"Princess?" came a soft voice.
Rhaenyra looked up from the Seven-Pointed Star in her lap, the story of the Maiden's gift to the Warrior after his battle against the demons of the seven hells forgotten. I know that voice. She had not heard it in many years, not since she was a little girl yet to have her first moonblood, before she had found her faith. Around her the wind whistled through the Red Keep's godswood, rustling the red leaves of the heart tree, the sad smile carved into the trunk leaking red sap from its unblinking eyes. Ser Harrold looked up from where he sat further down the slope, honing his blade with an oilstone, and rising the next. Yet as Rhaenyra closed the holy book, she paid not the trees nor her sworn shield nor the roots beneath her any mind, for there by the gate her eyes found a beautiful maiden where once stood a little girl.
My sweet Calla.
It had been eight years since they had last seen each other. So long that Rhaenyra stilled at the sight of her former bed maid, unable to stand from the roots she sat upon. Calla Celtigar was of an age with her, but now she was all the taller, a woman grown, slender and beautiful. Her blonde curls brushed past her shoulders, her soft sea-green eyes were no longer too big for her face, and the innocent curve of her lips brought back memories long forgotten. Oh, Father Above, how did I forget so easily…
"Calla." Her name came out a whisper, and Rhaenyra felt the tears prick at the corner of her eyes. Setting aside the Seven-Pointed Star with delicate grace, she stood with the dignity befitting a princess, yet her breath hitched when her sweet Calla came to embrace her.
"Rhaenyra," she said into the top her silver hair, long arms wrapped around her shoulders. When did she get so tall? All the princess could do was hold close her first true friend, the one who she had all but forgotten the moment she had left King's Landing to return home, to her great shame and arrogance.
"I'm sorry," she gasped, and then she was crying. Calla held her like she had when they were little girls sharing a bed, though her smile was sad now. Her soft hands held her face, slender fingers wiped away the tears, and Rhaenyra tried to comport herself like the princess she was. "I… I should have written. We shared so many memories, yet I…"
"You need not apologize," Calla said. "We were but seven when we last saw one another, and you had Syrax to keep you company most days. I always knew you cared, in your own way, but I did not expect tears for our reunion. Makes one wonder if something else is amiss."
"Much has happened since you left," Rhaenyra said. "I've new friends, I've found the gods to be true, I've a baby brother, I've–"
–fallen in love, she almost said. Her knight was gone home to the Vale, leaving with a promise made before the gods themselves, yet one that she hadn't the strength to see through. Her heart belonged to him, and the Maiden had not answered her prayers and pleas for solace, only offering silence. She could not so easily set her feelings aside, nor ask the gods to do the deed in her stead. It was cruel, but the Crone bid man to be patient in his piety, and Septa Marlow taught that it was not for the gods to absolve the sins of humanity. But they gave me Baelon and saved my mother, hearing my words.
"–grown, as Septa Marlow says," Rhaenyra finished.
Calla's laugh was soft and sweet. "The Rhaenyra I left used to run from her lessons with vigor, dashing around the Red Keep with the young pages. Now she is an elder sister who studies the Seven-Pointed Star, and dresses so modestly for one her rank. Black and red silk, with a comely bodice. But what has happened to your jewels? You loved each one gifted to you."
The only jewelry she wore was the golden ring upon her middle finger. She turned it this way and that. "It is written in the Seven-Pointed Star that the excess of man is uncouth, that wealth should not be flaunted at those who are less fortunate. I only need this one here, like Hugor of the Hill, who had no jewels save his crown."
"Seven stars pulled down from the heavens did forge his crown," Calla said, her words from the Crone's Book, her voice a grinning sort. "Very modest was King Hugor."
Rhaenyra could only laugh. "No man is perfect, nor woman."
"No, but I think there's a tale to be told of how the Realm's Delight turned so pious. Would you indulge me so, Rhaenyra? I've missed the king's court these last eight years, ever since my father had his disagreements with the king, and word of its goings don't often reach Claw Isle with any haste. I've missed the sound of your voice. Would you let me hear it?"
And so she did, sitting upon the gnarled roots of the heart tree, beneath the fluttering red leaves and beside the weeping face, backs against the white trunk. Calla was beside her, hanging off every word, laughing at her jests, while Ser Harrold went to the gate leading to the godswood to give them some sense of privacy, though he knew most of the story. Rhaenyra spoke of her dear Alicent, who had come to be one of her closest friends and dearest companions, and she promised Calla to introduce them both, for they would surely get along famously. She told of her flights with Syrax, the feelings of soaring above King's Landing and Blackwater Bay. She regaled the triumphs and disappointments of the Heir's Tourney, all the excitement and cheer, and how Baelon was born, of how the queen received a dragon that very same night, of how her prayers had been answered.
Of her faith, and how she now saw the beauty of the Seven.
Then came her knight of the Vale, who had opened her eyes to it all. "Daemon's son," Rhaenyra said. "But Aegon mislikes it so when addressed as such, for though he is of Daemon's seed, they are not truly father and son. When we first met in the inner courtyard, Alicent called him as we all knew him to be, as Prince Aegon Targaryen, yet he corrected her, not unkindly. 'I am a Royce of Runestone, a son of Lady Rhea Royce, and a knight of the Vale,' he said, and I think it was right then that he truly caught my eye."
"A handsome cousin from the Vale," Calla counted, turning over a finger. Rhaenyra sighed and leaned against her friend's shoulder as she went on. "A dragonrider who claimed Dreamfyre. A capable knight who almost took the melee, and won the joust. A godly man who managed to convince the Realm's Delight to favor the new gods with nothing but his own piousness."
"It was more than that. They heard my prayers. They gave me Baelon, and the Mother Above saved my mother from the birthing bed."
"Hmm, and was it his piousness that allowed him to steal his way into your heart? The little princess I left was half in love with her dashing uncle, the king's rogue prince."
"That little princess was ignorant of the world, but I am not anymore."
"Fifteen and wise as the Crone?"
"I was always precocious."
Calla laughed, and though Rhaenyra smiled with her, her mind wandered, and her heart ached. Spend what time you have together, and then let him go. She could not find the will to let him go, no matter how she tried. How could she? His company was all she wanted, yet it seemed not meant to be. He loves another… She had tried to imagine what the fair maiden who had caught her cousin's eye looked like. Once she had even prayed for it, but then realized her folly and sought the Father's forgiveness the next. Even now, her thoughts slipped to it, that maiden whose honor Aegon wore knotted around his arm.
She blinked and realized she was crying again, the tears rolling down her cheeks. Calla wiped them dry with the hem of her sleeve. "You truly love him," she whispered.
"It's not at all like the singers tell it to be."
"And we are not the little girl we once were."
Calla nodded and kissed her temple. Her embrace was warm, and Rhaenyra leaned against her shoulder, her thumb tracing the golden ring on her around her middle finger. For a moment the world seemed sill, only the wind and the leaves moving around them, the sun hidden behind the clouds. A fine day to go flying, she realized, and wondered if Calla had overcome her fear of heights when a knight's boots reached her ears.
"Princess," said Ser Harrold from the bottom of the small slope, armored all in white. "Lady Alicent bears a message from the king." Then he stepped aside to reveal her best friend, a flurry of emotions in her beautiful face.
"Alicent!" Rhaenyra gathered herself and met her at the bottom of the slope, the Seven-Pointed Star in her arms and Calla at her side. "It's good that you're here, so I can introduce the two of you right now. Calla, this is my dear Alicent, who I spoke of before."
"Daughter of the King's Hand," said Calla, her smile serene. "It is good to finally meet, Lady Alicent."
"And you as well, Lady Calla," Alicent said somewhat stiffly. "Rhaenyra, the king has summoned you to the small council chambers for the meeting."
Gods be good! "I must have lost track of the time." Rhaenyra looked to both of her friends, her dear Alicent and her sweet Calla, and the great idea came to her all at once. "You both love me dearly, so I know you'll get along splendidly together as well.
"I'm sure we will," Calla agreed, and to Alicent she said, "We certainly have much catching up to do."
"Yes," Alicent said. "We do."
"Great!" Rhaenyra said, giving each of them a kiss on the cheek, standing on the tips of her toes for unfairly tall Calla. "I'll find you both later, and then we can all go riding with Johanna and Jocelyn."
She left them at that and made her way through the Red Keep, a smile that wouldn't leave, Ser Harrold Westerling her constant shadow. She can join us on the trip to Oldtown, and we'll be five ladies traveling the rose road like in the songs. Her father would surely allow it, and if not, her mother would convince him. There hadn't been a royal progress since the First Quarrel between Jaehaerys the Conciliator and Good Queen Alysanne, when her great grandparents had fought over the return of Princess Saera Targaryen, their daughter who had defied the king's orders and run off to Lys. It would be good for the realm to have another progress, and this one could end with a visit to the Starry Sept, the seat of the High Septon and center of the Faith. Oh, what a splendid idea!
And so Rhaenyra had come striding into the council chambers, smiling and hugging the Seven-Pointed Star to her chest, to find the small council already in the midst of their meeting.
The chamber was richly furnished. Myrish carpets covered the floor, upon the walls were tapestries from Norvos, Lys, and Volantis, all depicting the Valyrians of old, dancing with the dragons in the Fourteen Flames. An intricately wrought screen of niello steel stood in one corner, so large that it was nearly twenty feet long, and in the center of the room stood the council table, carved from a massive block of white marble.
It was there the councilors sat, the king at the head of the table, with his hand at the right, Daemon on his left with the rest following on save the Grand Maester, while Lord Corlys Velaryon sat opposite. "We must act soon, my lords," the finely dressed master of ships was saying, as Rhaenyra skirted around the table to her father. "This alliance of the Free Cities of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh, are now styling themselves the Triarchy, and they have laid claim to the Stepstones in its entirety."
"And what concern is this to the Iron Throne?" asked the Hand of the King, Ser Otto. "From what we've heard so far, the forces of this Myrish prince admiral are ridding the Stepstones of its pirate infestation."
"That is exactly the point, my lord Hand." Lord Corlys stood, the rings on his fingers glittering in the light as he retrieved a map from his person. "If they are allowed to continue unimpeded there will–"
"Rhaenyra." Her father's voice cut through the room, silencing all as they turned to her, and she blushed as she made for his side. "You're late. The king's cupbearer must not be late. Leaves people wanting for cups."
"I was at my lessons," Rhaenyra explained, kissing her father on the cheek. "Then I ran into an old friend and lost track of time."
"Ah, Lord Celtigar's return to court, with his daughter." The king nodded. "We'll speak more of it later."
Rhaenyra left his side and went to take up her flagon of wine. Their glasses were empty, and as she set aside the Seven-Pointed Star and returned with the wine, Lord Lyman started to speak of the increasing costs of the gold cloaks. It was her uncle's cup she filled first. His armor was polished black, his half cape was cloth-of-gold, his face a mask. He watched as she poured, and Rhaenyra kept her face guarded. She had seen what kind of man he truly was back in the royal sept, and the whispers she heard from the servants only further enlightened her of what the rogue prince did when he went on patrol. Aegon would never consort with the whores and criminals of Flea Bottom. She stepped around his seat as soon as she could, and from the corner of her eye, she caught a frown flash across his face.
"The mounting burden that the City Watch of King's Landing has had on the treasury is not insignificant, Your Grace," Lord Lyman continued. "The high initial costs of retraining and rearming of the watchmen was expected, but now that all these needs are met, must the amount of gold flowing their way remain so vast?"
"Daemon?" the king said.
"Every gold piece is put to work in securing the order of the city," Daemon said, as Rhaenyra filled the cup of the master of laws, Lord Lyonel Strong. "Unless you would have chaos reign in the streets once more, my lords?"
"Of course not," said the King's Hand. "But are we to consider the brutal–"
"Efficient."
"–methods of the City Watch in line with keeping the king's peace?" Ser Otto Hightower looked to them all, before his eyes fell upon Daemon himself. "The reports paint a gruesome picture of what exactly your gold cloaks are doing, Prince Daemon."
"Sometimes a heavy hand must be taken," Lord Lyonel broached, he who was technically the superior to the Lord Commander of the City Watch. "By all accounts, the rate of crime has fallen sharply since the prince took command, and that is no small feat for a city of such size. Are there not nearly half a million living here at present, my Lord Beesbury?"
"Some three hundred and fifty thousand at last count," Lord Lyman said, "but the number will never be accurate. My tax collectors, harbormasters, and customs sergeants all do work tirelessly, though some will always slip through the cracks, and the city grows with every passing day."
"Yes, and that is another matter in need of addressing," Ser Otto said. "The drains, sewers, sinking wells, and fountains constructed on the order of the Old King will not keep pace with the city's growth. Among other issues, they require our immediate attention, less the city fall to future ruin."
"I find the issue of King's Landing's sewers of less importance than the crisis on the horizon, its making before our very eyes in the Stepstones." Lord Corlys stood from his seat and spread out his map beside the seat of the King's Hand. Rhaenyra glanced at it as she filled Lord Lyman's cup, and she got a small smile and a nod from the genial man. "If the Triarchy is allowed to take these islands, they could do untold damage to the security of the Seven Kingdoms, and hinder our trade to an extent that we all will feel the burdens."
"Our trade?" Daemon said, chuckling. "If I remember correctly, it is you, Lord Corlys, who commands the largest fleet in Westeros. Mightier than the Redwyne fleet, the Iron Throne's own ships, and the pitiful things the ironborn call longships. You, whose trade is not as taxed by far as the others. Are we speaking of the Iron Throne's security, or that of House Velaryon's coffers?"
"My prince," Lord Lyman said, as fury was writ across the face of Lord Corlys. "The Iron Throne's coffers benefit greatly with the trade we receive from the Free Cities. More so than Lord Corlys does, if mine memory serves me right. We would do well to heed his words, if this dark future he speaks of comes to pass." But Rhaenyra saw that Daemon only smirked at both men.
"Indeed," the king said. "It is an important matter, and I hope you will keep us abreast of the issue, Lord Corlys. Now, have we found a suitable knight to fill the position left by our dear Ser Ryam Redwyne's passing? The Kingsguard must have seven sworn brothers and nothing less."
"I have a list of twoscore knights that may prove worthy of the white cloak," said Ser Jeffory Norcross, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He sat to Lord Lyman's left, and placed a hand over his glass when Rhaenyra neared his seat. "Ser Edgerran Oakheart, Ser Mandon Graceford, and Ser Fosslan Fossoway especially are of notable renown, Your Grace."
"Three fellow Reachmen," Daemon said. "One might think you're playing favorites, Lord Commander."
"There are Stormlanders and Westermen as well, my prince," Ser Jeffory said. "And knights from the Vale, the Riverlands, and the Crownlands. Only the finest knights of the realm are worthy of the honor of joining this sworn brother in protecting the king."
"We of the Reach are noted for our chivalry," said the King's Hand.
Daemon smirked, but before he could come up with a retort Lord Lyonel leaned forward and said, "But let us not forget the Vale. Their knights are also some of the finest, and only recently we've seen it with our own eyes."
"Invite all on your list, Lord Commander," the king said, as Rhaenyra filled the cup of the Lord Hand. "I would like to meet them all, to see which man amongst them is truly worthy."
The Lord Commander nodded, and Rhaenyra had a thought when she came to her father's side. "Are there any Marcher knights on the list, ser?" she asked. When they all looked to her, Rhaenyra explained, "A knight must be chivalrous and true, but also experienced, and the lords and knights of the Marches are always repelling Dornish raids and incursions from the Red Mountains."
"Knights from the Dornish Marches are on the list as well," said Ser Jeffory.
"Good." The king clapped his hands and the conversation turned once more, with the issue of Dragonstone's accounts and running being taken. Rhaenyra stayed back and waited for a cup in need of wine, listening to the discussion with half an ear. There was no sitting Prince of Dragonstone ever since her father ascended the Iron Throne some nine years ago. Baelon would be formally anointed as Prince of Dragonstone by the year's end, but he was still a babe at the breast, and someone needed to prepare his future seat. Lord Lyman was eventually chosen to visit on the king's behalf, to personally take matters into hand, and all through the talk, Rhaenyra saw the way Daemon's hand closed around the pommel of Dark Sister, his knuckles white by the time the next topic came round.
He all but stormed out of the council chambers at the meeting's end, and the king was pulled aside by his Hand, so Rhaenyra gathered up her holy text and left with the others. Lord Corlys was still vexed from the meeting, brushing past her with nary a look. Lord Lyman counseled her that it was nothing to take offense at. "The Lord of the Tides is an ambitious man, and with so many of them in King's Landing, they are bound to butt heads every now and then." Rhaenyra thought that apt, remembering the parade of lords and ladies who had all sought out Aegon after the tourney's end, and the many who still remained in the king's court.
When Lord Lyonel bid her farewell, Rhaenyra thought of seeking out Alicent and Calla, but her feet took her to Maegor's Holdfast instead. She had not yet visited her baby brother today, so she sought out the royal nursery within the Queen's Wing, returning the Seven-Pointed Star to her own chambers along the way. But when she reached the nursery, she heard voices from within, and just before the door she heard the Grand Maester say, "It is too early to tell, Your Grace."
"But is there aught to worry about?" came her mother's voice, and Rhaenyra pushed softly into the richly furnished nursery. The floors were carpeted, the small hearth lit and warm, the furniture of the finest craftsmanship that gold could produce and King's Landing could provide. But neither seemed to notice her entry, their backs to the door, their attention on Baelon.
"Prince Baelon is young," Mellos said, peering down into the ornate cradle. "It may be nothing, and I say again that you should also be at rest, Your Grace. The maesters and midwives both recommend that at least three fortnights be passed before you strain yourself so."
"I am no invalid, Mellos."
"Mother?" Rhaenyra said, and both the queen and the Grand Maester turned to her. "Is something the matter with Baelon?" She had only seen him yesterday and all had been fine then.
"Rhaenyra." Her mother was indeed no invalid, for her skin seemed to glow, her eyes seemed brighter, blonde hair all the fuller, and the swell in her belly from her pregnancy had almost disappeared. With the dress she wore it seemed hardly noticeable. "It is nothing for you to worry about."
The Grand Maester agreed. "The prince's health is of paramount importance, and I am never far."
"Now, if you would excuse us, Mellos." The queen sat in the seat beside Baelon's cradle. "I must needs attend my daughter."
"Of course, Your Grace." He bowed and left the next, and after the door was shut, Rhaenyra saw that the hatchling was also in the nursery. There upon hearth's high mantle it sat, white like fresh snow, silent as a ghost, its sapphire eyes peering at her.
"He refused to leave my side," Mother said, "like usual. I can only wonder what will happen when he grows too large to ride my shoulder."
"Does he have a name yet?" Rhaenyra asked, taking a seat on the other side of Baelon's cradle. Her baby brother slept soundly in his silk swaddling clothes, the dragon egg with its scales of mother-of-pearl resting beside him, so large that both babe and egg were of equal size.
"Not yet." Her mother watched Baelon sleep, caressing his cheek with her thumb. "I considered naming him after one of the Valyrian gods as you did, but it did not seem right. For now, it seems he will simply remain known as the white hatchling."
"You could name him for his white scales." Rhaenyra had never seen a dragon with scales so white. "I can guess how hard he'll be to spot on a cloudy day."
"Something with clouds." Mother hummed her agreement. "Mayhaps, when he's large enough to fly."
It would be at least a decade until the hatchling grew large enough to fly, Rhaenyra reckoned. Her own Syrax had been a young dragon when she had bonded with her, and it had been some years before they had taken their first flight together. She feared she would fall for half that flight, but she hadn't in the end.
"I've had a thought," Rhaenyra said, after she watched the hatchling walk its way and perch itself on her mother's shoulder. "Something I would have brought up with father, but he was occupied after the small council meeting ended, and I thought it best to bring it to you."
"What is it, my daughter?"
"I… I wish to visit Oldtown," she said. "I've heard so much about it from Alicent, and it would be a dream to see the Starry Sept with mine own eyes. To see the center of the Faith and bask in its glory, and the Hightower, as well as the Citadel. But I wouldn't be going alone either. Alicent would accompany me, and I know Lady Johanna and Lady Jocelyn would be happy to come as well, and mayhaps even Calla."
"Calla Celtigar?" The queen smiled, the way she had when Rhaenyra had been a little girl up to her mischief, and a blush crept its way up her neck at that. "I did wonder if you had forgotten about her, for how quickly you found a friend in Alicent Hightower, but it is good to know you two are still friends. Your father's row with her father was all anyone could speak of for half a year, and only now have they come to their senses."
"What did they quarrel over?"
"Something meaningless, but it matters not now." Mother took her hand and squeezed it. "I shall speak to your father about this trip to Oldtown, for it is well past time you've seen more than just King's Landing and the Crownlands. The small council might even declare it a royal progress through the Reach, and no doubt you'll be feasted at half a hundred castles with your friends."
Rhaenyra's cheeks hurt from how much she smiled. "Thank you."
"Of course, my daughter." The queen gave her hand another squeeze, and her eyes seemed to shine. "It is good to see you smiling again after these past weeks. With what is to come, I hope Oldtown is much and more."