On the last, unseasonably warm day Rhaenyra, Laenor, and Daemon had ever been together, they'd taken the children to the beach. Mayhaps they should have waited a few turns of the moon between devising and carrying out their plan, but the tension began to build once they'd laid everything out. They'd worried it would soon be so palpable that people around them would notice, and so they resolved to carry it out as soon as possible.
Laenor had channelled his own sense of urgency into instructing the children. "When you're thrown overboard and you lose sight of the ship — you don't swim, you float."
"Why?" Baela asked.
"Because when you have no hope in sight, you conserve your energy until you do. Let us practice." And he gestured for them to join him deeper in the water.
"But it's cold," Jace complained.
"You think the sea only steals people away in the summer?"
He'd proceeded to instruct them as Daemon and Rhaenyra had looked on from the sheltered firepit, trying so hard not to give away that they knew this to be Laenor's last day with them.
"Luke," Laenor had said. "You mustn't float face up."
"But it's more comfortable. And it's scary to keep my face underwater. And my nose is broken."
"I know, but any unexpected wave would be a shock to your system, and your posture. You cannot be hit by water if your face is already submerged. Rest, conserve your energy, and take your breaths strategically. Else you will not have the strength to swim later when the opportunity for rescue or land presents itself."
"Are you certain you want their last memory of you to be cold water torture?" Rhaenyra whispered when they'd returned to the shore. It was unseasonably warm, yes, but that did not mean the water was.
Laenor was pensive. "Mayhaps it will ensure they carry these skills with them. Besides, I don't know how to appear relaxed as the time approaches, and now they may attribute any urgency to the importance of the subject matter."
The children had joined them once they made a fire to dry with, and he continued to drill them on the rules of the sea. "Rhaena, rules for man overboard?" he'd asked.
"Alert your crew and make yourself noticeable… conserve your strength…. and…"
"Take precautions to begin with. Always have something shiny to use for signals, and always keep sweets on your person for a quick fix of energy. Sow your seeds early, before you know what you'll need."
"I have that covered!" Baela proudly pulled out the dried sweets she'd had hidden and distributed them to her sister and cousins.
Laenor's tone was no longer playfully instructive. "And always take attendance of your crew. Your best defense against the abyss is each other. Once you're cast off, that is your lifeline."
Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged looks. He's getting too ominous, too sentimental for a day he's not meant to know is his last. Daemon interrupted before he could give them away. "You listen to your uncle; he's an expert in the manner."
"Did he teach you?" Rhaena asked.
"We taught each other many skills on the duller days in the Stepstones. I'll give Laenor credit where it is due, any man can find himself in a situation where that position —"
"Daemon," they'd both chided him before he could traumatize the children.
Rhaenyra changed the topic yet again. "So, once we've finished organizing the household, how would you girls feel about joining us on Dragonstone?"
"Because Grandmother hates Father?" Baela asked in what Rhaenyra had already learned to be her typically blunt manner.
"Worry not," Jace tried to assure Daemon. "She does not care much for us either."
This information took Luke by surprise. "Why?"
"Did she find out about the impression you do?" Laenor asked.
Rhaenyra shook her head at him. "I'm quite certain her dislike predates any action on my part."
The servants arrived to take the children back to the castle, and the three of them lagged behind. They left the shelter up behind them; they would need it later that night to block the light from the glass candles.
"You're far too solemn, brother-husband," Daemon warned. Laenor and Rhaenyra both raised brows at the new title. "You're starting to let on."
"I want them to remember that I was a decent father at least some of the time." Laenor's voice was full of regret for all the times he'd neglected his family. Rhaenyra did wish it had not taken until escape was before him to understand how he'd hurt the people closest to him with his absence, yet she understood all too well why he'd been unable to fill a role he'd been forced into.
"How about after dinner," Daemon said. "You show us that Rhaenys impression?"
"Shh…" But she'd laughed all the same.
A knock at the door imprisons her once more. She stops rocking and clutches Visenya closer.
"Rhaenyra," says the so familiar, so unwelcome voice.
"Go away, Alicent."
She does not even have the energy to be angry. Morning had broken and she is no Daemon, she needs her sleep at night.
"Rhaenyra." Alicent's voice is soft and sympathetic.
It would be easier if they were harsh, if they were violent, if they acted and spoke so clearly from hatred. Not this self-delusion.
"Rhaenyra we need to… take care of the room. I promise that if you open it for me, we can do this quietly. You will have your privacy, it will just be me and the Maester. Do not make me send the guards to break down your door."
I cannot have that.
Her family needs the time. She has no idea if Baela and Rhaenys have even made it home yet, she does nott know how far Baela had flown before landing on a ship.
"Rhaenys, no."
She feigns a Rhaenys scoff in response.
"I am… in fine health." She knows that relaying her grief and exhaustion will help her case, but she cannot bring herself to do so.
They have my freedom, they have my throne, they have my dragon, and they've taken my daughter. They will not have my tears.
Instead, she waits to speak until she trusts her voice to be even. "I require only peace and rest. Rhaenys will suffice for anything else."
It matters not, Alicent has likely known her long enough to see through any mask of stoicism. "You may have the morning to yourself," she concedes. "But you must open the door for me by midday."
Rhaenyra mumbles in Valyrian, hopefully in two different tones. "Very well," she acquiesces.
Alert your crew, conserve your energy, sow your seeds beforehand. He'd a few pieces out: fool the sharks and hope for the best.
"Princess," a guard asked through the door. "What other supplies do you need?"
She stares at the supplies before her, waiting to start the grim task of preparing her sweet girl.
When I'm finished they'll move me. They'll see Rhaenys is gone.
"I require a mop."
Wait, I actually do need a mop for the blood though. "Wait, I need two mops. Big… mess." Rhaenyra is unsure if she'll ever be able to take herself seriously after this.
She reluctantly sets Visenya on the table, then takes the first mop apart and sets the scene she needs — lest someone come in or she lose her energy. She'd missed the part of Laenor's lecture where you lie to the sharks to convince them you are not alone.
I will have no rest today, she realizes. The Greens are operating under the assumption that she has help. That she has care, when there is only her to attend to both herself and Visenya.
Visenya.
She was my only daughter, and they killed her. They stole my crown and murdered my daughter, and they shall answer for it.
But even her righteous anger does not keep her company for long. There are too many thoughts, too many feelings. As soon as one rises it is pushed away by the next in the queue. Exhaustion seems to be her only continuous companion, even when visited by urgency.
Conserve your strength.
How?
Will they give her a funeral? she wonders. Would she even be allowed to attend? But with their emphasis on secrecy, she couldn't imagine them giving her leave to do so.
The second mop awaits. She wonders how many queens before her have had to clean their own miscarriage. Likely not many. She is grateful that caring for Syrax has at least given her the muscles needed.
She is grateful that Rhaenys has given her the experience needed.
Rhaenys is an easy person to mock.
The imperious tone and posture, the iconic hair, the way everything she did and said around those she disliked dripped with condescension. How she moved her head with her whole neck and shoulders as if she fancied herself a dragon, and how she spoke low with such precision and yet such disinterest.
Rhaenys was in reality what someone would pretend to be if asked to act like they fancy themselves superior to all.
"Because that is the order of things," Rhaenyra had declared as she studied her nails, sending the protesting children to bed. But the jape had worked and the children went off to bed laughing.
The night was moonless and she'd made her way back to the beach by memory alone. Daemon and the dragons had arrived before her, and small fire was already lit beneath the beach shelter.
"Laenor?" he asked.
"Putting the children to bed. They'll be here soon."
Daemon nodded and they waited awkwardly. They had not dared touch since that first night on the beach, lest someone notice. They wanted ambiguity in Laenor's death, not an open secret.
"I have one condition Uncle," she said in Valyrian. "I need you to promise me something, before we bind ourselves as one."
He looked to her with interest. "Tell me then."
"I refuse to be some queen in name only. My claim does not exist to hand away to whichever man wins my hand. My hand is my own. My crown is my own. My life is my own."
He stepped closer to place his hand behind her ear and trace his thumb over her cheek. "You think I don't know this? You are no Argella, my love. My Dragon Queen."
She met his hand with her own. "Then you can promise me this, Uncle. As the stars stand witness. Promise me that my life, my reign, will remain mine own."
"How so?"
"That when the moment comes, when I say the time is here, you will trust my judgement and stand by my decision. You will not undermine me, no matter if you disagree. You can advise, you can argue even. You can take charge when I do not see the need to lead. But you will stand by me always, and you will trust and support me when I say it is time."
Daemon raised his other hand to hold Rhaenyra's arm, and gently pulled the sleeve back to reveal her fresh scar. "And should this happen again?"
"I ask that you do what you did then. Defend me when need be, yet trust mine own strength and judgement. Like a husband, not a master."
He dropped her arm so he might use both hand to caress her face, and pulled her close.
She knew what he wanted to hear next. "This is what I need from you. What no one else can give me. Power. Power that will not fight mine own, but add to my flames."
He said nothing, only held her and contemplated.
"Promise me, Uncle. As the stars stand witness. Promise me, and I'm yours."
His eyes sparked at the word yours. He lowered one hand to her neck, and her hands gripped both his arms to keep him close. "I promise, Rhaenyra. As the stars stand witness. We are bound by fire and blood, and we will only ever burn together."
And they'd kissed for the first time since they'd come together on the beach. They might even have lain together once again had they not known Laenor was to join them. So they sat down and stayed relatively chaste until he arrived with Qarl — and the glass candles.
"Where did you even find these?" Qarl asked of the two twisted obsidian pillars.
Daemon answered. "We took them off some pirates in the Stepstones. No one else seemed to grasp their significance."
"I had thought them a myth."
"Were they a myth," Daemon said. "The Valyrians would have adopted ravens long ago. But they had no need while in possession of such superior means."
"Can you truly use them though?" Qarl asked. "Valyria is gone, and you are no sorcerer."
Daemon was unconcerned. "Anyone can learn to use them to an extent. When lit they simply enhance the perception of whoever uses them. Sorcerer or no, with enough practice anyone might reach their target with a message."
Laenor nodded. "We had some practice in the Stepstones, sending signals back and forth. I know enough to recognize one when it comes, though we never did master complexity beyond our one simple message."
"What was that?" Qarl asked.
"You up?" Laenor and Daemon both said.
"But then the war grew tiresome, and we grew bored of… novel endeavours," Daemon said.
Laenor dropped his smile. "And opening yourself to glass candles, it opens you up to all the other magic lurking about. It was becoming difficult to sleep, with the dreams…"
"Certainly, that's why we didn't sleep."
"How does that help us then?" Qarl asked. Qarl is a man of details. "If you cannot remain well-practiced enough to watch for a signal? How will you tell a message from a dream? From a flicker of light?"
Daemon turned to Rhaenyra. "We need an anchor, is what the texts call it. Something significant and familiar to both parties, but not so commonly thought of that anyone would dream of it by chance. Rhaenyra?" He had left her with this task over the past several days.
She removed her ruby choker Daemon had just been stroking. "This," she said. "Laena bought this in Volantis to send for Jace's first name-day."
After all, Laena had apparently said, he may not remember his name-day, but Rhaenyra will certainly remember pushing him out.
They passed it around to study it. The choker had remained her favourite over the years. They all knew it well, yet did not think of it often.
Qarl nodded, finally satisfied with logistics. "I'll sketch out an image for our reference."
"Good," Daemon said. "I can use Sea Smoke to strengthen the signal as well. I'll keep the message simple, just the necklace. When you see it, take out your own candle as soon as you can. That should hopefully suffice for any simple message. We can do some practice rounds while you journey to Volantis, and compare notes there."
They did later compare notes in Volantis, and they found they were indeed not very skilled with messages. But at the least they could tell when the other wanted to communicate with them. It was enough to summon Laenor, to have him meet them somewhere at the least. Becoming skilled came with risks and fatigue, and they did not think they needed more than that.
Until Rhaenyra was imprisoned by the enemy.
One of my kingdoms for a glass candle, she laments. She does not even know how to use one, she could still receive. Though not since Visenya had anyone in their family taken such an interest —"
Visenya.
Rhaenyra picks up her choker from the table beside Visenya, she'd removed it for the labour. She turns back to her poor babe.
I'm sorry.
Visenya could deliver her message. The gold would melt on the pyre, but the rubies would emerge, utterly identifiable. Daemon would grasp the significance; he would know what she was asking. The rubies and Visenya's ashes would be enough to reach her, hopefully. And more importantly, they would lay to rest any doubts Daemon would have about what Rhaenrya was asking of him.
Promise me, Uncle. As the stars stand witness.
Summon Laenor. Bring him home. Hopefully, reach her as well. That was all she could think to ask for at the moment.
She breaks off the small gold medallions hanging from the rubies. Mayhaps they could guide her through the process; she has little else on her own side of communication. They can do this. The past six years of coded letters had given them good practice in communication.
She will have to insist Visenya be sent home, to be commemorated by her family. But they would not do that whilst trying to hide her imprisonment. She also wouldn't be able to free Syrax and Meleys until they cleared away their ambush meant for Daemon.
She almost sits, but she stops herself.
She is so tired. Especially tired of planning alone, with no knowledge of what happens outside her rooms. Too tired to make another escape, yet too tired to dare risk oversleeping.
She turns to Rhaenys's bedchamber.
"What do you think, Wringys?"
She laughs, then shakes her head. Losing my mind already. She turns back to the grim task at hand. Visenya, the necklace, the fabric strips she has yet to wrap around her child.
I wonder if they have left my father to rot. And she knows the answer already, but she again puts it away for later.
I do this. I do this, and then I rest. I conserve my strength. After this.
This.
She does not know how or when it would arrive, but she must prepare the message regardless.
Sow your seeds early, before you know what you'll need.
At the very least, Visenya bought her time in regard to her creative fate. She had not allowed Rhaenys to finish telling her, but she is quite certain what is intended.
Let Alicent tell me herself. It is the least she can punish her with.
Once she finishes her tasks, she lays face-down on the sofa and floats just above unconsciousness — she dare not actually sleep. She remains there, waiting for the tides to change. She waits for the next move. She has no way of knowing what will happen once Alicent returns.
She knows only to conserve your strength. Signal your crew. Trust your crew. Take precautions.
You are no Argella, my love. My Dragon Queen.
Promise me.
It is you, you must do this.
She will honour her promise. She has to trust that Daemon will honour his.