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

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Chapter 40: Sinners

"The Most Devout are on their way here."

Closing her eyes, Princess Rhaena Targaryen sighed. Hands at her side, she nevertheless walked close to her husband, the two of them side by side - enjoying a moment where they were both free of official duties, or his own assumed duties after being relieved of all of his by the King. Rhaena was quite busy these days, which she felt was deliberate on her kepa's part. "Yes, I know. Coming to condemn me, no doubt."

Maegor leaned down to kiss the crown of her head, calloused hand gently stroking her swell as he was wont to do these days. It never ceased to make her heart flutter. "I shall be elsewhere. Best not that they see me."

"That is not fair and you know it." She halted, taking his hands in hers. "You are my husband. If I am so gracious to be Queen you shall be my King, and our son the future King of All Westeros."

He smiled. "Still sure it's a boy?"

She smiled back. "Aye, I am. Don't presume to change my mind."

"I am not so foolish as to try, my love." They kissed chastely, a promise for later. "I can only hope that your brother's engagement to Lady Alys will mollify them. She is of strong Andal blood and the daughter of a member of the small council." However he disliked Lord Lucas Harroway, Maegor had to admit to his rise in status.

As for Rhaena… "I never expected this from Aegon… or from Alys. He loves her? She him?"

"They've been sleeping together for at least a year."

Her eyes widened. "You knew this and didn't tell me?"

He shrugged. "I never liked gossip or dealing in whispers. Lord Snow traffics in them for his duty, but I am not Tyanna." A smirk crossed Maegor's lips. "So your brother can't have a lover? Hard for you to say, considering Lady Tyanna."

Flushing, Rhaena shook her head. "Shut it, husband. This is different."

"No, I don't think it is. Aegon was lucky in that he fell for someone that helps him than it harms." Before she could reply, Maegor continued. "I know what they call me, Rhaena. 'Maegor the Cruel,' that's an old one. 'Son of a harpy' is one I remember from childhood."

"That one is just jealousy over how powerful grandmother is. They'd refer to late grandmother Rhaenys the same if she was alive… they only use her as a tool to smear your muna."

He shook his head. "An effective tool." A sigh. "And there's a new one out… 'Prince Abomination.'" That drew Rhaena's attention. "It's gotten out among the Poor Fellows, Lord Snow tells me. For siring a child off my niece, claiming I raped you."

Rhaena narrowed her eyes. "I'd dare them to say that to my face. Everyone knows that where it goes, Dreamfyre's follows."

"Gods knew I've used that in the past… a dragon is always the perfect tool for intimidation, for what could truly compare?" But he stilled, instead leaning on the battlements to look out at the waters of the Blackwater Rush as they entered the bay. "Something kepa once told me though, it comes to mind."

"Oh? Tell me, my love." Rhaena's hands encircled his waist.

His own hands splayed out on the battlements. "He was telling me the story of Harrenhal, of how he reduced the greatest castle in Westeros to a melted ruin of sorts."

Rhaena knew that story as well. "'But walls not so high as to keep out dragons. Dragons fly.' A glorious moment forever to be remembered in the history of our House," she smiled.

"Kepa knew Black Harren was hardheaded enough to need such an explicit reminder, and that it was war." He sighed. "But we're at peace now, Rhaena, for however long it lasts."

"War clouds seem on the horizon, husband." Especially now that we married. Never once did Rhaena regret it, but to deny it hadn't fanned the flames was… wishful thinking

"Be that as it may, kepa's advice was that as long as you are a dragonrider - as long as they exist - the threat is obvious in the face of all defiance. All rivalries. It need not be said explicitly and only serves to foster mistrust and anger among prideful Lords."

She pursed her lips. "Perhaps we gave too much deference to them in seeking our rule."

"Mayhaps you're right… I thought so once, but ruling a realm with my brother, your kepa…" He trailed off for a moment, deep in thought. "It brings a new perspective on things, especially with you by my side, now." Maegor turned and enveloped her in his arms, but suddenly noticed tears in her eyes. "What's wrong, my love?"

Looking up at him, Rhaena cupped his cheek. Her thumb stroking the stubble of Maegor's beard, which he had taken to wearing as his kepa did - usually clean shaven, but some stubble to give a rugged look that Rhaena happened to find quite attractive. "One can have all the luxury in the world… all the titles as the wife of a King, daughter of a King… as many servants and wealth as one could dream, yet still be sad. Still be lonely. Wish to remove oneself to the Widow's Tower at Harrenhal just to be alone and die there, a burden to no one."

Maegor's brow rose. "Widow's Tower? The one that even Gargon the Guest won't go since he claims the ghosts are too loud at night?"

"Not my ghosts," she giggled softly. "Not my concern." Rhaena's expression fell again. "I'd give it all up just for you… and our hatchling." Her other hand cupped her growing stomach. "It's the only happiness that truly matters, the one that brings me true joy." Now she took both his hands, weaving the fingers with hers. "I love you."

He smiled to her. "Oh, I love you too, sweet niece." She beamed and rose up to kiss him.

A roar drew their attention, a faint one. Most in King's Landing had become used to the dragons, but for the Targaryens they held the most familiarity yet also the most attentiveness. Rhaena pulled back, her brows furrowed. "That isn't Dreamfyre… and not deep enough to be Vhagar or Balerion." The large dragons had their own distinct sound.

"Quicksilver perhaps?" Another roar, to which Maegor shook his head. "Not Quicksilver… Arrax!"

"Aunt Rhaenys?" Their eyes shifted north, and the dragon came into view. "Aye, that's Arrax!"

"Coming to yell at me, I suppose," Maegor shook his head as the mount for the Lady of Winterfell circled above, preparing to land in the grassy common within the Dragonpalace as the sleeping Dreamfyre and Balerion answered their companion's roars with those of their own. "Let's go greet her."

Holding tightly to Arrax's spines, Rhaenys winced as her mount tried to avoid the strewn supplies and lean-tos of the builder crews that continued to erect more buildings within the Dragonpalace. Every jolt giving discomfort to her growing pregnant stomach. "They really need to build a seperate home for the dragons," she murmured aloud. Luckily, Arrax was a smaller dragon - she had long accepted that while he would grow as he aged, he'd never be the size of Balerion or Vhagar - and was able to land without incident. "Sorry, little one," she murmured to the bump.

Sliding off, she was soon greeted by several guards. "Princess." They recognized her immediately,

"Please notify his Grace of my arrival," she said curtly. The next one that greeted her merited a warm smile. "Dear niece."

"Aunt Rhae." Rhaena hugged her tightly. "You are beautiful."

Hair likely haphazard from the riding and the leather outfit rumpled, Rhaenys laughed while shaking her head. "I definitely need a bath." Her eyes scanned Rhaena, and could tell the pregnancy was true. Dressed in the blacks and reds of their house, apart from Dark Sister strapped to her waist she looked beautifully feminine - loose curls falling free over her shoulders, breasts grown and threatening to overflow her bodice, and a waist still trim for as long as it could be. "You're glowing."

"As are you," beamed the Princess. "Perhaps our babes will be born on the same day."

"I hadn't thought of that, but you are right." Behind, there was her brother. "Maegor." she wasn't as warm to him.

"Rhaenys," he replied, looking at his feet. "I think I know why you are here."

"Aye, now please enlighten me." She gestured to Rhaena's belly. "When did this happen?" A question that would require more than just the two of them to explain… especially their eldest sibling, the King.

"Why are you doing this, kepa?"

"That is enough, daughter. Show some respect."

A snort. "She's right, husband." The Queen glared at Aenys. "They won't condone this situation, so why give them a sense of self importance by meeting with them and allowing them to attack you."

"That is enough." The King had gathered his daughter, now visibly pregnant if stripped of her clothes - to which was only granted to her midwife, her female household, and her husband - his wife, and Septon Murmison in the small council chamber. Awaiting the Most Devout that had arrived in King's Landing. "As royalty, we must put our duty above personal feelings."

Alyssa regarded him as a fool. "This is a mistake and a waste of time." Her last words before the Most Devout finally entered.

The doors opened and in walked four figures and their respective attendants behind them. Members of such a distinguished cadre of the Faith's finest could only be identified by their cloth-of-silver vestments and crystal coronals. At their head was High Septon Hugor, who greeted the King, Queen, and Princess with respect and formality. Joining him were introduced as Archseptons Boniface and Mattheus, and a young man Septon Barth.

Taking a seat across from the King, High Septon Hugor's eyes focused Aenys for the most part - though Rhaena found herself the target of the majority of attention from her perch. Less so Hugor and more from the other members of the Most Devout. Angry glares… except for the calm smile of a young man barely her age. He's the one to watch out for. "Your Grace," offered Hugor. "Thank you for meeting with this delegation - the entire Most Devout wished to accompany me but some had to stay in Oldtown. I am sure you understand."

"I do understand, your Holiness," replied Aenys, gracious as always. Rhaena wished he had more fire like her husband - much as her muna secretly agreed with - but for the moment she was trying to keep her stomach calm. Please, sweetling, calm down.

Nodding, Hugor clasped his hands together. "Now that has been said, let us address the rumors that I have heard from your Hand, the illustrious Archsepton Murmison." At the Septon's wide eyes, Hugor smiled. "That is right, the Most Devout have approved your promotion."

"That is most gracious of you…"

"Enough with this!" shouted Archsepton Boniface, white hair wild as he pounded the table. "Are the rumors true?! Is this a damned jape or has the Princess whored herself to her uncle?!"

Alyssa stood, the dragonfire of her Targaryen grandmother exposed to the world. Times like these where Rhaena was proud of her muna. "Watch yourself, Archsepton!"

Boniface bristled. "You dare speak to the representatives of the Seven…!"

Before the enraged Archsepton could continue, High Septon Hugor interrupted. "Your Grace, none of us believe that your daughter the Princess is a whore." Several of the Most Devout looked sour at that, but it was the High Septon that had ultimate authority. "But when we were informed that your daughter not only married her own uncle, but her already married uncle - Prince Maegor and Lady Ceryse having been wed under the authority of the Seven. Such… concerns us. Can you confirm it to me in this moment?"

Aenys sighed, leaning ever so slightly towards the High Septon. "Your sources speak the truth, Hugor," answered the King, looking at Rhaena with a wary expression. "My daughter has wed Prince Maegor."

"Blasphemy!" shouted Boniface.

Seeming as if his morbidly corpulent frame would swell to the color of a ripe cherry before suffocating his lungs, Archsepton Mattheus had to swallow a gulp of wine before he could speak. "I cannot… committing bigamy and incest… what Septon would condone such a marriage?"

"There was no septon." Rhaena's voice was even, refusing to show even a hint of emotion for these cunts. "My grandmother performed the rites of the gods of Old Valyria. Your septons had no jurisdiction and yet my husband and I are wed under the sight of the gods."

"The Valyrian rites died with Old Valyria," Mattheus insisted. "What you speak of violates all of the sacred laws of the Seven."

"Whore!" shouted Bonifcae. "Blasphemous whore!"

Fuming, Alyssa waved her hand, three of the Kingsguard stepping behind the royals to a mortified and fearful Murmison. "Say that word again and I will have your tongue cut out."

"Say the word, your Grace," Lord Commander Gawen scowled darkly.

Mattheus' eyes found that of Gawen's. "You were there, weren't you, Corbray?! I shall see that your knighthood is stripped away!"

"What's the matter, Mattheus? Want to douse it in meat juice and eat it like you do everything else?" Rhaena couldn't help but smirk at the jape, one that drove the obese Mattheus' heart to stop from how angry he was.

"Please, my friends. Let us settle down," began Murmison, the Hand watching as the King grew paler by the minute, withdrawing into himself in a manner so uncharacteristic of him. "There is no greater champion for the Faith and the Faithful than King Aenys. It was he that oversaw construction of the Sept of Remembrance in the memory of his late mother..."

"Liar! Liar! Blasphemous Abomination!" screamed the enraged Archsepton Boniface. "King Abomination! His brother and sister the Prince and Princess Abomination! The Abomination wedding!" Froth was spitting from his mouth, the Archsepton red with anger and zeal but indefatigable where other men would be collapsed from lack of breath. "The Abomination child grows like a malignancy in the Whore's womb…!"

Before anyone could even blink a sword swooshed out of its scabbard. The fearsome Dark Sister, thrust across the width of the table and tip meeting the skin of Boniface's neck. One push and it would slice through. "Care to speak again of my unborn babe, your Eminence." Rhaena's voice was not unlike her grandmother, Queen Visenya.

"This is sacrilege!" sputtered Mattheus. "The Most Devout are sacrosanct…"

"Do shut up, Mattheus," groaned Barth, having not said one word in the entire conversation… not much of a conversation as more traded insults. "Get Boniface in his seat before he gets himself fed to a dragon." Devout that he was, Mattheus held a good head on his shoulders and thus knew the truth of Barth's words. The fuming Boniface was guided back into his seat, staring daggers at Rhaena.

Still gripping her sword, Rhaena felt a hand on her shoulder. "Please, daughter." It was her muna. "Please sit, for the babe." Rhaena's eyes softened and she sheathed Dark Sister. Resuming her seat.

"Your Grace," said a clearly irate Hugor struggling to maintain his calm - a struggle that merited commendation for its success. "I seek no quarrel with you, but this is a grievous violation of our laws. Incest is forbidden, as is bigamy that your uncle and daughter have engaged in."

Aenys clearly had expected this question, and he held an answer. Managing to recover his bearings in the moment. "My father and mothers were siblings and in a bigamous marriage. Nevertheless, the High Septon anointed them as the King and Queens of Westeros," replied the King. "I see not why this shouldn't apply to my daughter and brother, both of whom are quite taken with each other."

Boniface appeared ready to burst, but Hugor stilled him with a raised hand - instead gesturing to Barth. Clearing his throat, the young Septon and most junior member of the Most Devout began to speak. "King Aegon, First of His Name, was anointed to a title that did not exist prior to his ascension. His marriage to Queen Rhaenys and Queen Visenya was done prior to the creation of the Kingdom of All Westeros and performed outside the jurisdiction of the Faith of the Seven. Therefore, we are not bound by precedent to recognize any bigamous or incestual marriage due to the history of the late King."

Rhaena scoffed. "You quite no laws, just the addled rambling of ossified men seeking political advantage through the guise of religion," countered the Princess.

"Have you lost all respect for the Holy Seven Who are One?!" gasped Boniface. "That you would lay with your own married uncle?!"

"I am the blood of the Dragon, of Old Valyria. Your petty gods have no authority over me"

"Insolent…"

"You betray everything you swore at your coronation!" exclaimed Mattheus. "You were blessed by the Faith upon your birth, educated by a Septon and accepted the grace of the Seven." He pointed a finger at the King. "And with this you betray the Seven."

Aenys was shaking at each word. Faced with his nightmare, having made an enemy out of an ally that he could not placate. "It… it is not my fault..." Both his daughter and wife were shocked. Alyssa may have disagreed with the marriage, but to not stand for himself. "She is my daughter… do you expect me to let her child be a bastard and not a Prince?"

"How dare you pervert our holy land with an incestspawn as a Prince!" shouted Boniface.

This time it was High Septon Hugor that calmed his subordinate down. "Your Grace," the leader intoned of the Faith announced calmly. "This is something that we cannot come to a compromise on. We are loyal to your crown as we were to your father, and we shall not speak ill of you upon the pulpit and always ask the Faithful to be as loyal to you as they are to the Seven." From the furor in the eyes of the Most Devout, Rhaena didn't trust their word as far as she could throw it. "And yet, for this chamber only, this action by your daughter and brother is unconscionable."

"I have already removed my brother from the Small Council…"

"That is not good enough." He was calm but firm. "This marriage does not exist. It is void, so there need not be an annulment, but you must banish Prince Maegor from Westeros. Your daughter must be stripped of her inheritance, an apology made before the entire Starry Sept in Oldtown, and her bastard son handed over to the Faith… or to the Citadel if you would prefer, if he is born a son."

"You make no demands of me!" Rhaena hissed.

"Daughter, please…"

"Your demands are rejected!" It was Alyssa that spoke up. "You will not have my daughter, and you will not have my grandchild. Beware our wrath, your Holiness, until the House of the Dragon consumes you as it did your father and half-brothers."

Many of the Most Devout were shocked into complete astonishment by that - by the Queen bringing up the Field of Fire. Of the fate of House Gardener. As for Hugor. "My father… my brothers." A crack in his facade, revealing a man as consumed with hate as Boniface. "Then we have nothing more to discuss, then." One last look, saved for Murmison, before he departed without another word. The remaining Archseptons following, Barth being the last.

Letting out a ragged breath as they were gone, Aenys seemed to collapse in his chair. "Why… why did you do that…" He gasped. "We could've reached an accord…"

A loud hiss escaping her lips, Alyssa slapped her husband. "He started this mess, but I wish you had the fucking spine of your fucking brother… your Grace." She mock curtseyed and stormed out of the small council chambers.

Rhaena, biting her lip, nevertheless shook her head. "You hurt me, kepa."

"Rhaena…"

"If you will not stand by your grandchild…" Rhaena could not say more, only tears falling from her eyes as she followed her muna.

Despondent, Aenys grabbed at his Hand. "Murmison," pleaded the King. "Please understand… they sinned, yet she is my daughter, he is my brother… that is my grandchild…"

"I understand, your Grace," the Hand responded, patting Aenys' shoulder comfortingly.

Nevertheless, the words of Damon Morrigen continued to plague Murmison. Was he coming close to making a choice? Between his King and friend in one corner and the Seven in the other? Gods, don't let it come to that.

"Can you believe it?"

"The Prince… I can't believe the King tossed him out of the Small Council."

"What did you expect, he fucked the Princess."

"His own niece, the brute."

"Fuck that. If I had a niece like that I'd marry her."

"Even if you were married?"

A snort. "My wife would want to join in."

Such were a sampling of the various snippets of conversation that Jeyne Poore had heard as she walked through the market stalls outside the Dragonpalace. Enjoying a moment outside the den of the dragons. Among her people, the Faithful of Westeros… though not all of them were clearly in support of the Seven - instead loyal to House Targaryen.

Traitors. Apostates. They would soon meet divine justice.

"Do you see?! Do you see, my children?!" Jeyne's head whipped around as a group of young men and middle-aged women flocked towards a small courtyard to the left. Curious, she followed. "This is a sign of the deliverance! Of the horrors that befell Old Valyria coming to our shores!"

"Truth!" Several young women clapped, each dressed in the habit of a septa but two of them visibly pregnant, gathered around a small platform of plywood and stone. Atop it stood what Jeyne could only describe as a bearded brute of a man. One large with a powerful gut bulging underneath his simple woolen robe. "The Seven praise you, Septon Moon!"

Septon Moon? Hood still over her head, Jeyne perched her hip against a wooden house, deciding to watch the show.

Possessing a thunderous voice, this Septon Moon echoed all over the courtyard as more and more of King's Landing streamed in. "You see the claims they make! Of the coin they put in our coffers, the goods that swell our markets, the septs, baths, and libraries they build for the people!" He spat on the ground. "Fuck them! I am in no need of their blood coin! The goods of Holy Westeros are all I need. And the only book I've read is The Seven-Pointed Star!" Cheers rang out, but also obscenities. King's Landing held many Targaryen supporters.

"How dare you speak against our rulers!" one of they boldly yelled. "You traitor! I'll have you gelded…" A large fellow bashed him in the face, sending him to the ground. He wore nothing but a simple tunic and trousers of a laborer, but Jeyne could tell he was of the Poor Fellows. Partly the discipline, but also the lack of any aristocratic air.

No Warrior Son would be caught dead in such a place.

"I am a sinner," Moon proclaimed. "But we Faithful must know that however flawed we are, we must be soldiers of the Seven! Sons of the Mother and Father, brave brothers to the Warrior and Stranger as they lead us into the glorious embrace of death! For death in the pursuit of victory is greater than any life, a life where the Maiden is defiled before us by buggerers, bigamists, niece-fuckers, and the same Dragonlords whose depravity brought forth the wrath of the gods upon Old Valyria. Will we allow that here?!"

"No!"

"Will we fight for our holy soil?!"

"Yes!"

"Then hear me, brothers and sisters! Join me. Join the Stars and Swords to safeguard our Faithful! To protect them from the depravity and their allies of the tree-worshippers! Join me!"

As further cheers and battlecries rang out, Jeyne slipped away. She knew not if the crowd would be instigated into a mob, but she wasn't keen on finding out while in the wrong place.

Eventually, she couldn't hear any sounds of rioting, so the city likely escaped that. Not that Jeyne wasn't glad she got out of there early. All of this so you could defile your niece, Prince Maegor? Was it worth it?

Certainly not, but the Targaryen would say different. To those that would marry brother and sister or uncle to aunt, nothing was beyond the pale. Not for the vile, disgusting, brutal… beautifully handsome…

Jeyne shook her head, scowling. None of that. Like the sea demons from the tales, they used beauty to lure the innocent to their doom.

Ahead, the small stone sept came into view. One of many that had been built early in the city's history before the massive Sept of Remembrance was erected. Few visited it outside of the local neighborhood, and now most of them were at work or about doing gods' knew what. That made it perfect for a proper meeting. The Begging Brother manning the door let her in, and soon she sat in a confessional booth with a septon looking upon her.

No ordinary septon, but one in the silk vestments of the Most Devout. Septon Barth. "My child. You look well."

She nodded. "I am well, your Eminence, though this… this perfidy from Prince Maegor drives my blood to boil."

"As it does to us all, my sweet." He gave nothing away. "How goes your assignment, Jeyne?" He didn't let her answer, indicating to Jeyne that he knew already. Barth frowned, stroking his chin. "You were supposed to seduce Prince Aegon, yet here he is marrying Alys Harroway. Of politics it is a good match, but my sources indicate that they are greatly enraptured in lust - this is a failure to be placed at your own feet."

She lowered her head, trembling from fear. "Forgive me, your Eminence, but it is not my fault that his Grace does not find me attractive."

"How about your friend, the whore? Has she found herself a bed of a powerful man?"

"She… she's been warming the bed of the Master-at-Arms."

"Karstark, hmm? The instructor of Prince Jaehaerys… no, he's useless." Barth clicked his tongue. "I expected better from you, dear Jeyne."

Continuing to tremble, imagining being sold back to the brothel without protection… Jeyne's blood turned to ice, the thought of all the vile cocks of people like Ser Morgan Hightower piercing her still intact maidenhead one that brought her close to voiding her stomach.

Not that it could compare to the thought of being returned to her father.

Suddenly, something came to her just as Barth was about to speak. "Prince Viserys!"

For a moment he was miffed at being interrupted, but that was replaced by confusion. "What about Prince Viserys?"

"I believe he finds me attractive in the manner you hoped for Prince Aegon."

"How so?"

"He follows me about the keep. Always smiling and staring at me, seeking to strike up conversations whenever he can."

Barth shook his head, chuckling softly. "Ah, to be a young man in the face of a beautiful woman." Reaching out to cup her cheek, Barth kissed her forehead as a father or older brother would. "He will do nicely, Jeyne. The Mother and Maiden have blessed you, though you have much of the Stranger's deviousness inside your head. Avoiding the heir to concentrate on the spare… much less desired and shadowed by others seeking advancement. Smart, very smart." Patting her twice, he drew back, standing. "You will seduce Prince Viserys. Take him into your bed."

Jeyne stared with wide eyes. "You mean…? Let him take my maidenhead?"

"You did not think I preserved it for your own sake, did you, Jeyne?" Barth laughed jovially. "No, dear no, this was always the goal, and you have performed admirably." Touching her shoulder, he gave it a squeeze. "Do not fret, my dear. I have heard that the Targaryens are wondrous lovers. This will neither be unpleasant or painful, I assure you." Drawing the cowl back over his head, Barth left her alone in the small stone sept.

Not unpleasant.

Not painful.

But both of those for someone devoted to the Seven, allowing her sacred temple to be rutted into by one of the vile dragonlords. I do this for the Seven who are One… so that Holy Westeros may be free of these demons. It was what she needed to tell herself.

Not that Prince Viserys was in possession of an almost otherworldly beauty that made her shudder, though such would've been far more helpful.

What was wrong with her?

It had been a chilly day in one of the last days of winter - of which had been dubbed an apt omen by many in the North upon her marriage to Brandon - when Princess Rhaenys Targaryen or 'Rhaenys the Younger' to many had been born within the Aegonfort. The second pregnancy of Queen Visenya and her last given how difficult it had been. The Queen doted on all her children but little Rhaenys had been cherished especially by her and King Aegon. A feminine balm on their souls to partially heal the hole caused by their sister-wife's death in Dorne. As such, she went where they went, flew where they flew.

Her marriage to Brandon Stark of Winterfell was the first moment she was apart from her parents and most of that time was spent in King's Landing or Dragonstone, other than accompanying her kepa on royal progresses. This was her home, one she knew on the back of her hand.

So why did Rhaenys feel so… odd? Why did everything feel unfamiliar to her here in the capitol? The warmth was stifling even though it was a mild day. The smell was nauseating. The many flowers from the trees leaving her nose runny if she was out in the gardens too much.

"Oh, daughter," Visenya laughed, kissing Rhaenys' cheek as they walked out of the holdfast towards the grand hall - guarded by Ser Davos Darklyn and three sworn swords. "You have become a northerner."

Snorting, Rhaenys couldn't deny that she thought back fondly to the rough architecture and rugged lifestyle of Winterfell. Of where she raised her family. "I am still a dragon, muna," she replied somewhat defiantly.

Visenya smirked. "An Ice Dragon then, mother of three dragonwolves with another on the way." Cooing, she circled her stomach. "Wee pup, I know you're gonna be a powerful dragonrider when you grow."

"Easy, muna." Rhaenys smiled as she shook her head. "This one… I have a feeling she's all Stark. Grey eyes, dark hair, the works."

"Not dispositive." When Visenya had her mind set on something, not even Aegon could've pushed it aside. "And Alaric will be a dragonrider, you'll see."

"His egg hasn't hatched." Her words were tinged with sadness.

A grimace. "Stop being so pessimistic. Perhaps it is his destiny to ride Vhagar one day, or Quicksilver, while Vhagar is the destiny of this wee one." Visenya again patted Rhaenys' swell. "Have you thought of names?"

That brought Rhaenys another smile. "Bran and I agreed, since Eggsy and Saera had Valyrian names, the next children we had would be northern. He wishes Jocelyn after his mother…"

"But you disagree?"

She shrugged. "I prefer the name Lyanna."

Visenya raised her brow. "Lyanna?"

"An ancient Stark name - said to be that of the daughter of Bran the Builder, who married her half-brother to found the line of the King's of Winter."

That drew a proper laugh from the Dowager Queen. "An apt name for a Stark with a Targaryen mother. They cannot criticize our ways given their own, though the First Men were always more accepting." Her eyes flickered to the Sept of Remembrance, narrowing in annoyance. "Lyanna it shall be. Targaryen women always get the names they want, though yours was mutual agreement with your kepa." Aegon… "I miss him truly."

"As do I." Rhaenys sighed. "He would know what to do of this situation with Maegor and Rhaena… if only they had been betrothed from the beginning as you wished."

A situation that would not have taken place had your muna… But Visenya sighed, shaking her head. It was unfair to everyone involved. "The two wives certainly added fuel to the flames, but the fire would've emerged regardless. The… shock that came from Aegon, Rhaenys, and I forging the Seven Kingdoms with our dragons has dissipated." A severe frown took her face. "Plenty of old grudges and narrow ambitions remain, all waiting to be set alight as if the Fourteen Flames of Valyria."

"This wasn't the spark?"

"No… it was not."

Rhaenys closed her eyes, a sinking feeling in her gut as one of the guards opened a door to the great hall. "The Most Devout have left. Brandon thinks, and I concur, that they will be the source of the discontent rather than the Lords."

Visenya nodded. "I would tell Aenys to turn the Hightower into the Hightorch and the Starry Sept into a literal star, but I fear he wouldn't… that he'd do the opposite or see me as a threat, the boy I raised."

"My brother was always weak."

The Dowager Queen hung her head just as they made it to the side of the Iron Throne. "No… just too desperate to please everyone, that he cannot see that he pleases no one." Love him she did, raise him she did, but Visenya could only sigh as she saw him seated upon the Iron Throne, where her beloved Aegon had so ruled with strength and wisdom. I am sorry, my son. It was my fault.

Had she flew with Rhaenys, then her sister would've been alive. Perhaps she could've guided Aenys down the right path.

Seeing her, seeing both of them, the King rose. Regardless of what he was, Aenys looked at them with such affection. "Mother, sister." He hugged Visenya warmly, kissing her cheek before turning to Rhaenys. "Another dragonwolf for his uncle to spoil."

"Her uncle to spoil." Rhaenys smirked. "Trust me."

"I wouldn't doubt you, sister. I'm glad you came, even if it wasn't without Brandon."

"He had to stay in the north."

Aenys nodded. "If you would like to remain for the ceremony, you can."

"We need to…" But he already wandered away, taking his seat again upon the Iron Throne next to the Hand. "Of all the people to pick… he picked Murmison. A parlor trickster, and not a competent one at that."

"It isn't his competence that matters," Visenya remarked as the heralds called the session of court to order. "I cannot be sure of his loyalty… not from the company he keeps." The presence of Damon Morrigen within the great hall was noted… as that his eyes focused on Murmison. "Who is it that is at the side of your brother, my son? Is it Murmison, or Hugor Flowers."

"Mayhaps you should travel to Oldtown atop Vhagar, muna?"

"No… it can only be him, or none at all."

Clapping his hands, Aenys smiled to the gathered lords. "My Lords and Ladies, it is not often that I can be truly joyous upon this throne in serious matters of state, but it is welcome to me to announce the official betrothal between Lady Alys Harroway and my son, Prince Aegon Targaryen." Across from the throne, the aforementioned couple stepped forward, smiling at the crowd before bowing to the King. "Lady Alys' father, Lord Lucas Harroway, is a distinguished member of my small council and someone worthy of siring royalty."

"It is the honor of my lifetime, your Grace." Lord Lucas took to his knee - Rhaenys felt… odd about him. Akin to what those in Winterfell felt towards Rogar Bolton, apart from the brutality of course.

This one was sneaky and cunning, not sadistic.

"Your Grace." Stepping forward, Prentys Tully of Riverrun took a knee before the Iron Throne, alongside his pious wife Lady Lucinda. All knew that it was she that truly ruled the Riverlands, and no more devoted a woman was to the Seven existed that didn't wear the habit. "Do I have leave to ask a question."

"You have leave," Aenys replied.

"Does this mean that Prince Aegon is heir to the throne?" All looked to Aenys, including Aegon.

The King blinked. "I have not made that decision yet, Lord Tully."

"But you must." This time it was Lady Lucinda.

"I have five healthy children, and my daughter is with child in a healthy pregnancy. I see no need to discuss this right now."

"You would dare?" All eyes centered on Ser Horys Hill, bastard son of Lord Loren Lannister and at court as his representative - far above the normal station for a bastard, but near inviolate carrying the seal of the Warden of the West. "Forgive me, your Grace, but Prince Maegor has wronged you greatly. To allow him to go unpunished for defiling your daughter is an affront to the gods."

Aenys stood, angered. "There was no defilement. He was wed to my daughter by law."

A snort. "A bigamous marriage is no marriage," spoke Damon Morrigen.

"Still your tongue, Ser Damon," Visenya hissed.

"Enough of this, mother." Aenys shook his head. "I will not have this discussion on the day of my son's betrothal. They will be married, while Rhaena and her husband the Prince will begin their royal progress of the Riverlands." Eyes widened. "Starting with Maidenpool."

"To the holy waters of Jonquil's Pool?" gaped Horys Hill. What he intended to mean by that was obvious, yet unsaid - such would border on treason.

"I do not see why not," Aenys replied. "I have had enough of this. All are dismissed."

Archsepton Murmison blinked. "But your Grace…"

"Dismissed!" Somehow, Rhaenys felt that this had gotten so much worse.

Guards leaping out into the foamy surf to haul the skiff upon the beach, Lord Morton Darklyn waited till the sand below was of a firm consistency before following. Ensuring his expensive leather boots and silk cape weren't harmed by the salty churn beneath. Within the welcoming party in her dress, Jonquil rolled her eyes. Figures. Always haughty, always that crust of nobility to maintain his status.

Quite shocking even to her that he had cared where she went.

Nevertheless, the arrivals of Lord Darklyn of Duskendale's household approached her current one, hands extended outward as he embraced Lord Robar Royce with great amity. "I see you are still the old sourpuss you always were."

Lord Royce rolled his eyes. "It is good to see you, Morton, though I fear the attack on my food stores that is about to come my way." It was no secret that Lord Darklyn's ample gut showcased a large appetite, though he hid it slightly with a distinct height. A height that Jonquil shared. "I was still surprised at your raven."

The old friends, having fostered in Dragonstone long ago, stepped side by side as they made their way towards the ancient First Man keep of Runestone - once the seat of the Kings that fought the Andal invasions of House Arryn. "You are aware that Princess Rhaena will be undertaking a Royal Progress to Maidenpool, correct?"

Blinking, it wasn't often that Jonquil found her current patron befuddled. "I was unaware of that, truly?"

"Your daughter is one of the Princess' favorites, no? She didn't tell you?"

Robar winced. "We… we aren't on the best of terms, her and I. Not anymore." He left it at that, though Jonquil had known Lady Alayne for enough time to pinpoint why. Her mother is a Blackwood. Fierce house, and stubborn to remain under the old gods rather than the Seven. Both Lady Artyra and Lady Alayne were devout in the old gods as the Royces of old were. Robar was no godly man but persisted in the Seven for appearances sake, and while Lady Artyra accepted it their wilful daughter did not.

Jonquil knew a lot about wilful daughters.

"I would take her out of there," insisted Darklyn. "Princess Rhaena is going to become Queen one day and I'd rather on her good side, but she cavorts with the wrong sort. Lady Manderly, Lady Farman, and her cousin are one matter, but then you have that Pentoshi witch and those two warrior women. Piper and… ugh, Mormont. Get Alayne back to Runestone and marry her to someone reasonable."

"Easier said than done, my friend. Alayne would sooner spit in my face than leave her friends willingly."

"She'll never get married at this rate, given the rumors."

A raised brow, both from Lord Royce and Jonquil. "What rumors?"

Darklyn snorted. "Tyanna, the witch… she's said to hold the tastes of a virile lad rather than a slattern."

Royce shook his head. "Not my Alayne." Darklyn only shrugged.

Jonquil's mind raced a mile a minute. Warrior women. Girls… enjoying girls? If Royce was going to Maidenpool, perhaps she could worm her way into the retinue. Gain acceptance into the court of Princess Rhaena. Finally, somewhere that isn't so bleak for me…

"Daughter."

She looked up to see Darklyn gazing at her, eyes stern. "Father," she replied.

"You look well, graceful."

"I've been taught well."

A nod. "You better not be fighting with that sword of yours."

Shaking her head, Jonquil Darke lied to her father. "Of course not."

A/N: The Faith is being aggressively against Maegor and Rhaena, but still they hold back...

Till next time!

Enjoy and please comment!