Maris IV

Maris flinched as the goblet struck the wall with a resounding crash, before falling to roll about the chamber floor. Dark red wine flowed outwards like blood for a few moments before a servant wordlessly began using a small towel to sop up its spilt contents.

"The boy had no right to dismiss him! Ser Byron had served with distinction as a knight of the Royal Household since his appointment!"

Ser Roland Connington suppressed a grimace. "My Lord, there was that ugly bit of business with the King's brother…"

Borros slammed his fist upon the table, red-faced. "We were at war, and the boy bared steel. He was as much a combatant as anyone else in the chamber."

Connington nodded, but nothing about his expression implied mollification. "Nonetheless, Ser Swann has already departed the city. With him goes our last appointment in the Royal Household, barring Lord Tarth."

Lord Bryndemere leaned forwards, breaking his earlier silence. "My Lord, Corlys Velaryon has made it quite clear to me that if I wish to continue in my service to the King that I will need to avoid any attempts to ensconce myself any further into the administration. My duties do not allow me much access to the Red Keep, and the Regents have remained remarkably tight-lipped about any impending developments. So long as I am able to restore some semblance of effective taxation, they seemingly have little interest in my talents."

Her father's eyes narrowed. "So the Crown's debts are as high as the whispers suggest?"

Lord Bryndemere nodded, his expression growing grave. "Higher, my Lord. During her time atop the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra extorted practically every business owner in the capital. When that proved insufficient, she apparently borrowed vast sums from Lord Velaryon, who offered far kinder rates than the Iron Bank or the perfidious Rogares. With the subsequent riots, many of the Crown's debt-holders have either disappeared or sold their shares of the Crown's burdens to Lord Velaryon."

"Gods damn it. So the damned greybeard has the King over a barrel?"

Ser Roland scoffed. "Matters of coin are for bankers and merchants to sweat over, not Lords."

He says 'bankers' and 'merchants' in the tone most would use to say 'whores', Maris thought to herself.

Lord Bryndemere gave an exasperated glance at Ser Roland. "Lord Corlys wields the power he does precisely because he thinks like a merchant and a banker. Driftmark's yearly incomes would be miniscule compared to those of Tarth if it were not for generations of Velaryon investments in shipbuilding and trade. Even now, every peppercorn, bolt of silk, or stick of cinnamon sold in the realm has passed through Driftmark since the war began. Corlys Velaryon doesn't just have the King over a barrel, he has the realm over one!"

Maris adopted an inquisitive expression. "My Lord betrothed, forgive me if I misspeak, but the Old King Jaehaerys grew wealthy after approving taxes on luxury imports, did he not? Could we not do the same? Why not enrich the Crown at the expense of the Seahorse?"

Bryndemere smiled. "An excellent idea, my dear. But an impractical one. Ser Tyland Lannister and Lord Velaryon have already decreed an end to those taxes, as well as a reduction on foreign food imports, supposedly in an effort to reduce the strain on grain merchants, and ostensibly to alleviate the danger of famine. I am certain the lowliest members of the smallfolk rejoiced when they heard that their tastes for cinnamon and cloves could finally be accommodated."

Maris resisted the urge to laugh at her betrothed's dripping sarcasm. "If the Crown is reducing its port taxes, how does it expect to ever repay Lord Velaryon?"

Lord Bryndemere chuckled. "I am not certain Lord Velaryon would ever wish to be fully repaid. I am sure he would be quite content for his House to simply collect payments on interest for the next century. He has, however, doubled the hearth tax within the city, as well as decreed a similar increase within the King's demesne in the Kingswood, to be levied at such a time as when Royal authority has been reestablished. The Goldcloaks have been encouraged to use any means necessary to ensure that payments continue to be collected."

Her father coughed. "As fascinating as these matters are, I feel a thorough explanation of the Crown's pitiful finances must wait. Pray tell, Lord Bryndemere, do you have any joyous news for me, perhaps regarding my dear Maris?"

Lord Bryndemere smiled thinly. "I am pleased to confirm that I extended an offer for your daughter's hand, my Lord. We have mutually decided to postpone our wedding until after the marriage of the Hand's granddaughter. We fear that the Lord Hand might take offense if we sought to diminish the grandeur of Lady's Rhaena's impending nuptials."

Borros Baratheon sighed. "Gods forbid we deny the Lady Rhaena anything. So be it. If my own daughter's wedding must be postponed for the sake of currying Royal favor, it shall be done." He reached across the table to take Maris's hands into his own. "I promise that your own wedding, along with that of your sisters, will lack for nothing my sweet. None will doubt the power of House Baratheon on that day."

Maris smiled. "I would expect nothing less. Thank you father."

With a nod, her sire stood, leaving the chamber. Ser Roland followed after him, his stormy visage dark.

For few moments, she and Lord Bryndemere sat in silence, watching the fire crackle in the hearth. Finally, he spoke.

"Your father's wroth grows, my dear. I fear there is little that can be done to soothe his underlying frustrations, however. The King has made it abundantly clear that he will never suffer Borros Baratheon seated upon the Small Council or Regency. The deaths of his brothers will never be forgotten, nor forgiven."

Maris nodded. "Lord Strong was wise to disappear along with his claimant. During the siege, I was certain we would wake in the night to the sound of screams and dragonflame, hostages or not. I lacked my father's firm conviction that we would survive."

Lord Bryndemere took a sip from his chalice. "Were it not for those children in chains, we would have not. To think, two scared boys and a maimed girl bought the lives of thousands." His eyes bored into the flames before him. "When the negotiations concluded, I had the opportunity to observe the Pretender's surviving seeds. They are no callow boys, with hay in their hair. They are killers. None since Maegor the Cruel have consigned so many to the hellish flames of dragons. I do not believe King Aegon and Ser Malentine would have defeated them."

Maris smoothed her dress. "It is fortunate then, that by fortune and circumstance, they have been brought peaceably into the fold."

Bryndemere nodded. "It is most fortunate indeed." He took another sip. "If your father truly wishes to gain power within court, he must gain the favor of a dragonrider. Lord Corlys' wealth is spectacular, but what truly elevates his station are the three dragonriders that obey his commands implicitly. If he succeeds in returning Ser Malentine into the Velaryon fold, his grip upon the realm will become unshakable. Two of four Royal Constables will answer to the Lord of the Tides."

"Father knows this. I have heard him speak with Cassandra. He told her that if our mother bears him a son, he will need her to marry for our House. He has already spoken with Ser Malentine, offering him lands from House Baratheon's own holdings as a dowry if he were to accept her hand."

The Lord of Tarth eyed her closely. "Will she dance to your father's tune?"

Maris shrugged. "Happily? No. My dear sister has dreamed of a crown since she first learned the meaning of the word. But she fears father, and will follow his commands. If she is ordered to marry Ser Malentine, she will do so."

Lord Bryndemere seemed to accept her words. "If Lord Velaryon is successful in winning Ser Malentine's loyalty, would she marry one of the Seeds?"

Maris blanched. My sister's wrath and humiliation would be most formidable. But would she risk disinheritance? I am safe from such a marriage, but would Elyn or Floris be? Has father considered such an option?

Lord Tarth chuckled. "You realize, I am sure, the necessity of a dragonrider answering to House Baratheon. If your father cannot obtain a Seahorse, then he must needs make do with a peasant. The Cannibal is one of the three largest living dragons, and its rider is unspoken for." He swirled the dregs of his wine for a moment, a small smile on his face. "I have little doubt that every maiden within the Vale of Arryn is being told the same thing as we speak. Lord Velaryon undoubtedly sent the two Seeds from the capital in an attempt to marginalize their influence. But they are as dangerous in the West and East as they are within this city's walls. Perhaps more dangerous. Jeyne Arryn and Johanna Lannister were treated most unfairly by their lieges. I am certain they would not deny themselves an opportunity to reduce the disparity between themselves and the Crown."

Maris sighed and sipped her wine. He is right, of course. Have we missed our chance at true power? "I will… think on your words, my Lord. You have given me much to consider."

She offered her hand to the Lord of Tarth, and he kissed it, delicately. "Maris Baratheon, you have a mind for power. Your father has already nearly destroyed House Baratheon's ties with the Crown. You alone may have the wits to save them. The question, of course, is how to do so." He chuckled. "I, in the meantime, will be busy attempting to rein in your father's… more troublesome impulses."

Maris curtseyed, a smile tugging at her features. "It is good to have an ally, my Lord."

The Lord of Tarth stood, and bowed. "Likewise, my Lady."

Ellyn Baratheon looked frantic as Maris returned to their chambers.

Maris eyed her warily. "What is the matter, sister?"

Ellyn spoke, almost breathlessly. "I have received an invitation to attend to the Queen Jaehaera."

Maris frowned. "I thought that King Aegon had made his opinions on Baratheon court presence quite clear?" She paused, in order to gesture at the manse all about them for effect. "We certainly have not claimed this abode for its aesthetic virtues!"

Ellyn shook her head in agreement. "I am quite aware, Maris. Spare me your wit, just this once. A servant in Royal livery awaits within the entry hall, and insists that the Queen has demanded my presence. The King, loath to disappoint his newlywed, has allowed for me and a select few companions to attend her. If she is pleased, he may allow me to do so regularly."

Maris' mind was racing. Jaehaera did always favor Ellyn… it would make sense that she would dearly miss her calming influence. If Ellyn is allowed to bring companions, this could prove the opportunity we seek!

"Have you decided whether or not you will attend the Queen, Ellyn?"

Ellyn folded her arms. "I cannot deny her request, even though she remains a frail child. What I have yet to decide is whether to allow my potentially troublesome sisters to accompany me. You and Cassandra were at times positively vile to Jaehaera."

Maris nodded. "We were. And I would understand your desire to leave us behind, if you so chose."

Ellyn raised an eyebrow. "That is… remarkably understanding of you Maris. Do not disappoint me by softening too much with the news of your betrothal. Your acerbic tongue does sometimes serve a purpose."

Maris laughed. "Kind, but untrue. I rarely bring our House anything but woe when I open my mouth."

Ellyn rolled her eyes. "Aemond was vicious, Maris. And you did not allow him to leave Storm's End. Father gave that order."

In her mind's eye, she saw a violet eye, dripping malice. Black armor, dripping rainwater like blood, shone in the torches of Storm's End. I could not have known the kind of man he was; the things he was capable of… could I?

"I… suppose you are correct, Ellyn. I thank you for your kind words."

Her sister regarded her quietly for a few moments. "I think I will be bringing you with me after all. I never was comfortable alone in court."

Maris nodded. "What of Cassandra and Floris?"

Ellyn crossed her arms and frowned. "What are your thoughts on the matter?"

Maris pursed her lips. "Floris is a kind girl, unlikely to cause any sort of offense. Cassandra… Cassandra can be cruel, but she can also be charming, if appropriately incentivised." She thought for a moment. "We ought to bring them both. It would be unwise to appear disunited as a family in court. We need each other, now more than ever."

Ellyn nodded, a cautious smile breaking upon her face. Finally, she asked a question. "Who are you, and what have you done with my sister, rogue?"

Maris grinned. "Pettiness has gone out of fashion, sweet sister."

They found Floris in her chambers sewing a golden stag onto a kerchief, and were able to convince her to come along without much effort. When they entered Cassandra's bedchamber, they found her combing her hair with an ivory brush fashioned to resemble an antler. Ellyn lightly drove her elbow into Maris' side, and she deduced that it was her turn to speak.

"Sister, are you aware a servant clad in Royal livery awaits Ellyn in our entry hall?"

From her seat in front of a silvered mirror, Cassandra Baratheon eyed the three of them. Their sister still remained in a shift, evidently unwilling to dress properly until supper, but her posture remained impeccable. "I am more than aware, Maris. A serving girl brought me word scarcely after he arrived. I am surprised you've deigned to mention it to me."

She still resents our exile. Do not return the barb. "We, after some discussion, have decided to accept the Queen's invitation to attend her. We thought it best that we all go together, as sisters."

Cassandra scoffed. "What would I want with that lackwit? To think that they made her Queen! After that performance of hers at the wedding, I am shocked that they allow her to make any requests."

Ellyn drew breath, clearly preparing to scold Cassandra for her words, but Maris raised a hand to prevent her. "Sister, I too chafe at our marginalization. But the Crown will not give us another opportunity to return to court. The King despises father, yet has allowed us a chance to return to serve his Queen, whom he still holds in favor. Surely you realize that others will be attending Jaehaera? That this could be an opportunity to work our way back into the Crown's good graces?"

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "Father commands six thousand swords in the capital. Without the men of the Stormlands, the King would never have tamed this city. He cannot bar father from power permanently."

Maris frowned. "Father could bring sixty thousand swords to the capital for all the King cares. No amount of blustering or bald-faced intimidation will force the King to budge. But perhaps… perhaps honeyed words and compassionate service will suffice where brute force will not. We are ladies, raised from birth in courtly courtesy. Is it really so impossible to mask our frustrations and work as one? A door barely opened is still preferable to one slammed shut. We may have the power to succeed where our sire has failed."

Cassandra uncharacteristically sat in silence for a few moments. "If we were to go, it would be wiser to go together. We must not show weakness now."

We have her. Maris nodded. "My thoughts exactly."

Cassandra's face softened, if only for a moment. "What were the words uttered by that fool of a singer from Estermont? Four Storms are stronger than One?"

Floris giggled. "Those were the words, sister. He was ever so handsome."

Maris smiled. "Mayhaps he wasn't so much a fool after all."

They traveled by carriage to the Red Keep, watched over by the ever-present Ser Genrick. The winter sky above was an immutable gray, and the Sun remained hidden for the duration of their journey. Maris watched as smallfolk scurried about the city in threadbare clothing, darting from building to building in an attempt to ward off the chill. Where once the streets of King's Landing had been so bustling that one could hardly travel faster than at a snail's pace, they now were empty. The scars of the rioting remained in the form of burned-out husks of buildings, and many more, from shops to manses to hovels, remained dark, seemingly unoccupied. This city is a shell of its former self. It is little wonder that the Crown is desperate for income.

When they reached the Red Keep itself, their carriage continued straight through the outer yard, where she watched knights in Velaryon colors sparring. They stopped outside the inner yard, which was more busy, with servants making their early evening rounds and continuing preparations for the court's supper. The Tower of the Hand glowed brightly, evidently unceasingly active in the administration of the realm. Maris and her sisters dismounted quickly, pulling their winter mantles tightly about them to ward off the biting cold. Two of Aegon III's Kingsguard stood vigilantly at the drawbridge, unperturbed by the dull steel spikes that dotted the moat below. The same spikes that claimed the Queen Jaehaera's mother, if the rumors are to be believed. Maris tried to avoid looking at them as they passed over them.

The two knights, Ser Eyron Locke and Ser Harmon of the Reeds, allowed them to pass with a nod. Maris thought she glimpsed a hint of disdain in the Northman's eyes as they passed. It is only to be expected, for he spent many long months in our captivity. Aegon III had quickly gone about filling the five vacancies in his Kingsguard after his ascension, and Maris had not been shocked when their ranks had swelled with mostly former Black loyalists. Ser Eyron and Ser Harmon were two of the newly minted knights, along with Ser Morgon Banefort, Ser Garth Rowan, and Ser Amory Lorch. Three of their number had risen to the dizzying heights of fame after participating in Ser Torrhen Manderly and Ser Willam Royce's gallant escape from the capital during the night of the riots. Singers were already circulating and performing their own renditions of The Queen's Twenty, a ballad that supposedly celebrated the exploits of those men. The song ended with the triumph of the band over an overwhelming number of bandits, supposedly spurred onwards by the exaggerated heroics of a Dornish knight in their party. Fitting, that a Dornishman nearly got them all killed with a bit of hot-headed theatrics. Serves them right for following him.

Ser Eyron guided them through the winding and shadowy halls of the Red Keep, his right hand never leaving the hilt of his sword. Old habits die hard, Maris observed. Maegor's Holdfast was a grim structure, seemingly scarred from the horrors it had witnessed during its century of existence. One never could quite dismiss the feeling of being watched from within its corridors, and Maris suspected that it might be because one was being watched. Servants moved quickly in and out of chambers with lacquered doors, all bearing the unmistakable symbols of Targaryen rule.

Maris had assumed that the Queen would host them in the Queen's ballroom, but they continued past the darkened hall, onwards still into the holdfast. She realized that Jaehaera had maintained her childhood chambers for herself. She likely refuses to use her mother's, I cannot blame her. The Queen's Bedchamber remained closed and unoccupied as they passed it, and a chill traveled down Maris' spine as she regarded it. The air around it was cold, as though Helaena and her losses still permeated the very air. They were instead guided to a more intimate chamber, where a fire roared and the curtains were pulled tightly closed. Tapestries hung from the spare walls, one depicting Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa Targaryen atop their dragons in flight, and one illustrating Queen Alysanne watching her children at play. The firelight gave them a warm and welcoming appearance.

Ser Eyron Locke departed with only a small nod in acknowledgement, leaving them alone in a small chamber with far fewer occupants than Maris had expected. Maris had anticipated jockeying for the Queen's attention surrounded by ladies from across the entire realm, but instead, the room was nearly devoid of occupants. Ser Willis Fell, the Queen's loyal white shadow, stood at attention near the fireplace, watching a young girl with silver hair sing a song of the sea. Dressed in sea greens and blues, the girl sang of ships returning to shore, their hulls full of the sea's bounties. The girl's eyes were as blue as a summer sea, and her hair was silver, laced with gold. She sings beautifully for her age. The song was sweet, but sad, for it bore the unspoken promise that those who had safely returned would have to leave once more.

The Queen sat atop a bed that was altogether too large for her, its rich canopies sporting the dragons of her house. She was seemingly listening to the music while playing with two dolls, their dresses made of silk and their hair crafted from cloth. At their entrance, she shrank backwards, before her eyes widened at the sight of Ellyn. Quickly, she climbed down and led Maris' sister to her perch, handing her a doll to play along. Maris and her other sisters stayed near the entrance, unsure of what to do next. The whisper of a dress announced the presence of another in the room, and soon they found themselves facing the Lady Rhaena Targaryen, her violet eyes watching them guardedly yet inquisitively. She smirked, cocking her head to one side, as if to say: I had not realized the Queen's invitation extended to all four of you. Maris curtseyed, acknowledging Rhaena's official rank of Princess before speaking.

"It is a pleasure to see you here, my Lady. We were unsure of who might be attending the Queen this day. Might I offer our congratulations regarding your impending wedding!"

The girl opposite them nodded, to acknowledge her words.

Cassandra added: "It is well that you also care for the Queen's health and state of mind."

Rhaena's smile faded. "Queen Jaehaera lacks friends, and while she seems unwilling to attempt to make them herself, I will not allow her to remain lonely. I thought that my cousin Daenaera might cheer her with songs of our home."

Cassandra smiled. "Your cousin sings well. I confess I have not heard of her before. How are the two of you related?"

The Princess motioned for them to sit. "Daenaera is the only child of my relation Daeron Velaryon, son of Vaemond. He and his wife had long prayed for a child, and after several years of marriage welcomed Daenaera into the world with much relief. Vaemond was my grandfather Corlys' nephew, and is… sadly deceased."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed, imperceptible to all but those who knew her well. Maris pursed her lips. Assumedly this is the same Vaemond that was fed to Caraxes… regrettably deceased indeed.

"Has she enjoyed her stay in the capital thus far?" Maris asked, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Rhaena's eyes returned to regarding her. "She has not ceased clamoring to explore the Red Keep since she arrived. She can only count five namedays, but is most fond of the court and its bustling atmosphere. I fear her time on Driftmark has been relatively lacking in opportunities for entertainment, especially with the war continuing until recently."

"How has Driftmark fared since the war's conclusion, my Lady?" Maris wondered if the Lady Rhaena was in a mood to answer questions.

Rhaena paused, before turning to Floris. "My dear, would you mind attending Daenaera? She has finished singing for the day, and it would pain me to leave her without company."

Floris nodded, and crossed the distance quickly, joining Daenaera at the foot of the great canopy bed. They were quickly beset by giggles as Floris began to share a story of some kind.

Rhaena rose, beckoning for the remaining sisters to follow.

They exited the Queen's chambers quietly, unwilling to disturb Jaehaera's peaceful reverie.

When Rhaena spoke, her tone was less warm than before. "I thought it was surprising that the two of you were so eager to attend to our dear Queen. From what she has told me, neither of you have ever had much of a taste for childsplay."

Cassandra blinked, feigning surprise and annoyance. "My Lady, how can you say such things? We have been responsible for Jaehaera's care for well over a year."

Rhaena pursed her lips, looking altogether unconvinced. "I have heard your sister Ellyn performed admirably in that regard." Crossing her arms, she turned so that she could face each of them. Torchlight danced in the garnets sewn into her dress. "In all honesty, I knew that neither of you would be able to avoid the court for long. My brother the King has no love for your father, but it would be foolish of us to hold daughters accountable for the mistakes of their fathers."

Maris raised an eyebrow. "We assumed the Crown's wrath was directed at the entirety of our House."

Rhaena studied her. "It is, if you were to ask the King's opinion on it. I, however, find that approach to be rather unwieldy. We cannot simply ignore an entire region, despite the crimes of its Lord Paramount. It would only invite trouble in the long term."

Cassandra stuck out her chin in defiance. "We served our King faithfully. It is no crime to obey one's liege loyally."

Rhaena shrugged. "Your King is dead, as I am sure you are aware. The question that I wish to see answered is whether you are willing to set aside previous animosities in order to right the realm. House Baratheon and the Stormlands are the closest in proximity to the capital of all of the realms. My grandfather and I are eager to foster a better relationship between the two, whilst maintaining the King's wishes as best as we can."

Cassandra opened her mouth to speak, but Maris cut her off. "We are most interested in fostering amity between the Crown and the Stormlands. Houses Velaryon and Baratheon were once bound by marriage and friendship, and each boast close ties to the Targaryens. It would only be logical to rebuild that relationship, brick by brick if necessary."

Rhaena nodded, her posture relaxing slightly. "Your betrothed has served the Crown well in these trying times, Lady Maris. He has expressed similar desires on the part of Tarth."

Maris nodded. "He and I are of one mind on this matter. The war is over. The key is to move beyond old alliances and enmities and strive once more for unity. The realm had such good fortune under Jaehaerys and Viserys, I do not see why it could not have the same under Aegon III."

Maris watched her sister closely; the muscles in her jaw had grown taut. When she spoke, she did so with guarded frustration. "While I too, wish for reconciliation, the reality of things seems to preclude the possibility. Our father remains exiled from political influence, and seems like as not to remain there. I fail to see what we can do to ameliorate the tensions between our sire and the Crown."

Rhaena regarded Cassandra carefully. "I suspect that you may have more influence than you imply, my Lady. As your father's eldest, it is worth an attempt to persuade him to change his course. If he were to withdraw some of his men from the city, and refrain from attempting to force his way onto the Regency, a path towards reconciliation might open."

Cassandra would not be dissuaded so easily. "Are those your speculations, my Lady, or do you convey your Grandfather's sentiments? I cannot ask such things from my father without knowledge that the Hand himself requests it."

The granddaughter of the Seasnake withdrew a sealed parchment from her sleeve. "If you do not believe my words, perhaps my grandfather's written ones will suffice. You will see, I am sure, that the Hand's own seal is imprinted in the wax. See to it that the message finds its way to your father."

Maris frowned. "Your grandfather must have a reason to seek out our father. He has made no effort to prevent his previous appointments in the Royal Household from being replaced. Baratheon influence could not have ebbed lower."

Rhaena scoffed. "Ser Byron Swann murdered the King's elder brother. He is lucky to have kept his head, general amnesty or not. He also happened to be politically irrelevant. If my grandfather truly wished to sideline your father, he would have dismissed the Lord of Tarth."

Maris considered her words. She is likely telling the truth. Even if Lord Bryndemere was doing a sufficient job of policing the city, the King's ire against Stormlanders would be sufficient reason for dismissal. Someone has protected him thus far.

Maris spoke: "I believe your words, my Lady. But what I still do not understand is the sudden political importance of the Stormlands. The Riverlords are also a short march from the capital. Why must Stormlander arms take precedence?" Maris had her theories, but wanted to hear the words from the dragon's mouth, as it were.

Rhaena eyed her warily. She'd rather not say, and is weighing whether it is worth sharing. Finally, she spoke. "The Stormlands are uniquely positioned to assist with several problems the Crown faces. Firstly, the Dornish stir once more. Your father may have slain one Vulture King, but it seems another may soon take his place, this time with the support of Dorne. I am sure that you are each aware of the increasing raids all throughout the Marches. The Small Council fears that with the death of her father Prince Qoren, the Princess Aliandra has lent real support to these brigands, in hopes of achieving minor gains for Dorne whilst the Iron Throne remains weak." She paused. "There is also the matter of the Triarchy. Open conflict has broken out between its member cities, and each day more Westerosi sailors are captured and enslaved, forced to row the newly constructed galleys of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh. Stormlander swords will be necessary to defend the coasts if war is declared. My grandfather has dispatched his grandnephews Daeron and Daemion to negotiate with the Three Daughters, in order to maintain the peace, but it would be wise to remain ready for war nonetheless."

When Rhaena stopped speaking once more, Maris realized she awaited some sort of response. "Your grandfather's fears are well placed. Tarth and Estermont already beg for men to defend their people and shores. The Dondarrions and other Marcher Lords have already called their levies to arms. The Stormlands already suffer at the hands of Westeros' foes. I am certain that our father could be persuaded to assist in the Crown's efforts to deal with these twin menaces."

Rhaena nodded. "Then it is settled. Deliver that message to your father. In return, I will inform my grandfather that the both of you and your sisters are to be allowed within the Red Keep regularly in order to facilitate communication."

Maris pursed her lips. "My Lady, there is one final matter. My father can be a… man most committed to his principles, especially if he feels he has been wronged. We may be able to more successfully persuade him if we can convince him that the Lord Hand will accommodate his desires for more representation in the Regency. As I am sure you are aware, Lord Peake has already begun to decry the current Regency as overwhelmingly biased against King Aegon III's vassals who fought for Aegon II. Appointing a member of the Stormlands nobility to a Regency seat when it becomes available would lessen the opposition to your grandfather's policies." Maris glanced at Cassandra before proceeding. "While my father obviously could not sit the Regency, there are other lords qualified to do so, lords that could serve the realm ably."

Rhaena's eyes narrowed. "I will inform my grandfather of your words." She turned, but before leaving them, added: "In the meantime, please return to the Queen's chambers. It would be best for you to actually fulfill the reasons for your original summons."

With that, the women parted.

They returned to their father's manse long after night had fallen. The Queen had long struggled to fall asleep, and Ellyn had been forced to sit by her side for hours and sing to her, stroking her hair to allow her to finally drift away.

When they entered the hall, they were greeted by a cacophony of noise. At first, Maris tensed, believing there to be some sort of conflict. Instead, it became apparent that some sort of raucous celebration was going on in the main feasting hall. Maris and her sisters followed the noise, finding her father and several of his closest companions celebrating with much wine and laughter. Their father rose, raising his glass to his daughters.

"My dearest girls, I realize that I normally do not permit you wine, but on this occasion, I will allow you each a glass!"

Maris smiled, taking an offered glass from the hand of a knight. Raising it to toast her father, she asked the question on all of their minds. "To what do we owe the pleasure, father?"

The Lord of Storm's End drained his cup. "My girls, you have a newborn brother!" Filling his cup, he raised it once more. "To Aegon Baratheon!"

Chairs fell as men stood all around the chamber. "To Aegon Baratheon!"

Oh.

Maris could not help but to turn to watch Cassandra, who had grown white as a sheet. Taking her sister's hand, she held it as they downed their cups.

To Aegon Baratheon, the death of my sister's inheritance.