A/N: Hey all, hope all is going well.

New chapter, leading up to the really good stuff :)

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Chapter 35: Secrets

High above the teeming streets of King's Landing were all the grown dragons of House Targaryen dwelling south of the neck. Quicksilver and Vhagar, Dreamfyre and Balerion. They cast long shadows upon the city itself, wings flapping and hooting into the air.

A true symbol of glory and luck for those that dwelt in the Targaryen city. It was truly their city, and its people their people. Dragons were those to love and look on in awe, and today was no exception.

In an instant two of the dragons dove down to the city itself, wings extending at the last minute to arrest their plunge and hover down to a proper landing. With twin roars, one louder and deeper than the other, Balerion and Dreamfyre spread their wings to the cheers and adulation of the denizens of King's Landing.

They poured into the square in front of the Dragonpalace gates and the avenue leading from Visenya's Hill. Down it marched the victorious Targaryen Guardsmen, Crownlands banners, and sworn swords and men-at-arms of House Tarly. Wagons loaded with booty and exotic weapons gathered from the enemy dead alongside floats reenacting the various scenes of the campaign.

From the dragons torching the forest to Rhaena capturing the Vulture King and beheading him with her own sword, each was an instant favorite of the crowd. Yet nothing could truly capture their wonder as the articles themselves. Prince Maegor, the rider of the Black Dread. The Demon of the Stepstones continuing his life of victory.

And Rhaena, their beloved Crown Princess. A renowned beauty, here she looked as fierce as her grandmother. Long hair streaming down to fan out over her shoulder pauldrons, Dark Sister strapped to her waist. She slid down Dreamfyre with expert ability, raising her fist high in the air to roars from the crowd.

By the grace of all the gods, it truly felt wondrous. Especially with her beloved uncle so close. I love you… The words were likely safe, but not the tone in which Rhaena would say them.

Walking through the gates, the roar of the crowd echoing as they passed underneath the massive arches flanked by rearing dragons, within were the entire assembled household guard alongside the men that marched in triumph. Lord Tarly and Lady Margaery had already reached the front, as did Lord Commander Gawen. Also there were the King and Queen, Queen Dowager Visenya, Princes Aegon and Viserys, and the delightfully beaming Alysanne with a silver dragon perched on her shoulder.

She truly is a dragonrider. Sweet little Ally, but it was their blood. Their birthright.

Rhaena remembered when she was but a shy girl without any form of confidence. If she could've bonded with the great Dreamfyre, so too could Alysanne with Silverwing.

Slowly they walked towards the raised dais. Rhaena could see her kepa beaming with pride. Her muna was just as proud, but focused only on her. Eyes not even attempting to glance at Maegor. Why, muna? Why do you hate him so? It broke Rhaena's heart, especially since neither of them would speak of the reasons for this hate.

Enough of this. Today is a joyous occasion.

Reaching just below the King, Maegor lowered himself to one knee. Rhaena followed suit, both bending the knee before their sovereign. "Your Grace, we present upon you this victory. For the glory and everlasting power of House Targaryen we fight. Fire and Blood."

"Fire and Blood," repeated Rhaena.

"Rise," spoke Aenys, of which they obeyed. "Prince Maegor, you have distinguished yourself yet again. Whether fighting with sword or leading men from the air upon the Black Dread, countless thousands were spared a death of rape and torture thanks to you."

"It is my honor to serve Aenys, First of His Name." While formal, there was affection in Maegor's eyes for his elder brother.

The affection was returned, but descended into near tears as Aenys laid eyes on his daughter. "My beloved Rhaena… you have truly ascended to the line of your grandmothers." Behind, Visenya looked as if her heart would burst from the pride she felt. "Many great things were accomplished with the sword at your side. I have no doubt that this victory will be one of many that you add to its storied history."

Rhaena cried as well, smiling at her kepa and wanting to hug him. "I am honored to fight for you, kepa." It was Aenys that threw his arms around his daughter.

Eventually, the formalities ended and the royals journeyed towards their various chambers - marking down that a sumptuous feast would be where they reconvened in the great hall of the Dragonpalace. Hoping to bathe and relax, Rhaena's hopes were dashed when her friends basically ganged up on her. "You lucky bitch!" Melony punched her upper arm. It hurt. "You got to kick some Dornish ass and didn't invite me?"

"You weren't in the city when we left."

"You could've sent a raven!"

"Calm down, Melony," said Alayne, hugging Rhaena. "You really know how to follow danger, don't you."

Rhaena shrugged. "Sometimes it follows me. The pain of being a dragon."

But Larissa shook her head. "I am part of your blood, yet such never occurs to me." A roll of the eyes. "Not fair though, Melony's right. Any adventure and we're stuck here. My younger brother is off to Dorne on some diplomatic mission. You're off fighting Dornish…"

"Tell you what. Next campaign, I promise I'll take you."

"No, no, no…" Samantha Manderly shook her head. "Why are we talking of war? Gods, you girls know not how to live." Apparently being Lady of White Harbor suited her. She was… exactly the same as when she left, but even more radiant and bubbly if one could imagine.

Gods, Rhaena missed them all and couldn't wait to introduce Margaery to them at the feast.

Chatting for what seemed like hours, the only ones not to truly join in were Alys and Tyanna. Alys smiled, gave her opinion when asked, hugged Rhaena warmly, but largely hung back. Rhaena didn't think anything of it.

As for Tyanna…

They only shared words after all the other girls departed. "Rhaena," she murmured.

"Ty…" Out of nowhere Tyanna launched herself into Rhaena's arms, an embrace greedily returned. "I missed you."

"Gods, I missed you too." Pulling back, Tyanna cupped her cheek… only for a flash in her eye. "You did it, didn't you?"

Rhaena didn't even have to ask - she just knew. "Kessa."

By Belarion, Maegor wished to doff his armor and relax in a hot bath. His wife begged him to. His muna urged him to. Rhaena - though they had mutually decided to keep apart for the near term - clearly thought he should from her looks and gestures. But the Prince demurred for now.

He had somewhere he needed to be.

The nursery wing of the holdfast was guarded by Ser Jon Hogg, the Kingsguard bowing at Maegor and rising with a grin. "Good to 'ave ya' back, yer Grace!" The gentle giant was always that jolly sort of fellow. No wonder the children like him.

Maegor nodded, but was in no mood for small talk… at least not with a knight like Big Jon. "Is Prince Jaehaerys in his chamber?"

"Aye, the lad's feelin' a wee bit weak. Queen 'anted 'im to stay in bed fir a day."

Alyssa… His goodsister was always the overprotective type. In the past, it was sort of cute, how she doted over Rhaena as a babe… now it was simply tedious for him.

You would say differently if you took the other fork in the road.

He shook his head. Best not to go down the path of second thoughts - and the guilt it would dredge up, especially now. "Well, stay at your post, Ser Jon. I shall be but a moment so as not to disturb the Prince."

As told, Jaehaerys was in bed with a quilt with their house's sigil stitched atop it. A pitcher of water and crusty bread was on a table next to him, while he looked a little pale. But his expression lit up when he spotted Maegor. "Uncle!"

"No, don't get up." Maegor smiled at him as he dragged a chair from the corner of the room and planted it at the side of the bed. "Feeling ill, nephew? Was hoping to take you for a dragonride."

The thought was both ever delightful and melancholic for Jaehaerys. "Damn it all, but I cannot." He groaned. "My stomach hates me… it feels like I'm dying."

Maegor laughed. He'd seen many dying men, and was pretty much convinced that his nephew was exaggerating as youths were wont to do. "You'll be back to training and playing catch the meat with the dragons in no time." Japing tone softening into a more paternal joy, he leaned over to cup Jae's cheek. "They're not lyin' to me, boy. You're really raising that dragon all by yourself?"

Jaehaerys nodded with glee - as much glee as he could have with his illness. "Vermithor!" he called over, whistling. Maegor was surprised when a blur dove from the rafters, wings flapping before the little hatchling settled atop the quilt on Jaehaerys' chest. How in seven hells did I not spot… "He's beautiful, isn't he?"

Tail curled about his body and wings folded in, Vermithor tilted his head at the Prince. Peering at the dragon, Maegor reached out and stroked his scales. Vermithor cooed and nuzzled his hand. "Aye, he's very beautiful."

"He likes you very much, uncle," beamed Jaehaerys. "I call him the 'Bronze Fury,' cause he's a future terror on every battlefield, right boy?"

Vermithor took that moment to roll onto his back, kicking his legs and flapping his wings with a creen. As if Syndor when she wanted to play. "Right, a real terror."

Groaning, Jae pointed his finger at the dragon. "Bad Vermithor. Silverwing can be the weak, cute one. You're the fierce one." Another croon, Vermithor wriggling around as Maegor tickled the soft scales of her belly.

"Enjoy them while they're young and small, nephew. Or you'll end up like me with a big lummox of a dragon that likes to both make fun of you and brood in the corner."

I heard that! Maegor heard Belarion in his head, but a mere muted roar from the distance carried into his ears.

"Tell me how you hatched him?" Maegor insisted. "Your kepa's letter was quite sparing on that detail." His muna told him more, but Maegor wanted to hear it from Jae personally.

The Prince shrugged. "I… I didn't hatch him on my own. Ally helped me."

"Your sister?"

He nodded. "She had the idea to put the eggs together. Then they hatched." Maegor fought to keep from grinning. Dragons still when separate, then hatching when together. He had a feeling he knew what was going to take place in the future between his nephew and niece. Jae, ignorant of his uncle's thoughts, continued. "Did it on her own while I was too busy arguing with Arya."

"Arya?" Maegor wasn't familiar with the name.

"Arya, Arya Reed. Cousin on their mother's side for Eggsy, Saera, and Alaric." Maegor remembered now. Brandon brought her down with her father, one of his companions. "Gods, uncle. She's awful. The most horrid sort of girl."

A brow rose. Does Jae have another admirer? It was always the boys one least expected that got all the young maidens flocking to them. "How so?"

"She's… she's… gods, I hate saying this but she's like a wildling. All wild and without respect for anything."

"Now Jae, the Free Folk are free spirits but they are not horrid animals."

"I'm not saying that…" Jae remembered protecting Arya and Ally from those boys in the Eyrie - the kiss she shared with him, Jae's first kiss. The rest of the royal progress was uneventful, Arya not trying anything else and back to her irritating self two days later but Jae still got headaches trying to parse that night together - Ally didn't act nearly as strange, his sister even closer to him than before. "Nothing."

"Jae, you can talk to me."

"I don't want to talk about it." He turned, startling Vermithor into a chirp but otherwise just seeming as if he was going to sleep.

Maegor sighed. To be young with girls. By Meraxes, he could greatly commiserate with his nephew. "I'm proud of you, nephew." He leaned over and kissed his temple. "You'll be an amazing dragonrider one day. As good as your grandfather."

Before he left, he heard Jae call out. "I love you, uncle."

"Love you too," he smiled.

Finally reaching his chambers, two deft fingers began to work at his laces. For a moment he thought it was Rhaena and his body grew elated on instinct… but the flash of hair was chestnut rather than silver. "Ceryse." He grew deflated for the briefest of seconds, and then was filled with guilt after. She's my wife… the wife I love. Even more guilt flooded him.

Ceryse, for her part, was unaware of what he was thinking. "Home again, my love." She gently removed his armor hugging his bare back. "You have to know that I did miss this. Miss you."

"I missed you too." His body was on overdrive. Her hard peaks pressed into his back, tunic between them. She was bare. "Are you alright."

"Can I ever be alright after what happened, husband?" She moved to his gauntlets and pauldrons, but soon he was stripped of the metal. Ceryse rounded him and encircled his waist. Maegor doing the same and roaming around her bare back. "But even among my family I felt lost without my dragon."

While I was with my dragon. "Matters not, we're here now." If there only could be a way to have both his loves…

There could, but would she support it? Doubtful, which drove the guilt. "Come with me. I want to feel you again," she insisted, voice soft with love.

Guided to the bathchamber, tub filled with steaming water, Maegor couldn't resist.

"You amaze me sometimes, sister."

Rhaena gave a glittering smile as Aegon led her in a twirl, her red dress fanning out upon the dance floor. "I am glad I can still amaze my valonqar." Around her, the feast was in full swing, courtiers and visiting Lords, Ladies, knights, and maidens laughing and carousing and eating and dancing under the smooth musical tunes of a local troupe of minstrels. They were honestly quite good. "And how was being stuck in the capitol?" She couldn't help but tease a little.

Aegon frowned slightly but then smirked. "Not as comfortable as you'd imagine. Master masons are quite… irascible people to work with. People think that with the walls, holdfast, and great hall completed that the Dragonpalace can be finished up… not in the slightest." They swayed around in wide circles, the center of attention for the other dancers. "But there are all the other buildings that must fit in with both the aesthetic and the defenses."

"One weak link can condemn a keep, aye." She'd seen it in the Marches.

"Aye, so it requires the greatest attention to detail and such is exhausting." He chuckled. "If it weren't for…" Suddenly Aegon trailed off, face going slightly pale.

"Brother?" Rhaena's eyebrow quirked up. "Something the matter."

Eyes finding hers, Aegon inhaled - as if puffing himself up. "Forgive me for bringing this up here, dearest sister." He moved to take her hands as the song ended. "But I must ask you something."

Confused, Rhaena was about to ask when she caught something in the corner of her eye. It was Maegor… leading Ceryse onto the dance floor for another song. She looked quite happy and he… mirrored her.

Uncle… It was irrational, she knew. He still loved Ceryse, she knew. He was fighting to be with all of them, she knew. But seeing her man happy without her, when deep in her loins she burned for him… "I have to go."

Aegon blinked. "What? No, I must…"

"Later, brother. Please." Without letting him speak, she hurried away - not quick enough to draw attention but quick enough to avoid it…

"Rhaena." At least from some. "There you are." Tyanna though was someone safe to speak with. "Can we talk."

Nodding, Rhaena squeezed her hand. "Let's. Where to?"

Tyanna smiled. "Follow me."

Looking back over her shoulder, Rhaena saw her brother speaking with Alys Harroway, though looking back to her with a fond sadness. Her uncle danced with his wife, but his eyes also flickered to her. They contained… great warmth.

Leading her onto the balcony off to the side of the great hall, it overlooked the grassy field leading to the cliff's edge, more a small country courtyard found in the massive Reach castles than anything else. "Probably the only place where we can get some privacy," whispered Tyanna, only hearing the wind wail out from the bay. "Rhaena, are you alright?" Then it hit her. "No, a balcony…" She had heard all about what happened from Elissa. "Gods, I'm sorry…"

But Rhaena shook her head. "Believe me, I'm fine." Sometimes Rhaena still thought of Lyonel Lorch's grubby hands all over her, but those were so rare as to be near extinct. "Seeing him burned alive healed me greatly, as did my growing skills and my… relationships." She bit her lip, eyes twinkling in the moonlight. "We certainly had our fun on that balcony adjacent to my chambers."

Tyanna felt a warm ache in her core just thinking of that. "Aye, I remember that well." The two young ladies gave each other looks of intensity before they simply giggled. "Oh, what fun we had."

"You may ask me if I regret it… I do not." She reached out to take Tyanna's hand. "Perhaps we could start again?"

Nothing would've made her happier than to kiss Rhaena and then take her where she stood, but Tyanna only smiled sadly. "Is that what you truly wish?" Seeing a certain emotion on Rhaena's face, she corrected herself. "No, I know you love me, Rhaena. Mayhaps not as much as I love you, but it's there. Rather, isn't there something you wish more to happen?"

Sighing, Rhaena cast her eyes out over the water. Seeing one of the dragons fishing in the distance and following it with her gaze. "It's never gonna happen."

Tyanna reached out, cupping her cheek. "Just tell me what happened. I can guess and you've confirmed a lot, but please tell me."

"A long story."

"We have time…" The feast was down to the drunken revelry part of it. They'd escape notice as long as they returned within an hour. "And I already know the beginning." Rhaena sighed again, but Tyanna knew she had deflated. Out came the secret history of the Vulture Rebellion. By the end of it, even Tyanna was surprised. "He vowed to marry you?" Truly, even if she and Maegor became lovers, Tyanna never expected it to go so far so fast. "He loves you?"

Lids fluttering shut, the warmest of smiles leisurely formed on Rhaena's lips. "Mmmm, desperately, just as I love him." She hugged her upper body. "When we're together, even if just in an embrace, I feel so safe - and there is no tension in him. As if uncle is simply unburdened."

"So… did he ask for your hand?"

Rhaena opened her eyes. "Never explicitly, but it was clear such is what he wanted. To be with me… as my grandparents were."

"King Aegon was just that, a Queen that had conquered the realm with fire and blood. A realm primed for submission." Each King had either been killed, defeated, or forced out of fear to bend the knee anyway - for those that died, their successors carried an even greater burden of fear. "Conditions are far different."

"Aye." The Princess now looked like the one truly burdened. "Grandmother was perfectly amenable to sharing grandfather with grandmother Rhaenys. As for Aunt Ceryse… I'm not sure even if I can share him with her."

"Why, because she isn't a dragon as you are?" Tyanna was genuinely curious.

But Rhaena shook her head. "Because my grandmothers loved each other. Ceryse will hate me, while I… I respect and care for her as an aunt, but little else. Without that love, there will only be hate and jealousy."

Sometimes, Tyanna held great loathing of Maegor for holding Rhaena's heart in a way she would never, so she understood. "Perhaps it is for the best that you let this go."

There was a silence, only for Rhaena to slowly look at her. Eyes narrowed. "Because you want me for yourself."

Yes! I love you! I only want you! Tyanna couldn't cause her pain though. Couldn't cause a rift - if Rhaena was only destined to be her friend, then she'd take it. "No, that's not what I meant, Rhaena. Please, hear me out," she pleaded. Crossing her arms, Rhaena's look softened and she nodded. "The Faith will not take this lying down."

Rhaena blinked. That wasn't what she expected. "The Faith. What do they… oh." She pursed her lips. "They said nothing to my grandparents."

"The High Septon was a passive man at the time. He wanted to preserve himself against the dragons that burned Mern Gardener to ash. This one… he's hard to read. I fear the worst."

"Are you sure of this?" Her stomach started to roil, Rhaena cupping it gingerly. "Do you have a basis?"

Tyanna leaned closer to Rhaena, almost like a lover's embrace. Only someone practically on top of them could notice they were having a conversation. "The Poor Fellows are pilfering weapons from their own armories, selling them in Oldtown. I fear… they could've been to supply the Vulture King."

Her eyes widened. "Are you saying… oh fuck me up a river, those cunts." Rhaena was seething, fingers clenching.

Honestly, Tyanna felt a little turned on by the dragon temper. She pushed it back. "I have little proof, just conjecture as to that being the destination. Such is why I need to see the stockpiles used in the triumphal procession."

"You'll have them." Rhaena shook with anger. "Do you have the Poor Fellows involved in custody?"

To this, Tyanna grinned. "Not yet. Let them get drunk tonight first on all the free wine and ale." Oh, she had a trap set up for them."

"Good, just allow me to be the one to help you question them."

Tyanna's grin only widened.

It had been one of the first great construction projects of the young reign of the Targaryen monarchy. Old High Septon Hightower had decreed it in honor of Queen Rhaenys, hence the name Sept of Remembrance, it soon blossoming into the second holiest site in the Realm after the Starry Sept itself. Its domain was greatly powerful as being direct to the seat of power, and thus whomever held power over it was himself greatly influential.

Sometimes, Murmison wished he could simply become the same travelling Septon that performed miracles and helped educate and advise his friend the King - then Crown Prince. He had no mind for politics.

And yet, he had advanced high enough to be drawn into it. "We find the situation greatly troubling, Murmison," spoke Archsepton Boniface, his intense features slightly calm for once. "His Grace hasn't yet issued betrothals for the Crown Prince and Princess Rhaena. They are of marriageable age."

"I see not why it should be an issue." Murmison was confused - this couldn't have come from Boniface himself, for he wasn't that sort of Septon. Hugor perhaps was the one worried. "They are young, and the King has two spare sons."

"It matters because they could be betrothed to each other," scoffed Grand Captain Damon Morrigen. Walking through the outer sept in the ring that rounded the inner vestibule, Septons, Begging Brothers, Septas, and penitents alike avoided them… or if getting close bowing low in reverence of the three high-profile men of the Faith. "Such is grotesque."

"The Targaryens are the Targaryens. They are outside the bounds of the Faith, being Valyrians."

Boniface scoffed. "They rule us under our consent. They must follow the tenets of the Seven-Pointed Star." He adjusted his robes. "There is growing discontent among the people at the lack of piety of the royal family."

"I refuse to believe that." Murmison was shocked. "King Aenys is devoted to the people. And they to him."

"Mayhaps now, but when the further prospects of incestual relations emerge, that may change." He narrowed his eyes at Murmison. "It conveys the message that we are but slaves to them, not their loyal subjects. Many Faithful think that if their rulers hold a different faith, that they cannot rule them with care in mind."

Murmison blinked. "Do you believe that?"

A shrug from Morrigen. "Do you?"

While Murmison opened his mouth to speak, he was cut off as a loud pounding echoed against the large doors at the main entry to the outer Sept. Septon Boniface's eyes scrunched together, only showing off his wrinkles more prominently. "What in the name of the Mother…"

As Poor Fellows rushed to the door, it was forced open and in streamed two dozen armed men-at-arms. All of them dressed with Stark or Mormont sigils. "Find them now!" bellowed a young woman in a leather surcoat emblazoned with a rearing bear. "If you have to strip the entire place to get them, do it!"

Damon Morrigen kept a hand on the hilt of his sword but advanced without drawing it. "What is the meaning of this?!" he yelled. "Get out!"

An older man that nevertheless wore the same northern fierceness as the others stepped forward. "We are here to execute a royal warrant for the arrest of these officers of the Poor Fellows." He crossed his arms, face expressionless but still conveying a sense of superiority. "Information has indicated they would be here today."

"Found one!" called out one of the guards.

The man snorted. "Correct information."

"You have no business here."

"I do as Brandon Snow, Master of Whisperers for his Grace, King Aenys Targaryen."

Hearing his name, Boniface's face lit up in anger. "A bastard?!" The elderly archsepton advanced on him. "You cretin! Your filthy kind debases our holy sept with your poison!"

Snow looked bored of it. "Alright then. You have many bastards in your ranks but fine." Another man was found, both prisoners put into manacles.

"Men that devote their lives to support the Father can cleanse their souls of their horrid temperaments, unlike yourself."

"I don't even follow the Faith so your threats mean nothing to me, old man."

Before Boniface could go into an apoplectic rage, Murmison pushed his way forward. "Brother, please calm yourself." He turned to Brandon Snow. "Lord Snow, what is your basis for this?"

Brandon regarded him with a slightly smaller look of contempt. "Treason, Septon." His scowl was as icy as the land of his birth. "Conspiring to provide arms to the Vulture King."

Murmison's eyes widened while Boniface grew more red in the face - Morrigen said nothing. "You cannot have evidence for this."

"It's all a lie, septon!" yelled one of the manicled poor fellows, only for the Mormont girl to bash him in the stomach.

"A royal warrant, Septon." Brandon handed it over.

He studied it. "This is signed by the Princess Rhaena, not his Grace. It has no authority."

A laugh. "My sword gives it authority. You're welcome to try and stop me, or you can talk to his Grace and avoid bloodshed. The choice is yours."

"Just say the word, your Eminence," another of the Warrior's Sons, Ser Lyle Bracken, hissed. His hand was on his sword, but he could not draw it within such a holy place unless commanded by someone of holy authority. As the Septon of the Sept of Remembrance, only Murmison had that authority.

Eyes flickering, a sweat built up on Murmison's skin. His robes felt heavy and constricting. "There… won't be any bloodshed today. I will speak to his Grace and end this travesty."

Brandon smirked. "Have it your own way, but the prisoners will come with us." Motioning to his men… and woman, the Poor Fellows were dragged roughly out of the sept.

Clicking his tongue, Morrigen approached the trembling, nervous septon. "Remember what we spoke of, Murmison. This should only enhance how apt it is in these troubling times." Murmison said nothing, merely glancing at the holy shrine within the inner sept. Feeling how the great image of the Father stared at him.

"Confess."

"Fuck you, cunt!"

Letting out a disappointed sigh, Tyanna motioned to the gaoler - one smarter than the usual thug, and an expert in torture. He nodded to her and again swung the rod. Crashing hard against the prisoner's back with a loud smack. He bit his lips in pain, drawing blood, but refused to crack.

The raven-haired Pentoshi half-breed wrung her hands together. "Your insolence is not helping you. Confess now and you'll spare yourself the pain of a long and tortuous death."

Poor Fellows were once mere thugs, but the reforms of Hugor Flowers left them disciplined, tough, and zealous in their faith. This one was no exception. "Inferior bastard foreigners don't scare me!" he snarled, then laughing. "I will live with tha' Mother and Father when I die."

"That could be in an hour, or in weeks. Your choice, but the former is guaranteed if you confess."

"As I said, fuck off!"

"Suit yourself then." Heading for the door, she turned to the gaoler. "Scourge him, but keep him alive. Inform me if he's more… agreeable."

"Aye, mi'Lady." The last Tyanna saw of the chamber in the dark confines of the Dragonpalace - but the start of a massive network of underground tunnels and caves planned by Prince Aegon - was the gaoler lifting a flogger with bits of sharp metal tied to the ends. Closing the door, soon the sounds of blood-curdling screams were heard from within.

A tiny smile curled on her face. Tyanna hummed a tune as she strolled towards the next chamber.

Within, the process was further along. Rather than being tied from the ceiling and left to dangle, this man - of lower rank than the first but still an officer - was tied by the hands, legs, and chest to an iron chair. His face was bloody, corresponding to the second gaoler wetting split knuckles with a clean linen rag, while his fingers were a grotesque mess. "Pulling off fingernails?" she asked the one handling the interrogation.

Brandon Snow nodded. "I find it very conducive to the free flow of words… and better long-term than chopping off the fingers one by one, bit by bit." His dark glare, one with the ferocity of a northern blizzard, cast down on the poor wretch. "That can come later."

Groaning, the man writhed in his chair. "No… I's said I's gonna talk."

"I know. We're just waiting for someone."

That someone emerged in the form of Princess Rhaena in one of her training outfits. Eyes met with Tyanna's and they both gave a warm glance - it disappeared quickly since this place was anything but warm. Behind her was Lord Commander Gawen, followed by two guards carrying a large chest. The Lord Commander hung back, while Rhaena opened the chest and turned around. Silently telling Tyanna to interrogate.

Tyanna glanced at Brandon, who nodded. She was the primary on this. "Alright." Unlike someone like Brandon or the other toughs, Tyanna's method was more… subtle. Equal parts seductress, stalking cat, and venomous adder. She circled the man, letting the hem of her dress gently sway against the floor while she leisurely clapped her hands together. The noise unsettling. To most it was disconcerting, but to some it was quite alluring.

"Tell me, where did the weapons go?" she finally asked.

"To Oldtown! Like I's said!" the man yelled. "Please don't kill me!"

"Why Oldtown?" Tyanna stopped behind him and leaned into his ear. Voice lower. "I would appreciate it if you talked." Her voice was sultry. It reminded Rhaena of her voice during foreplay.

"I… I don't know."

She chuckled throatily. "You can tell me. I have the power to give you what you want."

"I want to live."

"That… can be arranged." The pregnant pause only added to the allure.

Trembling, the Poor Fellow wriggled in his seat. "There was a merchant… one we gave the weapons to… he was Dornish, and paid us. Most to our commander."

"Wat Hewer?"

"No, under him. Please… I just followed orders!"

And took the coin gladly after robbing the warehouses blind. Looking at Rhaena, the Princess nodded and reached into the chest and pulled something out. In the low torchlight gleamed a sword - new off the forge and protected within a container of sawdust. "Do you recognize this sword?" Rhaena asked.

The man peered through eyes wreathed in dried blood. "Aye… aye… one of our blades."

"Yours? Specifically from here?!"

He nodded frantically. "Aye… only we in King's Landin' have that kind'a pommel." All turned to look at each other, making him frantic. "Please… I'm tellin' the truf', I want to live!" He started blubbering, an altogether pathetic sight.

Tyanna rolled her eyes. "Take him back to his cell." When he was gone, she frowned gravely. "So the Poor Fellows… at the very least this branch, were supplying the Vulture King."

"Our men were killed with our own weapons." Rhaena was seething. "We need to speak this to the small council."

"I'll get it done," Brandon Snow insisted. "You, Lord Commander, get the Princess out of here. This is no place for her."

"Alright. Come on, your Grace…"

But before they could leave, Tyanna held a hand. "I'll take Rhaena out. See if you can get more information from the others now that one confessed." As the one who discovered this, by order of Queen Visenya she was the one in charge of the interrogations. Most would be threatened, but Brandon merely respected her all the more.

It was exhilarating.

"Are you alright?" she asked Rhaena.

"Never want to be in those dungeons again, but all in all I'm enraged."

"Same, though I don't mind being down there… as long as I am not the one in chains."

Rhaena snorted. "Apt."

Walking back towards the holdfast and a steaming hot bath within - unfortunately for Tyanna, two separate baths - she and Rhaena passed by the current kitchens, a temporary wood and thatch structure that would only last until Aegon's master builders completed the permanent stone one. "Yer Grace, Seven's blessings!" one of the cooks, a strongly-built but still pretty woman, called out.

"Seven's blessings to you as well," Rhaena called out, only to sniff the air. "Is that fresh bread?"

"Aye, just bakin' a batch."

Before Tyanna could urge Rhaena to follow her back to where the warm bath waited, her love was gliding towards the kitchens. Headstrong Targaryens. Tyanna was as well, but more subtle about it. "Rhae, come on. Let's go."

"In a moment." Her smile was genuine and warm. "Just bread?" she asked the cook.

"Enough in the big ovens fir tha workin' men, rolls and sweet tarts for the highborns - though we sneak a bit of the latter to the wee' ones on occasion." She winked to the Princess.

Rhaena giggled. "I love sweet tarts. May I have one… um…"

"Meena, yer' Grace. And I'd be honored for you to try one. Which flavor?"

"Blueberry," was the answer, and while Rhaena looked as excited as a little kid for the treat, when it came on a steaming pile of them fresh out of the oven, her entire face changed color.

Tyanna noticed it immediately. "Rhae, are you alright?"

"Yer don't 'ook so good, yer Grace."

Once the whiff hit her nostrils, Rhaena went green. Right hand rising to gently cover her mouth. "I… I…" Not one more word left her as she retched. Her eyes widened and the Princess raced towards… well, anywhere, before voiding her stomach atop the slightly deadened grass alongside the walls of the temporary kitchens. "Ah fuck…" another retch, though this one much less. The third came soon after, a dry heave.

Trotting beside her, Tyanna couldn't resist pulling Rhaena's hair behind her head and rubbing her back - friendly gestures, but also intimate ones she relished in. "Shhh… you got it all out." Slowly, she helped Rhaena rise to a proper standing position, albeit with her hand cradling her stomach.

"Ere'." Meena the cook was there with a gourd and a plain roll. "Drink this… It's mead. Will settle the gut." The very sweat liquid was quite refreshing in a mouth filled with bitter bile. "Soft bread'll be fine fir you."

"I don't understand," Rhaena murmured after chewing a bite of the roll - it was delicious. "I love blueberry sweet tarts, but all of a sudden… what?"

Tyanna hadn't realized her jaw was slack till Rhaena looked at her intently. Could it be… no, impossible…

No, very possible.

A/N: And yep, I think that's exactly what everyone is thinking.

Enjoy and please comment!