SER HARROLD
Being summoned now brings mixed feelings for Ser Harrold. Dread, because every time he's summoned it has been in light of some dark Hightower action. Relief, because it means he can once again ascertain Rhaenyra's wellbeing. And then dread again, because he once again gets to see in which new way they've chosen to make her suffer.
And he has absolutely no ability to help her.
Well, he might now, thinking of the flask he'd hidden away. But then he counts the very limited number of possibilities that bottle might contain, and the circumstance it was likely intended for, and he's lost once more.
But Prince Daemon is a prideful man. He would not just show up to tell his wife he's given up on her, arrange a way to secretly collude, only to truly give up on her, he tells himself. He would have been able to face her otherwise. He would have pursued a different path. Which leaves two options. He gave her the bottle because there is no hope for her, and he simply wants to give her the choice to not carry a child — which puts her in danger once a child does not come. Or, he gave it to her because there is hope, and he does not want that complication to arise when either he or the Velaryons free her.
It has to be the latter.
Ser Harrold has never been one for secrets, aside from the one born of necessity. Nor has he ever been one to hold other's secrets. But it was part of the vow. He can start. He'll start with this.
The guard does not bother to announce him, nor does anyone greet him. Probably because there is no one awake with a tongue. It troubles him how freely anyone can come and go. Be it exhaustion from her expectations in public, or simply the nature of a dragon, even as a young girl, the Realm's Delight, so oft paraded and asked to smile for the masses, had always valued her privacy in her own space.
"Rouse Rhaenyra so that we might all speak," the Hand had ordered. "The last man tasked with the job ended up getting strangled. Not to mention Tyland's nose."
She does not wake when he approaches. She always used to wake before he needed to try, and that was before motherhood. Certainly, she'd often choose to ignore him or tell him to go away so she might sleep until midday, but she would still wake at first. He can only imagine that she must have to now force herself to stay asleep, with so many coming and going from her room. She'd always hated people in her quarters whilst she slept.
"Dragons do not like guests in their lair whilst they slumber," she would declare. He wonders if she's already adapted, or she's simply so tired from being kept awake that she now sleeps through everything.
Ser Harrold had never been particularly skilled at picking up the meaning hidden behind words, or even the meaning of certain words, surrounded by so many people playing their games. But he'd spent decades observing body language and watching for threats. Bodies, he can read. Faces, too. He might not read people well through their actual language, but through their unintentional language, he was quite adept.
Which means he now reads Rhaenyra before she hides it with a smile or a sneer. Because she still will not awaken. How has no one else noticed that this is not normal for her?
The skin around her eyes is red and puffy, as if she'd left tears to dry there as she fell asleep. But more concerning is the bruise. Ser Harrold is very familiar with how bruises develop and heal. And he's very familiar with how Rhaenyra bruises and heals. She has always bruised easily — but she also heals easily. And whatever the Grandmaester might say, whatever force caused a bruise like this to develop this dark for this long, was significant. Fuelled by hatred.
And she'd known it was coming. She'd sent him away because she'd known it was coming, and because she'd known there was nothing he could do. A Queen is not supposed to protect her Queensguard.
"Your G—" and then he remembers how she flinches each time. He settles for clearing his throat and being particularly loud about placing her tonic upon the bedside table.
In a surprisingly violent motion for one still asleep, she yanks the blankets away from the far side of the bed, as if wrestling them away from a ghost. But no ghost holds them back, and she awakens wrapped within them. Her eyes open and take in her surroundings, and her eyes flood with recognition, then fear, horror and sorrow, until she sees Ser Harrold and covers it all with a smile for his benefit.
She sits up to take the tonic he now offers, and he watches her empty the glass. "I think we need to think of those new words," he says.
She clears her throat before speaking. "My Queen, will suffice when all is resolved. Until then, I suppose it's just Rhaenyra."
"I don't see why. Free or not, you are still My Queen." No matter how addled he suspects she was when he renewed his vow.
She surveys even the part of the room she cannot see, and lowers her voice into a whisper. "Whichever words you use, the leeches will bleed it dry of all meaning. I'd rather keep something for mine own."
He nods. "Very well, Rhaenyra. Ready yourself as quickly as you can; the Hand will be here soon."
She throws a look of consternation to the maid that's followed him in. "Might you explain to these sentries how standing guard actually works?"
"I've tried, believe me."
Unsure of the aftereffects of whatever they'd given her, he passes her a robe so he might help her rise. But she moves just fine until she flinches to a halt leaving the bed. "Phantom chain," she tries to laugh.
True to the Hand's word, they are not left alone for long. Soon after she's emerges from the annex, Lord Otto, or as Rhaenyra had rambled and Aegon had trilled, the Old Viper, opens the door without warning.
Rhaenyra sighs. "You still have two working hands, do you not? Let us go over this. You stop, you make a fist, you bend your elbow like this," She mimes knocking.
The Hand ignores her in favour of Ser Criston, who then enters carrying garment bags and guiding a dubiously conscious Aegon wrapped in blankets, wearing a silk sleep mask, and clutching a pillow.
"What is this?" Rhaenyra demands as Cole lays him upon the long sofa. "Now I'm a babysitter?"
"You have anything better to do?" Cole asks. "Oh, wait, you're a prisoner."
The Hand is slightly more articulate. "You want to be his mother? I'm just granting your wish. I will not have a repeat of the spectacle you two made at the wedding. Both of you are locked down with no alcohol today. Have him dressed and ready by dusk."
The Hand then turns to him. "Ser Harrold. We've come up with a compromise. You may guard Aegon. Him being the heir, he should have an experienced guard, should he not? And Aegon spends plenty of time with Rhaenyra so… you can protect them from each other. And protect all of us from another rock explosion."
"I can't believe I missed it…" Aegon moans. Ser Harrold then does note the Hand has several small cuts across his face. How have these people yet to learn that someone always gets hurt when you attempt to trap a dragon?
The Hand removes some of the ice from the tonic basin for his own forehead. "The maids might not speak, but they understand." He looks around. "If these two start to collude about an escape or anything else clandestine, rouse Aegon."
Aegon snores and points to no one. "No colluding," he mumbles.
Cole too turns his attention to Ser Harrold. "Oh, right. Aemond thinks it would be distasteful to maim one of Rhaenyra's dragons without a very good reason, being her husband. So… that makes you the first piece of collateral. So if you were to go missing… I suppose we would need to stay true to our word with the other piece. You were Rhaenyra's protector, you know how much dragons like flying."
Rhaenyra skillfully ignores him and eyes an already unconscious Aegon. She sighs. "You may bring him to the bed."
Aegon scrabbles half upright, rips off his mask, looks for Rhaenyra, and poses in a lounge that he probably thinks is alluring.
"Nevermind, you may bring him to the ocean. Aegon, no." He pouts for but a moment before replacing his mask to resume his slumber.
Cole shrugs, but does what he is told. Rhaenyra inclines her head towards the ice pack the Hand still rests against his head. "You know, you've probably passed the point where ice will benefit you. You should switch to a warm compress that incorporates vinegar or tea leaves with a strong stimulant property."
"What makes you such an expert?"
"Unlike your daughter, I've raised children."
Aegon snorts a laugh during his sleepwaddle to the bed. Ser Harrold notes that she has broken from the now-traditional "Daemon" addendum dating back to when she, Laenor and Laena were children.
The Hand raises his brows. "Since when are you concerned about my health?"
"I'm concerned about the worst of the swelling subsiding so I can see if Daemon's seal cut into your skin. Oh, and while you're at it, bring me some of that stimulant tea. Actually, just have it sent. I don't feel like seeing you unless you have Caraxes etched into your face."
"Well, you'll be seeing me at the funeral, through your veil. Your outfit is in there," he nods to one of the garment bags. "But you will not speak. All three of you will be seen and not heard, is that clear?"
Proving she has no intention of forgetting herself, or letting anyone else forget, she gives him her youthful sneer that has no doubt come out of retirement. "Just as you've always dreamt, no doubt."
Remembering just how futile it was to fight with the young Realm's Delight, the Hand gives up and departs with Cole.
"Sit with me," she says when breakfast is delivered. "I'm tired of silent observers looming over me." Not that it frees them from the maid's observations.
He had yet to witness her chew since her injury, and he's relieved to see that her jaw appears to be working properly, if a little stiffly. She catches him staring at her bruise. "It barely hurts now, Ser Harrold. And when it did hurt, I was mostly too shocked, or addled, to feel it."
"You could have bitten your tongue off, with a blow like that."
"Don't tell him that, or he'll try again." She says it with a smile, but they both suspect she's right. She returns to her meal for only a few contemplative bites before she rests her fork. "Wait," she turns to the one maid not engaged in busy work, "how do you even eat?"
The maid offers not even a non-verbal response.
"Are you literate?" Rhaenyra asks.
The maid shakes her head.
Rhaenyra rolls her eyes. "Of course not." She leans in as if to steal a pastry off Ser Harrold's plate, which she does, and then whispers, "I think one of them must have a tongue, or at least be literate."
Ser Harrold nods. It would make sense. But which one? It did not help that they'd selected women so nondescript, and dressed them so identically, that even he struggled to differentiate some of them.
They're careful with their conversation, neither clearly wanting to trigger the maid failsafe the first time they are so generously allowed together. Despite her apparent nonchalance on the matter, Rhaenyra does seem to revel in her returned mobility and consequential ability to explore. They rummage through King Viserys's old possessions in search of innocent ways to occupy their time and Rhaenyra's attention is caught by a particular Valyrian board game.
"My father's favourite," she reminisces.
"Is that not the game that caused Prince Daemon to 'die of boredom,'" he asks.
"Every single time."
Aegon does not join them until they're in the midst of their midday tea. "Where did you get this honey from?" Rhaenyra asks. She'd tasted but a sip before considering it, and putting both the jar and her tea aside and swapping it for another.
Aegon shrugs. "Lord Beesbury sent it as part of a diplomatic package I cannot tell you about. You went through so much of it I just shoved it in my pocket on a whim. Why?"
"Oh, I… think it's one of those strange, flavoured ones is all." She waits until Aegon has turned away to covertly move the jar out of sight.
"Oh," Aegon says. "After the ceremony, Mother is going to have Aemond graciously ask you to take the air with him. I think they finally realized that caging you like an animal is probably not so good for your health. They even intend to make a habit of it."
Rhaenyra nods, then gives Ser Harrold a look as if to warn him, you will not like where this is going, before turning her attention back to Aegon. "Has our baby brother had any significant relationships? I don't mean whores."
Aegon snorts. "Does Mother count?" But then he does seriously consider the question. "Possibly a few young women at parties. But he never makes the first move, and I don't think he tends to revisit. Or have much affection for them. Seems more like… he goes along because it's expected of him."
"I'm surprised a pious boy would engage in such activity."
"I don't think he's ventured far into the depraved. But as Cole likes to say, nothing wrong with having an adventurous youth."
"The fuck!" Rhaenyra exclaims. "Nevermind. Thinking nice thoughts."
Aegon only then realizes there's food in front of him, and proceeds to load his tea plate. "Well, good luck. I don't know what it is about our baby brother, but whenever I'm in his presence, I'm overcome with the intense urge to bully him."
"He gets that from your mother. They both care too much about things that don't matter. Which makes them annoying, and easy targets." Her tone makes it clear that she too is tempted by those targets. The siblings continue on with their unnerving conversation for some time, until Rhaenyra disappears into the annex to change, then orders Aegon to do the same.
Ser Harrold must broach his fear. "Rhaenyra… Aemond is smarter than his brother. And more… discerning about the company he keeps."
"How so?"
"I worry that he'll see what you're doing. And he won't like it."
She plays with her necklace. "I don't have a choice. I have to."
"What exactly are you trying to do?"
"Survive."
"Cole is going to run his mouth," Rhaenyra warns him at supper. "Do not indulge him, unless you have something funny to say."
Ser Harrold rises to resume his guard posture when Cole and the Hand come to retrieve them shortly after. The siblings remain on the sofa, and their escorts approach to loom over them like parents over unruly adolescents.
"Feel free to cry again," Cole says to Rhaenyra. "Just know that if the other night is any indication, you're an ugly crier."
She traces a fake tear down her cheek. "Then mayhaps we should leave it to you, Cole. You're adorable when you cry. You save your ugly face for something else."
Cole turns to the Hand. "Are you sure we shouldn't shackle her?"
"So she can break just loose enough to display her chains to all?" the Hand asks. Rhaenyra pretends to be affronted at the insinuation. He turns to her. "Just remember—"
Rhaenyra waves her hand in a circle. "Dragons, coins, Ser Harrold, Mad Queen."
"I don't think you'll get that far," he says, and removes a small case from his pocket. He displays the contents for but a moment before handing it to Cole.
"Hey!" Aegon says. "I earned those fangs. Also, you should really stop fucking with Rhaenyra's health. You're expecting her to carry children and," he turns to Rhaenyra for a moment, "I mean no disrespect, but her window is a little too close to closed for you to be risking a major problem."
The Hand is unswayed. "Then I suggest she not give us reason to. Regardless, you're to have an escort around your arm at all times."
"Eww," Rhaenyra says. "That child is going to put his arm around mine?"
"Didn't you shove your tongue down his throat?" Aegon asks.
Ser Harrold longs for the black cells.
"I beg your pardon," Rhaenyra says. "There was no tongue! And that was to fuck with him. And when I thought I was escaping. And I don't even get to be drunk this time!"
Cole and the Hand clearly too wish to be somewhere else. The Hand turns to a maid. "Veil."
Once Rhaenyra is ready, Aegon approaches with an outstretched arm. "Mandia?"
She takes it. "Valonqar."
Cole and the Hand trail close behind them in front of Ser Harrold. Possibly not picking up on the intentional irony that fuels Aegon and Rhaenyra's every joint performance, The Hand sighs. "We might have avoided all of this had Viserys simply wed them like I'd asked."
"But then they would sit the throne together," Cole reminds him.
The Hand shudders. "Nevermind."
The ceremony does not begin until nightfall. Ostensibly to await the Princess Helaena's return, but no doubt to shroud the injuries the Small Council have accumulated. Princess Helaena gives a lovely speech of her last quiet moments with her father, and Prince Daeron closes the ceremony with a formal speech before bringing Tessarion forth. Aemond does not volunteer to speak, and both Aegon and Rhaenyra are prohibited. Rhaenyra offers no response to the parade of condolences apart from 'thank-you,' and those that try to linger are promptly herded along.
Alicent waits for the crowds to disperse to nod to Aemond. He turns to Rhaenyra and offers his left arm. "It's been some time since you've taken the air, has it not?"
Rhaenyra eyes his arm. "This won't end with you holding my head underwater, will it? I just toned my hair." No one answers for one awkward moment, and she looks down to his right side. "I suppose the fact that you have but one hand is promising." She extracts herself from Aegon to take his arm; Cole is ready to pounce throughout the transfer.
Though he takes her the same manner Aegon did in theory, in practice they lack the familiarity and playful irony of the previous pairing. Alicent whispers to Prince Daeron, who then escorts Princess Helaena away, whilst Aegon, Alicent, Cole with his venom, the Hand and Ser Harrold trail the King and Queen. Additional guards press forward to clear a path. Quite the security to stop one injured woman from running or making a spectacle.
It quickly becomes evident that no one knows how to make pleasant conversation in such an unpleasant situation, which means the unpleasant task is left to Rhaenyra. "Helaena's speech was lovely." She turns back to Aegon. "Valonqar, when were your last quiet moments?"
"Uh…" Aegon says. "I think I was there. Maybe. I don't know, I must have been drunk."
Alicent catches the conversation before silence might fall once more. "What about you, Rhaenyra? Our last moments were the same. The King was speaking of—"
But Rhaenyra does not wish to speak of it. "Hmm. The last time I spent much time with Father alone when he was lucid, would have been his trip to Dragonstone."
"Ah yes," Cole says. "When Prince Daemon turned me away, told the King to put her Grace on a leash, and dropped a fireball on our ship as we left. I cannot imagine why he didn't return."
"He did not want to return — to King's Landing. But the Council insisted, for his health."
Ser Harrold decides to intercede. "It went quite well after the fireball incident was resolved." For most of them, at the least.
Rhaenyra considers. "I think Luke spent the most time with him though. They bonded quite a bit over being whiny patients."
Ser Harrold nods before realizing Rhaenyra cannot see. "I'm just impressed he managed to get on his dragon that morning, without losing half his skin."
Rhaenyra laughs. "I do believe he was motivated by Father telling him to stop the imbeciles. He just… got absorbed along the way. Luke and Baela truly are terrible influences on each other." She turns to Alicent. "And it was an accident, by the way. They merely meant to… have a little fun. Until someone literally dropped the ball. Not that it's an excuse, but they were all young, aside from Daemon. And the culprit got several long lectures. But no one was hurt, correct?"
No one responds.
Because Rhaenyra walks in front of her audience, she does not see the way they tense. But she must feel the way Aemond shifts beside her. How even though he moves very little, his posture shifts from formal to rigid, and how his hold around her arm goes from courtesy masking necessity to undisguised restraint.
Ser Harrold is not the only one skilled with physical cues. Rhaenyra is well-practiced enough that she too must see what's happening. "No one was hurt," she repeats. "Correct? Even on fire, which, admittedly, it should not have been, it was merely a wicker ball."
She's at least making an effort. Admitting wrong on her side's part. Why do they respond with such hostility? And not even intentional hostility.
Not intentional aside from Cole, that is. "That fireball could have set the whole ship alight. You're still awfully quick to make excuses for Prince Daemon. Is there anything he can even do you won't explain away?"
"He choked my son," Rhaenyra says. "If I see him again in my right mind I'll at least break his hands. I almost asked you to set me loose then and there. He learned the hard way once before; I accept that he has a dragon's temper and impulsivity, but the children and I are off-limits."
He would have thought her denouncing Prince Daemon would have elicited at least a little pleasure from some of them, but they all stiffen even further. Ser Harrold wonders how they can even move at this point. Aemond walks as far away from her as he can whilst maintaining his grip. His grip that is now made of iron. Rhaenyra's form has also stiffened. Clearly wanting to seem at ease, she seems to make a real effort to relax her posture. She turns to Aemond. "And what of you, Valzȳrysītsos? What's your last quiet memory with Father?"
Aemond bristles. "Must you call me that?"
"I can hardly call you what I called Daemon only a fortnight before, can I? Nor can I call you what comes to mind, to be honest. But tell me, what was your last good moment with Father? You spent so much more time with him than I did, in the end."
"Unlikely," he says in a voice stiffer than his posture. "He barely knew I was there most of the time."
She reaches her free hand around to rest it on his good hand. "It might have felt that way, but I know he must have appreciated your presence. Even if he wasn't coherent enough to articulate it."
His shoulders do soften for but a moment, but not enough. Something holds them rigid, holds everyone rigid, everyone except for Rhaenyra and Ser Harrold, apparently.
Ser Harrold once again fills the silence. Ser Harrold is not accustomed to being the one to have to fill the silence. "She raises a good point. The King was often more aware than he was able to express — or at at least, he would understand later on." And then he remembers how Alicent had so pressed him for more details on the mummy incident. Perhaps he might entice her. "There was a full day during our visit where the King seemed to regard Lucerys as an actual mummy, to the point where Lucerys started pretending to be one so that the King might save face. Then the next day whilst breaking fast, he turned to Rhaenyra and asked 'why was Lucerys trying so hard to convince me he was a mummy? What a strange child.'"
Rhaenyra laughs, but no one else does. Despite her previous demand for answers, Alicent requests no more. Aegon wears a terrifying fake smile. But the worst reaction comes from Aemond. He stops, turns to Rhaenyra, and closes the distance to tighten his grip — and free his hand, and pulls her back into a walk.
Rhaenyra follows as tensely, and silently, as the rest. All the way back to the Holdfast. Alicent summons a pleasant face. "Does your health not feel improved already? Mayhaps you should get outside daily from now on. Aemond has expressed concern for your health, and he'd be happy to take you again."
Now that Ser Harrold can see his face, it appears Aemond most definitely does not wish to take Rhaenyra again, nor does anyone else seem to think it's a good idea.
"Yes," Cole says. "I think it's important to take her for a daily walk."
"Get new material," Rhaenyra says. "It was one comment six years ago."
Ser Harrold himself had nearly laughed at the comment, though the King had been less than impressed when he'd recounted the exchange at the family dinner several nights later. "Seven Hells, Daemon," the King had sighed. "Why do you have to express yourself in the most inflammatory way possible?
"Because I'm a dragon," the Prince had bragged. "Everything I do is inflammatory."
"Booooh!" jeered literally everyone in the dining room, including Ser Harrold. Several people even tossed bread at him — the King among them.
Rhaenyra made no protest to the protest. "Daemon. I've noticed you hit a point diminishing returns on your japes since you've become a father. Mayhaps that role has made you complacent."
"No dear," the King had said. "You simply matured, whilst he did not."
Though they did return to their meal, the discussion was renewed when they retired to a sitting room and the King insisted on a certain game that soon led to Prince Daemon, the mummy, and Lady Baela all pretending to die of boredom upon the floor. After a lengthy debate overlooking the dead, Rhaenyra and the King then came to the conclusion that whilst Prince Daemon was a bad influence on children, they were also a bad influence on him.
That visit had probably been the last time Rhaenyra spent a significant amount of time with a lucid King. And he cannot help but wonder if there was sincerity in her question to Aemond. Not that it matters, because even Ser Harrold could tell that the exchange had not gone well. And it was through no lack of effort on Rhaenyra's part.
Aegon follows Rhaenyra to her rooms, which means Ser Harrold gets to follow her as well. She turns on Aegon the moment the door closes behind them. "What did I do wrong, Aegon?"
Aegon had been wearing his fake smile for so long it's now glued on. "Uhh… I don't… I cannot tell you."
"Tell me what you can."
Aegon thinks very hard. "Uh… give me some time."
Rhaenyra starts to pace. "Aegon, I thought you said your mother wants us to get along!"
"She does. And… I don't know. Just be grateful Aemond didn't snap and bring up the whole sharply questioned incident. I have a feeling that's going to come up if things keep going this way."
"Seven Hells. That comment was for Alicent's benefit."
"Everyone knows that," Aegon says accurately. Even Ser Harrold could see that. "Doesn't mean he's not bitter about it."
"Bitter? You know what's bitter? The ocean!" She shakes her head. "I'm fucked."
"Well, not yet. But if you unbutton your nightgown, you could probably get it down to thirty seconds."
They both glare at him.
She does sit Aegon down and he does try to explain without explaining, but they seem to be running in circles. Until Rhaenyra excuses herself and Aegon turns to Ser Harrold. "Oof," he sighs. "That was so awkward so many times. But I have no idea how to tell her not to bring up Luke without her figuring out that Aemond killed him."
"What."
Aegon blinks, then clamps his hand over his mouth as he gasps an "Oh!" He looks frantically around the room. "Fuck, I thought they told you."
He pulls a small notebook from his inner coat with the word Secrets scrawled across the cover, and spends some time leafing through it before pointing to a page. "Ah! They changed their mind. They're going to tell you after the war council now. Oops. Pretend to be surprised, I'm in enough trouble for telling the wrong things to the wrong people. One more slip and no one will tell me anything!"
"What are you doing?" Rhaenyra asks. Aegon jumps. Ser Harrold would have were he not frozen. Despite the stress, she seems more relaxed now that the day is behind them. She simply blinks with mild curiosity.
Aegon is not frozen, but he is certainly lost. "I…"
Rhaenyra gives him her stern parental stare. "Valonqar, do you truly have a book containing all your secrets labelled Secrets?" she asks, nodding to the book that mercifully landed closed when Aegon jumped.
"It was getting so hard to keep track of who knows what!"
Rhaenyra crosses her arms as she stands over him. "Aegon. You're smarter than you think you are."
"I am?"
"I… appreciate the zeal, but I'm sure if you think about it, you can see why keeping all your secrets written down in one book might be a problem."
Ser Harrold just watches. It's all he can do. It's all he can do lately. It's all he's ever done.
Aegon searches the ceiling for answers, which he does find after a few moments. "Oh…" He looks down to his book. "Oh. This is not good." He stands. "I'm… just going to burn this."
But the maids are not watching. They do not care enough to watch when both Aegon and Ser Harrold are in the room.
Rhaenyra nods in approval. "Good idea."
Ser Harrold has watched without seeing for long enough. To the detriment of those he's sworn to protect. He stands. "Absolutely not. I'm not letting this one get anywhere near fire after yesterday."
Aegon nods. "That's fair."
Rhaenyra does not nod. Rhaenyra gives him a warning look. But she does not stop him as he swiftly grabs the book and makes his way to the fireplace. Nor does she question him when he turns so that his cloak might obscure their view of him slipping the book into his pocket and adding a piece of tinder in its place.
Rhaenyra rubs her eyes when he turns around. "I think I will retire for the night. I hope I'll see you two tomorrow?"
Aegon yawns. "Not like I have anything better to do. Grandsire says no partying whilst Court is so tense."
But Rhaenyra's attention is not on Aegon. She shakes her head ever so slightly. Because she doesn't want to know.
Do not tell her. It was part of the conditions.
Tell her what?
Oh, no. You truly have no idea what's happening, do you?
But Ser Harrold needs to know.
Aegon's writing is no more organized than his mind. There is no reason or order that Ser Harrold can discern to which pages contain secrets and lies and cover stories and profiles of what each person knows. Ser Harrold's mind is not chaotic enough to discern the reason behind it, if there is even reason behind it. But reading enough pieces lets the picture fall into place.
Flew into her mouth!
Rhaenyra — Deal — are we seducing Aemond? — Gross — Find Seal
Rhaenyra = Aemond fell off broken saddle
After Heir? Dragonstone?
Mother = reunite Rhaenyra with sons (don't tell Council) How? Which ones? (Not Luke, obviously)
Is Rhaenyra in denial about the squid?
Rhaenyra doesn't like it when you share details about her carnal activities with Prince Daemon unless she decides it's fine and she wants to make people uncomfortable
Cole + Rhaenyra = ?
Mother: Aemond = Rhaenyra's 'protector' Orys style
Find more people I can tell about how Aemond got pummeled by a little girl
Court = Jace "took" Blackfyre on his last visit without asking. But truth is so funny!
Flew. Into. Her. Mouth.
Gods be good. These people killed her son.
These people killed her son.
These people took her hostage and killed her son.
And they're lying to her about it.
He accosts the first person he encounters. "Did you know?" he demands of Ser Willis.
"Know w—"
"Storm's End!"
"Oh. Yes, terrible tragedy. And it's essentially sealed the fate of the girl — though no one dare speak it yet. Wild, willful, and wanton, as we feared, and now this? Even Tyland won't take her now."
"Where is the Dowager Queen?" Though she'd officially moved to the Tower of the Hand, he had yet to hear of her spending time there.
"The King's Apartment, last I saw."
The Hightowers deemed the coin threat enough to allow him to leave the white sword tower. Though they were quick to enlighten him earlier that if he shakes the new 'squire' that follows him Cole will find a coin within moments of being notified.
He has but four words for the woman who opens the door. "Flew into her mouth."
Alicent sighs. "Aegon. Why must he find the most inflammatory way to tell a story?"
This family …
She looks around nervously and ushers him into the corridor. "Not so loud," she whispers as she guides him further away from the door. "Aemond has suffered enough. Several times a night he wakes up screaming from nightmares."
"Good! May they follow him to the Seven Hells!"
"It was an accident."
"When you start a fire, you are responsible for all who burn. Even if it burns out of control," he declares. "Those were the words of the King."
"Lucerys lost control and fired first," she tells herself.
"Because he was a boy of four-and-ten being chased by an enemy on the largest dragon in the world!"
"Aemond made a mistake. But there's nothing we can do now, except not allow the flames to further spread."
"That's what fire does! You think this will not taint his every action? He's a kinslayer."
She shakes her head. "He is still young. He has time to grow."
"He is a man grown. And was Rhaenyra not his age when she made the choices you've now decided should doom her? At least she never set her dragon off on anyone!"
The door opens slightly. "What's happening?" the voice of a half-asleep kinslayer asks.
Alicent pulls the door closed as she answers. "Nothing, sweetling. Go back to sleep."
She guides him even further away from the door. "He barely sleeps at night as it is."
"He should not sleep at all!"
"I will make this right, Ser Harrold. I promise. But I cannot raise her son from the dead!"
"Are you not the one who insisted on an eye for an eye?"
She drops any attempt to lower her voice. "Because I knew no other justice would come!"
"And what of justice for Lucerys? For Rhaenyra?"
She crosses her arms. "Unlike Rhaenyra, I do take crimes seriously. He will atone for his mistake. He will atone through Rhaenyra."
"Does she know that she's a part of this plan to soothe your conscience"
"Would you prefer he be cruel to her? What else would you have me do?"
"Why don't you take her on a nice carriage ride? Breathe some fresh air. Then drop her off at the dragonpit!"
In my unprecedented rage I seem to have finally mastered sarcasm. How interesting.
"Be serious," she actually demands.
"How to you expect him to be kind to her when he bristles every time she mentions her son! His guilt turns to defensiveness turns to rage."
She needs to take her time studying her hands before responding. "Aemond is cursed with honesty. Secrecy does not become him. He needs practice. And mayhaps Rhaenyra should learn what… annoys him."
"What annoys him?"
"Well we cannot exactly tell her tha—"
"That you kidnapped her to marry to kin-slayer?"
And then she does turn from defensive to solemn. "If you tell her you'll kill her. In more ways than one."
He spares her not another glance before he leaves. "How convenient for you."
If Rhaenyra wanted to know, Rhaenyra would know. Because she knows they are keeping something from her. Rhaenyra knows how to read people. And she especially knows how to read dragons. Because Rhaenyra raised seven children and a Daemon.
"Alright," Rhaenyra had said as she paced atop the Dragonmont with a serious-looking Rhaena at her tail. "Who did it?"
"Daemon," the King had declared from the rock he'd settled upon.
"Now now, Father, I will not hurl accusations without cause. We have four suspects from the scene of the crime, do we not?" She appraised the lineup she had assembled of four dragons trying far too hard to look casual, with Caraxes, Vermax, Moondancer and Arrax perched behind them.
"Id wus an accidond," mumbled the mummy dragon. "No wun is ad fauld"
"Except for Daemon," the King argued.
Rhaenyra ignored him. "I am expected to believe that you all decided to wake up early and play dragon ball out of coincidence? Over that specific departing ship? And light the ball in the daytime?"
The four dragons remained resolute in their silence. The dragons behind them began to shift.
"Alright," Rhaenyra said. "Let's start with this. Whose idea was it?"
"Daemon's," said the King.
Rhaenyra stopped in front of Vermax, who was now twitching much more than the others. "Jace?"
"I just wanted to… make them uncomfortable. We were just going to toss the ball around as they left!"
"So who dropped the ball?"
"Daemon."
The Rogue Prince threw his hands up and glared at the King. Rhaenyra assessed Caraxes. "No…" She continued her survey until Arrax averted his gaze. "Luke?"
"Muhbe! Muh skin's falling off und I cunt see—
Prince Daemon laughed. "You what?"
Rhaenyra turned back to the perpetrator. "Yes?"
"I cunt see good so muhbe."
Rhaenyra nodded. "Very well." But she did not cease her pacing. Nor did Rhaena cease her head shaking. "But you could not have lit the ball without noticing."
"Because it was Daemon."
Rhaenyra raised a finger. "Which means someone else did."
"Daemon."
"It was me," Jacaerys blurted. Rhaenyra came to a stop.
"Oh Jacaerys," lamented the King. "I expected better from you."
"So you're disappointed?" Prince Daemon exclaimed. "You were ready to toss me in the dungeons!"
The King glared. "Because unlike you, he might outgrow being a child."
But Rhaenyra was still not finished. "But more importantly, Jace is a gentleman. A gentleman who wishes to protect girls that he's sweet on." Her eyes then rested on Moondancer, who was trying to curl into herself to escape notice. "Baela?"
Baela's eyes brimmed with tears. "She gets away with everything. It isn't fair! And now she's somehow the victim again!"
Rhaenyra was firm but not fiery. "Baela, you endangered everyone on that ship."
"I just wanted to show her that she's playing with fire! I didn't expect Luke to drop it, and even so, no one was hurt! It's just wicker."
The King then did rise. "What if they'd been carrying something flammable? Baela, when you set a fire, you are responsible for all that burns. However far that fire spreads, however dry the ground, it's still your fire."
"So who burned Luke?" Baela demanded.
The King sighed. "She was not in her right mind. She wasn't thinking clearly."
Prince Daemon then did step in. "Why does she get that excuse?" he demanded. "Baela is eight."
The King ignored his brother. "Because you're a dragonrider, Baela. You don't influence power, you are power. The actions you take are your own. The consequences are your own."
"So what if I'd dropped knives unto them instead?" Baela choked through her tears.
"That's enough," Prince Daemon declared. "Lesson learned. Fireballs bad. She didn't even mean for someone to drop it. No one was hurt."
"But someone could have been," the King insisted. "And that would have been on you, Baela."
"Then tell me Brother, if you can backtrack the cause so well, that the fireball landing on the ship isn't the consequence of your wife being a stab-happy bitch."
"Yuh," said the mummy.
The King did not push. "The children have been under a lot of stress. I suggest we let this go."
Prince Daemon made a not-so-subtle attempt to shift the focus away from Baela. "I would just like to point out, that despite being the sole innocent person in the lineup, I was the one threatened with the dungeons."
Not-so-subtle to everyone but the King. "Daemon. We just had to line you up in a suspect row next to children. Do not get so high and mighty." Everyone else then gratefully jumped on the subject change to Prince Daemon's immaturity, because everyone was eager to let it go.
Everyone but the girl in tears.
Ser Harrold could not help but wonder if he ever gave that speech to the child who needed it. Or if it even mattered to one so flooded with insistence on their innocence. Alicent will blame neither her son nor herself. But Ser Harrold is pretty certain of who does blame herself.
They try again the morning after.
Cole likes to test Rhaenyra. On the morning of the first day he turns to Ser Willis. "I heard Prince Daemon actually declared he would solely and actively stack the Kingsguard with sword swallowers."
"That's true," Rhaenyra says. "He said he doesn't like being surrounded by frustrated men, but oaths that give up marriage are too often interpreted as oaths of chastity. Easier if they can just… enjoy each other. Or at least others without risk of child."
Mayhaps he has judged Prince Daemon too harshly over the years.
"That's foul," Cole sneers. Aemond's form shudders in turn.
Rhaenrya laughs. "Do not be so quick to dismiss, Valzȳrysītsos. Did you not pay attention to your readings? Dragons are as mutable as flame."
Ser Harrold learns much about mind games the following week. He does not consider himself qualified to be Rhaenyra's confidant in the matter, but as she has no other options, Ser Harrold and Aegon must rise to the task. At least Rhaenyra is a patient instructor.
The whispers start on the second day. They take Rhaenyra out earlier and earlier, and occasionally later. Hightower men scout ahead to prevent chance encounters. Aemond is courteous if distant, until he is 'annoyed.' And even though each time they begin their walk with their arms veiled in courtesy, by the end it is always a blatant restraint.
"This isolation isn't forever," Alicent tells him the night of the third day. "We can keep her on Dragonstone once we take it. Or once she's with child we can move her somewhere remote."
"Does she know we can hear her?" Aegon whispers to Rhaenyra. When they chose a late excursion he had taken to escorting Rhaenyra by her opposite arm — and subtly squeezing it when she was in dangerous territory. But he could not do it every time, lest Rhaenyra catch on. Rhaenyra herself had suggested throwing in random signals.
How does one tell a woman, 'That man killed your son. Try not to trigger his guilt,' without actually telling her?
On the morning of the fourth day, Rhaenyra asks about his studies. They'd managed to imply by then that mentioning her family in general was a risky topic, but that also meant it was difficult to get personal. She instead decides to try to get him to talk about himself, as many so love to do. She expresses all the appropriate sentiments and commends him for finishing several volumes she had yet to complete. But he's still on edge, searching for an attack in every word — as are the mother and men that guard him.
Ser Harrold cannot exactly accuse him of being paranoid. He would also be on edge speaking to the mother of a boy he had not-so-secretly murdered. But worse than that, he was defensive. Always looking for a way to push the guilt onto Rhaenyra.
Truly his mother's son.
And so on the fifth day, when whispers have no doubt reached him, he less-than-organically finds a reason to say, "Tell me, do you make a habit of requesting that children be 'sharply questioned.'"
And there lies the dilemma Rhaenyra had already laid out. She cannot fight back without enraging every Hightower around her. Nor can she acquiesce and apologize, because who would ever believe that Rhaenyra Targaryen as she is now would apologize about that night. It will simply seem insincere. Fearful, like she'll say anything he wants to hear. Or worse, duplicitous.
Rhaenyra does try for a middle ground, at the least. She tightens their linked arms and uses one of her softest motherly voices. "I'm sorry you were caught in the middle. That was an argument taking place around you, not regarding you. But I imagine to a child it would feel one and the same."
But as Ser Harrold feared, whilst Aegon certainly enjoys being regarded and cared for as a child, Aemond does not. He utters not one more word for that excursion, nor do any of the Hightowers.
"The difference is, Aemond already has a mother," Aegon so aptly and self-awarely puts it after a similar failure on the sixth day. Though Aemond's body language had told them much the same already. At least this time he is annoyed rather than defensive.
Ser Harrold also starts to fear that the events of this week have only reinforced Aegon's view that he is much better suited for Rhaenyra than Aemond is. Not that there's much they can do about it, as useful as he is. "Not to mention," Aegon drones as they leave Rhaenyra's apartment together, Ser Harrold's 'squire' trailing behind. "My manhood wasn't stolen by a little girl. Which means I'm not all sensitive about it."
They do not need to shroud themselves in much secrecy, at the least. For the time being the Hightowers want exactly what Rhaenyra wants. They do want Rhaenyra and the kinslayer to get along, at the least. But they want it on their terms. Him the saviour, the rescuer. Her the damsel. Aegon is kind enough to relay as much.
But Rhaenyra is not a damsel. She's a dragon, as she's quick to point out. And they know it. If she plays too nice they'll suspect her. But… if this goes on for too long they might suspect that she has more cause for hope than they currently know about. There's no good path forward here.
Finally, out of desperation, Ser Harrold approaches the woman who loves to talk about lighting the way down paths. "Let me talk to her. Make it look like an oversight that we're alone. You're right, I have no reason to tell her. But mayhaps I can… guide her around the subject."
"Guide her to what?" Alicent asks.
"Whatever it takes to prevent her from being miserable here."
"She needs to come to him," Alicent says. "She needs to realize that only he can protect her."
"She's trying."
"She's trying to manipulate him. I'm not stupid, and neither is Aemond."
How does one tell their captor what they want to hear without seeming manipulative? He sighs. "This is Rhaenyra."
"She needs to let him determine how to proceed."
"How does she do that when she keeps walking into traps that you set?"
"Time, I suppose."
"Let me try to reason with her, at least. Alone… she will know it comes from me." But she still hesitates. "She needs to be protected," he reminds her.
Alicent nods. "We can… be short on maids tonight. Perhaps you might find yourselves alone whilst they fetch water for her bath."
And hour later, Alicent is true to her word. He seizes the chance immediately. "Rhaenyra… you know I took Aegon's book."
"I cannot, Ser Harrold."
"I'm not disagreeing with you." He puts his hands up. "It's not… it's a strategic matter," he lies. "But in regards to Aemond, I think he's… on the defensive. Regarding your situation. And he'd rather think of you as the villain than himself."
She nods as if she's considered it.
"There's something else. He suffered a sort of, well, I cannot tell you just to be safe. But as Aegon likes to say, he's sensitive about his… manhood. I do not know if simply being nice to him will elicit a good response."
"I see it," Rhaenyra says. "He does not want to be coddled. He wants to feel like a man. A good man." She sighs. "Two things mean the same thing."
"What?"
She turns to him. "Will you follow my orders, Ser Harrold?"
"Of course."
"I really didn't want to do this. Especially so soon. But I'm running out of options."
"Do what?"
She scowls. "Drop my pride. Right into shark-infested waters."
"Rhaenyra."
She looks him in the eyes. "Whatever happens, don't interfere until after. Keep your distance. Pretend like you don't know what's happening. Is that understood?"
"I don't understand any of this," he admits.
"He's an Alicent. He wants… to feel included. But he won't believe me if I just grant it to him." She considers something she clearly does not wish to consider. "Bring me Aegon. He should be up for it. And if I don't succeed, at least we'll have some fun. Tell him as much."
With that promise, Aegon returns with him right away. Rhaenyra sits in wait, a half-empty wineglass in her hand. "I'm done trying to get along with our brother," she declares. "He's impossible."
"Yah… they've really set you up to fail." Ser Harrold casts him a warning look. "I told them to limit the relationship to two-minute intervals. Though…" he eyes her, "I still think you should take my advice, by the way. Thirty seconds."
"Aegon!" they both snap.
Rhaenyra finishes her drink. "If I'm stuck with him, we're going to have some fun. Who knows, mayhaps he'll actually learn something."
She looks to Ser Harrold, puts a finger over her mouth to indicate that this is a secret, and proceeds conspiratorially in Valyrian. Aegon seems to like what he hears.
Ser Harrold has a feeling he will not like his orders.
"Good evening, Valzȳrysītsos," Rhaenyra trills when Aemond comes to retrieve her. She is far more nonchalant than before. And far less attentive. "Where is Aegon? Does he not usually accompany us at night?"
"He's not yet back from his ride."
This is the first time that Rhaenyra does not offer her arm as part of the farce, so he's forced to pursue her down the corridor and grab her arm himself. She pouts. "You walk in such straight lines."
He sighs. "Are you drunk again?"
"No, well, not just that. I'm sick of this."
Alicent sighs but seems unsurprised. None of their escorts seem surprised. Though Cole definitely seems annoyed. Aemond almost seems relieved. Easier if your victim gives you good reason to be annoyed with them, mayhaps.
They are more prisoner and warden than ever tonight, as Aemond constantly must hold her back from her meandering. "Ugh, you even walk boring," she complains.
That earns an earnest response at last. "What does that even mean?" he demands.
"Exactly. I bet you fly in a straight line too."
"Why wouldn't he?" Cole asks.
Rhaenyra shakes her head, just as Sunfyre appears over the Keep. "Uh oh, looks like someone's using the gardens as a landing pad."
"Not again," Alicent sighs. She turns to the men. "Secure our path to Sunfyre, before he can run inside and pretend to be asleep."
"Finally, someone interesting," Rhaenyra says.
"What is wrong with you?" Alicent demands.
"I'm sick of all of this. I'm sick of playing pretend. I've done everything I thought I was supposed to do, and then you send Ser Harrold to tell me I need to be nicer?"
Cole decides to be helpful. "I think what he must have meant was, accept your position."
"You don't like it when I accept my position! You get uncomfortable and defensive. I'm in an impossible situation where it's impossible to please you all!"
Ser Harrold does not know how he's supposed to react, so he settles for acting tired. Truly like times of old.
"Sharply questioned," Rhaenyra mutters. She turns to Aemond. "How exactly did you think I would respond? I'm your prisoner, after all. Were you hoping I'd fall to my knees and beg forgiveness for my heinous crime of trying to draw out the person who put those idiotic words in your mouth?"
Aemond does not yell, but his voice is tight when he responds in turn. "Those true words? You wanted to have me tortured for speaking words that were true."
She rolls her whole head with her eyes. "I made a hyperbole, to draw out your mother, for handing you words that you did not yet understand endanger lives."
"True. Words." Aemond insists. He throws his hands up just enough in consternation for Rhaenyra to slip away and face him as she walks backwards.
She does not stray far enough from him for the men to interfere — she is surrounded after all. But she certainly is, as the Hand would say, forgetting herself. "True words false words, what does it matter when life and death is involved?"
They're getting closer to Sunfyre. Alicent was clearly the one expected to run ahead and tell Aegon to put his dragon where it belongs, but she seems unwilling to miss the exchange, and possibly live her dream argument vicariously through Aemond, so she orders a Hightower man to do so.
But Alicent's efforts to witness were for naught, because Rhaenyra takes the argument to High Valyrian. And now that he is unable to understand the words, he cannot help but notices that whilst Rhaenyra is certainly antagonistic, her mannerisms are not aggressive. They're teasing.
She starts putting slightly more distance between her and Aemond, all whilst continuing backward — closer and closer to Sunfyre — whose rider appears to have already gone inside to pretend to sleep. Aemond follows her out of obligation — and fear.
"Rhaenyra," he implores, though for what Ser Harrold does not know. But then the word emerges once again from her lips, and this time Ser Harrold recognizes it.
She's talking about dragonfire. She's talking about dragonfire in High Valyrian. And she's using the Valyrian word for it. She's about to say dracarys whilst the two of them stand in front of a dragon. A dragon that is now very interested in the faint words it's overheard.
"Rhaenyra," Aemond says, trying to draw her back into Common. "Stop saying that word." Though he does not think to tell her there is a dragon behind her — and in front of Aemond.
Rhaenyra cocks her head. "What? Dracarys?"
Sunfyre jumps to attention. His mouth opens.
His mouth ignites. Everyone freezes.
"Why?" Rhaenyra asks. Too loudly. "It's true, is it not? Dracarys means dragonfire!"
Alicent screams, and everyone ducks futilely, except for Rhaenyra. Sunfyre sprays fire.
Into the sky.
Rhaenyra is the first to laugh. Then Aegon starts laughing even before he emerges from the saddle blankets. "She got you! She got you all!"
Aemond is the first to recover words. "Are you serious?"
Rhaenyra laughs and dances as she speaks. "I only spoke true words"
Be it the words, the attitude, the dance or simply the distance, Rhaenyra goes too far. Ser Harrold is close enough to see, but too far away to stop it. Rhaenyra gets caught by a shark.
Her laugh turns to screams.
"Uh oh, shark attack!" Aegon shouts. "Shark attack! Seriously, is someone going to do something?"
But Ser Harrold is blocked by Hightower men, and soldiers are not accustomed to interfering with Kingsguard who don't double as prisoners. Rhaenyra knows that better than anyone.
Rhaenyra is at least no longer screaming. She's crying. And Cole is barking something into her ear. He still does not let go.
Ser Harrold manages to break through, but Aemond's voice renders his efforts moot. "Seven Hells Cole, it was a stupid jape! Let her go!"
He does, but not before muttering one last line into her ear, a line that elicits a whimper. He lets him go onto the ground. "Not so brave without your father or your uncle. I always knew it. You were never strong. You were spoiled."
She's there for but a moment before Ser Harrold reaches her. She clings to him with only one arm, whilst shifting his cloak to obscure her dangling right arm.
"Alright," Aegon calls. "That escalated way past the point it should have. Does no one else here have a sense of humour?" Sunfyre moans an agreement.
Seizing the distraction, Rhaenyra grabs his left hand and wraps it around her upper right arm. "Twist it," he thinks she orders.
What.
She whispers through chattering teeth. "I gave you an order."
To harm her.
"Now," she insists. Even though he wears a metal gauntlet.
But so does Cole.
He did promise to follow her orders. So he starts to. Gently.
"Harder," she grits.
He does, and she swallows a gasp of pain he hopes that only he can here. "Keep going," she orders before he can stop. "Do not stop until I tap out."
Aemond and Cole are yelling, Alicent stands between them, her voice rising to the top.
How can a man of honour hurt his queen, orders be damned? But then he looks to the Hightowers, who have spent so long hurting Rhaenyra without 'hurting' her, and he understands what she means to do. He wishes it wasn't him, but he's all she has.
He's all she has.
He twists. She bites part of his cloak to muffle her cry, and then she does, mercifully for the both of them, tap out. She takes a few breaths to steady herself before returning to a hoarse whisper. "Tell them I said I don't think I'm hurt, but I'm not saying much else because I'm hysterical. But I'm embarrassed about it and don't want any of them to see me crying. Either you stay with me without them or I want to be alone, but I don't want company. Aegon will understand."
She resume those sobs that sound suspiciously sincere.
The Hightowers end their argument, or at least, pause their argument long enough for Ser Harrold to do so, and they are given a heavy escort of Hightower men back to her suite. He suspects their acquiescence stems mostly from not wanting to confront the product of their making.
The surprise of Ser Harrold arriving with only lowly soldiers is enough to convince the maids to leave them for a time — after helping Rhaenyra change. Though he suspects that trick will only work once. And will not work for long.
"Should I call for the Maester?" he asks when she tells him it's safe to step inside the curtains.
"No, not yet. I need to wait. Just… I want to go to sleep before the pain sets in. Which should be easy." She nods to the cup she drinks from. "I think my family sent me an additional gift." She considers. "Or even a weapon."
Alright. At least one of them knows what's happening.
And what the fuck is this? Get him under control.
No. Don't.
Or mayhaps he does too.
Mind games, Westerling. Mind games.
She sits on her bed and finishes her cup of 'weapon,' before addressing him again. "I'm sorry you had to do that, Ser Harrold. But it will be worth it, I promise."
Aemond didn't like it…
Because she needs a protector. Because she has no protector. "I'm sorry," he says. "I cannot protect you. I'm useless."
She offers a sad smile. "You're not useless. You're… toothless. You are set up to fail, which means you need to make your own purpose. And knowing Daemon, and how he needs to feel in control, he probably arranged a score of projects before he left. There's likely a save Ser Harrold or recruit Ser Harrold task force out there right now."
"Rhaenyra. What are we doing?"
Her lids are already heavy. Apparently, the gift works. "Waiting. Hoping. Praying."
He helps her into bed, careful not to disturb her arm. "For what?" he asks, claiming the bedside seat.
She makes herself comfortable. "Daemon needs to… do something. The Velaryons are stalling for him. You need to help them. Help them stall."
"How far does he need to—"
"That's not the problem. It's not just a place he needs to get to. He needs to find something. And to do that I worry he's going to need to ask people — nicely. And talk to them rationally."
We're doomed.
She appraises him. "But I think you're weighed down with enough secrets, Ser Harrold.
Don't tell me. I promised."
He had failed. He had failed to protect her in every possible way. But he could do this. This that she asks of him. "It's… not relevant for now. You don't need to think about it. Just… strategy. Prince Daemon merely thought that pretending not to know, or having to pretend that it affects the war in a way you know it doesn't, would add too much strain. You have enough to worry about. And they have enough reasons to suspect you."
She smiles her Realm's Delight smile. "You heard about the mop?"
"It's legend at this point."
She closes her eyes. "Ser Harrold," she says. "I'm shy. I cannot cry myself to sleep for real until you're not there."
There are other ways to help her.
"Good," he says. "No wonder you still have that cough. You need to take better care of yourself. Your dragons are all flying wild, and something tells me you'll have to get right to work wrangling them the moment we're free."
She nods into her pillow.
Fly fast, Prince Daemon. Be nice. Speak rationally.
We're doomed.
One more question, before she's out. "So, why..."
"They need to think they've tamed me," she says without opening her eyes. "Or they'll keep trying until they kill me. But I have to help them. Because I'm a dragon, so there's no truly taming me."
"No," he agrees. "There's not."
"Now they think they have. Or they will. But you know what my father said when he made me heir?"
"Tell me."
She smiles with her eyes closed. "The idea that we control the dragons is an illusion."
It certainly is.