend? What are you hiding indeed?

Humming delightfully, young Princess Alysanne Targaryen danced through the halls of her father's manse. She twirled about to the tune of Old Valyria, the one she heard the servant girls whistling - apparently something about a dance her sister and 'n'cle Maegor' did the night before her grandfather's death. Such complexities of why her mother banned it in her presence confused Alysanne, but didn't obsess her. So she hummed and danced, content with her lot.

Twirling around a corner, she spotted one of the Kingsguard. "Ser Symond." Alysanne was proud to know all of them by name… and spell them out too.

The Kingsguard clicked his heels. "My Princess." He eyed her curiously. "Shouldn't you be at your lessons?"

"Done for the day!" Grand Maester Gawen and Septon Murmison were always impressed with her wit and good nature - her kepa often bragged about how she was able to read at a younger age than her siblings. She didn't really understand why it was a big deal, but if Aenys praised her then she would be happy. "Grand Maester gave me a whole hour to play cause I was a good girl."

A chuckle from Ser Symond. "You are a very delightful girl, your Grace. The spitting image of your father if he didn't have a cock and stones."

She raised an eyebrow. "Cock and stones? Like a boy chicken with rocks?"

Symond didn't know whether to cackle at the innocent statement or be mortified that he spoke lewdly to the five-nameday old Princess. "If… if you want to go to your chambers, just be warned Prince Jaehaerys is inside."

That made her beam brightly. "Jae there?! Thank you, Ser Symond." She raced into the room, eager to see her beloved brother. Just as advertised, he was there, crouched by the hearth. "Jae!"

Turning to see her bounding to him, Jae covered his lips with his finger. "Shhh, not so loud."

Alysanne stopped in her tracks. Quirking her head at an angle, she could see something in the fire that Jae was intent on watching. "Is that your egg?" she asked, keeping her voice quiet.

Nodding, Jaehaerys watched the bronze-scaled egg he had slept with since the cradle. Sleeves pulled up - both cuffs singed a bit - he reached into the flames to caress the warm scales. "I'm trying to make it hatch like Dreamfyre." He could feel the dragon nestled inside move - feel its heart and fire. "See, Ally. I don't burn. Just like Rhae or grandmother!"

"Can I try?" She herself reached into the flame.

"No!" Jae yanked her back. "I'm not getting in trouble with muna if you get burned."

Her pride was wounded but said nothing - he was just a good big brother like kepa always said. "Why are you burning the dragon egg?" Hers was tucked away in a chest under her bed. She would always pull it out to sleep with at night, snuggled within the pillows and covers rather than braved to the flames.

Jae snorted. "Because, little sister, dragons are fire made flesh. Didn't you listen to n'cle Maegor or grandfather's stories?" Alysanne may have been his favorite person in the world and considered to be the smartest of all the royal siblings, but she was too big for her britches sometimes. "You put the dragon egg in the fire and it hatches. That's how Rhaena did it."

"Rhaena hatched Dreamfyre with fire?" Ally's eyes were wide.

"Aye… but nothing's happening. I've been waiting here for a gazillion minutes and still nothing!" Come on egg, hatch! I want a babe dragon to love and to cuddle and to ride against my enemies like the dragon I am! If n'cle Maegor could ride Balerion, he could hatch his dragon, but the long wait was really getting to him.

Biting her lip, Alysanne squinted at the egg. It didn't move, but she could faintly see something squirming underneath the scales. The dragon was alive, her brother's dragon, but… There was a book Rhaena gave her when she first learned how to read. A simple tome about dragon lore written by one of the early Targaryens. She struggled to remember what it said. "Um, Jae. Maybe it won't hatch now."

He rolled his eyes. "Stop being a doomer like muna or Egg. It'll hatch!" His yelling was likely more to convince himself of the eventuality than his sister.

"But Jae. I read in Rhae's book that dragons are not slaves. That they choose when to come…"

Suddenly he poked her hard in the shoulder, causing Alysanne to flinch back. "Don't tell me what to do!" Jaehaerys poked her again, and she backed away - her feet stumbled into a toy left on the floor and Ally tripped, falling to the ground. "Stupid little girl! Keep your stupid ideas and stupid taunts away from me!"

Heart thumping, the Princess looked up at her brother with wide, fearful eyes. "Don't… don't hurt me, Jae…"

The fury of the dragon's temper, ignited by the failure of his egg to hatch, dissipated as Jaehaerys' mind wrested back control. The six-nameday old Prince saw his dear sister on the ground, looking at him with the most terrified expression. Gods… I… did that? A cruel boy would've laughed at the look on Alysanne's face. Jae held nothing but shame. "Ally…"

He tried to reach down to her, but she shoved his hand to the side. "Go away!"

"No, Ally. I'm sorry…"

She scrambled to her feet, running to the corner and wrapping her arms around her side. "You hurt me, leave me alone!" she screamed.

The screaming attracted the attention of the Kingsguard outside the door. "My Prince, is everything alright in there?" asked Ser Symond Crane.

Jaehaerys panicked. "Aye… all's fine!" He prayed that the Ser Symond wouldn't enter. Luckily, the knight thought better of intruding. The Prince sighed in relief and approached his trembling sister - literally too pale to cry. "Ally. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." Wise beyond his years, he also felt the deepest remorse.

Biting her lip, Alysanne's eyes brimmed with tears. "Kepa and n'cle Maegor say brothers protect little sisters. You hurt me, not protect me."

"I'll never hurt you again, I promise!" Jae cried, embracing her in the innocent, comforting hug of dear siblings. He'd been foolish to try and force his egg to hatch. Rhaena hatched hers, while his uncle mounted their grandfather's. Both came at the right time, so his would hatch thusly just as Ally said. "I'm so stupid!"

She shook her head. "No, no stupid, Jae." Tearful eyes blinking up at him, she didn't want a fight. All she wanted was peace, just as it was before her grandfather's death. "I forgive you." He was her brother. She loved him as she did all her siblings.

Simply holding her, Jae kissed her brow just as he'd seen Rhaena do to him or Viserys. "I'll never hurt you again."

She had accepted his apology and was no longer fearful of him, but as she walked through the grounds of the Dragonpalace Alysanne no longer skipped and twirled with laughter. Her parents had brought the entire family to see the progress being made as construction recommenced following their grandfather's funeral. Jaehaerys, still awkward and shameful of his conduct, avoided her by going with Rhaena and Egg somewhere else, so it was just Alysanne - guarded by Ser Davos Darklyn of the Kingsguard. While normally the great hall and the cliffs would draw her wonder, her mind was too foggy. Too apprehensive.

Why was Jae so mad? He never did that before. Her brother could be stubborn and a grouch sometimes when his pride was wounded, but never to this extent. Alysanne simply couldn't understand it and it worried her.

"Ally!"

Looking to her side, there were her cousins running towards her. "Eggsy, Alaric!" In the moons since their arrival, the three of them had grown quite close. Aegon Stark was a cheery child Jae's age without the sense of pride - always willing for an adventure. Alaric was… quiet and dour, but seemed to bond with Ally in a way he didn't with anyone else. If she wasn't with her siblings, she was playing with her Stark cousins. "You seem happy," Alysanne asked them as hugs were exchanged.

Eggsy nodded. "Muna got a raven from n'cle Brandon in Winterfell. Blizzard's mate is having pups!"

Alysanne had grown used to direwolves due to her uncle Maegor's, Rhaena often playing with her and inviting Ally and Jae to join, so she had a clue of what the direwolves meant to the Starks. "That's great!" Plus… puppies!

"We're going to the godswood to pray for the pups. Wanna join us?"

She blinked. "Um… I don't know…" Kepa made them pray in the sept, and Murmuson didn't share a good attitude to the old gods during their lessons. "I pray to the Seven."

Alaric took her hand. "Just listen, cousin Ally. Weirwood doesn't bite… unless you betray an oath."

"How do you do that?"

He put a finger to his lips. "I don't right now, but kepa says never lie in the godswood."

Ally shook her head. "I don't lie, ever. Muna says never to lie."

"Then you'll be fine!" Eggsy exclaimed. "Come on." She couldn't say no.

Lord Torrhen Stark had built the godswood almost immediately upon taking office as Hand, the grove of trees at the base of the High Hill dating back to the Aegonfort days. When the outer walls were erected, he insisted that the stone barriers were first constructed here. As such, the collection of oak, maple, and northern pine trees didn't hold the same unfinished air as the rest of the Dragonpalace.

As soon as Alysanne entered, she could feel a sort of heady feeling. As if something… really special dwelt here. "Remember, no lies," Eggsy explained. "And any oath here can't be broken."

"I don't lie." Stepping along the path through the trees, the face of the young weirwood came into view. The face carved in its trunk was of a screaming woman, one dripping blood red sap from its eyes. She was… slightly fearful, but took a deep breath. N'cle Maegor says I'm a dragon. Rhae says I'm a dragon.

Dragons are not scared.

One by one, Eggsy and Alaric knelt before the heart tree prayed silently - now it was her turn. "Go ahead," Alaric whispered gently. "Just be honest. The old gods will hear you."

Biting her lip, Ally nodded and knelt before the scary face. Placing her hand on the smooth bark. Ummm… I'm Princess Alysanne of House Targaryen. I'm a dragon that prays to the Seven who are One…

A feeling of displeasure registered in Ally's soul, one that made her sweat.

I mean you no harm… As soon as it came, it receded. She took a deep breath and continued. You don't have to listen to me, but just… watch over my brother Jae. Don't let him be sad or angry anymore. Let him hatch his dragon… and I'll always be grateful. A sudden sense of calm washed over Alysanne, as if a sea breeze passed through her body.

Alaric was right, the old gods did listen.

Steel clashed against steel in the inner courtyard of Sunspear castle, the gentle flowing of fountains and chirping of parrots surrounding the beautiful gardens. Ser Marcus Uller - master-at-arms for House Nymeros Martell - quickly stepped back, dodging a slash before thrusting himself. His sparring partner, Nymeria Sand, spun on her toes and escaped her sparring partner's attack.

"Impressive, young Sand."

"I could say the same for you, Ser Marcus," the 'Sand Snake' observed, pausing for a moment to study her opponent. The granddaughter of Princess Deria Martell, bastard or no, was afforded the best training the Principality of Dorne could offer, and it had paid off.

Easing her wrist, she twirled the infamous Valyrian steel blade of her ancestor and namesake, Princess Nymeria of the Rhoynish. Defiance felt perfect in the Sand Snake's hand, fluid and graceful. Its curved blade designed perfectly for the ancient fighting style of the Rhoynish warriors.

"Waiting patiently, young Sand," taunted the master-at-arms, pointing at her with his traditional Andal longsword - he preferred the glaive, but it was best to train them to fight their most likely enemies.

Nymeria narrowed her eyes. "You will pay for that," she hissed, lunging forward.

Strike after strike was dodged, footwork careful upon the smooth limestone of the tiled floor. Nymeria used her slender frame and flexible joints to her advantage, closing quickly on her opponent and slashing fast. Overwhelming attacks breaking even his superior strength. Unable to properly swing his blade at such close quarters, it clattered on the ground just as Nymeria placed the curve of her blade against his neck.

"Yield?"

"I yield." She dropped the sword, sheathing it. "Very good, young Sand. Your family made the correct decision in entrusting your namesake's blade with you."

Pulling at the ties of her hair, Nymeria let it loose. Splashing some water on her face to bid away the heat. "I've heard better complements, but don't let it stop you." The two chuckled.

A servant scurried into the courtyard. "Lady Sand, the Princess wishes to speak with you." Her eyes widened. Such a summons could not be ignored.

Deria Martell sat alone in her solar. The years had taken a toll on her once immense beauty, and she was wrinkled, worn, and frail - yet her eyes still sparkled with sharpness and wit, ruling over Dorne as it rebuilt itself after its successful resistance of the dragons. And yet, the mighty Princess took great pleasure in the spark of her eye, her dear granddaughter. "Thank you for coming, my dear. I know how you value your training."

"It was over anyways," Nymeria smirked, taking a seat across from the older woman. "You wished to speak to me, grandmother?"

Deria gave a sigh, tapping her cane against the travertine floor of the solar. "My grandmother, they said, used to tell me as a young child that she endured twenty years of maesters and healers that she had but a year to live. Each time, when a year passed she had them banished for quackery." The Princess of Dorne let out a chuckle.

Nymeria giggled. "Definitely a scion of the Rhoynish Princess, she was." 'The Old Toad' she was called for her ugliness even when young, but the bastard of House Martell was rather convinced that the vain and insecure men only voiced such a name out of jealousy and spite. Much like grandmother or I.

"Aye. A lesser woman would have capitulated to the dragon."

"Like the Starks did."

Deria gave her granddaughter a lecturing frown. "The northmen were able to usurp their betters by humbling themselves. They now have immense power and dragons of their own." If they wanted to assert their own independence they were only a few generations away from having such power - more than any other kingdom that submitted to the Targaryens. "Never underestimate the wisdom of conceding when you are weaker, lest you fall into supreme arrogance as some have."

Nodding, Nymeria knew just what her grandmother referred to. Cousin Mors. The child of Deria's deceased eldest son, he was the heir to Sunspear and had a huge chip on his shoulder.

"In any case, dear granddaughter, I now have become aware of how she must've felt."

Nymeria blinked, suddenly apprehensive. "What are you saying?"

A small smile appeared on Deria's face. "The maesters have informed me that I shall soon depart for the afterlife. Malignancy of the bladder."

"I hope you told them where they could stick Defiance."

Deria chuckled. "That would be a sight to see, but I am afraid that they are right. I am dying, it is my time."

Each word felt like a spear to her heart. Nymeria's mother had died giving birth to her, and Deria raised her ever since. "No. I don't believe you."

"Granddaughter, I'm sorry to drop this in your lap so quickly but you must calm." Nymeria took a deep breath, trying to keep her composure. "I am dying, and with it dies all that is keeping Dorne at peace."

She sniffled. "What do you mean?"

"Your cousin, he sees the death of Aegon Targaryen as an opportunity. As does Lord Wyl."

"Lord Wyl?" Now that the Sand Snake thought about it, Mors had been traveling west more and more frequently… which was strange because he considered most of the Stony Dornish to be Andal 'yokels.' "They mean to declare war on the Targaryens?"

"It is perceived that Crown Prince Aenys is weak. I believe such perceptions, but those around him are not and the dragons have doubled since the Wroth." She leaned forward. "We were lucky to survive the last invasion. They were unprepared and our forces scored the shot of the millennia in taking down Meraxes. Something we are not likely to obtain again… but your cousin is dead set on war at Lord Wyl's instigation."

Nymeria listened, years of pride in the strength of her people being phrased in a different context. One she understood, while others would reject outright. "What do you wish for me to do, grandmother?"

Her evening meal, normally taken in the main hall with her various companions and friends, was eaten alone that night. Her grandmother's words were still ringing into her head like a throbbing ache. Nymeria was in a daze as she retired to her quarters, shutting the door and unclipping Defiance from her waist.

"It went badly, did it not?"

The voice coming from her bed registered seconds later for Nymeria. She replied with a grunt, gingerly setting down the finely crafted Valyrian steel scimitar upon its mount on the wall.

A snicker. "That badly, it seems?" Her dear companion, the favorite of her many boon favorites, shook her head. "What? Did your grandmother decide to ship you to the border? I actually wouldn't mind that as long as it's by the Torrentine."

Nymeria grunted again. "You would think that, harlot."

"Oh, you're one to throw around such an insult." Sitting up in the bed, Clarisse Dayne placed her hands on her hips - unintentionally drawing greater prominence to her bust, on display in the rather skimpy nightgown she wore. Likely not unintentionally, it seemed. "I know for a fact the various men and women that grace this bed when I am not at court."

"As far as I'm concerned, Clari, unless the Faith has allowed marriages between the fairer sex, there really is nothing keeping me from inviting others into my bed at my pleasure." She removed her outer robe, then dropped her trousers. All that was left was a form-fitting tunic, in which she sat on the bed next to her paramour - unofficially of course. "And no, I am not being banished." Her voice dropped its teasing lilt. "Grandmother says she's dying."

The twinkle in Clarisse's eyes disappeared, hardening into something more serious. "Oh." She pursed her lips. "How soon will your cousin hand over the Principality to Lord Wyl, then?"

If there was anyone truly politically astute in Sunspear, it was the heir of Starfall. "I'm surprised he won't just declare Wyl the Prince of Dorne so he can spend all his time fighting the Targaryens." Nymeria shook her head, pulling her legs onto the bed so she could lay down. "I love my cousin…"

"You think you should love your cousin," Clarisse corrected. "He's an arrogant asshole with delusions of grandeur."

Nymeria narrowed her eyes, but nodded. "Aye. He's got his head in the clouds thinking we can get a proper revenge on the dragons." She grunted something unintelligible. "The Wroth nearly destroyed us. A few more moons and we'd have broken."

Clarisse laid down next to her, taking Nymeria in her arms against the swell of her chest. Her heartbeat was quite soothing. "None who truly experience war ever hold realistic expectations of it. Tis why the most warlike of the sunset kingdoms never sought out battles. It was always the greedy or the proud that did so."

"Suppose we are the latter."

"I was referring to the Reach, but it applies to us as well." Nymeria gave her a sour look at the comparison, to which Clarisse found amusing. "You need not worry right this moment, sweet one. Your grandmother is still alive, and shall be for many more moons. Such gives you time, and I'll be here to make sure it's used wisely."

A grin. "I'm sure we'll find enjoyable ways to endure the tedious moments." Nymeria pressed a kiss to her lover's neck. "A pity. Soon we'll have to find husbands and this will have to end."

Clarisse pushed Nymeria to the bed, assuming the superior position. Usually the Sand Snake dominated, but after her heady day it was clear she needed to relax. "Who said they couldn't share?" She slid down her body. "If we bat our eyes and say, pretty please, they likely would."

"Certainly works for us now… oh… yes…" All other thoughts disappeared.

The Sept of Remembrance was filled with light. Candles burned brightly, joining with the sunlight streaking through the high windows in the rafters to bathe the antechamber in a glow of white and yellow. A chorus filled the chamber with beautiful music fitting for the day.

A day in which the new King would finally be crowned. A new page in the history of Westeros being written at the very moment.

Crown Prince Aenys Targaryen walked towards the altar. Shorn of the armor of his father, he wore a purple and red doublet inlaid with rubies and emeralds. A massive purple coronation robe was draped over his shoulders, the train reaching back nearly fifteen feet and emblazoned with the three-headed dragon of his house. He looked the mighty peacemaker, without the embellishments of war that so adored the conquerors his parents had been.

Truly a new age.

Surrounding him, bowing their heads in reverence, were the various Lords of the Realm. Ronnel Arryn and Loren Lannister. Theo Tyrell and Edmyn Tully. Manfred Hightower and Daeron Qoherys. Lord Hand Torrhen Stark and the Prince's own uncle Orys Baratheon. In the front were the royal family and the Most Devout, both bowing respectfully. Princess Rhaenys and her children, the future Queen-Consort Alyssa Velaryon and the children of the Prince. Prince Maegor and Princess Ceryse - and finally Dowager Queen Visenya, who shot her son a smile. 'I am proud of you, my son,' she mouthed, to which Aenys nodded.

"Lords of Westeros," stated Hugor. "Today, in the sight of the Seven who are One, we gather to consecrate the new ruler of Westeros. As the light of our King Aegon Targaryen, first of his name, has been extinguished yet another shall assume his mantle. To carry forth the will of the Father upon this earth." He took a deep breath, enduring this charade for the sake of the greater good. "Aenys of House Targaryen, please step forth in the light of the Holy Seven."

Thick robes heavy on his shoulders, Aenys nevertheless advanced to the altar. Dressed as a proper highborn noble and shorn of the scaled armor of a dragonlord conqueror, he looked the King of Peace he wished to be. "I present myself before the Seven," he announced.

Walking to where Murmison waited to the side, Hugor picked up the crown. Gone was the Valyrian steel circlet of rubies worn by the Lords of Dragonstone prior to Aegon's ascension. The new crown was of yellow gold, inlaid with the faces of the Seven in jade and pearl - a crown reminiscent of the one worn by Hugor of the Hill as he forged a united kingdom of the Andals - a proper crown for the ruler of these lands. It was perverted on the head of the dragonspawn but they would just need to bide their time.

Taking the crown in his hand, he approached the kneeling Prince. "Aenys of House Targaryen," he began. "Do you accept the mantle of your father, Aegon, First of His Name, and the solemn responsibility to serve as King? To protect and defend your subjects till your dying breath, and carry on the legacy of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men?

"Till my dying breath," came Aenys' reply, calm but steady.

Holding up the crown for everyone to see, Hugor lowered it to rest upon the silver locks of a the Targaryen King. "I now proclaim Aenys of the House Targaryen, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." Hugor bowed as Aenys rose. "Long may he reign!"

"LONG MAY HE REIGN!" boomed the crowd, all falling to their knees before the new King.

Modest as always, Aenys bid them to rise. "My friends, honored Lords of the Realm, I hope not to seek to replace the good deeds of my father. Merely to continue his quest to bring prosperity and peace to the realm of Westeros. For too long has violence wreathed our peoples, Andals against First Men, Reachmen against Stormlanders, the Ironborn against those of the Trident. With the power of the Seven who are One behind me, I pledge to end this strife and bring a land of milk and honey to fruition, as promised in the Seven-Pointed Star."

Standing next to her son and daughter, gazing upon the last reminder of Rhae she had left in the world, Visenya could feel a coldness seeping in her. An ominous feeling at what her son was saying. His noble intentions she couldn't deny… but were they right? Were they the proper solution? She couldn't know, but feared the worst.

But her son did manage to surprise her sometimes, and definitely inherited Rhae's flair for the dramatic. "But I shan't possibly accomplish this alone. My father, the greatest man Westeros hath ever known, couldn't amass such a feat - the Iron Throne was forged not by his own flames, but the flames of himself and my mothers, one of whom blesses all of us with her presence today." He smiled warmly at Visenya, taking her hands in his and kissing her cheek. "I cannot hope to claim I can accomplish what my father could never, and I won't." He approached his brother, clasping his shoulder. "Prince Maegor."

Maegor blinked. "Your Grace?"

Aenys beamed. "My father, King Aegon, presented you with Blackfyre because he saw greatness in you, a greatness I also see."

What are you doing? The thought was simultaneous, both in the mind of Maegor and in the newly-christened Queen Consort Alyssa. The former worried about his brother showing weakness, while the latter additionally feared a rising influence of the younger Prince.

But the pleasing King had a stubborn streak buried deep inside him, and nothing would deter him that day. "Blackfyre, the sword of our father and of the Lords of Dragonstone before him has been called by the bards to be the sword of Kings. By rights it should be mine, but I am not fit to wield the great blade. It is yours, brother, yours to achieve the greatness I know is in your blood."

"Your Grace… I am undeserving of such an honor…"

"Nonsense! You are a Prince and my brother!" The newly-crowned King hugged Maegor close, kissing both his cheeks. "The sons of our father, proclaiming his legacy far and wide to the glory of all the peoples of Westeros!"

Stunned at the pronouncement, all the Prince could do was bow his head. He drew Blackfyre, kneeling upon the ground. "My sword is yours to command, my King. I am your faithful servant."

But Aenys pulled him up, laughing merrily. His next words made Alyssa's blood boil while warming Visenya's heart. "We shall rule this Realm together, you and I! No deed is nigh impossible for the great dragonriders of House Targaryen!"

"Long live House Targaryen!" cried out Lord Orys Baratheon, praising his nephews with a wide smile.

"LONG MAY THEY REIGN! LONG MAY THEY REIGN! LONG MAY THEY REIGN!"

Two sets of fists silently clenched, minds already whirring. This was going to be much harder than they thought.

A/N: Aenys Targaryen, First of His Name. Long may he reign!

Rhaena gets a new swordsplay instructor, while Jae learns to control his temper and Aly discovers the old gods.

Volantis is busy, while we meet our Dornish heroine.

Until next time. 25 comments get an early update.