A/N: Hey everyone! Only one day before the new year - please let 2022 be better than 2021!

Sit, relax, and enjoy.

Chapter 24: Reconciliation

Feasts were no stranger to Queen Alyssa Velaryon. Her family, quite wealthy, was oft to host them at Driftmark… and her family by marriage even more wealthy and even more influential. But nothing could compare to a Dornish feast - an intersection between the Andalic knightly traditions she had grown up with and the exotic customs of the east. Wine, bread, and roast meats were common, but so were fiery dishes, whole-roasted fruits, grilled skewers of meat and onion, and exotic spiced liquors that warmed a person. Minstrels and mummers entertained the guests of the court of Sunspear, joined by beast shows and fire jugglers she would've normally seen only in Volantis or Pentos.

Both familiar and alien, but it had a certain charm about it. Alyssa would've enjoyed herself… had it not been for the Dornish themselves.

She was no Targaryen nor dragonrider - although the blood of House Targaryen did flow through her veins - but even eating the bread dipped in salt for guest right Alyssa felt at unease in Sunspear. Behind the smiling faces and honeyed words of the multitude of guests that drank and made merriment in the feast, she could sense their contempt. Their loathing. Memories died hard, and Alyssa suspected that some blamed them for Nymeria's Flight so far back in addition to the closer Dragons' Wroth.

You killed Queen Rhaenys, not I. And she wasn't even sure the Targaryens fought in Nymeria's War. But try telling the Dornish that. Alyssa merely sipped her wine and tried to have a good time.

"It was a pleasure for you to arrive, your Grace," Princess Deria Martell said to Aenys, seated next to Alyssa and thoroughly enjoying himself. "Though my age restricts what I may do, these diplomatic matters being solved lifts a vast burden from me."

"That warms my heart, Princess," Aenys replied. "Though my dear father no longer lives among us, I know his heart would be unburdened to know that the peace forged with Dorne continues."

"Not that you dragons would keep to it," grumbled a young man seated two seats down from the Princess."

Another girl, essentially a youthful version of the aging Princess Deria, hissed back. "Shut it."

"Don't disrespect me, cousin. I wasn't the one who invited the dragonspawn here."

"Mors, enough!" hissed the Princess of Sunspear, voice hoarse from raising it. Such drew wandering eyes and unwanted attention. "You disgrace our family, begone or I'll have you hauled away!"

Shaking, teeth grinding in rage, the flushed Prince Mors looked like he wished to argue more but thought better of it. "As you wish, your Grace," he said, the last two words essentially spat out. A knightly guard placed a hand on his shoulder but he shrugged it off, turning on his heel and storming away with as much dignity as he could muster.

Honey-brown eyes falling on her and her husband, Alyssa could see the apology in them - not something she expected from a Princess of Dorne, but the Queen of Westeros wasn't about to call out on that. "Forgiveness for him, your Grace," Deria said with as much hospitality as a woman of her frailty could muster. "Mors is a good boy, but gets his temper from his father… from my father before him. Combined with memories of the past…" She trailed off, shrugging.

Holding his goblet, Aenys chuckled, waving off the entire issue as was his style. "Oh, it is no trouble. I know of our histories, Princess Deria, and to imagine coming here to full friendship and adoration wasn't likely." A more forgiving and generous man there didn't exist in Westeros, a man that could charm even his enemies.

Or that was at least what the enemies allowed themselves to express outward, Alyssa figured.

As for Princess Deria, she looked genuinely charmed but who could know? "If only the other Lords and knights of your realm are as forward thinking as yourself."

"Prince Maegor comes to mind," commented Nymeria Sand from the other side the Princess, earning a stiff glare from Deria. "What? I'm just observing, grandmother." I'm sure you were. The girl was as much a brat as her cousin, Alyssa could tell, but unlike him was clever. If she wasn't a bastard, I'd be worried.

Aenys, as usual, merely laughed. "Oh, my little brother can get into it when he's deep in his cups. I wonder if being fostered in the North actually made it worse than before rather than better, considering the discipline he knew there."

Deria's wrinkled mouth curled upward. "Ah yes, the Northmen. I have a feeling we in Dorne are more like them than we are with our Andal brethren. Both outsiders in a land dominated by knighthood and the Faith of the Seven." She gingerly ate a bit of her meal, popping an apple slice into her mouth. "And yet we've adopted knighthood and the Faith of the Seven for the most part so they stayed truer to their heritage than us."

"The Northmen have the advantage of geography," Alyssa said. "With such an inhospitable clime, who would wish to invade and occupy a land to such little gain? Your land is rich and in the middle of lucrative trade routes."

"I shall take that as a compliment, Queen Alyssa," Deria replied. "I wish you did bring Prince Maegor, I would've loved to meet him."

I highly doubt you do… Though… someone like her, she'd probably get along with her goodbrother. "I am certain the visits in your youth to the Shadow Town would be of interest to him, Princess." He had a habit of attracting the worst sorts to his side.

Including your daughter? Alyssa chose not to think on that for the rest of the feast.

Later in their chambers, a tired Alyssa was nevertheless pulled into an embrace by a rather frisky husband of hers. "My beautiful Queen," he murmured, touch firm and kisses filled with ardor.

"Mmmmm…" It surprised her but Alyssa was not keen on stopping this. "Yes, my King." She ran her hands along his finely-built body, not powerful but in no manner unfit, hand finally settling on burying themselves in his silver locks. "To bed," she murmured against his lips, guiding Aenys until he pushed her upon it - climbing atop to kiss at her neck and begin to undo her garments. Oh yes... A brusque knock on the door pulled Aenys from her, and Alyssa groaned. "What is it now? Go away!" she hissed at the closed door.

"My dear Queen," Aenys chuckled, kissing her cheek. "It may be important. Allow me to see who it is and then we can continue."

She huffed, crossing her arms. Why can't he just lose himself in passion, damn all else? She had, in a moment rather best forgotten, knocked on her goodbrother's door to discuss a matter of state with him years ago only to get a growled response to 'fuck off.' It followed with a very unladylike moan from Ceryse Hightower… along with a few other choice words. Maegor was fierce and darkly passionate that way.

Oh, did Alyssa know.

And oh, did she miss it even though she hated herself for it.

Turning her attention to the doorway, she noticed Ser Olyvar Bracken speaking to her husband… and her husband going white as a sheet. Suddenly, Alyssa felt an icy fear. "Husband?" Ignoring her state of undress and the quick avoiding glance that Ser Olyvar made, she approached him. "What happened?" The worst came to her mind. "Rhaena? Ally? Please tell me it isn't our children."

Aenys opened his mouth to speak… said nothing and closed it… and repeated the process twice before finally croaking. "Lord Torrhen… he's dead." Grief crossed his face. "Oh gods… they are taking everyone! Why must they take all left of the great ones!" He pounded his fist against the wall. "Ser Olyvar, get the ships ready. We head back to King's Landing!"

"Your Grace… what should I have them tell the Hightower and Starry Sept…"

"I'll deal with them later," he said with a rare firmness. "They'll understand my need to be in the capitol at this moment!" Olyvar clicked his heels and disappeared, door shutting behind him. "A nightmare," Aenys wailed. "First my father and now Lord Stark… when will this madness end?"

While she never disliked Lord Stark - admired him in fact - only one thought went through Alyssa's mind. Who will be Hand?

There was one obvious choice… and she dreaded even the thought.

"There, I can see them."

Placing his palm over his eyes to shield them from the sun, Maegor squinted into the vast expanse of blue sky. "Where? I can't see them."

Beside him, Ceryse rolled her eyes. "Over there, just over the Lion's Gate," she insisted, pointing out. "Vhagar, Dreamfyre, and Quicksilver are already flying to them."

Continuing to peer out, Maegor could finally make out a rapidly approaching dark dot through the blue - it helped that the three younger dragons roared, hooted, and flapped their wings towards their wayward relative. Balerion, the eldest of them all, was less enthusiastic and preferred sleeping in the sun upon the grass. Lazy lummox.

The shape of Arrax grew in size as the seconds passed - he had grown since they last saw her, wingspan now bigger than Quicksilver since the vast open spaces of the North were apparently suitable for dragons in spite of the cold. While likely not ever to reach the size of his Balerion, Rhaenys could be proud of the dragon she hatched and now rode across the Kingdoms. Brandon as well, for earning the love and trust of the rider of such a beast.

If only the circumstances could be different. A reunion with his dear sister left Maegor in agony rather than joy, considering the nature of it. She was not arriving with her and Brandon's retinue, the children eager to see their Targaryen aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins, but instead alone with Brandon to claim the body of Lord Torrhen Stark, several days dead. They do not deserve this pain.

As the man who had lost his father, even a year later did it still hurt. He wouldn't wish such pain on his worst enemy, let alone Brandon.

An arm wrapped around his torso. "It'll be alright, my love," whispered Ceryse. He nodded and hugged her back just as Arrax landed in the grassy field. Rhaenys first descended with the skill of an expert rider, Brandon following with some skill but sloppy and unsteady - it couldn't all be blamed on that, though. His eyes were red and cheeks stained with tears. Somber too, Rhaenys approached Maegor. "Brother."

The Prince hugged his sister. "Regardless of the circumstances, it is a joy to see you," he whispered in her ear, kissing her cheek. "I trust my niece and nephews are well."

"As can be expected," she replied. "Ceryse, you look well." Her goodsister nodded and hugged her as well - she and Rhaenys always got along.

Turning to Brandon, Maegor had many things he could say but they all died on his tongue. How can anything hope to mollify a man that lost his father? In the end, he merely clasped Brandon's hand and squeezed it. "I'm sorry, Bran. Your father was a great man." Short and simple.

"How… how could this have happened, brother?" Brandon said in despair, head in his hands. "My own father… gods, and just on the eve of glorious news."

Maegor was confused. "What news?"

Hugging her husband to calm him, Rhaenys pressed a kiss to his chin before looking to her brother and goodsister with a solemn smile. "Aegon and Saera's eggs hatched. Two beautiful dragon hatchlings… Bran so looked forward to informing our muna and his father before… news of this happened."

Not able to truly blame Brandon for feeling an added burden on this, Maegor patted his back. "I'm sure Lord Stark believed his grandchildren were destined for greatness."

Brandon sniffled, but looked appreciatively at his closest friend. "Thank you, brother. That means much." Breaking away from his wife, they shared a brotherly hug, thumping each other's backs.

"Bran!"

Finding his own mother - the now dowager Lady of Winterfell, Brandon rushed to her. "Mother." Requiring comfort from his wife and goodbrother, now it was his turn to provide as Jocelyn Stark collapsed in his arms, sobs claiming her after days of stoic silence.

Sighing from the sad sight, Maegor felt Ceryse squeeze his hand - a sentiment he appreciated. "If I may ask, goodsister, what were the names of the hatchlings?"

Mention of the dragons drew Rhaenys into a bit of happiness amid all the gloom. "Aegon did not know which to choose until his brother helped him. Vermax was the choice, grey and vibrant - loves him already. As for Saera, as soon as she saw the blue scales she knew that her hatchling should be named Tessarion."

"Both powerful names of Old Valyria," Maegor commented, smiling himself. "What of Alaric?"

Rhaenys shook her head. "His egg is still silent, and though he says nothing I know he feels left out." The Princess sighed. "My younger son has the closest bond with his direwolf pup, Spirit, so perhaps he is more wolf than dragon."

"Mayhaps, though it is a shame."

"My husband never had a hatchling… so I wouldn't worry as to young Alaric," Ceryse said. "He may be like Maegor, claiming an already grown dragon." Rhaenys smiled warmly at her, while Maegor kissed her temple tenderly.

In spite of everything - both recent and longstanding - she felt a warmth inside her at her husband's love.

Though Maegor offered to escort them to their chambers to freshen up, both insisted on heading to the small council chamber first - no form of comfort could ease their pain, so best get business settled. Everyone had gathered there and were whispering amongst each other, only to stand as the King did when Rhaenys and Brandon entered. "Goodbrother, dear sister." Aenys shook Brandon's hand while embracing Rhaenys. "By the grace of the gods, you cannot imagine how deeply we mourn for the loss of Lord Stark."

"He was a good man and an even greater friend," stated Lord Blackwood. Many others nodded - the indomitable Lord of Winterfell was only dwarfed in his mark on the Realm during his lifetime by the dragons he served.

While Brandon looked to be hanging on by a thread even given his wolfish ice, it was Rhaenys that seemed calm and composed. Her lips were pressed thinly, but otherwise there was not an emotion written on her face. "Has the council been informed of what my goodfather, the Lord Hand, succumbed to?"

Aenys, who was the exact opposite of his sister in wearing his grief on his sleeve, reached out and took her hand in his. "Grand Maester Gawen was just about to report us his findings after thorough examination of Lord Stark's corpse." The mention of his father as a 'corpse' made Brandon both grimace and snarl at the same time.

Clearing his throat as all eyes fell back on him, the aging Grand Maester nodded. "In spite of his age, Lord Torrhen held the strong constitution of the land he ruled - hardy and resilient." His praise upon the Northmen didn't ingratiate himself to either Brandon or Rhaenys, who stared at him. "Unfortunately, such was not enough to protect him from a severe ulceration of the stomach and intestines, starting slowly but eventually so acute that it killed him."

"So it's poison, then?" Queen Alyssa stated.

But Gawen shook his head, trying to hide his nervousness at being scrutinized by some of the most powerful people in the Realm - five of whom were dragonriders. "It is my determination that the cause of this was a naturally-occurring stomach malady. Likely foodborne in nature from whatever Lord Stark ate the previous midday or evening meal."

There was a silence until suddenly Lord Brandon - because that was what he was now, the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North - laughed. "Forgive me, Grand Maester, but a foodborne malady? Has your brain been addled?"

Gawen was affronted. "You would question my determination, Lord Stark?"

"Goodbrother," Aenys cautioned, "Grand Maester Gawen has served the Realm loyally since the middle of my father's reign…"

"I may respect the Grand Maester, but I do find that the fact he died so suddenly of a mere foodborne malady is suspicious." Alyssa had spent much time thinking about it, and Lord Stark was too healthy to pass from something like this without more persons falling ill. "No one else suffered from any illness."

"Those of the North have different tastes," remarked Lord Ronnel Arryn.

Maegor scowled, sharing a dismissive look with his muna. The boy had grown into a handsome man, but hadn't changed in maturity since a simple dragonride on Vhagar from Visenya allowed her to obtain the fealty of the Vale. "I must point out, Lord Arryn, that I shared the same meal that Lord Stark did and I did not fall ill. My goodbrother and goodsister are right. There is something afoot."

Huffing in indignity, Gawen did not back down from his assessment. "The nature of the death greatly suggests that the illness was foodborne, your Grace."

"Oh, we're not denying that, Grand Maester," replied Rhaenys, causing him to blink. "I'm suggesting poison killed my goodfather."

"Poison? Don't be ridiculous… there are no poisons with such a signature."

Rhaenys narrowed her eyes. "Forgive me, Grand Maester, do one of those links on your chain refer to study in botany… or pharmacology?"

Gawen sputtered. "Um… no, Lady Stark…"

"Princess… or your Grace. I am still of the royal family," she hissed.

He ground his teeth. "Your Grace… but I have extensive links in human anatomy and disease, so I can tell what causes what to the body."

"Perhaps a novel poison, one not seen - there are places of knowledge outside the Citadel's reach, no?" This was Queen Visenya speaking, someone Gawen couldn't touch. "Plenty has been lost since the Doom of Valyria."

"Are you suggesting there is a greater repository of information than the Citadel?" Septon Murmison asked, as if thinking such was a scandal.

"Not at all, Septon." Visenya smirked at the Grand Maester. "I'm stating it outright."

"Enough!" Aenys sank into his chair, face flushed and sweating. "Gods, Lord Stark is dead, and it could be poison. Where does it end?" Several different people tried to call to him, but he smacked the table. "I said enough!"

Eventually, Lord Lucas Harroway raised his hand. "Allow me, your Grace, but perhaps an independent inquiry can get to the bottom of this. An expert in botany can be called from the Citadel."

Aenys looked relieved. "An excellent suggestion, Lord Lucas. Would you lead the inquiry."

Lucas graciously shook his head. "I fear I wouldn't be equipped to get to the bottom of this. Perhaps our Master of Laws…"

"I think Uncle Maegor should lead it," Rhaena proclaimed, looking to her uncle with adoration. Something Ceryse noticed.

"Good idea, daughter," said Aenys. "Maegor, can you oversee this?"

Maegor bowed. "An honor, your Grace. I will get to the bottom of this, I promise you." Not only did he look at Aenys, Brandon, and Rhaenys, but also at the Grand Maester.

Standing near the back, someone among the councilors did his best to hide a smile.

With a thwack, the arrow sailed forth from the bow and slammed directly into the side of the deer, felling it. Antlers clattered on the ground - sounds joining that of the dying moans of the creature. "Good show, nephew," Maegor commented, clapping the boy on the back. "A solid shot, though it can be better."

Lowering his bow, Jaehaerys rubbed his shoulders. He had a slight ache from repeatedly drawing and releasing the bowstring as he attempted a proper shot. "Why can't I use a crossbow, uncle?"

"Oh, you will learn if I have anything to say about it," chuckled the Prince, leading both their horses closer to where the carcass rested. "But you must learn the bow first… gives you both strength and discipline while a crossbow only gives the latter - and not as much."

"I'm confused." A bright lad, he was always eager to learn simply for the sake of learning.

Such was a trait that Maegor wished he had more of as a child, then only concerned with being the best and what to learn to get there. Brandon Snow instilled in him the need to know one's surroundings, one's friends, and one's foes and it was a lesson he hoped to pass down to Jaehaerys while the boy was still young and impressionable. "It's harder to aim a longbow than a crossbow, Jae. To do so not only requires strength of arm and chest but also a vastly better discipline and breathing technique. You'll benefit from it, trust me." Kneeling by the fallen deer, Maegor quickly drew his knife and stabbed it in the heart.

Rest easy, noble creature. Your soul is free. Looking back at his nephew, Jaehaerys seemed relieved that the beast's suffering was abated. A lesson he didn't have to teach him, thank the gods. It still brought shame to Maegor that he himself had to learn that lesson.

Motioning for Jae to join him, Maegor quickly unsheathed Blackfyre and chopped the head off. "This will make a fine trophy for your chambers. Your first kill," he boasted, only to find Jae still standing. "Well, what are you waiting for, come here."

"But uncle… we can have the servants back in the city do this? Why get our hands dirty?" His father was always impeccably dressed and groomed - Jae always sought to emulate that.

As if reading his mind, Maegor sighed. "Nephew, you must know that how you conduct yourself in court is admirable but out of place when on the battlefield or hunting or other similar pursuits." Watching him intently, he didn't continue until Jaehaerys complied and kneeled with him. Wincing as his trousers got stained with dirt and grass. Maegor chuckled a bit. "Now, now. Don't be a priss. You're a strapping young Prince - boys should get down and dirty when the occasion calls for it." He handed him a hunting knife. "Now, slide along the belly here down the middle. We need to remove the guts."

Jaehaerys nodded and did so, wrinkling his nose in disgust as the blood and intestines began to spill out. Maegor quickly grabbed some wax-lined parchment to wrap the meat in as Jaehaerys continued. "Gods… how can anyone endure this foul stench?"

"Just like your kepa, you are," laughed the Prince. The boy's facial cues were all Aenys. "It's worse on the battlefield, believe me."

"But… where does the glory come?"

"Nephew, there is glory in victory, but there is no glory in actual combat. It's a bloody, brutal mess, and the only ones that enjoy it are those with whom no one wishes to associate with." That had been one of the biggest lessons Brandon Snow taught him. "You must be able to handle it, but not revel in it, understood?"

"Aye, uncle." They quietly skinned and dressed the deer, Maegor tossing the unwanted parts into the woods for the foxes that already circled the clearing. Eventually, the young Prince was habituated to the smell and slimy feel of the raw meat. It was a powerful deer and the venison would be delicious roasted with honey and herbs. That wasn't what was on Jaehaerys' mind, though. "Uncle, who else is going to die?"

Maegor blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I've heard some whisper that deaths always come in threes… first grandfather died and then Lord Stark… who of our family will die next? Kepa?" He trembled slightly at the thought.

Setting down his blade, Maegor drew his nephew in for a hug. "Don't worry, that saying is Andal bunk. They are much too superstitious for their own good." Valyrians and First Men were also superstitious, but they actually had a sense of mysticism that bore results rather than that of the Faith of the Seven, which rejected magic. "There is no threat to our family that I shan't be in a position to fight against. Do you trust me?"

Jaehaerys looked up at him. "Aye, I do, uncle."

The Prince idolized his uncle - he was the epitome of a strong warrior that Jae ultimately wished he could be. He loved his father and wished to be as well-read and liked figure as well, but as the third son he knew that being such a King was not his destiny. Glory would come in being a proud warrior and loyal partner as his uncle was.

And the bright boy was more perceptive than most figured. "I'm sorry you're so unhappy."

That surprised the Prince. "What do you mean? I'm quite happy with my life." Was that the truth? It was the truth he wished Jaehaerys to know - the boy was too young to be so melancholy.

"I can see how sad you are, uncle. You and aunt Ceryse both… is it because you don't have children?" Aunt Rhaenys and uncle Brandon were quite happy together, as were muna and kepa - to an extent, but still happy. Both couples were blessed with children and Jae could tell.

"Nephew…" Maegor said, the question… making him think and brood, a difficult one to answer or allow into his mind. "There is a thing about love and duty, one that is a difficult act to balance. Both are important, and no matter what you must stay true to both."

"Do you love aunt Ceryse? I know some marriages aren't for love."

Clever child. "We were arranged, aye, but I do love her." We're just too broken to truly be in love as we were… "It is because of my love that I have a duty to never abandon her, even though we don't yet have children." He patted Jae's back. "Such a duty is absolute. You love your future wife and your future children, so you must never shun them or disown them. That is your duty, to be a devoted husband and father no matter what."

He looked at him intently. "Alright, uncle. I understand… always stick close to the ones I love."

A thought came to Maegor. "That is what you must do… with one exception." Jae was smart enough to follow what he would say. "Nephew, sometimes you will find yourself in love with someone that you shouldn't be. In which continuing that love will only cause pain and dishonor to your entire family… but you don't act to hate, you must do your duty to that love by letting go and being honorable. The gods favor those who are honorable in their family lives."

The lessons were slightly confusing, but Jaehaerys followed as best he could. "Was there someone you loved like that, uncle?"

That… was a good question. Over the years, his feelings for the woman in question has ebbed and flowed, sometimes he felt pity and sympathy and others loathing and anger, but at the time of his decision… "Aye," he finally said. "I loved her greatly."

Jae was surprised. "More than you love Aunt Ceryse?"

"You can't really compare love so easily, Jae. It's more complex than that." He smiled wistfully. "We were both young with the idiocy of youth… it was only going to cause the greatest of sorrows, so when she asked for me to make her mine… I couldn't." Maegor couldn't tell Jae the details, so he didn't. "I don't regret it, though I did love her."

"Does she love you still?"

"Honestly, I think she hates me. Her reaction wasn't the best." He sighed. "I hated doing it - it made me feel ill, but ultimately I loved her enough to know it was best for her to let her go. Do you understand?"

Nodding, Jaehaerys thought long and firm. "Love is hard," he finally said.

For some reason Maegor found that the most amusing thing he had heard in years. "Aye… that is true," he laughed uproariously. "Alright, so I think we're done here, let's head back to the Red Keep." He smacked Jae's back. "You're going to be a strapping warrior just like me, nephew."

Jaehaerys didn't stop smiling for the rest of the ride back to King's Landing.

"Do you need any more of me, your Grace?"

Ceryse Hightower shook her head. "No, Ser Robert. You may go." Ser Robert Flowers of the Kingsguard bowed and left out the door where Lord Tybolt Reyne had left through earlier. The Princess was left with her lady in waiting, Lady Della Peake. "Gods, Della, politics bore me."

"You are good at it, Princess," she replied. Della was bright but uncorrupted - someone whom never endured duplicity and thus held a trusting nature.

Ceryse was not as naive. "I may be, but it is still exhausting." Della removed the crown of braids from her hair, causing her to sigh in relief. "I vastly prefer a nice feast and dancing… or a ride in the open fields."

"Like Prince Maegor used to take you on?" Ceryse's wistful smile faltered. "And now he rides Balerion… imagine if he took you on a dragonride. Gods… that's so romantic…"

Thankfully for Ceryse, the door opened to reveal a tired and dirty Maegor, back from his hunting trip. Della bowed and he nodded curtly. "You're dismissed, Lady. I wish to have a moment with my wife." Della complied.

Regardless of the distance that had developed between them, Ceryse rose and helped Maegor divest of his dirty riding clothes, stained with dirt and blood as was the expected result for a hunting trip into the Kingswood with his nephew. He sighed in relief as he removed his boots, Ceryse slipping off his tunic and dropping it into a pile of dirty clothes for the maids later to try and clean. It left him bare, and to this day she still felt a tingle in her core at seeing her husband.

Many men would run to fat as they grew out of their youth - not Maegor Targaryen, who was objectively a gift of the gods to whomever woman was blessed enough to have him.

But Ceryse remained reserved - she had learned long ago that it was safer. "Lord Blackwood will support your bid to be Hand," she spoke, walking to a basin of water to soak a washcloth in it.

Maegor clicked his tongue. "Can't say I'm surprised. He's close to Brandon, considering that Lord Torrhen's grandmother was his aunt. I value his support, as I do the aging Lord Strong's." Osmund Strong, his father's old partisan, was close to death but commanded vast respect. Problem was, they were the low hanging fruit. "Anyone else?"

"I spoke with Lord Reyne. He believes you are the best choice since despite his friendship with your brother, he won't have a chance." She took the rag and began wiping at his chest, cleaning up the dirt that had gotten through the tunic. "He added that he can sway Lord Qoherys and Lord Butterwell to your side if you promise to appoint him as Master of War."

"Lord Reyne?" Maegor asked, with a slight raised eyebrow of surprise. "Gods, how'd you pull that off?"

She managed to smirk softly. "I learned from a travelling maege long ago that they don't reveal their secrets… though nor should I." Taking a chance, she kissed his temple… pleasantly surprised when he leaned into her touch. Given all they went through, the love was still there - however, that was both a curse as well as a blessing. "Do you have objections to Lord Reyne as Master of War?"

Thinking for a moment, Maegor scratched his chin. "He's a capable man from his tenure as Master of Whisperers, and his house is quite warlike. They also aren't lickspittles of the Lannisters so I have no qualms in him taking my current position if I am Hand… though that leaves open the position of Master of Whisperers."

Ceryse clicked her tongue. "Something that I believe is an underrated position. The person that controls the flow of information holds more power than those that control armies."

A snort. "Those who don't educate their daughters or listen to their wives' counsel are losing out." At his words, Ceryse's heart skipped. Things like this and statements like that made her fall in love with him. He was a good man underneath all the fierceness and brooding. "I have a feeling that my muna would be good in that position, or her lady in waiting…"

"Who? Tyanna?" The girl unsettled Ceryse in some manner… perhaps it was her piety, but being in love with a man sired by brother and sister had given her immense pragmatism in that regard.

"Yeah… Rhaena speaks of her consistently, of how… perceptive she is."

"She's too young and too lowborn, husband."

"I know, just as it would be a demotion in status for my muna to become Master… or Mistress of Whisperers. That's why I was thinking of my former mentor."

That drew Ceryse's interest as she cleaned Maegor's chest. "Brandon Snow?" She'd met the man a few times. He was polite and charming in his own way, but grealy unsettling in a manner not so different from Tyanna. "The North will be mollified with someone of their own being on the Small Council still, and I cannot question his competence."

A chuckle from Maegor. "I found something out quite interesting about him… did you know that he is the grandfather of all the heirs to House Mormont?"

"Oh?"

"Aye… apparently he had an affair with his goodcousin Bethany Mormont, birthing her legitimized son Jorah who now rules Bear Island." He snickered. "Now, without too many duties since my sister has taken charge of the household, he's spent time in Bear Island and acknowledged his son and three grandchildren. Two of them don't ever leave his side, a girl and a boy, so we'll see Mormonts in King's Landing. One of them is Rhaena's age, would do good for her to have a northern girl among her favorites."

Rhaena. This was the second time he'd mentioned her. Ever since even before King Aegon's death, Maegor had grown closer to his niece. In her head Ceryse knew she shouldn't worry, but… "I'm sure Lady Raya would like another wild northman in the capitol," she said with more bite than intended - even her husband's mistress was a more tolerable conversation piece than whatever he felt about Rhaena.

There was a long silence. Ceryse continuing to clean him while Maegor stared ahead with unreadable, brooding violet eyes. "Lady Raya is no longer in King's Landing."

Ceryse dropped the cloth, completely stunned. "What?"

"I sent her to Eastwatch alongside her father. Apparently the wildling clans there are growing restless and I wanted someone I could trust to join Lord Umber in finding a peaceful settlement." He looked up at her, standing. "You are surprised."

"I… I…" What could she say that wouldn't turn the situation into a screaming match. "How will you make due in your… schedule without her?"

"If you ask where I would sleep at night, perhaps it would be clear since I have a wife."

She narrowed her eyes at him, his words drawing her ire. "The times you spent in my bed in the last year could be counted on my fingers and toes, husband." He was oft gone from the capitol or mourning over his dead father, but Ceryse didn't water down her point by being truthful about that. "So forgive me if I didn't think of that."

Normally, Maegor would respond to any attempt at deep conversation on their issues by walking away. Sometimes he would snap and yell at her in such a manner to leave her broken and crying. But never did he respond in the way he did now. "Ceri…" His hands took hers in their grasp, thumb rubbing the soft skin on the back with a gentleness the calluses didn't look like they could give. "I'm sorry."

That stunned her more than the news of Raya's leaving. "You… you're sorry?"

"Aye, and I could only hope you'll forgive me." His conversation with Jaehaerys earlier weighed on him - if Maegor expected his nephew to follow his advice then perhaps he himself should take it as well. "I can't excuse my actions, but I can explain them. The loss of our…"

"Stop." It was just as painful to her. "I know, husband." Wordlessly, they simply embraced each other.

Maegor kissed the crown of her head, it feeling almost like the moments in their first year of marriage - just them and their love. "I'd like to try again. The omens are sound, and I have a good feeling about this."

She pulled back, looking up at him and his beautiful face. "Are those the only reasons?"

"No… the fact I love you is reason enough." Not speaking anymore, Maegor kissed her… a kiss that Ceryse responded feverishly towards.

Clothes were quickly shed, and Ceryse soon found herself flat on her back in their bed - her mouth was open in a silent scream as her Valyrian god of a husband supped at her cunt with fervor. "Gods… yes…" Her septas had talked about the 'woman's duty' to 'allow her husband his lusts,' but the only man who ever touched them was the Father. Never would they enjoy this pleasure. "Husband… please… need…"

Maegor was on her in a heartbeat, slamming their lips together. Pushing through her prepared, soaking heat with his cock - filling her like only he could. Too long… it has been too long…

Please, dear Mother above, bless us with a child…

I love him… I need him… don't take him away...

From the moment the maester had removed him from his mother, Rogar Baratheon had held one unquenched desire. Some turned to lust, others to gluttony… the unlucky ones developed tastes in the macabre or brutal, while some were humble and merely wanted a stable family and a soft bed to sleep in after a long day's toil. Rogar was none of those things. He was lean and handsome, never one to drink or eat or fuck to excess. His sexual tastes were intense yet simple, and he bore no pleasure in abusing servants unless they gave him disrespect.

No, what Rogar Baratheon desired was… more. More of everything.

Dressing himself that day in his best, a richly decorated gold doublet with the black stag of his House emblazoned in black, it was styled to be an imitation of a combat tunic and surcoat. Complete with coal-black boots the same color as Balerion the Black Dread's scales, his well-muscled figure, trimmed black beard, and azure blue eyes would be the envy of every man and maiden in the Red Keep.

He had the dragonblood in his veins through his great-grandfather, a fact his grandmother Argella Durrandon never let him forget.

And therein rested the conundrum for Ser Rogar Baratheon. In his twenty namedays upon the earth, he already had nearly all he could ever want. As the future heir to Storm's End after his father, Ser Davos Baratheon, he had one of the most powerful domains in his pocket. He had vast amounts of coin from his prosperous lands to indulge his love of hunting, hawking, and wooing beautiful women with expensive gifts. He had a beautiful wife, a gossamer woman of House Dondarrion that adored him - though she later died in a fever alongside his newborn son, the same fever that claimed his Tarth mother, Rogar wouldn't want for another marriage.

As the descendent of the half-brother of Aegon the Conqueror himself, Rogar could marry almost any woman and be guaranteed a place in the highest of court positions as long as he demonstrated the most basic of competence. But no, that wasn't what he wished.

He wanted more. Simply more, and was confident he could get it.

The blood of dragons and stags, of the Targaryen dragonriders and Durrandon conquerors. Who could truly stand in his way?

Rogar knew the answer to that. The true dragonlords. Which was why he was here, rather than in Storm's End among those he could command and control. Here, Rogar would need to truly spread his influence and seek out allies wherever possible. It was the only way for his dreams to be realized.

"Mmmm… come back to bed, my Lord," murmured the seductive female voice of one of the courtiers he had taken to bed that night. A nameless Rosby or Stokeworth or Bracken… or something or other - she was slender, busty, and good in bed so why would Rogar really care.

The heir to Storm's End knew enough to merely chuckle and walk to her nude for, kissing her on the lips. "I do have to run, darling. Perhaps we can meet again tonight." Nothing was served by kicking a beautiful woman out of bed, and any connections he could make might serve him in the future. As he expected, the girl swooned.

They all swooned. Perhaps that's why he was so bored with them.

With the King's return to King's Landing, the great hall and newly constructed "Tower of the Hand'' in the Dragonpalace were bustling with activity among the courtiers. Rogar had ridden here and quickly found a guard to take his horse, walking briskly to where the Small Council would from hereafter meet. All the normal faces were present, including but not limited to Prince Maegor, the King's wife and eldest children, Septon Murmison, Grand Maester Gawen, the Corbray Lord Commander, and Lord Reyne. Princess Rhaenys and Lord Brandon Stark were there as observers… which was what Rogar was if he thought about it. Soon. Soon I won't be a mere observer.

Rogar also recognized Lucas Harroway, a skeletal fellow that generally rubbed him off the wrong way. If opposites attracted, similarity repelled. The man was just like him, always wanting more, only doing so from a far lower station.

Still, those men could be useful.

The King was somber, occasionally looking at his sister and goodbrother with sympathy. Eventually though, he cleared his throat. "Soon, Lord Torrhen Stark's body will be flown to Winterfell so it can be interred there as befitting the last King of Winter. Gods be with him."

"May the Stranger see his path to the heavens unmolested," spoke Murmison, earning glares from Maegor, Rhaenys, and the Northmen. Fool. The Starks don't keep the new gods. Rogar prayed to the Seven publically, but found it all ridiculous. Power and influence were his gods.

However, King Aenys seemed at peace with it… Queen Alyssa rolled her eyes. They fell on Rogar's and she stared at him for a moment before averting her gaze. Shifting uncomfortably. Hmmm… interesting. He knew the signs of a beautiful woman finding fancy in him, something he would need to explore further.

"While no one can replace Lord Torrhen in the contribution he made to the realm," continued Aenys. "We must move forward with the ship of state. Therefore, I announced that my brother, Prince Maegor, shall be made Hand of the King." Removing the famed pin from his pocket, Aenys pinned it to his brother's breast. Both Princess Ceryse and Princess Rhaena looked proud. "I said we'd rule together, brother, and now it seems we shall."

"The honor is mine, brother," Maegor replied, simply hugging the King - an embrace the King returned.

Smiling, Aenys cleared his throat. "In addition, I have made new changes to the Small Council on the advice of my new Lord Hand. Lord Tybolt Reyne shall assume the position of Master of War, while the Master of Whisperers shall be Brandon Snow of Winterfell. He is heading here shortly." Maegor bringing both his mentors… a powerful hand he will be. "Lord Blackwood has departed back to Raventree Hall, and we will miss his service. In his place as at-large advisor, I have decided to appoint my friend Lord Lucas Harroway and my dear cousin Ser Rogar Baratheon."

As the rest of the council clapped, for the first time Rogar allowed unadulterated joy to form on his face. No matter how well planned any goal could be, one couldn't count for plain luck.

A/N: So Maegor and Ceryse have reconciled and are happy once more. I've found myself liking Ceryse (though him and Rhaena are my OTP for this era), so if what people are speculating is true... poor Ceryse.

I had to include Jaehaerys and Maegor having a moment together. Given what happened in canon, it's absolutely necessary. Kinda surreal that young Jae idolizes his uncle.

And so we meet Rogar Baratheon. Another one of the merry cadre of the times.

Read and comment! If i get 20 comments, I'll update right after the new year.