Chapter 63: Civil War

She had flown enough times to lose her fear, but still… nothing could destroy the awe Ceryse felt as she gazed down at the earth below. A wide expanse of green, brown, and blue, the latter sparkling in the sunlight. Wind whipping at her face, braid blowing back as the gusts fought to undo it and let her hair flow free… gods, it was good to be married to a dragon. She understood them while on dragonback, knowing why they felt set apart from ordinary men.

They were set apart, too. Only now did Ceryse truly realize it.

To her right, she saw Balerion banking, his black scales glistening against the sunlight as he went on a slow and wide spiral downwards towards the sea. "Rhaena…?"

"I see I see," laughed her wife, looking over her shoulder with a glittering smile on her fair face. "You need not act as navigator." Below them, Dreamfyre hooted… a draconic laugh that Rhaena mirrored. It truly made her look radiant, especially in the sun.

Ceryse sometimes couldn't believe it. That it was Dreamfyre she rode instead of Balerion, a trim feminine waist she held onto instead of powerful masculine muscles. That it was not her handsome, rugged husband that smelled of smoke and hardwood but rather the fresh fragrance of lavender combined with just the hint of spice that was Rhaena. Her wife, the Queen and wife of Maegor as much as she was.

She smiled and pressed a kiss to the back of Rhaena's neck, then to the side. As Rhaena moaned and tilted her head, granting Ceryse more room, the Queen grinned and licked a slow trail up to her earlobe, nibbling it. "Careful… mmm… I could slip."

"Maegor never slips when I do that… and you're a better rider than he is, niece."

Surely she was grinning. "I will be sure to relay that to him." Rhaena leaned back, taking Ceryse's lips in a kiss. One Ceryse gladly reciprocated… yet another thing that shocked her.

Ceryse couldn't be bothered that it shocked her. She loved it - it wasn't what she ever expected for herself, but with her little family she found love and safety and comfort. Done was she ever feeling guilty or ashamed.

Once again, she truly understood now what it meant to be a Targaryen. Why they were beyond the reign of gods and men. What standards but that of truth and compassion were those that could soar to the heavens atop dragons? Truly none. Ceryse only moaned and kissed Rhaena deeper, squeezing her breast through her cloak and leather tunic.

"Enough," Rhaena chuckled. "Let me fly." Ceryse smirked and continued to knead her teats - it was lovely. "Stop that."

"You wanted it of me, so make me."

Her eyes narrowed. "Dreamfyre, dive!" Steep and fast, Ceryse almost regretted provoking her wife as she screamed and hugged her tight, praying not to fly off.

Almost.

There was a war still raging in spite of a lull in the fighting - two gloriously decisive victories in the Riverlands and Reach had hurt but not killed the Faith. However, the toll of that war had affected all of them. Ceryse bore witness to her own trauma and brutalization, but hearing of the trials of her new loves made her heart clench with fear and sadness.

Maegor, left in a coma for nigh two weeks following his clash with the Faith on Visenya's Hill. A Trial of Seven in which he emerged victorious, but at a near grievous cost.

Rhaena, tugged from one battlefield to another as she struggled to adapt to a sort of lifestyle she was not at all accustomed to. Nearly killed on multiple occasions, Dark Sister singing and tasting blood in the heat of the fighting.

Tyanna, desperate to hold everything together in King's Landing. Uncovering the most frightening of conspiracies that had nearly doomed Rhaena. That had nearly destroyed Ceryse

Each of them suffered. Each of them had endured the impossible, which would break any lesser man or woman. And so they deserved a moment of peace, and the lull in the fighting was the most perfect time as any.

The place Maegor picked was a secluded cliff overlooking Blackwater Bay, about halfway between Duskendale and King's Landing - as secure a place as could be beyond the wilds of the North. The temperature was perfect, not too hot with the gentle sea breeze but also sunny. Excellent to lounge in. No sooner did Ceryse descend from Dreamfyre did Maegor sweep her up in his arms, peppering her face and neck and shoulders with kisses, all bare in the flowing red dress she wore.

Her smile seemed branded to her face, even when Maegor darted over to Rhaena, giving her the same treatment. Not all due to the fact that Tyanna replaced him, kissing her soundly, but that helped. Their first tryst had been just a few days ago, followed by the first night with all four of them together. Tyanna was… an acquired taste, but her devotion to the family was clear to Ceryse, and she was very beautiful.

She embraced her new self, and truthfully she wouldn't change anything about her new family.

While the dragons slept or lazily flew over the ocean for their meals, the King and his Queens settled down atop blankets spread out on the grass with their packed picnic lunch. It was sunny and quiet, making for a perfect place to eat and lounge around, flowing dresses cool even under the sun. The cooks at the Dragonpalace filled their baskets to the brim with the best of food - delicious fresh fruits, homemade baked bread, dried meat, and wheels of succulent goat, ewe, and cow's cheeses. Flagons of Dragonstone red wine were a must, Ceryse loving the taste as she sipped it. The taste of her true home, enjoyed with her loves.

The lunch was devoured slowly, merry conversations about the most inane banter filling the void. War put on hold, politics forgotten, this was a second chance for Ceryse and a respite for the others, feeling more a courtship than anything else - albeit without the awkwardness. She learned more about Rhaena and Tyanna… even her husband, and them about her. It felt wonderful, the wine loosening them up and the company bringing joy.

Bellies full, it was Tyanna that suggested full-body massages. A modest blush adorned Ceryse's cheeks as she peeled off her dress, leaving her naked as her nameday. Laying out on her stomach, as soon as Rhaena straddled her waist and began to work at her muscles, Ceryse felt glad that these were obligatory. She groaned at the powerful yet dainty hands, feeling the tension leave her muscles. After what could've been seconds or a half-hour, she felt a warm feeling along her back down to her plump bottom. Her groans grew prurient in nature at the tongue bath Rhaena gave her, mouth descended into the crack between her arsecheeks.

Ceryse gladly reciprocated, her eyes also hungrily eyeing Maegor as he did the same to the pregnant Tyanna. And yet he wore smallclothes during it. No no, this would not do.

When the massages were over, Rhaena had turned on her front to kiss Ceryse, but the Hightower surprised them all by pouncing on their husband. Forcing him on his back and kissing him senseless. Surprise that turned to gentle laughter and sensual delight. It wasn't long before her wives were kissing, lost in each other the way she was when she impaled herself on her husband's cock. Slowly riding Maegor with the same languid energy of the day.

Everything was a paradox. The most sweet and romantic moment of Ceryse's life, also one of the filthiest. Making love to all three of them made Ceryse feel dirty and naughty - a feeling that the woman raised not an hour's walk from the Starry Sept adored. She dragged out Maegor's climax, and her own, but eventually their lust for each other erupted, Ceryse around his cock and Maegor into her cunt.

Rhaena pulled them close after that, calling her aunt before sucking on Ceryse's tits. She was shoved onto her back, soon moaning when Rhaena began eating her cunt. Licking up their husband's seed. Ceryse grabbed Rhaena's head, letting her feast. Just enjoying it while watching Maegor fuck Tyanna from behind, her breasts swaying. Ceryse wanted her next.

And she did. Maegor and Rhaena locked in torrid coupling, it was Tyanna that straddled Ceryse's face, making the older woman pleasure her while she leaned down with a smirk on her face and played with her teats. She was a demanding lover, grinding and smothering her juicy cunt on Ceryse's mouth and wiggling tongue.

Perverse. Lecherous. Making a mockery out of all her father and septas had taught her.

Ceryse couldn't care less. Just surrendering herself.

She was a Queen. She was married to them. She loved them. The true gods understood.

"I have no doubt you'll be with child," she heard Rhaena tell her, nuzzling her teats as they all laid on the blankets - completely sated. "Mayhaps even now."

Tyanna clicked her tongue. "I was planning on having the Hightower burned to the ground, but what better vengeance than your child inheriting it?" Rhaena nodded in agreement.

Maegor noticed how Ceryse bit her lip. "If it's too painful for you, we shouldn't push…"

"No." Gods, her husband was perfect, caring for her so greatly. "This is not how I heal… I want a child, I always did. Your child."

"You'll have plenty of children," Rhaena said with fervor. "Not just of your womb, but from all of ours." She caressed Tyanna's belly. "Daemon, this babe, and all the others will be your children."

"Is that so?"

"Aye, I am the Queen. I decree it." Her brow raised in challenge. Neither Tyanna nor Maegor replied, content to smirk.

Ceryse sighed, but then leaned over to kiss Rhaena. "I am lucky."

Lazily they dressed and flew back to King's Landing in a blissful mood. Utterly happy, content with their lives.

What news awaited them as they landed shattered it all. Rhaena wept, Tyanna cursed, while Maegor went completely silent - white as a sheet. Only Ceryse could take it objectively… somewhat.

Aegon had declared himself King, backed by the Stormlands, most of the Riverlands, and Lord Reyne. In the midst of their darkest hour, House Targaryen had sundered.

Gods be with them. Ceryse stared into the distance as she rubbed her stomach, wondering what the future would even hold.

Sunspear had always been lively, but Nymeria found it to be a dreary place when she returned. It was… depressing to say the least. The bazaar was muted, the playing children nowhere to be seen, the men and women that usually gave the place life and joy trudging along with gloom over their faces. Everyone had known someone in the army that marched north to fight the Targaryens, and everyone also knew someone who would never return home.

The Dragon's wroth, for all its devastation, had brought glory to Dorne. Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. There was no glory in this fight, foolishly ordained by her idiot cousin and his handler, Lord Wyl. With more dragons than before, the Targaryens would be likely to repay the death and destruction five times over to those that tried to stab them in the back.

Nymeria Sand would let herself be devoured by scorpions before she let that happen.

The palace was quiet, devoid of the usual courtiers. Armed guards were doubled, however, most of them sporting the sigil of House Wyl rather than the sun and spear - not that Nymeria was shocked. "Stop," ordered one of them, waiting outside the Prince's solar. He patted her down, and didn't give off any vibes that he enjoyed it as most men would. "No weapons?"

She smiled saucily, playing her part. "Left my Valyrian steel with my army. I trust my cousin's guards to protect me." The guard grunted and let her in, opening the door.

Mors sat at the table in which their grandmother used to sit, looking like what he was - an overgrown child playing a great leader. Lord Wyl… while Mors was unchanged and still giddy, Wyl, who was no young man himself, seemed to have aged thirty years since she last saw him. Nymeria would've been sure he'd collapse dead any moment if not for his still wolfish eyes. Scanning her with… distaste.

"Cousin!" Mors proclaimed, spreading out his hands. "Thank the gods you survived the battle."

She took a seat across from him, smiling. "It was a close run thing."

"The Reachmen know not how to run a battle," he huffed. "Mayhaps I should lead the next army myself, then we would certainly win."

"I am sure of that, your Grace," Wyl replied. "To which is why we summoned you, my Lady. whole you fought well and honorably, defeat cannot be tolerated. Your command over the unified army has been revoked."

Nymeria placed her hands on her lap, crossing her near bare legs in the airy yellow dress with significant slits. An outfit of seduction. "No, I don't think it is."

"Excuse me?"

Mors narrowed his eyes. "Those were my orders, cousin."

"I know, and I'm refusing them." Her smile was a sweet one. "The army knows I fight for them, that I put my life on the line for them, rather than stay here, eat milk and honey, and fuck everything that moves."

Face going red with rage, Mors stood up. "I am the Prince! You are the bastard!" Suddenly he laughed. "Aye, a bastard. Not even a real Martell."

"I think we should have her escorted out and to her chambers, your Grace," Wyl advised, eying her suspiciously.

Her cousin giggled and was about to berate her some more - his mouth even open - when the sudden sounds of a scuffle came muffled through the wall behind her. Whatever insults were on his tongue died, while Wyl's brow furrowed. "What?" he muttered.

"Lord Wyl?!" Apparently Mors wasn't struck dumb completely. "What is going on?! I demand to know!"

"Forgive me, my Prince." Nymeria bit her tongue, hiding her amusement at how annoyed the powerful Malcolm Wyl seemed at having to cater to her asinine cousin. "Mayhaps some drunk guards scuffling. Fret not, I will find out…"

Just as Wyl began to round the table, a guard burst in. "My Lord!" Of course he addressed Wyl and not Mors - everyone knew who was truly in charge. "We're under attack!"

Mors reacted with a snarl, while Wyl paled. "By whom?! The Targaryens?!"

"Yes, and Daynes! And our own men!"

"Treason!" screamed Mors. "I will have their heads!"

Even fearful, Wyl was a cunning one, and kept his wits. Meeting Nymeria's eyes and taking in her smugness, it was clear he knew what was going on. "Kill her, now!"

There were several guards retreating into the Prince's solar, most concentrating on the fighting going outside in the collonaded corridor. Loading crossbows and loosing arrows. But the first that entered heard the order and raised his sword - a man of Wyl's and Wyl's only ready to carry out the command to kill the cousin of his Prince and fellow grandchild of Deria Martell. Absolute obedience in his eyes.

Nymeria wasn't cowed, nor was she unprepared. There was a reason she wore an airy slit dress, and it wasn't to seduce Victor Velayron once him and his sellswords broke through her cousin's defenses - though she did intend to. Inching her hand slowly up her thigh as the minutes wore on previously, it finally was in place by the time she was under threat. "Catch." Nymeria drew the tiny dagger and tossed it at the guard, him barely gaping in surprise before it slammed into his eye. Killing him instantly.

She leapt out of her seat and rolled to the floor, picking up his sword and slashing across the back of a crossbowman. He fell with a cry of pain, distracting the others enough for her men to surge through the corridor and seize the doorway.

It was child's play after that.

"Spread out!" barked their commander, eying a quiet Wyl and suddenly terrified Mors. "Make sure they don't do anything funny." He looked to Nym, who hefted the blade in her hands. "You alright, my Lady?"

Nymeria shrugged. "Not really… after wielding Valyrian steel, the ordinary stuff is just so weighty on the wrists." She tossed the blade to the floor, hearing it clatter.

Victor Velaryon, removing his helm and letting his silver-gold hair fall down his shoulders, laughed and handed her the great Nymeria's blade back. "I can assure you that I didn't use this. Wouldn't dream of handling another's Valyrian steel."

Eagerly affixing it to her waist, she cupped Victor's cheeks. "That's fine, for you have an excellent sword already." She kissed him deeply, hungrily. Guiding his hand to touch her mostly bare thigh. The weeks before had been so wonderful, finally meeting her former lover and the father of her child.

It turned out that there was a connection besides lust, and she was eager to explore it.

"You whore!"

Breaking the kiss, Nymeria turned and affixed a smirk upon Mors. "You're one to talk, cousin. Is there a servant girl or boy in this keep that isn't treated to a sore arse by you?"

"At least I don't fuck the enemy… he's the father of your bastard, isn't he?! I'll have you killed, and her killed! I'll have you all killed!"

One of her men, her loyal men, punched him in the mouth. "Do shut it, cousin," she drolled, instead meeting the tired gaze of Malcolm Wyl. "If I had known those assassins were sent by you to kill me, I'd have collected their fingers and eyes to send to you."

He shrugged. "I would've sent you worse if the roles were reversed."

"No doubt." She stalked over to him. "What was your goal, then? To bow before the Seven like a member of the Silent Sisters?"

"Best to border religious fanatics than dragons… you've chosen the opposite."

"The Starry Sept would never win. Best get in while the dragons are still desperate for allies." She drew her blade, letting it flash in the sun. "Goodbye, Lord Wyl. Your long years of service were appreciated, but no longer required." With that she drove the blade into his heart, watching the old man's eyes widen from the pain before he collapsed to the ground, dead.

It seemed to put realization into her cousin. He started shaking, a wet stain forming on his trousers. "Some Prince of Dorne," Victor rolled his eyes. "My grandfather used to tell me of Deria and Nymor and Meria… they were brave and cunning, while you're a worm."

"Please… cousin, mercy!"

"You deserve no mercy," Nymeria snarled. "At least Wyl was strong, you're pathetic."

He started to cry. "I… I'm your cousin. Kin can't kill kin."

A smirk. "I know." Hope bloomed on his face. "That's why I'm glad I haven't married Victor yet."

While Mors opened his mouth, clearly confused, Victor grabbed a javelin and hurled it at his head. Her man never missed.

Nymeria nodded. "Secure the grounds," she ordered her soldiers. "Make sure all of Wyl's men are accounted for and sent in shackles to Ser Victor's ships - I'll deal with them later. And open the gates for the Dayne bannermen to enter."

"Yes, your Grace," replied her guardsman.

Turning to Victor, she smiled. "'Your Grace…' suppose I am Princess of Dorne now."

He smirked. "To be honest, insanely arousing."

"Naughty seahorse," she cooed, running a hand along his chin. "I am in need of a bath before I call court to session… if you don't join me then I will throw you out of the keep." The threat wasn't needed.

To all Lords of Westeros,

The Faith has blasphemed against you, invoking the Seven to call you to a false crusade that will only lead to your death and destruction.

The usurper Maegor Targaryen has lied to you, bewitching Princess Rhaena into delivering unto him all power that was never rightfully his as sixth in line to succeed the late Aenys, First of his Name. To follow him spells a betrayal of your oath to the true line of the Targaryen dynasty.

There is another option. As of the writing of this letter, the true ruler of Westeros is Aegon, Second of his Name. Son of Aenys and Queen Alyssa Velaryon. Rightful King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men. Long may he reign.

I call on you to his banners, to fight both the usurper in King's Landing and the blasphemer in Oldtown. To arms. To victory.

Lord Lucas Harroway

Hand of the King

"This has to be some sort of farce!" The new Lord Karstark was a young man. Barely with a beard, brimming with energy but hesitant to use it - without experience. "How… how can the Prince betray his own sister and nephew?"

It was a question Rhaenys had asked herself at least thrice every hour after receiving the letter. While addressed to Lord Frey, the Northern army had been its intended recipient - and by that, truly it had been Rhaenys that Lucas Harroway wished would read it.

"The allure of power can charm away anyone from familial love," mused Lord Bolton rather aptly. "Or mayhaps he was merely talked into it by those around him."

"I know Lord Lucas," grumbled Lord Frey. "As ambitious as he is oily. This is his doing."

Rhaenys, eyes downcast at the table, raised her head and seemed to lock eyes with everyone gathered for the war council. "Rogar Baratheon's behind this, for sure." It was something… she had overlooked the last time she was in Harrenhal, thinking it was nothing - but he had been rather keen on staying close to her goodsister, Alyssa. Alyssa, you poor dumb cunt… Rhaenys had thought her made of sterner stuff.

Then again, what had been just simple release for Rhaenys had turned into as much an established love affair as any. Gelina hadn't slept away from her bed since their first time. "Who cares what fuckin' started it," the wildling chieftess snorted, having earned the respect of the frosty northmen on the field of battle at Green Fork. "What are we gonna fuckin do?"

Big difference between her and Alyssa - Gelina was utterly loyal. No ulterior motives except what was best for Rhaenys, and by extension house Stark. She was like Brandon in that way, except with different parts. That brought a slight smile to Rhaenys' face for the briefest of moments, disappearing behind her mask. "For now, keep scouts on the approaches of the Westerlands to watch out for Tyrion Lannister's army." The young northmen, all heirs to their fathers, grandfathers, and older brothers that died at the Lannister heir's hands, visibly darkened at the name. "We're marching back to shadow Harrenhal."

"Seems like we already did that," hissed Lady Jeyne Umber. A beautiful blonde, nevertheless quick with wit and arrow both. "And unlike last time, our foe's got a dragon."

"We don't know that for sure," Rhaenys replied, though even to her it sounded like wishful thinking.

Lord Bolton struck it down. "Quicksilver flew to Harrenhal after leaving Blackwater Bay to escort Prince Aegon and Princess Alys… I think it is safe to assume the Prince bonded with his father's dragon." A chorus of nods, however grudging they were.

For the best, however much it pained Rhaenys. "March to the ford and stay camped on the north side. Do not attempt to make any engagement or probe south… Our Queens and King will want to negotiate, and it will not be I that causes harm with their attempts." The order was received, even the brash youths accepting without complaint.

Gelina waited until they were walking through the open field south of their camp before she spoke out. "Yer' not gonna sit around 'ere and wait, are ye', love?"

Rhaenys turned around, meeting Gelina's eyes. It was after the battle that they had begun referring to each other not as a mere pair of friends using each other for solace and pleasure, but rather something more. Rhaenys felt guilty, but not enough to stop - Brandon would wish her to be happy, she was sure. "My husband died fighting for our survival. That of Houses Targaryen and Stark. I'll be damned if some ambitious cunts manipulate my nephews and goodsister into tearing ourselves apart as the Faith tries to kill us all." She called to Arrax, who began to lumber from the river to her.

"What 'ere ye' hope to accomplish, Rhaenys?" Gelina looked rather worried. "Yer one dragonrider… and they aren't gonna listen to 'ye."

"He is my nephew."

"Ye' said it yerself, there are others whisperin' in his ear. And yer goodsister's ear."

Arrax towered over her, lowering his shoulder for her to climb. "I have to try, before this gets out of hand."

Gelina reached out and took her wrist, pleading. "Don't go."

"They won't harm me."

"I don't wanna risk it."

Eyes locking, Rhaenys leaned forward and pressed their lips together. Gelina pulled them flush against each other, the kiss growing deep and loving. An affection thought to be impossible, but it was there.

And yet it had to end. "I'm sorry… but I will be back."

The wildling looked vulnerable for the first time in her life. "I'll be waitin'."

Rhaenys forced a smile. "Make sure my orders are carried out."

Gelina didn't smile, though she nodded. "I will."

Alone in the air, she was. Without human companionship - ultimately Rhaenys appreciated that. No one but her taking the risk to die. The price to pay for being a Targaryen, to venture into the realm of the gods.

'You're getting philosophical on me,' she heard in her mind, though it came off as a hoot. 'You only do that when you're nervous, muna.'

Rhaenys rolled her eyes at Arrax. He didn't always tease, but when he did it was at the most inopportune moments. "Not now."

'I agree with the woman… the one you love now after the wolf.' Dragons were blunt as well as intelligent - at least Arrax was. 'I doubt they're going to be in the mood to talk.'

"Arrax, I must try."

'Admirable on your part, but it's not going to work. They've gone too deep… mayhaps your niece could have the love of your nephew to draw him into a peaceful resolution, but not you. You're seen as a Stark to them, and the full-blooded sister of Maegor.'

She knew not what to say to that, and so said nothing.

Nameless stretches of the Trident passed with each moment in the air, Arrax covering distances in a mere hour that a horse or wagon would've taken days if going all out. Soon, Harrenhal loomed in the distance, its melted spires bearing testament to the might and power of the dragons. When facing the Faith, it was a source of hope and pride… now, it was a warning. For dragons now fought dragons.

Arrax roared at the sight.

An answering roar made Rhaenys jump in her saddle, eyes flickering to her left. Quicksilver, magnificent in the sun as the light reflected off of his silver scales. Just as beautiful as when she had flown with Aenys in their youth.

But there was no friendliness. No playful acrobatics from her brother, who when aloft seemed to shed his nature and embrace at least part of his blood. At best, when it was her nephew's eyes that met her, Rhaenys could only describe it as tense. "Why are you here, aunt?!" Aegon shouted over the din, Quicksilver settling into a glide almost wingtip to wingtip next to Arrax. "Do not tell me you are here amiably!"

Rhaenys cursed under her breath. "I'm here to talk you out of this mistake!"

"Of course you side with those that took my crown!"

"The crown was never yours!" This was going badly. "Give up this fight and hand over the traitors before this gets out of hand!"

"You and I both know that on the list of traitors are myself and my muna! There is no going back, it's too late!"

If this was on the ground, Rhaenys was sure she could smooth things over - especially with Alyssa there. "Let us land and discuss this!"

"Let it be here, aunt! Or are you afraid of being alone with your nephew?"

"Just land!"

"Speak your piece!"

"Land!" Shouting in frustration, unfortunately the anger filled Arrax as well, who roared at point blank range. Quicksilver, tense as he was, shot off a tongue of fire. More a warning, but a lick of flame managed to graze Rhaenys. She cried out, and Arrax reacted as any dragon would.

Roars turning to shrieks as the two dragons hurled themselves at each other. Arrax ramming into Quicksilver and trying to bathe Aegon in flame. Quicksilver's talons raked down Arrax's stomach, leaving deep gouges of blood. With Arrax breaking off, Quicksilver dove, trailing smoke.

Arrax tried to follow, but Rhaenys had finally gotten her bearings. "Hold! Hold!" she screamed, and Arrax listened. "My gods… what have you done?"

'I defended you, muna.'

That was true… it wasn't Arrax's fault. But gliding lazily above the Riverlands, Rhaenys knew that didn't matter a damn.

The quiet helped. The seclusion helped. Greywater Watch had never been attacked in its history, the swamps and bogs of the Neck serving as the perfect source of protection especially since the floating keep was never in one place. While none of the guards were lax given the high-profile guests, they clearly didn't expect anything disturbing them.

They especially didn't expect someone to sneak out without authorization from Lord Reed.

Such was Jaehaerys' advantage. Draped in a dark brown cloak to blend in with the crannog bog and cypress trees that made up the flora of the Neck, he dressed warmly and with both bow and sword on his person. Dragging the small boat from the dock and pushing it into the murky-green water, with a plop he shoved the saddlebag atop the hull - watching the vessel bob in the brackish swamp. He tied the rope the floating keep's jetty, making sure it didn't drift off as he went for the oars.

The guttural bellies of lizard-lions in the distance made him wary. Jaehaerys wasn't keen on being in some reptile's gut, but his determination forced him to continue. Seeing Vermithor watching him from the shed containing the dinghies, he was calmed. A dragon large enough to burn a man was something the lizard-lions would never mess with.

On the other hand… his kepa was the rider of the mighty Quicksilver, large enough to burn entire keeps. That didn't save him.

Kepa…

Jaehaerys paused where he was, closing his eyes and resting them against the wooden beam of the shed. His father had died and Jae could do nothing. His muna and brothers were surrounded and he was stuck in the Dragonpalace, wounded in the Dragonpalace while it was his sister and uncle and aunt that saved them. That fought the battles.

And now with his family tearing itself apart, Jaehaerys would not sit on the sidelines.

Shaking off the pain and grief, he resumed his packing. Stocking the boat with supplies he would need when he reached shore. At Moat Cailin he could get a horse, and then it would be a few days to a week to the Twins where he could meet up with his aunt Rhaenys and actually fight…

Oars slung over his shoulder, he looked over to Vermithor to call him over… only to notice the bronze dragon wasn't alone. The silver scales of Silverwing glittered in the low moonlight that filtered through the canopy, the she-dragon rubbing her neck against Vermithor's.

And where Silverwing went, that meant... "I know it's you, Aly." He hadn't even turned around before a dainty hand slapped him upside the head. "Oww!"

"You idiot!" Alysanne's voice was a low hiss, but very clear in its vitriol. "You stupid dolt! You fucking fool!" Continuing to slap him and strike him, Jaehaerys fought it off. Not reciprocating, never to strike his beloved sister, but eventually he had grabbed her wrists and held them in place. Reducing her anger to mere tears of sorrow as she fell upon him. "What are you doing, Jae?"

He sighed. "I'm doing what I have to do, for my family."

"Well," she huffed, glaring at him even though tears streaked down her cheeks. "I know my brother Jaehaerys isn't such a fucking idiot, thinking that what he must do is flee his refuge alone."

Alysanne never cursed - she was as sweet and gentle a person as he had ever known. She was truly angry, or worried. Or both. "You know what is happening in the south, Aly. That our brother is set to fight our sister and uncle?"

She closed her eyes, nodding. "Aye, I do." Alysanne even spoke like a Northerner these days - Jae would've mocked it before but now found it endearing, especially after hearing Arya murmur sweet Valyrian nothings into his ear in that same accent at night. "But you've already fought, sacrificed." Alysanne touched his eyepatch, making him recoil in shame. "Stay here, where it's safe."

"No." He clenched his fists in frustration. "Alysanne, don't do this."

"It is what I have to do." She threw his words back in his face. "To protect you."

"Our family is about to tear itself apart… I must go and talk some sense to them. To our brother… Aegon would listen to me."

"And let yourself get in the middle of a certain clash, where our kin fights our kin? Muna wouldn't want this, nor Rhaena, nor our uncle." She trembled. "I am not afraid of anything but your pain and life, for Arya's pain and life, but what good can come for our family if everyone of its members are at risk of death? Alaric won't be sent, little Lyanna or Daemon won't be sent. You must stay, please brother."

"I cannot!" The dragons hooted as he tossed the oars to the jetty, hearing them clatter atop the wooden planks. "I cannot watch my family die and do nothing!"

"Arya wouldn't want you to go… I don't want you to go!"

"If you cared about our family you wouldn't say that! If you cared about me…"

She reacted as if struck… then a flash of strength in her violet eyes. Looking much like their grandmother, like their sister. Before Jaehaerys could react, she hurled herself back into her arms. This he expected. The kiss Alysanne pressed against his lips - one not chaste but searching, plundering much like how Arya kissed him in bed - was definitely not.

He found himself reciprocating, arms wrapping around Alysanne.

"Please don't go," she begged against his lips, her voice a gentle, exhausted mewl. "Jae… I can't see you in danger, not by our foes and not by our family." Another desperate kiss, pulling him back until they collided with the wall of the shed. Him pinning her upon it by her own design. "I can't… I love you."

Jaehaerys knew that it wasn't filial love.

He also knew that in spite of it all, he was glad at that fact. His soul pulled in… "I can't see our family fall apart like this…"

"It won't," she murmured, hugging him close, kissing the shell of his ear. "I have foreseen it, the gods will save us." Melding against his body, she rubbed up and down, desperate to seduce him. It was working. "Stay with Arya, stay with me here. Please."

All he could do was kiss her. Fall to the hard deck below - not the place for a Prince and Princess of House Targaryen, but perfect for them.

It was a miserable day.

A sudden storm had covered the Riverlands in a deluge, swelling the Trident and its tributaries into a raging torrent of whitewater and mud. One couldn't see beyond a hundred feet in any direction, and even though it was midday the clouds blocked out the sun. It felt like midnight.

In this, Dreamfyre beat her wings to a halt, pelted by the torrential downpour. The thick, leathery membranes sent showers spraying all before her, including the honorguard stationed under the thick awnings installed for Aegon's use. Or Rhaenys' use when she had captured Harrenhal… or her own husband's. Rhaena didn't know nor care, dismounting Dreamfyre with ease - caring to avoid slipping on the slick spines and scales.

It would do no good for her to fall and hit the muddy ground.

Boots squelching as it was, she walked until she met the head of Dreamfyre, her beloved curving her neck to nuzzle Rhaena. "Shhh, rest, my love," Rhaena murmured, no doubt proving a morbid enigma to the watching dignitaries as a petite woman speaking to a massive beast.

Dreamfyre growled her replies, a simmering tension coming from her. 'They didn't try to harm you.' The raindrops hit her scales and disappeared into clouds of steam, so hot did her skin burn. 'Not as they did your aunt.'

"I will make sure they answer for that, yet please do not antagonize Quicksilver."

"It is he who should worry about antagonizing me." Dreamfyre hooted and then ascended back into the air - lightning cracked, illuminating her purple body. It was a rather… haunting yet beautiful sight.

Rhaena sighed, biting her lip. No bonded dragon in the history of House Targaryen had ever fought another bonded dragon. To think of it was anathema, and yet here it was happening.

That's what you're here to prevent. Squaring her shoulders, she endured the pelting of rain to walk regally towards the waiting party.

"Princess Rhaena." It was Lord Rogar, as fearsome and arrogant as he had been at Tumbleton. "Welcome to Harrenhal. His Grace has asked me to escort you to him,"

"Bread and salt first," Rhaena near hissed. A firm order, as if she was dispensing justice from atop the Iron Throne.

Rogar made a pained expression, most likely a farce. "Your mother would have a fit if she knew that you would request guest right from your own brother."

"Do not presume to tell me what my mother would think, Lord Baratheon." Whether it was the 'skirmish' between Arrax and Quicksilver, the very nature of her brother's usurpation, or the fact that Rogar himself had once fought under her direct command only now to stand arayed against her, Rhaena only knew that everything was cloaked in a veil of unease. She was not taking chances. Eventually Rogar did relent and presented a servant with the requested offering.

The bread was stale and the salt intermixed with dirt and sand. She ate enough anyway.

Silence filled the cavernous halls, only interrupted by the steady roar of the rain and the booms of the thunder. Rogar tried to engage Rhaena in conversation but she was having none of it. After a few times she snapped at him. "I would request you address me in the manner you did while fighting alongside me at Tumbleton." After that, Rogar remained silent. Rhaena was grateful.

He seemed to know where she wished to go, and soon Rhaena was deposited in a large chamber. A council chamber, for it looked much like the one in the Dragonpalace. Once it must've housed all the lords of the Riverlands and Iron Islands from how large the table was, all serving Black Harren. Now though, there were but three.

"Daughter!" Rhaena allowed her ire to temporarily slip away as her muna ran to her, Alyssa embracing her tightly in spite of how soaked she was. "Thank the gods for your life and health."

"Oh, muna…" She indulged herself, snuggling close to her muna as she did as a small babe. Allowing some comfort to come out of this meeting, for she did truly miss her mother.

Alyssa pulled back, hands pressed to Rhaena's upper arms. "Seven Hells, you're wet and cold. We can do this later while you take a bath and get into some clean clothes…"

"I'm not staying more than I have to, muna," Rhaena replied, stepping away from Alyssa. She was met with her middle brother. "Viserys… you've truly become a man." That didn't stop her from giving him a sisterly embrace. "Please tell me you do not desire war."

He looked up at her. "I love you sister, but I also want what is right." Cryptic. Rhaena took him at face value, merely kissing his forehead before finding the one she had been seeking. "Brother."

Aegon, who up till now had his back turned to the visitor and gazed out the window at the storm outside, finally revealed his face to Rhana. "Sister." His words were polite but emotionless, taking her by the hands and leaning over to kiss her cheeks as she kissed his. Yet beneath the facade… there was brotherly affection. Rhaena could tell, and yet it was strained. Pushed aside by expediency. "Why did you come?"

She pursed her lips. "Because I want peace."

"That's what our aunt said, and yet that ended only in an attack. Had Quicksilver not been the same size as Arrax…"

"She did not mean to attack you!" Rhaena's shout echoed through the cavernous hall. "None of us want war, except for your own advisors…"

Aegon snorted. "Under siege for many moons, isolated in Castamere. Through my enemies' taunts I find out that kepa is dead, and then my sister and uncle stole the crown from me."

"It was not your crown, I was the Crown Princess."

"Father never decided that." It was Viserys, speaking behind them.

"Even if he did, he would never have wanted Maegor anywhere near the Iron Throne." That was her muna, Alyssa's eyes set in rage. "Why did you marry him, Rhaena? Why?"

"You're still asking me that question?" Rhaena scoffed. "A child and heir, more children on the way. Shared responsibilities and fighting alongside each other… you still cannot comprehend that I love him and he loves me?"

Alyssa looked away. "He is incapable of real love."

Before Rhaena could reply, Aegon re-entered the conversation. "And what of Tyanna and Ceryse? Him bedding other women as if you are not enough?"

"Ceryse was already his wife, and you forget that it was I that first took Tyanna to bed." She met his gaze. "Such is the way with our family, with our grandparents and ancestors long before. Do not tell me you seek to rule on behalf of the Faith."

"You insult me by even making such an insinuation." Aegon turned once again to stare out the window. "If you will not stay, then I will make this short so you can go back to your brothel." Rhaena's fists tightened. Who was inflaming him so? Not her muna or brother, and certainly not Alys. Lord Lucas and Lord Rogar? "Divorce Maegor and send him into exile. Marry me and keep your title of Queen. Daemon can be my heir, as long as he marries a future daughter of mine and Alys'."

Rhaena's eyes were wide. "You cannot be serious."

"Daughter." Alyssa reached for her shoulder from behind, but Rhaena turned around, shoving her off. Her muna appeared hurt, but didn't dwell on it. "This is the best proposal."

"You're asking my husband to force himself into exile, away from me and our son and our loves."

"He is unfit to rule!" Alyssa said firmly.

"He's one of the few that kept all grandfather and grandmothers worked so hard for from falling apart!" Rhaena shrieked. "What you're asking is vile!"

"Lord Lucas didn't wish for negotiation," Aegon replied. "And Lord Rogar told muna that I should force you from your throne and merely make you a Princess again. Disinherit Daemon if not make him a bastard."

Her eyes narrowed. "And what of Maegor?"

"Rogar wished to kill him."

"I'll kill him before he can even get close…" She trailed off, noticing a flash of something in her muna's eyes. Sadness, worry… apprehension…

Oh, gods.

Alyssa noticed Rhaena's revelation. "Daughter…"

"I see my journey here was a waste." She moved to the door.

"Sister!" Viserys cried. "We can still…"

Rhaena cut him off. "None of you will be harmed lest you seeking it, but I will not be divorcing Maegor nor relinquishing our crowns. If you wish to end this war, you will surrender to me." With that she left the chamber, alone.

As she expected, none followed her. The gods were merciful for the rain, then - it hid her tears.