RHAENYRA

The moment her door closed the night of their wedding, Daemon had shoved her against the wall.

"I have my own conditions," he'd declared.

Rather than struggle, she'd merely given him a taunting smile. "You're too late. You're supposed to tell me before we wed. That's how conditions work."

He responded by turning her around to face the wall. "This isn't negotiable, is the problem," he'd growled into her ear. "My conditions became non-negotiable the moment you let me into this room. Out there, you might outrank me. One day you'll be my Queen, and I'll walk behind you, obey your orders, do as you bid, kneel before you, even crown you myself if you wish. But the moment you step into this room — you are mine."

With that last word he'd pressed her as firmly against the stone as was probably safe, so he did not see that her smile had devoured her face until her eyes had closed and her cheeks had flushed like a lovesick maiden. But he certainly felt every part of her curl in glee.

For a moment she'd hoped he might take her there and then, until he backed away. "Go lay down on the bed," he ordered before she could be too disappointed.

He took his cruel time to follow her, letting her lay in anticipation. Until he finally, and by that point, mercifully, approached to loom over her the way Caraxes prepares to devour his prey.

The problem did not occur to her until he lunged.

"Daemon! We never chose a safe word!"

He froze. "Oh," he realized. "You're right."

They both exchanged looks that said neither of them were in the right mind to do so. But Daemon was clearly planning on being aggressive that night.

"Kēlītīs should suffice for tonight," she suggested. They could go one night without accidentally otherwise saying the Valyrian word for stop.

Daemon exhaled. "Good catch." Then resumed his hungry Caraxes impression. "I was not planning on being gentle.

Her blood thawed and burned all at once. "Good."

They kindly choose Ser Harrold to try to rouse her first, but she refuses to engage. She has to. She has to sell this.

She'd worried that her newly returned energy would make it difficult, but whoever had mixed the honey had added more tincture than they should have. At least, she hopes it's more than usual, or she might need to start feeling bad for poisoning Daemon all those times. But then she remembers how annoying he could be and what a relief those silent hours were, and she decides otherwise.

Ser Harrold returns three times that morning before giving up, and she hopes he understands.

The gargoyles leave her be until late midday, when one pulls her from the bed — by her left arm, fortunately — and forces her to rise long enough for all necessities of life and health. She is no ordinary prisoner after all, she's a special one. One they need something from. Or rather, one with a body they need something from. And she cannot help but think of how her treatment mirrors her mother's.

On the more challenging days of her more difficult pregnancies, Rhaenyra had often witnessed her mother try to spend the day in bed — only to be roused by Maesters and nurses and midwives who insisted on various needs of the baby.

"Enjoy your maiden days while you can," her mother had often said to Rhaenyra and her companions. "I promise you, the day you conceive a child is the day your body stops being your own." And whilst Alicent had clearly taken this as advice, Rhaenyra had seen it for what it was — a warning.

And then she came of age, and the proposals started to arrive. Proposals to buy her and lock her in a tower where she'd be made to squeeze out heirs until she died like her mother, proposals Otto would have been happy to accept. Proposals that her father made clear she'd soon be forced to accept. Proposals her father sent her on a tour to force her to accept, as if she could view a line of buyers as romantic prospects when she was not what they sought.

But it was not until that morning standing under the weirwood, with Alicent shaking in rage and betrayal at the thought of Rhaenyra sullying herself, that to sully herself was somehow an affront to others, that she realized — her body had never been her own.

She had done everything else expected of an heir. She'd served as cupbearer for far longer than any male heir would have been expected to do so. She came prepared to meetings and paid attention and participated as much as she saw fit — though probably much more than the men saw fit. She read all the right books and studied all the right histories and memorized all the right information about the realm and how it was run. And when Alicent made it impossible to push anything through to run the Council, she'd run Dragonstone instead.

She'd done everything she was supposed to do — except in relation to her body. But, as Alicent had taught her, that was not enough. Because her body was not her own.

So she'd given it to men she trusted for safekeeping, men who would relinquish their 'claim,' after only a single safe word, and finally earned a name that did not relate her to a man. No longer the King's great-granddaughter, the King's daughter, the Realm's Delight even, she had a name that was all her own. The name that now all around her think of her by — if not speak aloud. And though she'd been prepared enough to block out most of the shark's words, that name had made it through the net, over and over again.

Whore.

The one Green who does not use that name tries to wake her.

"Rhaenyra…" Aegon says, more hesitantly than he's ever addressed her. "You alright?"

She makes no response, and he leaves after several more attempts.

Until he returns. "Rhaenyra!" Aegon shouts. It sounds like he's jumping. "Grandsire finally had to surface at a shouting match about the shark attack and I know why he hasn't shown his face for the past few days! The swelling is down! And it wasn't a goose egg goose egg, it was a Caraxes egg!"

She remains face down.

"Rhaenyra, did you hear me? Grandsire has Caraxes engraved into his forehead. It's almost faded but you can still just make it out!"

The gods are testing her resolve. Or the Greens are. Either way, it's a difficult test, and she stirs.

Aegon notices. "I know, right? Do you think it was a happy coincidence, or do you think Prince Daemon spent a whole night at target practice to prepare?"

"More than a whole night," she mumbles, rolling over to face him but refusing to get up or even open her eyes the whole way. "He's been preparing for a chance like that for years." Though she'd forbidden him from practicing on people. So he'd had new seals made with a deeper imprint than normal just to be safe.

Aegon makes a stupid, gleeful face that Rhaenyra cannot help but notice mirrors the stupid face Daemon made when she finally let him see her breasts. Honestly, they should have countered the rumours of her sons' parentage with a story of their own — anyone who didn't know better would believe Aegon was Daemon's son.

Perhaps she should be grateful to the Green Viper, for warning her how her two youngest might turn out if she's not careful — or patient. Failure is the best way to learn after all, and the best failures to learn from are the failures of others.

The Green Viper's failure refuses to fail in his mission. He knows better than to try to shake her fully awake, but he does practically jump on her bed. "Rhaenyra! It's right there! Everyone else refuses to laugh to his face and I don't know if it will last any longer!"

She rolls back onto her stomach so he cannot see her temptation.

He keeps trying. "I don't think you need to worry about the shark today — Aemond was furious."

Of course he was. No one likes others damaging their things. Because she'd gone right from being Daemon's to being his. And it was not lost upon her that, even though they wanted Daemon dead, they had gone through all that trouble, all those lies, all those justifications, to justify taking Rhaenyra from Daemon, but made not one move to justify taking Rhaenyra herself.

"And Grandsire doesn't hit women," he assures her.

He doesn't?

Oh. But Rhaenyra's not a woman. She's a whore.

"I think," he amends. "Just to be safe, I'll stand in front so I take the smack," he offers. "See, I can be gallant. I even got some ice to numb my face first! But even it's not enough, it's going to be so worth it."

Hoping that a melancholic woman can ask about the attack that traumatized her without drawing suspicions of malingering, she decides to take a chance. "What happened to Cole?" she asks into her pillow.

"Mother and Aemond brought him to Grandsire today. Grandsire said from what he's heard it was unseemly and he risked exposing us to speculation if a witness had managed to sneak through, but that you could do well with a little bit of humility. Aemond argued it was excessive and that he doesn't want you terrorized for acting like… you. Mother said he was too aggressive and you're already 'fragile' enough. I said they shouldn't discourage the one other fun person around from making things interesting."

Eww. To all of it, except that last part.

Also, ow. Her pride. But not just her pride. How much effort had she put in over the years to prove to the men around her that she was not some delicate snivelling princess? That her woman's heart would not give way under pressure? That she was fit to rule? And for a brief moment that worry returns. Who will ever think her fit to rule after all of this?

You do what you need to do, I understand. Should anyone refuse to understand, I'll just kill them.

Perhaps she might need to hold him to that promise for other reasons. In fact, she'll consider herself lucky if she need only send Daemon after people for calling her a weak woman, rather than a whore.

Right, back to work. She needs to test the waters. "Shark?"

"He's not allowed to be alone with you."

"He's never 'been allowed' to be alone with me." And in truth, she does not care if the shark is alone with her. He only attacks when he thinks he's provoked, after all. Otherwise, the worst he does is speak nonsense. And if she needs to be unconscious again, she'd even rather he be with her — he's the only one truly watching out for tentacles.

But he's the easiest to bait, and the easiest to catch. It has to be him.

But for now the bait must play dead. So she does — with great effort. This might be her most difficult challenge yet.

I've missed Aegon's first flight. I've missed Luke's wedding. And now I'm missing the most amazing sight imaginable.

Unless it's a test. Are they testing her? Regardless, staying in bed after they know that she knows is the best way to convince them.

'Where is duty, where is sacrifice?' Alicent had demanded. Well, she's getting what she wished for. Rhaenyra must make the ultimate sacrifice to perform her duty.

Must. Resist. Urge. To. Rise. And. Mock. Otto. With. Caraxes. Engraved. On. His. Forehead.

She consoles herself by resolving to apply the seal once again — with heat.

But Aegon is not aware of Rhaenyra's plan to console herself. Aegon, for all his faults, is a good brother in this regard and must know how much pleasure the sight would bring her, and how much the two of them would share in it. He actually jumps on the bed. "Rhaenyra! This could be that last day it's visible!"

She turns to him in time to see the youngest gargoyle come alive. Come alive to charge at them and pull Aegon from the bed.

Aegon is less than offended. Aegon is the opposite of offended. He lets himself fall back to sit on the bed and pats the space beside him. The young gargoyle stumbles back, and finally averts her gaze.

The leering was one matter, but this is too much. "Aegon," she says, as firmly as she can whilst trying to keep the fatigue and disinterest in her voice. "Don't harass people who literally cannot tell you to stop. Ideally, don't harass anyone — but definitely not her."

The young gargoyle must have orders not to leave, orders she takes seriously. But it's Aegon who does the staring now. "I'm just being friendly. How do you know I'm harassing her?"

"How do you know you aren't? She cannot tell you."

"Oh, but it's alright for you and Ser Harwin to use muzzles?"

She'll give him credit where it's due, he picks up on some offhand comments borne of substances very well.

"That's different," she says, ignoring the Harwin part.

"What's the difference?"

"Consent?" And then she remembers that's a foreign word to Aegon — and the Hightowers. She sighs and looks at the gargoyle. "Do you like him leering at you? Be honest; you won't get in trouble — no one cares about Aegon."

"That's true," Aegon says.

The gargoyle shakes her head.

"See? Now leave. I'm tired and am probably going to cry again soon." She'd done so several times that day in the hopes word got back to the Greens. Fake crying is really easy lately. Her trick is, she actually always feels like crying. So when she needs to cry, she just stops trying to not cry!

Aegon apparently respects her honesty, because he leaves without protest or any open bitterness.

Now free from Aegon's stare, the gargoyle resumes her own — at Rhaenyra. At least she backs away.

"Thank you," Rhaenyra sneers. "Real solidarity."

She still just stares. Rhaenyra rolls over and ponders how she's going to kill Larys.

The Green Viper and even the Grand Leech try to rouse her later. The Green Viper says nothing she has not said before, so Rhaenyra blocks her out. The Grand Leech at least earns an "about time," when he finally brings her the eggs the boys had made, and she wonders if it truly took him that long to 'test' for contraband or if the Greens had been holding onto it as leverage. If they were, this was certainly a 'good' sign.

Whether or not Aegon's story was truth or a desperate ploy, the Greens attempt another the next morning.

"Rhaenyra?" says that shy, gentle voice, and Rhaenyra knows it's time.

She rolls over to peer at Helaena through half-closed eyes. "Good morning, Hāedar," she rasps, and offers a weak smile.

Heleana's eyes flit about the room, but she does return the smile. "I thought…" Then she seems to will herself to look upon Rhaenyra. "They said you were unwell. But perhaps if you're able to rise, there is something that might improve your mood." Her smile turns from shy to eager.

The fact that the Greens are so desperate as to trust her with Helaena bodes well. But Rhaenyra can hardly betray that thought, so she does not sit up as she asks, "What did you have in mind?"

Helaena rises onto her toes. "It's a surprise! In the Queen's Ballroom. Mother says we're to make better use of the Holdfast whilst… 'events unfold'" She speaks the last two words in an unsure tone.

Rhaenyra hates how naturally the next question comes to her. "Am I allowed that far?"

Helaena's gaze had drifted away again, but she returns it once more to regard Rhaenyra with confusion. "Why wouldn't you be allowed?"

Oh. Helaena is truly sheltered. Though it might be refreshing to spend time with someone who does not regard her as a prisoner, aside from the fact she may need to consider her actions and wording. She tries again. "Does… will anyone else be there? Do they know I'm coming?"

"The children and our brothers. Well, not Daeron. He's gone with Mother to greet Lord Borros. And he might move again so it doesn't make sense for him to choose one anyways."

Fuck.

And not just the news about the Stormlands, and the now quite real possibility that the Baratheons had sided with the Hightowers over Rhaenys. Helaena is a vulnerability when it comes to her promise — and quite possibly her safety. She needs to convince Helaena that… she is too ill to think about politics?

"Rhaenyra?" Helaena asks hesitantly, and Rhaenyra realizes she'd just been laying there pondering her possible doom — and Lord Baratheon's possible execution.

"Right, umm." She sits up slowly. "Why don't you ask one of our brothers to come escort me in an hour's time? I'm so disoriented, I would hate to get turned around." Or attacked by sea monsters for straying out of bounds.

Helaena nods. "Very well." And then she looks around nervously, avoiding the gargoyle that stares them down, and leans close in to whisper Rhaenyra. "Your maids are scary."

"They're… special attendants," Rhaenyra improvises. "For my… health." She waves to the mean gargoyle. "And they were specially chosen to not reveal our secrets."

"Ah."

Upon a more through search of her trunk, she's delighted to discover that someone had sent her old silver seashell locket, the one with the portraits Harwin had done of their two eldest sons shortly after Luke's birth, and then, to avoid suspicion, had passed to Laenor to publicly gift to her.

"I commissioned the portraits from a friend," Laenor had said with a wink and a nod. "He owed me a favour." And then all three had them had later laughed at how Alicent looked about ready to explode.

Despite Alicent's frustration at what another person does with their own body, Rhaenyra decides it's best to call attention to her past with Laenor and Harwin, rather than Daemon, and she resolves from then on to wear the locket, and only wear Daemon's necklace around her wrist, or in private.

Also, she now has a safe place to put Visenya's ruby!

This will be the first time in a long while that she leaves her room without a coat or cloak obscuring her clothes, so she chooses her outfit with care. Daemon might be reckless at times, but he is not thoughtless in a crisis. He does everything with a reason. Multiple reasons. And in a situation such as this where communication is so sparing, he would try to make a message out of everything he does. And while she understands the practicality behind this particular message, she does not necessarily like where it leads.

Though she imagines that neither does Daemon.

It had not been lost upon her that Daemon had neglected to include any of the darker, more structured dresses she usually wore among nobility, which, combined with her harshly straightened hair, she'd hoped would make her appear as Daemon's equal next to him, rather than his much younger wife.

She is no longer trying to convince people she is strong enough to rule; she is trying to convince them she is not a threat. Which is likely why Daemon included her softer, more feminine, and if she were to be honest with herself, more comfortable and more favoured dresses. Dresses she avoided wearing in public because they not only made her look more feminine, they also made her look younger.

As always, Rhaenyra has mixed feelings about Daemon's complete lack of boundaries.

Not only did her family send her softest and in some cases, most low-cut dresses, but a good portion of them were cut and draped in the Valyrian style. It is admittedly funny, mayhaps impressive, that they packed before they even knew she was the main exhibit in a Valyrian museum; perhaps they'd come by the information she herself had learned from Aegon — that the pretender is obsessed with Valyria. But she has so little information to go on, she might just be overthinking everything that comes before her.

Two gargoyles help her change that morning, the young one among them. And Rhaenyra is pulled out of her possible overthinking by a gasp.

The young one holds her right arm. Rhaenyra refuses to look down. "That bad?"

The gargoyle does not respond, but she does at least avert her eyes for a time.

She wears no stays today, only a comfortable, but supportive, ivory linen sleeveless gown. The locket's length emphasizes the low cut, so she covers herself in a lavender scarf for modesty, and her dramatic but comfortable violet velvet open robe for warmth. But even with only a single waist clasp, she still needs help putting it on. Rhaenyra is not enthused about just how much she needs help with as of late. Could the shark not have gone for her left arm at least?

And after instructing the gargoyles to let her hair fall wavy and mostly loose she takes in her final look: comfortable, casual, feminine, youthful, and most importantly, Valyrian.

I hate my life.

She also hates that it's the look she most prefers, the look she usually has to avoid, and that she only finds need for it now. For whatever this is.

The actual knock at her door tells her it's one of two people, and Aegon's ability to listen and learn is confirmed when he actually waits for her to call for him to enter. If only the other one could be so easy.

He remains by the door. "Mandia."

Ignoring the troubling, yet sadly encouraging, look of admiration he gives her, the one that reminds her that the bruise has faded and her health and figure have returned to her, she approaches. "There are no sharks in the waters today, are there?" she asks, keeping her voice and mannerisms as timid as she thinks believable. The fact that she crosses her arms over herself like a shield so her right hand might grip the edge of her robe to keep the weight off her shoulder should help.

She does too good a job, because Aegon is caught off guard. He nods. "He's out with Mother," Aegon assures her. Aegon is solemn and appears to feel sorry for her, and she worries her pride might never recover from this. Then again, she half suspects her pride died with that whimper she made for the shark's benefit.

Aegon returns as they make their way there. "So… why does he hate you so much?"

"I stepped off his pedestal," is all she says. "What's the surprise?"

"No idea." And then he seems to also realize their lack of other escort. "Oh, you don't need to worry, the whole top half of the Holdfast is secured, and all the exits are manned. I'm actually starting to worry that Grandsire is using you as an excuse to lock me down at night."

True to his word, the staircase is full of soldiers who eye them with hostility. "Queen's Ballroom," Aegon assures them. A few peel away from the wall to trail them, and Rhaenyra thinks she recognizes several men from the other night.

"I'm warning you now," Aegon says in Valyrian. "The Council has called several allies to Court."

Fuck.

Aegon continues. "They're going to have a dinner tomorrow, and I do believe they plan for you to attend."

"What?"

"Yah but… I don't think they want you to pretend. I think they want to make sure…" He shrugs as if to signal that he has a general idea he cannot put words to.

She knows where this is going. "That if the situation turns, your close allies cannot. Because if we don't pretend now, they won't be able to pretend later."

So she'll definitely be executing Lord Borros. And she's willing to bet on Jason Lannister as well. Good.

Well, except for the dinner. She's going to need some help to get through it. She says as much to Aegon, and his eyes light up when she tells him it might be time to use her first chaos offering — and perhaps something even more fun.

The men stop at the entrance to the ballroom and do not follow them into the room itself. Unfortunately, it's because Ser Willis is already there to watch from the corner.

So many people to remember to kill, yet I have no way to securely write a list!

The pretender sits at a table near the far wall in wait, so Rhaenyra turns to the other side of the room. But there Helaena's children play, and the sight of them makes her heart ache, so she searches until she finds Helaena, whom she'd somehow missed in the middle of the room. Probably because she was standing among several giant crates.

Aegon pays no mind to his wife or children, and takes a seat and a drink next to his brother. Rhaenyra walks forward to Helaena. "So, what's the occasion?"

Helaena beams. "Grandsire had all the rat-catchers sent away after a string of attempted thefts!"

Rhaenyra freezes, and she hears the brothers shift. Attempted theft indeed.

That poor man is definitely dead, or at least in Larys's clutches. She actually hopes they decided to torture the rat-catchers for information, then mayhaps some will survive to be freed.

Aegon finally breaks the silence. "So… what does that have to do with us?"

"Can't you hear?" she asks. "They're mostly sleeping, but still!"

"What?" Aemond asks.

"The replacements! When Grandsire told me I asked to have the friendliest ones sent here!" She beckons everyone forward.

Ser Willis launches from the wall to put himself between Rhaenyra and the children — who'd been closing the gap as they'd approached Helaena and the crates. He ushers them away so that Aemond and Aegon stand between them. "Rhaenyra cannot be around children right now," he explains to Helaena. "She takes ill very easily and children carry many diseases."

"Oh," Helaena says. "Is that why she didn't bring—"

"Yes," she, Aegon, and Aemond eagerly pounce on the explanation. Rhaenyra then wonders if she's misremembered which Queen charged at a child with a dagger.

"Oh no…" Helaena worries. "I wish I'd known. Will the cats get her sick?"

The children jump. "There's cats?" one of them shouts.

Wait, which company did they use? Rhaenyra almost wants to ask. The crates give her no clue.

Helaena nods. "But I don't know if we should let them out now if—"

"Worry not, Sister," Aemond says. "Rhaenyra… is not overly susceptible to anything cats carry."

Have they done this to Helaena her whole life?

That's enough for Helaena. "Good!" She then proceeds to open the first crate from a side opening. Ser Willis steps forward to handle the others.

Rhaenyra might be a kidnapped, battered trophy queen pretending to be a tamed dragon, but that does not mean she is immune to the joy of clouds of sleepy cats emerging from boxes. Judging from the way Aegon, the children, and even Ser Willis rush forward, no one is immune.

Until she sees Aemond back away in disinterest. Truly, what is wrong with that child? But he doesn't leave, suggesting that he might be acting as one of her babysitters.

Ugh.

Aegon leans in. "He thinks cats are for girls and children," he whispers.

Before she can ponder how they truly gave her to the worst brother, the flurry escapes. Helaena leaves the children with Ser Willis and joins Rhaenyra and Aegon. She holds out a container. "Treats!"

Rhaenyra snatches Aegon's hand from his mouth just in time. "For the cats, Valonqar."

"Oh, that makes sense." He drops them on the floor.

They mingle with passing cats for a time, about a dozen coming to investigate each one of them. Aemond has returned to his seat, and Rhaenyra decides it's time to test a theory. "These make me miss Purraxes," she coos as she scratches the chin of a particularly demanding black cat.

Aegon snorts as he clutches at escaping cats. "Purraxes?"

"Because he was long and red like Caraxes. I brought him home partially for the children, but also to annoy Daemon. I named him solely to annoy Daemon." The black cat departs and she beckons more forward with her fingertips. "Unfortunately, Daemon is just as much cat as he is dragon, so they took to each other right away." She leaves out the begrudgingly and in secret parts because they do not help her experiment.

"Mayhaps most Targaryens are as much cats as they are dragons." Helaena says. "We are all eccentric and... arrogant in our own ways."

Rhaenyra speaks as clearly, but as casually, as she can. "There might be a similarity between cats and dragons themselves that does it. Don't dragons also despise being crowded and choose to hide away when injured?"

Helaena concurs from her cat-summoning position lying down on her back. Deciding that she deserves some enjoyment and that laying next to her sister cuddling cats should not hinder her wounded bird act, Rhaenyra joins her after removing her scarf to prevent snags and use as a pillow. They proceed to discuss other various similarities between the species.

Beside them, Aegon had resorted to holding cats down until they settled enough for him to pet them, but they keep squirming away. "These things are stupid," he complains. He stands and heads for Aemond, who for some reason decided cats were indeed worth his time and had opted to join the children at the other cat pile.

I don't know if I like what that means. I mean, at least it means I have a way to manipulate him, but still. I don't know if I like what that means.

She turns her attention back to the less-problematic sibling. "Why do they all smell so good?" she asks Helaena.

"They bathe and treat the cats for fleas before they arrive somewhere new. They're from a company that usually ships them in to fight diseases carried by vermin."

It couldn't be… No. But the flux in Braavos was probably long dealt with. There is no reason it couldn't be. For a moment she wonders if she should be on the lookout on their outdoor walks, but then again, why give them even more leverage. If he's here, she'll find him when she's free. Hopefully before he discovers a heat shaft.

They all spend a good deal of time cuddling cats — except for Aegon, who seems determined to treat cats the same way he treats women.

Eventually, Helaena sits up and calls to the children, whose cat mob for some reason migrated behind the sisters. "Have you picked one?"

"We've picked three!" Jaehera says.

"No no," Helaena says, sounding much more of an adult than she ever has. "That's too many to keep track of as they come and go."

Rhaenyra sits up as well. Oh, so the cats get to come and go as they please.

But Helaena interrupts her bitter inner thoughts. She reaches into her inner dress pocket and holds up the contents as she addresses her siblings. "I brought collars and temporary tags!"

"Helaena!" Aegon yells. "Hasn't Rhaenyra suffered enough? Put those away before Cole comes back and gets any more ideas."

Rhaenyra covers her mouth and stifles the laugh just in time. Aegon's quality of humour seems to be improving, which would otherwise be fine, were she not trying to keep up an appearance.

"I don't understand," Helaena says.

Aegon sighs. "Of course you don't."

Rhaenyra turns around to tell him not to be so rude, but then she sees that the pretender appraises her. Possibly with guilt or concern in his eye. So instead Rhaenyra offers a sad smile and looks away.

A knock at the door interrupt them next, and one of the soldiers enter. "Begging your pardon Your Grace, your mother has returned and has requested to see you."

Rhaenyra stiffens and hopefully clutches her arm in a manner that seems unconscious.

The pretender must notice. "Worry not, I'll go down to them," he says just a little too softly in Valyrian. He switches back to Common and firmer voice. "Tell her I will meet her in my rooms."

She wonders for a moment why he addressed her in Valyrian, but then she notices how lost Helaena appeared.

Helaena never learned Valyrian?

Before she can ponder that for too long, Helaena is recalled. "Mother, we picked one!" says one of the children. Rhaenyra does not have the heart to turn and see.

She turns to Helaena. "Why don't you go oversee the cat selection process? And send Aegon the cat-bane over here." The cats present a good opportunity, after all, especially with the only other Valyrian speaker gone.

Aegon has a compliment for her when he sits to join her. "Smart move with the scarf," he says in Valyrian. "Plus laying down? His eyes — eye — was glued, especially after I moved us. At least I think. I don't know I was distracted by… something else." He then looks down at 'something else'.

She waves his eyes away. "I don't know what you're talking about." But she does not put the scarf back on. It's good silk, and it really could snag on the cats.

Aegon continues to struggle with cats whilst the children debate names.

"Father," one of the children soon calls.

Aegon ignores them. Rhaenyra kicks him. "What?"

"Father, what's the Valyrian word for cat?"

"Kēlī," he says. But then he smiles. "Or if you want a… cuter name for a little cat, like you would a little husband, what about Kēlītsos?"

"Absolutely not," Rhaenyra declares. She leans over to Aegon. "That was our safe word."

"Oh…" He turns to the children. "Nevermind! Pick a better name, that one's stupid." He turns back to Rhaenyra. "Not a bad safe word though."

For months they had not bothered to change it. And for months Rhaenyra had found more and more ways to tease Daemon for any cat-like mannerisms, until one day she'd taken it too far and actually called him Kēlītsos."

Daemon had looked like he might be sick. "Oh Rhaenyra," he'd groaned, and even though they'd been sitting innocently whilst watching the children play, had used their temporary safe word for the very first time. "Kēlītīs."

She did, but she also smiled. "I know what word to use!"

Apparently so do the children. Inspired by the tale of her own cat's name, they soon decide to call their giant, fluffy, brown brindle cat Purrmithor.

She watches Aegon squish more cats in a way they do not like to be squished before she interferes. "Valonqar, do you know why I chose Kēlītsos as a safe word?"

"Because it's funny enough to disrupt the mood and also starts off like Kēlītīs?"

"Well, yes," she acknowledges. "But also because of the nature of cats. Cats are much like humans, and dragons, in a way. They don't like to be touched in ways that… they don't like to be touched."

"Huh?"

Rhaenyra holds out her fist for a particularly aggressive, or itchy, black and white cat to scratch its face on. "How would you like it if a giant cat came up to you and just picked you up or held you down without asking?"

He frowns as another cat escapes his grasp. "Sounds like an erotic play I once saw."

"Back to the question, Aegon."

Aegon shrugs. "I don't know."

"Do the cats seem like they're enjoying themselves? Why would you want to hold a cat in a way it doesn't enjoy?"

"Uh…"

She runs through a score of metaphors and multiple visiting cats before exhausting her imagination. "Understand?" she asks futilely.

"No."

She sighs. "Why don't you try getting just close enough, and then letting them decide if they want to cuddle?"

"Well what if they don't?"

"Then they don't. Find one that likes what you like. It's like people."

Aegon glares at Helaena. "I didn't get to do that."

"Neither did she," Rhaenyra reminds him. "But let's find you a cat." She pulls him to his feet and looks around the room. "One that resembles you."

Aegon points to a beautiful Lengese cat with piercing blue eyes and bright cream-coloured fur made all the more striking by deep brown, symmetrical accents. Rhaenyra shakes her head. "In personality, Aegon. Don't be so unoriginal."

Aegon peers closer. "No, look. It appears this cat has been claimed by someone unoriginal." And indeed, it appears the pretender did put one of Helaena's collars on the cat with the finest pedigree.

She makes him sit, and in some cases lay, in front of a few of the more promising cats. In Aegon's case, she decides the most promising cats are the laziest cats. And they do, eventually, come upon the laziest and most demanding cat. A grey cat with a white belly and mittens, content to sprawl wherever she lays, be carried about as long as she's secure, and show affection so long as she receives all the scratches it demands. In honour of her entitled sprawl, and the Andal pronunciation of his name that evokes break fast, Aegon names the flabby cat Pancake.

"So," he says as he squishes the cat in a way it tells him it likes to be squished. "How is this like people?"

This… could be an opportunity. She cannot commiserate with Ser Harrold without traumatizing the poor man, after all. But Aegon learns better through others than through himself, so Rhaenyra starts with herself. And they've migrated far enough from the children to avoid traumatizing them as well. "Valonqar, how do you think I feel when I think about what's going to happen in a moon or so's time?"

Aegon laughs. "That you're sure in for a disappointing two minutes."

She kneads the back a small orange cat that had taken up residence on her lap. "You think I'm worried about being disappointed?"

Aegon shrugs.

Alright, through himself then. "Aegon, how would you feel if it were you?"

Aegon once again turns to regard Helaena with disdain. "Ugh, I know. She just lays there. I cannot even, well, you know, without getting decently drunk."

Oh. How does she put this without diminishing... that? "You… make a good point. But while our situations might come from the same place, I cannot help but suspect that this… goes a bit further. In a way similar to how it comes from the same place my marriage to Laenor did. Only it feels… further."

"I don't follow."

To be fair, Rhaenyra herself barely followed that one. She tries again. "Aegon. Did we not just determine that different cats feel differently about different kinds and different degrees of touch?"

Aegon looks to Pancake as if she might provide an answer. "Uh…" they both seem to say.

What is she even trying to accomplish? Regardless, might as well keep going. Directly. "Aegon, how would you feel if you had to let Aemond fuck you? No choice."

He looks to her as if she's missed the obvious. "Rhaenyra, you cannot compare the two."

"Why not?" Rhaenyra asks.

"Because… it would be worse for me, because I'm a man, and he's a man."

They might make a Hightower out of him yet. "Excuse me?" she demands.

"I don't like men," he thinks he explains.

"I don't like Aemond."

"Yes but… you do like men."

Who raised this fool?

Oh, right. No one.

Rhaenyra decides to take an admittedly strange and likely problematic approach, but it's the only approach she can think of that might work for Aegon. "So you're saying you'd never fuck a man by choice? Even if you ended up trapped somewhere where there were no women, you would never decide to fuck a man?"

Aegon considers. "I suppose I've always been curious about the other side of the Dothraki thank-you. Well, the first and last part, that is. Not much I can do about the middle. But… under a combination of boredom and desperation, yes."

"But not just any man. You would still have your… tastes would you not? You would have preferences. You would want to choose."

Aegon actually considers. Rhaenyra continues. "Now… think about what those preferences would be. Think about how you would choose."

She'd only meant for him to ponder it as an exercise so she might later make a point about choice. But this is Aegon, so of course he gets specific. "I suppose I'd pick Prince Daemon. I feel like he'd be gentle, then rough, then gentle again."

As she'd suspected, Aegon is less a product of mother issues than he is of parent issues. But she nods, because he does have a point there. "Alright, so now that we've established that the man part isn't the part that makes it bad, I want you to consider my question again. How would you feel about being forced to bed Aemond?"

And he actually considers it. He considers it, and he considers it. And then he jolts. "Oh! Ugh!" He flails as if shaking off spiders. "That would be awful. Aemond is the worst!"

The pretender of course chooses that time to return, and Aegon recoils at the sight of him. "Ugh!" He gags and sticks out his tongue. Ignoring Aemond's look of confusion, Aegon turns back to Rhaenyra. "Worry not, Mandia, I'll fix this somehow."

Oh no. She really didn't know what she expected to come from that. But oh no.

Aegon and Pancake make a hasty retreat from the ballroom, shuddering as he passes the pretender. Once he reaches the exit, he spares a final glance to both Rhaenyra and Aemond, and shudders himself away.

"Your cat's over there," one of the children calls. Rhaenyra imagines they also might be pointing. "What's un-orange-annul?"

"What?" the pretender asks. Rhaenyra still refuses to turn to see which child he addresses.

"Rhaenyra and Father said that it's an un-orange-annul cat because you're un-orange-annul. But the cat is not orange!"

"We did indeed say that," she acknowledges. She still does not look at the child, but she does address them. "It means Aemond chose the prettiest cat with the best pedigree who also happens to have Targaryen colouring, because Aemond likes status symbols."

Fuck. I'm supposed to be meek today.

So she flinches. And then she closes her eyes and covers her mouth with the hand from her good arm. But she does not apologize. That would be too much.

And it appears to have been just enough, because when she opens her eyes the pretender is once again regarding her with concern, or guilt, or whatever Hightowers let themselves feel in this situation.

She glares in a way that hopefully sends the message, 'Don't you dare pity me.' But what she really means is, 'Either of my real husbands could snap you like a twig.'

One of the children she refuses to look at interrupts them. "Rhaenyra," one of them calls, "aren't you going to choose a cat?"

"Yes," Aemond says. "I'm curious about how original your choice might be."

Is that only a light-hearted challenge, or a challenge over the deeper issue? It's hard to know what Hightowers think of. Has he yet thought of the fact that to choose a cat she would come to care for is to give them more leverage? Make it harder to escape? Or is he only trying to tease her back?

Trying to casually and cordially interact with your captors is so difficult. Sometimes she wonders if her sanity would be better preserved in the cells.

Then again, it cannot be much easier for him. So she takes the middle ground, the middle ground lit by glasslighting. For the sake of Helaena and the children, she switches to Valyrian. "Please," she scoffs. "So Cole can throw it onto the spikes the next time I offend him?"

"What?" he exclaims.

Rhaenyra gently ushers away the orange cat that had fallen asleep on her lap. "Sorry, but it's true. You all make it too easy to make fun of you and I just don't have the self-control."

Aemond walks toward her. "No, not that. No one is throwing a cat out a window simply because you cannot hold your tongue."

She stands. "Right. Because it's gone so well for me every time I've slipped up. Which I will do, because, like I said, you all bring it on yourselves. So no, I'm not going to give Cole yet another way to hurt me."

"Rhaenyra, no one is killing cats!"

"What!" exclaim the children. Rhaenyra and Aemond jump.

"Good job," Rhaenyra says, clutching her bad arm closer to her body. "I'm not walking into any more of your traps."

He sighs. "Rhaenyra, if you want a cat, just pick a cat. I cannot believe I have to say this, but I promise that no one is going to kill it."

Here it goes. She makes sure to look him in the eye. "And what good will that promise do me?"

He definitely takes offence. "Are you suggesting I'm not true to my word?"

She lets her voice thicken with emotion. "I'm suggesting the others are not true to your word. Did you not say you would not begin your reign by having your sister battered? Are you claiming nothing has happened to me since then?"

He tenses at the implication. "I spoke to him. He will not harm you. And he is no longer permitted to be alone with you."

"He didn't hurt me when he was alone with me. He hurt me while you were standing right there. So I'm sorry if I'm not quick to believe that—" She can no longer think of good words, so she settles for her not-so-fake tears. She raises her left hand to cover her face and keeps her right arm conspicuously pinned to her side. "Fuck!" she chokes out, rushing for the door that had been left open for the cats to test the waters.

A sea monster detaches from the wall. "Where are you going?"

"My room. I am allowed to return to my room, am I not?"

"Let her go," the pretender calls.

The sea monsters escort her in silence. She settles onto the daybed she'd recently had brought into the seating area, the one Aegon had already claimed for midday naps whilst she would chat with Ser Harrold. But she need not wait that long.

He actually knocks. She does not look up even when she senses him standing over her. She just continues to lay on her side.

He sets something light down out of sight. "I saved your scarf. Though I had to fight a cat for it."

She makes no response.

"Show me," he orders.

About time. The pain is agonizing without distraction or medicine. But she can hardly say that. "Show you what?" she says instead.

"Rhaenyra."

She sits upright. The clasp is easy enough to undo with one hand, it was one of the reasons she chose it, but she still needs his help to slide the robe off her arms. She looks away.

He gasps and even stumbles a step back. Everyone here is so dramatic. "Why didn't you say it was this bad?"

She turns back to him. "Oh, so you all can make more excuses about my underlying health problems and Cole can retaliate?"

But his expression is… troubling, to say the least. And by instinct she looks down to the arm that holds his attention.

Her stomach turns. "Oh fuck."

Her upper arm is black. Deep black. And where it's not it's because the black has bled shades of blues and purples and yellows. And red. There's so much red. Not just red that bleeds from the black, but ugly scarlet lines that, whilst they have not appeared to break the skin, are clearly the result of parts of a gauntlet digging deep into her flesh.

As she'd suspected, and as she'd tried to conceal from Ser Harrold, this is more than just a bruise.

Because it has to be.

Aemond backs away. "Wait here."

"Oh no. There go my plans for the day."

He shakes his head at her as he leaves.

"Wait," she calls.

He turns.

"Don't bring Ser Harrold," she says. "I don't want him to feel…" She breaks eye contact. "After they imprisoned him for arguing against the chains," she notices he averts his eyes at the mention, interesting, "I ordered him to never interfere." She'll talk to him later.

He nods. "Mhmm." And as he leaves Rhaenyra cannot help but think of how he makes all the same little noises, and displays so many of the same mannerisms, as his mother.

Is that why he's the favourite? And she accused Daemon of vanity in parenthood.

The gargoyles still stare her down, but they occasionally break contact to trade uncomfortable looks between each other.

The Greens throw a party in her room, and everyone is invited! The Green Viper of course arrives early.

Returning with Aemond only a few moments later, she immediately heads for Rhaenyra. And once she sees the arm that Rhaenyra now rests on the back of the daybed to support the weight, sees the damage her pet shark has so surprisingly done, she clasps her hand to her mouth and goes weak at the knees. "Rhaenyra," she gasps, as if she did not see the shark viciously maul a man at a wedding.

I mean, I know he didn't do it. But… how is she surprised?

She redirects. "Where's Aegon?" She needs a partner for all the nonsense to come.

Aemond is still solemn. "He went out for a ride to think apparently."

Rhaenyra does not like where that is going. Rhaenyra has a suspicion about where that is going. Rhaenyra regrets her desperation to have someone who both completely understands her situation but is not as pained by it as Ser Harrold. Mayhaps she should have left things be and allowed him and Aegon to compensate for each other.

The shark did not accompany his Green Viper. The shark had been told to wait and arrives with the Old Viper, the Grand Leech, and the squid.

The squid sees her arm first and takes offense on Rhaenyra's behalf. "Gods be good, Cole!"

Rhaenyra and the shark actually trade a look that says, 'Really?'

The Old Viper has a faded mark upon his forehead, but unfortunately, as Aegon had feared, the shape is now obscured. But he is rendered speechless for a moment, at least.

The shark sees his bite. The shark knows he's in trouble. The shark turns to the Old Viper. "She bruises so easily," he tries to reason.

Rhaenyra turns to Aemond. I told you so.

The Grand Leech had meanwhile begun to examine her. "This isn't just a bruise," he concludes. "The deeper tissue has been strained. She'll need a sling for at least a fortnight."

The Old Viper finds words. "Cole, can you not control yourself? Look at her! How can we explain this?"

"I only grabbed her as a warning."

"And you didn't think to let go when she kept screaming?" Aemond demands.

"I thought she was being sensitive!"

The Green Viper decides to be useful. "You thought Rhaenyra Targaryen was screaming because you hurt her feelings?"

"Well, she's been crying so much lately—"

Ugh, thanks Daemon.

"But not screaming," says the Old Viper.

"Her body is clearly too delicate," the shark tries. "And especially with all the substances she probably still has in her blood…"

"Substances you put in my blood," Rhaenyra says. But she immediately regrets it. One should never speak up for oneself in a situation such as this. One lets others play the hero. Because if Rhaenyra is her own hero, that makes them the villains.

The villains bristle. Oops. The squid of course, then takes the shark's side. "Substances your behaviour forced us to put in your blood?" He turns to the Grand Leech. "Is it possible her shoulder was just… already weak or strained from all the time she's spent abed, and this just… pushed it over the edge?"

The Grand Leech knows what's being asked of him. The Grand Leech looks to the Old Viper to see if he also asks it.

He does. Because it's easier. And Rhaenyra can say nothing, because the more Rhaenyra says, the more they want her to be wrong. And Aegon is not here to say it for her. No one is here to say it for her.

But no one need say it to point it out.

The young gargoyle approaches. Everyone startles, because the gargoyles had been forgotten in the chaos.

The young gargoyle takes Rhaenyra's arm, looks around to the Small Council, and shakes her head. She then points to various older bruises amongst the new one, bruises from the shark bites Rhaenyra had accumulated, mostly from the pyre, and that Rhaenyra had been painfully rubbing at night to slow their healing for just an event as this. Then she points to Rhaenyra herself, and clutches her own arm to make a point.

The shark has been hurting that arm for quite some time. And whilst the Greens had either not noticed, or more likely, chosen to ignore it, the women who helped Rhaenyra dress and had to help her when she needed another good arm, could not.

And now neither can Aemond. "She's had similar injuries before?" he confirms. "In the same spot?"

The young gargoyle nods.

The Grand Leech then finally offers Rhaenyra ice. Ice she'd forgone until now in fear it would reduce her injury's impact.

Aemond turns to the one who'd remained by the wall. "And you? Have you seen the same?"

The gargoyle hesitates and then nods. Then she points to the shark and mimes grabbing her own arm, and Rhaenyra figures she must have been present the day the shark dragged her around to threaten her regarding Lady Fell. Or when he dragged her around to prepare for the pyre. Or who knows? He's a shark, and he loves to dragging her around so much that Rhaenyra has lost track.

Aemond turns to the shark. "Return to your quarters until someone retrieves you."

The shark is incredulous. Despite his strange protectiveness over the modesty of his master's property, he apparently never thought the same rule would apply to him for damaging his master's property.

But, as Ser Harrold so helpfully pointed out, his master will grasp for any means to feel like a man right now. A good man. "Do not make me repeat myself," he warns.

The shark retreats. Rhaenyra will almost miss him, because the moment he exits the squid resumes his study of her cleavage.

Aemond turns to the Old Viper. "Keep him confined there for two days; Ser Harrold an arrange it. After, I want him off her guard detail, is that clear? He does not enter the Holdfast, he does not accompany her outside. When Mother is with Rhaenyra he can trade watch with someone else. He has no business being around her."

The Hand knows you should let the cat occasionally catch the string to keep it in the game, and he decides his pet has earned a victory. He nods just a little too respectfully. "Your Grace."

The squid decides it's time to defuse the tension, and nods to the arm the Grand Leech now binds. "Well, at least the sling ends the chains debate for tomorrow."

"What?" Rhaenyra demands. She looks to Alicent for answers, who then turns away in guilt. Yes, someone was definitely arguing for displaying her in chains.

"Yes yes," the Old Viper says. He turns to Rhaenyra. "I trust that, as usual, you've made certain to have your sycophant keep you informed?"

"You mean about your plans to put your trophy queen on display? My dear brother might have mentioned something." She does not mention that the Old Viper marks everyone at that dinner for death, because she is trying to play nice today. Rhaenyra has been cowed for the moment, and is shyly grateful to her protector. So instead she looks nervously about the room and then to her protector, who is now hopefully remembering what she said about how both cats and dragons despise being crowded and prefer to lick their wounds in peace.

Her protector nods to her and waits for the Grand Leech to finish her arm and leave her medicine with the gargoyles. "Leave us," he then orders the room. The others acquiesce, and his mother smiles in approval, then looks reassuringly to Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra then looks to the floor, and imagines that both she and the Green Viper, though for different reasons and in different tones, think the same words.

Good boy.

Everyone files out whilst offering Rhaenyra looks that range from regret to apology.

Unbelievable.

After Driftmark, Daemon had tried to display her scar to all they encountered, and Rhaenyra had scolded him. Told him that as the first Queen, she had to hide any potential vulnerability. She could not appear weak in any way.

No one bothered to tell her that playing victim works so much better than playing strong — though it's a little hard on the pride.

All this time, I've been trying to hide my womanhood, when I could have been hiding behind it? I should have done this years ago. I should have pretended to get an infection from Alicent's attack. I should have pretended I'd lost mobility. I should have pretended to faint right there in the Hall like when Jace and Luke would brawl and exaggerate their injury. I should have ranted to all who would listen about how Crazy Queen Alicent tried to kill me and I saw my life flash before my eyes.

But Rhaenyra isn't Alicent. She isn't even much of a woman. She's a dragon.

Or, I should have had this entire rotten branch murdered in their sleep. I should have been the monster the Greens said I would become if they pushed, all so they could justify pushing harder. I should have proved them more correct than they were ever ready for.

There will be time for the second option later. For now, the damsel must rule over the dragon. The damsel is going to protect the dragon.

The damsel turns to her protector, who had just returned from whispering to his mother in the doorway. Her protector looks around the room, now free even of the gargoyles. "It's cluttered in here."

"I've noticed." She pats the space next to her so he stops looming like the sea monsters love to do.

He takes the hint, and the seat beside her. "Did anyone ask if you wanted to move the model out?"

"I couldn't bear to. But I was… I always thought that while I'd keep a small piece of it in here, it would be nice to have copies made. Have it displayed somewhere where all can see and learn from. It's our heritage, after all."

"Mhmm."

Rhaenyra decides to ramble to give him time to form his words. "But… I still want the central piece in here. You can make copies, but I don't want to get rid of it. But I do need more space. I'm not accustomed to spending a majority of my time in the same quarters. But… I suppose I would switch the Westerosi furniture for benches and daybeds and cushions. And… I actually cannot have a cat in here. The lykapas perzot need to live inside this winter to survive. I'd like to have them here." Alicent will like that. "And they're poisonous to cats."

Well, there goes Daemon's metaphor.

Her protector decides he's had enough of awkwardly dancing around the issue. "I'm sorry," he actually says. "I did not realize it was so… bad for you."

She looks at the floor. She wonders if he'll apologize when he 'has to'—

No. It had become quite clear that, for her own safety, she needs to win him over regardless of when her husbands return. And if she needs to win him over regardless, she might as well make it easier by assuming that Daemon and Laenor are going to find each other right away. Who knows, if they return soon enough whilst her protector remains solely her protector, Rhaenyra might be able to offer him exile instead of death.

It could take over a fortnight just to reach Asshai, and he likely had to spend additional time dropping off and arranging care for the boys, that pragmatic voice warns her. But sometimes in the face of an insurmountable but unavoidable task, you need to ignore pragmatic warnings. For your own sanity. Her father knew that well enough.

She looks to Aemond, who has also settled into a ponderous silence. Their father knew that well enough. And with that recognition comes another: For all their faults, her father's sons are still her brothers. Rhaenyra does not want to harm them. Any of them.

A steward arrives to test Rhaenyra's resolve. She finds out that Aemond had, indeed, actually been waiting for something. A delivery.

He returns to her bearing a heavy-looking box he must balance on his arm in place of a second hand, and an expression making it clear that not only does he worry it's a bad idea, but that idea was not even his. "Your… wedding gift arrived from the Stormlands," he explains.

Somehow, she knows. She just knows. She knows before she even opens the lid, which is at least simple enough to open with one hand, but she does so anyway.

The box is full of books. Some are formal texts, and others are informal notebooks. She does not even need to read the titles to deduce the theme.

The theme is Argella Durrandon.

"This is everything Lord Borros could find," Aemond says. "Some are historical accounts, but others are informal research and speculation. Apparently he had a great-aunt, or great-great-aunt, who took an interest."

It takes her some time to form the appropriate response, but it does eventually come to her. "Oh, Valzȳrysītsos, this is an incredibly fucked up and transparently manipulative gift that was no doubt arranged by your mother. It's perfect for us!"

To his credit, he does laugh along with her. His actual laugh that sounds like his mother's, not the one he uses when trying to imitate the more chaotic side of the family. It's a refreshing change; fake chaos is far more dangerous than real chaos.

She reaches for the small box she'd placed upon the tea table that morning. Aegon had brought her everything she needed days ago, but this is the first time it feels right. "I have a wedding gift of my own," she says as she hands it to him. But she'd wrapped it before the shark had attacked, and they laugh again when they realize that neither of them have two hands to open it, so they must awkwardly work together with their two left hands to do so.

It takes him some time once they've opened it, but he does eventually grasp the significance. And Ser Harrold was right, Aemond is not a fool. "I'm not saying I don't appreciate it, but why exactly would you give me this?"

She speaks the line she'd settled upon days ago. "I would rather find myself at the mercy of a dragon than a viper." Not that she will mind when it makes its way to the Green Viper.

He still regards her with caution, but he clearly likes her answer.

She continues. "I'll warn you, while I knew better than to ask Aegon to test it, or even let him see the directions, he was the one who retrieved it so he might have made himself a copy."

He smiles. "That does sound like Aegon." He's clearly anxious to put his gift to use, but too polite to abandon her right away to do so.

Rhaenyra decides to set him free. "Go," she says. "You no doubt want to test it before tomorrow; let me know if something does not work."

He gives her that look of mixed pity and concern and guilt again. "Tomorrow…"

"I'll be fine. Aegon and I have a plan to… get me through it." And then she looks around the room, the room that has no gargoyles, and she remembers the ruby that is now hidden in the 'locket' that Aemond and Aegon and the squid and the Green Viper keep staring at when they think she's not looking, and she sees an opportunity. Actually, she sees several opportunities. "Come here with him tomorrow. I'll send for Helaena as well."

"Daeron?"

"Too young."

Concern and intrigue give way to suspicion. "You're getting drunk again, are you?"

He's so much like his mother in some ways that she cannot resist. She smiles. "No, we're having an orgy!"

The lost lamb from their wedding returns. The lamb jumps in shock and then looks away to hide that shameful little bit of intrigue. Truly his mother's son.

"I jest," she assures him, trying not to laugh at his excessive relief that, while mostly sincere, also masks just the tiniest bit of disappointment. "But no, we're not getting drunk either. We're doing something that will make less of a spectacle. Something more… Valyrian."

Aemond has clearly spent at least a bit more time outside than his mother. He too then observes the lack of gargoyles. "And this invitation wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that I have the power to banish the supervisors for your... illicit activity?"

Smart boy — like his mother. Just not smart enough in some ways — also like his mother.

"The thought did cross my mind," she admits. "But perhaps I'm also curious about what you're like when you're not so on edge."

He actually considers it.

"It will also help my arm," she reasons. "And I promise, as long as no one takes the last piece of chicken, no one should notice if it's all of us. We're Targaryens, we're expected to be aloof and eccentric."

She's not sure if it's the appeal for assistance or the offer of inclusion in an exclusive activity, but the combination pushes him into acceptance.

She almost feels guilty. But then she remembers that he's the same age that she was when Daemon introduced her to the carnal arts, and that both Daemon and Cole were closer to her age now when Otto tried to ruin her life over it, when Alicent turned against her for good, and when Cole decided she was a whore for seducing him. And once she combines that with the fact that Aemond did indeed steal her throne and she is indeed his prisoner, she decides not to give a fuck.

Also, she's at least possibly sparing his life and freedom, is she not? When he leaves for Essos, he can even bring his most beloved woman — his mother. Rhaenyra still debates whether she should keep Aegon under her own wing — and watchful eyes.

The gargoyles return the moment Aemond leaves. Either by his order, or simply the guilt of the Small Council, men come and go from her apartment for the rest of the day. Removing pieces of the model, trading furniture, basically offering her whatever she wants.

But she knows the calm will not last. Time moves forward, the moon keeps turning, and the tides will return. She opens her locket as she watches the men move about from her daybed, and she spends some time admiring the paintings of her boys before turning her attention to the ruby. The oh-so-promising ruby she thought she might never be able to put to use.

Tomorrow might just be her chance.