RHAENA
The Queensguard are the latest to try their hand at daemon-keeping.
A household knight lets her into Rhaenyra's suite where she finds both the on-duty Queensguard with her father in the sitting area. She supposes they are mostly desensitized to his eruptions at this point, and more importantly, know how to walk on a geyser field. Mayhaps they also hoped that years of familiarity and the risk of offending Rhaenyra would prevent him from cutting them down on a whim.
Her father takes no notice of her; he just sits there playing with one of the rubies from the pyre.
Ser Lorent, who more often than not was in charge of the children and therefore more familiar with her father's unsupervised antics, assumes the lead daemon-keeper position. Once he's pushed Dark Sister out of reach, he eventually summons the courage to wave his hand in front of her father's face; her father swats it away like a cat and resumes his trance.
Ser Steffon tries to entice him with a goblet of wine, but Ser Lorent shakes his head. Rhaena digs into a cabinet and holds up a lightweight wooden cup they reserve for Viserys; Ser Lorent nods. Ser Steffon pours the wine into her safety cup, and they make a careful approach.
Rhaena hands him the safety beverage, then takes a seat on the sofa next to his chair. Once Ser Steffon uses the distraction to remove the heavy fruit bowl from the table, she sees that Lord Beesbury left his ledger and tablet next to it, likely when he and Baela rushed out to catch Joffrey. She slides them out of his reach to avoid any weaponizing of the metal stylus.
The Queensguard take a seat, and they make quiet small talk for a time, hoping to engage her father. But they have no luck. She finds out that poor Ser Erryk had the evening off to sleep and would now need to be trained on daemon-keeping tonight. Her father does not object to them openly speaking about such matters. Once he finishes his drink, he just sits there, staring at that ruby.
Someone knocks.
"Enter," Rhaena calls.
Maester Gerardys enters. Curiously, he holds a potted lykāpas perzot in his hands, and he sets it down on the table before her father.
Her father speaks what are likely his first words in over an hour. "The fuck is this?"
"I heard you were burned at the pyre."
He swats the plant off the table. Then he resumes his silence.
Gerardys looks to Rhaena for an explanation, and Rhaena remembers that he left the pyre early to oversee a supply transfer from High Tide. She just shakes her head. Gerardys does seem concerned enough to take a seat, and they debate for a time about whether to have High Tide's maester evacuate or leave him to man the rookery. Rhaena's main concern is that he would possibly have access to sensitive information, and she does not trust him not to report back to Oldtown.
Someone else knocks after a time.
"Enter," she calls.
"I just left it on the table," Lord Beesbury says to her grandparents that follow him in. "It happened s—"
He sees her father and freezes. He tries to back out of the room, but her grandmother and grandsire are still behind him. To her surprise, they actually look to her father with understanding. Mayhaps being verbally eviscerated by the same cruelly insightful adolescent girl on the same day invites a sense of camaraderie.
Rhaena points to the far end of the table. "The ledger is right here."
Despite Lord Beesbury's nervousness, her grandparents make no motion to leave the room, and the Queensguard offer their sofa and pull additional chairs over for themselves. Poor Lord Beesbury takes the last remaining spot next to Rhaena — which is still clearly too close to the dragon for comfort.
"Where is the Princess?" asks the one person in the room who is not afraid of her.
"She left," Rhaena tells Lord Beesbury. "She's going to send Jace home and take over in the North."
Her grandmother had already started to leaf through the account of last night, and she speaks without looking up. "I do not believe we need worry about her safety, at the least." Grandsire reads over her shoulder.
Rhaena cannot help but agree. "She did destroy two Kings today, both times without her dragon." Her father does not even acknowledge the comment.
"I should have warned you all," Lord Beesbury laments.
"What do you mean?" asks Ser Steffon.
"I had a suspicion this was coming. The last ten pages of the account are simply the words 'I hate my father,' repeated over and over again."
"Really?" her grandsire asks. He flips to the final pages for confirmation.
"No. But I am determined to avoid being blindsided by another Green Council, so I've been making careful observations. I've noticed that this branch of the family encourages quipping during intense situations, and I thought I'd try my hand at it."
"Wasn't bad, but could use work," her father actually mumbles.
Lord Beesbury relaxes ever so slightly. "What she did say, over and over again, in many different words, is that she hates herself. I'm guessing she then decided to lash out at whoever she decided made her who she is."
They all nod. Even her outburst at their father had only proved what they all know: her father's daughter indeed.
"Aemond said what?" her grandmother exclaims.
From the disgusted look on her grandsire's face, Rhaena could tell what they were referring to. "Apparently, wit is a learned Targaryen trait, not an innate one," she says.
Lord Beesbury also knows the line she refers to, and seems anxious to change the subject. "The events will be more linear once I reorganize the categories. Right now the events are categorized, but ordered by recall. Hopefully, we can access more comprehensive witness statements to confirm some events. I know not what else we can do in regard to the Hightowers."
Her earlier worries resurface. "They're definitely going to try to spin this in a way that hides the fact that their king is now a kinslayer who lost control of his dragon and was pummeled by a little girl," Rhaena says.
Her father still just stares at that ruby, twirling it between his fingers. The others also spare him a look of concern.
Grandsire squints at the ledger. "Rhaenyra bit his sword hand, I think? That child is not having a good day either."
No one says it, but Rhaena is certain some must wonder with her — how was Rhaenyra's day?
Beyond.
Beyond as in the shadowlands?
If only.
Rhaenyra is going to have a lot of bad days, she worries. And then she says it aloud. She cannot help it. It's a day for sharing hard truths, mayhaps. The mood sinks, but Rhaena keeps going. "Do you think they'll tell her?"
Her father stops twirling that ruby. But he does not put it down.
"I don't know," her grandmother admits. "It depends on how isolated she is, I suppose. Knowing Rhaenyra, especially Rhaenyra as a young girl…"
"She'll fight," says Ser Steffon. "Even before she was a mother she was a dragon. Regardless of Lucerys, she'll fight. Especially if she finds out, they'll have no choice but to keep her out of sight as much as possible. Which means… they could keep it from her."
"Mayhaps they should," Rhaena says. "It would do neither Rhaenyra nor the Greens a favour to have her… lose it."
"Fuck," her father says. Everyone turns to him. "She cannot find out. She cannot lash out. She must know it on some level, but this is going to push her too far."
"What do you mean?" Ser Steffon asks.
"Were you not present at Baela's eulogy?" he asks bitterly.
They fall into a few moments of awkward silence as they try to pinpoint which piece he refers to. It's overwhelming to sift through the ruins of an entire man being taken apart, after all.
He realizes they're not going to find it amidst the rubble. "'You know why Rhaenyra is not like you.' And the reason I taught Baela more caution then L… then the others."
"Oh," Rhaena says. She seems to be the first to understand. She was there that day Baela prodded Rhaenyra and her father. "She cannot be. It's different."
"I don't follow," says Ser Lorent."
But her grandmother does. "They're going to call her mad the moment she has an outburst," she lectures the men. "Do keep up."
"Only if they're smart," her grandsire tries to assure them.
"It matters not how learned or clever they are," says Lord Beesbury. "They are snakes. And in hindsight, I do not believe they like women very much."
Everyone exchanges surprised looks. Her father has fallen too far back into his ruby study to make a comment like, 'well look who has a stinger after all', so no one else comments.
It's a stupid question, but she has to ask. "What do we do?"
Apparently, her father is still listening. "We're never sneaking her out now. They're not going to take any chances with her security after this. And they're never going to trust her after discovering the extent of her talents for…"
"Lying?" her grandmother suggests.
"Fuck you," he snaps. But half his mind is still elsewhere. "Your plan depended on those lies too. You let all the burden, all the planning, all the risk rest on her."
"And yours had everything rest on you," her grandmother counters.
Her father sighs and leans back, still studying that damned ruby. "Even monsters want to be heroes when they come home for the day. I promised her it would never be like this. I promised her multiple times, actually."
She can see he's too tired to argue further. This is her chance to push the issue again. "We need to start thinking on a longer timeline. Wars last a long time, especially ones of words and ravens."
Everyone nods except for her father, who shakes his head but says nothing.
She knows it's morbid. But for one moment, she cannot help but wonder what would happen if Rhaenyra had a child before they free her. She cannot help but wonder if her father would throw it into the sea. She cannot help but wonder if he's already considered that scenario. Baela would have just asked. She cannot decide if it's good or bad that Baela is not in the room.
Her father is still shaking his head. "She doesn't deserve this. She is the one person who did everything she could, who did everything right. She suffers for our mistakes."
No one argues. Her grandmother even agrees. "She had a plan from the moment we were locked in that room. She had a plan even before that. She manipulated them into putting us into that room together. She had a new plan for every obstacle."
"A lifetime of living as a dragon in a woman's skin tends to make those skills necessary," her father says. An uncharacteristically subtle way of saying that Rhaenyra likes to do what she wants, or rather, whom she wants.
They sit in silence and ponder how fucked they all are. They're getting very good at it.
Gerardys prefers to discuss how fucked they all are. "Word of Baela's… outburst is going to get back to the Greens. There are too many outsiders in this castle for it not to."
Her father still stares at the ruby, and answers in a detached tone. "I'm pretty certain Baela announced that I strangled the heir to the throne."
"What is wrong with you?" her grandmother demands.
"Everything," her father says like it's obvious.
Her grandsire sighs. "We don't have a choice; this is our only fortress safe from dragonfire. We need to eliminate any tempting targets. Especially without —" He says no more. He need not say more.
"At the least," says Lord Beesbury. "We have some time before they set Vhagar loose. From what I gather, that pretender child is never going to be the same." He tries to hide his smirk.
Rhaena is less convinced. "Or he'll think he has something to prove," she cautions.
"Even better," says her grandmother, who still leafs through the accounts. "Needing to prove his power is what allowed Baela to jump him."
"Still," her grandsire says. "It's four to our three now, and their dragons are also larger."
"It's four to four, Grandsire. Remember, we have a Baela." Or do we? "She counts as her own dragon."
Everyone smiles for just one moment.
"What about Lady Rhaena?" Lord Beesbury asks.
"I've tried Silverwing and Vermithor more times than I can count. They're not interested."
"We do not want to push it too far," says her grandmother. "We do not need a repeat of when your father tried to claim an uninterested dragon."
"What?"
"The Cannibal," her grandmother says like it's obvious. Everyone nods because it is. Her father pays them no mind.
Her grandsire brings them back on topic. "Where does that leave us?"
The the door flies open.
Who would the guards let run in here?
Ser Erryk barrels into the room and comes to a standstill when he sees her father. "Oh, thank the gods," he sighs. "I heard you were murdered at the pyre!"
Her father does an admirable job of not reacting. His next couple of breaths seem a little pained though. And then he starts mouthing those words to himself, those same words from the garden. He shakes his head.
The other Queensguard sit Ser Erryk down for an update. She looks at her father. She actually catches his eye as it strays from that ruby. He seems conflicted.
Ser Erryk tries to keep up. "So, we need to accommodate for the fact that the Hightowers own the skies. Has anyone ever… won a war in that situation?"
"I suppose we need to hope it does not come to that," says Gerardys.
Her grandsire sighs. "It already has."
They poner in their well-practiced way.
Ser Steffon is the one to end the latest silence. "Then, we need to—"
"Wait," her father interrupts. They all turn to him, slightly startled. He takes another moment before continuing. "I'll do it," he says. And then he finally looks up. "I'll do it."
Everyone is lost, save for Rhaena and her grandmother.
"Do what?" Ser Lorent asks.
"I'll get us the other dragonrider. I have to imagine it is still what she would want." He nods to himself. "But…" he looks to her grandmother, and then her grandsire. "It could take some time. We need to plan around my absence."
Her grandsire has caught on. "Are you going to tell me about this mysterious bastard I have now?"
"No."
"Daemon," her grandmother warns.
Her father considers, and then he sighs. "Very well." He looks to Rhaena and she can already see where this is going. She has her answer prepared before he even continues. "Rhaena?"
"No."
Her father groans and slumps back into his seat. "Rhaena…" She cannot exactly blame him. He has dug himself quite a hole to explain his way out of, and there's really no good way to do it. But Rhaena is certainly not interested in doing it for him.
He realizes he has another option. He turns to her grandmother, hopes renewed. "Cousin…"
Her grandmother could also see where this was going. "No."
"Well, I suppose you can all simply find out when Addam returns."
"Father."
"Fine." He takes a moment to consider. "Do you know how amnesia works?"
"No."
"Well you se—"
"No."
"Very well. Nevermind. Forget about Addam. I have another path to victory we can pursue. The path you called for before, Rhaenys."
"Oh?"
"I can prove I did not kill Laenor. Little good it will do us."
"How do you plan to do that?" her grandsire demands.
"I can account for my whereabouts."
"That means nothing," her grandsire growls. The man is going through a lot of emotions this evening. "Qarl was paid by someone."
"But I can account for Qarl's whereabouts too, you see. Because he was with me that night."
"What?" half the room exclaims
Oh no.
Her father takes a deep breath, and a few moments to consider. And then he continues. "I was behind a curtain beside the door. And Qarl was standing by the fireplace in the same room. And then Laenor walked in and I jumped out from behind the curtain and locked the door."
"Father, I changed my mind. I'll do it."
But it is too late.
He ignores her. "And I said, quick, Laenor, take off your shoes! Qarl, help me get the body on the fire. All was going according to plan. But then we ran into a problem." He shakes his head.
"Father."
"Laenor did not bring spare shoes! And the ones from the body were too small. So we were in this panic; Laenor was hopping around on one foot trying to force the shoes on, Qarl and I were trying to crisp the body enough, and then the guards came and we had to give up on the idea of shoes entirely. Poor Laenor ran halfway around the island barefoot before he got to the boat. The whole ordeal took us much longer than expected."
No one interrupts him. They all just stare, dumbfounded.
"So as you can see, Qarl and I both had a very busy night. Neither of us had time to kill Laenor."
Her father's spirit has reemerged at the opportunity to wreak havoc on people's sanity. He pours more wine into his safety cup, sits back, and lets the words hang in the air.
Rhaena honestly wonders if a quarter-hour has passed before anyone speaks. By then, each person has had a silent conversation with each of the other occupants. The same questions come up in each of them.
Do you believe him? Everyone does. Because it's Daemon Targaryen, Laenor Velaryon, and Rhaenyra Targaryen. Of course that's something they would do. Something only they would do.
Did you know? She determines that her grandmother was not completely certain, but definitely had information. Interestingly, Gerardys seems as if he suspected something, though that something was much less chaotic than the story her father told. Everyone else was blindsided. Grandsire did not even show relief for his son, mostly because of the next question.
What does this mean? Grandsire voices their consensus. "Daemon."
"Yes, good-good-father, I suppose?"
"You are an imbecile."
"I beg your pardon. I am a problem-solver. Well, it was Rhaenyra's idea. But I handled the exec… the details. Except for the shoe debacle, that was all Laenor."
His near-miss with wording does catch the attention of someone with an eye for detail. "What about the body?" asks Lord Beesbury.
"Do not ask questions you do not want the answers to."
They let it go.
"I must echo my husband," her grandmother says. "You are an imbecile."
"You're the one who didn't notice you had a still-bonded dragon sitting on your beach. And a living son."
"Why couldn't you just take the Harwin approach?" asks Ser Steffon. The man must be feeling brave.
"The what?" asks poor Lord Beesbury.
"She thought being married to me would put an end to anyone questioning her claim."
They all stare, waiting for it to dawn on him.
It does. "Fuck. Anyway, bigger problem. Laenor left because he wanted to be free and whatnot. I knew he was up to something when we got that letter saying 'don't panic if you don't hear from us for awhile, going to try something,' but I didn't think he meant trying to be the next Elissa fucking Farmon."
"What do you mean?" her grandmother asks.
Her father turns serious once more. "They joined a crew in Asshai. Bound east."
"How do you even know where he is right now?" Gerardys asks.
"Let me guess," her grandsire says. "Those stupid toys." He considers something. "Please tell me you can—"
"No. Open ocean. I'll have to hope he can eventually give me a latitude. I don't know how promising that is. We are not good at it. Apparently, the Freehold would only assign those with the best control of focus to glass candles. I'll get as close as I can, then I'll see if Seasmoke can… smoke him out… See if Seasmoke can smoke him out… See if…"
"Daemon," half the room says.
"Right."
"If we win…" her grandsire says. "You and Rhaenyra will rule the realm. I cannot fathom."
Her father nods. "I thought you might have some concerns. And I've been… considering a compromise."
Her grandsire sighs. "This should be good."
"It is! Rhaenyra and I had a Valyrian ceremony, which means polygamy does not invalidate it. And it's consummated all the way around." He traces a triangle in the air. "Well, not all at once, but all the connections are there. So, if you have so little confidence in us, Laenor may remain a brother-husband. The three of us can rule Conqueror style. I'm Visenya, obviously." He gestures to Dark Sister, which Ser Lorent had managed to move halfway across the room. "Oh, except for the carnal part. In that case only, I'm Rhaenys."
"That's worse," her grandsire insists.
"I meant Aegon's Rhaenys, good-good-father."
"What I mean is, three imbeciles is not better than two."
"But then we get to start a war with the Faith," her father says, almost bouncing up and down. "An open war, not this craven proxy war through the Hightowers. I can finally burn the Starry Sept to the ground," he muses.
"Father."
"Right. We can worry about that later."
Everyone exchanges a look that says they will indeed be worrying about that later.
"So," Ser Erryk says. "We need a new plan, that accounts for our King and our largest dragon going missing for we know not how long."
"Time. We need time," Rhaena says.
"Our Queen needs time," Gerardys reminds them. "I know that this is an uncomfortable topic, but I need say that she tends not to need much of it. I do worry it will not take much time for… complications to arise."
"I do not follow," says Lord Beesbury.
Her father is the only soul brave enough to elaborate. "Rhaenyra has always become with child soon after ending precautions." He doesn't even say it in a tone that suggests he's happy to make people uncomfortable.
The following silence is at least one of pondering options, rather than how fucked they are. Rhaena considers that an improvement.
"I might have an idea," her father says. "Not a plan yet, but an idea. For more than one of our problems. And…" he grits his teeth, "I need help to flesh it out."
"This should be good," her grandmother says. "Are we faking your death then?"
"Fuck you."
Rhaena sighs. "Can you two just stop."
"Only if she does," her father says in his petulant voice. "I didn't even kill your son."
"No, but you were the primary reason both of my children ended up in years' long exile abroad."
"Enough!" Lord Beesbury of all people snaps. "Your constant arguing is not only a strategic liability but half of Blackwater Bay, if not all of it, also knows it. Do you truly think the Hightowers will not use this?"
"I'm counting on it," her father says. That earns everyone's attention. "We have a unique opportunity. We're already halfway to the Seven Hells, why not keep going? Nothing done halfway is done well, after all."
"What do you propose?" her grandsire asks.
"That rather than reverse course, we keep going. We give the Hightowers something they want, or rather, get rid of something they want to be rid of — for a time. Then, we get something that we need. And then, you know, kill them all."
"You..." Rhaena thinks she can see where this is going. "You want to convince them you conceded?"
"No, I want to convince them that you tired of my antics and supposed kin slaying, and told me to fuck off."
"Oh, well that's easy enough," Rhaena says. Everyone else either nods or verbally agrees.
"I know."
"Daemon," her grandmother tries. "You do realize that should we outmaneuver them, they're going to use Rhaenyra's life to negotiate for their own."
"Fine, we don't kill them all. They can bargain for the lives of Helaena, the children, and any of their lower-ranking men that had no direct part. And if I'm feeling generous, I'll even shorten the torture from a fortnight to a few days. See? Compromise."
Rhaena decides to close the matter. "I think sentencing should be Rhaenyra's call."
They all nod, eager to avoid the argument. Her grandmother steers them back. "Your idea?"
"Right," her father rubs his face and considers for a few moments. "The Hightowers are probably scrambling right now. Not just because Aemond got Baela-ed, but because at least some of them like to convince themselves they're in the moral right. That's what makes them so dangerous, and irritating. But their guilt and panic leave them vulnerable right now. We have something they want. Even by their standards, we have the undeniable moral high ground. The Hightower bitch is probably dying to do a small mercy to ease her conscience. And the others will enjoy it for different reasons."
"I think Aemond feels guilt," Lord Beesbury says. "He genuinely did not wish to kill Lucerys. He was begging Vhagar to stop." He smiles just a little. "And then he was even crying afterwards."
Strangely, or not so strangely, her father actually seems impressed with that slip of pettiness. But then he turns serious. "We can use this. Offer them a chance to do some small kindnesses, offer something else they think they want. And…" he gets lost in his thoughts for a few moments. "Hopefully, if I'm out of the picture they will not feel compelled to… mistreat her for my benefit."
Ser Lorent nods. "We could try to negotiate some conflict ground rules. It's not unheard of. And especially if the deal is with the Velaryons and not His Grace," he looks over to her father, and they all understand what he means, "they might be receptive."
"Like get the chains off, at the least?" Ser Steffon suggests. Word of the note must have made it to him.
Her father shakes his head. "It's Rhaenyra, she'll do plenty to justify it. And good for her. If your enemy doesn't feel the need to chain you at least some of the time, you're doing something wrong."
Her grandmother grimaces. "That does not sound right."
He ignores her. "Still, that is not my main concern. She's very good at maneuvering in chains. And mayhaps she'll manage an Amber Bride; we've played that enough times for her to —"
"Daemon," her grandsire says. "Enough. You and Rhaenyra being so… casual about these matters is part of why we're in this situation."
"Indeed," her father 'agrees'. "What a whore, fucking her husband all the time. I'll have you know that your daughter was also into some serious depravity. And gods be damned, did she like being dominated. Do not misunderstand me, so does Rhaenyra, but Laena was a bottom ninety-nine times out of a hundred. Like brother, like sister, I suppose. And usually, I don't mind, but sometimes you just want to lay back, you know?"
Lord Beesbury is even too tired to say dear me. They all just rub their headaches. "Father," Rhaena reminds him. "You're not trying to end this meeting by provoking people, remember?"
"Oh, right. Habit. Also, he started it. Where were we?"
"Your Grace," Lord Beesbury treads. "I truly must inquire. Have you ever had your focus appraised by a Maester?"
"Fuck you, I read. I can read for hours. Sometimes I accidentally read all through the night."
"That does not me—"
"No one cares," her father declares.
Rhaena voices the thought that's plagued her. "I think we should have had a small council meeting before each war council meeting."
Everyone nods.
"Right," her father continues. "I have a vague idea that we need to turn into a plan. A series of interconnected plans, actually. That means a night of brainstorming. Rhaena, fetch some index cards."
"We are out of index cards."
"Of course we are. Baela was here for what, three whole days?"
They settle for sending the servants to collect all the wax tablets they can find and unbinding them. Similar enough effect without wasting staff time cutting scrap parchment. Her father hesitates on one tablet as they sort through them.
"What?" Rhaena asks.
"This is Baela's. I do not think we should erase it. Seems like she has some important tasks ahead of her." He reads more. "Jacaerys is in for a very interesting reunion. Poor boy."
Rhaena reads over his shoulder, knowing Baela would not care. "That is entirely your fault."
He does not argue.
They plan late into the night, but not too late. They have a long series of days ahead of them, they soon discover. Rhaena has to create a multi-day schedule for planning the plan!
She knows her father well, yet she still is not prepared for the risk he pushes for. But he does not budge. At least he explains this time. "We need to take on some of the risk Rhaenyra bore earlier. And this is about what Rhaenyra deserves. She deserves this."
Her grandmother remains snide. "Are you certain she doesn't deserve better, mayhaps?"
"Fuck. Off."
They let it go for now, but Rhaena and her grandmother exchange looks after her comment. Despite her confidence in their secrecy, she then resolves to keep Rhaenyra's ladies-in-waiting out of the process. She has another role for them.
They manage to establish an outline of all their tasks.
Her grandsire is not happy about the economic toll this war, and the necessary evacuation, will take. "Please," Lord Beesbury says. "I have seen the numbers, and those are only the numbers you present. I know a man with secret coin when I see one, and right now I see two of them." He eyes both her father and her grandsire.
"Hardly secret," her father scoffs. "I was King of the Narrow Sea. But that's emergency coin. Should we find ourselves in need, I have additional wealth in Pentos."
"Wait," Rhaena says. "If this does not constitute an emergency, what even does?"
"If we truly do need to flee Westeros and build a new dragon kingdom in Essos. That's expensive work."
Of course.
"That could be useful," says the Master-of-Coin.
Her father just shakes his head.
"No," her grandmother argues. "He's right. Laenor never touched his accounts connected to House Velaryon. Tell me, how did you ensure he would have wealth abroad?"
"I might or might not have a certain amount of wealth based in or near or around Volantis. And I might have transferred one or more or no sources of that wealth."
"Rich people," Lord Beesbury grumbles.
"Quiet, Beesbury," her grandsire retorts. "I've seen your palace."
"We don't need to use it," her grandmother assures. "We only need show that some of it exists. That you have wealth abroad, and you have a plan. And that… you had made use of it before, at a very specific time. And that it did not go through the Iron Bank."
She fills them in on her tunnel adventures with Rhaenyra. Poor Lord Beesbury looks more dejected than ever to discover just how little he knew of his work environment.
They start to fill in the gaps in their outline.
Her father points to their greatest failure. "After that embarrassment, they know we're dishonest. But they also think we're incompetent. Let us use that. Also, they know we're disorganized and that we dislike each other."
"Still," Ser Erryk says. "We need something big to push for, to make it realistic. Some matters they won't want to give us. Some we can concede, others we demand.
"Ah," Rhaena says. "I need index cards for that. You cannot do a 'there's no bad ideas' anonymous bowl with wax tablets."
They settle for ripping up scrap parchment. There are indeed many bad ideas, but also many good ones. The Kingsguard understand war and politics better than they think, and they grow bolder in suggestions when it's anonymous.
"At the least..." her grandmother says. "I think this plan is so chaotic, no one would guess it was formed by a human, on purpose."
"Your Grace," Gerardys says, looking up from his own task. "Are you certain you are comfortable with —"
"It is a piece of paper. I do not give a fuck; I cannot stress that enough."
"Still, should I be looking into loopholes?"
"I will make a hole myself — when I burn it."
They decide to disperse for the night after that. Rhaena and her father are the last to leave the room. She wonders if her father does not know where to go.
"Can I have some more of that sleeping tincture?" he asks.
She's surprised, but her father is full of surprises today, so she retrieves it.
He snatches it and locks it in a chest. Then he puts the key in his pocket. "I just want to make sure my own children do not poison me again." He raises the parent finger. "We are not some slapstick household; I thought I taught you better than that."
"So… what do I do when you lose it?"
"Tell me? Honestly Rhaena, I always assumed that Baela was the evil twin, but you have me questioning myself."
But it's not that simple. "Father," she warns. "You have a tendency to… go rogue. I—"
"They do not call me the Rogue Prince for no reason."
"But you are no longer a prince. It is bad enough we are to have a missing king. We cannot have a rogue king. There are no rogue kings."
He actually nods. Mayhaps she should not have spurned Aemond's offer of a pig to ride; today she'd certainly be flying next to her siblings.
Still, he makes no motion to go to bed, wherever that might be.
"You should sleep in here tonight," she says. "Ensure no one disturbs the room, and that I can actually find you in the morning." She considers. "I'll… have the boys sent in. They should be with you tonight."
"You're going to assign children to babysit me?"
"It was Jace's idea. I believe his words were, 'Apparently, he is unable to account for his own basic needs. Mayhaps when he wakes, we can assign Aegon or Viserys to his care'."
Her father sighs, and she knows she's won. She almost feels bad for him for a moment; the poor man has spent the entire day having his children throw his words back in his face. But fun is so hard to come by these days, and if her father taught her anything, it's to seize it wherever you can.
Especially at someone else's expense.
They start screaming after they've broken their fast. In Valyrian, of course, though they are smart enough to know that some will still understand. Her grandsire tried to start beforehand, but her father insisted he was hungry.
Lord Beesbury presents the ledgers. "The numbers do not lie." His delivery needs work. But that's what today is for.
Her father storms back to Rhaenyra's suite, and her grandparents follow. Eventually, so do all of last night's occupants.
"We get one chance at this. One," her grandmother emphasizes. "It has to go right."
Insulting her father is not a difficult task for anyone involved; some have apparently been holding it in for years. Using diplomatic language takes slightly more effort. But the official letter is the easy part, and they finish before morning's end. It is the message that is vital. And it is for the message that they dedicate most of their time and tablets. Everyone contributes something.
"Rhaena," her father groans. "Must we use the stupid sea metaphor?"
"Yes, because she'll understand you would never lower yourself to using it of your own volition."
"My pride already hurts," he whines like a child with a toothache.
"Best to just let it die completely. Save yourself the pain."
He glares but argues no further. He does insist that a few lines remain private, and they do allow him this. No one is eager to find out what Daemon Targaryen considers a private matter with his wife.
Ser Erryk retrieves the maps and starts to study the Keep layout, Gerardys heads for the library, and everyone else joins the practice team. Lord Beesbury's role is the most imminent, and his naivety leaves him as a liability. They dedicate the midday hours to him whilst Rhaena and her father take frequent breaks to pack the trunk.
"Not that one, Rhaena," her father insists. She was holding the dress Rhaenyra favoured the most when she was with child. She nods and sets it aside. They do not include any of her favourite fine dresses, after considering. Just her more comfortable ones. Rhaena makes a note to discretely have replacements made.
"Not that coat, either," her father says. "Aegon was conceived on that coat, don't want to lose it. It's bad enough that we need to kill the dragon you were conceived on."
"Ugh."
The glass candle is tricky. It need be convincing enough an everyday object, but not so much that it looks like they're trying to hide what it is, should someone recognize it.
"Reading light," her grandmother had suggested. "Decorative, sentimental, honouring a legacy, but a reading light with regular candles."
"Will it still work?" she asks her father.
He nods. "Just make the actual candle removable, and do not cover the whole surface."
"I do not mean to be rude," Ser Lorent calls from the practice corner. "And it was very sweet in the circumstance, but the two of you have the artistic skills of children. You might want to bring in some help."
"Yes… yes we do," her father says. "Very good."
Rhaena does some errands around the castle to retrieve supplies — and the boys. More evacuees flood in from Driftmark, and the castle is fuller with strangers than ever. People gossip that her family is quarrelling in the Sea Dragon Tower. She does not correct them.
They have to disassemble several candle holders and lanterns to get the pieces they need. Despite Rhaena being the only responsible adult on the crafting rug, no one gets burned when they heat the hard wax. Her father places one of the smaller rubies in the wax before it hardens, and Rhaena just stops him in time from using his bare hands.
Joffrey does the inscription on the bottom. He uses his neatest writing to accommodate for the fact that he is six and not nine.
Happy nameday!
— Baela, Rhaena, Jace, L
Joffrey chokes.
"When this is done," her father promises, "if you behave during all of this and don't try any more stupid stunts, you can help me put their heads on spikes at the appropriate time. Fair?"
"Fair."
"Dear me…"
"Lyman," her grandmother says. "Pay attention."
"Wait," Joffrey says a little too eagerly. "Can I kill Aemond?"
"I think there's going to be a long line, and your mother gets the front." He thinks on it for a few moments. "I suppose you can help with the early torture, though."
"Father."
"Ah, right. We might not be able to torture Aemond. We might need to quickly eliminate him in battle."
Rhaena decides not to push. Ser Lorent takes the boys to the sandiest beach in the area for the rest of the day. They take the glass candle with them.
"Besides," Lord Beesbury practices. "We're not fighting for the skies. This is a battle for truth."
Her father doubles over amidst his evil cackles. "Take it out. Take it out." He laughs some more. "Absolutely not."
Gerardys returns with a book with enough of the information Rhaenyra will need, but not so overtly so as to attract suspicion. He tucks it in with an assortment of her favourite books, so only she will know the difference.
"We are really counting on that guilt and panic right now," Rhaena had worried earlier.
"It's not just guilt and concern for her comfort," her father assured her. "It looks better for them if she's wearing clothes people recognize, if they can show that she packed with the intention to stay."
"And why would they think we would give them that advantage?" her grandmother had challenged.
"Her comfort. And so they cannot do something fucked up like dressing her in all green or only in nightclothes."
They all acknowledged the logic. Regardless, Rhaena is certain everything will be searched thoroughly. This time, neither side will leave room for error.
They put off the uncomfortable bit for as long as they can. Gerardys and her grandmother join them by the trunk. Her grandmother points out their first obstacle. "They'll never let any herbs or vials through," she says. "We need to find another way."
"You're right, it's not going in the trunk." her father says. "But I do have another way. I'll wait until the castle quiets to retrieve it."
"From where?" Rhaena asks.
"My room. I keep a drawer full of a Valyrian tincture."
"Wouldn't it make more sense to keep it here?" her grandmother asks.
"No. It was easier for Baela to think she was stealing them from my room. Anyways, I have an idea to send enough for one… she'll know what to do. It will buy time until you come up with something better, at least."
"Why didn't you send it with the ring?" Rhaena asks.
He looks down. "I didn't want to consider that option."
They decide to move on for now, but her father writes down some avenues for Rhaena and Gerardys to pursue later.
The sun is getting low and the servants send word that the ship is ready. Lord Beesbury does one last run-through. "If you run into trouble," her grandmother reminds him. "Just remember all the nonsense you've seen Daemon pull. That goes for all of you."
"Right," Lord Beesbury coaches himself. "Stick to the truth. Stick to the numbers. And if all else fails, I can simply reveal that it was I who poisoned our King!" He raises his arms for effect.
Her father scoffs. "Take your own advice; stick with the truth, or some dull, believable lies."
Lord Beesbury pouts but does not further insist on his complicity.
Ser Lorent returns with the boys and the now well-worn 'reading light.' They bundle it and even attach a label that says fragile, so it doesn't look like they're hiding it. There is a bit of space left, so Rhaena wraps the lykāpas perzot Gerardys had brought the night before and tucks it in next to the glass candle bundle. "Now that's what I call glasslighting," she says.
"Rhaena," her father scolds. "No. Climb a little higher before you pick the fruit, would you?"
"Please, depravity is the sole barrier between your humour and bad father-japes."
Her grandmother calls a special meeting once they've finished packing. "Alright. Before we commit to this, does anyone — anyone — have any secret plans they want to share? More importantly, does anyone have any secret plans they do not want to share?"
Lord Beesbury raises his hand. "That pretender child berated me for sobbing atop Vhagar, and I'm worried I'll say something petty about his own experience and bungle my whole part."
Ever ready for any form of pettiness, her father volunteers his expertise. "We can arrange a petty message instead then."
They add a gift for Aemond at the bottom of the trunk so it will take some time to find in their search. Lord Beesbury needs a little help from her father to get the wording right.
"And it will show that we know they'll thoroughly search it!" Rhaena says.
Rhaena sees Lord Beesbury off, and he admirably does not express offence at the fact that he has the second-most-risky role because the Hightowers have deemed him the only one not worth murdering or abducting.
Strangely, her father held her grandmother back when they all departed, and she is still in the suite when Rhaena returns. Rhaena channels her sister and lingers in the corridor of out curiosity. Her grandmother comes out sometime later, cursing her father. Not Rhaena's father, but Rhaenys's own father.
Interesting.
The next day, they remain sequestered and fighting in the Sea Dragon Tower yet again.
Some of the ravens have started to return, so Maester Gerardys moves between their lair and the rookery. As they'd feared, most of the lords were fearful and confused about the situation, and noncommittal in their position. They are unsure if it is the unbalanced fire-power that deters strong reactions, or their political and legal position.
Her father claims it is both, but values only one. "The Hightowers have both major institutions of the realm proclaiming their legitimacy, as well as the advantage of being the prior regime. And, you know, they have the Queen. I do not think reasoning will get you further without the ability to display strength. Stalling is your best option."
"We will persist," her grandmother says. "Who knows, the lords may prove themselves yet."
"Indeed, prove who I burn first."
Now that the letter has been sent and Lord Beesbury is no longer the priority, they resume their work on the message. Everyone else resumes their own practice. They move all the furniture they can against the walls to create an open space; they need to account for a lot of variables.
Rhaena and her grandparents insist on creating another role, and her father decides to fill it by identifying the worst actor amongst the Kingsguard.
It's Ser Erryk, obviously. He's new here.
"Do you like filling long stretches of silence with small talk?" her father asks.
"No."
"Good. You're it." Ser Erryk looks both excited for and fearful of his mission. Ser Lorent and Ser Steffon regard him with both envy and pity.
Her father's role is the most complex and the most essential to get right. By midmorning, everyone has finished their own and moved on to helping with his. Grandsire enjoys himself a little too much, which her father calls him out on.
Gerardys returns with even more noncommittal raven scrolls. Most concerning though, is the raven from Storm's End. "Their Septon has been recalled to Oldtown for misconduct," Gerardys informs them. "They would like to apologize for any misrepresentations he might have made."
"Convenient," her grandmother comments.
"I told you, no good Septons!" her father calls.
"Time," Ser Steffon announces yet again. She knows not which interval they were practicing — they're testing as many as they can.
Her father swears. "That doesn't count. I was interrupted."
"You interrupted yourself," Rhaena argues. "You think it's going to be any easier when this plays out?"
Rhaena summons the boys shortly after their midday meal. They prepare for their own parts for a time, and her father explains the importance of sword safety to Viserys.
"I do not like this," Ser Lorent says.
"But it's funny," her father argues. "And more importantly, believable."
Still, they do take the time to add some safety features. Once the boys are done with all the parts they can learn inside, they send them back to the maids, and their own project they've declared secret, to avoid traumatizing them with her father's actual frustrated outbursts. Tonight is when they'll have their outdoor practice.
After supper is delivered, they decide her father is as ready as he could be. In this regard, at least. Everyone else resumes their own preparation after supper, except for Ser Erryk, who is deemed a lost cause, and Rhaena, who is deemed born ready.
"Unfortunately," her grandmother sighs. "I must admit that you too are your father's daughter."
She sniffs. "Please, I am much more convincing. I learned from Rhaenyra."
Ser Erryk heads to the library to brush up on his vocabulary, and Rhaena takes a seat next to her father to watch the show. "I suppose you and I are both finished then," her father says.
"No… not you. You have another task ahead of you tomorrow morning."
"No no, I am ready for anything."
"Not anything, Father. You have one major weakness we have yet to address. And like we've agreed, nothing can go wrong."
He sighs like he knows something bad is coming, but he does not argue. Because this is for Rhaenyra, and they all owe her quite a lot right now.
"There is a reason we did not bring Rhaenyra's ladies-in-waiting into the process, and that reason is you, Father."
"I suppose they have seen and heard quite a lot," he actually boasts. "Although, does that not speak to their discretion?"
"Oh, I believe they are loyal and discreet. Moreso, I believe in their dedication and genuine fondness for Rhaenyra. Which is why they have a more important role for tomorrow morning."
He glares at her suspiciously, because apparently he actually does know his daughter.
She continues. "Whilst the others make their way to Driftmark, you and I are going to visit each one of the ladies and inform them of what is to happen. And we're going to work our way up."
He graduates from suspicious to nervous. "Up?"
"To Elinda Massey."
"Why would…" And then it dawns on him. "Rhaena no… Please no."
"Nothing can go wrong, is that not correct? We need to account for our biggest liability. That liability is you."
"Rhaena…" He falls back into the seat and clutches his forehead. "No…"
She knows he can already see the necessity, she just reminds him. "This is about what Rhaenyra deserves, is it not? After all she's done, and all we failed to do, she deserves our best efforts. She needs this, Father. She deserves this."
He shakes his head, but not in the way that means no. "I cannot believe this. Rhaena, go find the Pink Dread. He might serve us yet."
Mayhaps I too am my father's daughter, she wonders for a moment.
They move the furniture back so the servants don't get too confused, and linger in the restored seating area until the castle quiets enough for the boys' outdoor practice. It is the first time since the funeral that they've had the silence to sit in their grief.
Her grandsire breaks the silence, likely trying to distract himself. "Try not to die. I still need you to bring back my son so I can yell at him. Also, you know, the war."
"Worry not," her father assures him. "You still have the Viserys plan."
"That is not a plan," Rhaena says. "That is a stunt. Although, we do have a Baela. Hopefully, that's good deterrence. And he might be reticent to enter the fight before his hand heals."
Her grandmother chimes in. "You know that Baela and Rhaenyra got the same hand? That pretender got both Baela-ed and Rhaenyra-ed in the same day, it seems. He might be the first."
"No," her father says. "Luke was the first."
"I suppose he was," Rhaena agrees. "And it was that kindness that left him open to it."
"When?" Ser Lorent asks.
Her father paints a picture that is mostly accurate, if a little overly whimsical.
"It's happened," her father had said. "We knew this day might come, but I hoped it would not."
"What is it?" Luke had asked.
"Dragon-week has synchronized."
"Gods be good," Jace had exclaimed. "Where do we hide?"
"Hide? No, Young Prince, there is no hiding from such a force as this. Ready the dragons. Today, we run."
"I will not run from my mother and sister," Luke had declared. "I will remain here and show them the kindness they deserve."
"May the Faith's mother have mercy on you, Little Prince, because yours certainly won't." And then he and Jace had left Luke to his fate and disappeared for three days.
Without Rhaena, Rhaena points out when he's finished.
"Oh. Sorry."
Rhaena almost has a heart attack. But then she remembers that her father is probably desensitized to near everything by now. Near.
But then he starts laughing.
"What?"
"Jacaerys is going to be so confused."