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In the Shadow of the Throne

To Dance with a Queen

The sun was at its highest, bathing the sea in its warm glow, yet let on the faintest hint of nearing coldness. Could it be the long hard winter maesters had recently predicted? Viserys had heard their people discussing this very possibility with great concern. Winter was the worst enemy they could face at war. Winter meant hampered movements, less victuals, less men-at-arms and more casualties before even reaching the enemy. Winter was as bad as a hot summer. The best seasons for was were spring and autumn. Everyone said so.

Next to Viserys, Aegon lifted his head from the stone slab of the roof where they were both sprawled and looked down and ahead. "Look," he said.

Viserys did and immediately saw what his brother meant: there was a small fleet slowly cutting the luminous waters to Dragonstone. What was even more astonishing was the sigil on the sail: the white watchtower with the bright flame crowning it. The boys had seen it hundreds of times carried in front of the King's Hand. We Light the Way, House Hightower words were. "Your way to wealth," Gaemon Targaryen was never slow to add sarcastically.

"Is this the Hand?" Viserys asked, stunned. "Aegon, is this the Queen?"

"Bad queen," the little girl splayed out between the two of them cried out.

Aegon and Viserys exchanged a look. As young as Alysse Waters was, she was quite right about this. Since she tended to repeat some of what the two of them said, Viserys could only wonder whom was she echoing now. Her mother? Or Aemon? "You little echo," he said softly, with a mix of irritation and fondness. Normally, Aemon's companion and her child were given wide berth by the lords and ladies on Rhaenyra's side and Viserys knew them only by occasional meetings in Aemon's chambers or the castle but since there were no other children of noble birth in Dragonstone, it was only natural for the two boys to let the girl lag behind – she was the only one who was, well, like them, although the difference between her four namedays and their seven and nine, respectively, was quite big.

"I am not an echo," Alysse said, angrily, jumped up, and stomped her little foot on the ground. Her indigo eyes flashed, the curtain of her dark hair, for she had long ago removed the offending bows, flew to one side. "You are an echo!"

"I don't think it's the Hand," Aegon said. "He doesn't command the Hightower fleet."

"It isn't," Alysse confirmed. "It is Lord Hightower," she went on. "My father and the Queen were expecting him…"

The two boys looked at each other, stunned by the realization that all this time their little echo could have been a wonderful source of information. Since she was so young, adults rarely guarded their words around her, unaware that she was quite smart, for a girl, at least, and had quite the memory.

"Fine," Aegon finally said and tugged at her leg to make her lay back between the two of them. "Now, tell me what else do they speak about in your father's chambers?"

Lord Mychel Hightower was a dignified man. Yes, that was the word. Dignified. Once a formidable knight, he still retained some of his strength despite his grey hair and stooped shoulders. His eyes were wide and clear, his cloak gleaming despite the fact that he had not changed it since his arrival – he had come directly from the ship.

He entered the hall slowly, deliberately. His mind was not exactly at ease but he knew this was what he needed to do. If he was to preserve the dignity and prestige of his House – as well as his rule over it – he needed to acknowledge the crown that Rhaenyra Targaryen had placed over her silver haughty head.

It was a sad day indeed for Westeros when the good King Viserys' son, and a Hightower by blood, should be supplanted by a woman. But Aegon and Alicent had proved unreliable monarchs – and Otto was worse than both of them combined.

Once Mychel Hightower reached the dais, he knelt before Rhaenyra. To his surprise, she bade him rise immediately – had she finally seen reason? But no, by the burning rage in her eyes he could say that she had understood nothing, forgiven nothing. All she could see was that he had opposed her supposed right and he had come now driven not by a sudden change in his convictions but his own need – as if there was other reason a man would ever act upon!

He had just started to speak when a familiar male voice cut him off, saying, "Ah, but we are well aware of your current… predicaments, Lord Hightower."

Mychel stiffened and watched apprehensively as Aemon Targaryen sauntered through the hall to bow deeply in front of his mother's throne.

His presence here was no surprise at all but Mychel Hightower had been hoping that he was otherwise occupied. The Prince had used his influence with his grandfather to undermine House Hightower's positions. Aemon and Mychel had been commanding the opposing forces in a battle that had been fought only two months ago. And the Prince's animosity now had a personal edge, for it was well-known that Lord Hightower had devised the plan that had separated Aemon and his brother Baelon, leaving Baelon's dragon weary and wounded for the final clash with Vhagar. But he had no choice. As he started to speak again, he almost faltered at seeing that Aemon took a reverent step behind the throne. Mychel had expected of him to stand at his mother's side. He did not know whether to feel relieved or alerted that he would have to deal with Rhaenyra and not Aemon. Rhaenyra was proud and stubborn, she would not listen to reason but well, Mychel Hightower always dealt with men better than petticoats. Aemon, on the other side, was a man but he was one that liked Hightowers even less than his mother did…

"My lady," Mychel started, not quite bringing himself to call her "my Queen". "Your Grace," he started again and launched into his prepared plea, that she should help his House keep the prestige and righteous ruling of Oldtown that the Hightowers had been known for since before the War of the Conquest.

"I thought you relied on your kin for this," Rhaenyra said coldly. She looked aged and troubled, he now saw. Perhaps she was human, after all. Or she was simply being a woman. Again, his entire being rebelled against having to acknowledge as the true sovereign of the Seven Kingdoms a woman who would be unclean every month and with child every year… although the last one would stop being a concern very soon.

"I did, Your Grace," he said. "I believe in family. I had no choice. But it seemed that my choice was… wrong."

The words choked him but he went on. "My brother seems intent to ruin the good name of our House. To grasp Oldtown from my hands by a royal decree. Worse, he has lost his wits. They are now… murdering maesters, defiling the honour of the Citadel."

Rhaenyra wasn't the only one taken by surprise; so was Aemon. "What?" he exclaimed and turned to stare at their new ally. "Are you sure of this, my lord of Oldtown?"

"Quite sure, Your Grace. Grand maester Gerardys was fed to King Aegon's dragon."

The surprise was so thorough that no one bothered to correct him that Aegon was no King. Aemon shook his head, disbelieving; Rhaenyra looked as if she were about to be sick. All around the hall, there were whispers of horrified fascination; with desperate irony, the Lord of Oldtown realized that now, there was no going back, for him, as well as all of them. Being devoured by a dragon was not a perspective one cherished and now no man could be sure that it wouldn't be his fate if he deflected to Aegon's side.

With a newfound confidence, he went on with his prepared plea for help. Fortunately for him, he had no idea of the storm that had raged into Rhaenyra's chambers late into the night – she had been adamant that she'd accept nothing less than full acknowledgment of her right before she lifted a finger to help him; Gaemon, Aegyl and Aemon had argued with her, trying to make her see reason. "I want revenge no less than you do!" Aegyl had finally shouted. "But I'd rather have it on Aegon and this bitch mother of his. And you're ensuring that we'll never get this!" At this, she had slapped him. He had accepted it stoically but when she had reared back to strike him again, he had held her hands and shaken her violently.

"Stop it!" Gaemon had exclaimed. "Rhaenyra, you've become so bitter that I do not know you any more. We are responsible for the living ones, not the dead. Baelon will have to wait." At this, she had suddenly melted against Aegyl.

These were the things that their allies – both old and new ones – should never know. Because while a king might be forgiven a momentarily lapse because of feelings, a queen would never be.

Three days later…

"I wish I could come, too," Aemon said. In the early morning they should be shivering slightly but the dragons' breath was so hot that they were tempted to strip to their smallclothes.

Aegyl looked up from where he was busying himself with Arelis' harness. "Next time," he said and grinned. "It looks like we'll have plenty of occasions to go dancing together… thank the Seven that you dance better on Ikkarus than your feet," he jested. As he expected, Aemon laughed. In truth, he didn't mind staying at Dragonstone so very much. He did want to take part in the battle that was promising to be fought at Oldtown but he wasn't too eager for the negotiations that would inevitably follow. Lord Hightower did want to become related to Rhaenyra's family and there was only one way. Sure, Aemon had never imagined that he'd be able to wed his Lyanor but he wasn't in a hurry to take a lawful wife, either.

"Let's go," he said, gripped his brother's hand for a moment and then stepped aside, so Aegyl could let Arelis out of his cell.

In the courtyard, everyone waited. Aegyl nodded at Gaemon with a slight smile, grinned at the boys, knelt in front of his mother for her blessing and felt the tremor of her fingers. Each time she sent them to fight, her hands seemed to shake worse. At rising, Aegyl stealthily looked at her fingers. They were blue and swollen from twisting her rings.

He went to Rhaenys. Alaena slept in her arms peacefully. She was barely three months old. He drew a finger along her rosy cheek and then lifted it to Rhaenys' pale face. She was trying to reign her fear in but her eyes were huge and dark, her face gaunt and distraught. He touched her cheek, her lips, the outline of her nose. Then, he placed his hand on her still flat belly. "I'll be back before you start to show," he promised. "I swear it."

She nodded silently, too scared to speak. Her nightmares had kept both of them awake all night long.

"Take care," she managed.

"Will do," he promised.

He went to Arelis and turned back one last time. This time, Rhaenys managed to smile. He smiled, too.

He had seen twenty one name days and she had yet to see her twentieth.